The time I tried to get my friend to take a professional picture of me for my job…

Soooooo this one happened a while ago when I needed a decent headshot for work. Nothing crazy, just something I had to submit to go on my little ID card thingy in my new job.

I recruited the help of Daniel (my photography nerd friend from university) and dressed myself up a white blouse, a tidy skirt, and a little bit of makeup. The plan was to take two or three photos and pick the least awkward.

But we ended up taking a lot more than that.

Anyway, when I got to his apartment he’d actually rearranged his entire living room; moved the couch back, unfolded a three-panel room divider with a grid pattern and draped a fuzzy cream throw over a low stool. Two softboxes bathed everything in a pale neutral glow. Complete overkill, but it kinda made me feel a little special, which was nice!

“It's for my own practice too,” he shrugged. “People are scary to photograph! I want to make sure I get it right!”

I smiled. “I’m not scary, am I?”

His eyes flicked down to my blouse, which was admittedly quite tight, the buttons straining to hold back my breasts. “A little.”

He lifted the camera and started to say something, then didn’t. His mouth stayed a little open. His gaze dropped again and then jumped back to my face.

“What?” I asked, half-laughing.

“Nothing,” he said, cheeks colouring. “You just look…” He stopped again. “Very professional!”

I laughed again. “Thanks. That’s the plan!”

He nodded. “Can you sit on the stool for me?”

I did as I was told, the skirt riding up a touch as I did so. I tugged it down and pretended I wasn’t a little flustered at the thought of him seeing my panties. “Let’s get the boring ones done first.”

He started shooting, directing my movements.

“Great,” he said. “Try and look serious, like you’re thinking about…uh, spreadsheets.”

“I never think about spreadsheets.”

“Pretend.”

He moved a light closer, the strength of them making my skin feel hot. At least, I think it was the lights doing that.

Click click click. The sound shifted from awkward to hypnotic. We tried angles, head turns, a soft smile, no smile. He asked me to hold a folder like I’d just presented it in a meeting. I did, and as I leaned forward the blouse pulled across my chest, tugging even harder at the buttons.

I pretended not to notice his little stares; he was a friend doing me a favour after all, and if the price of admission was a few little glances at my breasts, then so be it. I couldn’t really blame him anyway; they were absolutely heaving out of the blouse.

He showed me the pictures we had taken so far, and at least ten of them were more than suitable for my ID card. I started to thank him, but before I could finish, he blushed red and got a little flustered.

“Umm…would it be okay if we carried on for a bit? Like I say, I don't get to photograph people often…”

“Sure,” I smiled. “I can do that. I’m actually kind of enjoying the attention…”

Daniel swallowed. “Oh. Okay, cool. That’s…good. Umm. So, could we do a couple…less formal ones?”

“Of course!” I grinned. “Its the least I can do.” I loosened the top button. The open V made my neck feel longer, the shirt softer.

Daniel shot three in quick succession as if scared I would put my cleavage away and lowered the camera again, eyes determinedly high, like he’d decided my collarbones were the safe zone.

We took more. He directed; I obeyed. “Turn your knees left–no, sorry, my left. Good. Drop your shoulder. Chin up again. Can you hold the pen? No, more relaxed, like this. That’s it.”

Still, every so often something flinted across his face and I knew exactly what he was trying not to think.

Because I was kind of thinking of it too lol

I reached for a folder on the floor and had to bend sideways, the blouse falling slightly open. When I sat up he was looking at the viewfinder.

“Okay?” I said lightly.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sorry. Just working on the exposure.”

“Me too,” I laughed, my fingers drifting to the blouse and loosening it further, giving him a better view of my cleavage. “Is this okay?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. It looks…really natural!”

We did a batch standing. I slid off the stool and he brought the softbox higher. The skirt hugged my hips more when I was upright. He directed me to shift weight onto one leg, then the other. I held the folder to my chest, then at my side, then tucked under one arm.

I kept it professional for another five minutes out of self-respect.

Then my restraint ran out.

“Let’s really help your portfolio.”

He laughed nervously. “Uh..yeah sure, what do you have in mind?”

“Glamour,” I said, letting the next button go. Then the next. The blouse fell open, exposing my bra, the way my breasts were bulging over the top of them, my cleavage pressed together. “Keep shooting,” I told him.

I pulled the sides of the shirt wide and let my bra spill forward in the gap. For a second I held myself like that while he shot, then I reached in, tugged a cup down, and let one breast fall free into my palm. Heat flushed over my skin at the contact and the exposure, my nipple hardening in the cool air of his front room.

“Oh,” he said softly.

I rolled the nipple between my fingers, slow, deliberate, the way I do when I’m making myself cum on a lazy morning. It tightened even harder under my touch. I pinched, firmer, and a prickle of pain and pleasure made me moan a little.

“Too much?” I asked.

“No…no…thats’ really good.”

I looked up at him and pulled harder, lifting the breast, letting it bounce back into my hand. He made a small grunting sound of his own and clicked the trigger. I tugged the other cup down and freed my other breast, fingers circling both nipples now, drawing them longer.

Click click click.

“Daniel,” I said, tugging both nipples until my mouth fell open. “Am I a good subject?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

I let the blouse hang off my shoulders and pinched again, slow, feeling the tug all the way to my stomach. I could feel myself getting wet just from the attention…his, mine, the camera’s. I gathered the skirt and dragged it up my thighs, revealing my tights, sheer brown, my panties visible beneath.

“We can stop if–”

“Shhh,” I whispered. “Just keep shooting.”

I hooked two fingers into the side of the panties and stretched the fabric, showing him the line of my smooth pussy lips beneath, just for a second, just for a glimpse, and I wondered if he caught it on camera.

I spread my knees wider on the stool and pulled my panties aside properly now, opening myself to him and the lens. The room went very quiet. The look on his face–desire battling with professionalism–made me even wetter. Visibly so.

“Get closer,” I said.

Daniel nodded and took a step closer. That’s when I noticed how hard he was beneath his jeans. I let the panties snap back against my pussy, the fabric lightly tapping my clit and making me moan again. I pulled them aside again, slower, almost lazy, letting him watch the reveal again, watching his cock twitch. I circled my clit with a fingertip, eyes never leaving his.

“Are you okay?” I asked him. “Should I…carry on?”