Andrea At The Center

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Andrea awoke. Emmy's face was just inches away. She realized she’d only met the woman the previous evening.

Emmy opened her eyes. “Good morning, Annie,” she said, reaching up with both arms. Andrea fell into Emmy's embrace.

Emmy bit gently Andrea’s lip and broke away. “We have to get up.”

“I just want to stay and make love with you all day.”

“That would be nice,” Emmy said, slipping out of the bed. “But we can't.”

Emmy stood up and walked into the bathroom. Andrea under­stood for the first time how a man looked at a woman.

She got out of bed and followed her. Emmy was already showering. Andrea joined her.

***

In the cafeteria, Andrea noticed a man staring at her. He had a long, hard, craggy face, with hooded eyes. He looked weather-beaten, with thin, severe lips, the corners turning down, predatory, dangerous. He smiled at her, nodding his head.

“Who's that man?” Andrea asked Emmy.

“The ugly one? With the hawk eyes?”

“Yeah.”

“I don't know, Annie. Just a guy. He must like you.” Andrea shuddered.

***

Emmy led Andrea down another hall to an unmarked door. “Go in and wait. Someone will be with you soon.”

“What for?”

“You'll find out.” Emmy brushed Andrea's lips with hers. “See you later.”

Andrea hesitated. Emmy patted her bottom. “Go ahead. They won't hurt you.”

Andrea walked into a room with a coffee table and a few seats. The walls displayed framed nude photographs.

On the table were leather portfolios with names embossed on the covers. One was labeled Emmy. Andrea brought it to a seat. She was just opening it when a door marked No Admittance opened. She closed the portfolio as if caught at something forbidden.

“Hi!” said the young woman. “You must be Andrea. I'm Sasha.” The woman looked down at the portfolio in Andrea's lap and smiled. “Come with me.”

Andrea followed Sasha through into a large area partitioned by large canvas flats. Andrea saw she was walking past photographic sets. At a set of a woman's bedroom, a man was adjusting some lights. “Andrea’s here.”

He turned. He was an older man with wrinkled skin, curly graying hair, and a moustache hiding his mouth. His eyes were warm and drooped at the corners.

“Hi. I'm Francesco.”

“Hello.”

“Go sit on the edge of the bed.” He turned back to the standing lamp. Andrea went to the bed and leaned against it. The lights were bright.

Francesco held his hand out and Sasha put a camera into it. He stepped forward, pointing the lens at Andrea's face. She heard a simulated shutter sound.

“Wait a minute,” Andrea said. “What are you gonna do with these photographs?”

“I assure you they’ll never leave the Center. After I transfer the files to the computer, I erase the camera’s memory. And after I make prints I erase all the computer files.” He pressed the shutter.

“Then why bother taking them?”

“For you. And right now I’m only taking pictures of your lovely face. Can’t you smile?”

“But…”

He held up his hand. “Let me make my speech.” She nodded. “No one will try to blackmail you. No one here knows who you are, as you’ve already been assured. And no respectable magazine or website publishes any photograph like this except with a signed release from the model. We only have a private computer network here, without any Internet access. No wireless access. No WiFi. The computer I use isn’t even attached to our network. It has no ports or drives for portable media. But imagine somehow a picture of you turned up in a magazine or on the Internet with a forged consent form, or whatever. So what? Singers and celebrities and movie stars and girls next door pose for photographs every day. What apology would you have to make? You did what ten thousand or a hundred thousand other women did. Who’d even ask you?”

Andrea stared into Francesco's eyes. Timidly, she nodded.

“Good. Stand up. Put your hands behind your neck, like you’re about to yawn. Beautiful! Just like that!”

***

Francesco took hundreds of photographs. He led her through one pose after another, full of encouragement and praise and enthusiasm. Andrea imagined herself a model for a fancy fashion magazine.

When the camera signaled its memory was full, Francesco held it out without looking. Sasha immediately took it and replaced it with another.

“Can you open the neck of your suit?” Francesco brought the new camera up to his eye. “Just an inch or two.”

Andrea put her hands up, but hesitated.

“Oh, beautiful!” Francesco said, as if her expression was posed, and snapped a photograph. “Hold that.” He stepped closer and took another picture. Andrea opened her lips to explain she hadn’t been posing. “Beautiful!” Francesco took another shot.

Sighing, Andrea opened the top seam of her jumpsuit slightly.

“Don't look so sad.” She smiled. Quickly, he took the photograph. “Now open it more. But don't show your breasts.”

Andrea opened the seam a few more inches.

“Beautiful.”

Walking back and forth in front of her, sometimes crouching, sometimes standing, Francesco cajoled her, “Show me how you look when you’re angry. Yes. Turn your back on me, look over your shoulder. Yes. Beautiful. You’re so disappointed in me. Yes. Wonderful. Turn back. Now you’re looking at me but thinking about your boyfriend. Yes. Look just past my shoulder. Is that a sound? Who is that? You’re frightened. Yes. Beautiful. Open your mouth. Wet your lips. Yes. Lovely, Andrea.”

His words were hypnotic. She followed them unthinkingly.

“Now open the seam down to your navel. But hide your breasts from me.” She opened the seam, but didn’t let it separate. “Now think of a secret. That looks like a wonderful one.”

Andrea smiled, and Francesco took another picture.

“Take off your shoes. Climb up. Sit cross-legged.” Andrea’s breasts swung freely as she moved. Arranging herself on the bed, she glanced down to see that one n****e was half-exposed. She moved the seam to cover it and heard the electronic shutter sound. “Beautiful.”

Andrea looked up, and Francesco caught another photograph.

“Now cover yourself with your hands.”

Andrea's hands shook as she brought them to her breasts, pushing aside the seams. She looked up at the camera, daring and timid at once.

“Beauti­ful. Now tease me. You're never going to let me see them, are you? So beautiful, Andrea.”

“Will you show me a tiny bit? I don't want to see much. Move your thumbs down just a little. Let me see the tops of the rosettes. Can you? Wonderful.”

Moving back and forth in front of Andrea, Francesco snapped more pictures. Every electronic click sent a small shock through Andrea. Beneath her thumbs, her n*****s were swelling past the point of hardness. She was wet.

“Beautiful. I want to see your n*****s so much. I'm sure they're beautiful.”

She moved her hands away.

“They are lovely.”

They blossomed. Her lips parted. He took one photograph after another. Every time she heard the simulated shutter, it was a jolt between her legs.

“Now put your hands behind your neck.”

As she lifted her arms, she looked down.

“Beautiful. You have such beautiful breasts.”

She’d never felt so proud of them. Leaving one hand behind her neck, she slid a hand over one breast and then the other.

“Beautiful. Beautiful.” The camera lens was a man’s eye. Each click said it loved her, she excited it, and she was beautiful.

She moved without being told, her hands and arms playing over her breasts, hiding them or holding them or caressing them. She shifted on the bed, tilting her head this way and that, smiling or frowning or pouting. If he’d hypnotized her, she now hypnotized him. She’d never felt more desirable. She was the hot women in all the magazines she’d ever seen.

The camera made a different sound and Francesco held it out. Sasha exchanged it again.

Andrea rose onto her knees. Staring into the camera, she pulled the seam of her jumpsuit open to the crotch, exposing her throbbing pubis.

“Beautiful.”

Andrea felt drunk. She turned away and looked back over her shoulder. She pulled the rest of her jumpsuit down and ran her hands over her bottom.

“Beautiful,” Francesco said, pressing the shutter again and again.

Andrea raised her bottom to him.

“Beautiful.”

Andrea turned to the camera, displaying her nakedness. The lights shone on her like fascinated eyes. Andrea slipped her hands down the front of her body, pressing her palm against her pelvic bone. A small, sweet orgasm pulsed through her.

She peered through the lights. Did they notice?

Francesco lowered the camera and smiled. “So. Now we can begin.”

Andrea blushed. A spell had been broken. She raised the sheet to cover herself.

“Here.” Sasha stepped onto the set with a black robe.

Andrea let Sasha help her on with it. Andrea tied it at the waist as Sasha sat down next to her and opened a leather case.

Sasha gave Andrea a hand mirror. “Hold this.”

Andrea watched in the mirror as Sasha brushed her hair.

“Let's see how it looks up.” Sasha lifted Andrea's hair and pinned it in place. “There.” Sasha put the brush down. “Now I’ll do your face.” She applied makeup to Andrea's face. In the mirror, Andrea saw she was now ready for the most sophisticated magazine.

Gathering her equipment, Sasha disappeared into the darkness.

“Stand at the mirror,” Francesco said.

Andrea went to a three-panel mirror in the corner. The robe ended high on her thighs.

“Beautiful.” Francesco brought the camera to his eye. “Turn from side to side. You’re deciding whether to buy that gown.”

Andrea turned, appraising the robe.

The shutter sound came again and again. “Like it? See how it looks from the rear.” She turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, beautiful. Go back to the bed now. Show me how beautiful you are.”

Andrea used the robe to hide or to reveal, lifting its hem and dropping it, pulling it down from one shoulder to show her breast, rolling onto her stomach and letting her buttocks peek out, rolling onto her back and letting the hem of the robe slip down her thighs. She touched herself between her legs and had a small, effortless orgasm.

Sasha brought Andrea a pair of high-heeled, thigh-high black vinyl boots and a black vinyl leotard that left her breasts and buttocks exposed. Francesco took hundreds of photographs.

After the vinyl outfit, Sasha gave Andrea a bikini of a fine gold mesh. After the gold bikini came a crude fur garment.

***

Sandwiches appeared. Andrea sat naked on the bed and ate her lunch. Teasing, Francesco took a few unflattering photographs of Andrea with her mouth full, or just about to bite.

After lunch, they moved to a set of an outdoor pool. The floor was tiled, and deck furniture, pool toys, and oversized towels were scattered about. A backdrop of a pool created an effective illusion.

Sasha gave her a bright red bikini top.

Andrea put it on. “Where's the bottom?”

“First just this way,” Francesco said, clicking the shutter again and again. “Walk around.”

Having only her breasts covered made Andrea feel more naked. Francesco followed her with his camera.

“Now the bottom,” Francesco said.

Sasha handed Andrea a handful of red fabric. It barely reached her hips. A thin cloth strip ran between her thighs and left her buttocks completely bare.

“Sit down on the lounge chair.”

Sasha handed her a pair of sunglasses.

Andrea put them on.

“You look beautiful. Like a foreign movie star.”

Sasha handed Andrea a suntan lotion bottle. “The sun’s very strong.”

Andrea sat up and applied the lotion.

“You're all alone in your backyard,” Francesco said. “Tan marks are so unattractive.”

Andrea removed the top she’d just put on. She heard a simulated shutter again and again. Andrea poured lotion into her hand. She put the palms of her hands together and stroked both breasts. Her n*****s swelled under her hands. She lay back on the lounge chair, her legs on either side.

“You feel a small tickle in your bathing suit. Don't worry—no one can see.”

Andrea slid her hand down. Her fingertips crept under the seam. She was so wet.

“It's so nice to sunbathe nude.”

She lifted her buttocks and pulled the bottom off.

“Beautiful.”

She slipped her hands down her thighs and touched herself. Another orgasm rushed through her.

“Beautiful.”

Sasha brought her the robe.

***

They went to a set of a fancy bathroom, with an oversized tub. Sasha put in bubble bath and let the water run, filling the tub with foam.

“Take your hair down.”

Andrea pulled the pins from her hair and shook it out.

The water in the tub was high enough. Sasha turned it off.

“Take off the robe. Get into the tub.” Francesco recorded her every move.

She turned this way and that, the warm, soapy bathwater running over her breasts and thighs and buttocks.

“Now wash yourself. There’s no soap, so just use the bubbles.”

Andrea scooped up the foam and ran her hands over her breasts.

“Beautiful. Beautiful.”

Andrea’s breasts swelled.

“Turn away from the camera.”

On her knees, she turned her back to the camera, running her hands over her bottom. She bent over, dropping her back and spreading her knees, like an animal presenting herself to its mate. Looking over her, she ran her fingers down from the base of her spine to her c******s. She stroked herself. Another orgasm cascaded through her.

“Rinse off the soap. There's a shower spray.”

Andrea found the showerhead turned it on.

“Beautiful. Beautiful.”

Under the spray, her n*****s swelled again. The camera dared her to show herself off. She played the shower spray everywhere, the spray dancing closer and closer to her vulva and darting away. She sat on the edge of the tub, spraying the water back and forth just above her pubic hair. The spray drifted down to her c******s. She pressed the showerhead against herself. Her orgasm came in violent spasms. Throwing the showerhead into the water, she looked up. Francesco was still taking shot after shot.

Sasha came forward with a bath sheet as Andrea stepped out.

“You were wonderful.” Sasha wrapped Andrea in the bath sheet, kissing Andrea’s cheek. With another towel, Sasha made a turban for Andrea's hair. She patted Andrea dry and then helped her into a robe.

“Come with me,” Francesco said.

Andrea followed Francesco back to the first set. She sat down and dried her hair.

Sasha approached with a bottle of cham­pagne and a single glass. She set the glass on a table and handed Andrea the bottle.

“Open the champagne,” Francesco said. “You need a little celebration.”

Andrea unwrapped the cork and worked it loose. It popped loudly, surprising Andrea into laughing. Francesco caught her reaction on camera. The champagne poured out of the bottle over her hands.

“Let the champagne get on your robe,” Francesco said.

Andrea let it overflow onto her. The satin robe glued itself to her breasts.

“Catch the overflow in your mouth.”

Andrea brought the bottle to her lips and licked its mouth. She felt tipsier than she should be from the little alcohol she’d swallowed.

“Beautiful, beautiful.”

The champagne was no longer overflow­ing the bottle. She lifted it to her lips and drank from it. Some missed her mouth and ran it down her chin. She giggled, wiping it up with the back of her hand.

“Beautiful.”

She lifted the bottle again to her lips. Champagne spilled from her mouth and poured down her chin and onto her chest. The bubbles tickled. Opening her robe completely, she poured champagne onto her chest.

“Beautiful.”

Andrea could scarcely believe the impulse rising.

She moved the bottle lower and lower, spilling champagne over herself, following the champagne with her hand.

Shaking, she put the bottle between her legs. As if her hands weren’t her own, Andrea stared as the bottle’s mouth moved between her labia.

The green bottle was inside her almost up to the label, stretching her and pulling on her everywhere.

She quivered. The bottle was overfilling her with sensation. She moved her left hand from her c******s to the base of the bottle and shook it quickly.

The champagne spewed out of the bottle, tickling her inside. She screamed as another orgasm burst through her. The champagne poured from her, drenching the bed sheets.

***

Emmy was waiting for her. “Hi, Annie!” She gave Andrea a quick kiss. “Are you hungry? I'm starved. Let's go eat.”

“I'm exhausted. That was incredible.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing your portfolio, Little Orphan Annie.”

Emmy picked up the remote control. She flicked the set on, slipped her shoes off, and sat down. “What do you like to watch?” she asked, flipping through the channels. Andrea could see only the briefest glimpses of bare flesh, bodies touching each other, softness and hardness and wetness.

Andrea sat down next to Emmy and took her own shoes off. The TV changed from channel to channel. “I don't know. Whatever you want.”

“I want to watch you on television!”

“What?”

Emmy got off the bed and opened a drawer under the television. She took out a video camera with a tripod already attached.

“What are you doing?”

Emmy opened the tripod and set it down. She connected the camera and turned it on. A red light blinked.

“You look great,” she said, looking through the camera. “Are you looking at yourself?”

Andrea looked at the television and saw herself.

Emmy sat down in one of the armchairs. “I want to watch you.”

“Are you recording this?” Andrea asked, staring.

“Of course. How is that making you feel?”

Andrea put her hand at her pubis outside her clothes. “It’s making me hot.”

“Show me.”

Staring at herself on television, Andrea rubbed herself. She opened the blouse of the suit and caressed her breasts.

“Look into the camera. Lick your lips.”

Andrea opened her mouth and ran her tongue over her lips.

“Oh, Annie.”

Andrea looked over to see that Emmy’s jumpsuit was open. She was staring at the television screen, rubbing her c******s.

Andrea's own eyes returned to the television. She watched herself take the jumpsuit off her shoulders and arms. Her hands ran over her swollen breasts.

She turned her back to the camera, opened the remaining seams, and pulled the suit off. Rising back onto her knees, she looked over her shoulder at the television. She ran her hands over her buttocks and down into the wetness.

“Annie.”

Andrea looked over. Emmy's fingers were quivering on her c******s, as she shuddered again and again, her eyes fixed on the television.

Andrea turned to the camera, spreading her knees and drawing her labia apart with one hand, making her c******s stand out. She stared as she brought her other hand down. Her fingers moved up and down, up and down. She watched herself in orgasm.

Emmy took off her jumpsuit and joined Andrea. They licked and sucked and rubbed and rocked. Andrea kept looking at the television. After they had reached their orgasms, Emmy turned off the camera and played the recording back. She and Andrea lay side by side, watching. Seeing herself have an orgasm on television made Andrea have another, without even touching herself. Seeing themselves make love made them start all over again.