Latent Image - Part I

By: Doxy Wringer©

Author's Note: This story may not be duplicated or re-posted on another website or in any medium without the written consent of the author. 

On To Part II

"Come on, Jeannie, it's for my birthday."

I eyed the costume with a sarcastically raised eyebrow, pantomiming a perfect Mr. Spock expression. 

"You're being an awful demanding little boy," I sighed, reaching out and grasping hold of the sleek garments he offered forth. The purple- and wine-colored fabrics were decadent to the eye, and the sultry, conflicting textures of velvet and batiste seduced my fingertips as he passed the outfit into my hands. "What is she going to wear?"

"She's changing in the back already. It's a very different costume," he assured me with a tender and somewhat pleading grin.

My eyes lingered on his a moment, and I saw gears spinning behind the humble plea in his gaze. Just how long had he been putting together this birthday package? This "private" photo shoot seemed less and less spontaneous with each passing moment.

Without any other conversation, I stepped out of the studio and toward his office. I'd be damned if I was going to change in the rooms where all his other models turned themselves into cover-girls. I was, at the very least, going to enjoy one perk of fucking the management. 

Roman and I had been lovers for six months, and if I'd learned nothing else, I'd learned to trust him. He was a voracious lover - passionate, tireless, and demanding, but he was also the most considerate, empathic man I'd ever known. I had never experienced such a partner before - so uninhibited and consuming. He knew how to touch and where to touch and how far he could push the limits of human form before pleasure became pain. And the intimacy he surrendered made his vulnerability contagious. We were in love - we both knew it, but there was still some question as to whether we were compatible. Here he was, one of the most successful photographers in the US; his world was all about illusion and lighting and turning sows into silk purses, and my world…well, my world was board meetings and expense reports, trying to figure out how to squash the sanctimonious members of "The Old Boy's Club" under my high-heels without getting hit with a sexual discrimination suit every time I took over another advertising firm. 

Once in his office, I wiggled out of my skirt and blouse and stood, uncertainly in my bra and panties for a moment. The skimpy costume was not going to accommodate my undies; there was no avoiding it. So, with a soft curse of my lover's name, I slipped out of them and stood naked in his darkened cove of business.

My shadow danced in languid bows and arches across the floor - stretching my feminine form out of proportion. I shivered as cool air ticked my bare, shaved pussy. That had been another of his quiet pleas, and it had taken all my faith to lay back and let him shave my blonde muff off with his straight-razor two nights before. Of course, he'd been right about that, too. The feel of his shaved balls against my wet, baby-bare lips as we'd made love had been sublime. Now, however, it just made me feel all the more naked. A swan deprived of the privacy of her feathers.

A swan. Hardly.

I'd left the lights off because I hadn't wanted to look around the walls of his office and face my competition. All those magazine covers boasting women of indisputable beauty. You could make all the excuses of air-brushing and photo-doctoring that you liked, but the fact still remained that some women possessed superior physical loveliness. No matter how many times the rest of us prided ourselves on brains, personality, or skill, we knew in the back of our heads we were losing the war of eyes. 

I had never been a beauty. Plain of face behind my wire-rimmed glasses, I never really bothered with a great deal of make-up. A smack of lipstick and a smear of foundation. There wasn't much else to enhance or highlight. Just an average girl with a laundry list of non-descript features. Brown eyes, dirty-blonde hair, rather unimpressive cheekbones, a simple, if somewhat perky nose, and a mouth that was neither full nor thin. I stood at five and a half feet in height, weighed what I was supposed to weigh, had a nice curve of hips and legs that weren't without appeal. My bust was full, but not extraordinarily so. Average. Typical. Girl next-door boring. Yes, thank you. I had kept the lights within his model-bedecked walls off.

The costume was lined in satin, and I winced at the cool, slick brush of it on my private parts. The low hip-hugging panties, and the matching, push-up velvet bra, were both embellished with intricate thread- and bead-work. There were sheer sleeves and pant-like extensions, but you could see right through the fabric to my tanned skin, and the plane of my flat tummy was starkly exposed.

A card slipped out of the pile of accessories and I couldn't help but smile.

I Dream of Jeannie (with the light brown hair)
Don't fret. You look beautiful, my darling.

He was sneaky like that. Doing childish things such as slipping notes into my briefcase, or leaving love letters typed onto the desktop of my computer. Sneaky and charming and adorable. The bastard.

Sadly, my mother had named me Jeannie after Barbara Eden's character on the campy TV show. I'd always wondered if she'd been expecting someone a little more leggy and blonde, like herself. Instead of giving birth to a second-generation cover-girl, mom had to settle for a behind-the-scenes headliner. She had never complained about it, though. After all, there weren't many daughters who could get their mothers a vacation house in Tuscany as a Christmas present.

I twisted my hair into the snood and pulled the ponytail tightly in place. There was a jingling chain of charms that fastened on my tummy, and a pair of high-heeled silk slippers, which I had to slide my feet into. Other than that, it was a pretty easy costume, although far racier than anything Major Nelson had gotten an eyeful of. It was clear why he'd asked me to wear my contacts. Glasses wouldn't have worked with the outfit.

I walked carefully back into the studio. The heels were two and a half inches at least, and although I'd mastered High-Heel 101 when I was a schoolgirl, there was some skill to walking in trendy fuck-me spikes. I was so focused on making my way into the studio without killing myself that I didn't notice the model leaning on Roman right away.

When I finally looked up, I my eyes had to have darkened in the first stages of rage. I knew the other woman by name - by the one name she went by professionally, that is. 

Juni. 

She was a tall, leggy redhead with a luscious gift of feminine appeal. Her auburn curls were cropped short in a pixie-like innocent fashion that remained inexplicably sexy. The long flanks of her arms and legs were supple and sinuous, and her pert, young body had the very athletic glow of youth. I had once remarked to Roman that Juni was the only woman I'd ever seen him photograph that I'd felt attracted to. 

Damn him. What exactly was he up to?

He caught sight of me and his broad smile of approval made me clench my jaw. He liked the way I looked, I could always read it in his eyes, but I never understood how a man who made his living photographing the most beautiful women in the world could light up with boyish delight over plain old me. 

"You're beautiful." He whispered, bending down to kiss my temples and then my forehead. "Juni wants to do your make-up if you'll let her."

"You said she was changing into her costume." I growled. He was handling me, and it pissed me off that he knew how to do it so well. His lips on my face drove the spike of irritation to the back of my mind.

"She's in her costume." He smiled, then wrapped his arm around my waist and led me into the lion's den.

I had heard long tales of the flighty temperaments of supermodels. The tantrums, the pouting and demanding. None of those second-hand rumors prepared me when little ole titan-haired Twiggy threw her arms around me in a generous hug.

"Jeannie, I feel like I already know you. Roman never stops talking about you." 

It was genuine. Damn her. In her impish green eyes there was nothing but sincere affection. I knew how to read the eyes of women. Predators know the trademarks of their own kind, and yet there didn't seem to be a malevolent bone in her perfect (if somewhat freckled) body. 

Her "costume" consisted of a long, white t-shirt, (beneath which it was clear she wore nothing) and a white Stetson cowboy hat that tilted lazily to one side. She looked amazing in it, and my elaborate ensemble reminded me just how easy it was for some women to look good in anything; I was not one of those women.

Juni rambled on and helped me into a make-up chair. As she chatted, she blushed and highlighted my face - occasionally asking Roman questions about the lighting and film he was using. I couldn't guess at her overall intelligence, but she was very knowledgeable in her own field, and that sent another knife of envy through my gut. It was one thing for her to possess a sweet disposition and unsurpassed beauty, but to display such casual intelligence like a cherry on top of all her other virtues? How unfair and improbable was that?

As she primped me, however, my hostility couldn't take root. Instead a bizarre flush had begun to wash over me. I felt a familiar dampness in my costume panties and my nipples had hardened in their velvet cups. 

I had never been attracted to another woman before, but Juni had been different from the start. When I'd first peeked over Roman's shoulder and watched him go over proofs of her, I'd felt an instant attraction. Maybe it had been the intelligence of her violently green eyes, or the ravishing beauty of her slim form. I couldn't ever be sure. But the first sight of her had made me wet. And, as she pressed close to me in the flesh, I knew beyond doubt that I was looking at her breasts…her thighs…her full lips…and I was aching for them.

"Alright, ladies. You both look beautiful. Come over on the set," Roman cooed with his intoxicating, yet firmly instructive tone. 

Juni wrapped one of her slender arms around my waist and we walked over to the small set Roman had constructed. It was a large harem-influenced bed, tented by netting fabric in richly-hued, bold colors and mounds of matching satin pillows. In my high-heels I was just even to the height Juni reached in bare feet. I resisted the urge to mash her toes.

"Jeannie, first I want just you." Roman ordered quietly. "Lounge out on the bed; lay on your side facing me. Prop your head on one arm and bend one knee."

I followed his orders in a strange sort of trance. Ordinarily I would have had a hundred smart-ass comments to make, but numb obedience was my only reply. The confusion and sensitivity of my body had muted my mind. So I merely followed Roman's instruction. Bending my limbs as he directed; assuming the poses he demanded. Climbing onto all fours. Cupping my own breasts. Fondling my own thighs. Thrusting my hips and arching my back. It was wicked and naughty and completely thrilling. To behave so wanton and be scrutinized from afar by my lover. And then to know she was watching me…

I didn't hear at first when he ordered Juni into bed with me. I was a little giddy from the feel of thrashing around in bed by myself. It was Juni's hands around my naked belly that jolted be back to reality; sobering me from my camera-drunken haze. Her long, tapered fingers clutched my flat tummy tightly and her perky body pressed roughly against my back. I felt her hard-nippled tits press through the thin cotton T against my bare back.

"Don't be scared." She whispered in my ear as her lithe body wrapped gracefully around me. Before I knew it, I was sitting up with her petite shape draped over my lap. I felt the weight of her pliant stomach on my thighs. 

"Lift up her shirt, Jeannie. Reveal her bottom to the camera's eye." Roman directed from behind the glare of lights.

I did as he bade, more out of my own desire to see her sweet ass than anything else. The shirt hiked up easily, and suddenly there was a naked, succulent female bottom, round and sassy and hard. My fingers moved of their own volition and I couldn't help but to stoke the bare cheeks.

"That's right." Roman was chanting as he snapped shot after shot. "Gaze at her perfect ass. You can't help it. She's so unfamiliar and arousing. You can't help but wonder what flavor her flesh could be. Tart or sweet…plum or peach…"

Without urging, Juni pressed her fanny up against my hand, and I knew what she was asking without hearing the words. I hesitated, but was too thrilled by the idea to stop it. With a hard swat, I spanked her sharply with my open hand.

She gave a little yelp, but then purred in pleasure, settling back on my lap and lifting her hips toward my hand again. I began to spank a little harder, and then a little faster, delighting in the sound of my slapping hand against her tight bottom, the sounds of her moans and gasps that followed. I liked seeing my red handprints on her ivory skin. 

The entire time, the camera continued to click, but I was not aware of Roman any longer, or of the flashes of light indicating his eager photography. All I had room for in my head was Juni's lush responses to me. More important than the wiggles and groans, was her dampness on my thighs. On my lap, her naked pussy was glistening. I could feel it. And suddenly, I wanted to see it, too.

Parting her legs, I made out the swollen tenderness of her cunnie lips and I didn't hesitate to insinuate my fingertips along her downy slit. Russet-colored curls tickled my knuckles. She was definitely a natural red-head.

With a pouty moan, Juni sat up, forcing me to lean back a little on the bed. She perched on my lap, facing me, her nymph-like legs stretched on either side of my hips. I could feel myself shaking - feel the thundering of my own heartbeat, but it was nothing compared to the butterflies doing loop-the-loops in my tummy when she reached forward and cupped her hand behind my head.

On To Part II

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