Chapter 7

Peggy lay very still on the bed, letting her legs dangle, enjoying the tensions of muscles pulled, of skin tautened and sensitized-of the delicious languor that held her. She breathed deep, remembering the thrust and power of Jim's great prick, the very moment it entered her little cunt.

Yes, this was far better than daydreams, than playing with her little clitoris and getting pallid imitations of the excitement that had just shaken her. This was the daydream magnified, made into something with substance, something so real she could feel, taste and touch it. No, not real. It couldn't be real. It mustn't be real. This was posing. This was just-well, putting on a play-acting show in front of a camera. Well, three cameras. Yes, all this was only a pose.

Only a pose.

She smiled up again at Jim bending solicitously above her. "I think I really am going to like-posing."

Jim caught his breath, glanced uneasily at the plastic-covered book on the table, back to Peggy and then up at the glaring lights, squinting. "Posing. Of course. Yes, you were posing." He sighed. "And I imagine we got some very interesting shots."

Peggy squinted her eyes, peering around at the three strategically placed cameras. Her smile was slow, a sort of inward enjoyment. She pointed around at the cameras. "I'm in them? On film?" she kicked her legs and sat up, wincing. Catching her breath.

There had been some pain. But what glorious pain and such magnificent explosions... but that was past. She straightened, cocking her head, glancing brightly at Jim. "When can I see them?"

"See them?" Jim gave the matter frowning thought. "You want to see them?"

Peggy shrugged with exasperation. Of course she wanted to see them. That was what it was all about. She'd been posing. She wanted to see the results. "Sure. How will I know I was just -posing?"

Jim turned away, grabbing up a terry cloth robe and draping it across his shoulders. He peered over his shoulder at Peggy, grinning. "You don't-know?"

"I know what we did, but I won't know it was just posing till I see the pictures, will I? And you won't know if I pose good until you see the pictures." Peggy shook her head vigorously, swirling her hair and then settling it back into place. She simply had to see those pictures. If they weren't any good, then there wouldn't be any more posing. Or, if they weren't really there, then Jim had just conned her into a quick, easy fuck. And she wouldn't let herself even think that this was fucking. It wasn't, she told herself fiercely. It was posing.

Jim caught the robe tight, lashed it into place with a cord and faced her, grinning. "You- pose very good, Peggy. We'll just have to see what the cameras did with it."

Peggy sighed, her slim figure settling back on the bed, satisfied that Jim had taken pictures, that this was really posing. Why it was so important that it was only posing was very dim but very real in her mind. It was a nicety of distinction that only she could understand. Posing gave the fucking status, removed it from the same category as the old bag across the way, or the young prostitute, who raunched around on beds without the benefit of cameras, without the solace of knowing that they were only posing. And yet having all the fun of getting fucked, as Peggy had done. Only not real fucking. Pose fucking.

She squinted through the glare of lights at Jim Atwood, wrapped in his robe. The lights were hot on her nakedness, hot but nice. They dried the sweat, warmed all her body, her little titties, her cunt and, if she rolled over, her back and round little rump. It was nice to be naked under the hot lights, nice to stretch and feel her bubbies move in sensuous enjoyment, feel the pressure of the bed and her own weight against her rump and back, the looseness in her little cunt that had been so tight. Just moving her pelvis a fraction seemed to slide the lips of her cunt against each other, stirring up warmth that had nothing to do with the lights.

Maybe the prints were over-exposed. Maybe a shutter had stuck and Jim hadn't gotten all the pictures he needed. Peggy smiled to herself. Then they would have to pose again, so as to get the right pictures.

Jim reached down to stroke her leg, starting all kinds of things going in her again. But he was only smiling at her. "We can get some wet-neg prints run off in-oh, maybe half an hour. They won't be as good, maybe a little spotted, but we can tell how well you-pose."

Peggy sat up, her slim body twisting trying to turn in all directions at once, searching out the cameras. "Now? You mean we can see the pictures in half an hour from now?" She leapt up, flinging herself at Jim. "Please. Please. Let's see how I-pose. How I look..."

Her face was turned up, appealingly, her slim body thrust against the roughness of the terry cloth robe, feeling it with her skin, her sensitive little nipples. And feeling through the cloth the heat of Jim's body. "Please."

Jim grinned down at her. "You are a tantalizing wench. And when you grow up..." He ruffled her hair. "My mistake, Eve. You are already old. Old and very, very wise."

That was silly. Her name was Peggy. Not Eve. Except, of course, Eve didn't wear clothes either. Not for a long time, and then only a fig leaf. Peggy pushed herself away from Jim and looked down at her little mound. Where on earth could you fasten a fig leaf?

Jim grinned at her inspection. "Naked or clad in fine raiment, my dear, you are Eve, the eternal woman. Of course, naked, you're a little more tempting."

He looked her over, very carefully and then shook his head. "I retract that statement, Peggy. You would be alluring wrapped in rags. Come to think of it, that's the way I first saw you. In rags. Or at least, in very ragged panties. And I knew right away you were female..."

Peggy giggled, leaning against him. "You're funny. Of course you knew I was female. You could see I didn't have a pecker."

"And baby, you can lean In the other direction or get some clothes on. Come to think of it, those you have are just about as distracting as nudity. Maybe more so." He frowned portentously at Peggy. "And of course, you were aware of the secret of partial concealment." He nodded. "Whether you're aware of it or not, you're aware of it. And if that confuses you, think what you do to me. Go wrap yourself in a sheet or something. Preferably a barrel." He grinned. "One with a very small bunghole, so I can't peep."

Peggy walked herself backward, looking slightly cross-eyed down her pink form, past the amber nipples, the nubile breasts, the nicely flattened little stomach, the pubic mound and down her legs. Suddenly she giggled, pointing.

"We forgot the shoes and socks." And slanted her eyes up at Jim. "Maybe we should take the pictures over again. I wouldn't mind posing. If you say so?" It was a question with a rather hopeful note. "Huh? Should we?"

Jim turned from working on one of the cameras to stare at Peggy, mildly baffled. "You want to pose again?"

Peggy pouted slightly, figuring out the best way to answer that. It had several neat little dilemmas tucked away in it. If she said "Yes," maybe she was being too eager and Jim wouldn't want that. On the other hand, if she said, "No," he might think she didn't want to pose again. She decided on a weasel, a very distracting weasel. She wiggled her pelvis, just enough to draw Jim's eyes and sighed. "Let's look at the prints first."

Jim nodded and turned back to the cameras, unloading them with special care... as if their contents were precious. "And while I'm developing these, try working on the theory that most people wear clothes most of the time. And practice it. If you can't find anything else, there's a robe in the dressing room. Not that you're likely to be troubled by that designation but it's that door over there."

Peggy strolled over to the dressing room, letting her small bottom express her indignation at being shunted away from the fascinating work of watching film being developed. The very film on which her very special posing was recorded.

Jim suddenly laughed. "Peggy, switch it once more to the left and you said, 'To hell wit yez,' plain as Brooklyn."

Jim talked funny, but in an odd sort of way Peggy understood him. Not the words, really, because they never quite said what he meant. And right now he was telling her he got the signals bouncing off her small rump. She tucked it in and marched into the dressing room.