The Photo Shoot
My husband hired a boudoir photographer to take sexy pictures of me. I got so much more than I bargained for.
When my husband hands me an envelope for our tenth wedding anniversary, I assume it’s a gift certificate to the spa. I peck him on the cheek. “Aww, thanks, darling.”
Rob eyes me curiously and says, “Don’t thank me before you open it…”
Oh god. Please tell me it isn’t tickets for sky-diving or some kind of detailed plan for a camping trip in the wild. *Shudder*.
I slowly open the envelope and retrieve the contents, priming myself to offer up some fake satisfactory enthusiasm. Because I love Rob.
A business card falls out first. It is black, with gold print. All it says is “Mia Amor Photography” along with an email and phone number on it.
Okay, NOW Rob is speaking my love language. Has he booked us a photoshoot? There is nothing I like more than getting dolled up and feeling glamorous.
“Robbbb!” I start to squeal. “Are we getting our pictures taken?!”
“We aren’t,” he says, “but you are!”
I draw the slip of paper out of the envelope. There is an appointment printed on it, 1pm the next Friday for Natalie Jones (that’s me) for a Boudoir session.
“A boudoir session?” I ask Rob. “What is that?”
Rob grins. “I got this idea from Lexi. It’s one of those sessions where you put on really sexy lingerie and take erotic photos. I thought you’d like getting dolled up, but to be honest, I’d love having some sexy pics of you.”
I flush a little. Of course, Lexi gave him this idea. She’s my best friend with a wild side. And it’s not like I’m super tame myself, but having sexy photos taken in lingerie? That’s a bit out of my comfort zone.
“So… you’re not going to be in the photos with me?”
“Nope,” Rob says. “In fact, I think you should go to the shoot by yourself so you can surprise me later with the photos. What do you think? I’ve heard Mia is really good, and her photography is really classy. Go look up her website!”
That night, I browse Mia’s site. Rob is right. These photos are beautiful — sensual and evocative in a very tasteful way. A total celebration of feminine sexuality and power. I’m impressed. The photos are so good that I even feel a bit hot and bothered looking through them, imagining myself looking that sexy.
Maybe it’ll be a life-growth experience for me to be almost naked in front of a camera wielded by a stranger.
I click on Mia’s “About Me” page to see who this person is that is going to see me at my most vulnerable, and I let out a silent gasp. My photographer is a gorgeous woman, as exquisite as the pictures she takes. In her profile photo, she’s wearing a sexy little white dress.
Frankly, she reminds me of one of those Victoria’s Secret Angels from before they finally ended that campaign to be more diverse and body positive. I wonder if Mia used to be a lingerie model herself. She certainly has the body and face for it. Maybe that’s why she understands all the good angles of a woman.
I close the website, trying not to feel too intimidated.
The next few days are spent ordering expensive lingerie online. My comfort zone is slowly blurring around the edges as my excitement grows. Per the recommendations I found on Mia’s website, I pick out a variety of things in colors I like on me — mostly black and red.
Ninety percent of it is sheer. I’ve always been a sucker for sheer garments, naughty little things that tease the senses and give more than a hint of what is underneath, then stops before it goes all the way. But I’ve not bought it often in the past because even though there’s a part of me that wants to be a little bad and a little bit of a showoff with my body, underneath it all, I’m also a little shy.
Maybe all of this is an extension of my personality too.
I work out extra hard at the gym that week. I’m kind of mostly in shape, but hey, if my almost-naked body is going to be immortalized on camera in a few days, I’m going all the way.
Mia Amor apparently runs her studio out of her home — a fancy apartment on the Upper East Side. I haven’t asked Rob how much the session cost and looking at the apartment building, I probably don’t want to know. I grab my overnight bag filled with makeup and my new sexy clothes from the seat beside me in the Uber and head into the building.
I’m greeted by a doorman in uniform. Yes, it’s that type of place. He gestures me politely to the front desk, where a snooty concierge says, “Good afternoon, ma’am, how may I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mia Amor, apartment 1240,” I say.
“Yes. What is your name?” The concierge asks accusingly as if she can’t believe someone like me is here to see Mia. Just then, the elevator door dings and opens, and a woman steps out, dressed to the nines. Her outfit is obviously designer, and she looks like she’s headed shopping or maybe lunching with the girls. The concierge twitters and gushes, “Good afternooooon, Mrs. Holloway! You look looooovely today.” The woman nods in acknowledgment, then heads out the door.
I fidget a little, thinking that maybe I shouldn’t have worn my athleisure here. Don’t get me wrong — it’s Lululemon at least, but it’s no Gucci.
“I’m Natalie. Natalie Jones.”
“Give me one moment, please.” The concierge picks up the phone and dials a number, then says in a bright, chirpy tone, “Ms. Amor! There’s a Natalie Jones here to see you? Right. Got it. Okay, I’ll buzz her up.”
She hangs up and almost reluctantly walks me to the elevator. She goes in with me, and I don’t understand why until she sticks some kind of key card in the control panel, explaining, “We don’t just let anyone go up.”
Ah. Wow. I am definitely a fish out of water here.
The elevator takes me straight up to the twelfth floor and then stops to let me out. I see a short hallway with only four doors. These apartments must be humongous if there are only four per floor. Looking at the numbers, I see 1210, 1220, 1230, and 1240, and I hesitantly walk toward 1240, Mia’s address.
My throat is suddenly dry. Now that this moment is here, I’m definitely more than a little nervous. The only person I’ve been naked in front of in the last ten years is Rob. Thinking of pretending to be some sexy model and prancing around in my underwear is so not me. I could just turn around and go back into the elevator. I’ll explain to Rob that I don’t want sexy photos of myself floating around. I hope he can get a refund.
And then the door opens. Shit.
“Hey! Natalie? Sorry if I startled you, I have a Ring camera and saw you at the door,”
The gorgeous woman flashes me a brilliant smile. God, I thought she was pretty in her photo, but in person, she’s dazzling. She looks like a polished ten-carat diamond, and I feel like a factory-produced cubic zirconia beside her. And she’s taking glamorous photos of ME? It should be the other way around.
Mia reaches out to shake my hand. A tiny spark of a tingly sensation jolts through me when my skin touches hers. Her hand manages to feel cool and warm at the same time. I’m definitely having a girl crush moment here.
I follow Mia into her apartment, looking admiringly at her simple yet sexy outfit. She’s wearing black tights and an oversized shirt that falls off one shoulder that looks super artsy. And she smells fantastic, like peaches and cream.
The apartment is certainly beautiful, but maybe not in the way I would have expected. There is unique photography and art hung up all over a vast gallery wall that goes up to a vaulted ceiling, which leads me to realize that this must be the penthouse floor.
The rest of the apartment is sparse and minimalist, in a way that feels intentional. I immediately get it — it’s to showcase her gallery wall.
I love it.
“What would you like to drink?” Mia asks. “I have water, pineapple juice, and I also have wine. Sometimes, my clients find that drinking a glass helps them relax for the session…”
That sounds delightful, and also I realize I may not be able to go through the photoshoot without alcohol.
“Wine sounds lovely,” I admit out loud.
Mia leads me to her studio, which is a bright, airy room right off the living room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a variety of photography props in it.
She opens a closet door on the side and says, “You can change here. It’s a walk-in closet. You’ll find a bunch of clothing and accessory options in there. Feel free to use anything you like. All the clothing items are freshly washed. Go ahead and get dressed in something that makes you feel beautiful. I’ll be right back.”
She hands me a large, fluffy robe and leaves.
This “walk-in closet” is basically a small room. It even has a window. It’s like one of those celebrity walk-in closet/dressing rooms, with racks and shelves everywhere full of lingerie, jewelry, and even shoes.
I look at everything, but I am completely overwhelmed. I decide to stick to the things I brought; they feel most like me. I’m already regretting all the sheer things that went in my shopping cart. I grab the safest option first, a little babydoll dress with a matching thong. At least it covers most of my body, down to my upper thighs, anyway.
Then I wrap the robe primly around my body, tie it around the waist, and self-consciously open the door. Mia is setting up her equipment. She points to a side table. On it are two wine glasses and a small variety of wine options. I choose a nice-looking Cab and pour myself a drink. We’re doing this.
“Okay, Natalie. Here’s how it’s gonna go. First, I’m delighted you have chosen me to highlight your beauty today. We have all afternoon, so there will be no rush. I only see one client a day, and I like to get to know my clients very well. It’s important for you to trust me and for me to get a real understanding of who you are. So we will start by just chit-chatting for a bit. And then, when you’re ready, we’ll move on. Good?”
This woman knows what she’s doing.
I can’t deny that I am wowed, and honestly a little turned on by how seriously she takes her job. I’m an artist myself, and although I haven’t made enough money to live in a fancy penthouse apartment, I’ve lived the artist’s life long enough to respect her process and her commitment to producing work that lives up to her name and standard.
The next forty-five minutes go by really fast as we sit on armchairs in her studio and chit-chat. There are also consent forms I need to sign. I hesitate when I note that she would like to use my photos for her website. Mia sees me pause and quickly says, “that one is completely up to you. If you don’t initial that, I won’t use your photos, no problem.”
I tell her I’m going to leave that part blank for now and decide later.
Mia tells me a good bit about herself, then she asks me some deep questions about myself in a way that somehow feels appropriate despite the fact that we’ve only just met. She has some kind of magnetism that makes me feel intimate with her.
It’s like we’ve been friends for years.
Also, there’s something about her eyes that draws me in. I can barely make myself turn away from her. It’s making me slightly insane. I am memorizing the details of her face as I talk to her; long lashes that look like her own, strawberry pink lips with the perfect pout, and high cheekbones accentuated by a natural flush. All of this is framed by silky dark brown hair.
When Mia finds out that I’m an artist, she is super interested to see my work. I get my phone out and shyly show her some pictures of my latest collection that is hanging in the newest little art gallery downtown. I can tell she’s impressed, and her pure appreciation makes my heart glow. Or maybe that’s the wine that’s making me glow; I’m not sure which.
I look over at Mia, and her off-the-shoulder shirt has slipped pretty far off. She’s wearing a red, lacy cropped bra top on the inside. The top of it is peeking out, and I see the swell of her breasts rising gently on the edge of her shirt. It’s very distracting.
I’m relieved when she asks me if I feel ready to try a few test shots.
I get up from my chair, and I realize that my panties are a little wet. Good god, I hope I didn’t leave a mark on her chair. I’m more than a bit embarrassed. Why am I feeling so hot? Is this the effect she has on all her clients? I glance back at my chair quickly and see nothing. Whew.
Mia has a little daybed in the corner, and she suggests we start out by me sitting on it. She drags it out to the staging area and has me sit on it. She patiently talks to me the whole time, and the sound of her voice has me under some kind of weird spell. She could tell me to do anything right now, and I would do it.
I sit on the daybed and fiddle with my hands nervously while she clicks around on her camera and adjusts things.
Then she says, “Okay, Natalie. I want you to pretend that this isn’t me taking pictures of you at a photo shoot. Just keep chit-chatting with me, okay? I’m not even going to tell you when each picture is being taken. You don’t need to worry about that. We’re just hanging out.”
I am in awe of her process as I watch her switch into artist mode, and I kinda get it. This is probably what she uses to get that raw, visceral beauty I saw in the photos on her website. I hope she can coax the same vibe out of my photos.
First, she has me lay down on the daybed. She asks me to tell her the happiest moment of my life. Probably the easiest thing would have been to tell her about the day Rob proposed. But something stops me, and instead, I find my mind reaching back to my eighth birthday when my mom handed me a giant box. I opened it to find a tiny ginger boy kitten that I immediately named Tiger.
Tiger was my best buddy until he died in my arms the day I turned twenty-six. It took me years to get over losing him, and even now, thinking about the way he used to follow me around the house like a dog and sleep on my shoulder every night makes my voice catch and my eyes fill with tears. Right then, Mia calls my name softly and murmurs something sweet and consoling, and I turn and look at her.
Mia continues talking to me in soothing tones. I hardly notice she’s taking photos even as she progressively has me change into skimpier and skimpier outfits and get in increasingly provocative poses. I’m so comfortable (and buzzed) at this point, I’m starting to feel very good in my own skin.
Something inside me shifts, and I begin to really get into it. The synergy between Mia and me is remarkable. I’ve managed to turn myself on and am now boldly flirting with the camera. I’m keenly aware of my beautiful photographer too. She looks incredibly sexy as she flips her hair around, bending over at the camera and doing her thing.
And then Mia says, “Christ, it’s warm in here,” and takes her shirt off. I am in a bit of shock, but I realize her cropped bra top inside is no different from the athleisure I wear every day.
Her figure no longer hidden by her oversized shirt, I can’t help staring at her. The woman has amazing breasts, full and perfectly perky somehow, and now that I can see the outline of her ass, I can see that it’s quite shapely. I imagine my hands squeezing her lusciously fleshy ass and breasts, and I forget to breathe for a moment.
Without being conscious of it, my focus changes from flirting with the camera to responding to Mia in a very physical way.
I begin to move through a bunch of instinctively seductive poses. I hold my breasts from underneath and give some side-eye to the camera, and then I lie down on my side and naughtily pull the crotch of my lace thong aside ever so slightly. Mia turns quiet, and I know she’s letting me drive the shoot now. My stomach is fluttering in a good way, and I feel a thrill of power surge through me.
“Mia,” I suddenly ask. “I know this sounds weird, but have you ever been in a photo with your client? You’ve been great today, and I’d love one photo with you.”
Whoa. Not sure what just came out of my mouth. But I like it. And I hope Mia does, too.
She hesitates ever so slightly, then thoughtfully says, “This would be a first for me, but if it’s something you’d like to do, I think that would be wonderful.”
She looks in her camera and adjusts the view, and then, with a remote clicker in her hand, she comes toward me and sits by me on the daybed. Looking at me, she simply says, “You tell me what to do.”
I look into her eyes and see that they are dilated. She’s fully taking me in. Then I notice her flushed skin and that she’s breathing a little quickly, her chest rising and swelling so close to mine. I can’t stop myself; I lean forward and lightly put my lips on hers. And then I move back and wait for her reaction. She leans into me and kisses me back.
I hold her lovely face in my hands and marvel at the sensation of kissing a beautiful woman for the first time. I feel her breasts pushing against me, and now I want to kiss them, too. As if reading my mind, Mia takes her top off. Her breasts spring out, juicy and soft. Hardly believing what I’m doing, my hands find my way there, and I hold and squeeze her tenderly as I suckle her tits and tease her with my tongue.
Mia closes her eyes and groans, clutching at my hair, and the sound of her pleasure makes my panties wet again. Hungry for more, I move my hands down to the waistband of her tights, and I slide one hand in there, relishing in the softness of her skin.
I go a little further down inside her pants until I find her soft folds. I gasp to myself when I realize she isn’t even wearing panties. Naughty, naughty girl. I start rubbing her with my hand, and she is instantly wet for me.
Mia groans again, and I take this as an invitation to push her pants down over her luscious ass. She raises herself up and wiggles out of them for me. Now I see her bare pussy, all pretty and pink. Heat fills me, and I know I need to taste her if it’s the last thing I ever do. Mia reads my mind again, and she leans back on the daybed and opens her legs, giving herself up to me.
I bend my head down and lick her on her inner thighs. Her skin is velvety soft against my tongue. Mia shivers and moans, and she starts playing with her own nipples as she watches me down there. I’m in a teasing mood, so I bypass her pussy altogether and draw my tongue from her lower belly all the way up to her chest. Mia arches her back to guide me there.
But I won’t make her wait too long; I soon return to her pussy and kiss her tenderly there. Mia’s sounds of rapture become my barometer as my instinct guides me to lick and tease her and push all her hidden buttons until she raises her hips into my face, gives a very loud groan, and floods hot sticky liquid as she comes. It’s my first time watching another woman orgasm, let alone being the one to make her orgasm. I almost come too when I see how happy I’ve made Mia, but I hold back, wanting this to be her moment.
I lay on top of her afterward, still stunned by what has happened, and she holds me as she recovers, my head pillowed by the softness of her breasts.
After a minute, she whispers my name. When I look up, she draws me to her and kisses me, making my blood flow again, right back where we left off. She shifts and flips me over, so I’m lying underneath her now. She uses her tongue to tantalize my nipples through my sheer babydoll dress as she reaches down for my throbbing pussy.
And then Mia uses her hands and fingers to bring me to completion, finishing off what we started the minute I walked in her front door.
After the session, I asked for the client paperwork, and I checked off the box giving Mia permission to use my photos in any way she pleases. After the great care she took with me today, I completely trust her.
Mia said she would email me a link to all the proofs when she was done editing them. I couldn’t wait.
It occurs to me on the Uber ride home that not once that entire afternoon did I think of my husband. I’m not sure how to process that, but my whole being is humming with joy, and I decide to live in the moment and allow myself to feel it all.
Two weeks later, Mia’s emails appear in my inbox. Curiously, there are two different emails. I open the first one, and the note says, “Natalie! Thank you for being a perfect client. I hope you enjoy your photos. Let me know if you want any prints.” I click on the link and gasp.
I look so natural and provocative in all of them, and I know Rob will be happy with how sexy I look. But my heart stops at one photo — the one where I was telling Mia about Tiger. I’m looking straight at the camera with a soft brightness in my eyes that I know is from tears. It is the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen myself, and my sexy parts are pretty covered up in that one.
Mia captured my soul that day.
I scroll eagerly, looking for the one I asked her to take with me, but I don’t see it anywhere. I realize it’s probably in the second email, so I quickly open that email. The note in this one says, “Natalie, you’re a beautiful person, and it made me happy to share such a lovely afternoon with you. I would love to see you again anytime if you wish, and I’d be happy to take more photos of you (for free). You’re one of my favorite clients ever. xoxo, Mia”
My heart starts to beat fast as I click on that link. I know that this one is private, just for me. My mouth gapes open when I see about thirty erotic photos of Mia and me being intimate with each other. I realize she had been using that clicker to take shots as we pleasured each other. My pussy dampens as I look at each picture, reveling in how beautiful Mia and I look together.
My favorite one is probably the one where I’m lying on top of her after she’s just come. Her eyes are closed, and she’s half-smiling as I’m lying on her breasts, my face unknowingly turned toward the camera. It’s the most contented I’ve ever seen myself.
I hear Rob coming toward our bedroom, and I quickly close the private photo link and open up the other one. “Rob,” I call out, “Come see these photos you made me do. They turned out really hot!”
And I show them all to him, feeling guilty as we look at each one, knowing that the obvious lust in my eyes as I gaze out from each photo is not for my husband but for the photographer behind the camera.
When my husband leaves the room, I immediately email Mia back.
“Dear Mia,
I loved all the photos you sent, but especially the ones of us together. It was the best afternoon of my life and I would love to get together again as soon as possible. Do you have time next week for another afternoon session?”
I compulsively hit send before I can let myself think too hard about it, and not even sixty seconds later, her reply beeps in to my inbox,
“Natalie! I have all next Wednesday open for you if you wish. Let me know. xoxo, Mia”
