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“Are you sure this isn’t going to be awkward for you?”

Asha leaned her shoulder against the wall, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up, glass of ice water pinched between her fingers. She took a sip through the garish purple straw and creased the corners of her mouth upward. “Is it going to be awkward for you?” she countered.

Honestly, I couldn’t say. We’d been friends for years. Acquaintance friends though, not friends friends. We would see each other at parties or at the homes of mutual friends, run into each other at restaurants, and sometimes the movie theater. We hung out now and then, as part of the group. But this was the first time I’d been to her house. Did all that make this awkward? I was about to find out.

“Of course not,” I replied, “I’m a professional.”

She laughed, tipping her head back for a chunk of crushed ice. I popped the battery door on the camera and dropped in a freshly one. The camera clicked to life, powering up the display. “Does that mean you’re ready for me?” she asked.

“Two minutes,” I replied. “Just let me grab the other lenses.”

Asha disappeared down the hallway. Setting the camera on the counter I returned to the dining room table and plucked the camera bag from the chair. Rifling through it I dug out the 18mm and 85mm lenses from their soft cases at the bottom and set them on their ends. As I checked the focus switches a shutter clicked behind me.

“What happened to your regular model?” she asked, scrolling through the images on the memory card.

“She had an accident a few weeks ago,” I replied, “broke her ankle. Said she didn’t think the cast fit the theme of the shoot. I was willing to give it a shot, but she insisted.” She laughed, setting the camera back on the counter. “Thanks again for doing this,” I said. “I would have just waited for her to get the cast off but the submission deadline for the collection is in two weeks and it would be at least three before she was ready.”

Asha shrugged. “Happy to help.” Slipping her hands into her pockets she cocked her head and flipped her dyed-platinum hair out of her eyes. “Besides,” she added, “I’m looking forward to being famous.”

My turn to laugh. “I’m professional, not famous.”

“You will be after this.”

I smiled, tucking both lenses into the pouch slung over my shoulder. “Let’s get the outdoor shots first before it gets too hot. Then we’ll do the interior stuff.”

I followed her through the dining room to the nine-foot sliding glass door, the sweet scent of lemon and sugar trailing behind her. She swept aside the heavy white curtain and dragged the door open. The rush of air billowed her hood, brushing it from her head onto her back. She stepped down over the threshold onto the deck. I followed suit, shutting the door behind me.

Asha’s deck overlooked the river at its widest point, at the apex of its longest bend. To either side a line of old evergreens separated her property from the neighbors. Across the water the glass towers of the city skyline gleamed in the morning sunlight. I stood and stared for a minute, soaking it all in. “How did you find this place,” I wondered aloud, leaning over the railing to look past the trees.

“One of the doctors at work,” she said, her voice some distance behind me. “He was talking about wanting to sell for months before he put it on the market. So, I got my offer in first.”

“Nice,” I replied, following the shimmering patterns thrown across the deck boards and up the tubular posts. “You really lucked out.”

She was quiet again. The air filled with wind and the muffled woosh of traffic. I swung the camera up to my eye and snapped a few shots of the city, the lens flare bisecting each image at a different location. I leaned on the railing, steadying myself for a longer exposure. I felt her step up beside me, Her voice light and playful. “So,” she said, “where do you want me?”

I turned my head and froze. She had shed the hoodie, tossing it over the back of a deck chair. On the seat of the chair, the blue and white shorts she had been wearing only moments earlier. She stood before me relaxed and completely naked, save for a glittering copper anklet and a small vibrant caduceus tattoo on her right shoulder.

She was a beautiful woman. About 5’7″, light eyes, bright smile, and completely out of my league. Her mother was Korean, co-owner of a family-run billion-dollar shipping company. Her father was a Chicago native mutual fund manager for the largest investment bank west of the Mississippi. And she was an orthopedic surgeon at the best renown hospital in the region. But aside from the house on the river, you wouldn’t have known what she came from. She drove a modest car, wore modest clothes, and lived a modest life. The only thing she flaunted was her hair.

It was long, straight, silky smooth and black as night. It stood out on its own without any help, but she liked to experiment. With color, with style, anything that made it unique. Last time I escort ataşehir saw her it had been flame red with a single center part and curls at the ends. Today it was a lightly curled platinum blonde with dark roots, creating somewhat of a halo around her head and shoulders in the cool white light.

Her breasts were perfect little teardrops suspended from her chest. Her tummy was taut and her legs shapely and toned, as one might expect from a yoga enthusiast. Her hips flared gently between them all, framing a supple, smooth pubic triangle. I stared — far longer than I should have, panicking that I’d lost track of how long it had been since she’d spoken to me. I now knew the answer to her initial question. And I certainly couldn’t admit it at this point.

“Let’s start here,” I said, willing down the stirring in my jeans. I directed her a stride back from the edge, then had her lean forward at the waist to rest her elbows on the top rail. She pushed up on her toes tightening her calves and thighs and raising her perfectly rounded ass while dipping the small of her back. Her pussy peeked out from between her thighs. Teasing. Inviting.

I backed away, coming to rest against the door. I framed her in the viewfinder. The blues of the sky and the greens of the leaves tinted the platinum in her hair. I snapped a few images, varying the aperture and the exposure, searching for right balance of contrast and saturation. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, cocking a hip and bending a knee. I snapped several more, the asymmetry of this pose more dynamic than the previous one. But it still wasn’t perfect.

I asked her to take several steps to her right and reset the pose. And when she stopped and leaned forward again, a refraction of light through the penthouse windows of the tower across the water fell across her back, splashing what looked like an oil slick of swirling metallic colors from the curve of her shoulder to the base of her spine. I chuckled to myself, snapping every angle and exposure of that shot until the sun dipped behind a cloud and dissolved it away. I couldn’t have planned that shot if I tried. Sometimes you just get lucky.

We switched up to put her back against the railing, the sun casting deep shadows beneath her breasts, making them appear much larger than they were. Then we moved on to an Adirondack chair, stretching out and crossing her legs at the ankles, covering her nipples with her hair, teasing her privates in the shadows. By the time we finished it was 80 degrees and I was ready to head back in.

“I think we’re done out here,” I said, replacing the lens cap. “We can head inside to finish the rest.”

She swung herself up out of the chair, a smile creasing her lips. “Can I see what you have so far?”

“Of course,” I replied. I lowered the camera into the shade and powered up the screen, scrolling slowly through the shots. She tucked in close, the lemon and sugar filling my head, her ass bumping against the bulging seam along the front of my denim, sending a jolt through my pelvis. I hoped to god she didn’t notice. But after every third or fourth image reviewed, she would adjust, nudging me with those firm shapely buttocks. I fought not to flinch each time.

“These look really good,” she offered, beaming up at me.

“I have a great model,” I said. Her cheeks warmed. She returned to the deck chair and scooped up her clothes, bending just a little further than she needed to. I ducked inside, the image lingering in my head. I needed a couple more hours to get all the shots I planned on. And the more distracted I was the longer it would take, and the more distracted I would become. I bit my tongue to get my attention. Focus. Just focus and get through this.

I heard ice clink in a glass behind me. “You can cover up for a bit,” I said, not turning around. “It’s going to take me a minute to set up.”

“Okay,” she said following a sip of water. “Can I help you with anything?

“Nah, I’m okay. Go ahead and relax.” Her footsteps padded across the tile toward the living room, falling silent once she reached the carpet. I pulled the light panels and stands from their pouches. The muscle memory of assembly and the chill of the air conditioning helped soften my erection. And by the time I was ready to position the lights I was comfortable again. The comfort was short-lived.

I lifted the stands and turned to find Asha. She was laying on the couch, one knee bent, her head resting on the arm, white hair draped over the dark fabric. She had not covered up. Her nipples stretched from her breasts in the cool air. One hand rested casually on her stomach, the other disappeared behind her raised thigh. I looked away quickly, clearing my throat as I set the lights in their positions. “I think we’re ready now,” I announced.

She appeared shortly, brushing my arm as she passed. Her fingers swiped the back of my hand, warm and slightly damp. My cock returned to attention. Discreetly kadıköy escort I swung the hand with the camera around to cover up. She stopped next to the window, angling herself so the daylight spilled over her chest and side while fading her back and shoulders into shadow.

“About here?” she asked, dipping her chin and turning her head toward me. I nodded, adjusting my lights to give me enough fill without washing out the contrast. I pulled the levers at the edges of the window frames, closing the integral blinds until only slivers of sunlight penetrated the soft glowing rectangle. They wrapped her body like ribbons, curving around her ass and thighs before being swallowed by the shadows.

“Twist a little more toward me,” I said, raising the camera to my eye. She obeyed, tucking her far arm against the small of her back, her near arm down to her side — like she knew what I would ask next. I clicked the shutter several times then looked down at the screen. She nailed it first time. I chuckled. “That’s amazing.” I snapped a few more, just to be sure I had what I wanted, then lowered the camera. “I think we can move to your room now.”

Asha looked at me, her eyes sparkling. “Cool,” she said. She padded past me into the kitchen, stopping at the refrigerator. “Do you want something to drink?” she offered. “I have beer, water, and…iced tea.”

“I wouldn’t turn down iced tea,” I answered, trying to focus on anything but her ass swaying side to side as she rummaged through the shelves. I hung the camera from the neck strap and slung the lights over my shoulder. She emerged with a craft beer and a tall can of tea. She held out the can, retracting it when she saw my hands were full.

“I’ll hold it for you,” she laughed, leading me through the living room to the staircase.

I slipped past her and started up the stairs first, attempting to both hide my hardon and avoid ogling her curves and the flex of her buttocks as she pushed up each step. At the top I made a right, then stopped, realizing I had no idea where to go. Asha ducked under a light and stopped at a door ajar at the end of a short hallway. “This one,” she said. I followed her inside.

The master suite was bright and spacious, with a vaulted ceiling, and full height windows on two adjoining sides. Centered on the long dimension against the back wall was a California king with a slate-colored duvet and a tall gray slatted headboard. I set the light stands on the plush white carpet and stared in awe at the view through the glass.

The click of a bottle and can on the night table snapped me back to the view inside the room. Asha popped the tab on the tea and extended it to me once more, holding it just above her breasts so I could not avoid a glance. She smiled when I took it, throwing back several swallows of her own beverage as I did the same with mine.

“Beautiful, aren’t they,” she said, looking me in the eyes. My mind froze. Yes, they were, but it seemed inappropriate for me to comment on my model’s anatomy during a shoot. I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. She waited, expectant.

“Umm…” I fumbled, not knowing where to go. She tipped her head, pointing toward the windows.

“The towers,” she noted, referring to the newly completed twin skyscrapers on the opposite bank of the river. I glanced out, my face betraying more surprise than I’d intended.

“Yes!” I chirped, “yes, they are. Gorgeous.”

She laughed, wrinkling her forehead. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“The towers, of course. What do you mean?”

She smirked, sipped her beer. She obviously didn’t believe me. “Where do you want me for this shot?”

I directed her to the edge of the bed, back to the headboard, legs crossed at the knees. While she sorted that out, I set a light off to each side and just behind to further separate her from the background. At the top of each window was a fabric roller shade, which, once extended, transformed the warm streaming rays of sunlight into a soft white glow permeating the room.

When I turned back to evaluate the lighting, I noticed her top leg bouncing slightly over the one below, pressing her thighs together at her hips, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth. I rustled the camera as I raised it to my eye, my heart beating faster understanding what she was doing. She looked up, smiling. “Ready.”

I backed up to the window and dropped to one knee, removing my shadow from the frame. She swung her arms out to each side, set her palms flat on the mattress beside her. When her fingers touched the duvet, I snapped some photos, then checked the monitor. The angle of her arms didn’t feel right. I asked her to adjust and took another burst. This time her shoulders seemed narrow and rounded.

I asked for several more tweaks, checking the result after each adjustment. The lighting was perfect, the pose was strong, but something about the shape just wasn’t working. Frustration crept in. It must have telegraphed to my maltepe escort bayan face. Asha tilted her head and lifted her eyebrows. “You know,” she said, “it might be easier if you just…showed me, what you want, instead of trying to explain it?”

I shrugged. Maybe she had a point. I hung the camera from the strap again and stepped up next to her. Using as light a touch as possible I manipulated her right arm into the precise shape I needed. I shifted in front of her and reached for her left arm to do the same. As my fingers touched her forearm, her right hand flattened against my jeans, her fingers curving around the outline of my cock.

I froze, my mind suddenly blank, blood rushing to my groin. My penis flexed against her palm; my tongue trapped between my teeth. She slid along its length, increasing pressure at the head, giving a gentle twist at the base. “Hmm,” she groaned. “I think I found the problem.”

“Uhhh…Asha,” I stammered. “I think we should….”

“It must be difficult,” she interrupted, “to concentrate with…this…weighing you down.”

“Well,” I answered, struggling to form a coherent thought, “its not…that heavy.”

If I could have kicked myself in the teeth I would have. But she either didn’t hear or ignored me altogether. Instead, her fingers picked at my belt, pulling it through the loops and brushing it aside. She poked the button through the eyelet and peeled apart the zipper.

“If you want,” she added, pinching the waistband of my underwear, “I could take care of it for you. If that’s something you’re interested in.”

“We should probably try to finish up,” is what I should have said. Or something about it being inappropriate for me to…engage…with a model. But I said nothing. She pulled down the waistband and my cock leapt toward her, eager to engage. That seemed to be all the reply she needed.

She curled her fingers around the shaft, first one hand, then the other. Her touch was cool, soft on my skin. She tugged forward over my glans, then back, the heel of her hand bumping my balls. A slow second stroke straightened my posture, turning my hips fully toward her. A third forced a lustful groan from deep in my chest.

She looked up, dark eyeliner highlighting those bright hazel eyes, a broad smile lifting her cheeks. Fixed on me she uncrossed her legs, dragging her toes across my thigh as she spread her knees outside of my own. Feet flat on the floor she scooched to the edge of the mattress, squeezing her thighs against my legs. Her lips parted, tongue flattened, and without a word she took my cock into her mouth.

Her mouth was warm and wet, her tongue finely textured against the head of my prick. She moved slowly, deliberately, concentrating pressure at the tip before working her way back and forth further down the shaft.

When her lips bumped her fingers, she moved her hands to my thighs instead, holding me steady as she worked me in further. I raked my fingers through her hair, gathering it all into a thick ponytail I held just behind her head. I could watch now, her lips glossy with saliva, eyes smiling up at me.

She shifted slightly on the bed, leaning forward as she slid her ass back. I felt my cock bump the back of her throat. My balls hummed, shaking my legs and forcing a sigh. She giggled in response, held me a little tighter. She gave several shallow slurps before working deep again, repeating until every third or fourth thrust pushed my cock head past her tonsils to the base of her tongue.

My eyes fell shut as my jaw fell open, awed by the efficacy of her technique. Just a few minutes in and I was hard as a rock, imagining how exquisite it would feel to empty myself into her throat. My free hand clutched at her shoulder, squeezing it in time with her strokes. She lifted her eyes and looked at me, allowing my cock to slip from her lips into the cool of the room. She glanced at the camera slung round my neck. “Shouldn’t you um…,” she whispered, “…be photographing something?”

Another shock zipped through my body. I lifted the camera, watching my cock disappear into her mouth through the viewfinder. She looked up into the lens, her eyes smiling because her lips could not. Her lashes fluttered when I rolled the shutter, capturing her eyes closed, wide open, and every ravenous permutation in between. She added a twist to the end of each stroke, cupping her tongue around me for added friction. My cock throbbed, straining for the back of her throat, desperate to remain deep just a moment longer.

I clicked each time her nose bumped my abdomen. Her hand released my thigh and slithered down between her legs. I snapped again. She inhaled sharply around my dick as her fingers found her clit, her hips shuddering as they penetrated her pussy. Her throat closed around my cock, and for a moment we were locked together, frozen in a moment of pleasure before she finally pulled away.

My penis popped from her lips, stiff and swaying just above her face. A large dollop of pre-cum oozed from the tip. She opened her mouth and caught it on her tongue. Pulling her fingers from her vagina she held them up, glazed and glistening in the light. She raked her fingers over the end of her tongue and swallowed the grool together with the pre-cum.

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