I suppose it was just that I hadn’t been around much, sexually that is, until a couple of years ago. It wasn’t until I started posing for amateur photography clubs doing ‘glamour’ stuff, then nude and then, inevitably, more raunchy stuff that I started to notice it.
In the past, when I had a few flings at uni and prior to that in my late teens when I lost my virginity and had a short affair with a thirty five year old bloke who turned out to be a right shit, I hadn’t been that aware of it. Even with DD, the lecturer I seduced at uni and who had been my older lover for the last few years, it hadn’t featured much.
Actually, even as I became more experienced, bolder and more adventurous with my modelling and started posing one on one as opposed to for clubs, it took me some time to realise it. It probably struck me first when I started providing more ‘advanced’ nude posing and it became more obvious when I started offering ‘extras’. It became very obvious, though, when I became an escort.
What had taken all that time and all those experiences to sink in was the fascination so many men have with girls’ bums.
Looking back I realise I should have seen the signs.
“Turn away from the camera Sam.”
“Can we have a few of your bum please,” were the sort of remarks that some of the guys made when I posed for groups at amateur photographic clubs.
Then, as tradition dictates, when they sent me some of the shots they had taken, ostensibly to help with my portfolio, I should have noticed the preponderance of ‘rears’ shots. Tight panties, thongs, knickers pulled halfway down my bum showing my crack and round my thighs. Very, very tight jeans and tights with nothing under them and, as I became more adventurous in the poses I offered, naked shots of my bum from various angles. I must have been so naïve not to have noticed it. But I didn’t.
It started to register, I suppose, once I started posing one on one. This is when a guy hires a studio and a model for an hour or two. He decides the poses and effectively she does what he suggests. He’s like a film director setting the costumes and poses and telling the model what to do, well within reason that is, at least at the beginning.
I suppose being just him and me in a studio, everything that goes on has more significance, and everything is more intimate and personal. Even the phrases add to the often intense atmosphere that builds up.
I don’t care who the model is, how experienced she is and how many times she’s been alone in studio with a cameraman before, the mood will get to her. Sometimes just fleetingly, occasionally for most of the time and often for the entire session. Ok, on the odd occasion that the cameraman is a real jerk, it doesn’t happen, but then few are jerks. Most are exceedingly pleasant guys, with a strong interest in sex and a genuine love of the female body. They simply enjoy the erotic experience of spending a couple of hours in the company of an attractive girl who will take her clothes off for them. And that gets to her as well as him, albeit in a slightly different way.
It was a few sessions after I had started the more lucrative, but more demanding, both physically and with the poses that it struck home to me.
I guess it was the amount of times I was asked:
“Kneel on all fours, side on, away from the camera, your head on the floor.
Put your bum in the air Sam.
Lay flat on your front, legs together, now apart.
Lean against the wall and stick your bum out.
Slide you panties half way down the crease of your bum Sam, please.
Now get them just beneath the cheeks, but tight round your thighs.”
Requests like those certainly brought home to me the interest men have in girls’ bums; they also made me feel excited, how could they not do that to any girl especially when they were accompanied by loads of nice compliments, sighs, moans and groans from the cameraman?
The intensity of the photographers’ fascination with my bum increased even more when I had started posing nude. They just couldn’t seem to get enough of my bare, and though I say it myself, nicely rounded cheeks. Again, there was the, what by now had become, typical requests to ‘touch your toes, cross your legs, bend forward, kneel on all fours and lay flat on your stomach.’
I complied. Partly because that was my job, but also because it excited me. Yes, I used to get a hell of buzz from modelling and a particularly big one from being photographed in those ‘rear view’ poses.
Other then some group sessions with amateur clubs and later, near the end of my modelling career, with some one to one posing with men and women, I didn’t meet that many models; your paths just do not cross that often. With the exception of some older, really past it girls who had become cynical about modelling after ‘flashing their butts’ for twenty years or so, all the girls I met agreed: that modelling was a turn on, they didn’t do it just for the money, they got excited by the poses and canlı bahis by the reaction of the photographers and it was ‘that buzz,’ which kept them going and made them look forward to each session. I was exactly the same, and that came as a massive surprise to me.
But as I posed more and more, I was running into problems and conflicts.
In the portfolio of models from which the photographers chose the girls, there’s a checklist of the type of posing each girl does. I was in the glamour, underwear, undressing and nude categories. I had not checked the touching, advanced, masturbation or open legs categories, and certainly not the with men, other women, both and groups boxes, although the two studios who retained me told me repeatedly I would not continue getting work unless I ‘became more adventurous’ with my posing.
I suppose it was because I did more posing and became more experienced, that I also started to feel more comfortable when alone and naked in a small room with a man. My commitment to him and the studio was that within the realms of what had been initially agreed, I was his to do with as he wished for the time he had bought me. Thus, the photographers can ask their models to do things that in other circumstances would be outrageous, whereas in the situation between them were simply hugely erotic.
“Take your panties off for me Sammi.”
“Slip your boobs out from your bra.”
“Bend over and face away from me.”
“Lay on your back, now your front,” and so on.
The problems and conflicts came about in two ways.
Firstly, when a girl is naked and bends over with straight legs, particularly if she crosses her ankles, then it’s not just her bum that’s on show. Despite not having ticked the open legs box, which stops one flashing your pussy, I knew that from behind and, when lying flat on my back, some or all of it was on show. That brought me to my second conflict.
It hit me hard, one day when I was with John, a very nice forty something year old guy. As he zoomed in and focused his camera he said.
“Sam, it’s no problem to me, but from this angle the camera sees your lips.”
I jumped when he said that, but I tried to remain cool.
“That’s ok John, shoot away.”
A few shots later he was standing over where I lying on the floor, naked apart from black hold ups. He was just beneath my feet. He bent down and said in almost a whisper.
“Do you want to open your legs for me Sam?”
And, amazingly I did. So he got my first open leg, pussy shots and to be totally truthful I loved it.
After the session, I ticked the open legs box on my booking portfolio.
So I started doing that sort of stuff; beaver shots some call them. But that was just like for some people when they take a soft drug; the buzz is great, but they know there’s more to be gained; a greater buzz and they want that. That was how I was feeling about posing. I was getting quite adept at flashing my bum and opening my legs in the most provocative of way. I liked doing that; the photographers clearly liked me and from the shots they sent me, so did the camera.
Now of course, by using the euphemism for, ‘I will flash my cunt’ of open legs, there wasn’t much by ways of poses that were off limits. Open legs worked both ways. So they would get me to pose on my back with my legs spread, well the slightly less sophisticated photographers would. That really was rather naff, fairly vulgar and almost a porn shot. What I tried to achieve with the rather more sophisticated guys, was erotic photography. True, there was a narrow line between the two, but my self-esteem felt better when I felt we had created some erotic imagery.
I must admit though, that one evening with an older man than most, he must have been well into his fifties, if not early sixties, I stretched that line between porn and eroticism to its limit.
I had my hair in pigtails and was wearing no make up, all at his direction.
“I want you to look young and pure, I love those freckles,” he’d said as he had gradually had me undress, taking lots of shots of my slowly revealed body.
“Stand with your arms in front of you, your left wrist held in your right hand,” he asked when I was totally nude. “Bend your head slightly forward and look at the camera out of the top of your eyes…………….,” he went on pausing before adding. “A real Princess Di look.” I got what he meant and I knew that such a look did portray innocence. I adopted it and he took a few head and shoulder then waist up shots.
“Mmmmm, great, your tits look fantastic like that Sam, so youthfully firm.”
That made me smile and he knocked off a few more shots.
“Now cross your right leg over your left just by the knee,” he went on taking numerous full length shots as slowly he moved round me until he was behind me.
He took several with me standing up straight.
“Your bum is fantastic, look over your shoulder at me,” he said flicking the zoom lens, obviously focusing bahis siteleri right onto me cheeks and crease. It made me shiver.
“Now bend forward, just a little.”
I leaned as he suggested.
“Just a tad more, just enough to get your lips in the shot. Oh that’s great.”
He took several like that then said.
“Ok can you put that other gear on I laid out for you?”
“Sure,” I said walking naked into the small room at the end of the studio that acted as a dressing room.
It was a dark blue, silk basque, edged at the top across my boobs, the nipples of which it just covered, and round the bottom with black lace. It had strips of the black lace also running vertically down the garment a few inches apart and it had black suspenders attached to it, although I noticed they were removable. It had hooks and eyes all the way up the front, which took ages getting together.
“Put the thong under the suspender would you please Sam?” Peter called out making me wonder whether he had been looking for I had just picked up the flimsy black, lace garment. I slipped into it making sure the pouch at the front fitted photogenically tightly across my mound and the slither of material at the back nestled neatly between the cheeks of bum. Inspection in the mirror over, I rolled the dark stockings up my legs, made sure the seams were straight and slipped my feet into the black stilettos I had brought with me on Peter’s instructions. I put the black choker round my neck and slid on the black, silk elbow length gloves, both of which, along with the basque he had supplied.
Ready to go I had a couple of twirls in front of the full length mirror and smiled as I thought to myself, “Where’s my paddle steamer?” I looked just like one of those high class hookers that used to ply their trade up and down the Mississippi.
Peter had explained earlier that he found considerable eroticism in putting together opposites; innocence and wantonness, youth and maturity and so on. He said that with me, he wanted my relatively youthful, freshness, which implied innocence, to be combined with the vampish outfit of a ‘wild west whore.”
As a model, you get used to these sorts of flights of fancies of certain cameramen and learn to just go along with them. So Peter took a load of shots of me in and getting out of the basque; it’s a right bugger when they insist on panties under the suspenders, but supposedly it’s more erotic that way.
At the time, other than being bent over for long periods, both with and without panties, with my upper legs straight and my head resting on my arms, whilst Peter took lot of shots, I didn’t think much about what I was showing.
So, a day or so later when he sent me an e-mail with a dozen or so shots attached, I was, as some say, absolutely gobsmaked. You could see everything and I mean everything. There was one shot in particular that hit me and has stayed in my mind ever since. It’s of my naked bum from directly behind it, filling the screen. I am bent forward. The shot has been cropped so that a few inches of my stocking tops are showing and are held up by the black suspenders, which are snaked round my hips. Right down the middle of the picture is the opened crease of my bum; I would never have imagined it would be that open. It was though and that meant that not only was the darker, puckered skin surrounding my anal opening on show, but even clearer and larger were the lips of my pussy. They appeared to be bloated, maybe engorged with blood sensitising them, and slightly shiny.
As my face was not in it, I felt slightly detached from it and that had the strangest effect on me. I felt myself becoming aroused looking at my own bum and pussy. In fact then, and several time since, I have masturbated looking at it. Now is that vain or what?
I ticked several more boxes on the booking portfolio next time I went to the agency.
Now, extremely aware of men’s fascination for girls’ bottoms I guess I sort of built that in to my outlook and attitudes. I found myself wearing tighter jeans, trousers and skirts; only wearing thongs or, occasionally nothing underneath, to emphasise the smooth, roundness of my cheeks. I wiggled more and developed a seductive sway of my hips which accentuated my, as a photographer had called it, ‘Your woman’s ass on a girl’s body;’ I liked that.
I liked being told I was mature, very grown up and adult, a woman. I looked young and was only twenty two at the time, but much preferred the company of older people. My lover DD was forty one and I’d had flings with several men his age and older. The photographers I seemed to relate to the easiest tended to be older; John the one who had first pointed out that I showed my lips with certain poses and Peter who produced that amazing shot of my bum, my anal hole and my lips all in one shot. And then there was Matt, the first client for whom I provided ‘extras;’ he was probably fifty.
This service didn’t require a tick in a box. The studio didn’t really want bahis şirketleri that sort of data recorded, they just wanted to know so they could up the commission they charged the model, so I told Sandra who owned the studios at which I worked.
“I thought you would soon, Sammi,” she’d said when I told her that I was going to start offering them.
“But only if I am asked and if I fancy him,” I told her rather grandly.
“Yes dear, of course,” she replied patting my arm rather condescendingly. “Just take it easy. How far will you go?”
“Probably just masturbation.”
“What yourself? Or him as well?”
“Him masturbating you, the pair doing it together?”
“I hadn’t thought.”
“Well make sure you know what you are comfortable doing and charge appropriately for it.”
“How much should I charge do you think?”
“It really does vary so much Sam.”
I already knew that from some of the other models I had asked. One had said she did BJs for fifty, yet another did them for thirty. Another said.
“I do a sort of fifty quid all in job.”
“And for that, they do what?”
“Pretty much what they wish apart from full sex.”
“And they are happy with that?”
“Most are. They really just want to touch you and stroke, hold you and, particularly kiss you. It’s sort of like being kids again.”
“And if they want full sex?”
“Sometimes yes, sometimes no, it depends on how I feel?”
“And how much extra?”
“Again that depends on how I feel. After all, if they have hired the studio and me for two hours they are already in for an awful lot of money and if I like them I would like them to use me again.”
It all began to make sense after that afternoon with Matt and my chats with the other girls and Sandra.
Matt and I had been working for well over an hour. It was enjoyable. He was quick with setting the poses and interesting with describing them.
“I want the series to suggest that your lover is undressing you and then, Sam, if you’ll forgive the phrase, fucking you. Not having sex or making love, but fucking you and I want to capture that in your eyes and on your face.”
He took a load of shots of me slowly revealing more and more of my body, before having me lay on the floor on my back.
“Now Sam show me what you’re like when you are fucked. Tell me what it’s like in your eyes and with your mouth.”
I tried hard. Not only was that my job and I wanted to please my client, but also I liked him and his way of explaining things and the poses he put me in were starting to arouse me.
“Ok let’s take five or ten shall we?” He said after I had simulated, with not that much acting actually, several orgasms. He set his camera to download all the stuff we had taken. “I want to see them on the laptop,” he explained adding. “Just in case we need any reshoots.”
“OK like a cup of tea, while we wait?” I asked slipping into a shorty, red silk robe.
“Come and have a look, Sammi,” he said a few minutes later. I gave him his tea and went and stood close by him to get a straight on view of the small screen.
I had, of course, seen many pictures of myself onscreen when I opened the attachments sent by photographers. However, I had never looked at myself onscreen with anyone else. Even though it was just a few minutes ago that I had been writhing on the floor letting Matt shoot me as I pretended to be fucked and have an orgasm, it seemed as if that had happened to someone else. As if that had been a film, or DVD, not him and me. Now, standing look at the shots of the pleasure, the agony and the ecstasy, the excitement and the arousal that my face portrayed, interspersed by shots of my naked, apart from black hold-ups, body was amazing. Maybe he knew that and that is why he did it. I don’t know. What I do know is that as image after image rolled across that screen I felt myself becoming more and more aroused. He may have been an expert at this, I have no idea, for I never saw him again, but his timing was impeccable.
Standing alongside me, our arms were touching, because we were both trying to get good, straight on views of the screen.
“What do you think?” He asked as a close up of my bum in a shot not that different from the one Peter had taken a few weeks ago, filled the screen.
“They’re good,” I said slightly croakily.
As he responded with “Actually Sam, it’s you that’s so good,” he slipped his arm round my shoulders and left it there.
“Well you take the shots.”
“Yes but shots of you,” he said quietly squeezing my shoulder.
“True,” was all I could mention, not trying to move away or get him to take his arm from my shoulders.
Up until that point, I hadn’t decided whether I would provide extras or not. I also hadn’t thought what I would let them do if I decided to provide them and I had no idea what I would charge. His next words changed all that.
“I hope so much, Sammi that the answer to my next question doesn’t offend and that it is yes.”
Of course I knew what was coming. “Go on.”
“Do you offer extras Sammi?” He asked pulling my shoulder against his chest as my face, with closed eyes and opened mouth, filled the screen.