Madame B - Seduction

"Oh, that?" said David, airily, pushing away a bush to reveal the path that led directly back to our camp. "I always knew exactly where we were. You were never really lost."

He couldn't hide his self-satisfied smile for long, and the prickles of irritation began to rise in me again. As I followed him back down to the huts, listening to him brag about the way he'd just made me come twice, I felt more like punching him than kissing him. I gave into it. After all, why try to force myself to like this man when hating him was so much hotter?

Many of us fantasize about what it would be like to be with another woman, but few of us ever dare to realize that fantasy. When Sara told me this sizzling tale she explained that sometimes events take a completely unexpected turn. All you need to make your own lesbian fantasy come true, she says, is the magic combination of the right place, the right time, and, of course, the right woman. Most girls who are into glamour model ing say they're aspiring catwalk models or they're really actresses. Not me. I'm proud of my body, and I love to show it off in front of the camera. Modeling is a great way to make a living, and I'm going to milk it for as long as it lasts. I've never been short of work, not since I did my first photo shoot. I'm curvier than your average fashion model, and that works for me. It means I get booked for the straightforward topless shots for men's magazines and also for arty shots, videos, and quirky advertisements whose sponsors want a little sex and personality injected into their product.

The images of me might be titillating, but the atmosphere when I'm naked in front of the camera is never uncomfortable or overtly sexy. After all, it's work, I'm a professional, and so are the photographers. Besides, most of the guys taking the shots are old enough to be my dad, and they're always protective rather than sleazy.

These days, I pretty much know all the guys who do the glamour stuff, so when I learned that I'd be working on a job with someone I hadn't met before, I was excited. Every new photographer brings out a different side of my personality. But I would never have guessed just what Kim would unleash in me.

The photo shoot was for a new magazine that featured sex articles and erotic stories for women. My job was to model underwear for the fashion spread. I thought it sounded kitsch and glamorous, and when I arrived at the studio, a huge white room in a converted warehouse, I was delighted to see a clothes rack hung with fabulous, vintage, burlesque-style underwear. The makeup artist, the stylist, and I squealed with delight over the classic feminine corsets, the 1940s stockings and sexy fishnets. There was even a beautiful bra and high-waisted panty set made from real parachute silk. I picked the ivory fabric up and held it to my cheek, imagining how light and luxurious it would feel against my body.

We were still rifling through the clothes and discussing which styles of hair and makeup to go for when the photographer arrived. A woman not much older than me who introduced herself as Kim, she was tall and androg ynous, with short, light brown hair in an elfin crop. She wore a baggy, masculine pinstripe suit, white Keds, and a tight, white vest. I thought she was one of the coolest-looking people I'd ever seen. Kim was friendly but businesslike and set about creating a mood right away.

"I've brought some music with me," she said, her tiny features composing themselves into a shy smile. "It'll transport you back in time-I think it'll really help the atmosphere, and we'll get some great pictures." She popped a CD into the stereo, and immediately the gentle strains of a 1940s waltz filled the white-walled room.

Kim busied herself re-creating an old-fashioned boudoir with vintage furniture, which she arranged in the middle of the studio. Meanwhile, the soft music helped me get into character during the transformation process of hair and makeup. We went for a retro look: pale, powdered skin, lots of kohl eyeliner, mascara, and matte red lips. My hair was set on huge rollers, and when it was uncurled, the stylist arranged it so that my dark locks tumbled over my shoulders in soft waves. The decades melted away, and I looked every inch the burlesque-era starlet.

Kim came up behind me and let her hands rest on my shoulders for a fraction of a second.

"Gorgeous," she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from my collarbone. "You look like a soldier's sweet-heart. Exactly what I was going for."

She kept her hands on my bare neck while we discussed what she wanted. "Okay, this is about how sometimes it's the traditional, almost prissy underwear that makes you feel like the sexiest slut of all," she explained. "So what we're going to do is start with you in the white stuff, looking quite prim and virginal. And then, as we move on to the more racy underwear, we'll muss up your hair and makeup, have you look a bit more wanton and ravaged, so we basically get sexier and more explicit as the story goes on."

I love to do modeling jobs where I can indulge my theatrical side, so I nodded enthusiastically and told Kim I was looking forward to getting started.

My first costume was a full-length slip with a long, fitted petticoat, a slinky garment that made me yearn for a time when underwear was always subtle and feminine. I thought of the thong and push-up bra I usually wore and resolved to spend my fee from this shoot on something more classically ladylike. My picture was taken with me sitting at an old-fashioned dressing table, combing out my hair with a gorgeous antique silver paddle brush.

"That's great," said Kim. "Can you close your eyes and sort of touch the top of your breasts, trail your finger lightly over them? Think about what it would be like having a lover touch you somewhere intimate." I hardly needed to imagine it-my fingers were inches away from where Kim had rested her own hand moments before-but in case I needed extra guidance, she used gestures to show me what she wanted. She slipped out of her jacket, tilted her head back, and, trailing one hand over a graceful collarbone, let her fingers travel idly down to the gentle curve of her breast. In the thrall of this pantomime, she looked much softer and more girlish than she had when we first met. My subconscious startled me because I immediately began to wonder what it would be like if I were the one touching her, bringing out that softness in her. I'd never been with a woman before, although I'd fantasized about it. But here in this studio, in this fantasy scenario, it felt like anything was possible.

When I assumed the pose Kim wanted for the next set of pictures, it was Kim's hand I imagined touching my breast. As I let my imagination wander, I felt my nipples harden and poke through the pale pink silk of my slip.

"Is it too cold for you in here?" asked Kim, innocently.

I shook my head.

"No, actually I like that, a nipple hard-on," she said, training the lens so it focused on my tits. "It suggests an inner fantasy life beneath the cutesy, girl-next-door underwear." Little did she know that she was the subject of my fantasies!

When we'd finished that session, Kim downloaded the shots she'd taken so far on to her laptop, and we leaned over the computer to look at them. The pictures were gorgeous, a world away from the brash bikini shoots I did for men's mags. They looked like genuine vintage portraits.

"You have a beautiful body," said Kim approvingly as she scrolled through image after image of me. "Not many women these days have that curve there." She pointed to the sweeping S-shape of my waist on the screen, traced her finger along the lines of my hips, my thighs. I imagined that she was touching me, not my likeness, and the thought of her hands on my ass, my legs, triggered a gentle pulse between my legs.