I fold my arms, giving Isaac, who sits across from me at the café table, an eyeful of cleavage from the navy blouse’s gape. I’m unsure if his flitting from eyes to tits to eyes is predatory or opportunistic so I release and twirl my cake fork instead. “No way, José.”

“I bet you’d be a natural.”

“A natural disaster, yes.”

He observes in that maddeningly aloof way of his—partway between amusement and pity—and I'm torn between wanting to punch or kiss him. Not for the first time. He has this… presence. Gravitas. An intensity I want to ignore but can't. It’s fucking irritating.

I don't want to be a cliché like those strong, independent women in trashy romance novels. The ones with a good job and a house and a convertible, who quietly crave a man to submit to.

That's not me.

I don't need to be loved and nurtured. I already have that at home. So why do I think I want that with Isaac? It's baffling. And it's not like I see him checking other women out. It seems to only be me. Like I'm somehow special.

But I'm not.

Memories of the drunken kiss we shared at the office New Year's party surface and flush my cheeks until he interrupts. “Why do you sell yourself short?”

Snorting, I glance across lively chatter at the slim, pretty waitresses in their pinafores and effortless grace, doling out coffee to anyone who isn't yet jittering from caffeine. “Why wouldn't I?”

He follows my stare. “Seriously? You're comparing yourself to them?”

I remain silent, watching the girls work the room. Clearing plates. Taking orders. Smiling, carefree. He breaks my concentration again; another infuriating trait. “What have they got that you haven't?”

My retort is swift. “Still-functioning scales, for a start.”

“Chloe, Chloe, Chloe.” He blows out air and sips at scalding milky coffee. “They're not half the woman you are.”

“Clearly they are. Even combined.”

“You know what I mean.”

We sit in silence for a moment, and I shift in the seat like his laser stare is some kind of heat ray. “I'm serious. Who would want this?” I indicate my curves under the flowing skirt and blouse I use to disguise them.

“Oh, I don't know, maybe your husband? And a load of the guys at the office for a start.”

“Nobody at the office looks at me.”

He takes another sip. Eyes me. Undoes me. “Yes, they do.”

I sometimes wish he wasn't so damn attractive. It would make it easier to walk away; go back to pretending my ordinary life’s uncomplicated. But I can barely bring myself to tear my gaze from those dimples that form as he offers another aloof smile.

It's not like I'm unappreciated at home. I love Thomas to bits. He's a fabulous chef, great company, makes me laugh, and works hard. I shouldn't want more. Am I a greedy person to crave that extra crackle in the bedroom? The vavoom beyond sex every month or two, and occasional blowjob in between.

We sometimes lark about, around the house. A few months ago, he playfully slapped my bottom, and it surprised me. But what surprised me more was that I liked it. It made me wet.

I’ve thought about that slap a lot since. I can't see him volunteering to do it more, because he would genuinely be terrified he was hurting me. And I wouldn't want to distress him by asking for it. But sometimes I daydream, imagine him going caveman on me. Picking me up and…

“Just think about it, okay? The girl's pro and it'll give you a confidence boost. Trust me.”

I exit my reverie, round up cheesecake crumbs on my plate, dab, and lick my fingertip. “I don't know. It's kinda sleazy.”

“It’s sensual.”

“Self-indulgent.”

“Reflective.”

I huff. “A photograph seems so… permanent.”

“It'd be a celebration. Of now. Of your beauty.”

“She'll need a wide-angle lens.”

“For God's sake, shoosh.”

“And I can't justify the cost.”

Of course, he has an answer for that too. “Jess is a friend. Mates rates.” I screw up my nose and open my mouth to speak, but he gets there first. “I'll even pay for it.“

I'm unable to keep my jaw taut. “No. I couldn't ask you to do that.”

“I'm not asking you to. I'm offering.”

“But... Why? I'd owe you. Wouldn't you want something in return?“

He waves the gesture away. “Friends look out for one another.”

“Awww.” I tilt my head. “Cute, you consider us friends. We've only been working together, what, eight months?”

He briefly scratches at the place his hair used to be. “So you'll think about it?”

“No promises.”

“Her studio’s only round the corner. She has a few props for settings. Chair, couch, bed, and so on. It's up to you.”

“Hope it has a reinforced frame.”

He flares. “Enough with the weight thing, or I'll put you over my knee.”

And there it is. I stare across the table. Blink. His gaze is unwavering. He says nothing, and I'll be damned if my pussy doesn't respond favourably. Very favourably.

I look away. “Sorry. I just…”

Signalling the closest waitress, a pretty, freckled thing with red hair pinned up in an effortlessly messy bun, she refills my coffee and I thank her. Skim a sugar cube in the liquid until it soaks up to meet my fingertips before letting it plop in the cup and stirring. I flick my eyes to his. Shrug. “Defence mechanism, I guess.”

He breathes. “Trust me, you have nothing to defend. You're beautiful.”

I well up and look away again, blinking rapidly. “You can't be saying things like that and… what you said before. We're both, y'know.” I cast my gaze to his wedding ring, glinting where his hand lies on the cheap tabletop.

“I know. But you need to stop with the whole body image thing.” He offers a disarming bite of his lip in a rare display of vulnerability that makes me want him more. “Self-deprecation is dangerous in large quantities.”

He's right. I sigh. “I know. I'll try.”

His hand covers mine, and the warmth and tenderness shock me into withdrawing. “Isaac, don't.” He seeks my hand again and brushes fingertips over it. God, I want him. But I can't. We can't.

Our eyes meet, and I shake my head, summoning strength. “We should get back to the office.”

“Of course.”

We finish our drinks, rise and head for the door.

–oOo–

It takes eight days of further persuasion before I relent. He arranges everything, I tell Thomas a white lie that I'm going shopping for the day, and Isaac meets me outside the studio for the photoshoot.

I have a few spare items of clothing in a small holdall and wear a flowing skirt, zip-up hoodie and sandals. Something comfortable, he advised, but insisted on lingerie underneath. He said it'd make me feel sexy. He's right, of course. Every step of its snug, silky presence is a constant reminder against my skin.

He gives me the once-over outside the block façade of the converted mill. “Perfect. Ready?”

“No.”

He smiles, steps to the glass front door and presses the third buzzer of twelve business names on a metal panel alongside: B-Youtiful.

After a clank and a rustle, a bubbly voice, tinny through the intercom, greets us. “Hey Isaac. Come on up.”

The door buzzes, and he forges inside, me in tow, eyes level with his taut behind in form-fitting jeans as our footsteps echo in the stairwell. We climb the shallow stairs steadily until Jessica greets us on the third floor.

There's not much to her. Could probably get three of her in me. Skintight jeans, skintight cami tee and Converse all-stars. Her hair is shoulder-length, dark, and lustrous in the glow from the studio lighting beyond.

“Hi, and welcome. You must be Chloe.”

I nod. Extend my hand. She's soft despite her wiry physique. Her and Isaac share a friendly hug and peck on the cheek, then she ushers us inside.

The place smells amazing. Wooden boards creak underfoot and give the airiness a natural vibe. The studio occupies almost half the building's floorspace, divided into a series of ‘rooms’ by movable partitions, each themed. I can see ‘bedroom’ and ‘lounge’ before the partitions curve away to the far side. Giant windows flank three edges, casting soft, natural light, augmented by studio lamps with coloured filters clamped to poles.

After pleasantries and coffee that fills the space with its rich aroma, Jessica gets down to business. She eyes my jigging leg.

“I totally understand your nerves, but I'm here to help you overcome them.”

I gulp. Say nothing.

“If I do my job properly, you won't even notice the camera towards the end.”

“How far do I… do I have to go?” I wave my hands over my clothing by way of demonstration, then add, “To get a good shot.”

“Entirely up to you. Isaac has briefed me so I know where I'd like to take you and, I won't lie, I will push you out of your comfort zone. But I’ll respect any limits you impose.”

I force a laugh. “Well, that sounds suitably ominous.”

“I'll show you the results as we go. Is the bedroom okay?”

I nod my assent.

Isaac puts down his drink on the wooden coffee table. “Shall I come back later?”

“No.” I’m quick to respond. “Please stay.” I shrug. “You're familiar… calming. If that's okay, of course.”

A flicker of a smile crosses his face before he drags his chair over to settle a short distance from the scene.

Following Jessica a few paces, I perch on the edge of the soft bed while she fusses with the position of some light stands and changes the filters to add a little extra warmth to the incoming natural light.

She retreats to a tripod and quick-releases the camera from it. “Okay. A few test shots first. Try to relax.”

I grip the bed edge and fake-smile as she squeezes the shutter, turning the camera not only between portrait and landscape but also a few angles in between.

When she's done, she approaches, scrolling through them on the tiny screen. “The light's good. Try lying down.”

“I'm not really comf—”

“You don't know how to lie down?”

I blink. “Of course I do.”

She sweeps her arm in an open gesture. I falter and ease back, legs still dangling over the edge. She spins her finger in the air, and I awkwardly shuffle a handful of degrees at a time until my feet point at the pillow.

Jessica frames a shot. Tries a different angle. Shakes her head. Crooks a finger and I wriggle her way. She reaches down. “May I?”

Her fingertips brush my cheek and I shiver, recoiling. She encourages me. “It'll look better with your hair cascading over the bed edge like this. Trust me.” She runs fingers through my locks, and I'm frozen outside but molten within.

Exhaling, I roll my face back upright and focus on the steadily rotating ceiling fan as she rearranges me a little, scooping hair away from my cheeks and smoothing it. Her touches are soft and somewhat reassuring. I'm not sure if the butterflies are due to being the focus of the camera’s attention or hers.

After framing a few shots and firing the shutter, true to her word she hands the device over to let me preview the results. I can't help but smile. “Wow. How did you do that?”

She winks. “Practice,” and tinkers with a filter on the pole to my left, bathing me in a slightly more orangey light. “You know what would enhance it even more?”

I hand the camera back. “Let me guess: skin.”

She winks again. “You catch on fast.”

“Thing is, I'm not sure I'm ready.”

“Why?”

I chew my lip. “I'm not… sexy.”

She props one hand on a hip. “Rubbish. I’d do you.”

I stare. It’s the simple matter-of-factness to her words that make me believe her.

She grins. “I mean, I won’t. This is my business. I don’t lure people here so I can fuck them.” She places a hand on mine, almost sympathetically and continues softly. “Isaac didn’t either when he worked here.”

I flush. “I don’t... I mean, we’re not...”

She squeezes my fingers before letting go and raising her voice again. “I mean, that’s not to say we didn’t take care of any needs in private afterwards, right buddy?”

I glance at him, doing his best impression of wide-eyed innocence.

“Speak for yourself, Jess.”

She laughs again, turns back to me and walks fingertips up to the top of my hoodie and starts to drag the zip down. I make an involuntary gasp, pulse racing.

My heart rate steps up another notch when she eyes me. “You're wearing lingerie. It would be a crime not to show some of it.”

I swear my heartbeat is louder than the steady whump of the ceiling fan. Her gaze never leaves mine, and I gradually relax. Nod my assent.

The zip lowers, upper surface of my breasts dappled by the warm light. They curve enticingly as the lace is revealed tooth by tooth. I gasp, and she doesn't stop until the zip is within sight of my belly button.

She steps back. Frames and shoots. Each artificial clack of the shutter ricochets in my mind.

For reassurance, she stops and shows me the results. My belly flutters and cheeks flush as I take in the exposed cleavage plunging to meet the rise of my squishy bit just before the zip conceals more.

Her fingertips brush my collarbone as she eases the hoodie apart a fraction to show off a little more cleavage. I reflexively place my palms over my chest. She pauses. Takes my hands in hers and guides them away. “Don't cover up, Chloe. I'd love to have boobs like yours.”

I gaze up at her. “Really?”

She nods. “I'm cursed with a flat chest. You give these clothes shape and purpose. Let me show off your beauty.”

Her fingers leave mine, and she traces my side, then across to grasp the zip. Each tooth spikes my adrenaline, and my hands raise to cover myself up until her stare warns me otherwise. I return them to the bed and let her unzip me fully, breathing shallow.

“Relax. You’re so beautiful.”

She takes one step back, lifts the camera to her face and fires off a succession of shots at varying angles. “Do me a favour?” she calls out from behind the lens. “Cup your boobs. Like you're showing them off.”

I drift my hands to them. Capture their swell and lift a little. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect.”

The shutter fires. I faintly squeeze my breasts and arch my back a little. The shutter fires again. Catching an upside-down glimpse of Isaac, staring hungrily at my display, I flush. I swear there's movement in his jeans, and he shifts his posture to disguise it. Maybe, once more, he's right. Maybe I am desirable.

Jessica's voice filters through the rising fog of arousal. “One more favour. Brush your thumbs over your nipples. Make them dent the fabric. It'll add a wonderful aesthetic.”

Without taking my eyes from Isaac’s seat, I skim both thumbs across the lacy fabric. Another involuntary gasp escapes, this one loaded, and I bite my lip too late to contain it. I'm vaguely aware of the camera clicks as I sweep my thumbs back and forth, nipples rising beneath them and shooting sparks of desire through me.

I blink when Jessica crosses my field of vision and fires off a few more shots from the other side. She holds the camera out and I let go of my breasts to review the photos. She's somehow made me appear sexy. Flattering angles lessen the midriff hump; the focus is squarely on my chest and, in one shot, captures my open-mouthed rapture at brushing nipples, revealing my state of mind.

“They’re amazing.”

“Thank you. Are you starting to believe?”

I give a faint nod.

“Good. Let's change it up a bit. Kneel for me.”

She takes the camera off me, and I roll onto my front. Hauling up onto all fours, I'm suddenly conscious that my swinging tits in the slightly-too-small bra give Isaac an eyeful, and hurriedly rise to squat on my haunches. Jessica has already caught a couple of photos.

“Hold the lower edges of the hoodie closed for a moment so just your chest peeks from the gap.”

I do as instructed.

“Good. Now peel it apart slowly. Tease us an inch at a time.”

Performing this gradual reveal is electrifying. I flick my gaze from the camera to Isaac and back. His obvious enjoyment of the show emboldens me further. When the hoodie is draped fully open, I drop my hands to my knees and walk my fingertips to cinch up my skirt.

Millimetre by millimetre, my thighs appear and I focus on his reaction. The way he shifts in his seat again. The way he slyly brushes his cock to ease the pressure building beneath. It's seriously alluring to show myself this way. To see how he responds.

At the back of my mind, I know I shouldn't be teasing this man who isn't my husband, but I'm getting caught up in the situation. Logic gradually takes a back seat as excitement bubbles to the forefront. The skirt is at mid-thigh before I even realise it. Barely another inch or two, and he'll be able to see my panties. Do I want that? The thought both thrills and scares me. I take a deep breath and part my knees on the bed, the material riding a fraction higher.

I'm dimly aware of the camera, but front and centre is my arousal. My libido is fuelled. Primed. At odds with the self-belief that my blossoming weight made me undesirable. Here in the sanctity of this space, in the company of one-and-a-half strangers, my curves are somehow attractive. Beguiling.

In a slowly emerging pattern, Isaac's earlier words ring true. It is a celebration of who I am. How I got here. And what I can offer in the pursuit of happiness.

Locking eyes with his, we spar from a distance. Who will break first? Will the lure of my dampening underwear draw his gaze? Or will the effect the mere thought of it has on his manhood be my undoing, as I check out the growing bulge? I creep the material higher. Higher. Just one more crook of a fingertip and he'll know how wet this is making me.

I ease my knees apart fractionally and slide my tongue over my lips. Cool air swirls under the skirt and meets my heat head on. Letting out a sigh, I break the gaze and drop it to his crotch. There's no disguising it.

When I flick back up to look at him, he's transfixed by my panties. I pull the skirt fabric all the way to bunch at my hips, pretence banished. Shuffling slightly to trap the flowing pleats behind my knees, the garment stays in place, freeing my hands to explore upward and cup my breasts. I offer them. To him. Not my husband. Him. Maybe this is what he gets out of it after all. To ogle me. To lust over me. I stroke the pebbled caps beneath the flimsy bra. My jaw drops, and I sigh again. More when I pinch both nipples, head lolling.

Inner heat surfaces. I shuck the hoodie off my shoulders, and it catches at the elbows. Whimpering into the studio space, I tweak and twist my aching nipples, then slip one hand down to trace my belly, over my skirt and rest it in front of my panties.

My eyes meet his, albeit briefly, before he returns to stare between my spread thighs. One, two, whatever years of untapped sexuality burst forth. I cup my sex and rub. Gasp at the touch and animatedly dive beneath the hem.

I'm wet. So wet. It stains the sheer material, shiny lips surely visible through it. Curling a finger between my slick folds, I withdraw to show him the digit glittering in the light. I suck it clean then return to my slippery centre.

This time, I curl it inside. Finger my entrance and moan, creeping deeper with each exploratory moment.

A whole body flush surfaces. I'm roasting beneath the lights, his unwavering gaze and the distant clicks of the shutter. I let the hoodie drop to pool behind me, stand and shimmy down the skirt, kicking both off the bed towards Isaac. I unbuckle the sandals too and toss them over the edge.

The camera catches my brazenness.

Sinking to my knees again, I seek relief from the inner heat racking my curvy frame. One hand clutches at a breast, the other diving beneath the elastic waistband to continue fingering my needy hole. I curl deep and throw my head back, clawing the bra.

I free one buxom breast and stretch the black fabric taut, rolling the thin strap over one nipple. Grabbing at the panty material with the other hand, wet fingers slipping, I stretch that too in an effort to temper the inner heat.

Jessica captures each moment of my gradual descent into depravity, but I barely notice her flitting from stance to stance and angle to angle. I clutch at my flesh and dig two fingers into my sopping snatch, chasing my first manual orgasm in goodness knows how long.

As my pussy becomes wetter and I perform for my voyeurs, my chest tightens, breathing ragged. I begin to crest, fighting to keep myself there. To ride the edge, moment by moment, until I can't take it any longer.

Crushing my palm against my slippery clit, I fling my head back and groan to the high ceiling as my world closes in, walls fluttering around my buried digits.

It's incredible. Freeing. I float on the high wave, gasping and moaning as fire tears through me, jumbling my senses. Flashes rhythmically arc between contact points and flush my chest as they pulse a rampant beat, and I lose my sense of place.

As awareness creeps back to me, I slither my fingers free, straightening my gaze to fall on Isaac. He's a picture. Clearly impressed, with a major hard-on in his jeans. If I wasn't so numbed from the orgasm that still raged, I'd clamber off the bed, cross to him, sink to my knees and suck him to completion, savouring every drop of creamy spunk.

I'm horny like I've not known for… well, ever, perhaps. Like all the repressed need I've kept under wraps the past few years have burst and flooded my veins.

Becoming aware of Jessica to one side, I offer a bashful smile. “Sorry, I, uhh, might have got carried away there.”

“Don't apologize. Especially not until you've seen the photos.”

“Oh God. Do I need to crawl into a hole and die?”

“Far from it.” She smiles and sits next to me, offering the camera.

I scroll through the pictures. There are a few dubious ones, as expected when she's firing off hundreds, but the rest are sensational. I can barely believe the raw passion flowing from the photographs. Desire, frozen and portrayed. She's chosen angles that flatter my wobbly bits and focused on important features like my expression and my hands as they ravage my skin, coaxing my orgasm into existence.

“These are stunning.”

“Thank you. They're all yours. Isaac has bought the platinum package.”

I snap my attention to him. “Oh wow, really? That's so generous of you.”

He waves away the thanks. “If it awakens your incredible sex drive, it's worth every penny.”

Handing back the camera, I crawl to the bed edge, swing my legs from under me and perch. “Oh, it’s definitely done that. But there may be a slight issue.”

He raises an eyebrow, and I track all the way from his face to his jeans tent and back up. “Yes. See, the whole time I was, y’know,” I wave my hand in a vague circle, “playing there, I was having inappropriate thoughts. Things I definitely shouldn't be thinking. Involving people—a person—I’m not married to.”

I take a deep breath, barely able to believe I'm considering what I'm about to do. Rising, my panties soaked and still only half-wearing my bra, I sashay over to where he sits. He watches me the entire way until he's looking up at my towering form. I run a fingertip up from my panties to my mouth. “I’ve been terribly… terribly naughty.”

Clearing his throat, he appraises my full figure once more. Raises his eyes to mine. A shifting darkness behind them makes my heart thump. “Well, Chloe, do you know how we deal with naughty girls?”

I can guess, but I think I'm about to find out.