Photographer 30 (Patreon)

The rest of the day passed after Nancy’s departure passed in an annoying blur, where I had spent hours and hours browsing the net and calling people, hoping to find a more sustainable income source. Unfortunately, it hadn’t gone as well as I might have hoped, so, when the night finally rolled, I decided to call it a day and go to the bed early. I had an early start tomorrow. 

However, I didn’t wake up with the annoying yet necessary sound of my alarm, but with my phone ringing. A quick check of the screen revealed that it was Nancy that was calling me, and it was still barely five. “What!” I barked, not exactly trying to modulate my voice. Waking up at six for a favor was bad enough, and she was calling me even earlier. 

“Sorry about calling, but I don’t know what to do,” Nancy gasped, the sheer panic in her tone enough to blunt my anger. Blunt, but not completely remove. 

“Tell me,” I grunted as I tried to open my eyes. I hated to wake up earlier than necessary, but not all things were equal. A sexy redhead in distress was not the worst reason to wake up, though not the best either —that honor went to having a smiling beauty under my covers, slowly waking me up with her lips wrapped around my girth, moving back and forth to replace by grogginess with pleasure. 

“My friends had changed their mind at the last minute, I need two new models.” 

“And you think that five in the morning was the optimal time to find them.” 

“They had sent a message when I was sleeping, I just saw it,” she said, panic threatening to overwhelm her. “I need someone else, please.”

For a moment, I considered teasing her, maybe even asking for a direct favor, but I was still too sleepy to push for it. “And how much you’re going to pay these new emergency models?” I asked. 

Her sudden silence was telling. “A couple hundred?” she murmured. 

“Each?” I asked, despite knowing that it wasn’t the case, and even if that had been, it was far from being enough.

“No, of course not,” she gasped. 

“So, you’re saying that you’re looking for a full-day model for less than minimum wage,” I said as I buried my face to the pillow. “Have you already finished all the money you have earned from your own modeling?” 

“Y-yeah,” she stammered. “Between the advance I paid for the books, design costs, and the money that it took to rent a booth, I spent it all. I even maxed my credit card.” 

“Of course you did,” I murmured. No wonder Nicole was worried about her. I heard a gasp from her, which told me that she was on the edge of starting to cry. “Okay, against my better judgment, I’ll try to help. Grab the costumes and come down. I need to check their sizes to make sure I can find a proper model for them. 

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she gasped, her earlier sadness immediately replaced by excitement. I jumped to my feet and started undressing, wanting to wear a fresh set of clothes. 

I had just pulled fresh underwear on when she stepped in, only to gasp. “Sorry,” she said as she tried to leave. 

“Come in, it’s not like anything you haven’t seen before,” I said even as I took a step toward the stairs, not bothering to pull a t-shirt on. If she was going to annoy me by making me wake up before dawn, I was going to tease her for it. 

She murmured something suspiciously similar to an asshole, but that didn’t prevent her from gazing at my body hungrily. It had been a while since we had spent any time together, but the last time she had seen me on the act was much closer, enhancing her arousal considerably. 

She got closer, and I grabbed the costumes she was carrying. One of them was a warrior outfit, designed for a reasonably curvy woman —but with a cleavage that would have been deadly for a real warrior— and the other reminded me of a thief with many pockets, and it was slightly more conservative. 

“Hmm, tough one,” I murmured as I examined them. The warrior costume would fit on both Nicole and Penny, and as much as I wanted to invite the former —her captured princess costume was rather memorable— I doubted Nancy would be happy about that. And I didn’t want Nancy getting suspicious about the true identity of the model she had seen in the living room. Penny was a much more achievable target. “Is there any hair or skin color restriction for them?” I asked. 

“They are both elves, so Caucasian is a must, but we have wigs for them, so hair color doesn’t matter,” she said. 

“Hmm, I can find one for the warrior one,” I said. 

“Is that the brunette slut-” she cut in, only to be silenced by a gesture. 

“Hey, I’m the one that woke up at five as a favor. I’m more than happy to go to the bed if you’re determined to be a bitch about it,” I said, which was enough to earn a string of apologies. “And no, it’s not her,” I added. “However, the problem is the thief outfit. I don’t have anyone with that measurements I can call in such short notice.” 

She looked dejected, trying to process that, when I interjected. “Why don’t you wear that yourself, it’s sufficiently close to your measurements. It would be a tight fit, but as long as you pop open a couple of buttons, it would fit nicely.” I could have tried to find someone else, but why would I, when I could make her wear the costume. It would be much more entertaining. 

“I can’t, I need to be signing books,” she said. 

“Your call,” I said with a shrug. “But I hope that your booth will the attractive enough with just one model, especially if she decides to leave early? Or with no model, if she decides not to join at all.” 

“She won’t, would she?” Nancy asked in a panic. 

“Honey, with the money you’re offering, it’s a miracle if she accepts in the first place. You’re not exactly in a place to expect perfect work ethics. No money, no time, and exhausting work.” 

It took a while for her to make a decision, and I used that time to pull on a t-shirt and a comfortable pair of jeans. “Okay,” she murmured in defeat. 

“Excellent,” I said as I walked toward my desk, picked my camera with one hand and my phone with the other. “Change into the costume to make sure it fits, while I make a call.” 

A big frown covered her face, but that didn’t prevent her from picking the costume and walk toward the small dressing screen in my room. I could have forced her to dress in front of me, but at this point, she was looking for an excuse to lash out, to blame me for her failures, something I had no intention of giving to her. 

It was much more amusing to tease her. 

I called Penny, and she picked after three rings. “Is everything alright?” she asked panickedly, which was understandable considering she had been woken up with no warning. 

“Nothing is wrong, sweetheart,” I answered lazily. “I just had a last-minute job for a photoshoot, it’s not a lot of money, but it’ll give you a decent amount of exposure and show your range better. The client insists on her own model, but you know how much I like you, so I wanted to check if you’re interested before I go with the client model,” I said. 

“Of course I’m interested,” she answered, the hints of sleep disappearing completely from her tone. “How much time do I have, and where do I need to be? And, do I need to bring anything?” she asked rapidly, unable to hide her excitement. Apparently, the way our last photoshoot had ended didn’t bother her, which had rather interesting implications for today’s shoot. 

Maybe, it wouldn’t be as boring as I feared.

“You don’t have to bring anything. Make sure to wear a summer dress and be ready to be picked up in half an hour. I’ll pick you up from your house,” I explained. 

As I finished gathering my bag, Nancy finally stepped out of the screen, the thief costume wrapping her body nicely, giving a rugged yet erotic aura, though the latter part clearly accidental. After working in the fashion industry for a long time, I developed an accurate sense of measurement for women’s clothes. 

Nancy’s thief costume was clearly designed for a thinner girl, to hang on loosely to create some kind of concealed danger, easy to slip into darkness or among the homeless. Unfortunately for her —and rather fortunately for me— Nancy was clearly more well-endowed in both in the hips and the bust, stretching the pants and forcing her to keep two buttons open on the top, turning what was supposed to be a serious costume into something fit into a late-night cheesy adventure movie, the kind that usually ended in a ridiculous excuse to remove the said costume to give some R-rated half-naked scenes. 

“Not bad,” I said. “I’m sure your potential readers will love you.” 

“No they won’t,” she gasped. “I’m going to be humiliated. No one would read my books, everyone will think that I’m a hack,” she gasped. “All my efforts will be ruined.” 

I wanted to mock her for her panic, but the expression on her face was far too serious for me to mock. “Well, you don’t have to reveal that you’re the writer. We can say that the writer is absent, and give away pre-signed books.” 

“Wouldn’t it be disrespectful,” she asked. 

“A bit,” I admitted. “But it doesn’t have to be to your detriment. We can even sell that as a positive, playing the mystery angle, assuming you were smart enough to use a pen name.” 

“Of course,” she answered. “There’s no sense ruining my name if the book isn’t received critically well.” 

“Excellent, and you know that I can help you with your make-up enough to make you unrecognizable, especially with a wig. This character needs one as well, right?” I asked even as I walked closer. 

“Yeah, the character is supposed to be blonde,” she explained while I walked closer toward her. 

“Now, we just need to make sure the booth is going to attract enough visitors without a writer present,” I said even as I grabbed and flipped open two more buttons. 

“That’s too much-” she started, only to cut it with a shocked gasp when my hand traveled to her back and unhooked her bra. Her hands jumped up, but I had significant expertise in quickly removing bras. Before her hands could reach, I had already pulled off her bra, the thin shirt clinging to her body much more beautifully. 

“Better,” I said with a mocking grin as I examined her beautiful cleavage. “Now, we can be sure no male reader will be asking about the writer’s whereabouts.” She tried to say something, but I pressed my hand to her lips to cut her off. “Either that, or you’ll be wasting all the money you have spent arranging the booth and everything.” 

Silence stretched for a minute, but even with that, I was not surprised by her eventual nod. She had sunk too much effort to ignore the chance for success. 

Now, all I needed to do was deciding how best to leverage her desire for success…