Chapter 3

"Now, Susan... if you'll sort of slide down to the edge of the stool, then lean back on your elbows... That's it! Just fine, now. Hold it!" The man speaking was squatting on the floor, focusing his camera on her naked loins, and Susan Merril following his directions to the letter, obediently did his bidding. "Now... just spread your legs, nice and wide. I want to get a couple of shots from this angle!"

Slowly, she allowed her thighs to part, exposing the whole of her genital area to the stranger's eyes and the probing lens of his camera.

"Like this... ?" Susan asked amiably.

"Yeah... that's fine! Hold it just like that!" His camera clicked, and immediately he thumbed the mechanism to the next frame. "A little wider, now!" He came in closer, focusing his lens for a close-up, snapped the picture and said. "That's just great!"

Standing up, then, he stepped back and looked at her nude figure critically. He was obviously a successful business man. Dressed impeccably, hair trim done by razor-cut, nails manicured to perfection, his hands soft and white, graying at the temples and his body a little flabby, he was probably well past fifty-five years of age. In his wallet he no doubt would be carrying pictures of two or three grandchildren, the oldest perhaps nine or ten years old, and at home there would be a past middle-age wife... yet he was here in this Rent-a-Model studio taking obscenely pornographic pictures of a lovely, blue-eyed, blonde woman, young enough to be one of his daughters.

It was nearing the end of the thirty minute picture taking session, for which her client had paid twenty dollars, and Susan Merril stood to her feet, reaching for a light wrapper she had shed when he had come into the small, intimate studio carrying his own camera bag.

Impersonally, acting according to her instructions and functioning more like a sales clerk than a nude model, she said, "We can do the developing and printing here for you, Sir."

She was shrugging into her cover-up garment, and he glanced with surprise at his elegant, gold wristwatch, seeing that barely a minute remained of his half-hour. A look of undisguised disappointment passed over his handsome features.

"All right... I'll leave the film for processing... but look we still have about a minute, and I've got just two shots left, Miss... ? Couldn't I..."

"Susan," she filled in for him. "I'm number one hundred fifteen... and I'm sorry, the time's up."

"Do you have some other numbers to go along with your name... like a telephone number?"

"I'm sorry, Sir... that's against the rules. The only other numbers I can give you are: Thirty-eight, twenty-five, thirty- six!" She fielded his attempt to establish a liaison, easily, casually, and walking to the door, pushed the call-bell button signaling Linda Sloan at the front desk that she was finished; then with a friendly smile she went on, "You can leave your film with Miss Sloan as you go out."

The message was clear. He had been told in a thoroughly professional way that his time was up. Turning to leave reluctantly, he asked as he swung the door open, "If I decide to come back, again, is it possible to make an appointment, so I'll be sure to get you..."

"Yes, Sir, it is," she assured him. "Miss Sloan will issue you an identity number."

"I see," he mused. "The customer's are protected, too!"

"Yes, Sir, Miss Sloan made up the system, and she insists that everyone be anonymous." She took the doorknob on the inside and began closing the door. Linda Sloan also didn't like for her models and their customers to spend any extra time in conversation.

Just then, Miss Sloan appeared in the hallway, meeting Susan's client as he came out the door. "I hope you've enjoyed your session with Susan, here at The Camera's Eye, Sir," she said, smoothly, escorting the gentleman along the hall toward the front office.

"Oh, yes... very much..."

Over her shoulder, Linda Sloan addressed Susan. "I have one more client for you, Dear... then you can take your break."

"All right, Miss Sloan." She closed the door and waited for yet another stranger to come in for the purpose of taking nude pictures of her. Invariably, it seemed, they would be older men taking a voyeur's delight in the loveliness of her body. Some would be shy, only wanting to look and take pictures, barely saying anything to her. Others only wanted to talk, forgetting to take any pictures at all... but there were others who made it clear that they were interested in her to the extent of making passes, fondling and caressing. Those men, of course, were asked to leave her alone. If they persisted... she asked them to leave. Beyond that, a secret signal would bring Linda Sloan and one of the male models to her room, and the customer would be escorted to the street.

As she sat down on the mattress covered with a fake tiger's fur spread, Susan Merril thought about the strange way she was making extra money. It was better than being a Library Clerk at the University. The work was easy: All she had to do was pose nude for the voyeuristic clients. For this she was paid six dollars and fifty cents for each half-hour session, and most days she was only on hand for four or five hours.

She remembered how shocked her husband, Ron, had been when she had told him she had quit her job at the library to take this job at The Camera's Eye.

"Do you mean to say," Ron had asked with troubled brown eyes, "that you're going to strip naked so these kinky guys can photograph you... ?"

"That's right, darling... but it's strictly business. If the customers break the rules, out they go!"

"Look but don't touch, is that it?"

"Yes!" she answered. "Look, here's one of Miss Sloan's business cards."

He took the card and read: THE CAMERA'S EYE, Rent-a-model, Camera furnished, Film processed and printed, The studio choice of discerning lensmen.

"What happens if some guy tries to get funny with you... ?"

"There are some men working as models, too... and they give them the heave-ho!"

"Hell! It's kinkier than I thought, then, if she's got Muscle Beach boys there, too!"

"I don't understand, Ron... ?"

"Well... they must be there for the gay ones to take pictures of!" he explained. "Are there any Butch types come... ?"

"You mean women... who... ?"

"Yeah, you know, Lesbians... ?"

"I don't know... ?"

"Well... I wouldn't be surprised..."

In the end, Susan had gone to work at The Camera's Eye, because she could earn more money there, it was necessary. If Ron were to finish up the work on his Doctorate, it was up to her to help him get it. Some of the grants in aid had been withdrawn from the University, and it was a hard decision for Ron and Susan to make. Her husband was already well into his course work, his Thesis subject selected and approved by The Graduate Committee, and he had begun the grueling research work. If he had to leave school, now, it would be harder to come back, later, to finish up the requirements for the degree. Susan volunteered to drop out of her own studies to go to work, but the job in the University Library just didn't pay enough, making it necessary for Ron to take time from his studies to earn living money. That was when Susan heard about The Camera's Eye. Her photogenic, blonde beauty and her lovely figure got her the job immediately.

It was a terribly frightened, nervous and apprehensive Susan Merril, who took off all of her clothing for the first time... while a man, a total stranger, watched her with avid eyes, adjusted his camera, turned on the photo floodlights and began taking pictures of her naked loveliness. Some of the poses she had been asked to assume were, to say the least, obscene, but as time passed she became accustomed to being asked for certain poses.

... And, there was a certain excitement in it, too. She knew what some of the men were thinking. Their conversation, the words and gestures they used in getting her into positiom were highly descriptive... and erotic. "Now, Baby... I want you to put both hands down there... on either side of your cunt... and pull it apart for me... !"

Or, another might tell her, "Roll your nipples in your fingers to get them hard... then wet them with some saliva!" Yet another would order, "I want to get a shot of your chit... while it's all nice and hard!" Or: "Shove a couple of your fingers in your cant... !"

Once, after she had had a whole series of such lewd requests, especially one involving a huge dildo, a customer had brought along with him, she had complained to Linda Sloan, the owner, about it.

"As long as the customer doesn't touch you," Linda explained, "I've said that they can pose you any way they want!"

"... But..." Susan didn't know exactly how to say it. She tried, "Some of them talk so filthy... and when they ask me to do certain things... it makes me..."

"Makes you what... ?" Linda's jade-green eyes questioned.

"Well... they're talking about sex... and wanting me to do things to myself... and..."

"And, you get all aroused... ?"

"Yes... that's it..." Susan breathed.

Linda Sloan smiled a secret, little smirk as she answered, "Most of the girls have reported things like that... but I suppose the only thing you can do is get used to it. It seems to be a part of the picture. Of course... if you want to quit... it's up to you. I've got a whole drawer full of applications, so there's no problem in getting a replacement for you..."

The meaning of Miss Sloan's dismissal of her complaint was very clear: Do what's asked... or quit! Susan decided not to quit... but she was also very sure that she'd never get used to being in a sexually, half-aroused state during her working hours.

Then, as she sat there musing, the door to her studio opened and a short, stocky, gray-haired man walked in carrying a Polaroid color camera... Susan recognized him; the man had come to the Camera's Eye several times before this, and each time he had asked for Susan, number one hundred and fifteen. He also always rented one of the studio's cameras.

"Hello, there, Susan Baby!" he smiled broadly. "I'm back again!"

"Hello..." Susan grinned shyly, not bothering to get up. She knew that this man wanted to take most of his pictures of her while she was lying down. Loosening the belt of her robe she began to pull it off. "What kind of poses do you want, today... ?"

From a brown, paper bag he removed several thin, silk scarves, light and diaphanous. "Here," he said, holding up one of the wisps of see-through material, "I'd like to get some shots of you with these!"

"I'm really not much of a Salome..." Susan remarked, kiddingly. Her wrapper was off, now, revealing her curvaceous body.

"You'll do... until I find a better one," the customer told her, his hungry eyes sweeping over her luscious, naked body.

Linda drove their little, foreign car home from her afternoon's nude modeling stint at The Camera's Eye, feeling more than usual that state of being half sexually aroused. Having strange men's eyes devour her curvaceously nude body and knowing that later they would be enjoying seeing her, again, as they perused the prints or slides, perhaps showing them gloatingly to yet other strangers, their friends and associates, gave her a giddy feeling of awe and wonder that her body could excite men so very much; for excite them she did. She saw it in their eyes... and in the throbbing bulges inside their pants, which for the most part they tried to conceal out of embarrassment or nervousness.

Of course, she was safe from any molestation, but the idea had crossed her mind as to what could happen... if their were no restraints, the rules set down by Miss Sloan set aside, even for a little while. Ugh! It didn't take much imagination to know that the wishful desire in those men's eyes would be translated into action, almost instantly.

Her working hours as a Rent-a-Model were in the afternoon, designed to catch the business men on their long lunch hour. She was usually finished by five-thirty or six, so she could get home to cook a hot, nutritious dinner for Ron. When she had taken the job at The Camera's Eye, Ron had insisted that she not work any evening hours. It was just as well, too. There was a dangerous possibility that she might be followed home from work. Miss Sloan had agreed that it could happen, so Susan felt a little more secure driving home in the late afternoon and early evening hours. Even so, she had gotten into the habit of checking her rear-view mirror constantly and taking roundabout routes home. Actually, it was just a short drive up Wilshire Boulevard from the studio to their apartment near the University.

She found that Ron had already gone off to the library for the evening. The remains of his fast soup and sandwich dinner were on the kitchen table. An unreasonable annoyance overwhelmed her. Linda had asked her to take one extra client, this afternoon, and it had made her more than an half-hour late. Ron's fixing his own meal and leaving before she arrived home made her feel lonely and more than a little chagrined that she couldn't be there to do the wifely thing.

Lately, it seemed, they were seeing less and less of each other... and it had been four nights, now... since Ron had made love to her. That bothered her. Ron was only twenty-five... almost twenty-six years old, and he didn't seem to have the sex drive that went along with his youth. He told her it was just temporary. His exacting research work was draining him of all his energies.

It's got to be tonight! She told herself over and over that it had to be so, hoping against hope that Ron wouldn't plead exhaustion, again, God, I couldn't stand to wait another night!

A startling thought raced into her brain like a bombshell: Could Ron be... seeing another woman? It might be a reason for his tiredness... and lack of interest in me! She rejected the preposterous idea almost instantly. No! That couldn't be it! Ron and I are really in love with each other... and he wouldn't do that... any more than I would! God! I can't imagine having another man doing things to me!

She ached for him. All those lewd poses during the afternoon had been working in her, feeding on her mind and body. Her breasts and nipples tingled from exciting them to erection, and at least three of her clients had wanted to take close-ups of her loins, insisting that she expose her genitals completely. It's a disgusting way to make a living for us... but the job pays more than any other I could get!

Quickly, she prepared her own evening meal, just a snack since she dared not put on any extra weight. She counted her calorie intake carefully, ever since she had been working at The Camera's Eye. Linda Sloan had made it clear that she didn't want any sloppy, overweight women working for her. It made sense, too. If anything, Susan's figure was even more alluring than it was before she became one of Linda's Rent-a-models.

After she had eaten, done the necessary household chores, she decided to shampoo her hair. Afterward, having dried her long, golden-blonde hair, she brushed it until it shone like burnished gold; then as time dragged, waiting for her husband to come home, she showered and put on a filmy nightgown. Propped up in bed with a popular novel, she read to pass away the time. The book was explicitly frank about sex, as many novels are these days, and she found herself reading the same words she heard each day at work. She, herself, never used those words; however, she recognized that there was little she could do to avoid hearing them. I wish Ron wasn't so vulgar... sometimes!... But then, she supposed most men were like that, and she'd just have to put up with it. She had already been through the stage of being shocked by them; now, she just tolerated that vocabulary.

It was a quarter past ten when Ron came home. He found his wife already in bed, and he dutifully and somewhat wearily gave her a quick peck of a kiss, disappearing quickly into the bathroom after a grunted, "Hi, darling..."

Instinctively, Susan knew his mood, his bone-tired look, and she was sure that there was no hope for the sexual congress she wanted... and needed... But, there 's got to be some way I can get him interested enough to... do it to me... tonight! He didn't even notice me... see that I had on my nicest nightgown. She looked down to assure herself that the contours of her lovely breasts were barely hidden by the bodice of the filmy, see-through garment. The irony of the situation wasn't entirely wasted on her, as she ruefully thought about the several strange men, who had viewed her naked body, their emotions charged with an unattainable desire for her, while she had posed for them, today... yet her own husband had barely given her a second glance. She couldn't find it in her to laugh. It was too tragic, and she was desperate. What can I do? Would she have to seduce her own husband? Maybe that's it! I've got to make him want me... even if he thinks he's too tired to do it!

She had never been that forward. It had always been enough for her to be there, in bed, clean, perfumed... waiting; now, things had changed. Maybe she could change, too! Her mind raced planning what she would do... would have to do, if she were to get the tenderness of his kisses and the hardness of his penis filling her. God! I'll have to do it!

Tossing back the sheet, Susan pulled her nightgown up so that the hem was barely covering her loins, revealing the most of her softly tapered thighs; then, she arranged the front of it to reveal the deep cleft of the valley between her full-orbed breasts. She'd be ready for him, looking her most desirable, when he had finished his shower.

Abruptly, she heard the sound of the water stop, and she knew it would be only a few moments until Ron would be coming to bed. Her heart pounded with the excitement of what she was planning to do... if he didn't show a proper interest in her.

Glowing deep in her belly, she felt the banked fires of her desire begin to flame into searing life, and above her breasts tingled as her nipples grew to erect vibrancy. I'm getting hot... just thinking about it! Unconsciously, her tiny, cool hands cupped the pliant flesh of her mounding breasts, her palms feeling the hard buds of her nipples spiking out into them.

Ron came out of the bathroom, his longish, brown hair tousled and damp. He was dressed in his pajamas, and wordlessly, he looked at his wife, lying uncovered, her nightgown pulled up seductively... invitingly, her hands still cupping her own breasts. His eyes were bleary from long hours of reading, and he was exhausted physically. He knew that the display of her legs and breasts were intended for him... But God! A man's got to feel like it... before he can really do anything! He switched off the light.

He could still see her in the glow of the bedside lamp, her eyes deep pools of troubled blue, "Ron... aren't you even a little bit interested... tonight... ?" she murmured.

"I'm pretty damned tired, darling..." he told her.

"Could you get interested... if I helped... ?"

"Hell! If I can't get it up... there's not much action, and the way I feel right now... I couldn't even get interested in Raquel Welch!" He padded toward the bed and sat down on his side, reaching for a cigarette to light.

"Ron, darling... I just want you to... to be interested in me... right now, tonight!"