Chapter 3
One day, out of nothing more than simple curiosity, Roger Dutton stopped at his local newsstand to pick up a copy of the Village Clarion, a weekly newspaper that served New York's Greenwich Village area.
On the surface, the Clarion was an intellectual-hippie newspaper. It carried movie and theater reviews, columns on dance and art, ads on bicycles and health foods, page after page of apartment ads and similar stuff. What caught Roger Dutton's eye, not surprisingly, were the classified advertisements in the "Personal" column.
These ads were not swinging ads. The Clarion didn't allow its advertisers to be that obvious---no "Couple looking for AC-DC young girl," or "Well-endowed man seeking similar woman," etc. But there were massage parlors by the score---whore house ads, Roger quickly decided. There were also advertisements for photographic studios. "Bring your camera," they said, "and photograph lovely young ladies posing naked, as you wish."
While browsing through the ads for photography studios, Roger Dutton began to get an idea. He wasn't interested in taking pictures of whores, to be sure. But he'd love to take some pictures of young, reasonably innocent girls. Not with other men standing around with cameras of their own, panting and trying to conceal their hard-ons, but by himself.
An ad---of course! A help-wanted ad. The Clarion carried any number of help-wanted ads, for secretaries, editorial assistants, computer operators, free-lance writers and the like. It also had a few ads for models. He looked at them with suspicion, but they seemed legitimate enough. Now, all he had to do was imitate their language, set up a post office box, rent a room somewhere and haul his old camera out of the back of the bedroom closet and choose which of the applicants he wanted to photograph most, if that was the right word.
After studying the legitimate ads, he picked up a ball-point pen and started writing: "Top magazine photographer needs young female models for special assignment. Successful applicants must be unknown, between the ages of 16 and 22. Ingenue look preferred. Starting salary: $25/ hr. Send photograph to BOX #... " At the Clarion, he arranged for a box number, wrote it into the ad, and handed it to the ad-taker, a plumpish girl in her mid---20s with granny glasses. She read the copy of the piece of paper, looked up at Roger and smiled.
"That'll be $5.75," she said.
Roger reached into his pocket and handed her the money.
"Good luck," she said, a knowing look in her eyes.
"Thank you."
Of course, placing an ad in a newspaper, having it published, and then waiting for replies takes time. Roger spent the time at home, watching TV, working on his account sheets, planning his next trip into the hinterland, making nice with his wife and wandering through the city. He even took a few subway rides, but was unable to make it the sort of "connection" he'd achieved that one time.
He spent a lot of time in a huge botanical garden on Long Island. Now a botanical garden is just about the last place you'd expect a dirty old man to frequent. Traditionally, the only visitors to such places are nice English ladies, athletic German couples in their 50s and third grade classes on field trips. But times have changed. The young have discovered ecology. They've also discovered the joys of smoking a joint in the great outdoors, in the warm sunlight, the cool breezes and on the soft grass. To the great distraction of the keepers of the garden, who felt that only nice English ladies and old German couples really had the right to appreciate nature---certainly not drug-smoking hippies---young people came in droves, dressed in the uniform of the day---jeans, sandals or bare feet, bare midriffs, braless and probably pantyless, in groups, with friends of both sexes.
Roger Dutton discovered this by accident one day when one of his friends dragged him-----kicking and screaming---to the botanical garden. After that first reluctant visit, he returned many a time.
One day, while waiting for replies to his ad to start coming in---if there were to be any---he took that camera of his, rented a telephoto lens at the camera shop and went to the botanical gardens.
It was a Wednesday, but, with school out for the summer, it was jammed with teenagers. The weather was warm and they seemed to be wearing less than usual. Roger attracted little attention as he walked around, camera slung from a strap around his neck. Every once in a while, he lifted it to his eye and peered at the crowd of teenagers on the meadow. The telephoto lens was so good that no one even realized that he---actually, she---was the subject of Roger's photographic attentions. Wandering around the gardens, Roger found himself clicking away at a frantic rate. The girls were in full bloom today. Roger used his telephoto lens like a telescope, staring that the girls who attracted them---and there were plenty of these. The tingling in his loins was soon very insistent, but there was no chance of satisfying his needs.
Later, of course, he'd have those pictures developed---and blown up to 8 x 10 size. He'd examine them privately, letting his fantasies run free, driving himself to climax after climax as he imagined himself fucking, sucking and nibbling on the young lovelies in the pictures. They sat under the spreading oak trees, the young girls did, their flat bare bellies carelessly displayed, their firm little tits barely hidden behind filmy blouses. Roger wandered amongst them, practicing his camera technique.
For a dirty old man like himself, it was like viewing a giant Whitman sampler. There were tall girls and short ones, wispy-figured chicks and voluptuous ones, blondes, brunettes and redheads, innocent 14-year-olds and not-so-innocent 15-year-olds anxious to proclaim their sexual experiences with every little motion.
Roger loved them all, every one of them.
True enough, there were a large number of boys with the girls. But they were easy to ignore. Besides, most of them separated themselves naturally, playing catch with a frisbee or a football.
Roger had used up nearly three full rolls of film before exhausting all the marvelous sights in the garden's main meadow. But he was hardly finished. There were secondary meadows, well marked nature trails and many an unmarked by-way. He reloaded his camera and walked on.
There was a gaggle of young girls underneath an elm tree a few yards away and Roger stopped to take a picture of them. Through his telephoto lens, he could see that they were passing a joint around rather carelessly. He focused on one particular girl, a brunette, who was wearing nothing more than a halter and shorts. Her legs were long and lean, her thighs sleek and sinewy. This, evidently, was not the first afternoon she'd spent in the sun. She already had a deep tan. Though his camera lens, Roger admired the girl inordinately, snapping off shot after shot.
"Hey girls," one of them sang out, "we're in the movies!" She was pointing an incriminating finger directly at Roger.
The other girls immediately leaped on the bandwagon, looking and pointing.
"Let's give him a show," the pretty brunette said, stretching herself out on the grass and spreading her legs suggestively. Roger snapped away. The other girls imitated the brunette. Then one of them leaped to her feet. She threw her arms around a small tree nearby and rubbed her crotch against the tree trunk, her eyes closed in apparent passion. Roger continued to take pictures as she wiggled her body against the tree.
Another girl gazed wickedly at Roger and slipped her hands underneath her shorts, obviously pushing them into her crotch. Through his telephoto lens, Roger could see her fingers twisting down toward her pussy. Once there, they danced around furiously. She let her mouth fall open, a picture of lust---which Roger's camera captured several times.
Just when things were getting good---the other girls seemed ready to top their friends, if they could---Roger heard a group of people approaching from around the bend. Nice English-type ladies. Evidently, the girls heard them too, for when Roger next looked through his camera lens, the girls were against the tree once more, lying lazily on the grass, looking as innocent as butterflies.
Roger waited impatiently for the nice English ladies to pass. They dawdled excruciatingly, examining the tiny plastic labels tacked onto the trees and giggling inanely. Finally, they walked on. His eyes snapped back to the girls, camera at the ready. But they were still playing innocent. Soon, he saw why. The nice English ladies had been followed by a pack of young toughs, just the sort of creatures who would be attracted to and attractive to the girls he'd been photographing.
He waited around for a few moments, hoping against hope that the pack of boys would saunter on, content to sneer and make a few obscene remarks for the girls' benefit. No chance. They met and meshed like gears. Roger walked on, in search of new game.
There were more clumps of incipient womanhood arrayed around the gardens and Roger captured all of them on film, all, that is, who appealed to him. But the sun edged lower in the sky. The end of the afternoon was approaching. Of the six rolls of film Roger had purchased, only a single roll---36 shots---remained. It had been a good day. The pictures he took would provide him with many hours of pleasure and fantasy.
By now, Roger was deep in an unfamiliar part of the gardens. He trudged toward what he thought was the main path, only to be stopped by soft giggling, apparently coming from a -bunch of low bushes. He approached carefully, wondering what he might find. There was some movement ahead of him and another giggle---a tinkly, girlish sound that seemed to signal pure delight. Something was going on in those bushes. Roger was sure of it. But what? And how could he ever see it? He thought for a moment, then looked around him quickly. About 20 feet away, there was a willow tree. It had branches low to the ground---inviting to any climber. Its foliage was dense, dense enough to hide a climber from anyone innocently glancing at the tree. But could he see out? There was only one way to know.
Roger walked carefully to the tree, avoiding twigs, stepping like an Indian. He slung the camera around his neck and started up. More giggles. He threaded his way through the branches, pulling himself upward limb by limb. At the same time, he tried to peer through the leaves, trying to see where the giggle was coming from. At exactly that instant, the same damn group of Nice English Ladies pattered by. He was well above them by now and they didn't give him a glance. For a few moments, the giggling stopped, to be replaced by cultured tones and total bullshit.
A minute or so after they had passed, the giggling resumed.
Roger was nearly 15 feet above ground level by now. He moved out on a limb, pushing the leaves aside, trying his best to see where the giggling was coming from. Then, his perseverance was rewarded. Below him and to the left, he saw a flash of flesh. He moved farther out on the limb and saw more flesh. Still, he couldn't make out exactly what he was looking at. Cautiously, he pushed back some leaves.
Almost directly below him, now, Roger saw them---a young boy---he couldn't have been more than 17---and a young girl perhaps 14 or 15, at the most. The boy was lying naked on his stomach. The girl was beside him, also naked, lying on her back. He had a hand on one of her small, conical tits, his fingers squeezing her nipple. That's what was causing the giggling, Roger soon realized. Every time the boy squeezed, the girl giggled.
Roger quickly focused the camera, balancing on the limb. He had to get a picture of this. The boy was a gangly type, still reaching for manhood. The girl, though in the midst of adolescence, was already lovely. She had a narrow waist, small but very firm tits, nicely shaped legs and a patch of sparse blonde hair between her legs, just enough to cover up that pinkish slit.
As Roger watched, the boy's touching grew bolder and bolder. He ran his hand. down her body, along her stomach, grazing her pussy. In response, the girl's hips jerked upward to meet his touch. Roger snapped away, praying that the teenagers wouldn't hear the camera.
The boy pushed his fingers through the girl's cunt hair and she shivered, momentarily moving away. Roger took more pictures. The girl seemed reluctant. She gave the impression of inexperience, if not virginity. After a while, though, she began to respond, spreading her legs demurely to allow the boy's questing fingers to find her cunt hole. The young couple had found a small clearing among the bushes, hidden from all peering eyes---except from above. They'd stripped their clothing off---it lay in a small crumpled heap nearby. The whole thing had probably started out as simple necking, lubricated by a little marijuana, one thing leading to another.
Roger watched breathlessly, taking pictures as fast as he could. Meanwhile, the action below him was speeding up nicely. The girl had propped herself up on an elbow and, at the boy's urging, had taken his swelling cock in her hand and was squeezing it. Roger looked at the boy's prick clinically. The rest of the boy might have been immature, but there was nothing boyish about that wang of his.
Suddenly, the boy lifted up and pulled the girl to him, squeezing her tightly---against him, wiggling his cock against her hairy cunt. Evidently, he was pulling her with considerable strength, for the girl seemed to struggle in an attempt to get away. The boy kissed her passionately and the struggle ceased and she melted against him.
From above, Roger was still taking photographs. But the pace had slowed a bit now. He realized he had only one roll of film left, the roll in his camera---20 shots, of which he had already exposed seven. He wanted to get all of the action, which meant that he'd have to be stingy with the camera from now on.
As he watched, the boy slowly pushed the girl over, until he was lying on top of her, covering her almost completely. Roger could see his balls hanging loose. Below him, the girl didn't seem to be completely convinced that she wanted this, but the boy wasn't giving her much of a choice. He stuck a knee between her legs and pried them open. Still, she wasn't all resistance. Once spread, her legs stayed that way. Roger snapped off another shot.
By now, the giggling had stopped. Instead Roger heard the distinct sound of whimpering---coming from the girl.
"Oh Dave," she said, "don't, please don't."
"Why not, Sheila. Don't we love each other?"
"Yes, but... "
"What do you mean `yes, but'?"
"Well, what if I got pregnant?"
"Pregnant? You'll never get pregnant-not if we just do it once."
"You mean that we have to do it more than once if I'm to get pregnant?"
"Sure, silly. Four or five times at least. My brother told me and he ought to know. He's got three kids, you know."
"Yeah."
The argument, false though it was, seemed to convince the young girl. She visibly relaxed underneath him opening herself up to him totally. And the boy didn't wait a moment. He lifted himself up on the girl and pushed. Roger snapped the picture.
The girl's face seemed to be contorted with pain, at least momentarily. Roger snapped another picture. The boy rammed down into the girl, plunging his cock into her virgin cunt. She trembled with passion, giving out a small, but definite cry. As Roger watched and snapped off a few more shots, the boy continued to pump in and out of the girl. After a while, the girl's hips began to rise in response.
The boy was jamming his cock into his young girl friend faster and faster and both of them were whimpering with pleasure, all thought of caution behind them. Soon, he was slapping his body against hers. There was no style to it, no technique---just raw passion. And it wasn't just passion on the boy's part---the girl was returning his feelings in full.
Roger was having trouble himself, now. He was so excited he could scarcely keep his hands off his cock and yet so anxious to get good photographs. After all, this was the opportunity of a lifetime for him. He would treasure these pictures for years, if he could find anyplace to develop and enlarge them. Already, he imagined himself gazing at the shots and furiously jerking off. What a gas it would be to do it right now, to play with himself as he watched the two of them fucking below---but he couldn't take the chance.
The action was fast and furious beneath him by now. There was moaning and the boy was planted in the girl all the way up to his roots. His entire body was quivering with each thrust and it was evident that he wanted nothing more than to release his semen inside the girl. Perhaps he knew that he'd been talking nonsense when he said they had to fuck a few times before worrying about pregnancy. Maybe he wanted to make her pregnant. Maybe he was excited by the gamble. Roger couldn't be sure, but all the thoughts he was thinking made him so excited he was having trouble keeping his balance in that tree. He knew that if he slipped, it would be pure catastrophe, though. Somehow, he stayed aloft.
Beneath him, things were going hot and heavy. The girl's hips were churning on the grass and the boy was pumping into her time and time again, at high speed. Roger clicked off another shot. Then, he glanced at his camera. One picture left. He wanted to save it, to catch the moment perfectly.
A few moments later, as he watched, the motions of the boy and girl on the little clearing suddenly went wild. Roger recognized what was happening from the way the boy was squeezing his ass cheeks-he was pumping that white stuff into his girlfriend's twat. Then, the girl let out a small but definite scream---she, too, was shooting off. Roger snapped off the picture just in time.
Below him, the teenagers were quiet. Roger's own need was nearly driving him wild by now, but there was no help for it. He started down the tree---but just then, another group of Nice English Ladies happened by. He was stuck. There was a rustle in the bushes near where the ` teenagers had been fucking and he saw them emerge from their hiding place, dressed now, a bit rumpled, but not so disheveled that the Nice English Ladies would be scandalized.
The teenagers walked quickly down the path, followed, soon enough, by the flower-fanciers. Roger was left in the tree, his cock pounding with excitement. For a moment, he considered coming down the tree. Then, he changed his mind. There was a fantasy he could discharge, among other things, if he remained aloft.
Quickly, he unzipped his fly and pulled out his swollen cock. He gazed at the spot in the grass recently vacated by the fucking teenagers, imagining the girl lying there by herself, totally naked. He wrapped his fingers around his prick and started playing with himself, jerking at it, rubbing his fingers over the most sensitive parts of it, wobbling on the branch he was standing on.
Visions of the young girl flashed through his mind, visions of the young boy fucking her, slowly replaced by visions of himself on the top, pumping into her, ramming his cock up her hairy twat, breaking through her virgin membrane, introducing her to the peaks of passion hidden within every female.
His cock started twitching and he felt a rumbling in his balls, the gathering of semen before the big explosion. His mind was locked on the vision of the young girl now, and in his mind's eye, he was fucking her. In his mind's eye, she was loving it. She was crying out with passion, shouting "don't stop" again and again, whimpering and moaning with ecstatic pleasure.
Roger came at that moment-he felt the semen spurt out of his prick, arch into the trees and shoot out of his body. As the waves of pleasure washed over him, he opened his eyes. Gobs of the white stuff were falling through the leaves, landing directly on that grassy patch where the teenagers had fucked. Spurt after spurt shot out of him. He was watering the grass with the seeds of his passion.
Finally, it was all over. He was empty. The excitement had left his body as completely as a candle flame that was doused. He gave his cock a shake or two to get rid of the last few drops of come, then tucked it inside his pants and zipped up.
Then, he climbed down the tree---unseen this time---got in his car and drove home. But not before he stopped at the camera store and dropped oil? his film for development.
"Listen, Chuck," he said to his friend behind the counter, "there's some pretty hot stuff inside."
The clerk's eyebrows went up perceptibly. "Sexy stuff?"
"Yeah."
"You and the wife?"
"Nah. Some kids in the park."
"Kids, huh?"
"Teenagers."
The word brought a gleam to the clerk's eyes. Roger had obviously picked the right man with whom to share his secret. "
"Really dirty?"
"Damn right, Chuck," Roger said. "And if you can get them developed for me, you can have a copy of every shot you like. I'll even foot the bill."
Chuck didn't need any more convincing. "l know just how to do it," he said, excitement showing in his voice. "I have this cousin with a darkroom. He's really a pro. He'll do the job for us real cheap---as long as he can have prints for himself. "
"Sure," Roger said, "why not?"
Satisfied that his film was in good hands, Roger went ` home and slept like a baby. The next morning, he would check at his box at the Village Clarion. By now, there should be plenty of responses waiting for him---along with plenty of new adventures.
The Village Clarion actually has a set of cubby holes to service the box numbers they give out for receiving replies to classified ads. When Roger arrived at the newspaper the following morning, he was pleased to see that there were more than a dozen responses in his cubbyhole. The same girl clerk who'd taken his ad handed him the replies, with the kind of funny little smile that showed she knew exactly what the ad was all about.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't," she said wryly.
"I trust that gives me a lot of leeway," Roger replied, instantly regretting his acid tone.
He stuffed the envelopes in his pocket and headed for his mid-town office. He didn't actually have a private office of his own, but there were usually enough absentees that he could use someone else's. Such was the case today. Marvin Miller was on a sales trip, which meant his office was free.
"Hello, Marilyn," he said to Marvin's dumpy little secretary. "I'd like to use Marvin's office for a few hours. Okay?"
"Sure, help yourself."
Roger Dutton walked into Marvin Miller's office and closed the door behind him. Marvin was the obsessively neat type---he kept a clean desk. That was fine for Roger's purposes. He had a lot of ad responses to review and he needed a clear desk to do it.
For a moment, Roger looked at the envelopes. There were all types---stubby regular ones, legal size envelopes, envelopes obviously taken from a set of personal stationary. He picked one on which the box number had been written with a soft, feminine hand and opened it. Inside, there was a small snapshot and a letter. One look at the snapshot and Roger knew this wasn't the girl he was looking for. She was a model-type, all right, but she had no tits at all, as her bathing suit photo showed. He opened another envelope. This time, there was a picture of a girl perhaps 13 years old. She was pretty enough, but barely into puberty. Just another hopeful, Roger decided. He'd let her keep hoping. He opened another envelope. This one was more promising. It contained another photo-of a girl perhaps 17. He studied it for a moment and decided finally that the girl was too plump in the behind.
The fourth envelope was the jackpot. It contained not one but several photos, all of a girl about 19 years old, posed in a bathing suit, a slack outfit, a miniskirt, and a leotard. She looked absolutely smashing in every shot, even though the photography was a long way from professional. She had exactly the sort of figure that Roger liked most: slender, well-shaped legs, a small, firm ass with nicely-rounded cheeks, a slender waist and remarkably large tits mounted high on her chest. Roger got a nearly instant hard-on looking at the pictures.
He opened the other envelopes, hoping against hope that one of them would contain an even better set of photos, but no luck. There were certainly some pretty' girls, but they were either too young or too old, too fat or too skinny. One envelope contained a set of shots of a voluptuous babe in a series of completely naked poses. In one, she was pinching her nipples. In another, she had a finger jammed up her twat. Roger's cock gave a little leap when he saw the photographs, but this wasn't the sort of girl he had in mind. It was the kind of girl you'd expect to find in one of those "photo studios." He wanted an innocent type.
And the set of pictures of the 19-year-old was just what he had in mind. He unfolded the letter that had come with the pictures. It was just as innocent as the photos. The girl, whose name was Susan Servan, wrote that she'd never modeled but that she'd always wanted to. She needed the money for college tuition. She was just about to enter her sophomore year at NYU. There was a telephone number included and Roger called it.
"Hello?" Her voice was soft and feminine. Roger liked that at once.
"Susan Servan?"
"Yes."
"This is the man who placed the ad for a model in the Village Clarion."
"Oh, yes. I was hoping you'd call."
"You've been selected for an audition, along with several other girls. Could we set up an appointment for sometime tomorrow afternoon---say 2:30. I have an open hour then."
"That will be fine, Mr.---ah---."
"Morton," Roger said, "Roger Morton."
He gave her the address of his rented room, then they both hung up.
Roger didn't leave the room immediately, though. He spread out the pictures of the respondents on the desk and jerked off into Marv Miller's wastebasket, imagining what it would be like to get the girls into the photo studio.
The photo studio---Roger suddenly remembered that it was nothing more than an empty room. If he was to look at all believable, he had to do some work on it.
The next morning, in preparation for Susan Servan's visit, he rented some additional camera equipment---lights, backdrops, flash units, developing tanks, etc. He lugged them up to his rented room and spread them around. All in all, it looked pretty convincing, he thought.
At 2:30, on the nose, there was a knock on the door. Roger opened it.
"Miss Servan?"
"That's right. You must be Roger Morton."
"Correct. Come on in."
In person, Susan Servan---Sue, she. called herself---was just as attractive as in the photographs. She'd brought a little suitcase with her, Roger was pleased to see---outfit changes, no doubt.
Roger made a pretense of looking the girl over for photographic purposes. He held exposure meters up to her face, looked at her through various lenses, etc.
"You have a very fresh-looking face, Sue," he said. She smiled demurely.
"I'm surprised you haven't considered a modeling career before."
"Oh, I've thought of it many times," she said, blushing. "I just love to have pictures of me taken. I enjoy the thought that people like to look at me."
Roger glanced at the girl in surprise. There was more here than met the eye, he thought. "Then why haven't you done it before?"
"Well," the girl said, "I have posed, for my boyfriend. But whenever I got into scanty clothing, well, he got the Wrong idea." . "The wrong idea?"
"Yes. He thought I wanted him to---you know. I just wanted him to take pictures."
"I see. That is a problem." Roger's brain was working madly. The girl wasn't going to be an easy lay. But he had something else in mind.
"What kind of modeling job will this be?" she asked at that moment.
"To be perfectly honest with you," Roger said, the idea barely set in his mind, "it will require scanty clothing. But I can promise. you I will make no advances."
"But what am I to model?"
"I'm doing a series of ads for a new, scented massage oil. The ads will run in Playboy, Penthouse, Cosmopolitan and similar magazines."
"Massage oil?" the girl asked thoughtfully. "Then you'll want me to wear no clothing at all."
Roger hesitated a moment. "That's right," he finally said. "Are you still interested."
"I don't know," the pretty young girl said. "Every time e I find myself alone with a man, wearing a bathing suit or something else scanty, he makes advances."
"Sue, let me assure you. I am a professional photographer. I pay high rates and I am paid well. I am a happily married man. I promise you won't be touched."
She considered the proposition a moment then, to Roger's surprise and delight, broke into a smile. "Okay," she said. "I trust you. When do we begin?"
Roger looked at his watch. "How about meeting me back here in an hour. I have to get hold of some samples. Frankly, I didn't expect to End the perfect model so quickly."
They met back at the rented room about an hour later. Roger had a box full of scented body oil, purchased hastily at a head shop down the street, the kind of place Sue probably never patronized.
"What happens now?" the pretty brunette asked.
"Well," Roger said, gauging the girl carefully, "you get undressed. There's a changing screen set up in the corner if you want. I have some camera adjustments to make."
Roger had put his camera on a tripod. He went to it now, throwing the black cloak over his head and peering through the viewfinder---directly at the girl, who was taking off her clothing without the slightest hesitation. Roger had thought about what Sue had said during the entire hour he'd been shopping for the massage oil. Unless he was guessing wrong, she was a natural exhibitionist. All he had to do was to bring out the urge.
Paying no attention to the undressing girl, Roger stepped out from behind the camera and set up the lights. He focused two spotlights on a wooden stool in the center of the room, turning off all the other lights. He put several bottles on a box near the stool. Then he took out the piece of black velvet he'd bought for this occasion and draped it over the stool. The effect was rather nice, all things considered. For just a moment, he felt like a real professional photographer. He slipped back of the photographer's cloth again.
The girl was totally naked now and what a sight she was! Those tits were round and melon-shaped, as delicious as could be. The rest of Sue's body was more on the movie star level than the coed level. Her legs, especially, were lovely and tapering. Between them, there was a delicate patch of cunt hair, dewy and innocent. Roger wanted nothing more than to get his fingers into it, but he had a feeling this was not to be.
"Now seat yourself on the stool," Roger instructed. "Cross your legs, pick up a bottle of the massage oil, open it, spill some into one hand and start rubbing it over your body."
Sue, as it happened, was completely unself-conscious. She did exactly as she was told. Behind the camera, Roger found himself clicking away again.
She poured the lotion out into her hand and started rubbing it over her shoulders. Soon, they were glistening with the viscous stuff. Then she started rubbing one arm, as if she were applying sun tan lotion. But she wasn't reacting to the oil as if it were sun tan lotion. It clearly felt good on the skin, warm perhaps, sensual. It was made with that effect in mind.
Before long, Sue closed her eyes languorously and let her hands glide over her body. She seemed to be almost purring.
"Now your chest," Roger said, encouraging her. Behind the photographer's cloth, he was sweating profusely. It was partly the heat, partly his own growing excitement. He studied the girl through the ground glass. Something was happening to her---something other than the fact that she was glowing with massage oil. Roger glanced at Sue's nipples. They were fully erect. She seemed to be breathing quickly. She was fidgety on her stool. Roger could hardly believe it---his subject was getting sexually excited!
She rubbed oil over her breasts now, a dreamy expression on her face. Roger snapped away, taking shot after shot. As he played photographer, Sue's hands smoothed the viscous liquid over her belly. The stuff seemed to bronze her, to give her an instant tan. Whatever the explanation, she was looking better and better. The slightly parted lips, faintly shining with moisture, added to the general impression of sensuality that was emanating from the young girl.
She was playing with herself, there was no other way to describe it. And Roger was having a ball taking pictures of her. "Your legs," he said, "don't forget your legs." Sue never even glanced up at him. But her hands slid down over her legs, spreading the oil, smoothing it and rubbing it in. At the same time, she was caressing herself, feeling the soft, velvety flesh of her calves. The expression on her face showed that she was enjoying it immensely.
"Your thighs."
Sue's hands rose, took on another handful of the lotion, then began to spread it on her thighs, her hands running ever so slowly over her sinewy muscles.
"The insides of your thighs."
Sue obeyed immediately, but without even looking at Roger. Her mind was somewhere else, her thoughts on her own pleasure. Her tits were heaving now and Roger was sure that if he'd been standing closer, he could have heard the young girl gasping with each breath. Slowly, a deep flush spread over her body. Without any urging from Roger, she fondled her tits, spreading more oil on them. She ran her fingers over her swollen nipples, sighing with pleasure. Then, she slowly slid her hands over her belly and along her thighs again.
It was the right moment, Roger decided. He had nothing to lose.
"Your pussy," he instructed.
She never hesitated a moment. She poured more oil into her left hand and placed it over that light brown patch between her legs. Slowly, she began to massage herself with the viscous liquid, her legs spreading as she did. As Roger watched, fascinated, she threw her head back and went to it full out.
As he snapped away, Roger realized that Sue Servan knew exactly what she was doing. She was jerking off and he was taking pictures like crazy. The girl must have heard the camera shutter snapping but it didn't disturb her in the least.
"Faster," Roger urged her and once more she obeyed. Her fingers, glistening with massage oil, dipped into that patch of cunt hair, fumbling for what Roger knew must have been a very swollen and sensitive clit. Then, she seemed to find it. Her entire body stilled and she threw her head back in passionate abandon. Her fingers massaged---they poked and pushed at her most sensitive places.
Soon, Sue was rasping with excitement. Her hips were twisting and jerking in an effort to keep the contact between her cunt and her fingers as tight as possible.
Roger moved the camera closer, but she didn't seem to notice. In fact, if anything, she showed even more excitement. The camera, Roger suddenly realized, the camera was turning her on. He got an idea.
"That's good, Sue," he said. "I'm getting some splendid pictures. I'll bet they'd look great in Playboy."
Sue groaned with pleasure. Her fingers slipped down along her hairy slit toward her cunt hole. Once there, she hesitated only a moment---then she rammed a finger into it, her hips bouncing upward with a jerk.
"Good, good," Roger said, more confident now. "Think of all the men who'll see you in that pose."
Sue's finger moved in and out of her cunt hole. Each time, it came out more and more shiny with cunt juice. And each time, the girl's entire body tensed---then relaxed.
"They'll probably stare at you for hours. You're a very attractive girl, you know. Some of them will probably get very excited. You can bet on that."
Sue's hand was a blur now. The palm was pressing spasmodically against her clit while her fingers were sliding in and out of her cunt. Her chest was actually heaving and her moans were audible clear across the room.
"Even the young boys will enjoy seeing you," Roger went on, watching the effect of his words with pleasure. "I'm talking about the 13-year-olds and the 14-year-olds. They'll probably swipe the magazine from their fathers, go into the bathroom, pull out their little wangs and jerk off while they imagine themselves fucking you."
The girl was throwing herself around on the stool so wildly Roger worried that she'd fall off. There wasn't the slightest trace of pretense left. She was jerking off for all to see, for Roger, for the camera, for the millions of readers of Playboy and especially for those 13- and 14- year-olds who'd jerk off themselves looking at her picture.
"Terrific pose," Roger said. "I can't imagine the man who wouldn't be excited by it."
"Oh, oh OH, NNGGH," Sue groaned, her body suddenly stiffening, her fingers---three of them---buried as deeply in her cunt as she could get them. She trembled with release for nearly a minute. Then, suddenly, she slumped back, exhausted.
But that left Roger with a problem---his own enormous erection, his yearning to fuck the young girl. He extricated himself from the photographer's cloak and walked toward her. At that moment, she looked up, evidently recovered from her passionate affair with herself.
"You promised," she said. "You promised you wouldn't touch me. Change your mind now and I'll scream."
Roger stopped. "I haven't any intention of touching you," he said. "It's just that you seemed to be having such a good time with that stuff that I'd like to try it---if you don't mind." .
There was a gleam in Sue's eye. "Well," she said, "why not. If you'll let me take pictures."
Roger shrugged. It was an interesting idea. He dropped his pants and reached for the massage oil. It felt warm, almost alive on his cock...