"That's it, perfect, look up for me?" I tilt my head to the right. "Beautiful! Throw some of that lovely hair over your shoulder, babe."
My heart is beating erratically and I'm aware of the hot flush that emphasises the freckles scattered around my cleavage. In the back of my mind, I mark the "find-a-job" attempt number seven as unsuccessful.
I'm definitely never doing this again.
"These will look a-ma-zing!" Ryan, the young photographer assigned to assemble my portfolio stresses the word with barely contained enthusiasm. He kneels in front of me, looking like he's dying to touch me, but is not giving in to the desire. And just as I begin to grow uncomfortable under his intense gaze, he finally turns his camera around to reveal the picture.
"It looks okay to me... What do you think?" I try my best not to sound like a frightened little mouse.
'Shy' is not an adjective I would usually describe myself with. That would imply being nervous around other people, which has never been an issue for me. This thing though... It's definitely bringing me out of my comfort zone.
"For your first time? Not too shabby," he praises, "although we'll have to do something about the hair. This just won't do."
"Um, sorry?" The messy half updo usually gets me nothing but compliments—hence why I chose to wear it today—so I'm not entirely sure what he means. My confusion grows even more once I feel his fingers brush down the back of my neck, eventually staying still on my upper back.
"The redness sticks out like a sore thumb; it's ruining my vision. Got to make the shade appear more....brownish. Nothing a little editing won't fix."
"But....why?" An uncomfortable shiver goes down my spine; the seansation intensifies tenfold once he begins tugging on the zipper of my dress. Feeling his cold skin on mine should sober me up, but I find myself frozen still, unsure whether I should shake his hand off or pretend it's not there.
"Just trust me, alright? I know what I'm doing," his tone is playful, light. "You got a bikini under this dress?"
"Yea," I swallow the lump that formed in my throat.
"Can you pull your dress down a bit?" It sounds like a question, but there's no doubt in my mind that he means this as a command.
"I don't think...." I mumble, "I'd rather not."
"But we need bikini pictures for your portfolio?" he asks in a seemingly uninterested manner. "I thought you knew that, babe."
My mouth parts and I almost ask him to stop referring to me like I'm his pet, only to hold it in at the last minute. "I don't think I agreed to that. No one told me—"
"Do you want to do this or not?" he cuts me off with a cock of an eyebrow. "Because there's many beautiful girls waiting in line; ones that don't mind showing a bit of skin. It's not like I'm asking you for nudes. Just pull the dress down so your back's showing."
In my heart, I know this is wrong. The fact that I signed some preliminary agreement back at their office shouldn't give this man the right to force me into doing anything I'm uncomfortable with. Especially since I'm pretty sure that I never agreed to having so much bare skin on display.
This was supposed to be a test run; a way for me to check how I fare in front of a camera. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Scoot up," Ryan urges as I slowly pull the straps off my shoulders. When I do as he asks, his hand clutches the bottom of my dress and roughly snatches it all the way up to my waist.
"Stop!" I gasp, my embarrassment now overshadowed by fear.
"Perfect," he completely disregards my comment, and the following snap of the camera takes me by surprise. "Look at me."
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The Fence || h. s.
قصص الهواة"Cherry, is that you?" She loves late-night jogging, and his beach house happens to be on the way. Separated by a six feet tall fence, they both have no idea who the other is. Will their chance encounter grow into something bigger? Or was this biza...
