The Photoshoot

On October 31, 2013, in Erotica Stories, Readers Own Stories, by Beatrix Kix

We met at a party. His girlfriend and I had friends in common, and I’d seen her around before, but I hadn’t met either of them until that night. Later, he would tell me how he’d seen me in passing several times on the streets downtown. He was a pretty regularlooking guy. He said once I smiled at him and gave a nod of recognition. I don’t remember ever seeing him before the party.

James and Delilah. On a scale of one to ten, she was a twelve, Brazilian, bigbootied, and honeybronzed.
It wasn’t that he was badlooking, but standing next to her, most people would be
hard to notice. He was filling up his cup at the booze table, alone, when we met. He’d seen some
of my photographs up in a coffee shop. Turned out he was a photographer too. We talked shop
and exchanged numbers, with the suggestion of a possible photo shoot together someday.

That was Saturday. On Sunday we texted “nice to meet you”‘s to each other, and on Tuesday he
called me. We set up a photo shoot for Saturday, a week after we met.

He showed up at my house with a car. I got in.

“Where are we headed?” I asked. I felt a little surprised that he had driven instead of walked, as I
had the impression he and his girlfriend lived quite close, and that we were going on a photo
walk.

“There’s an abandoned school about ten miles from here,” he said. “Seemed interesting. Do you
want to go there?”

“Sure,” I said, and he drove.

“So what is Delilah doing today?”

He didn’t say anything at first, then he kind of exhaled through his nose, making an
almostsnorting
sound, and smirked. Without taking his eyes off the road, he said, “I don’t know.
She’s mad at me.”

I looked at his profile a moment longer. He was no longer smiling, and he didn’t take his eyes off
the road. I looked away.

“What kind of music do you have in here?” I asked.

“The CD case is under your seat,” he said. “Play anything but Pantera.”

I thumbed through his CDs, pulled out some Rolling Stones, and we listened to that and talked
about music for the rest of the car ride. Having the chance to look at him uninterrupted in the late
afternoon sun, I felt the first stirrings of attraction. How had I not noticed how hot he was before
finding myself alone in a car with him? Then I thought about his girlfriend, and remembered how
he had seemed small, pale, and dorky next to her.

We pulled into the parking lot behind the school. The pavement was lined with grass and thin
weeds that filled the many cracks. The football field beyond was completely overgrown, like a
country field. We got out of the car and ambled, slowly, aimlessly, around the empty lot, finally
coming together to stare at the building.

It was a two story building, 1930s era, brick, with boarded up bottom floor windows that were
level with the ground and mostly broken second floor windows. He motioned toward a boarded
window, walked to it, and I followed. The boards on that window were loose, and James pried
them off. The window glass was gone, so he climbed in, and I went in after him. He held my legs
and helped lower me down to the floor of the dark hallway below.

My heart pounded. Not only am I scared of the dark, but James had his arms around my waist
for a few moments longer than necessary, long enough for him to catch me staring at him, and
for us to stare at each other. My breath seemed to echo in the empty hallway.

Finally he let me go and we walked over dust that was as thick as chalk. We walked to the end of
the hall, climbed a staircase, and wandered into classrooms. We photographed overturned
desks, damaged textbooks, and clever graffiti. We were in the science lab when golden hour
sunlight flooded through the broken windows.

“Can I photograph you?” I asked. “Just your hands with some lab equipment.”

“Sure,” he said. “So long as I can photograph you next.”

He put his hand on the lab equipment like he was using it, and I photographed him, then stepped
back. “I’m done,” I said.

He walked away, toward the window, then pointed at the antique metal radiator that ran the
length of the wall under the window.

“Get on top of that,” he said.

I went to the radiator, put my hands on it and climbed up.

“Crouch,” he said, and I did, feeling like an animal standing on my hands and feet.

He photographed me wordlessly. The camera shutter snapped and I imagined him running his
fingers through my long dark hair. He walked closer and I could see him out of the corner of my
eye. The camera covered his face. I listened to the sound of my breath and the wind through the
trees outside as I stared at the white and black tiles on the floor. My heart pounded so hard I
thought he must be able to hear it, and I felt a blush rush up to my cheeks and down between my
legs. The shutter snapped again.

He lowered the camera. “Okay,” he said. His voice sounded strange, raspy. I looked at him and
he looked away. “Your turn,” he said.

I climbed down from the radiator and walked past him to a lab table that was lit with golden
sunlight. “Lean against the table,” I said. He walked over and leaned back against the table,
crossing his arms over his chest.

“How do you feel about taking off your shirt?” I asked.

He turned his head away, then looked back at me and smiled. “Depends,” he said. “How do you
feel about taking off your shirt?”

I smiled. “Anything for art,” I said.

“My kinda girl,” he said. I thought of his hot girlfriend and my stomach fluttered. He took off his
shirt, rolled it into a ball, and pitched it toward the radiator. It fell on the floor. He put his hands on
the edge of the table behind him.

His chest was ripped, muscular and hairless, his skin smooth and golden. I moved to the side of
him, to see him in profile, his front light and his back dark. “Just like that,” I said. “Now arch your
back.”

He arched his back and his whole body moved into a new shape. As I pressed the shutter
button, I had the sense that his heart was exposed, while my own heart pumped hotly all through
my body.

“Your turn,” I said.

He relaxed against the table. We stared at each other. He said quietly, “Take off your shirt.” As I
moved to do it, he crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight onto one leg.

I took off my shirt and dropped it by my feet. “Anything else?” I asked and heard my own voice
sound as strange and raspy as his had when he photographed me on the radiator.

He licked his lips. We stood in silence. I said, “Here. I’ll make it easy for you.”

I stripped off my pants, shoes, and socks, and stood before James in matching black and white
striped panties and bra. My long black hair tickled my back. James touched his finger to his lips
and cocked his head. “And the bra,” he said.

I took off my bra and snapped it toward the radiator. It landed on his shirt. I faced him. I felt bold
and exposed, and glad to be both.

“On the table,” he said. I climbed up on the table. He said, “Now stand.”

I stood on the table. He moved across the room and said, “Walk around on top of the table.”

I looked down at my feet and tucked my hair behind one ear. I heard the shutter snap as he took
a picture. I tiptoed across the table. He took another picture. I turned and walked toward the
window. We continued, me walking, and him shooting, until he said, “Okay, you can get down.”

I climbed down and he walked up to face me. He handed me my camera. “Face the window and
hold this behind your back,” he said.

I did. He stood behind me and said, “Now arch your back.” I arched my back. The shutter
snapped. He took my picture.

I turned around and faced him. He took the camera out of my hands and set both his and my
cameras on the table behind him. Then he returned to me, put his arms around me, and kissed
me. I squeezed the hard muscles of his back as he grinded his hips into mine and I felt his hard
cock between my legs. He pushed me back against the radiator, then turned us around, and sat
on the radiator, pulling me into his lap. I straddled him. He sucked on my tits and I dry humped
him. He bucked and grinded his hips into mine. I rubbed my cunt over his cock through his pants.
I put my hands on his shoulders and looked out the window to the sun setting over trees at the
edge of the overgrown football field. Then I came, squeezing his head to my breasts and
squealing.

He kissed my neck. “Did you like that?” he said.

I leaned my head on his shoulder and said, “Yes, did you?”

He kissed me and slapped my ass. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “I’m already looking forward to our
next photo shoot.”

the-photoshoot-story

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