Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
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How I Got My Pulitzer
(*****, F/f, Intense, Semi-cons, nudity)
A photographer reminisces about his award-winning photo. (Approximately 4,086 words. Originally published 1999-06.)
My name's Ray Diamond. I'm a photographer. A damn good one, too. My most famous photo, and the one I'm the most proud of, was taken back in the late 90's. Nearly fifty years ago, but I'm sure you've seen it. It's been reprinted so many times even my accountant lost track.
The assignment was a routine shoot for a music rag. The girl's name was Sabrina Davies. She was an up-and-coming pop sensation, the hottest new artist in years. She was jailbait on steroids and bubblegum. Only seventeen, whores would kill for a body like hers. She had that ideal hourglass shape, with superwide hips, an ass you had see to believe, and big meaty tits without the slightest trace of sag. Her face was so-so, but she was blond with big eyes and a cute smile. She could sing, too. Grew up singing in the gospel choir at her church. Started when she was just four years old.
Her schtick was to sell her body as sexual dynamite, doing sexy music videos in tight sweaters and short-shorts or barely-there skirts, while never really showing anything. In truth, she was an innocent, virginal as fresh snow. Her parents were strict, old-fashioned, church-going types, and the clash of images between her real life and the fantasy she portrayed worked well, for she appealed to both the conservative and liberal generations.
My task was to come up with some hot pictures of her. How hot? Sizzling, my editor told me. But no nudity, of course. Anything else was fair game. Whatever the girl would do.
My greatest strength as photographer is my ability to understand people. Few people realize how vital that is, especially doing portrait work. Anyone can do landscapes, but photographing people requires a special understanding of your subject. You have to love the person you see through that lens. That's not as easy as it sounds. Some of the ugliest people in the world make the best photographic subjects. Their faces have character, wisdom, depth. While some of the most beautiful people are empty shells, void of any real personality and intelligence.
(I once photographed this boxer. He'd lost sixty-seven fights in a row, some kind of record. His nose had been broken more times than he had brain cells, and his head was bigger on one side than the other. I took his picture right after he lost fight number sixty-eight. He looked awful. His face was bruised and swollen, his lip cut, one eye blackened and nearly shut, his crooked nose bleeding. He grinned at me and I saw he had several teeth missing. Poor guy. Then I saw some spark inside. I saw it first in his eyes, then in his posture and expression. This guy might have lost, but he wasn't a loser. Far from it. He was a fighter, and getting his lights punched out on a regular basis had never dissuaded him of that fact. I fell in love with that face and took a series of photos that won me a number of awards.)
I spent the first hour simply chatting with Sabrina and her mother. I wanted her to relax and feel comfortable, and I wanted to understand her, my source of inspiration. As I watched her laugh and talk and saw her in various outfits, ideas began to form in my mind. First, I saw that her mother's presence restricted her. With her mom watching, she was a different girl. Sabrina was at her sexiest when she was comfortable. Second, Sabrina's best feature was undoubtedly her glorious ass, especially when she wore skimpy shorts.
After a half-hour or so of routine poses in a few outfits, I called Mrs. Davies over. I whispered a few instructions to her. I didn't do anything special -- I simply asked her if she would mind leaving for a bit, explaining that her presence hampered her daughter. I even gave her my car keys, since she and Sabrina had arrived by taxi. Mrs. Davies understood, and I've had years of experience at convincing uncooperative subjects to conform to my will, and she complied. I saw Sabrina watching us out of the corner of my eye. She had no idea what I'd said, but only saw her mother mysteriously leave.
"Where's Mom going?" she asked.
I just shrugged, like I didn't know or care. We took some more routine pictures for a while, until Sabrina relaxed and began to flow with it. I kept pushing the limit on her costumes, urging her to show a little more cleavage by adjusting her haltertop, or going with tighter shorts. Sabrina was giggling at the "naughtiness" of our activities. She'd flirt with me (and the camera), mocking her own virginal image with suggestive poses and gestures. I encouraged this as much as possible.
After a bit, I winked at my assistants, and they mysteriously vanished. I prefer working alone, though help setting up is always appreciated. But now I wanted privacy. I went up to Sabrina, who was lying on a couch on the set we'd constructed. She looked delicious, her body turned so she was partially on her belly, with the curves of her ass and hips prominent.
I knelt beside her, smiling softly. I enjoyed being this close to the attractive teen, and she grinned at me in a way that told me the feeling was mutual.
"Would you like to do a _really_ sexy picture?" I whispered.
Her eyes widened a bit at the serious tone in my voice. She nodded eagerly, however, licking her lips nervously.
"What do you want me to do?"
"It will be difficult," I said. "But it will be worth it, I promise."
She blushed slightly. "I can't do nudity, you know that."
"You can if we don't take your picture," I said.
The girl looked shocked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you can get naked if we don't take your picture."
"Oh my God... I couldn't do that!"
"Come on, just a little. For instance, show me your breasts."
Sabrina went red, her smile shy as she looked away from me. But I knew her well already. She wanted to do it. Specifically because it was so forbidden, she _really_ wanted to do it.
I didn't speak, but simply waited. I allowed her to convince herself.
Biting her lower lip, she suddenly yanked down her haltertop and then immediately pulled it back up, flashing her left breast at me.
"That's better," I said. "See how sexy that makes you feel?"
"Now do it again, longer this time."
She shook her head.
"I'll look away," I said, turning my back to her. I heard a shuffling behind me. "Are you doing it?"
There was a long pause, then she said, "Yes."
I didn't move. "Hold it. Keep your breasts exposed. Doesn't that feel sexy? Now dance, sway with your arms above your head. Isn't that naughty?"
Sabrina began giggling with embarrassment, and I knew my plan was working perfectly. Suddenly, I turned, catching the girl with her top down. She was so flustered she dropped the halter in her haste to pull it back up. As she reached for it, I placed a hand on hers, not holding it down, but just indicating she shouldn't move. After a slight hesitation, Sabrina relaxed, leaving the top off and letting me look closely at her breasts.
"How many have seen you naked?" I whispered.
She licked her lips. "Not many."
"But you like it, don't you?"
She blushed and nodded.
"Nudity isn't required for sexy pictures. The sexiest are always clothed or partially clothed. Sexiness comes from inside, from the mind. It's an attitude, not body parts. But you must be comfortable with your body. You must feel naked while you are clothed. When you show your breasts under that tight sweater or T-shirt, imagine you're naked, that everyone's looking at those stiff nipples, admiring the smooth round shape of your breasts."
Sabrina was watching me with astonishment. "That's amazing," she said. "Where'd you learn all that?"
I didn't answer. I saw she was completely relaxed now, though her top was still off.
"Keep going," I whispered.
"Your shorts. Slide them down."
"Oh, I couldn't!"
"Yes, you can. You know you want to." Sabrina looked darling in her confusion. "Turn around and let me see your bare ass."
Slowly, she turned. She moved like a robot, a helpless automaton. I saw her shorts loosen as she undid the snap at the front, then they began to slide off the mounds of her glorious ass. Her ass was even better than I'd imagined, firmer and with more curves. The deep crevice between the divine cheeks was covered by a pair of flimsy white panties, but the outer edges of her cheeks were completely exposed. It was a luscious dream, and I've photographed hundreds of gorgeous women. For a long time I just stared.
Sabrina glanced back at me over her shoulder, her eyes wide with lust and wild excitement.
"Keep going," I said, and without a word of protest she took the panties down.
She blushed furiously while I inspected her, but she was grinning the entire time. She loved the attention, and her own daring stimulated her.
"Now turn around," I whispered so softly it was barely audible. She immediately turned, showing me the soft downy hair that covered the delicate vee of her pussy. She was so pretty I almost forgot myself. I didn't speak for a long time, just stared, my lusty grin saying everything.
Sabrina blushed and beamed.
"Do you feel sexy?" I asked.
"Do you feel naughty?"
"Do you want to do a photo so sexy, so naughty, you'll sell a million records?"
"Then here's what we've got to do," I said, and brought out the riding crop.
Sabrina stared at me in disbelief. Her arms crossed to cover her breasts in a protective gesture.
"Lie down," I said gently. Trembling, she obeyed.
"What... what are you going to do?"
"Shhhh. Relax. I want you to feel your bottom. Think about. Feel the air against it, the bare flesh exposed. Isn't that sexy? Isn't that naughty?"
"Feel your entire body. You're naked, exposed, vulnerable. Memorize that feeling. Think about your sex. It's wet, ready, aroused. Remember how being wild excites you."
"Now lie still." I brought the crop down and laid it across the hillock of Sabrina's unbelievably pert buttocks. It balanced there, trembling slightly as the girl quivered.
"Feels good, doesn't it. Remember that feeling. Remember how aroused you are. Got it?"
I lifted the crop. Sabrina's bottom shook slightly. I brought the crop down hard, square across her cheeks. The crack was like the snap of a rope breaking. There was a gurgled cry from the girl. It quickly became a shriek as she realized the full impact of what I'd done.
As she struggled to reach back to grab her burning ass, I caught her by the shoulders, pushing her into the cushions. She screamed and cursed, but I only hissed soft whispers of control to her. Slowly her struggles slowed and she began to weep.
"There, there," I said over and over again. "It's okay. That wasn't so bad, now, was it?"
"Ohhhhh, it _HURTS_!" she moaned.
I glanced at her ass. The stripe was blood-red, heavy, and already raising a thick welt.
"I believe it," I said with genuine feeling. "It looks spectacular, though."
There was a hesitation in the sobbing. Sabrina glanced back at me through her tears. "It does?"
"Of course. You should wear the mark like a badge of honor. It takes great courage to earn them."
The girl nodded, her crying subsiding, her breathing returning to normal. She moaned a bit, wiggling her body.
"Why'd you do that?"
"Doesn't it feel sexy?"
"No, it just hurts!"
"Come on, you're not giving it a chance. You're dismissing it without even considering the question. Of course it hurts. That only makes sense. But what else? What else do you feel?"
"I, uh... I, um, I feel a burning, deep down, inside... between my legs."
"It's bad, really bad. It makes me--" Sabrina broke off suddenly, her face going crimson.
"It makes you what?"
"Come on. Out with it."
"Either you tell me or I'll give you another stroke of the crop!"
"Oh no, please, not that!" gasped Sabrina. She hesitated. "Okay, okay... it makes me... it makes me want to touch myself!"
I grinned and laughed, and after a moment, Sabrina laughed too.
"I told you," I said. "It always works. Without fail. Now we'll just finish up with a couple more strokes. Trust me -- you'll need them later, when we're doing the shoot."
"Oh, you can't be serious!" Sabrina turned and looked at me. "You expect me to lie here and let you hit me?"
"Of course," I said, staring her straight in the eye. She faltered and collapsed, turning away. I lifted the crop and stepped away from her, but she didn't try to escape. The second blow was harder than the first, but a bit lower down. Sabrina gasped, then howled, then tried to rise. I held her down once again, whispering pleasantries in her ear.
"One more," I murmured when she'd finished making a fuss.
"No!" she said. "That's enough!"
"Three's the minimum. You can't get the benefit without at least three."
"I don't care! That hurts too much."
"You're just not thinking about the feelings," I said. "Remember how it felt between your legs while you imagined the crop striking you?
"Ohhhh," moaned the girl.
She was still in position, so I went for it. A brutal cut to the lower cheeks, right where the flesh is the plumpest.
This time Sabrina didn't scream. She gasped, and her face went pale, but she didn't scream. Her hands flew to her ass, grabbing and rubbing, and this time I allowed her that pleasure.
"Ooohh," she moaned. A few tears drifted down her cheeks. "God that hurts!"
"Think sex," I whispered. "What's happening between your legs?"
"Oh my God!" gasped the girl. She moaned again, writhing a bit, her hands slipping underneath herself. I continued to whisper encouragements, but they were hardly needed. The girl was in two kinds of pain now, and desperate to block out one while she satisfied the other. I watched while she came right there on my couch.
Sabrina sat up, blushing furiously. She hauled up her panties and shorts, wincing as the cloth touched the welts on her ass.
"I can't believe that just happened," she said, retrieving her haltertop. "Did that just happen?"
"It was all a dream."
"My God, I'm so embarrassed!"
"Why? You did nothing wrong, nothing unnatural."
"I... I let you... hit me. With that thing." Her eyes went to the riding crop on the floor where I'd dropped it.
"Powerful instrument, isn't it."
"Why? Why'd you do it?"
"You liked it."
"Of course not. I mean, well, it _hurt_!"
"You liked it."
Sabrina blushed, then nodded.
"I knew you would. I could see it in you. You're dying to be naughty, yet at heart you're a good girl. The pain's a release for you. It washes away your guilt."
Sabrina grinned wryly at me. I could sense the smart remark coming. "You're pretty clever for a photographer," she smirked, putting extra emphasis on the last word.
"You're just itching to go over my knee aren't you. You naughty girl!"
The teen laughed and ran away from me as though frightened I'd try to spank her. She put her hands behind her, protecting her ass in such a cute fashion I was profoundly aroused. I chased and teased her for a bit, allowing us both to relax.
"Say, we'd better get on with this shoot," I said finally, looking at my watch.
"Oh yeah?" giggled Sabrina. "How about this?" And she yanked her shorts and panties down and whipped off her top. Completely naked, she ran from me, hiding behind peices of furniture and camera equipment and peeking out sexily.
"Not bad," I said, picking up my handheld. She froze when she saw I was serious.
"Hold on... I can't let you take my picture like this."
"Oh? Now you're getting shy?"
"I'm underage. You could go to jail."
I sighed, like she'd caught me. "Okay, then put one hand over your pussy and the other over your breasts and it'll be legal."
"No way! I'm getting dressed."
I laughed. "Let's find you something _sexy_."
The shorts were virgin white and four sizes too small. They clung, they _gripped_ Sabrina's butt with all the passion of a dog in heat. Half her cheeks hung out on the sides, and the crotch seemed lodged halfway up her ass. The crevice was deep and pronounced, and most likely damn uncomfortable. Sabrina loved them.
Dancing around without a top she was unbelievably cute, her breasts swaying and bouncing and nothing but flawless skin everywhere to enhanced the covered-but-not-coverness of her bottom. Still, I had to find her a top. A T-shirt, though pretty, distracted too much. We finally settled on a modest white halter that wasn't much more than a bra. It gave her plenty of naughty cleavage but fully protected the modesty of her nipples.
"Let's do it," I said, and for the first time, I touched her. I planted my palm full across her ass, squeezing the cheeks gently. I rubbed the crack with one finger, then found the tiny ridge of one of the crop stripes. I fingered it gently, following its path. Sabrina responded by arching her back, leaning against me, and moaning. She was enjoying my touch immensely.
"Is your bottom hot enough?" I asked, and she nodded. "Are you feeling sexy? Are you wet down here?" As I spoke I slipped my hand from her ass to between her legs, pushing hard against her sex, and rubbing.
"You sound ready."
"Let's take your picture."
"Oh, no, not now! I need you! Touch me again! It feels _so_ naughty!"
I pushed her away and led her to the couch. "Stretch out. We'll do various poses."
She obeyed me silently, lying horizontally on the couch. As I began snapping photos, she posed. She spread her legs obscenely, bent over at the waist, lay down with her ass thrust up in the air. She posed with her hands under her breasts, lifting them to maximum fullness. She posed bent over and staring between her legs, her chin level with her pussy. I took hundreds of photos, grabbing camera after camera, and snapping non-stop.
I don't know when the killer one came, how we got to it, when I knew it was it. I was on fire, my fingers tingling with excitement. I snapped like a machine, picture after picture. Sabrina seemed to understand my every gesture, her actions mirroring my intention exactly. When I tilted my head she did the same, just like I wanted, and when I winked and smiled, her expression was one of priceless beauty.
Sometime in this madness we hit on it. Perfection. She was standing by the sofa, her back to me, showing me her ass in all its 360-degree glory. Then she looked over her shoulder, her face an amazing blend of innocence, desire, and fear. There were things in that face that made her look ten, even twenty years older. There were things that made her look like a lost child. Her eyes were gloriously wide, her lips pursed so perfectly they begged for kissing. Her blond hair flowed down her shoulders with precisely the right blend of random disorder that made the pose look astonishingly natural. Her right arm was lifted to her chest in a gesture that immediately brought out the protective instincts in the viewer. There was just a hint of a full breast in view under the arm, maddeningly tantalizing, and far more effective than full exposure.
Sabrina's body was arched at exactly the right angle to maximize all her curves. Her hips were turned, which tightened the skin of her waist, and kept her ass from being a total profile view. It was the ideal view of her ass. The twin cheeks were both visible, tight and bulging, the deep crease obvious. The profile showed the depth and magnificent size of her rear, revealing the sexy overhang just above the crease between buttock and thigh. It was the best of both worlds, the perfect compromise between showing her straight from behind or completely from the side.
Later, when I saw the first transparencies, I felt a stronger chill pass through me than I'd ever felt. It was the chill I get when I'm on the verge of something so great it frightens me. This was it! This was _the_ picture. The second I saw it I knew it would change my life forever.
It was the best picture I'd ever taken. It was flawless. I scanned the photo for hours, looking for defects. There was nothing. The lighting was ideal. The pose couldn't have been more perfect. The expression on Sabrina's face was frightening it was so powerful.
Then I saw it. The tiny tip of a swollen red welt peeping out beneath the edge of her shorts. It was low, near her crotch, and oh-so-subtle. If you didn't know what it was you'd probably never even notice it. It took my breath away. It was so beautiful, so elegant. Like a beauty mark, it enhanced everything about the girl. For me, it was the focal point of the whole picture. It spoke everything. It was a secret right out in the open, a hidden message from her to me, from me to her.
For a while, I toyed with the idea of not showing the photo to anyone. It was too potent, too personal, too emotional. It seemed unfair to expose that much of someone, to show their naked face under all that skin.
But in the end, I realized that was my job. That's what I do. I expose the truth. It would be as dishonest to me to hide the photo as it would be to Sabrina to show it. There was no way we could both win. Sabrina had to be exposed.
The photo both made and destroyed her career. She was hot for a few years, sold a billion or so albums, and then she was gone. You've probably never even heard of her. She grew older and wiser, and her personality changed, but the public forever saw her as that sexpot vixen in my photo. She tried to release a serious album, but it was a flop. I bought a copy. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't the Sabrina in the photo.
I saw her a few years ago. I was in town and looked her up. She married, and had four kids, now grown. Her husband's a good man, a church-goer, solid, reliable. They're retired, living on what remains of her album sales. We talked for a bit, but neither of us said much about what we wanted to talk about.
"That photo," I said finally. "It ruined you. Are you sorry you did it?"
She smiled at me then, and shook her head. "Never. If I had to do it again, I don't know that I would. I'm a different person now. At that time, at that place, that was who I was. That picture's a part of me. I'm not ashamed of it. I don't regret it. But it's in the past."
I nodded. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and turned to leave. "Oh, wait. There's something I've been meaning to ask you. You don't have to answer."
"I'm sure you've read all the articles about that photo, the countless theories on what your expression meant. I've had my ideas, but I've always wondered... what were you thinking, right at that moment, when I took that picture?"
Sabrina smiled and for a while she didn't say anything. Then she turned and looked at me, her eyes bright like she was seventeen again.
"In my mind you weren't holding that camera, you were holding that crop," she said. "That's what I saw. That crop, and I was in _such_ a vulnerable position...."