Cover Girl

"Fashion photos? If I'm nude? How can that be?" I asked. "Where does the fashion come in? I'm wearing the latest in birthday suits, or something? Is 'Comme les Garçons' marketing birthday suits, these days?" I said this rapid fire, but rife with incomprehension, as well as of course the obvious sarcasm.

"Think, Joanie," Mr. Dixon said with just a hint of exasperation. I'm sure he must have felt as if he were speaking to a moron. "It's the setting, high up on this balcony, and it's the poses I am now going to put you through. They're fashion poses, but without the clothes."

So, I did it. I posed nude right there on the balcony, and at one point he shot a sequence of photos with me carefully posed, and in about a third of them I was even fingering my pussy, too. I guess we all got carried away.

The second most outrageous pose was when I assumed the pose I described above, the one that gives the viewer a line of sight highway up my thighs to my panties. Now, however, there was no skirt to frame a highway, and no panties covering my pussy. No, now without the clothes it was just my legs being splayed and my pelvis thrust out. It was a backward leaning, invitation to come and fuck me. Wow, I thought.

My friend Mary suggested the most outrageous pose. She suggested that I raise my left leg high in the air, and rest it on the railing. I looked at her. Could she actually be serious? My pussy would be on complete display like that! I looked over at Mr. Dixon, since I was sure he would say no.

Mr. Dixon said, "That would certainly be a sexy pose. If I were your ex-boyfriend I would go nuts seeing a picture like that. But we'll have to careful; we're high up, and it's not completely safe with one of your legs propped up as Mary describes."

I was in shock. Was I really going to fully expose myself completely like that, not only to Mary, Steve, and Mr. Dixon, but to the camera as well? When Mr. Dixon said, "Help her take the pose, Steve, and hover nearby, for safety. Joanie, look away, to your right, when your left leg is up on the shelf. Remember, look impassive!"

I did not think. I just obeyed. Steve came over and took my knee, slowing raising his hand up my thigh, getting dangerously close to my private area, now no longer so private! He wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me tightly, and he raised my leg, balancing my ankle on the ledge. Then he stood next to me, just far enough so as not to be in the picture. If he did in fact end up in the picture by mistake, he could easily be edited out, with something like Adobe Photoshop. Even I knew that.

Mr. Dixon began snapping away, muttering all sorts of superlatives, some of them sexy ones, too, such as "What a gorgeous pussy. I have to do it justice," and then much louder, "Hold the pose, Joanie!"

I was holding the pose, looking away, so I did not understand when I heard Mr. Dixon say, "Great idea, Mary. Joanie, hold the pose!" My legs were getting a bit fatigued, when I almost jumped, startled, as I felt someone licking my pussy! I could see Steve, so it was not him, and Mr. Dixon was snapping away as always. What was going on?

I did not want to break the pose, of course, and engender Mr. Dixon's disapproval, and Steve just off camera was saying encouraging things, such as "Just a little longer, Joanie. This is going to be over the top great!" But I was getting much too seriously aroused.

By elimination, I knew it had to be Mary eating me out, and holy shit was she doing a superb job! Being a woman herself, the clitoris held no mysteries for her, and she went straight for it with (I rapidly discovered) her highly talented tongue.

When Mr. Dixon finally allowed me to break the pose, I was so aroused it was hard to move. Steve came over to help me take my leg off the railing, and I saw that Mary was stark naked, wiping my juices off her face.

"That was you?" I almost whispered, looking at Mary. "Why are you naked?"

"Joanie, the picture of Mary, where the camera sees only her wonderfully crouched naked backside, licking you there, with your leg on the railing, is going to be the sexiest picture I have ever had the pleasure to capture," Mr. Dixon said. I barely heard him, as I stared at Mary's naked body. I noticed Steve was joining me in staring. My brain could not process all that was happening.

Mr. Dixon continued, "Unless you know her well, you cannot tell it is Mary," he said approvingly, as he looked at the screen of his camera, scrolling through and reviewing his most recent pictures. "It's just an anonymous naked woman, lapping away at your pussy, while you impassively look off into the distance. The camera captures the hourglass effect of Mary's hips and waist, with hints of her boobs off the sides of her torso. Marvelous!"

While I had maintained my gaze into the unspecified distance to the west, I had in fact been staring at a man watching me, and doubtless he was checking out the now naked Mary, too, from the window of an office building across the street. I was much too turned on. My brain was on overload. "I need a break, to calm down a bit," I said.

I was given a break. Mary got dressed. She had stripped just for that short burst of photos. Sexual thoughts were overpowering my brain; was Mary bisexual? Was I?

When we finished, Mr. Dixon called me over and whispered to me. Mary told me later she saw my eyes go wide and I kept shaking my head. I ran back to my clothes and got dressed lightning fast. Mary came over to me to ask me what he had said.

"Mr. Dixon said if I had sex with Steve, old fashioned copulation, right now, right here on the patio, that he was sure Steve would drive me to an amazing orgasm. Then he could retake the original clothed sequence and it would be incomparably better. A woman who has just climaxed models completely differently. I don't know how he knows that, but I can guess, after what he just proposed to me! 'There's no comparison,' he told me."

"And you said 'no' to that?" Mary said, seeming to be incredulous. "Steve is a hunk, you moron."

"He was proposing I have sex right here on the balcony, outdoors in plain view, with Steve, a man I don't even know! Are you nuts, Mary?"

"Remember that party at Gloria's your sophomore year?" Mary asked. "You got drunk and stoned, and you disappeared into a bedroom with some random guy you had just met. You even forgot to close the door, you know. I'm sure he must have fucked you. People saw the two of you going at it, even. I missed it myself, damn it. You did look glorious later that evening, however. You carried yourself with a dreamy quality, and you smelled of sex. Every man at the party was buzzing around you. It had an effect. Mr. Dixon's right."

"This is different," I said.

"Yeah, it is. That was pointless, gratuitous, total slut behavior, and here you will instead be some kind of wonderful, amateur cover girl!" Mary said.

"This would be on a patio, outdoors, where who knows how many anonymous people could see us!" I said. Mary could tell that once again, I was wavering.

"This is New York. Nobody cares. I say, go for it. Besides, Steve is one hell of a hunk. I could warm him up for you," Mary said.

"What? Huh?" I said, rather inelegantly. What the hell was Mary talking about? I seemed constantly to be several steps behind Mary.

"She'll do it, Mr. Dixon," Mary said, "Can I help Steve get hard with a little blowjob, first? Is that okay with you, and with you too, Steve?"

Steve smiled his agreement, and Mr. Dixon began to get his camera ready. Steve said, "Can I see your boobs while you blow me, Mary? You know, for inspiration?"

What a horn-dog, I thought. Seeing me naked and fingering myself is not enough for Steve? He has to use Mary blowing him to get to see her boobs, too? Didn't he get a good enough look when she was naked and eating me out? Mary does have great boobs, I thought. Steve noticed, no doubt. All men notice. They're large but not too large, pretty and pink, and with big pink areolas and bright red nipples. He'll be thrilled with them, I'm sure. Was I getting jealous?

Mary then undressed to the point where she was topless, while Steve took off his pants and boxers. Mary got on her knees, her boobs hanging out nicely below her chin. God, they were pert. Yes, I was jealous.

Steve's cock was not hard, but looked to be well on the way. It was both long and thick. What's going on? I thought. Is Mary really going to fellate this guy? And is he then really and truly going to fuck me?

Apparently, the answer to the first question was yes, and it was already happening, since Mary was slobbering over Steve's dick and taking it into her mouth, sucking furiously on it. Mr. Dixon was snapping away. After just a few minutes, Mary stopped, saying, "Steve's marvelous cock is nice and hard for you, Joanie. Get on all fours! You're going to love this."

Mary said it with such command and certainty, as if brooking no dissent, that I got down on all fours. Mr. Dixon said, "No, not like that. Steve, orient her properly, for the camera."

"For the camera?" I said, weakly.

"Yes, this will make a great photo sequence for that hopeless jerk ex-boyfriend Kyle of yours."

I said, "I think we have enough photos for tormenting Kyle. Do we really need to record this, too? Is it not enough that you're going to watch?"

Mr. Dixon told me not to worry, not to think about the camera. Well, it was his show, wasn't it? I nodded weakly. I thought to myself, this is beyond crazy. Why am I doing this? I can't believe I am doing this. What is wrong with me?

I was already wet, not just from the licking and fingering earlier, but from the very idea of fucking what was essentially a stranger, outdoors on a patio, 20 floors above Fifth Avenue, and overlooking Central Park. Strange as it may seem now as I recount it, it turned me on something fierce. Fucking that guy I did not know, and letting him leave the door open while we did it so that people could watch, that one time at Gloria's? That was child's play compared to this! And back then, I was young and careless, stupid, stoned, and drunk. What's my excuse this time, huh?

I was primed for sex. Mary's cunnilingus, driving me almost to climax, saw to that. I was as wet as I ever am. Steve entered me effortlessly. OMG, it felt divine. I hoped it was good for him too, but publicly fucking like this was such a turn on, it was the most erotic thing in the world for me just then. None of the audience knew me or would ever see me again. I was free just to enjoy it, and boy, did I.

I guess I had always enjoyed being the center of attention. Well, I surely was now! We fucked a good long time, changing positions, and I even had a climax. Steve shot his load inside me, and I figured I could worry about that some other time. It was not my most fertile time of month, anyway.

Mr. Dixon could tell I had had a climax. Anyone could tell, I guess, as it was not subtle. To my horror, I heard applause. Apparently, the hedge fund guys could not pass up watching me get publicly fucked, and they had raised the blinds.

I guess some of the hedge fund guys had been peeking through the slats, all along. I was so distracted I had not noticed. Publicly fucking does tend to distract a girl. I had an audience of at least 20 men. Forget Fifty Shades of Grey; I was Fifty Shades of Red, as I blushed away my humiliation and rushed to get dressed.

"This is going to be wonderful," Mr. Dixon said, and then he talked me through the exact same sequence of poses, in the exact same order, as what we had done originally. He kept muttering superlatives to himself as he took the photos. He was very excited by what he was getting. I was in shock. I mindlessly followed his directions. Steve, still half naked, moved my arms and legs around. I could tell he wanted to possess me again. Too bad, Steve. You can't always get what you want.

For the pelvis thrust shot, he had me remove my panties. I was sure the camera could see all the way up to my pussy, under my skirt. Maybe even it would see Steve's bright white cum, beginning to ooze out? Why would he want such a picture?

Maybe Mr. Dixon planned digitally to remove the cum, if it were in fact visible, and perhaps the camera would see only vague hints of my pussy. Perhaps it would be too dark and only have a suggestion of a pussy, or perhaps the viewer would conclude I was wearing black panties.

The problem was my pussy hair was blonde, like the color of the hair on my head. The camera would probably see just enough to convince the viewer I was without panties, but not enough truly to show my pussy, due to the shadows from being underneath the skirt. All these thoughts raced through my mind as I did what I was told. I simply followed directions, unquestioningly.

When it all was finally done, Mr. Dixon said he would messenger prints of the photos to my dorm in a few days, and he thanked me profusely. "It's models like you, Joanie, that make a photographer like me look good. You're a natural for following directions. You'll understand everything when you see the before and after photos."

"Before and after?" I asked.

"Before your orgasm, and after it. You'll see the difference. I guarantee it," Mr. Dixon said.

"Do you do this often?" I asked. Mr. Dixon looked confused. "Talk your models into sex to see how it improves the photo shoots?" I explained, not hiding even a bit of the sarcasm in my voice.

"Just look at the photos, Joanie, when they arrive," he said, not answering my question. I guess it was rhetorical. I was sure he had contractually enforced silence about his techniques with other women, anyway. What model would want to admit to having sex just to improve the photo shoot? None, I'm sure.

Before we left, I saw Steve and Mary exchanging contacts. Maybe Mary liked the way his cock tasted? Or maybe she liked the way he fucked me? Mary is, after all, a bit of a tart.

Calling Mary a tart says more about me than it does about her. She's not a tart. It's just that if she meets a man, and she feels like having sex with him, and he feels the same way about her, then her attitude is, why the hell not?

She's on the pill, and she usually has the man use a rubber, minimizing the risk of disease, so where's the harm? I could see her point even if I myself could not possibly be that way.

Mary's boobs were now covered up, and she was back to her normal dress, but Steve kept staring at her boobs anyway. I know what a man looks like when he's hooked, and Steve had already fallen for Mary.

Steve had just gloriously fucked me to smithereens, and now, two hours later, I was already yesterday's news? Do you know how that makes a girl feel? I tried to focus on being happy for Mary. She is, after all, a sweetheart of a girl, and a great friend. Plus, I could have cared less about Steve just then; it was mostly simply pride.

Mr. Dixon, I guess, felt compelled to opine a bit. "The sexiest look in a fashion shoot is the just-fucked look," he said. "The woman's skin has the most special glow to it, especially if it's right after she's had an orgasm. The woman's eyes are different, too. They're more liquid, less focused. They're kind of dreamy. It's subtle, but I think you'll see it. You are going absolutely to love this last set of pictures! So too will Barneys. You may get paid a serious sum of money. Thank you, Joanie. You're one in a hundred."

I'm not one in a thousand, or one in a million, I thought to myself? Don't I deserve a little more hyperbole? I decided to let it go. Being in the top 1% is pretty good, after all.

"I'll order a limousine for you girls," he said.

Mr. Dixon and I both looked at Mary. She was making out with Steve, and he had his hands down her skirt and was obviously fingering her as they kissed. His hand was forcing down her skirt, as he fingered her relentlessly. Her hips were keeping the skirt on, but only just.

The hedge fund guys were gleefully watching. I had no idea Mary was such a slut, but then how can I talk? This was the same man Steve whom I had just blatantly fucked in front of Mary, Mr. Dixon, the hedge fund guys, and the entire world!

Mary and Steve exchanged coordinates, and we left, with me wearing my new outfit, minus my blouse and bra. We decided to decline the limo, and we walked down Fifth Avenue to the East 51st Street subway entrance, with my jacket open and with me wearing my new, matching skirt. After publicly fucking, it seemed like small potatoes to have my breasts hanging out. Boy, that photo shoot had really changed my perspective on things.

I had not fully realized, however, that men on the street did not know of course that I had just been publicly fucked 20 floors above their heads, posed nude, posed nude while masturbating, and posed impassively while a naked Mary licked me to heaven and back.

The men on the street knew none of that, and they were both shocked by my hyper sexy attire, and simultaneously hoping to see a nipple. The wind was much reduced at street level, so I was pretty safe on that score, and I did not have to keep a hold on my jacket to keep from exposing myself. 'Exposing myself' in this context meant showing a nipple, of course.

Mary and I walked down Fifth Avenue, crossing to the west side of the street, since Trump Tower was on the east side, and all New Yorkers try to avoid the scene in front of it. We walked past the crowd of police and tourists across the street at Trump Tower, and I was causing a mild sensation wherever I was. I realized by modeling nude and even fucking in public, I now had a whole new perspective on exposure and exhibitionism, and I was completely relaxed, whereas had I done the same this morning, I would have been freaking out, for sure!

We had spent so much time with all this, that it was the early part of the evening rush hour by the time we got to the subway, after a leisurely walk. We got in a downtown #6 train, and it was packed. At the risk of being trite, we were packed in like sardines. This was not good, as I got slightly separated from Mary, and I was surrounded by men.

The train came to a sudden stop in the middle of a tunnel for reasons only the MTA knows, and I was thrown a bit into a random man standing next to me. I doubt it was an accident, but I immediately felt a hand on my right boob. I looked down and saw a man's arm had entered my jacket and his hand was fondling my boob. He was already beginning to tweak my nipple.

I followed the arm to the shoulder, then to the head, and then to the eyes of the man, and he smiled at me. Women are trained automatically to smile back when a man's eyes catch theirs, if he smiles. Before I could stop myself, as if it were an autonomic reflex, I smiled back at him, instead of burning him alive with my eyes, as I had originally intended to do.

"Hi, Joanie," the man with the offending hand said. Shit, he must know me. Eight million people in New York, and I find a man in a random #6 train subway car, whose hand is fondling my naked boob, and he knows me? Really?

Right, I realized. He is in my English literature class. He's no doubt heading back to the NYU part of Manhattan, just like Mary and me. His name is, is, let me think...Bob? Tim? Jim? Oh, who the bleep cares, anyway? He's a jerk and he's feeling me up in the subway for Pete's sake! I thought to myself.

"Hi Jim. Take your hands away from my boob, please," I said, speaking words I had hoped never to have to say in the subway.

"It's Tim, not Jim," he said. "Does that change things? Can I keep my hand there? You have the most wonderful boobs, you know."

I was already on surreal overload for this day. I was still thinking about publicly fucking that guy Steve 20 floors above Fifth Avenue. That was only a couple of hours earlier! Who cares about someone now feeling me up a little on the subway, after that?