The girl who started flashing me on her graduation photo shoot… [Mf] [public exhibition] [oral] [fuckin’]

*I got a PM from a throwaway account containing a real sexy story and a request for me to re-write it and post it here. So, these details I made up. But the core of the story is (supposedly) non-fiction.*

I am sitting on a park bench taking in the scene — a fountain across from me, a field of grass beyond, shady trees and a creek past that — when coming around a neighboring shop, I see Tina walking toward me, proud, tall, and blonde. A tall, nervous looking girl trails behind her with hunched shoulders and jittery movements.

I sigh, then pick up the bag of cameras from the bench beside me and go to meet them, forcing a smile to my face.

Tina immediately starts in, “It’s Emma’s fault we’re late,” gesturing at her daughter, “What do you have to say for yourself, Emma?”

Emma’s gaze is fixed on the ground. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

Late for an outdoor portrait session isn’t great, the golden sunlight of late afternoon lasts only as long as it does. But there’s nothing I can do about that, and it is looking anyway like calming Emma’s nerves will be the bigger challenge.

“Oh, totally fine, Ms Tina,” I say, then turn to Emma, softening my expression, “Thank you, but no apologies are necessary. In fact, it is congratulations, I believe, which are due.”

“Huh?” Emma looks up, almost making eye contact with me, before diverting her gaze back down. Hooboy.

“For your upcoming graduation!” I say, “Your mother tells me you’re about to graduate high school. That’s a very big achievement, you know.”

There is silence. Finally, Tina says, “Say ‘thank you,’ Emma.”

“Thank you,” Emma mutteres.

I swallow another sigh and pull my camera from the bag. I say, “Ok, well, Emma, can you please stand here, in front of the fountain, and we can get started?” In situations like this, the first pose is almost always a throw-away. The subject is too nervous for these early photos to be useful. Rather than worry now about great photo setups, my first efforts are instead focused on getting them just to loosen up.

Emma stands where I say, but her shoulders are still pulled forward, head still turned down. She has long limbs and a lanky torso. If she stood up straight, she’d be almost as tall as me, but hunched over as she is, she’s a jumble of arms and legs.

“Ok, Emma,” I say, trying to be gentle, “Can you do me a favor, and look at my camera?”

“Emma, look up,” Tina says, “You’re wasting his time. And push your chest out, you don’t want to look like a little girl.”

I ignore Tina and look at her daughter through the viewfinder. Finally Emma looks up. Her hair is dyed black, but her make-up clashes, being done in a traditional style. She’s wearing a tight, strapless green dress that stops mid-thigh. It fits fine but makes her obviously uncomfortable. I’ve seen this look before, many times — kids forced by their parents to ‘dress up’ for pictures. She could be cute, if she wasn’t so awkward.

Emma makes a weak, forced grin, and I take a photo just to be polite.

“Try not to make her look lanky,” Tina says.

“Ok,” I say to Tina, wishing she would shut up. I walk over to Emma. “You’re doing great. Let’s just push your shoulders back, like this. Tilt your head up for me? Now, turn your leg out. Great, hold that… and your arm, over here. Great.”

I back away for the shot. Emma’s not a large-breasted or wide-hipped girl, but posed correctly and angled right, she does have some curves to her, and I’m working to make sure she looks her best. “Now, nice big smile–”

Tina interjects, “A natural smile, Emma, not a goofy one like that!”

“–that’s a beautiful smile, Emma, thanks,” I say, and take another shot.

“Let me see how it came out,” Tina says.

“Sorry, Ms Tina, there’s no time, we’ve got to keep moving. Emma, let’s move to the grass over there, by those roses.” I don’t let clients look at the photos on the camera. Before showing anything, I want to delete bad shots and edit and retouch the rest. But in my experience it’s easier to give an excuse than explain that.

Sometimes it takes a second scene for the subject to loosen up in front of the camera.

“Ok,” I say, “Let’s have you sit here, legs like this, arm here, chin up, great, you’re doing great.”

“I feel dumb,” Emma says.

“I know,” I say with empathy, “These poses feel awkward, but you’re looking great in the camera, believe me.”

Emma’s fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “I feel so uncomfortable.”

“You look great, that dress works well on you,” I say, trying to build Emma’s confidence.

“Don’t start in about the dress again,” Tina says, “I’m not letting you wear baggy garbage in your graduation photos. For once in your life, you can look nice, like your sisters.” Ouch.

“Mom!” Emma yells, “You’re so embarrassing.” She crumples, buries her face in her hand.

I’m no family counselor, but I have to step in here, or else we won’t get any photos, and I won’t get paid. “Ok, Mom,” I say, “I think Emma and I have this under control.” We totally don’t, but Tina’s not helping. “Emma will be more comfortable if there’s less audience. There’s a great coffee shop across the street, we can meet you there when we’re done.”

“You’re telling me to get lost,” Tina says. I can’t tell if she’s angry.

“I just mean–”

“No, I get it. I’ll meet you at the coffee shop. Just, Emma?” Tina says.

“Yes, mom?”

“Do your best to not be awkward?” Tina says, “This might be your only graduation photo, and I want it to look good on the wall next to your sisters.”

Emma doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge. But Tina leaves anyway, and after a moment it’s just Emma and me.

“Ok, Emma,” I say, smiling encouragingly, “Let’s start again. New chapter. Just you and I.”

“Ok, I guess,” she still sounds hesitant.

“Ok, let’s pose you like … this, and…” I back away and snap a photo, “Beautiful. Nice job.” Emma’s still nervous, but she’s improved.

“Let’s have you lean against the tree, that big redwood there,” I say, “Great, perfect, you’re getting the hang of this, just, chin a touch this way, and hold it,” I take the photo, “Wow, perfect, you’ve got it.”

We get another shot, and Emma says, “Sorry about my mom. She’s not as bad as she seems, we’re just … different people I guess.”

“It’s no big deal,” I say, snapping away. Emma is starting to hold poses and smile naturally. I continue, “She’s not even on the spectrum of difficult clients.”

“She just wishes I was more like, like my sisters, but I’m not,” Emma says, “They’re all blonde and perky and perfect, and I’m … freaky and weird.”

We shoot another setup, Emma’s smile is golden, and I say, “I’m not seeing ‘weird,’ you’re doing great, and if this new pace keeps up, we’ll get able to get you and your mom lots of shots to pick from.”

We’re setting up for the next shot when Emma blurts out, “Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

Her words spilled out fast, and she’s looking away, I can feel how anxious she is for my answer. I’m a decade older than her, but I still remember that nail-biting trepidation of being photographed while unhappy with how I looked. “Of course,” I say, trying to reassure her, “You’re doing a great job.”

“So you’re just saying that. Saying the word ‘beautiful,’ but you don’t actually mean it.” her voice quivers.

I pause and consider my response. “Look, Emma, I know you’re not wearing clothes you would have picked, but you’re a beautiful girl. The dress really does look good on you. My job is to make sure people look beautiful in the camera, but with you, you make it easy to do that.”

She perks up. “Can I see?”

Like I said, I don’t let clients see the photos on the camera. But if it puts Emma at ease and allows us to get the photos we need, sure, whatever, I’ll make an exception. I say, “Ok, here, look,” holding out the camera, one of Emma’s better shots on screen.

“Eww, oh my god,” Emma whines. I immediately begin regretting breaking my own rule. “You can see my panty line through my dress.”

“I re-touch all the photos before delivery,” I say.

“I don’t want you touching my butt in all these pictures, no!”

“It’s just photoshop–” I start explaining, but I’m cut off, shocked to see Emma reaching up under her skirt and pulling her panties down. My jaw hangs open and my eyes go wide. Emma slides her panties down past her knees and over her shoes.

“Here,” Emma holds out her panties, “Can I put them in your bag or something? I don’t have anywhere to store them.”

“Err,” is all I can manage, but I hold open the flap on my bag and let Emma drop her panties in. Well this is definitely a first.

“What’s this?” she says, picking something out.

“It’s a baby rattle,” I say, happy for the distraction, “To try to get babies to look at the camera.”

“Nice!” she says, taking the rattle, “Now I’m going to do that pose again.” She poses again like I had her before, but now with the rattle in her hands. Ok, maybe this girl is weird. But she keeps the rattle out of the frame, so if it makes her happy, whatever.

I snap the photo, and then she cheerfully walks with me to the next spot. This may be getting strange, but her attitude is better and she’s already more confident, so I don’t say anything.

As we’re walking, she turns to me and says, “I turned 18 last month, you know.”

“That’s a big one. Congrats,” I say.

“In case you were wondering,” she says.

I study the area, setting up the next shot.

She continues, “Wondering, I mean, about whether or not you had an underage girl’s panties in your bag.” She pauses, then says, “You don’t, you know. In case that wasn’t clear.”

“Ok,” I say, ignoring her and backing up for the photo, “Hold that pose, and… great.” She’s finally warmed up to the camera — her smile is much improved, her poses relaxed. She’s still got my baby rattle for some reason, but she’s keeping it out of sight of the camera. Maybe she just needed something to hold, like a stress relief toy. I tell her, “Ok, you’re really getting the hang of this. Let’s get the next shot, not lose our momentum.”

Emma sits down on the steps of the park gazebo and poses all on her own, without me having to give any instruction. I pull the camera to my eye, and her smile is easy, and even … a touch flirty? Some people do that for the camera, but from how nervous and awkward this shoot started, I never would have guessed Emma would be one of them.

We take a few more poses on the gazebo steps, and Emma’s smile is definitely flirty. I mean, it’s hard to put a finger on flirty, but a slight upturn of her cheek, a look in her eye, an eyebrow raised just the right amount — I know flirting when I see it, and I see it. Her poses, too — she’s not just relaxed, she’s downright confident. She’s no longer hiding behind her legs, her shoulders are pushed back, and what earlier came off as lankiness has become slim gracefulness. I’m amazed how quickly she’s learning to model for the camera.

“Looking good, Emma,” I encourage her, “Just like a model.”

She turns again for another pose, wide smile on her face, and her knees are pointed right at the camera. I think I get a flash of panties, and I begin to say something, but then I remember she’s taken her panties off, and the words stumble from me awkwardly, “Your, umm, can you, your knees, to the side?”

“Oh, whoops, sorry,” she says, turning her knees to the side, looking sheepish, but only sort of.

We get a photo of her between two trees, and I say, “There’s a few more spots I want to hit, and then I think we’ll be done.”

“Oh, so soon?” Emma says, making a pout.

“We’re going much quicker now, you’re becoming a real natural at this.”

“I’m not natural at all,” Emma says, giving me a look. Then she looks around, seeing that we’re alone in this corner of the park, and spreads open her knees, pulling her skirt taut, giving me a view of her pussy, tight, bare, and pink. Then, just as quickly, she brings her knees back together and smiles at me.

I stand there a moment, shocked. That was definitely on purpose. And her pussy… I cannot deny it looked good. But I decide that it’s probably wisest to pretend this didn’t happen. “That boulder over there, we can get some good pics there,” I say.

At the boulder it happens again. Emma poses normally, at first. Then she makes sure nobody else is around before casually swinging her knees apart, showing me her pussy. It’s just for a moment, then her knees are back together. And her expression goes back to pure innocence, as if nothing happened. But the image of her hairless teen pussy is burned into my brain, and I’m starting to have trouble concentrating.

Then she flashes me a third time, longer this time. I’m not proud of it, but I can’t help myself — I stare. Her pussy is tight and flawless. I wonder what it would be like to eat, what she would taste like, how she would react. I shake my head, trying to pull myself back together. Emma giggles at me. “Let’s go down to the creek,” she says.

“Uh, sure,” is all I can manage, head swimming.

She puts her hand in mine and leads me down the slope, where the tree canopy grows denser. Here, there’s more shade than sunlight and the park is quiet and deserted. Emma is walking purposefully, eyes ahead, but a knowing grin on her face. “Do you ever take sexy photos?” she asks.

I struggle with how to answer, but end up deciding to be a wet blanket. “I mostly make family portraits, weddings, babies, graduations. Like this.”

“Like this?” she asks, scrambling over to the thick trunk of a redwood and posing with her back to me, ass pushed out, legs parted, shooting a ‘come hither’ hand gesture and matching look over her shoulder.

I am wide-eyed, and she bursts into a fit of giggles, breaking the pose. “Well, that’s not…” I trail off, “Your mother wants–”

“My mother’s not here, is she?” Emma cuts me off, voice sly. We’ve reached the creek, and she climbs to a dry rock in between two streams of water and sits down, posing sidelong, in a suggestive way. Her flirty grin is replaced by a serious, amorous look. It may not fit the theme of graduation, but I think it’s a nice composition, so I snap a photo.

Emma continues, “We’re all alone here. Nobody else will know what photos we take.” She climbs off the rock and poses mid-stream, and I take another frame. “You’ve already got enough photos to make my mother happy,” she says, “Now I’m the customer, and I want sexy photos.”

She sits on a boulder in a dry, grassy area next to the creek and again spreads her legs my direction. This time I’d figured it was coming, and once again, I’m looking at her tight, pink pussy … but something’s different, her pussy is glistening and flush, and… there’s… she’s got something pushed up inside her, one end just visible. Oh. Holy fuck.

“Is that my baby rattle?” I ask, voice weak. I forgot about the rattle. How long has she had it? My mind is reeling.

Emma just pushes her legs back together and resumes posing. “Is what your baby rattle?” she asks innocently. Then she wiggles her hips. “Oh, you mean my stress relief toy? How do you know about that?” she says, feigning outrage, “Have you been sneaking glances up my skirt? Are you a pervert? What type of photos have you been taking?”

I’m frozen with hesitation, and Emma makes a show of rolling her eyes at me. “Fine,” she says with sarcastic boredom, “If it’s so important to you, you can have your rattle back.”

For a moment, we just look at each other, neither moving.

“Well,” she says, “Are you going to come take it?”

Oh fuck. Am I doing this? I put my camera away and set the bag on the ground, then approach her and kneel on the grass in front of her, studying her expression. This girl obviously wants my attention, but she’s young, I’m supposed to be the older, wiser one. I put my hand on her knee anyway, and her face reads of expectation tinged with nervousness. Just ever so slightly, I slide my hand up her leg and she sucks in a sharp breath. She’s staring in my eyes, and across her face flickers anticipation, eagerness, need. I am a sucker for a girl who needs me, so somewhere in me decides, yes, I am doing this.

I push my hand up, my fingers dragging along her thigh. I reach the hem of her skirt and she’s breathing heavy, chest rising and falling in deep, quick breaths. My fingertips brush the soft skin of her inner thigh and her lips part wordlessly. She bites her lip in a way that makes my dick twitch. My hand reaches the heat of her sex and we’re still staring each other in the eye. She parts her legs just enough, and without me even thinking about it, my fingers pet her pussy from bottom to top.

She must be incredibly sensitive, because even my light touch makes her whimper and moan. The last vestiges of my uncertainty — doing things I shouldn’t be doing — only work to amplify my desire. My fingers tease her pussy, and her moans are sensual and make my heart race. My hunger builds, I need this girl.

“You’re a siren, you know,” I tell her. She just grins.

My fingers brush against my baby rattle, and I clasp onto the end of it, sliding it free. She gasps and writhes. I push the rattle back in, and slowly work up a rhythm. Her chest heaves in time with my pace, and I push my thumb clumsily against her clit. Her mouth hangs open, soundless but for small whimpers. Her cheeks are flush, and she’s watching me with big, adoring eyes.

“Oh, fuck,” she moans, “Don’t stop,” she begs. I toss the rattle away and watch her reaction as I lean forward, running my tongue across my lips as my mouth approaches her heat. I push her skirt up, and we’re staring into each other’s eyes when I give her clit the first lick. I drop down, drinking up her nectar, and slowly slide the big, flat middle of my tongue back towards her clit. I see her eyes roll back in her head as her fingers push wildly through my hair.

I don’t know when exactly her orgasm began, but I soon realize her moaning and whimpering and scrambling fingers and heaving chest are reaching a crescendo. I move to meet her energy, licking her faster, harder, focusing on the spots that get the biggest reaction.

She doesn’t cum loud, but she really gets her whole body into it, shaking and panting and writhing and making these cutest little squeaking noises. I keep licking and licking, drawing her pleasure out, not letting up until she catches her breath and calms down.

I rest back on my knees. She’s looking at me with awe. I ask, “Again?”

She grins. “I didn’t think you’d actually…” she trails off, coming up next to me, rubbing the bulge in the front of my jeans. Her eyebrows flick, she gives me a lusty look, and tells me, “Sit back.”

I roll onto my back and pop my cock free. She jumps on it, grabbing my erection and guiding into her pussy, riding me cowgirl. She crazy tight, and something about fucking a girl I barely know makes it all the hotter. In no time, I’m halfway there, meeting her thrusts to drive myself up into her.

And Emma, I’ve never had a girl look so excited to fuck me. She’s just having the time of her life, smiling and shooting me looks so hot they could melt rocks. I feel myself reaching the limit, and I grab her by her thin hips to hold her in place.

I buck and kick as my cock sprays. I can feel the load flowing through my shaft and slickening up her insides.

Coming back down, I lie there, panting, Emma still sitting on my crotch, my cock still inside her. She’s smiling down at me with that same adoring look. “I can’t believe we just did that,” she says.

We get up, put our clothes back together, and brush off all the dirt — all wordlessly. Either neither one of us wants to ‘spoil the moment,’ or we just don’t know what to say. But the spell is broken when Emma says, “We should go find my mother.”

I nod, and we make our way out of the park to the coffee shop where her mom, Tina, is waiting. I’m nervous that Tina will know — that she’ll smell the sex or see our clothes a touch disheveled or just somehow mom-sense know — but when we find her, she’s sipping a chai tea, totally engrossed in her laptop, and barely even looks up.

“We’re done, mom,” Emma says.

“Tell me you got at least one useful photo,” Tina responds.

“Your daughter was great, perfect angel,” I say, “Things really picked up quick after you left, actually.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Emma says, only loud enough for me to hear.

Tina looks disbelieving. “You’re kidding me,” she says.

“No, not at all,” I’m keeping a straight face, “I should have the photos back to you in a few days, you’ll see then.” Then an idea hits me, and I just say it out loud without thinking it through. “In fact, I sometimes get asked to shoot fashion photos, I think Emma might have potential as a model. If she’s interested, of course.”

“Really?” Emma is beaming at me.

Tina, however, is looking at me like I’m speaking a different language. “Come again?” she says.

“Yeah, I’d like to,” I say, pause, then continue, “I’d like to get Emma some studio time, do some makeup tests, that sort of thing.”

“I’d love to,” Emma cuts in before her mom can respond. “Can I, please?”

Tina rolls her eyes dismissively. “You’re an adult now, Emma, I can’t tell you what to do anymore. Just, watch out for yourself, that modeling world is full of sleazebags.” Then she adds, “Present company excluded.”

I just smile.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/hyz3ga/the_girl_who_started_flashing_me_on_her