Tommy drove downtown—the studio was a large modern building, with a glass facade reflecting the afternoon sun, and a sign at the entrance, “Professional Studio LA”.
“This is it,” he said.
I stepped out, heart pounding.
“Stella, I wish you luck, don’t be nervous, you’ll manage like always,” he added encouragingly and drove off.
I stood in front of the building, looked at it, and felt my knees tremble a little. I had always wanted to try modeling and posing, but now I was a bit in panic.
How will I handle all this attention?
I breathed deeply and encouraged myself: How bad can it really be.
Upon entering, the studio was spacious and full of light: white walls, a high ceiling, soft light, and the scent of coffee and makeup could be felt. Right ahead was the administrator’s desk.
I went there. The administrator was a young, attractive woman.
“Hello, I’m Stella. I should have a photoshoot today at four,” I said, stuttering.
“Hello, we were already waiting for you,” she said friendly way. “You probably haven’t been here before. We don’t have your data with us.”
I answered that no, I’m generally for the first time shooting in a professional studio today.
She said encouragingly, “Don’t worry, it’s very simple. Today, the photographer on duty is Riley; he’s very friendly and will explain everything nicely to you in advance. It’s very simple.”
She asked me for some data, name, and body sizes and circumferences, so that costumes and clothes could be prepared accordingly. When she was done with that, she announced that the photographer still had a shoot in progress, but would finish soon.
“Come, I’ll take you to the makeup artist; she’s already waiting for you.”
She opened the door, announcing, “Stella has arrived,” and led me in.
The makeup room was small and cozy: a mirror surrounded by bulbs, a comfortable chair, and products on shelves. The makeup artist, a cheerful woman in her thirties, smiled.
“Sit down, darling. Let’s highlight your natural glow.”
She lightly powdered the face, added thin foundation, a bit of blush, and soft pink lipstick. Emphasized the eyes with a fine line and mascara, and light shimmer on the cheekbones. “Ready,” she said. “Fresh, professional, but a bit sparkling.”
Then she led me to the waiting room—a cozy corner with magazines and water—and added: “The photographer will come in five minutes.”
I waited there in the waiting room and felt how my palms sweated a little from anxiety, but I calmed myself. Everything is fine, I can manage. The administrator and makeup artist were very friendly women, probably the photographer is too, as the administrator promised.
Suddenly, the door opened and in walked a 35-year-old, tall, handsome, confident man with dark hair.
“Hello, Stella, you look fantastic. We’re ready, we can start right away. I’m photographer Riley Hunter,” he extended his hand for a greeting.
I stood up hurriedly and took his hand, bewildered—I had thought Riley was a woman, but now panic struck me again.
“Stella,” I introduced myself and wanted to say something more, but words didn’t come out from surprise.
He saw my awkwardness and, as a good communicator, encouraged me: “Come, don’t worry, it’s very simple. We have everything already prepared,” he said friendly way, and led me to the studio—a spacious room, full of lighting equipment, a photo wall at one end, and interiors at the other.
“Today we’ll do three photo sessions in total,” he explained, “it will take about 1.5 hours. In each session, at least six pictures can be used, and later we’ll select the suitable pictures according to the interview. The first is a traditional teacher in her everyday job, preparing lessons in the office, the second is free time at the beach, the third home theme, which shows the teacher’s more natural side.”
I nodded, voice trembling. “Okay.”
I felt my cheeks heat up. I’ve never managed with confident people.
“He’s Ethan,” he introduced his assistant, who entered from the side room—a tall young man in his 20s, slim, with dark brown hair.
“Ethan has set everything up already and prepared clothes in your size; they’re there behind the screen on separate hangers. Do you have questions, or shall we start right away?”
“What exactly do I have to do?” I murmured quietly.
Riley started laughing: “You’re so cute, Stella, don’t worry, I’ll guide and tell you everything exactly in advance. Come,” he led me behind the changing screen.
The changing screen was barely my height, foldable with light fabric walls, about 2.5 meters wide. Behind it was a rail for holding clothes, on which hung three pre-prepared outfits on hangers. Additionally, behind the changing screen on the wall was a mirror, from which one could look at oneself and get ready.
“Here, take the first set from the right and put it on, classic teacher look, should fit you nicely. When you’re ready, come to us, and we’ll set the preliminary light in the meantime.”
“Yes, okay,” I murmured and moved behind the screen.
I stood behind the partition, felt their presence—they were too close, it was scary and at the same time a bit exciting. I looked at the first clothing set that Ethan had prepared—a white blouse, a tight black skirt, light stockings, and high heels.
I started changing clothes, their voices came from the other side of the screen—they were only a couple of meters away, their voices clear and close. I slowly pulled my blouse off, the lacy black bra remained visible—body tensed, breathing became shallow. I pushed the skirt down and placed it on the chair, looked in the mirror—I stood there in skimpy black underwear, them only a few meters from me and separating us only this light fabric partition. All that last night’s excitement, the boys’ attention during the day, and now this—the feeling was intense, and their closeness made everything worse. I stood there for a moment, grabbed the clothes to dress quickly.
“They’re too close,” I thought, and it was frightening—but at the same time, there was something that made my body heat up even more. I took the white blouse, pulled it quickly over my head—it was tight, clung around my body, and pressed on the breasts, the lace pattern shimmered lightly through the fabric. I sat on the chair and put on the stockings and then the tight skirt, which reached only mid-thigh.
Is this really a classic teacher skirt? I pondered to myself, but then, with a smirk, remembered that I had worn even shorter skirts in class, and concluded that, okay, I can manage. I put on the heels last—every movement was awkward, and the knowledge that they were right there made me flustered.
Stepping out, I felt their gazes.
“Wow, this is perfect,” said Riley. “Classic, but on you even sexy.”
I blushed and waited for Riley’s instructions.
We started the first session. They had set up a small office corner under the window, where there was a shelf, desk, and chair, one large potted plant, and on the desk a laptop, black desk lamp, and phone.
“Sit at the desk,” instructed Riley.
I sat at the desk, legs crossed.
“Good, lean a bit forward and act like you’re working on the computer,” said Riley.
I did it, the blouse tightened around my breasts, and I forced myself to stay calm. We did a few more poses, and for the last, Riley instructed: “Let’s do a bit playful pose. Sit on the desk, mess your hair a bit so it’s not too neat, open the top button on the blouse, and take the phone, make a face like you’re talking on the phone.”
Ethan bustled around me the whole time and set the interiors and lights.
“Sit on the desk, put one leg over the other,” instructed Riley, “and try to smile mischievously, like you’re saying something cheeky.”
“So very good, even more mischievously,” I blushed and tried, but Riley wasn’t satisfied.
“Try even more mischievously, think of something naughty, for example,” he instructed, “you can do it.”
“I don’t know,” I murmured, but then remembered last night’s view through the curtains—Laura on Marcus, hips moving at wild speed and trying with all might to hold back the moans.
“Very good, just like that, it works, continue,” instructed Riley.
I blushed even more at the knowledge of what I was thinking—good that they don’t know, I thought, but tried to keep the smile.
“That’s all, very good, Stella, that was excellent. You’re so innocent and cute, especially when you blush. The pictures turned out very beautiful. So go change clothes, we’ll set your setting. Next, we’ll do the free time theme at the beach,” said Riley.
I stepped behind the partition, heart pounding even faster. This attention, these gazes, and how I feel—okay, two sessions left, I tried to calm myself, but then saw the next clothing set. On the hanger were light blue bikinis, a white transparent top that left the stomach bare, and silky, very thin fabric that could be tied like a skirt.
Heart fluttering, but I started changing clothes, hearing them bustling and talking on the other side of the screen.
They were too close and their voices came very clearly—“Place the beach background here by the wall,” said Riley. Ethan answered “Right away”.
I slowly pulled the blouse off, the lacy bra remained visible—breathing became heavier, the knowledge that they were right there made my hands tremble. I pushed the skirt down, looked both sides of the screen so they wouldn’t see, and then the bra and panties—I remained naked, my skin heated, heart pounding wildly.
I stood there for a moment, completely bare, their voices sounded right behind the partition—“This is madness,” I thought, “this is a teacher photoshoot and now I’m here naked with two stranger men, only a light screen separating us. If they had for a moment moved toward the other door and looked here, the mirror reflection would have shown me naked behind the screen there.”
I took the light blue bikinis, pulled them on quickly—they were tight, clung to my skin, emphasizing my buttocks and thigh curves. The white top was almost transparent, so I put it over the bikini top. The short skirt-like fabric came last. I tied it
A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare is playfully written about the exploration of love, marriage, and the unrealistic expectations that can inexorably come along with them. This essay will explore how marriage is portrayed as limiting and difficult, but ultimately worthwhile.
Commensurate with its origins in a court marriage, this drama speaks throughout for a sophisticated Renaissance philosophy of the nature of love in both its rational and irrational forms. This is shown by depicting that there then existed a significant disparity in the expectations placed on men and women. Hermia embodies this struggle as she defies her father Egeus’s wishes to marry Demetrius, showcasing her desire for autonomy and true love rather than just fulfilling only her duty to her society.
Conversely, men are generally afforded a broader range of achievements and aspirations. They are encouraged to pursue careers, adventures, and personal accomplishments that can lead to social recognition. Demetrius, for instance, initially pursues Hermia out of a sense of entitlement, thinking he can claim her because that is what society expects of her.
Another example is the marriage of Theseus and Hippolyta. Their relationship is rooted in conquest and power dynamics, which reflect the expectations of a hierarchical society. Theseus, as the Duke of Athens, represents a figure signifying his authority, and his marriage to a conquered queen, Hippolyta, suggests that marriage can also be about control and possession rather than something much purer.
Around the waist—it was tight, barely covering my thighs. I tried to adjust it better, but it was too tight and didn’t succeed in hiding my legs or thighs.
I looked at myself in the mirror—this is too sexy for a teacher, but I didn’t dare to argue either. Stepping out, I felt their gazes—“This is perfect,” said Riley, looking at me for a long time.
The session started.
“Walk slowly, let the hair fall,” said Riley.
I walked, the skirt rose lightly, revealing the lower part of the thighs—Ethan moved, setting the light.
“A bit more from here,” said Riley, pointing toward my legs.
The light fell directly on my thighs, emphasizing their bare skin.
“Very good, hold it!” said Riley, and clicked.
I sat on the sand, legs crossed—the view was to my bare legs and bikini edges that showed from under the skirt.
“Good, tilt the head back,” instructed Riley.
“Smile lightly—perfect!” he praised.
The last pose was on the towel—“Apply sunscreen,” said Riley.
Ethan handed the cream, I squeezed cream on my hand, rubbed it slowly on the legs, arms—under their gazes, it was intimate and frightening, body heated even more.
“That was excellent,” said Riley, when he was satisfied with the sixth pose.
“And that’s the last session,” said Riley, “Home theme, we show the teacher’s human side in home chores—clothes are ready.”
I stepped behind the partition and stared at the prepared clothes. White string-like panties, light blue silky shorts barely covering buttocks nightie with straps, and a white knee-length morning robe.
How will I go in front of them in these, I pondered, but started dressing. I pulled off the blouse and skirt, and then slowly the bikinis—I remained naked again, my heart pounded so loud that I feared they would hear.
I stood there, bare and vulnerable, their steps and voices right behind the partition. Skin heated, hands trembled, when I took the white panties—they were thin—and pulled them slowly on. The silky nightie was short, the straps tended to slip off the shoulders, and the neckline was too open. Would have wanted to put on my bra, but it wouldn’t fit under it at all, and black straps would stand out too much.
I put on the morning robe. It reached the knees, but it didn’t reduce my awkwardness.
Stepping out, I felt their gazes—I felt that excitement that had accompanied me since last night, but couldn’t focus on it long, because I heard Riley’s comment.
“You’re perfect in every outfit. Let’s do this last session. Let’s start.”
“Sit on the couch—lift legs under you, look at the magazine, and hold the coffee cup,” said Riley.
I sat, lifted legs under me—the morning robe opened lightly, revealing my thighs more than I would have wanted, but since I had the coffee cup in one hand and a magazine in the other, I couldn’t adjust myself anymore.
Ethan set the light, and Riley started shooting.
“Very good, smile, look left,” instructed Riley.
I held the magazine and cup; my hands trembled a bit.
“Good, look at me—this soft expression.”
“Very good, hold it—smile lightly!” clicked Riley.
It was intimate and a bit frightening, but his voice forced me to continue, and at the same time, I felt that this attention and their gazes excited me a bit, too.
We did a few more poses.
“So, two last poses,” said Riley and led me back to the couch.
“Now throw yourself on the couch, stomach down, and lift calves playfully up and read the magazine.”
I went to the couch, lay stomach down, the morning robe rose from behind, revealing my legs. I propped on elbows and pretended to read the magazine. Since I was stomach down, the morning robe hems fell down and also the nightie’s neckline, because it was a bit too wide. I tried to adjust and pull it up, but Riley instructed, “Tilt the head a bit left, very good, hold it,” then I couldn’t adjust it anymore.
The neckline fell again too low; breasts would have been completely visible in the neckline from the front view, but luckily, they were both to the side.
I felt how wetness from excitement grew between my legs. The fact that I felt this way made me flush and blush even more.
“Very good, hold it—perfect!” clicked Riley.
“So that’s the last pose. Let’s make it a bit like a scene, I’ll shoot you during the action, and later select the best picture. So, Stella, your action is next: you start going to sleep. You move to the bed, take off the morning robe, place it on the ottoman next to the bed, come to the bed, bend over the bed, and adjust the pillow—and that’s all. Is the action clear?”
I wanted it to end quickly and said, “Yes.”
“Okay, we’re ready, so let’s start.”
I started moving beside the bed, untied the morning robe belt from the stomach, started taking the morning robe off, but Riley interrupted.
“Stop. Wait, let’s do it again. Ethan, turn the light a bit down, so it’s a dimmer atmosphere, and Stella, move and act slower, then I have time to take more pictures.”
Ethan turned the light down, the room became dimmer, and I started again. I moved beside the bed and took the morning robe slowly off—this slowness added intimacy, my heart pounded and cheeks flushed, as if I was doing a striptease for two stranger men, but this feeling inside was at the same time surprisingly exciting to me too.
I placed the morning robe on the stool and bent over the bed to adjust the pillow.
“Very good, hold it, stay in place, excellent,” Riley was to the side and clicked.
“Ethan, go pull the curtains too, so it’s even dimmer.”
Ethan moved to the window, which was behind me. I heard how he bustled there, knew that bending over my short, silky nightie had risen too high and covered only half my buttocks and left a view to my strings, which the nightie didn’t cover at all from that view.
But I couldn’t adjust myself, because Riley instructed: “Very good, exactly like that, excellent, last smile, try more mischievously. Do the same as before—I don’t know what you thought, but do it again, it worked.”
“So, for the last hold the same pose, adjust the pillow, throw your hair mischievously with a swing to one side, and smile mischievously straight to the camera.”
I breathed deeply, for a moment managed to think that Ethan is still somewhere behind me, then threw with a sharp head movement the hair to one side shoulder and smiled straight to the camera as Riley had instructed.
“Very good, perfect, that’s all—” just then, when Riley had said those words, my left strap slipped over my shoulder, and before I managed to put the pillow from my head and cover myself, my left breast was fully exposed.
I squealed and covered myself with my hands, and pulled the strap quickly up.
Riley was directly to my left and had just lowered the camera, but saw all this from three meters away.
“Everything is fine, don’t worry, we are professionals here,” he rushed, seeing my mishap, to encourage me.
“You were excellent,” said Riley, “it was excellent working with you.”
“You’re inexperienced, but this untouched beauty—this is what works, and I believe we succeeded in bringing out this human and warmer side in the teacher profession.”
I stood up quickly, grabbed the morning robe, murmured something, "Thank you,” and hurried behind the changing screen—pulled the nightie and panties off, remained naked again for a moment. Quickly pulled my clothes on, grabbed my bag, and started heading out.
Riley waited at the door and said, “We’ll let you know when the pictures are ready, and then you can review them. No picture can be used without your permission, so we’ll let you know when the pictures are ready, and you can review them. Would you be interested in modeling work another time, too? Do you want us to let you know if a suitable job offer comes up?”
“Yes, sure can,” I answered quickly, thanked once more, and hurried out—a gust of wind touched my body, which relieved my hot body.
I breathed deeply, my cheeks flushed, my body was hot, and I was again completely aroused. Do I dare try this again, if such attention affects me like this? I discovered myself thinking as I walked toward home. I caught myself blushing still at the thought that I hope Laura is still at work, and I can have a little time alone in the apartment.
