When we reached his building, he got out and quickly shut his car door before walking around to open mine. The doorman greeted us, addressing Mr. King with a smile. The lobby seemed to be made entirely out of marble. It was the most expensive looking building I had ever been in. There was even someone to push the elevator button for us.
Mr. King scanned a card once we were in the elevator and pushed the button for the 33rd floor. “I own the entire top floor,” he explained.
“Wow,” I breathed. “Do you have a big family?”
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye and a smile twitched on his lips. “No, Amy, I do not. That life is not for me.”
The elevator doors opened and he breezed into the living area. “Please, feel free to look around. I’ll get you a drink.”
I walked around slowly, looking around me in awe. Like him, his penthouse exuded money and power. All the artwork and furniture was modern, of course, and expensive. Through the windows I could see a balcony that seemed to wrap around the entire floor. It was a lot of space for one person.
Mr. King was in the kitchen, which looked out into the living room. He poured two glasses of champagne and handed me one, his eyes boring into mine.
“To hopefully making a deal,” he said and we clinked glasses.
We both took a sip and he watched me over the rim of his glass. I suddenly felt shy and glanced away. I was undeniably attracted to him, and I was sure he knew it.
He pushed a contract toward me across the breakfast bar. “This is a simple non-disclosure agreement, not an official work contract. If you accept the position, we can prepare a contract together. This agreement simply states that if you do not accept the position, you will not reveal the nature of my artistic project. I hope you understand that it is here for my protection.”
He lowered his head slightly, looking at me intently, before releasing the contract so I could look through it. I didn’t know anything about non-disclosure agreements and certainly couldn’t afford a lawyer if I wanted to, but it didn’t seem to matter anyway. I had no desire to tell anyone the details of Mr. King’s project. So, I signed and dated the agreement and passed it back to him.
He smiled and placed the contract in his briefcase. “Come, I’ll show you the studio.”
He led me down the hall and stopped at a set of closed double doors. For a moment he looked unsure, but it was a very brief moment, and then he was pushing both doors open at the same time to reveal the studio.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. The white backdrop, yes. Clothing racks full of outfits, yes. But a bed in the middle of the room?
I could feel him watching me.
“What color is your bra?”
The tone of his voice had changed, grown lower. I couldn’t look at him when I responded, even though I knew I should have; I didn’t want him to know I was afraid. There was a strange energy in the room, like the one I’d felt earlier in his office, but magnified.
“Black.”
Mr. King walked up to a clothes rack and shuffled through the items, pulled off a plaid skirt. “I think we should try this one,” he said, cocking his head to the side.
I stopped breathing. This was the moment that decided whether or not I could be what Mr. King needed. It was time for me to choose the timid, appropriate girl I had always been, or a new version of myself that could live a little.
He held the skirt out to me and I took it.
“Now, I know this is all new to you, but if we try some practice shots, you will have a better idea of what the job entails. What do you think?”
“Sure,” I said, smiling in a way that was more confident than I felt.
“Wonderful,” he smiled. “I’ll help you out of your dress.”
My heart began to race, but I ignored it and nodded before turning around to give him access to the zipper. I felt him before he touched me: an electricity that raised the hairs on the nape of my neck. He gently lifted my hair off my back and put it over my shoulder before slowly, leisurely unzipping the dress down to my bottom, pausing briefly before pulling it over my head.
“Face me.”
I obeyed, wearing only my bra and panties and trying not to look as uncomfortable as I felt. Luckily I’d foreseen stripping down and was wearing a nice matching pair.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said, looking pointedly at my arms, which were across my chest protectively. “Being comfortable with your body is an important aspect of modeling.”
I dropped them but still had difficulty meeting his gaze.
“You are a very beautiful woman, if you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Clair.” He looked me up and down appreciatively. “Exactly what I was looking for.”
I hid my blush by focusing stepping into the skirt. While I fiddled with it, Mr. King pulled off his suit and slacks and changed into a pair of worn jeans with holes in them and a simple black T-shirt. I averted my eyes as he changed, but not before I caught a glimpse of his muscular back. Now looking the part of a photographer, he swaggered over to a nearby shelf, picked up an expensive-looking camera.
“When we’re in here working, think of me as a director. Do not question me—just obey my requests. Understood?”
I nodded, and then spoke. “Yes.”
“Good. We should be able to tell very quickly whether or not this arrangement will work.”
My stomach clenched momentarily. I wanted more than anything for the arrangement to work.
“Lie down on your right side and prop yourself up so you’re facing me.”
Easy enough. I got into position on the bed and he snapped a few pictures.
“Don’t smile, just look into the camera. Stare like you’re looking right through it. Perfect. Now, roll onto your back.”
Mr. King climbed onto the bed and stood above me, snapping away. From my vantage point, I was looking up between his legs, and my mind traveled to places I didn’t want to go.
“There’s that blush, Amy,” he said softly, using my given name for the first time. “It is really starting to grow on me.”
I heard the shutter go again and then he was sitting beside me, whispering as he gently moved my limbs.
“This is my true passion, Miss Clair.” He pulled my right ankle, opening my legs. “Put one arm under your head and the other on your stomach. Look relaxed, like you don’t even know I’m taking a picture of you. Wonderful.”
I found myself basking in the glow of Mr. King’s compliments. He called me a natural. Exactly what he was looking for. But it wasn’t just that; I wanted to impress him.
He took a few pictures of me standing with my hand on my hip and then said, “I’m very pleased, Miss Clair. Just a few more and we can discuss our contract.”
I smiled and waited for his next instruction.
“Now turn around and face the bed.”
I turned and faced the bed.
“Bend over.”
I froze.
“I said bend over, Miss Clair,” he said warningly. “Following instructions is an integral aspect of this position.”
My heart started to race. Why did he want me to bend over? Was he hoping to get a shot between my legs?
I bent over the bed and heard the snap of the shutter. When I moved to stand, he growled. “Stay there please, Miss Clair.”
The authority in his voice stilled me. I closed my eyes, trying not to shake. I couldn’t do this. I was too naive, too shy.
“Show me that you’re able to follow instructions, Amy,” he said in a tone that made me feel like an errant child.
I felt him approach me, and then his finger under the elastic of my thong. I swallowed hard but didn’t dare move. Was he going to ask me to take it off? It seemed too early for nudity shots.
“These were a good pick.” He pulled my thong taut, let it go with a snap. My breath hitched as his hands caressed my behind, moving down my thighs. I was pretty sure photographers didn’t touch models that way.
Then, out of nowhere, he spa
nked me.
I reared up out of instinct, but he was prepared, pushing me right back down again. He spanked me for a second time and I heard the snap of the shutter. I could only imagine what the pictures must look like, and the thought was humiliating. Still I stayed in the position, my arms shaking, threatening to no longer support me. I couldn’t bear to face him.
“Good girl, Amy. You were perfect.”
I inhaled sharply as his fingers suddenly dipped between my legs, finding my wetness. Slowly, he began to rub me in small circles. I didn’t stop him. I was lost in the confusion of the moment and the feel of his fingers between my legs.
Then he abruptly stopped and walked away, telling me to sit on the bed. Somehow I managed to stand and lean against it, focusing on a spot on the ground. My heart was in my ears. I was embarrassed and confused and incredibly aroused. It was obvious now what Mr. King wanted me for, and I couldn’t sort my thoughts out fast enough. Somewhere I knew I should be telling him off, but I wasn’t.
“Look at the camera, Amy.”
The command was issued in a soft voice, but there was something else behind it. Something darker. I barely managed to look up, biting my lip.
“You look so shy. I love it.”
Snap.