Training Her Curves - Kinbaku (A BBW Billionaire Domination and Submission Short) by Christa Wick Page A
Authors: Christa Wick
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or "LOL" because I wasn't laughing. I wasn't even smiling. I had agreed to an extended photo session from which Rick would produce a painting for his private collection and then destroy any film and digital files. Knowing Rick seldom used assistants, I hadn't expected an audience of any sort, let alone a "mystery guest."
The three dots signaling he was typing a reply appeared. I waited, my foot tapping impatiently against the worn carpet in the baggage claim area.
I stabbed the power button on my phone and shoved it in my jeans pocket. Not only was Rick yanking my chain about having someone present at the shoot, he also knew I hated being called "Princess." My name meant "queen." Not that I wanted anyone to call me "Queen" or, worse yet, "Queenie." Any idiot that daring could expect to get junk punched -- as could long-legged photographers who invited unnamed individuals to see me naked and vulnerably posed.
Growling, I popped the handle extender on my suitcase and headed for the taxi stand.
********************
Dressed in a plain black t-shirt and slate gray jeans, Rick opened the door to his studio after my second burst of knocking. He had his camera up and ready, the black body and lens of a Nikon F4 obscuring his face.
The click-whirr-click of the twenty-year-old film camera was my only invitation to enter.
"Going old school today?" Still hoping he had been joking about a mystery guest, I scanned the room as I sidestepped him.
"Old and new." Rick's hand landed between my shoulder blades to guide me the rest of the way into his studio. He walked me over to a table weighed down with a few more cameras and three times as many lenses.
I moved around the table, stopping when a waft of hunger inducing cologne tickled my nose. Definitively masculine, it started as fresh cut oranges punctuated with walnuts before mellowing to oakwood. I turned, ready to follow the scent because it smelled recent. But all I had behind me was a floor to ceiling panel of opaque glass that worked as some kind of light diffuser, its controls built into the wall next to it.
"You have ten minutes to freshen up, but don't put on any makeup." Rick caught my elbow and jerked his chin in the direction of an open door. "There's a kimono on the back of the door, but you'll only need it for all of five seconds, so I don't mind if you come out naked, Princess."
With an eye roll, I shrugged his touch off and disappeared into the bathroom. Tension far worse than I experienced on the rough landing at the airport slammed against me once I was alone. My hands shook as I drew the sweatshirt over my head. I kicked off my shoes then shimmied out of my jeans and underwear, leaving me in just the bra. Thankfully, I had selected one with a front-clasp that morning because my fingers were bouncing around like spiders on crack.
Naked in front of the mirror, I looked first at my hair. I ran my nails through it to correct the minor damage from the gust of wind that had hit me between the taxi cab and the entrance to Rick's building. My gaze landed next on my face. I hadn't put a single stroke of makeup on that morning, but Rick apparently wanted me fresh-faced anyway. Bad idea in my opinion because the stewardess had carded me on the flight when I asked for some vodka with my orange juice. She had even taken the ID to another member of the flight to inspect for evidence of fraud.
But it was Rick's shoot and it wasn't as if any images would be published. I was just there to pose and pay my debt.
I rinsed my face then patted it dry before taking a washcloth and running it under hot water. My cheeks, already burning, flamed redder as I wiped between and beneath my breasts and then lower. I had showered thoroughly that morning but sweated my way through the turbulence during the flight and harrowing landing. The taxi ride to the studio hadn't been any drier as I imagined being naked in front of both Rick and this guest I
The three dots signaling he was typing a reply appeared. I waited, my foot tapping impatiently against the worn carpet in the baggage claim area.
I stabbed the power button on my phone and shoved it in my jeans pocket. Not only was Rick yanking my chain about having someone present at the shoot, he also knew I hated being called "Princess." My name meant "queen." Not that I wanted anyone to call me "Queen" or, worse yet, "Queenie." Any idiot that daring could expect to get junk punched -- as could long-legged photographers who invited unnamed individuals to see me naked and vulnerably posed.
Growling, I popped the handle extender on my suitcase and headed for the taxi stand.
********************
Dressed in a plain black t-shirt and slate gray jeans, Rick opened the door to his studio after my second burst of knocking. He had his camera up and ready, the black body and lens of a Nikon F4 obscuring his face.
The click-whirr-click of the twenty-year-old film camera was my only invitation to enter.
"Going old school today?" Still hoping he had been joking about a mystery guest, I scanned the room as I sidestepped him.
"Old and new." Rick's hand landed between my shoulder blades to guide me the rest of the way into his studio. He walked me over to a table weighed down with a few more cameras and three times as many lenses.
I moved around the table, stopping when a waft of hunger inducing cologne tickled my nose. Definitively masculine, it started as fresh cut oranges punctuated with walnuts before mellowing to oakwood. I turned, ready to follow the scent because it smelled recent. But all I had behind me was a floor to ceiling panel of opaque glass that worked as some kind of light diffuser, its controls built into the wall next to it.
"You have ten minutes to freshen up, but don't put on any makeup." Rick caught my elbow and jerked his chin in the direction of an open door. "There's a kimono on the back of the door, but you'll only need it for all of five seconds, so I don't mind if you come out naked, Princess."
With an eye roll, I shrugged his touch off and disappeared into the bathroom. Tension far worse than I experienced on the rough landing at the airport slammed against me once I was alone. My hands shook as I drew the sweatshirt over my head. I kicked off my shoes then shimmied out of my jeans and underwear, leaving me in just the bra. Thankfully, I had selected one with a front-clasp that morning because my fingers were bouncing around like spiders on crack.
Naked in front of the mirror, I looked first at my hair. I ran my nails through it to correct the minor damage from the gust of wind that had hit me between the taxi cab and the entrance to Rick's building. My gaze landed next on my face. I hadn't put a single stroke of makeup on that morning, but Rick apparently wanted me fresh-faced anyway. Bad idea in my opinion because the stewardess had carded me on the flight when I asked for some vodka with my orange juice. She had even taken the ID to another member of the flight to inspect for evidence of fraud.
But it was Rick's shoot and it wasn't as if any images would be published. I was just there to pose and pay my debt.
I rinsed my face then patted it dry before taking a washcloth and running it under hot water. My cheeks, already burning, flamed redder as I wiped between and beneath my breasts and then lower. I had showered thoroughly that morning but sweated my way through the turbulence during the flight and harrowing landing. The taxi ride to the studio hadn't been any drier as I imagined being naked in front of both Rick and this guest I
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