"Glamor" shots (closed for Jezebel1669)

Bob puttered around the studio, picking up some equipment that hadn't been put away from the last shoot. He had new talent coming in tonight, and he wanted to be ready.

Jocko (what a stupid name!) called him this afternoon at his day job to say he'd given Bob's card to a new girl at the club, one he thought would be dynamite for the camera. Bob had his reservations; Jocko tended to pick girls that were heavily tattooed or had half their head shaved or looked like they'd been working out with Arnold Schwarzenegger, because that's what Jocko found sexy. Unfortunately, the people he sold his work to didn't care for that look; "not mainstream enough". Still, every now and then he picked a good one, and so Bob held his judgment in reserve until he saw her.

Bob had been doing this for a few years now, and the money was good but not great. Still, he needed the extra income--a professional photographer was hard-pressed in this day and age, where ever phone was a camera and everybody thought they were Ansel Adams. "Selfies" ruled the world, and he didn't make enough as a wedding/portrait/children's photographer in his day job to make ends meet. He'd jumped at the chance to shoot "soft core" porn a few years ago--hell, what man in his right mind wouldn't leap to be able to take pictures of sexy women in semi-nude or nude status and get paid to do it instead of being jailed as a pervert?

But the bloom had faded off the rose. OH, sure the money was good if you had the right talent, but finding the right talent was the key. He was still astonished sometimes at the women who came through his door...mediocre, at best. And they all thought there was Big Money to be made in porn, soft- or hard-core. Trouble was, the competition was fierce, and cutthroat; stripping in a club (where most of his talent came from), you were only competing with other girls there. In porn, you were competing against the entire fucking internet, and what they used to say about gunfighters held true: There was always someone prettier and younger with bigger boobs out there, waiting for you to stumble...

He checked his watch--he was old enough to still wear a watch instead of using his cell-phone--and saw it was almost time for his latest to arrive. He hoped she was good; his scheduled appointment for tonight had backed out at the last minute, and he needed the money.

Mandy quickly ran the brush through her long chestnut hair, trying to make it look at least halfway presentable as she kept an eye on the bus stops. Beneath her raincoat she was still wearing the clothes she'd changed into after her shift at the club, the tight shorts and loose t-shirt drawing unwanted gazes from some of the other not-so-friendly passengers as she tried to pull the coat around herself to cover up from their awkward stares.

The directions Jocko had given her were vague to say the least, and telling her 'she'd know it when she saw it' really didn't help. As the bus pulled up to what she thought was the right place she quickly grabbed her bag, stuffed the hairbrush inside and bolted for the doors, stepping out onto the pavement just as the clouds broke above her.

"Fucking great," She mumbled to herself, pulling her hood up over her hair, totally ruining the effect she'd been struggling to obtain for the last half hour. Glancing down at the scribbled diagram Jocko had given her she turned the sheet several times, trying to make sense of the landmarks he'd crudely etched.

Finally making a decision she stepped around the corner and indeed saw the place she was looking for. "Not a total dick for once, ehh Jocko?" She muttered with a grin as she dashed down the street and into the porch of the building.
Quickly she turned to the glass door, checking her make-up in the reflection as she pursed her lips together, pouting for the camera.

She'd been working at the strip club just over four months, ever since getting fired for her waitressing job at a local diner, and usually made enough to get by comfortably, but with her quarterly tuition fees due the following week she either had to work 24/7 until the deadline or find some other way to make money fast. When Jocko had heard her predicament he suggested a little something on the side which could bag her the cash she needed, as long as she was willing to spread her legs for the camera.

She didn't see the harm in it, after all for the last few months she'd been spreading her legs on a one-to-one basis with the type of men who bought the magazines she'd be posing for, if it meant more money and less exposure what could possibly happen to cause her greater stress than she already had?

Pressing her thumb against the buzzer beside the obscured label she looked up at the entrance camera while at the same time trying to cover her face from the rain bouncing up from the street. Patiently she waited for an answer, flipping out her cell-phone to check the time and grinning happily as she saw she'd actually managed to arrive a couple of minutes early for once.

Bob glanced up at the security monitor when he heard the bell. A young woman was standing in the entryway. She looked acceptable from what he could see, obscured as she was under a hooded raincoat. At least she wasn't porky, which was a blessing.

He pushed the intercom button and said, "Please come in and wait in the vestibule; I'll be out in a moment to get you." Then he pushed the buzzer to unlock the door for as long as he thought reasonable for her to pass through the entry.

On the way out, he stopped long enough to unlock his "dressing room"--a converted office, really, that he rented from the studio owners. Technically he wasn't supposed to be here after normal business hours, but as long as he didn't do anything illegal, they didn't much care. They just took the rental money and shrugged.

He'd fitted out the interior with some metal pipes hanging around the walls as makeshift closet rods, on which were hanging various articles of clothing--camisoles, baby-dolls, some clubbing dresses, little skirts, tank-tops, and the like. He'd added a small dresser where he kept thongs, crotchless panties, bikinis, lace bras, garter belts, stockings, etc. in various sizes. In another drawer he kept an assortment of dildos, vibrators, and other such toys for the more raunchy shoots. A full-length mirror on one wall completed the low-budget fit-out.

Checking to make sure nothing in the room was out of place, he proceeded down the hallway towards the entrance.

As the buzzer sounded Mandy quickly wrenched open the door and slipped inside, glad to be out of the rain. The tinny voice on the intercom had been barely audible, but she got the impression that she was to wait and so she carefully peeled off her dripping raincoat, shaking the worst of the water off before folding it carefully and placing it on the empty reception desk.

She took a moment to look around the place but there didn't seem to be much to see. It was just another old warehouse which had been converted years ago into offices and had been around long enough for the shine to fade. A patch of dry rot spread across the ceiling in an interesting pattern which held Mandy's attention for a moment as she reached into her bag and pulled out her brush again. Hopefully she'd have time for one last attempt to make herself look fabulous before the photographer arrived and decided she wasn't good enough after all.

Tossing her head forwards she let her hair fall down in front of her, running the hairbrush though the locks with long steady strokes. Most of the worst knots had already given way on the bus, but Mandy wanted to be as close to perfection as she could for her first impression.

Looking down at the floor she sighed to herself as she caught sight of the ratty old trainers she was wearing. They' been a present from her Uncle Bob several years earlier and were her favourite shoes to wear around town, but she'd certainly put them through their paces and now they were beginning to fall apart. She almost swore, they were nothing like the glamorous footwear a professional model should be wearing.

With her hair still hanging down in front of her Mandy quickly bent over with her back, and her snugly fitting shorts, to the inner doors. With quick deft fingers, used to easily unfastening a client's pants while grinding on his lap, Mandy quickly untied her laces and pulled her trainer off, reaching over to drop it in her bag before lifting her other leg and starting work on its companion.

Bob stopped in the hallway to enjoy the view presented to him by the unaware young lady. My, that's a fine, fine ass... he thought, admiring the well-formed curve of her cheeks in the tight shorts and those long, shapely legs--and was that a hint of a camel-toe peeking between her thighs? He started unconsciously rubbing himself through his pants. This job did have some very nice perks...

She straightened then, having removed her shoes (Why the hell did she take off her shoes? he wondered) and dropped the second one into the bag on the floor. She took a few moments to run her hands through her hair, and he could appreciate the narrow waist and what looked like a succulent pair of bra-less tits hiding under the loose t-shirt, though it was hard to tell from the back.

He walked forward, pushing open the inside doors and saying, "Hi, I'm Bob Andrews. Sorry to--" And that was as far as he got as she turned to the sound of his voice. For what seemed like an eternity he was transported to a different time and place, with party balloons and children laughing and a gangly 15-year-old girl just beginning to flower into womanhood opening birthday presents. The sudden shift in perspective took him completely off guard.

For several minutes the two of them stood frozen, just looking at each other, until he finally blurted out, "Mandy? Is that you?"

"Uncle Bob!?!" Mandy gasped in shock, "What're you doing..? I mean why are you..? Am I in the right place?" She stammered, pulling the directions from Jocko from her pocket as she tried to make sense of them for the umpteenth time. Perhaps this was just a mistake, if that was a 7 instead of a 4 then she'd caught the wrong bus and ended up on the wrong side of town.

"I was supposed to be meeting called Ivor Hardy for some modelling work?" She said, trying to quickly gloss over what type of modelling it was, "A guy I know... I mean that I met said he might be able to arrange some fashion shoots for me?"

Even she could tell her voice was wavering, but the words just kept spilling out. Before she could stop she was already neck deep and sinking. She reached for her bag, backing towards the door as her uncle starred at her in surprise.

"Wait! Stop!" Bob said. She did.

He was grappling with this disorienting turn of events, but even as he did he ran an appreciative eye over the delightful form and beautiful face of his favorite niece, whom he hadn't seen in several years since his brother had moved across country. He'd been vaguely aware that she was attending university in the city, and had been meaning to look her up to say hello, but the fact that she was standing here, before him, in the lobby, was still a shock. She was the last person he had expected to see here, now...well, maybe not the last person, but certainly in the bottom five.

Her consummate bitch of a mother would have been the last person; he'd never liked his brother's wife, and she was the primary reason they'd lost touch with each other over the last decade. The woman was both pretentious and vacuous simultaneously, a bad combination; add in that she was also stupid, judgmental, and sanctimonious, and she summed up pretty much all of the things he despised most in people.

Then there had been the dust-up at the party celebrating his brother's investiture as a High Mucky-Muck in that fraternal organization he belonged to... She'd been overbearing and insufferable, and Bob had had just a little too much to drink. It had ended badly, as any casual bystander could have foretold, and since then he'd had little or no contact with that side of the family.

And now here she was, a vision of pulchritude, in his lobby. Come for a photo shoot. Of the kind he specialized in. It was almost too much to encompass.

After a moment of silent mental wrestling, he asked, cautiously, "This...guy. That you met. Who told you about fashion shoots. Was his name...Jocko, by any chance?"

All Mandy could do was stare back at her uncle in surprise as she froze in her steps half way to the door. Turning back towards him she looked back over her shoulder cautiously, "You know Jocko?" She asked uncertainly, wondering just how much she could safely tell her uncle before letting slip what she'd actually been doing for money for the last few months.

Her mother had never approved of her coming to university here, and had made that disapproval widely known. As far as she'd been concerned only a top Ivy League college would've been good enough for her daughter, but Mandy needed to get away from being 'her daughter' for the rest of her life and she remembered the city with fond memories as a child living there. The fact her two best friends had also gotten places a the same university had sealed the deal.

A few months later though things had begun to look different. After an embarrassing drunken encounter with one of her best friends' boyfriends the two girls has cut her out of their lives, calling her a slut and spreading foul (but true) rumours about her all over campus.

In the end Mandy had had to move out of the dorms, just to get away from the accusing stares, and the constant unwanted advanced from most of the men on campus. The apartment she'd found off site was nicely located but surprisingly expensive to run, especially for a girl who'd never lived away from her parents' money before.

As she waited for her uncle's answer all the possibilities ran through her mind, and Mandy saw the disapproving face of her mother leering up at her with mock pity as she preened over having been proved right after all.

Bob was getting over the initial shock of seeing his niece, and was rapidly adding sums in his head. College student + angelic face, body like mortal sin + Jocko = … The picture was clearing in his mind.

It wasn’t the first time a college student had passed through his doors; some did it just for fun, many more because they needed the money. In either case, it wasn’t something new to him. The only glaringly different element in the equation was the fact that this was related to him. But why would exempt her from the influences of the world?

He smiled, warmly. It wasn’t the lascivious leer that men usually reserved for girls like her; it was the smile of a man seeing his favorite niece after a long absence. He chuckled. “Yes, I know Jocko. And I know where you met him. And I know why you’re here. And none of that matters, and it’s all okay. Really.”

He spread his arms wide. “Come give your Uncle Bob a hug, Bluebird. I’ve missed you.”

"I've missed you too, Uncle Bob," Mandy smiled warmly as she heard her uncle use her old nickname, it had been years since she'd been called by it, ever since her mother had put her foot down on it. Back at home she was only ever known as Amanda, even 'Mandy' was her little stab at freedom from under her mother's heel.

Falling into Uncle Bob's arms Mandy was surprised at how strong he was. She knew Bob was her father's younger brother, but she'd never really asked him just how old he was. Not that it really made any difference, after all he was her uncle so it wasn't like anything could ever happen between them.

After a moment she broke away from the hug, looking up into her uncle's eyes meekly, "You know about Jocko? Then you know I..?" She couldn't finish the question, not to him. Not to the man who'd bounced her on his knees as a baby.

He smiled down into those lovely hazel eyes; he'd always thought they would be the most beautiful feature when she grew up--little did he guess!

"Yes," he answered. "I know. You're a stripper. Did you think you were the first girl he's sent my way? I'm 'Ivor Hardy'; that's my pseudonym so everybody in town won't know I take dirty pictures for my second job. It's okay, really," he continued, when she looked abashed and ducked her head. He put his finger under her jaw and lifted gently, bringing her eyes up to meet his again.

"I used to be scandalized when I first started doing this, but I've since changed. Most of the young women that come to me are no better or worse people than the ones who repair shoes for a living, or clean bathrooms, or swing a hammer. We all make our own way in the world as best we can."

"Oh, it's so good to see you," he murmured, drawing her close again into a hard hug. "And I don't care what you do; you're still my little Bluebird, and that hasn't changed, nor will it."

It felt good simply to be held by someone who didn't expect anything in return. In the last few months the only people Mandy had had to deal with were either college students expecting her to drop her panties after one drink, Johns in the club who knew she'd drop her panties after three and Jocko, who after umpteen drinks still expected her panties to be dropping for him at any minute.

Right now, with everything else in her life falling apart around her, it was nice to know there was someone who really, genuinely cared for her just as the person she was, not for who she could be for them.

"There's just one thing I have to ask," Mandy said, trembling in her uncle's arms, " 'Ivor Hardy'? Where did you come up with that? It sounds like a Seventies porn star."

He laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a real, honest laugh. "It sounds like it because it is!" he said. "Although I don't know if he was a star or not. He was in a movie I watched a long time ago, and the name just stuck with me."

He broke the hug and took her hands. "Come on back to the studio. We can talk easier there."

He led her down the hallway and waved her to the visitor's chair, taking his usual seat behind the desk. "I have to say, I feel awkward about this. It's one thing when the woman is a complete stranger, but when it's someone you've watched grow up...well, it feels...weird."

"I have to ask; do your parents know about your...uh, part-time job?"

"They think I'm still waiting tables, and I'd prefer it if you let them continue thinking that if they ask," Mandy said, slightly distracted as she gazed around the large open space which made up most of the studio. Almost every corner seemed filled with rigging equipment, lighting units and random props left over from previous shoots. The giant pair of alabaster legs which rose up from the floor at the back of the room drew her attention for a moment before she moved to follow her uncle to the offered chairs.

She hasn't really known what to expect when she arrived, the only time she'd ever been to a photographer before was when she was a baby and her mother had insisted her first picture be taken by a professional. That was before her father had hit the big time and the money had started rolling in. Family pictures after that were still taken by professional, but instead of going to their studios the 'cameramen', as her mother called them derisively, would come to the house.

Mandy chuckled to herself for a moment, remembering the last time they'd had a photo taken together. She'd just turned 18 at the time and her body had already grown into womanhood. After the shoot the photographer had taken a quiet moment to slip her a card and offer her some 'special work'. She'd been horrified at the suggestion, and yet here she was only a couple of years later heading out to some stranger she'd never met to do just that.

Lowering herself into the comfiest looking of the chairs Mandy lifted her feet up and rested them on the edge of the desk, carefully shunting out-of-date photography magazines out of the way with her heel as she did.

"How does this usually work?" She asked Uncle Bob, genuinely curious about his work as she leant forwards and rubbed her swollen feet with both hands. She'd been at the club since the early afternoon, and barely had a chance to sit down before her bus ride over. "Do I just strip off for you and start posing?"

Bob tried, unsuccessfully, to keep from looking down the top of her t-shirt where it gapped when she leaned over. She had very, very nice cleavage...and then he was brought up short by remembering she was his niece. Suddenly he felt embarrassed, and to cover it he fell back on his usual spiel.

"Well, there are release forms to sign," he said, indicating the papers he'd gotten ready before she arrived. "Then it all depends on what you want, and what you feel comfortable doing. We can do 'glamor' shots, which is pretty much clothed, but in lingerie or a sexy dress or slutty casual clothes like a tank-top and booty shorts, and provocative poses. We can do 'soft-core', which is exposing stuff like your pussy or your tits, fondling them, either with or without clothing, in provocative poses. Or, if you're really adventurous, we can do some 'hard-core' stuff, which is showing more or less everything and you playing with yourself, either with your hand or a toy. In provocative poses, of course--are you detecting a theme, here?

"Whatever we do, I'll be trying to sell the pics to my buyers, who are various--some are men's magazines, who buy mostly soft-core and hard-core; some 'almost men's magazines', like GQ or Maxim--although I've never actually been able to sell anything to either of them--who go for the 'glamor', shading over into 'soft soft-core', if you can get your head around that; and of course the internet, which goes for all three in various degrees. That's why there are release forms; nobody can (technically) put your face out in the public eye without your permission."

It still felt strange, and a little wrong, to be going through all this with his own niece. But he put his discomfort aside, for two reasons: first, she was her own woman, and could make her own decisions about her own life; and second, because...well, frankly, he needed the money, and he could already tell that she'd be a good, an easy sell, and probably bring a good price.

Sliding her feet off the table Mandy cupped her hands together, staring down at them as she wove her fingers together as she tried to find the best way to say what she had to. "The thing is, Uncle Bob..." She began, shifting in her seat uncomfortably and really just wanting to run out of there and pretend the whole thing had never happened. "I need to make about a thousand dollar, like right now."

As she tilted her head sideways, trying to avoid her uncle's gaze, Mandy spotted something half-hidden under the pile of papers beside the desk. Reaching down she pulled the plain white mask out from where it had been hiding, her fingers stroking over the smooth surface for a moment as she made her decision.

Looking up at her uncle with steady, unwavering eyes, which made her feel far more like her mother than Mandy liked to admit, even to herself, she told him in cold, certain terms. "I'm willing to do anything at this point to make sure I get it. Just tell me what you need from me."

Setting the mask down on the desktop the young woman reached out an took the forms that were waiting for her, snatching a ballpoint pen from the nearby desk tidy as she concentrated her attention on the paperwork, not wanting to see the judgement in her uncle's eyes.

Bob watched her toying with the mask he used for more explicit shoots. He sighed. "I'm sorry, Bluebird; I can't offer you that much. Maybe if you were known talent, and the customer liked you, but...you're an unknown, a newcomer. And though you have a great body and face, I just don't know what my customers will like or be willing to pay for the pics." It made him uncomfortable complimenting his own niece on her body, but objectively it was true, and this was business, after all.

"The best I can offer is $500, and that's only because I think you'll sell well, and...well, frankly, because you're family. If these go over well, maybe you can come back for another sitting and get the rest, and more." He shrugged apologetically. "Like everything else in business, it all depends on what the market is willing to pay." He leaned forward and put his arms on the desk. "Do you still want to go through with this? It's up to you; you know your situation best."

As she quickly read over the forms, which seemed all above board and legal, Mandy couldn't help but blush as she heard her uncle compliment her body. While at the club she'd had more than enough men pay her compliments, with varying levels of sophistication, from the Asian business man who wrote poetic haikus about the graceful curve of her ankles to the drunken financier he liked shouting out how fucking awesome her tits were. Coming from Uncle Bob though, the words made her feel a little funny, though not entirely in a bad way.

Doing the maths in her head Mandy thought over the proposition for a moment, the ballpoint hanging in the air over the forms as she came to her decision. Signing with a flourish she quickly hands the forms over to her uncle before she had a chance to change her mind.

"$500 is good, I'm sure I can get the rest from the club if I work an extra shift or two." She didn't want to comment about the 'extra services' she'd have to offer the clients to earn the money, it'd just put her uncle in a bad spot if he knew what she'd be doing without his help. And even now she didn't want his charity, that would be too close to admitting her mother had been right.

Sitting back in her chair Mandy lifted one of her long legs, crossing it over the other as she gripped her knee with both hands and relaxed against the cushion. "So where do we begin?"

Up until now Bob had been running more or less on automatic; he'd given the speech over a hundred times, and he could do it on autopilot. But now...now the actual work began, and he found that it was harder than he thought to actually go about the business of taking dirty pictures of his niece, his Bluebird that he used to read stories to and push on the swing on the playground.

"Well, uh," he fumbled. "We, uh, we can start with some glamor shots, in clothing, maybe a slinky dress or some lingerie, and then, uh, move on to some soft-core. That is, if that's okay with you..." He knew he was being awkward and unprofessional, but it was the best he could muster at the moment.

"Slinky dress..?" Mandy looked down at the bag she'd brought with her. Inside where her trainers, a book for the bus ride, her comb and several lacy pieces of underwear she thought might look good in her pictures. She hadn't thought to bring a slinky dress, or any other proper piece of clothing, it just hadn't occurred to her that a stripper would need something to strip out of.

Looking over at her uncle bashfully she gave him the sweetest smile she could, "Would you mind if I popped home to pick up something? I haven't really got anything like that with me."

Bob made a great issue of studying something suddenly very interesting on the top of his desk. "Uh, I, uh, have a dressing room with lots of...things. Props. You can probably find something in there..." He got up from the desk and moved down the hall, motioning for her to follow him. At the "dressing room" he swung the door open and gestured vaguely inside. "Just look around and find something...sexy. Take your time. When you're ready, come on out. I, uh, I have to set up the camera, and stuff..." he finished lamely, and walked away.

He could tell from the heat in his cheeks that he was blushing furiously. Get hold of yourself, the voice in his head scolded. You're a professional! This is just another shoot; you've done this a hundred, two hundred times. It's no big deal.

Except it was a big deal. The other two hundred women hadn't been his relatives.

At first Mandy didn't know where to start. There were so many different clothes, all in different styles, that it was like dropping a kid in the middle of Candylicious and telling them they could only choose one thing. As she wandered down the racks of clothing she began to wonder what Uncle Bob would find sexy, but as she pulled a sailor's uniform aside to reveal a baby girl outfit the thought froze in her head, suddenly seeming brittle and sharp.

Cringing Mandy quickly moved away from the rack, moving to another which seemed to hold far more sensible and mature clothing. As her hands stroked their way along the hanging dresses she suddenly stopped as the soft velvet brushed over them. Pulling the dress off the rail she looked at it, at first thinking it wouldn't be good enough. The plain, simple black dress didn't have any ornamentation, and barely had any defined shape of its own, but for some reason Mandy couldn't turn away from it.

Are a little rooting around she dug out some dark stockings and a suspender belt before adding some sheer black panties and a matching bra from her own bag. It only took a second to strip off her t-shirt and shorts and another to switch into the new panties and put on the bra. There was a little delay as she struggled to get the suspenders to clip onto the stockings properly, but soon the outfit was complete.

A little more hunting and she found a pair of black high heel shoes which, while a little tight on her feet, matched the rest of the ensemble perfectly. Leaning over the dresser she pulled open the drawers one at a time, finding make-up and accessories but not quite the ones she wanted. Reaching for the lower drawer she suddenly stopped, surprised to see a large pile of assorted sex toys staring back at her.

Tentatively she pulled out a large buttplug, turning it around as she held it with her fingertips before dropping it with a shudder. Slamming the drawer shut with her toes she turned to the opposite set and on her third attempt found a glorious red shade of lipstick which stood out boldly against her pale complexion.

As she finished applying her makeup, cleaning a spot of stray mascara from the corner of her eye with her fingertip, she blew a kiss to her reflection. Standing upright in her heels she turned around in front of the mirror a few times, admiring the way the dress flowed over her curves, before stepping out into the studio.

Standing in the doorway with her arms stretched either side of her she smiled over at Uncle Bob, "Well?" She asked, a hint of worry snagging on her otherwise proud voice, "How do I look?"

Bob looked over as requested and forgot what he was doing for a moment. She was...stunning. Sophisticated, yet subtly sexy; enticing, but still classy. She oozed sensuality without showing a single thing that couldn't be shown on a G-rated television show.

His first thought was: Damn! She's all grown up--when did that happen? His second was: She's going to be a hot commodity, and she walked into my studio... He flinched from the second thought, but his objective side wouldn't be denied. She was a looker, and she'd sell well. And he needed the money, and so did she, so that was that. Might as well get used to it, his voice said. She's here for a purpose, and it's going to happen.

He took a deep breath and let it out. "You look gorgeous," he said, and meant it. "Come over here..."

He led her into a central area where there was a table and a chair set up. There were some standing lamps in the background; he turned them on, and killed some of the spots. "Okay," he said, feeling more comfortable now that he was moving, falling into Photographer Mode. "I want you to imagine that you're at a club, and there's a hot guy across the room that you want to attract. Do what you think you would do in that situation. Don't think about the camera, or the lights, or the studio...just hold that guy in your mind, and flirt with your body."

He walked over to his desk, picked up his camera, checked to make sure that it was charged and there was plenty of memory, then came back and focused it on her. "Okay...Go!" And he started snapping.

Taking a moment to think about what Uncle Bob had asked for Mandy turned her back to the camera, before flicking her head back, sending her long, dark hair tumbling off her shoulder almost as low as the dress, which plunged to just above her tailbone.

Trying not to think too much she glared into the camera and imagined the hottest guy she knew looking back at her. She knew she was doing something right as she felt her heart beat a little faster, blood flowing to her cheeks giving them a rosy glow. She let her tongue slip out between her lips for a moment, moistening them before pushing them out, making them an easier target for the gorgeous man to kiss.

At the same time she pushed herself forwards ever so slightly, letting her heels take the strain as her backside lifted just enough to make itself a little more obvious. Arching her back she turned just enough to let the tip of her breast be seen curling around past her arm, but still kept out of sight.

She held the pose for a second, awaiting her uncle's approval before feeling the strain on her ankles and, with a giggle, fell back into her usual pose.

Bob never came out from behind the camera. "That was great, baby, but stay with it, stay in character. Don't wait for my say-so, just roll with it. I can shoot as fast as you can move, so don't worry about holding a pose--do what feels right, and I'll follow. So, that hot guy--vamp him, let him know you want him to come over here and fuck you on that table. He's hot, you're horny, and you want him; you want him now..."

So she did. She posed, She played with her hair, shot out her ass, tilted her head, half-closed her eyes, sat down and dandled her shoe on the end of her toe...she did everything she would do if she really was at a club and trying to attract a guy. She got into it; it was fun, and sorta hot.

And all the while Bob kept up his running commentary, his patter, while darting to this side, that side, down, up, changing angles and moving little levers on the camera that evidently changed things that he wanted changed. "Okay, what you're doing isn't working. He's still over there, but he's looking over here, at least. Time to ramp it up, girl! Show him some skin, pull that dress up a little higher, show off those garters; drop your dress off the shoulder, show him what he'll be getting...yeah, that's it, now you're cooking..."

And she got bolder, and more risqué as he talked and the shoot went on. The image of the hot guy became the focus of her thoughts, and she began to flirt outrageously, showing her ass, pulling down the top of her dress to show off some cleavage, pulling up her skirt to flash the see-through panties, arching her back to stretch the fabric across her tits. Her nipples were starting to harden, and she could feel a little wetness in her crotch...

"Okay, still not working. He's interested, but you have to close the deal. You're a stripper. Show off your skills for him. You want him hot and hard, ready to take you here and now, public place be damned. Start taking it off baby...show him what you got."

And she did. She went into her routine, the one that got all the guys up to the tip rail at the club. First the top of the dress went, revealing the black lacy bra, then the skirt dropped, showing off the skimpy see-through panties. She was dancing around the studio floor, doing what had paid the bills for the last few months, and feeling it. She pulled down the panties to just above her mound, teasing, then pulled them back up again; she slipped the bra straps off her shoulders, using her hands to cover her boobs as she unhooked it one-handed (a trick she'd had to master), slipping first one cup, then the other out from under her hand; she showed one nipple, then covered it again, then showed it again, then showed them both, then dropped her hands altogether so those glorious melons swayed with her movements.

She was just to the point of dropping her panties completely when Bob said, "Okay; that's enough. You can stop." His head appeared from behind the camera, and he seemed to be breathing a little heavier than he had been at the beginning...