“Come on, kitten,” I say, tugging at the hem of her jeans. “Let’s get you out of these clothes and capture all of your beauty.”
6
Ivy
I never thought I could feel nervous and confident at the same time, but that’s how I feel now, lying here without any clothes on while Mike aims his camera at me—his camera that’s captured some of the most beautiful women in the world —women who have been in the world’s most famous publications.
And here we are, just shooting for fun, because he asked me to. I mean, what am I really doing? On one hand, I know I have absolutely no place beside any of those girls. But on the other hand, Mike has been showering me in nothing but compliments since we started shooting, and I have to admit that the photos we’re coming up with together are pretty damn good, if I say so myself.
I’m sort of detaching myself the best I can when Mike shows them to me. I look at them and try to pretend I’m looking at another girl that isn’t me, and then I judge whether I think they’re good or not. And using that method, I have to say they’re good.
Mike, however, thinks they’re fantastic.
“You should be a model,” he tells me as we’re finishing up and I’m standing beside him wearing nothing but my birthday suit.
“Oh, no,” I protest. “I couldn’t. I don’t have the…the…”
“The what?” he asks.
“The pizazz, you know? The vibe. The go-get-‘em attitude that girls like Cara have.”
Mike waves a hand dismissively. “You can learn all that. And besides, you don’t have to be some female predator to make it in the industry. Nice girls can make it too.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I could. I really don’t.”
“Trust me. With your looks? Everyone in town would be begging to shoot with you.”
Mike’s looking at me now with a fire in his eyes that I can practically feel. I’ve seen him time and time again after a shoot, and I’ve never seen him look like this. It’s not lust in his eyes either; it’s a passion. It’s an excitement, and it’s all because of what we just did together artistically.
It’s hard to imagine me out there shooting and working as a model in New York City. Me, the girl in high school that didn’t fit in, that wasn’t allowed to date, that had to find her own way and do her own thing. How would kids from my class react if they saw me in Vogue or Cosmopolitan? I can’t even imagine the messages I’d get on my social media.
But then, a thought occurs to me, and I look up at Mike.
“Wouldn’t you be jealous?”
“Jealous? Why would I be jealous?” he asks.
“Well, I’d be out there shooting with other photographers, and let’s be honest, they’re basically all men.”
“And you think that would make me jealous?” he replies, turning and gripping me by the waist with both hands.
“Well…the rest of the world would get to see me as well,” I go on. “I know a lot of guys, a lot of models’ boyfriends don’t seem to be able to handle their girlfriends in this profession very well.”
His fingers trace up my naked body, moving to my breasts. I’m tingling all over and am hotter than I realized. I guess the nude shoot turned me on without me even knowing it.
“That’s true.” Mike nods. “But those boyfriends are insecure. And as long as you aren’t out there doing nude shoots like the one we just did, and you’re only coming home to me, and I’m the only one who gets this”—he drags his index finger down my stomach until he hits that little sweet spot between my legs, causing me to gasp—“then I don’t see why I would have any reason to be jealous.”
I’ve gone through so many levels of submission with Mike.
First I became his employee and submitted to taking orders from him, but that wasn’t really a big deal. Tons of people do that every day. But then when he told me it was go out on a date with him or else, I submitted to his demands.
I submitted to him back at his apartment and gave him my virginity, and it was the most incredible experience of my life, then again in the back room of the studio.
And yet again I’ve submitted to having my picture taken by him, completely nude and completely vulnerable, putting my trust in him because I now know that he is a different man than the one I thought he was when he first demanded I go on that date with him.
My hand reaches out, almost on its own, and finds the bulge between Mike’s legs. I start to undo the buttons on his pants, but I don’t have time to finish before I’m being pushed down onto my knees, Mike’s fingers threaded through my hair.