0 comments/ 30211 views/ 4 favorites Through The Lens Ch. 01 By: HarveyMarcus WARNING: The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further! This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen. This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached. * * * * * * * * * * Sorry to have taken so long in delivering this prose, but I had to juggle significant complexities. In many ways, this chapter documents a key moment in my sexual timeline. I won't spoil your reading by telling you any of the juicy details in advance. Suffice it to say, Mr. Marcus tries to improve his photographer skills. However, there appears a new character who will show up periodically in many of my forthcoming tales. Too many times, my experiences are "slippery slopes" where I go from "Hell no, there won't be any sex" to "Oh God, I'm cumming in her pussy" in the span of two paragraphs. This new character developed a longer, more gradual, relationship with me, incrementally over time. As you read this story, try to figure out how many subsequent stories branch off of this one. Big hint: you'll need to take off your socks. * * * * * * * * * I had a deep craving for pizza when I got back from Nebraska. As a resident of the Chicago area, I should have been loyal to deep-dish style. But over time, I've found that the extra bread fills me, and I'd prefer more cheese and sausage toppings than sweet cornmeal crust. A glossy flyer on the kitchen table stack of mail reminded me of a new pizza joint, A Hot Piece, just a few blocks away. It occupied a narrow storefront, with a thin counter along one side. With no stools, the place was not designed for eat-in. If the store was going to survive, it would have to depend on carryout and delivery. Some of the up-tight residents of my community had circulated a petition, asking them to change their name, claiming A Hot Piece was provocative and fostered lewd thoughts. The freedom of speech-ers supported by the ACLU won, of course, when they used another local eatery, Snappy's Taco, as a precedent. Funny, I'd never thought of Snappy's Taco as suggestive, but after I read about the lawsuit, the image of Juli the flight attendant's pussy decorated with lettuce jumped into my brain. After deciding I would treat myself to delivery, I called the number. "This is Louie, you want a hot piece?" The owner wasn't the most suave businessman I'd ever spoken to on the phone. Not even close. After I ordered a medium cheese, sausage and mushroom, thin crust, I provided my name, address and phone without being prompted. However, when I offered him my credit card number, he barked, "Pay the driver" and hung up. I put my feet up to relax and consider what beverage should accompany my feast. A beer? Maybe a cold cream soda, but the local generic in the fridge would pale compared to the fancy stuff on Webb's private plane. Maybe an original Coke, but all we had in the house was Diet Coke with Vanilla. The ash-colored wall phone rang. Even though the bundle of calling features on my landline phone included caller ID, all of the instruments in the house were old style Western Electric models, designed to last over one hundred years in normal use. Since ours were only about forty years old, it was way too soon to replace them. So, every phone call coming into the Marcus residence was an anonymous gift until I lifted the receiver and spoke that one provocative question. "Hello?" "Oh, thank goodness, I've been trying to reach you for days!" The voice was familiar, but my brain was too tired to make the connection. "Who is this?" "Vonna. You remember taking pictures of me, don't you? Annie and I went to school together." Ah yes, Annie's friend who wanted photos for her boyfriend. They'd shared a common birthday, he dumped her over the phone in the middle of the shoot, and she subsequently shared her body with me. That Vonna. "Who could forget?" The sex had been ball-draining spectacular. [AUTHOR: See story DOUBLE BIRTHDAY] "I haven't forgotten either." Her breathing was heavy. Was this her version of phone sex? "I've been leaving you messages." Sure enough, the red light blinked on the answering machine, the kind that used two cassette tapes. I explained that I'd been out of town. "What can I do for you?" Or to you? "I've got a chance to submit my portfolio of photos for a spokes-model position. They liked the pictures you did, but now they want specific outfits and poses. This could be my big break, and I'll only trust you to do the layout. But we have to meet a deadline." So Vonna had used my pictures to get a shot at a real modeling gig? Maybe I was better behind the lens than I thought. "Of course, I'd be happy to. But wouldn't you'd be better off with a professional photographer who knows lighting and such? I'm still quite an amateur." "Don't be silly. You know plenty. Your photos got me through the preliminary round. And I trust you. Isn't that important, the relationship between the photographer and the subject?" Ours was more sexual relations than a relationship. "If you insist. How soon are these pictures due?" "This week, at the latest." "I'll need to check my calendar at work, since I just got back in town." I took her number on a scrap of paper and told her I'd call her back. If I was going to take photos of Vonna for a professional gig, then I needed lessons to shoot more like a pro. I checked the local adult education catalog but there were no photography classes offered. I didn't know any professional portrait photographers who could give me a quick lesson. A quick review of the phone messages was in order, before the pizza arrived. Just like she'd said, Vonna had called twice, more anxious with each call. The next message was from Smith, one of my bowling buddies, wanting to know if I was available. [AUTHOR: See story DITZ THE BABYSITTER] I called his number from memory. "Hey, Marcus, welcome back. We miss you, man. Bowling with just Jone-sie was boring so we stopped." Boring, like no one to tease. Jones doesn't react to Smith's barbs, but I do. "You must miss the competition." I wasn't that much better than him. "You really go to Goat's funeral?" I told him bits and pieces of the trip, the private jet, the funeral service, and the Webb family, leaving out the sex parts. It was bad enough he knew I'd fucked Ditz, the babysitter he'd recommended. "Say, do you know any professional photographers?" "Why? You got some event coming up?" "No, I just want a few tips." "I didn't know you'd become some kind of shutterfly." Smith hummed a moment. "Hey, I know someone who knows a great camera jockey." He chuckled his sex-joke laugh. "I've got this friend whose wife gave him a bound portfolio of pix. Really nice. It was private, but he showed it to me anyway. She looked kind of plain in person, but a real doll face in those outfits. Whoowee." "What kind of outfits?" "You know, nightgowns. Sexy ones that showed everything. Boy, she'd kill him if she knew I'd seen her undressed like that." "That might work." Perfect! "I'll send him an email and get the photographer's name. And you, Mister Picture, keep next Saturday free for me and Jones. My ball is getting cobwebs, for cripe's sake." My balls weren't dusty at all, after lots of exercise with the Webb women. "You're on." I wondered how much the racy photographer would charge for lessons, or if he'd be willing at all. There were more messages but the doorbell rang, just about thirty minutes after my call for food. Standing at the door was a young woman, in a puffed up bright yellow nylon jacket and jeans. Her dark hair, except for one dyed blonde streak, curved to frame one side of her face, covering the other side. "A Hot Piece," she said. The dialect was Russian or Romanian, somewhere in that neighborhood. She read my order from a slip of paper with grease marks, probably Louie's fingerprints. "Twelve six five, with tax." "Any delivery charge?" "No. You within half a mile. Free." "Great." I reached in my wallet. Only twenties. So I decided to be a big tipper and handed her one. "Keep the change." She stood there, looking at the bill. Was she in shock? I was suddenly embarrassed that I'd tipped so large. It should have been a buck or two. I was prepared to close the door, but she still hadn't moved an inch. "Are you okay?" "You want?" She took a tiny step forward. Did I want what? Change? I'd already told her to keep the balance. Still she stood there. "You want I come in?" Having the company of a pretty young woman was always better than being alone, but there probably were pizzas in the trunk of her car. "Don't you have other deliveries?" She nodded. "Sorry. I go." She stepped backwards, losing her balance by missing the concrete step behind her. She flailed her arms and recovered, then ran to her subcompact as if she'd robbed a bank. She almost jumped into her coupe, which was decorated with a flashing neon-lit sign attached to the roof with straps. It blinked "A HOT PIECE." God, what was that all about? While I chewed on a slice of pizza and sipped generic cola from a can, I played the remaining recorded messages. The next one was a generic "call me back" message from Clara across the street. I appreciated her discretion, since something more explicit like "One of my nieces is visiting and she needs to be fucked" would have been a disaster if Harriett had heard it. I'd procrastinated long enough and dialed her number. "Harvey, are you avoiding me? After all I've done for you?" By making her female family members available to me? "No, I've just been very busy. Traveling and working-" "Your way between the thighs of young women?" Yes, out in Nebraska, and not that young. "No. And now I'm looking for how to get some training as a photographer." It was none of her business, but it was on my mind, and I was too tired to apply a filter to my speech. "Really? Then let me help you. In return for your future assistance, naturally. Uncle Viktor opened a photography studio in town. He'd be glad to give you some pointers. After I call him." "You will? Thanks." "If. If you promise to give my visiting niece some attention next weekend. Agreed?" Before or after bowling with Smith and Jones? "Sure. Fine." "Marvelous! I'll call Viktor and tell him you need his help. The studio is on Second Street, in the old yellow brick building." I thanked her and hung up. It no longer mattered if Smith came through - I had a teacher. Before I could listen to the next message, the phone rang. "Hello?" "Hi, honey." It was Harriett. She was chipper. "How was the funeral? How is Leonard's family holding up?" I swallowed hard. "I think I brought them some comfort." At a minimum, all the females had orgasms. "How's London?" "Terrific! Besides the business meetings, we were allowed a bit of time for sightseeing. The museums and historical sites are fascinating. Such history! You should have come with me." "You know I don't like traveling." Except when the flight attendant sits naked on my lap. I was wary of chatty Harriett. She didn't act this nice without a hidden agenda. "Harvey, I have great news. They assigned me a larger territory and an assistant." First it was the leased Lexus. Now a helper. Harriett was moving up in the world. Her salary approached mine and her bonuses took it over. With a solid financial footing she might not take it too hard when I left her sorry ass. Hell, she might not even notice. But not before I had my own financial house in order. "Congratulations. A new hire or an existing employee?" "She's a new hire. Just graduated from college in Boston. This is her first job." My dick twinged at the mention of 'she' and 'her.' A college grad no less. My recent experience with undergrads promised great potential. Oops, almost forgot my "don't fuck with coworkers" rule. That applied to Harriet's coworkers as well. Although, as a result of my recent exploits, that "rule" had degenerated to a "guideline." [AUTHOR: See story SERVICE WITH A SMILE CH. 7 PART 1] Harriett prattled on. "She has a dual major of business administration and information technology. You two have so much in common." Yeah, you boss us both around. "I look forward to meeting her some time." "That's terrific to hear, because I'm bringing her home with me." That was a surprise. "Really? Not on my account, I hope." Harriett paused way too long. There was something going on and I wasn't going to like it. "Winifred will be staying with us. For a while." What? "Like the weekend while her apartment gets painted? Or like a week while she looks for a place to stay?" "Did I tell you she's a princess? Her parents are a duke and duchess in England. She's the family breadwinner. I met them last night. A real duke and duchess, can you believe it? And we had dinner in their formal dining room, with servants, just like in the movies." I pictured the Disney cartoon of Beauty and the Beast. Was Winifred a beauty? I'm so easily distracted. Harriett kept talking while my mind wandered. "So it's going to be a while before she can pay off her family debts. Like the back taxes on their castle. She's invited us to visit, at a discounted rate of course." Harriett's answer of indefinite duration morphed my daydreams into total shock. "So this is long term? You've taken on a boarder without my permission? And a non-paying boarder at that. Don't I have a say in anything anymore?" Harriett's tone turned from sweet and chipper to normal, strident. "Listen, you have no idea the responsibilities they're putting on me. Winifred is totally efficient. Not only has she optimized my time, I'm sure I could handle additional accounts if they dumped them on me. And given recent history that's very likely. Without her I'll fall flat on my face." Harriett's job took her away from home often enough that I could indulge my sexual samplings. A significant side benefit. "Doesn't she have anyone else to stay with? Former classmates, maybe? Or other employees?" "She went to school in Boston and doesn't know anyone in our area. Her only family is her aunt and uncle in England. She'll be sending the bulk of her check overseas. All she has is one trunk of clothes and a few personal possessions. The Boston branch interviewed her and sent her here straight from campus. Lord knows, she's so broke she can't afford a hotel room. Besides, she can be the big sister that Anna never had. You wanted two children, right?" Yeah, one boy and one girl. Back then. Not now. "Anna is off at school with lots of friends." Who were great at sexual games. "At this point in our lives, we should be converting to empty nesters, not adding needy young-adults to our household." "She'll be no trouble. She'll travel with me. Please don't make me beg. And for God's sake don't scare her away. I'll never find anyone as efficient. Make friends with her. Like you did with Anna's high school buddies." Harriet didn't know what she was suggesting. I was a bosom- and cunt- buddy with most of them. "So I have no choice?" "I guess not. We'll see you in two days." Saturday. Of course. Clara must have called Viktor immediately after we spoke, because he called back that very evening. "I'd be happy, you sit in, get some pointers. No cost to you, Mr. Marcus, a favor to Bella Clara." I was surprised Viktor was so willing to give away his trade secrets. "I don't view you as competition. Maybe you can help advance the art of personal portfolios. There are plenty of customers to go around. Is tomorrow convenient?" I told him it was. "Good. Come by the studio and we'll let you observe." I didn't ask who "we" was. A partner? It didn't matter. I was getting free lessons. ***** The next morning I wolfed down a bowl of cereal, not Groatz, which would have taken an hour just to chew, and drove to Viktor's studio. There were empty spaces in a free lot one half block from the three-story brick warehouse that had been converted to commercial use. When I got to the main entrance, a Lincoln Town Car was waiting at the curb, engine running. The foyer was wide, with offices on both sides of the main floor sporting signs for Underwuud Photography. The door on the right also had a sign "Office." On the other side of that door, a young man sat at a desk, the official greeter. Behind him was a photo of an older man and a younger woman. Before I could get my full name spoken to the greeter, Viktor himself, the man in the photo, came out to greet me. "Mr. Marcus? Clara said to take good care of you. So, how long have you been taking photos? What kind of a camera do you use? What do you shoot? Portraits? Events?" I gave him an out-of-sequence answer. "I have a nice digital camera that's served me well so far. I don't do weddings or bar mitzvahs or that kind of thing. Portraits, usually private." I hoped that euphemism would be meaningful. His eyebrows went up. "Perfect! You will accompany me on a shoot this morning, for basic skills. Then you'll assist my daughter Angelina for a private shoot across the hall." With Viktor's comment, it was an easy assumption that the younger female in the portrait was his daughter, not a trophy wife. I followed Viktor deeper into his domain, past several shooting areas with professional lighting, multiple colored backgrounds that rolled down from the ceiling, and cameras on tripods. "This is so professional." Viktor shot me a "no duh" look. Of course it was professional. He made his living doing this. The official greeter came back and told us Viktor's next customer was here. A mother and her son came into our shooting area, which was carpeted in a neutral beige with a carpeted cube in the center. Viktor led the boy to the carpeted pedestal, but he bolted for his mother as soon as Viktor removed a gentle touch from his shoulder. After pleas from his mother and a lollypop from Viktor, the boy remained seated, but fidgeting. In the meantime, I stood behind Viktor's camera. Never one to keep my hands to myself, I fiddled with the controls. Viktor joined me behind the tripod. "Leave the professional equipment alone." He set up another tripod with what looked to be the same style of camera and zoom lens. "I still shoot film. This one is digital." It had lots more buttons than my simpler digital camera. I squinted at the labels, wondering how many alternative terms there were for "menu." "Play all you want, or listen to me and learn." So I listened. I adjusted the lights and straightened the background curtains and fetched a replacement lollipop when the kid dropped his on the carpet. I learned how to give direction as the photographer and convince the subject to cooperate. Sometimes Viktor and I were bad cop and good cop. Sometimes it required a distraction. When the kid got bored with sitting, Viktor flipped a switch at a console next to him. Brightly colored balloons appeared over our heads, just out of camera view. The boy startled at their arrival, as if by magic. Viktor snapped a few more shots of the boy, eyes wide open, his expression one of blended awe and delight. Viktor had no problem using various tactics, some subtle, some devious, to get the end result. With little Johnny, he captured a set of angelic poses despite the boy's devilish nature. Through The Lens Ch. 01 The half hour sitting seemed like three as Viktor posed the uncooperative child, all the time explaining to his mother and me what he was doing with lights and positions and props. When the shoot was finished, the mother smiled at us as she dragged her son from the raised platform. "He really enjoyed it." Viktor escorted the mother and son out. I examined the control panel. Balloons from the ceiling were just one of Viktor's weapons. From the labels, Viktor could have produced a complete circus with animals and clowns from his magical ceiling. The mom was entirely pleased with Viktor's efforts and signed up for an expensive package of wallets, multiple five by sevens and as many eight by tens. Oh yes, and a two foot by three foot poster. After they departed, Viktor asked, "Did you learn anything?" "Lots." Mostly about how to manage the object of the shoot. If you lose control, the session fails. "I hope so. There's a client on Angelina's list for this afternoon. A bigger challenge than little Johnny." Viktor walked me to the door. I pushed it open and bumped into something or someone. Whoever it was pulled the door fully open. It was that same pizza girl from A Hot Piece. We both startled. Viktor handed her some money he'd had stowed in his pocket, evidently prepared for the transaction. He had to physically put the bills in her hand and fold her fingers around it because her eyes were on me, just as mine were on her. Only when he said, "Thank you very much. See you next week" did she change her focus. She walked backwards a few steps, still looking at me, then ran the length of the foyer and through the door. "Who was that?" I asked. "Her? That's Nashta. We order in once a week, as a treat for the staff." I imagined my staff, being treated by Nashta's pussy. What fairy tales I come up with! "Beautiful bone structure, hmm?" Viktor handed the flat box to the greeter, who took it back for employee consumption. "I've offered to shoot her, at no charge. She could be a model - I have contacts - but she refuses. Young women today! Ha!" I'd offer to shoot in her, if she'd pose with her legs apart. Sheesh, why was I so taken by this waifish foreign beauty? I thought about Vonna. "Yeah, no telling what they'll do." Especially if their boyfriend dumps them while they're posing. "My daughter Angelina will be handling the next customer for an intimate portfolio, like you'll be doing. Listen to her, too. She's a pro. I've convinced her to let you observe. Just keep your mouth shut. Okay? Okay!" I left Viktor's side after a vigorous handshake. As I approached the door on the other side of the foyer, two women walked through, arms around each others' waists. One was Angelina, Viktor's daughter. The other woman was breathtaking. Literally. Not cute. Not sexy, like a Playboy playmate. Soul-grabbing beautiful, and she looked familiar somehow. I resumed breathing with a gasp as they kissed, mouths open, tongues visibly probing. They gradually pulled away from each other, both dreamy eyed. "I don't know what to say," said the beauty. "I have another client scheduled," said Angelina. "I'll send your proofs in twenty-four hours." Although Angelina had her own earthy charm, I couldn't take my eyes off her client. I was not merely seeing her physically; I was witnessing her humanity, her soul. Was this what love at first sight meant? The customer's expression went from relaxed grin to a piercing stare when our eyes met, and then immediately back to euphoria as she turned away. Swinging her shoulder bag, she strutted to the front door. The town car driver held it open and then scrambled to get the rear door for her as well. "You must be Mr. Marcus. Call me Angie." Her voice startled me back to the task at hand. "Yes, call me Harvey. Can I ask, was she a friend of yours?" It sure seemed that way, from the kiss and all. "No, just a client. A wealthy client, for sure. She just required some hands on." Angie smiled. "And a bit of gentle persuasion. Daddy told me you'd be assisting me. Have you done intimate portraits?" I nodded. "A few times, and I have a big shoot coming up." Angie jammed her hands in the front pockets of her jeans. "Then the next client will be a perfect learning opportunity. You saw daddy at work, right?" "Yes, with a young boy. Your father charmed both Johnny and his mother. Made the little tyke look like a saint." "Our challenge in this case will be to charm the inner woman out of the client. Follow me." I glanced over my shoulder. The black town car had left. In jeans and a short sleeve polo that matched her father's with their company logo on the breast, Angie walked like a guy. Her brown hair was close cropped, a masculine style. There was no sway of hips. Given her public display of affection with her last client, I was tempted to conclude that Angie liked girls, not guys. But that was a hasty conclusion based on scant evidence. With a client in the studio, there'd be no opportunity for me to test Angie's sexuality. And to be honest, no need. I was there for knowledge, and not the carnal type. Angie's studio was smaller and open, with no dividing partitions. On my left, a raised platform, carpeted in black with matching backdrop, with dozens of lights overhead. One lone black stool occupied the flat space. On the right, another raised platform, this one for Angie and her camera equipment. The aisle in between led to a curtained area at the far end of the room. Angie took her position, on a matching stool behind the camera on a tripod. "Ms. Prim called Daddy last week. She claimed her husband ignores her. Sexually, that is. A friend of the studio told her about success she had after we shot an intimate portfolio that she shared with her hubby. Ms. Prim requested a sitting for some pictures to rejuvenate her relationship. But she demanded a female photographer." Angie curtsied. "So I canceled another client and quoted a premium price for my services." Photos of Harriett in sexual poses wouldn't do a thing for me. "So she believes that-" Angie cut me off. "You saw my father use surprise and distraction to get subjects to give natural expressions?" I thought about Viktor's techniques. "Yeah, he used balloons from the ceiling-" Again she interrupted. "And a bunch of other tricks. Good for children, but not for adults. I have my own ways of relaxing the subject and making them comply with my directions." 'Comply' sounded harsh. Angie bosses the clients around? "Sounds intriguing. So, what precisely do you do?" "Watch how I work and learn. ¬†Just don't interfere." She directed me to hide behind the changing screen at the far end of the room. "After our preliminary conversation, I'll bring you out as my assistant. Eliminates the up front reluctance against a male helper in situations like this." I wondered how uncooperative a grown woman could be. After all, these photos were voluntary. No one was holding a gun to her head. On the other hand, if the client wanted intimate portraits and had a female photographer, it was obvious why my presence might be objectionable. Angie's more than friendly demeanor with her last client still bugged me. Would Angie attempt woman on woman sex with me in the room? That might be an extra lesson I hadn't planned on. As I walked to the far end of the room to hide, I passed a card table holding a crystal punch bowl, filled with a pinkish beverage, and some matching cups. "Leave it alone. That's for the clients." Angie adjusted her camera from behind the tripod. She was a lot bossier than her father. The changing area was filled with clothing items I expected Angie's clients wore while being photographed. Playing out fantasies in front of a camera might loosen some clients' inhibitions. Long formal dresses, negligees and costumes of all varieties. A bunny suit, not the Playboy kind. Oh, and a Playboy bunny costume complete with fuzzy tail. Cop uniform. Nurse whites. A few super hero outfits, in colorful spandex. Damn, a Wonder Woman costume. Plastic bracelets and tiara in place of forged metal. Gold drapery cord for the lasso of truth. Subtle discrepancies in the chest logo that only a devoted follower would notice. And I did. But the outfit was close enough. Oh boy, the opportunity to see someone in that costume would be a dream cum true, given how many times I'd masturbated to Lynda Carter on TV. How the network censors let her expose herself, breasts and crotch, in that skimpy costume had always been a mystery to me. Castanet heels clicked on the wood floor. I stayed hidden as directed. The flapping of Angie's sandals told me she was on the move. The client's voice was quite formal and proper, with the touch of a British accent. I've always found British birds to be quite exciting. "Thank you for seeing me on relatively short notice. And for accommodating my request. Your father has a marvelous reputation. However I knew I'd feel more comfortable with a female photographer. How convenient that you had a cancellation." "Perhaps just the beginning of your newfound luck." Was Angie planning on getting lucky with Prim? If she didn't want a male photographer, how would Prim react to Angie's attention? "Please, step up on the platform and have a seat on the stool. Now, if you'd briefly recap what you'd like to get out of your session." The click of heels dulled on the carpeted platform. Without peeking, I knew exactly where Prim was. "It's quite embarrassing, actually. My husband has become quite distant over the last few months. Perhaps our intimacy has gotten too predictable." Prim rambled on about no hugs or kisses, and no interest from her husband in bed. Oh, and that she'd found adult picture magazines under their mattress. Stupid guy, that's the first place a wife will look. And it makes the bed lumpy. I contemplated her husband's taste in porn. Mayfair perhaps? British publication with well built ladies. I was anxious to see how Prim the client stacked up. "After speaking with a few of your satisfied clients, I thought that a set of slightly revealing photographs might spark his interest and allow him to look at me in a different way." What if Angie tried to satisfy Prim's need for sexual gratification herself? Would the Brit run from the studio, or play along like the last client did? "We have many customers in the same situation," said Angie. "After their sittings, their sex lives improve dramatically. To be honest, your husband is a very lucky man to have such a voluptuous woman in his bed." "How you talk! I must be turning red." "We'll have you out of that suit and on film before you know it." "Oh, I hope nothing too daring." Daphne sat on a stool with perfect posture. Her breasts were large but not unwieldy - not that I'd ever get the chance to wield them - and the skirt remained demurely covering her crossed knee. How was Angie going to get this up tight client to strip, especially with me present? There was the sound of some movement but neither of them spoke. I moved to the edge of the changing area. Angie was at her camera, making adjustments. The room got brighter as Angie fiddled with some slider controls. This was probably her equivalent of her father's distractions panel. The bright lights were making the room warmer. Even I could feel the temperature rise, and the costumes were shielding me from the direct impact of the ceiling and directional lamps. Prim spoke up. "It's quite warm in here." "I need the lights to take high quality photos. Would you like a cup of my special punch? It might cool you off?" "Yes, quite, thank you very much." "She'd like something cool to drink," shouted Angela. I didn't know that was my cue to appear. "Mr. Marcus, would you please get Ms. Prim some punch?" "Mister?" asked Prim. I stepped out from behind be curtain, letting my hand drag across the Wonder Woman costume one last time. Prim was perched on the plain black stool on the raised platform in three-quarter profile. When she saw me, she stood up and faced both of us, pulling the lapels of her suit jacket tight. "Who is he?" My eyes focused on our client. I swallowed hard. Ms. Prim looked like a middle-fortyish version Lynda Carter, the actress who played Wonder Woman on TV. I couldn't believe it. I'd had a crush on her ever since the TV show aired. Crush? No, more like a lusty fantasy. I even went out and bought Wonder Woman comic books, but the in-the-flesh version was so much hotter. Being in the same room gave me sweaty palms despite the cool temperature of the studio. Prim stood on the edge of the platform in a skirted suit, her hair done up in a Diana Prince-style bun. She could pass for the actress herself, only at a younger age. My dick began a familiar inflation. Her bust was large. Not huge and awkward but maybe even bigger than Lynda's. Her waist was in proper proportion to her hips, broad and inviting. Except I hadn't been invited to do anything except help Angie. "I thought my requirements were clear." Prim's voice was sharp. "Why do you think I refused an appointment with your father?" "We have students assist with client posing and wardrobing. It allows us to be much more efficient, which means we can charge less." Prim's face softened, but she kept her jacket pulled tight. There wasn't enough material to cover her blouse, and the pressure was actually lifting her bosom up. Angie's voice had the same authoritarian tone as she'd taken with me. "I can't be running back and forth every time I wanted you to lift your chin or straighten your shoulders. Posing you, adjusting your hair or clothing-" I was going to arrange this woman's clothes? As in, take them off? Angie continued, "The session would take twice as long. And time is money. He's not a man, he's my assistant." "But I'll be exposed in front of a complete stranger-" "You and I just met for the first time. I'm a stranger, too. Consider Mr. Marcus an extension of my hands. He won't do anything I wouldn't do myself." I'd already seen what Angie would do with a client. Hug. French kiss. Just about anything, I expected. So this customer was in no more jeopardy with me than her. Prim wasn't buying the argument. "I can't possibly pose with him here." Angie changed tactics. "Why not? Your husband will see you in the same outfits." "But he's my husband. The point of the photos is to get him - excited." "And you don't think he won't show your photos to his buddies?" Prim turned towards Angie, her back to me. Nice ass. "Of course not. He wouldn't dare." "If you get what you want, your hubby will be so excited, he'll show off your pix to his buddies. Out of pride. To make them jealous." Angie pointed at Prim. "That's what you said you wanted. Renewed interest." Angie's hands flew up. "This is a good thing. So you see, other men will see you." "Really?" Angie nodded. So did I, although she hadn't directed me to. "I want to improve Carlton's interest, that's all." Prim stood and smoothed her skirt. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea." "You'll be fine. We are discreet. Let's start slow, with some nice portraits. Remember, you'll have complete control over what photos he sees. Did you bring any other outfits?" Prim sat back down and shook her head. "That's all right. We'll start out with what you have on and proceed from there. I have a large selection we can choose from. Why don't you have a seat?" I took my first steps since appearing from behind the changing curtains, directly to the crystal bowl, where I filled a glass with the cool liquid. I made sure I didn't trip, stepping up on the platform. Prim took the cup from my hand without making skin-to-skin contact. She eyed me suspiciously as she chugged the contents. Her eyebrows relaxed and she licked her lips. "Mmmm. That is quite refreshing." Her grip on the suit jacket loosened. The lapels spread from the volume of her chest. "May I have some more?" "One more, and then we really need to get started." I got Prim a refill. She almost inhaled the punch, or whatever it was. She burped, and then smiled as if embarrassed. "Excuse me." Angie was behind the camera, pacing. "Let's get started, shall we? Why don't you take your seat?" Prim parked her round ass on the stool. She raised an arm to shield her eyes. "Arm down please so I can measure the proper exposure. Mr. Marcus, please step clear and adjust the lights for portrait levels." I came off the platform but then stood frozen. What did that mean? Without lifting a finger, the lights came down in intensity and the color balance changed to make skin tones natural despite bring indoors. I'd seen Viktor do this with his child client. "Thank you," said Angie. For nothing. She'd made the changes herself. Was she setting me up as an authority figure? I yearned to be in control of Prim. Horizontal on the carpeted platform, legs spread. No way that would ever happen. I sauntered towards Angie and the cameras, for a better view. "Lean forward, please." Prim's breasts pushed the lapels aside. What a rack! "Great. We're making progress, in small steps. Now chin up." Prim tilted her head. "No, no. Mr. Marcus, could you please assist?" I made my way back to the platform. The lights above were unbearably hot as I reached out and gently nudged Ms. Prim's head up a smidgen. She glanced at me and smiled. I stepped back, out of the frame. "Perfect. Now a wicked smile." Prim grimaced. "Not exactly what I'd call wicked. Dial it back a bit." "Excuse me?" "A bit more allure and a little less evil." Now Prim looked bored or maybe impatient. "It's still awfully warm. Can't you turn down the heat?" "The heat is a byproduct of the process. I can't do quality work in dim light, and I can't shoot you in the dark." I could have shot, right then, in light or dark, if Prim showed even a bit more flesh. "How about if we take off your jacket?" "Oh, yes, that's a good idea." Huh? This was the same woman who'd clutched her jacket like a life vest in a storm just minutes previous. Why was Prim suddenly so cooperative? "Mr. Marcus, please give her a hand." I stepped up and walked behind Prim. That close, she smelled like Wonder Woman, despite the fact that I had no idea what the TV show heroine smelled like. But it was fresh, like she'd brought the outdoors and justice into the studio. She pulled one arm out of a sleeve. I dipped the jacket so she'd have no trouble with the second. I folded the jacket over my arm and stepped down but not before checking out Prim's chest. Big ones filling out her embroidered beige blouse. Angie took body shots, bust shots and headshots, moving closer each time. I stayed out of view, on the side. "Back straight, chest out." Angie fiddled with her camera. "You still seem too posed. Too stiff." Prim and I shared that condition. "Mr. Marcus, could you take Ms. Prim's hand and massage it?" Prim held out her right hand. "Daphne. My first name is Daphne." It seemed only appropriate to drop the formal name-calling if we were touching, even if only our hands. Wait! Daphne Prim? Her initials were the same as Wonder Woman's civilian identity, Diana Prince. There must be a God, or an Intelligent Design with a sense of irony. Too bad Daphne was so up tight. Come to think of it, Diana was pretty cool to her Major Steve Trevor. "Harvey." I ran my fingers up and down each of Daphne's digits. Her breathing slowed, raising and lowering her chest in slow motion. Maybe she was relaxing, but this simple contact was pumping me up as much as if I was touching her breasts or thighs. "Good. Very nice. Keep your back straight. Mr. Marcus, step back just a little. Ms. Prim, eyes open." Angie took pictures as I continued the gentle physical contact. I hoped they were close ups, keeping me out of the picture. I tried hard to make myself invisible, just like Wonder Woman's airplane. Through The Lens Ch. 01 I changed to a full hand massage, even though Angie hadn't asked me to. Daphne was fondling my hand at the same time, a kind of digital foreplay. I wondered how her hand would feel on my cock. "Undo her hair, please." Daphne had no complaint. I stood behind and took out the hairpins that had held Daphne's hair up in a bun. Not as dramatic as Diana Prince spinning around, dropping her hair and changing into her Wonder Woman costume. I fluffed the volume of hair out, covering her ears. "Beautiful. Now, Mr. Marcus, before you step off, a little shoulder massage." I placed my hands near Daphne's neck, her hair covering the contact. I wanted desperately to let my hands drift down, onto her breasts. I hoped she'd appreciate the attention, the caresses she wasn't getting at home. Damn, that wasn't happening. Still, fondling Daphne's neck was contact. I needed to be grateful for the small pleasures. I stepped off the platform. Angie's voice was gentle. "Think of your favorite meal. Something delicious." A hint of desire blossomed on Prim's face. We shared a love of food. "Good. Now, imagine you haven't eaten for days." Prim's eyes and mouth told the story. She may have eaten recently but she'd been without the physical love of a man for too long. I could fix that. Like I'd get the chance. Angie had Prim in her sights as a conquest. Best I would be was a witness. Angie's camera clicked like Morse code. "Perfect!" "I'm still warm. Can you get me a refill? Quite refreshing. What's in it?" "A special fruit blend for clients. Hydrates but doesn't increase perspiration. Go ahead, Mr. Marcus, pour her another glass. And a straw so she doesn't ruin her make up." The glass bowl was sweating, perhaps so the clients wouldn't have to. I refilled Prim's cup and brought it to her. I held the beverage while she sipped at the straw. I couldn't help but stare at her chest. The last drops disappeared with a raspy suck. "Thank you." "We need to pick up the pace a bit. Now that you and the camera are friends, time to get a bit more intimate. Mr. Marcus, if you'd unbutton Ms. Prim's blouse." My fingers flexed and my cock jumped. Did she really ask me to do what I thought I heard? Daphne's hands flew up, crossed, to cover the fasteners. "He certainly may not." Angie crossed her arms over her petite chest. "If I came down from here and pushed your hair back would you stop me?" "No." Prim's arms stayed in a defiant pose. "And if I undid your buttons to make the pose sexier, as you asked, would you object?" Prim paused. Her arms slid down. "I guess not." Angie's tone was sharp. "We've already been through this. I can't deliver the portfolio of photos you want, to save your marriage, if you don't cooperate. Our time together is limited." I glanced at my watch. Angie was right. Time was flying. Angie had her hands on her hips, a super heroine pose. "Please, can we proceed?" Prim cast a doubtful look at me. "I suppose I have no choice." "Now that's settled. Three buttons, for now." Which meant there'd be more later. I kept my fingers close together and did my best not to fondle as I followed Angie's instructions. The backs of my fingers had no place to go except against her breasts as I plucked the first button. "I'm sorry if this embarrasses you," I whispered. 'It's your job. I'm the one who's sorry, with these oversized mammaries." The second button was open. There was a deep cleavage coming into view. "I think they're - well - they're beautiful." Daphne leaned into my hands, pressing her tits against my knuckles. I fumbled for a while, because the pressure made it more difficult to get the third button undone. Also, because Daphne seemed to enjoy my hands in contact with her breasts. With the third button open, I stepped back to witness my handiwork. Prim was staring at me, as I blocked Angie and her camera. "Mr. Marcus, I can't shoot through you," shouted Angie. I was prepared to shoot into Prim, except that her skirt and panties were still on. So were my pants, with a big lump in front. I stepped aside. "Face front, please. Turn your shoulders a bit. Mr. Marcus?" I got behind Prim, nudged her, and then stepped off the platform. Angie was going for a subtle peek-a-boo shot. I had a better view from the side than from behind the viewfinder. The shutter clicked several times. "Good. Now the rest." Prim didn't object when I finished the remaining buttons, at least all the visible ones. She leaned forward as I undid the buttons under her breasts. The backs of my fingers felt their weight. I didn't pull her blouse out of her skirt because Angie hadn't said to. With the edges of her blouse loose, I had a front row seat to Wonder Woman's bra. A Wonder Bra? Ms. Prim toyed with the edge of her brassiere. "Is this enough?" "Not if you want to get your hubby excited," said Angie. "Isn't that right?" I nodded. I hoped the lights prevented Ms. Prim from seeing the lump in my pants that said otherwise. Her husband only saw the woman he married. I had a fantasy. "May I have another sip of punch?" I ran over and refilled the cup without asking Angie's permission. When I got back to Prim, I held the glass, looking down in prime flesh valley. There was moisture. From my drooling? "Thanks." She smiled. Where did her objections go? "Sure any time." Our eyes locked for the first time, and she didn't avert them. Her pupils were dilated. With all these lights? Something else was affecting her physiology. "That's enough for now," said Angie. "There are large perspiration stains at your armpits. Hardly sexy, am I right?" Prim nodded. "So let's lose the blouse." Prim stood and pulled the blouse from her skirt. "As long as you're at it, why don't you remove your skirt? A few shots in your underwear are appropriate." Her blouse flapped open and I saw both cups of her bra straining to contain two voluminous breasts. She tossed her head to free her hair. Her chest swung with her movement. Prim stood and unzipped her skirt. ¬†It puddled on the floor. I almost puddled in my jockeys. She was a wet dream in only bra, pantyhose and panties, as voluptuous as her TV star look-alike. "Fix her hair," Angie commanded. I approached from behind. The bra was tight across her shoulders and back. I fluffed her hair balancing it on her shoulders. "And her bangs." I moved cautiously to the front. It was difficult to concentrate on sweeping Prim's bangs to the side with her cleavage in front of me. Her tits beckoned me. Her whole damn body called to me. I pretended not to answer. While Prim returned to her stool, I poured her another glass, in anticipation. Prim liked the liquid, and I wanted Prim to like me too. She motioned for it, so I brought it to her. She sucked through the straw like she was suffering from dehydration. Just the opposite, she was perspiring even more. Without asking, I dabbed at the trickle between her breasts with my handkerchief. The lights were intense. A drop of my sweat fell on Prim's naked knee her legs crossed. I swiped it off, tempted to leave my hand there. Prim's eyes caught mine. "You're hot aren't you? ¬†Ms. Underwuud, can Mr. Marcus have a drink?" "Call me Angie. And, no. For clients only. Mr. Marcus can have cold bottled water if he'd like. That would remove him from the shot, an added bonus." I scooted out from under the lights and took my place at Angie's side. "Here." She fished a cold bottle of water from a cooler at her side. After a series of Prim poses in her underwear, Angie dimmed the lights. Prim sighed and pushed her damp bangs off her forehead. "Time for a costume change. How about some bedtime attire? Something sexy? Mr. Marcus, fetch an outfit. I have a wide selection of lingerie. Some of them will be a tad tight, for a full-figured woman like yourself." There was nothing about Ms. Prim's body I didn't want to fill. Her mouth, her cleavage, her pussy. I shook my head to regain control. I went to the costume rack and flipped past dozens until I came to a peach colored and translucent ensemble. Bra, panties and gown so sheer it wouldn't be useful in hiding anything. Perfect. ¬†The crotch of the panties was stiff, unlike the rest of the material. A previous client had gotten them juicy, perhaps with stimulation by Angie. I brought the set out to Prim. "Try these." Angie ran her hand through her short hair. "Perfect. I'm not sure if it's exactly your size, but Mr. Marcus has a pretty good eye. I'm sure it will fit. Prim stroked the material. "I can't wear this." "Why, too small?" "No, it should fit but -" "But what?" Angie was getting peeved. Maybe there was another customer after Ms. Prim. Or maybe, Angie wanted Prim undressed so she could enjoy the feeling of her hands on Prim's smooth flesh. "It shows too much. And there's a man in the room." "Mr. Marcus is here as a student of mine. I promise you he'll follow my direction. To the letter." Prim touched the material again. "Oh my. I've never worn anything like that before." She looked at me. "Do you think it'll be all right?" "Better than all right. You'll look beautiful, I promise." She blushed. "I really can't. Let me find something." She took the outfit from me and stepped off the platform. "There's dozens of sleepwear items, behind the curtains." I watched her ass wiggle as she strutted towards the dressing area. "Boy, you're lucky. " She turned, her tits in profile. "Why?" "Because you can take off clothes and have cold drinks. I'm sweating up a storm." Prim's hips swung as she approached the wardrobe and changing area, and then disappeared behind the curtains. I was tempted to join her and help her change. Angie called me over. "When you find something, put it on," she hollered at her client." While Prim sorted through the wardrobe collection, Angie grabbed my arm. "Take it easy with the drinks." "Why? What's in that stuff? I pointed to the punchbowl. "Like I said, a secret formula. A special blend of fruit juices and herbs." "That makes it sound like a liquid version of Colonel Sander's recipe." Angie chuckled. "Plus one special ingredient that relaxes my clients and makes them, let's say, more receptive to suggestions. I call it Gentle Persuasion. Sometimes, all it takes is a word." Aha! Not cajoling or distractions, but a drugged potion. Maybe I witnessed the lingering effects of the concoction in the hallway, between Angie and her last client. And now, Angie was targeting Ms. Prim for some woman-to-woman play. Prim came out wearing a long yellow sleep shirt that covered her from neck to ankle. Hardly sexy, although the thought of her body beneath that plain nightshirt was titillating. The cotton material clung, her waist a bit thicker than when she was on TV - no, this isn't her - and swelled around her hips. Although Lynda Carter was quite busty, it was her thick hips and flat belly with an articulated crotch that drove me crazy. Not that I'd ignored her chest, mind you. As soon as Prim returned to the platform, Angie switched the lights back on. Prim shielded her eyes from the sudden change. "I know Mr. Marcus can't have any punch. But can he take some clothes off?" Angie was visibly startled. "Did you suggest that to her?" she whispered. I shook my head. Although, on second thought, I'd said she was lucky to be able to strip. Maybe I could play Angie's game and save Prim from a lesbian fate. Angie returned her focus to the digital viewfinder. "Uh, sure, I guess. Why not?" While Prim got herself a refill of Gentle Persuasion, I took off my shirt and pants. Leaving my jockeys on seemed to be the wisest course. Angie fumbled around the table behind her. She snatched a bottle. "Here, get next to her, but out of the shot. Use this when I tell you." A simple hand-held spray bottle. With water, I assumed. Wet t-shirt? Terrific! Prim stood tall on the platform. "It is quite warm under these lights, even in this outfit." "Which is why you'll love this series. Hands behind your head, chest out." "Must I? I'm so self conscious about, well, my bosom." "Oh, don't be. They are one of your best features. Aren't they, Mr. Marcus?" I'd already told Prim her breasts, what I'd seen of them, were beautiful. What else could I say? 'Thems are fabulous tits'? Angie nodded. On cue, I spritzed a round patch, at her cleavage. The inner edges of her breasts came into view. "A little more. Turn." I hit the top edge. The shirt plastered against the gentle slope. "More please." Bull's eye. One large patch on one breasts hinted at an erect nipple. "Okay, now the other." I pumped a few times, soaking the front of her shirt. Now her bra and two nips were visible under the thin cloth. "Great shots. Your husband will love the suggestive nature of these. Are you cooler?" "Oh yes, quite." She pulled the shirt from her body but it slapped back against her skin when she let go. I wanted to slap my hands on those tits, or suck the hard nipples. Calm yourself, I thought. "But now my underwear is wet." "That's all right. You won't need underwear for the next outfit. They would make lumps under the material. Hardly sexy." This time, Angie went behind the curtain and fetched the outfit. While she was out of sight, Prim snuck over and gulped down another glass of punch. Drugged punch. Angie returned with a little black dress on a hanger, with the emphasis on little. Unless it was made of some kind of super-fabric, it was too short and too narrow for voluptuous Prim. Oh wait! Oh goodie! "Change into this, please." Prim ambled the length of the room and disappeared. Angie checked the display on her camera, reviewing previous shots. I peeked over her shoulder. Angie was good. Prim looked sexy and desirable in most of the shots. Hell, if Angie wasn't there, I'd have tried to convince Prim that all she needed was a good man like me to demonstrate how sexy she was. At long last, Prim came out from behind the curtain. "Is this the proper size?" The dress neckline swooped deep, exposing deep cleavage and hints of areola. The hemline rode high on her thighs, and as she walked, the hem kept scooting up. We all knew that there were no panties to block the view if the hem went any higher. Prim fought the good fight but kept losing ground. Even worse, when she stepped up on the platform, the dress advanced up to her crotch, exposing her ass. One yank brought it down, but only to mid-thigh. "Take your position on the stool, please," said Angie. Prim sat down, but continued to yank at the bottom and then adjust the top. It was a seesaw battle. Every time she tugged at one part, I got to see more bare skin. "Please cross your legs. And for goodness sake, sit still." The bottom of the dress slid to her crotch. Only her crossed legs hid the gift of her pussy. Angie clicked away as she gave orders. "Stand up, hands on your hips. You're holding your head too high. I've got glare from your face. Drop your head a bit. Concentrate on Mr. Marcus." "I can't see him." "Mr. Marcus, move up, next to the camera. Better?" "Yes." I stared at Prim's face, but my attention kept slipping lower, to her chest and crotch. The dress was tightening, exposing even more of her naked flesh. The aisle between the platforms was a chasm. I thought about leaping over to Prim, kissing her with one hand hefting a breast and the other dipped between her thighs. "Lower, please," ordered Angie. Ms. Prim looked at my chest. My prick throbbed. Could she see it move, engorged by the mere sight of her? "Concentrate on his belt buckle. A little bit lower. Perfect position. Hold it right there." Prim followed the directions precisely. Without the permission to tug at the hemline, the dress hovered provocatively just below her pussy. We were mutually checking out each other's pubic areas. "Good, Now lean forward, just a bit." Prim drooped her shoulders. The neckline was giving way to the heft of her tit flesh. That's good. A little more." Prim wavered, trying to maintain her balance. That's all it took. The top collapsed and her breasts burst forward. Angie's camera snapped a series of shots. Prim stood erect and threw her hands up to cover her nipples. Too late. I'd seen oval brown areola with small nubbins. Prim turned her back and tucked her breasts back into the dress. The pressure raised the hemline, exposing Prim's ass cheeks. Shadows blocked a clear view of anything else. "Back on the stool." Angie handed me a vibrator. "Give this to her." If she wanted Prim to stick something into her vagina, my cock was a willing volunteer. Prim wouldn't be too enthusiastic, I expected. I ran the errand, as requested. Standing next to the seated Prim, It wouldn't have taken much to pull the top down past her tits or tug the dress up to expose Prim's vaginal treasure. Instead, I just handed her the device. "What am I supposed to do with this?" Daphne held it aloft by two fingers. "Ms. Underwuud?" "Turn it on and stroke yourself. I suggest your shoulders, your legs. It'll relax you, like Mr. Marcus's massage." "Can't he massage me?" Whoa, that was a surprise. Was Prim open to the idea of me touching her some more? I paused next to her, just in case Angie agreed. "He could," said Angie, "but would you want his hands on your thighs? Perhaps even higher?" I prayed for a yes. Prim paused, for more than a moment. "I'll try this, just a little." I returned to Angie's side. Prim rubbed her neck with the artificial penis. She tilted her head. Her expression warmed, her lips pouted. "This feels nice." "Try your legs." Prim ran the vibrator up along her calf. "Much nicer." "Go a little higher. These photos will be marvelous." Prim uncrossed her legs but kept them together. She rubbed the vibrator along her legs, which were very exposed with the short dress. Without being prompted, she slid the vibrator between her thighs. They separated a bit, and then a bit more. Shit, she was advancing the vibrator deeper. Angie's face was plastered to the camera. Prim slumped on the stool, an expression of relief mixed with pleasure washed over her face. Her expression changed as the tip of the vibrator reached the juncture of her thighs. The shadows were too dark to tell how close she was to her vagina. Prim pumped the vibrator deeper under the short skirt. Her legs went even wider. Prim wasn't shaved. Angie clicked the shutter at a furious pace. Now, two hands on the vibrator, Prim poked it in and out. She leaned her head back, mouth open. Angie kept snapping. Prim's forearms squeezed her breasts together. The top of the dress slid down, to the very edge of her areola. Prim was gurgling. Her eyes went wide. She withdrew the vibrator and slammed her thighs shut. "What was I doing?" she asked. "Giving yourself pleasure. Quite erotic. Your husband will see a side of you he's never seen." "I don't want him to see that! How horrid!" "No, not at all. There's a woman with sexual needs and desires inside you. That foreplay was just a sample. If you want a better sex life, than you need to feel sexy. And you just did. The pictures will prove it. Why, Mr. Marcus here just about stained his shorts at your performance. See, there is an advantage to having a man at your shoot. He can give you an honest reaction. Right?" I nodded. Prim probably couldn't see past the lights. "Yes, it was very arousing." "Well, I could use something to drink." I got Prim a refill. "What did you think?" she asked. "Am I sexy?" I glanced at my boner in my jockeys. "Oh yes." She finally took notice of my condition. "Did I do that?" I nodded. "The minute you came into the studio." She slurped the glass empty. "Mr. Marcus, a moment please. Ms. Prim, Daphne, go pick some lingerie now," said Angie.