Chapter 2

“We make the stuff. You can make it pretty stiff by putting in more corn starch. So we push it into the crack and smooth it. The fabric will smooth it even more.”

“Wouldn’t that get playdough in your ... inside you?”

“I don’t have a tampon, but I could use Kleenex to keep that from happening.”

“You know how crazy this sounds,” said Bob. “Having me shave you was bad enough. Now you want me to shove something in your girly part?”

“It’s not crazy. It’s innovative, as you said. And it won’t be in me. It will be against me.”

“I don’t know how to make playdough,” said Bob.

“You have a computer and there is this thing called Google that has that kind of information,” she said, snarkily. “You could probably find a You Tube video that shows you exactly what to do.”

“This would be pretty uncomfortable, wouldn’t it?” he asked. He was still skeptical.

“Yes, for maybe the sixty seconds it took you to take the pictures. I can live with that.”

Bob thought.

“Okay, I like the idea of circles over your nipples. Let’s try that first and take all the shots where down there isn’t visible, like standing sideways and holding a beach ball. If those come out we’ll try to figure out how to take the two shots where your who-ha will be visible.”

“Okay,” she said. “What can we use?”

“It has to be really thin,” he said. He looked around. There was a rag on the back of a chair, but it wasn’t pale enough. “Aha!” he said. He went to an equipment bag and pulled out a lens cleaning cloth that was beige. “I can cut circles out of this. I think that might work.”

He got scissors and held the cloth up against the tip of her bikini bra. He tried to stand back and hold the cloth at the same time. It was obvious he was trying to figure out how large to make the circles.

“Bob,” said Erica.

“Hmm?”

“Move your hands.”

He looked up and then back at his hands. He jerked his fingers off of her breast.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you ... um...”

Erica pulled the bra cup upwards, baring her breast and the dark nipple on it.

“Now you can measure,” she said, calmly.

“Oh! Yeah. Okay.”

“You saw my fandango. My boobs is no big deal, compared to that.”

He smiled.

“Of course.”

He held the cloth up and then carefully cut a round piece out of it that was about an inch in diameter. He handed it to her.

“Put that over a nipple and let’s see.”

She held the cloth over the nipple and pulled the bra back down, trying to trap the circle. When she took her hands away she lifted her hands, palms up and said, “Ehh?”

Bob looked and said, “It’s a little off.”

“I can’t see to get it right,” she said. “You put it in there.”

So Bob pulled the bra out until he had a good view of her chocolate nipple and the circle he had cut. Her breast was just as good looking as the rest of her, but he tried to put that aside as he placed the little circle.

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” he said. “I need to figure out how to hold it exactly where it needs to go.”

“Glue?” she said.

“Right. You want me to glue cloth to your nipples and then let it set up and harden while I shoot you. How does one get glue off one’s nipples?”

“Mom has some wood glue. If you get it on your fingers you can wash it off with water, if you get to it quick enough. And if you don’t, all you do is rub your fingers together and it balls up and comes off.”

Bob stared at her.

“Glue like that sets up in about a minute. I’m trying to imagine you in the shower, rubbing your nipples between your fingers. Have you ever done that?”

“Oh,” she said, her voice weak. “Not the best idea.”

Neither spoke. Erica looked around, some more.

“Wait. I have an idea,” she said. She went to the same table the Play-Doh had been on and picked up a container of Vaseline. She brought it back and handed it to him.

“Put a thin coat of this on the nipple and then the cloth will stick to it. Once the bra presses against it, it won’t move.”

“That will work,” he said. He cut another circle and then said, “Take your top off.”

“Gee, Bob,” she said. “Aren’t you supposed to take me to dinner, first?”

“Ha, ha,” said Bob. “As you mentioned, I saw your beaver when I shaved you and I’m going to see it again when I do something about the problem down there. You said seeing you topless wasn’t so bad.”

Erica reached behind her and untied the top. She pulled it to one side and let it lie on her shoulder. She was blushing a little as she looked at his eyes as he looked at her chest.

“Want to know something weird?” she asked.

“What?” he asked, as he put his forefinger into the Vaseline jar.

“This isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“This kind of thing isn’t supposed to happen,” he said. “I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

“You’re the first guy to see my boobs,” she said. “I thought I’d be freaked out, but I’m not.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m going to put the thin coat on.”

“Okay.”

Neither of them thought about the fact that she could put the thin coating on just as easily as he could.

She stood there as he gently circled her areola and nipple of her left breast. The nipple was erect, which did not help, but the cloth would still cover it. She took a deep breath as she felt someone else touch her nipple for the first time in her life.

“That feels ... I didn’t know it would feel like it does,” she said.

“Normally this would be foreplay. It’s supposed to feel like that. Haven’t any boys touched you like this?”

“They’ve tried,” she said. Her voice made it clear she had not tolerated such attempts.

He carefully placed a circle and then pressed it gently against the nipple. When he pulled his hand back it stayed in place. He stepped back and looked.

“That may actually work! You’re brilliant, Erica.”

He did the other nipple and she hummed.

“Maybe I should let boys touch me there,” she said.

“You don’t have a dad, so I’ll just tell you what he’d say if he heard you say that. Do not, under any circumstances, start letting boys play with your boobs.”

“Most dads don’t play with a girl’s boobs as they say that to her,” said Erica, with a smile.

“Okay. I’m going to press the top over your breasts. Once you’re covered, put your hands over them while I tie it.”

“Got it.”

He took the top from her shoulder and stretched it out, holding the sides and aiming. Erica stifled a laugh as he frowned and moved the bra around as he got it closer and closer to her body.

“I wish I had a picture of you doing this,” she said. “I bet it would be hilarious.”

“If this works, and you want that picture, I’ll take it for you,” he muttered.

The fabric touched her body and he pressed quickly, sheathing her breasts. Her hands came up and she cupped them over her nipples. Bob went behind her and fastened the top. He went back in front of her and she slowly lowered her hands.

“I can’t believe this, but I think that’s going to work!” he said.

“Then take some pictures,” she yipped.

He put her through a series of poses. He had her hold the beach ball in front of her groin, but that covered part of what the company was trying to sell.

He went to the computer again and Erica followed him. When the shots came up he examined them, carefully.

“Beautiful, he said. “It worked!”

“We can just leave them there while we make the playdough,” she said.

They went to his computer, where Google produced a recipe that recommended combining flour, cornstarch, cream of tartar, oil, and water.

“I don’t have cream of tartar,” said Bob. “I don’t even know what that is.”

“Maybe it’s not critical,” she said. “We’re not going to play with it. It just needs to be malleable enough to do what we need.”

“I think maybe I should just call the customer and explain that the cloth is too thin and this outfit isn’t going to work for them.”

“Before you do that, let’s at least try this. I’ve already gone through things I never thought I’d do to make this work. I don’t want that to be for nothing.”

For lack of anything else to do, Bob assembled the ingredients and followed the instructions, producing a pale blob of something that looked vaguely like dough. He pinched off a bit and tried to form it.

“Geez! This might actually work!”

“Let’s do it! Erica yipped. “I want to be done with this!”

He picked up a larger piece. He flattened it, squeezing the bottom to make roughly shaped V. He looked at her.

“You can’t possibly want me to shove this stuff up against your ... muff.”

“I’m just the model,” she said. “The photographer has to make the decisions on what works and what doesn’t.”

“I admire your attitude, but, as I said, shaving your pussy was bad enough. Sorry. Actually playing with it is kind of too much.” He blinked. “There. I said it.”

“You won’t be playing with it,” said Erica.

“I’ll be rubbing all over the place packing you full of goop,” he said. “And we don’t even know if it will work!”

“If you’ll recall, you’ve already rubbed my cunny. I had to rub off while you shaved me. That’s the most embarrassing thing I ever did in my whole life, but I’m over it, now. You were the first man to see me there, and then touch me there. You’re the first man to see my boobs and touch them. Why can’t you be the first man to play with my pussy?”

“Erica,” groaned Bob. “Please do not tease me. This is hard enough as it is. I’ve probably committed three or four felonies already, today.”

“I don’t see any cops and I have to say this is the most exciting shoot I was ever in. I’m game to try this if you are.”

Against his better judgment Bob gave in.

With his pre-formed shape in his hand, he had her lower the bottoms to her knees and then spread her feet shoulder’s width apart. He watched as she took two tissues and made a largish ball, which she pressed between her labia and closed her vagina off with. He carefully pressed a thick glop of “putty” into her cleft and against the tissue ball. It fell out almost immediately, taking the tissues with it and Bob saw she was producing lube. Under other circumstances that would have made him happy; say if she was eighteen.

“You can’t get excited,” he said. “It won’t work if you get slippery.”

“Go get the flour we used,” she said. “We can dust things with that. It should dry things out, right?”

He got the sack of bread flour. She reached into the bag and got two fingers loaded. She dusted the tissue ball and pressed it into her labia.

“Does that dry things?”

He tried the thick mess again and it was better, but still wouldn’t stay in place without something holding it there.

“Okay. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to get it as smooth as I can. I’ll place it and you hold it there while I pull your bottoms up. Then I can mold it through the cloth.”

“Got it,” she said.

Holding the putty in place, he pressed, here and there, trying to make it match her body. It was still lumpy when he told her to hold it.

“Don’t press too hard,” he cautioned.

“I know, Dad,” she said, her voice snarky.

He pulled up the thong, moving it into place and pulling the connection between the front and back tight.

“I do not understand why any woman would want a cord pulled up in her ass,” she grumbled.

“Sorry. It’s just how this is designed.”

“I know.”

He squatted and looked at it. Carefully, he pressed on each lump and, to his astonishment, the suit held everything in place as he made it smooth.

“This has to be clinically insane,” he sighed, “but it’s going to work. There will still be a bulge, but if I shoot at the right angles it won’t be obvious in the photos.”

“You should market it to other photographers.”

“Right. I’ll offer Bob’s Original Pussy Putty for sale and everybody will think it’s great.” He laughed. “Walk carefully back to the set. Let’s get these pictures before everything falls apart.”

Carefully she took baby steps with her feet still apart until she got back to the set. She turned, stiffly, and faced him.

“Don’t move,” he said. “Test shot.”

The lights slaved to his camera flashed. He went to the console.

“You stay there. I’ll know if it worked in a second.”

A minute later he lifted his head and looked at her over the top of the monitor.

“It worked. I can’t believe it, but it worked. Let’s get the rest of this done.”

“Yes!” she said. “And no one will ever know this happened. Not even when you write your memoirs.”

He laughed, moved back to the set, picked up his camera and began telling her how to hold her body.

“Relax. You look like you’re terrified.”

“I’m afraid to move.”

“It’s thick enough nothing will ruin it,” he said. “I’m not having you do the splits or anything.”

She moved through the poses as he clicked away. The intruding tissue ball and goop felt weird pressing into her vaginal vestibule, but she was able to be distracted by listening to his instructions and trying hard to obey them perfectly.

Finally, he stood back.

“Stay there while I look at these,” he said.

“Bring me a bottle of water,” she said.

He did and then uploaded the shots. He peered at them carefully and decided he could make them work.

“Ordeal over,” he said. “You can go remove things and take a shower.”

“I can’t believe we went through all that just to take fifteen or twenty pictures,” she said.

“As our beloved former president would say, I am in complete agreeance that this will be a secret we both take to the grave,” said Bob.

“Question,” she said. “Doesn’t what happened kind of make you my boyfriend, now?” She grinned.

“Yeah. Right. Go home and tell your mom you have a new boyfriend.” He made his voice go in a higher register, simulating her voice. “He’s a foot taller than me, and seventeen years older than me, and, oh, by the way, he’s black. Aren’t you happy for me, Mom?”

“Seriously, I’m not freaked out about all this,” she said. “That amazes me even more than everything else that happened, but I’m not traumatized. Okay?”

“I’m very, very glad you feel that way,” he said. “Now, go clean that mess off of you so you can go home and not mention that this strange man played with your nipples and pussy, today.”

“One other thing,” she said. “Are all those video cameras on?” she asked.

“They’re motion activated,” he said.

“Do all photographers use video as well as still shots.?”

Bob said “I don’t know about others, but I do it. Sometimes the video will pick up a better shot or angle than the still. And it can be valuable as evidence if a model claims sexual harassment.”

He stopped and stared at her.

“Good grief. The whole process is on video. There’s enough evidence on them to put me in jail for life!”

“You did not sexually harass me,” she said. “You can erase it, can’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess I can. You’re being pretty cool about all this.”

“Are you kidding? This is the most fun shoot I ever had.”

“I’ll have to delete all the film from today. The still shots I have of you are quite good. I won’t need the video for anything.”

He didn’t tell her he also had a hidden camera in the dressing room and door to the shower. Both were for his protection. The whole studio was wired so he would have proof of what did and did not happen in any shoots involving women. Models had also been known to steal things and violating their privacy was something he had to do to keep from being required to pay for stolen clothing or jewelry or whatever. The only area not covered by video was his loft bedroom. He admitted to himself that he wouldn’t be above looking at the “private” video, occasionally. He didn’t need any of the video of the studio to have naked shots of this girl.