I can't say I've been a photographer all my life, because I bounced in and out of quite a few professions after college (where, to be honest, I'd have to say I majored in Partying.) But I have stayed at the photography thing for over ten years now (has it been THAT long??), and I suppose the fact that it's brought me here to Russia, of all places, has had a lot to do with the longevity issue. If I WASN't a photographer here, I'll be fucked to know what I WOULD be. Probably one of those blank-stared samovarinas, who sell tea at train stations and such. If I was lucky. But the odd thing about my so-called profession is that I photograph little girls. Nude. Not me, them. It's a thing here, and with the rise of the internet, has exploded as a business. And because I'm a woman, I'm seen as respectable, a pro who wouldn't be taking advantage of the urchins. You'd be surprised at how many of these series made available on the web were shot by women. Probably 75, 80%? And the vast majority are about as hot and sensual as a dental checkup. (Unless you get off on that sort of thing, in which case, maybe a business meeting.)
The girl, usually a seasoned pro at this already, is brought in by her chaperone, does her clothes-doffing thing, takes a smoke break (EVERYone smokes in Russia, even the goats), does a reprise, with maybe a slight lighting change, maybe shows a bit more skin (dickering here), takes her CASH (on the barrelhead), and flounces, or shuffles, or slouches off to her invariably drab life. One may notice, if one ever peruses these sorts of shots, that most girls don't smile very broadly, in fact show hardly any teeth at all. That's because if they did I'd have to do some wizard retouching, which I don't do; these girls' teeth are anything but sexy. They are yellow, brown, dirty. . .they absolutely belie the pretty, innocent-looking, soon-to-be-used-up 9-12-year-old bodies that house them.
So this was the working of my cynical mind one day last summer while I waited for my next client to arrive. The "agent" whom I work with, (I use both terms, agent and work, very loosely-- the man is hardly licensed in any meaningful way, yet in the impenetrable way of the Slavs, acts and is accepted as a sort of businessman/teacher/alderman/friendly and dirtyminded old uncle. As long as he sees to the economic well-being of his own clients, ie, gets them work, and doesn't molest them, he's seen as a local boon even). . . anyway, he, Boris, had told me this one was new to the business, and quite something, so I awaited disappointment.
Not that the girls' pulchritude had any bearing on what I did; I snapped away at princesses and pigs. The latter more often, unfortunately. I know, it was selfish, but it made the task at least a bit more bearable if my subject was indeed worth shooting.
But Boris had a tendency to embellish, shall we say, so I expected 'quite something' to mean 'she had all her teeth' or 'nice hair' or the like. So when little Natasha walked in, I could only stare for awhile, and vaguely reflect, 'yes, hm, quite. . .something'.
Now, I really can't say WHAT my sexuality was. In my day, I'd been attracted to boys, I'd been attracted (less often, it must be told) to girls. And the girls had all been in college, under the influence of many sundry substances, so who knows? At 44, I'd been living on and off with a local musician, had a near-invisible sex drive, and once in a GREAT while (this had happened maybe twice in 5 years), I found myself not exactly aroused, but I'd say appreciative of the nubile body under my lens. But even that small pleasure faded with the nature of the job.
So. When I say I stared, it was . . .unique. I mean, here was this girl, nine, her mother told me, (and that was rare as well, to actually have the mother show up as a girl's chaperone!), and she just seemed to. ..glow. Nothing she did, initially, justified this sense, indeed she began quite demurely. She was sweet.
Courteous, asking in a soft voice if it was alright to put her things on my chair, etc. And very obedient to her mother, who'd offer little suggestions every now and then.
I, of course, exhibited nothing of my own awareness of her beauty, proceeding pretty much as usual. But I did seize on every chance I had to gaze on her. I just couldn't get enough of looking at this girl!
Which sounds strange, as I AM the photographer, and of COURSE I'm looking at her, it's my job. But really, for most of the time, in most other shoots, I'm not really looking anyway, I'm just taking pictures. I do it fairly well, the composition comes naturally now, and poof, it's over. But I just didn't want this shoot to be over.
Let me tell you what I saw, to try to describe what it was about Natasha that drew me so: she had the most interesting hair, first off. It was a kind of dark, copper color, and silky soft-looking. And she wore it in pigtails, which usually detracts from the overall effect in a kind of mock-young, hokey way, but on her, they just looked angelic. Her bangs ran, lovingly, in a straight line across her forehead.
Her eyes. I think they are what mesmerized me. So HUGE. And a deep, mysterious brown, or hazel, or. . .? Just magical. And dark lashes that just sucked me in.
Wide, fairly thick, but serious lips. They seemed so wise and knowing, those lips. Right below a fairly mannish, straight nose whose nostrils flaired just a touch.
And a winning dimple that was possibly a small scar, curling just above and to the right of her upper lip. Her chin was fairly strong, with another dimple, almost a cleft, dead center.
Large ears with large lobes, that seemed so naked and vulnerable beside those casually tied pigtails.
And that, you say, is it? This is what smote you so? Oh, fuck you, it's indescribable. I just know she took my breath away. And knowing that this vision was about to disrobe for me made me a bit light-headed.
But, as I say, I'm a pro. And after a couple of shots, I even set up the tripod, because I realized I couldn't trust my hands! Ridiculous! But true.
And having her mother there, for me, was strange. Usually I could not have cared less. But this wasn't usual.
I'd planned initially to do an umbrella shoot. Cute and quick. But I quickly realized no, this was not at all for Natasha. So I dragged out the big bed from backstage (my studio was an old theatre), whipped off the garish red velvet spread to uncover the simple cream sheets, explained the general idea to the girl in clipped, rather breathless tones, and took my stand behind my Leica.
So natural. So giving. So unbelievably gorgeous. It was all I could do to keep from moaning aloud at some of her poses. And this was even before she started taking clothes off! Really! I suppose I'd been so used to so much fear, gauze and 'glamor' from this stage that to watch Natasha pose for me with expressions of such warmth and simplicity -- it was marvellous.
And there was no bump, no trepidation, as she began removing clothes. It happened. . .seamlessly. Seeing Natasha stand simply, one knee up on the bed, in her rather plain white panties, and look at me with her small, still smile, was the most lovely, and most erotic thing I had ever seen.
Her mother flipped the pages of a magazine in a seat behind me. She said something about being quick, that she had to go, Natasha murmured "Da, da," and smoothly, primly, pulled her panties down and off, never losing that so-fresh contact with the camera (with Me).
She was thin, but her proportions were perfect, I can't describe them any other way; small, just-budding breasts; a pear-shaped bottom; sleek, slender legs; delicate, elegant feet. . .I sensed, too, that she felt my admiration, and fed serenely off it. She really did glow. On that stage, she had magic.
We made an appointment for the next week, same time. She seemed happy about that, her mother resigned, it seemed. More money, but she hated this hanging around.
Was it alright if she came after the shoot next time? Of course, but I explained that I planned a longer shoot next time, so if she wanted to come, say, 3 hours later? Certainly, of course, good. Good.
I don't know what I thought I was planning, but just taking pictures of Natasha was enough for me. And alone, I could even pretend we were. ..what? Lovers? My, my, my. I was getting all moony over a nine-year-old girl. What would the folks back in the states think? Well. Beauty is beauty, and it called.
I could not believe how I found myself behaving that week. On one shameful morning, I'd gone into my darkroom to work, and had come out with the proofs on Natasha. I brought the loupe out with me, and sat on my couch to peruse my work.
Well. For a little while I was able to keep a fairly respectable mien, noticing small blemishes and the like. I looked hard at her face, at her bright little dimple, and that sparkling chin cleft. Seeing it, I remembered reading some silly article in Cosmo or somesuch, about how to tell certain sexual secrets from a woman's face. And one of the 'clues' was that a dimpled chin on a woman meant a shallow uterus. Not deep. Silliest thing. But of course it led me to thinking, and my newly lustful mind now had Natasha's thin legs open, and my gentle fingers were prying her delicate little flower apart, loving the deep pink, and the deeper flush of inside. . .
And before I knew it, my jeans were shucked, my panties were hanging off one ankle, and I had both athletic legs spread as wide as I could spread them. One hand held the proofs, as I held the loupe in my eyesocket, and the other hand just frigged away at my hot-hungry pussy, pulling at the greasy lips, digging inside, quick-flicking over that wonderful wet speedbump of a clit. Just the shot of Natasha standing by the bed in her panties, her pretty knee up, sent me into a shivering, shaking avalanche of an orgasm. I really can't remember when I'd come like that, if ever.
Afterward, I sat in this odd fogmix of confusion, lust, a bit of shame, yes (I mean, I was a professional in her 40's, for God's sake!), but mostly... anticipation. I just could not Wait to see the girl again.
So, on the day, I kept myself busy so as not to seem too anxious, or smitten.
Or moony. Whatever. And as I set up a lighting module, Natasha came in.
On catfeet, she was; I didn't hear her until a soft voice at my side, in her heavy Slav accent: "Hello, Madame Fair." I looked up, and her shy smile just melted me. I took a deep breath.
"Hello, you." I switched on the light. "And please, call me Jane, OK?"
"Jane?" Her mouth worked around it.
"Uh-huh." I took her thick parka, and saw that she wore a cute, and short, skirt. Very schoolgirlish. Which, of course, seemed not at all trite on her. In fact, she could have had wings, it wouldn't have surprised me in the least.
Just aMAZingly adorable. God, how on earth was I going to get THROUGH this? And she surprised me even more by moving right up to me and hugging me. I heard her voice at my breast. "Thank you, for. . .for to make it the easy, in the session past. Yes?" Her lovely little head came up, looking at mine for signs of comprehension.
I smiled down at her. "You had a good time last time?"
Her smile was brilliant, all the more for being understood. She nodded fiercely. "Yes! Yes! Was . . .very much fun." She blushed happily. "And.
. .was, was easy. . .than I thought. Yes?"
I could see my nipple, braless as usual, harden under my sweater. I patted her cheek lightly. "Yes, good. I'm glad. You looked beautiful." Well, true.
It just came out.
And she seemed honestly taken aback! She shook her head, then looked again at me, questioning. "Beautiful?? Nyet, no. . .no, no." She laughed. "I. . .little girl, very. . .hudoj. . .how is it, emm. . ." she pressed her lips together, "thin-skin, yes?"
I must have seemed a bit unsure, so she raised her sweater up to her little booblets. (Barely swells.) "Thin-skin," as she ran her small hand along her ribcage, "yes?"
"Ohh, too skinny?"
She nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, skinny, too skinny!"
"Oh, Natasha," the first time I used her name aloud (like butter!), "that is just plain nuts."
"Yeah, crazy. 'Cuckoo!'" She grinned. "Natasha, you're beautiful, there is nothing at all wrong with you."
She blushed, and shook her head. "You are good." She thought for a moment, then turned and raised her skirt. "See?" She put both small palms on her darling, pink-pantied ass-cheeks. "Nothing!" She squeezed. Oh to be those hands!
"My, emm, how is it. . .?" As she wiggled her bottom for emphasis.
I swallowed. "Your bottom?"
She nodded again, smacked her cheek. "Yes, my bot-tom. . .nothing! Like boy's!" She turned, smoothing her skirt. "Not like you."
"Me?" My expression must have betrayed my surprise.
She smiled. "Yes, 'you'." She mimicked my surprise. "You have. . ." and her hands made a widish pear-form, "perfect bot-tom. Krasivye. Like beautiful woman."
I felt myself blush from high hair to tippy-toe. "Well. Thank you," was all I could stammer out. I turned and pushed out that jeans-clad krasivye yagoditsy of mine.
"And my bottom thanks you, too."
She giggled and nodded. "Yes, beautiful, yes."
I got down to business. "Okay, who's the model here?! Get on up there and get posin'!"
She skipped up to the stage and immediately knelt on the polar bear rug I'd laid out. (I have my sources.) "Awwww, so soft!!" And she lay down and ground herself into the thick fur. "Mmmmmrrrr!!"
Adorable. But. Pictures first! "Up! No lying down on the job. Yet."
She made a face and, with a demonstration of GREAT effort, stood. "Da, Komissar."
"Walunya [crazy tomboy]," I muttered, smiling. She stuck her tongue out at me.
I picked up my Leica and wagged a finger at her. "Don't make me put you over my knee, devochka. . ."
At that, she turned, stuck her tongue out again, and, lifting her skirt, wagged her little butt back at me. *click* The session had started.
And, as with the last time, she just glided through, seeming to know exactly when to be still, when to give me some profile, when to begin disrobing.
. .But now, it was even MORE perfect, if possible: she really was doing it for ME, and having a ball.
Every so often I would offer little pose hints, and she'd take them and run. I hardly needed to speak, she had such a natural affinity for knowing how to pose. It wasn't even posing, really, after awhile. It was just a wonderful extension of herself, and her joy in sharing her body with the camera. With me.
By the time she'd gotten down to taking off her panties (which she'd turned into this delightfully slow, gleeful pirhouette), I could see the lights were taking their toll on her active little bod. The sweat was starting to shine.
Time for a break.
I snapped away until she held the pink panties over her head, then lowered my camera. "Beautiful, Natasha, really great. I mean it." She glowed with pride, and stood, arms akimbo. I retrieved my makeup kit, and a water bottle and got onstage.
"Here, honey." She took the bottle and drank greedily. I took out my puff and began powdering her shine; face, thin shoulders, erect little nipples, lithe tummy. . .almost her whole lovely body.
Then I took the water bottle and handed her the puff. "Go ahead and sit on the bed there and powder yourself."
Her brows rose. She stood for a moment, then it dawned. She smiled, and blushed! "Aaah, moi guby, yes. Okay." She rolled her eyes at what she saw as her own stupidity, sat on the edge of the bed, and spread her legs. She patted timidly, and looked up at me for the OK. It was difficult, I have to say, to appear all businesslike while watching precious little Natasha, one hand still clutching her panties and the other patting her own open, hairless puss as she looked up at me with those huge eyes. Oh, my. . .
And after a bit, she removed the puff, spread her legs a bit more, and 'presented' to me: "Good, yes?"
Good? Bloody marvellous. Fucking ohmy GOD Brilliant. I nodded casually.
"Mm-hm." Noticing too, the small seepage of oily moisture deeper in that dark rosy aperture. (HOW deep, Miss Cleftchin?) She did seem to love this gig, I gathered.
She held out the puff demurely, and as I leaned in to take it, she dropped the panties by the bed. Now why would a view that I'd be seeing a lot more of, and of which I'd seen on many and many another girl, prove SO erotic to me then?? For as she bent sideways and over to get them, her girlish, round little bottom was, for a moment, full in my face. Egg-smooth cheeks, downy crack, tiny, dark wrinkled asshole, little dewy split-pear below. . . and I just felt a whoooosh in my own pussy, an amazing jolt of pure lust.
And when she came back up, our eyes locked, and I just couldn't hide my feelings. I felt lust just shining through my eyes, my cheeks. . .my slightly open mouth. And she looked at me, and knew. And what was so so amazing in this amazing little girl, was that I didn't see fear, or triumph, or even any attempt at some kind of sexy response. No, what she did was smile slightly, politely, almost apologetically; her look, which she held, seemed truly to recognize that her little Self did this to me, and that she, knowing innately her own soulful power, didn't blame me at all. Indeed, she respected the fact that I'd fallen madly in love with her!
All this passed in silence, with little sounds of breaths and swallows.
Presently, her lower lip quivering, she whispered, "Spasibo."
She looked at my feet. "For, for . . .you paint me beautiful. I feel. ..beautiful." A tear dropped at her small bare feet.
I sat next to her. "Ohh, baby, you ARE beautiful, so, so much more beautiful than you know!" I brushed her pigtail back over her shoulder, then touched the back of my hand to her pink cheek. She looked up at me, her wide eyes luminous, and smiled tremulously.
I took a deep breath and went on, murmuring, "This has never, Never happened to me. You're just so. . .beyond belief, that I. . ."
Her little hand came up to hold my own at her cheek. "What?"
I looked into those eyes. I could get waaay lost in there. So open, trusting.
Waiting. Oh, well. I gripped that warm, darling hand and kissed her temple. "I look at you. . ." I took another deep breath. "Posing, or talking, or sitting, or. . .I just can't help wanting to love you. To be your lover." Her solemn eyes held mine. "To make love to you."
Her wide eyes seemed to take this in as one would listen to being told their friend had a terminal disease. I looked at my own feet, fairly convinced now that leaving the country was probably a good idea. God.
I stood. Her face looked up at me, her pretty mouth ajar. "I'm sorry," I murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"But why??" Her eyes were brimming. Suddenly she jumped up and hugged me fiercely around my hips. "Why you're sorry??" I felt her head press into my middle, her naked little body molding to my lower half. I felt the heat of her powdered crotch against my thigh.
"Wow," I breathed. I just held her, loving her, stroking her back, her thin neck. I kissed the fragrant top of her head. Again. And again.
And I felt her gently patting my hips, my rear. And after awhile, she looked up at me, still holding on. Her eyes and nose were rosy. "Ja-ane?"
I smiled down at this angel. "What is it, my angel?"
She was concentrating, and working hard at doing this right. She opened her mouth, closed it, then seemed to make a decision. "I am only little girl, I am not woman, wait, wait--", as I started to butt in, and I felt her little hand quickly rub my back to make the point, ". . .I do not know to, to make love, and, and, with the body. . ." and she blushed, but took a breath and went on, "but I am thinking I am with like to feeling in the same way, I think." She looked at me hopefully, eagerly.
"Because, after the day of last week, I was then, emm. . ." I felt her fingers tap-tap-tap my bottom, "what is it, neterpelivya. . .?"
"YES, oh yes, so! Im-patient to, to SEE you again here !!" Ohh, her discovery was such a transparent joy to her! Happy!! Hopeful!!
And I, I had a big grin on. "You were?"
"Yes! Yes!" And she hugged me hard again. "Oh yes, yes!" Muffled into me.
I hugged her back: "well, well, well, well, well. . ."
And a little voice at my midsection: "well, well, well. . .!"
Too much. I gently moved her head and looked into her glowing eyes. "So, little one. What are we going to do?"
She made a little face of complete cluelessness: her eyes widened even further, her mouth seemed to open while her lips remained closed, and she shook her head.
I had to lean down and kiss that crazy mouth. Gently, my lips soft. I felt her expression change, and her own lips soften. I heard her soft, shivery breath through her nose, and felt her warm palms press against the top of my bottom. A tiny little moan from her, then I softly broke our kiss and looked at her again. So trusting, so willing!
I smiled. "I have to tell you. . .hmm, should I tell you something like this. . ."
Her look was an intriguing mix of trepidation and resolve. "Yes, yes.
She patted my butt. "You must." Solemnly.
"Alright. Well. . .I do love the feeling of you touching my bottom."
Immediately, a little gasp and open mouth. I felt her hands stiffen on my butt, then relax, almost determined. "You do?" I nodded. She looked at me and patted softly, smiling impishly. Then stopped for a moment. "Is that the. . .some of the Making Love?"
My breath left for a second. "Yeah, I guess. Kind of. Kind of starting, sometimes."
"Hmm. . ." and she now deliberately patted and stroked my butt. Woooh.
"What? Is okay?"
I nodded. "Oh yes, it feels great." I stood enjoying her little baby foreplay, looking into her eyes as she looked into mine. I saw her expression change. Something very interesting. "What, honey?"
She opened her mouth. A pause. Then she shook her head. "No, no, no, it's silly." She blushed.
I cocked a brow at her. "You must. . .?"
She took a deep breath, then made a huge grimace. She squeezed my butt!
Emm. Oooo, ya stesnyatsya. . ." and she covered her face in her hands.
"Natasha. . ."
"Yes, yes, okay, okay. . .emm, yes, I. . .I. . .wanttoseeyourbottomlike mine.
Eeeek!" And she covered her face in her hands and ran and jumped on the bed.
"Natasha!" She 'eeked!' again and buried her face in the bedcovers. Mmmm, her pretty little bare backside. Well, it was only fair, I suppose. "You mean. . .like yours, like. . .Naked, like yours?"
She peeked up, nodded quickly, then back.
"Well. . .I guess it's only fair."
Her head came shooting up, eyes aflash. "you DO it??!" I nodded. And she giggled madly into the covers again. Then her head came up again, a bit more serious.
Well, not all agiggle. I looked down at her. "Mm, is all. . .I am, what is. . .
vozbuzhdennye?" And she rolled over and lay her hands on her lower belly, making crazy circling motions.
"I know, honey. Me, too. I'm all aflutter." I reached down to my jeans button.
She nodded, eyes wide.
I took a deep breath and unsnapped. Then a slow peeeling down to mid-hip -- "Ooooh, shiny!" she breathed, for I did indeed have on one of my VS specials, a burgundy satin bikinis I wore on occasions worthy of note. But did I even DREAM I'd be taking them OFF? Here?? Oh, no. No, no, no. Nyet.
Natasha crept up the bed to get a closer look. I smiled at her and turned slowly. "Is this what you wanted to see, sweetie?"
She nodded, her mouth slightly open. Her face was a darling little mass of expressions: fascination, embarrassment, gratitude, maybe a bit of fear, and yes, lust, I think. For a rosy flush had spread from her cheeks down to her chest, and her mouth seemed a bit dry. . .
"Ohh-kay, here goes. . ." and I pulled my tight jeans down and down, SO enjoying the feel of the satin against my skin.
"So, so beautiful," she murmured.
I smiled. "Thank you." I stepped out of my jeans and kicked them aside.
Now I looked back at her and put both hands on my pantied cheeks and gave myself a light slapping. "Ahh, this feels GREAT."
"Jane. . .you are beauty."
I tilted my head. "Still want to see my naked old butt?"
She mock-frowned. "Not old."
I pointed at her. "Good answer."
She smiled. "But, yes, please."
"Well. For being such a polite little girl. . ," and I tucked a thumb in each side, and peeled down. Ohh, SUCH a turn-on, doing this, AWARE that I was doing this for my pretty lovely angel girl, who lay naked, watching avidly. I watched her huge, keen eyes follow my waistband as it sank, and revealed my bare, ripe bottom. She swallowed.
"OhhH. . ," was all she said.
Which was enough to inflame me. I felt so squishy indoors. I leaned over and brought the panties to my feet. And stayed down for a bit, just enjoying her enjoyment.
She was just intent on my slightly open bottom, staring with wonder.
"Your guby. . .so, so Woman. . .and with such fur. . ."
I watched her from below. "Want to touch?"
Her mouth opened, and she nodded. I shuffled back a few paces so that now she was inches from me. I spread my feet further apart. I watched her hesitate. "It's okay, honey. Go ahead."
Her little hand reached out and two small fingers just brushed against the lick of dark pubes that lined my swollen labia. She breathed, "So soft!"
Mmmmm, the beginnings of jelly-knees. "Mmmm-hmm. . .it feels really good, you touching me. . ."
Her little fingers stayed, becoming braver, making little back and forth slidings along my pubes. Wohhhh God.
She was up on her knees behind me, her other hand braced lightly on my bottom, as she petted my pussy form behind. "Yess. . .like fur. ..little mink. . ." she smiled, giggled.
She continued petting, stroke, stroke. "Your fur. . .I call your guby, 'Norka'."
"Mmmm, you little minx."
"Is just one mink."
"I know. OhhhHHHHh, Natasha. . ."
Her hand stopped. "What? What?"
And my hand came around to hold hers, and put it gently on my weeping slit again. "No, honey, it just feels so, so good, you wouldn't believe how good you're making me feel."
"Ohh, I thought I hurt." So saying she renewed her motions, with even more pressure. "But it feels good?"
"Ohhh, yes, honey, yesyesyes."
"Mmm, goodgoodgood." And now her fingers were three, and they were sinking along somewhat in their sawing path; up, back, up (touch-oooOOOOhh-clit), and sinking in me, back. I was now holding myself as wide open as I could for her.
"The fur is being wet," as she felt me shiver to her deeper petting.
"Y-yes, honey, when my, when Norka gets excited, mmMMMmmm, God, oHh that feels so good. . .She gets kinda wet."
"Mmm, warm also . .smell good, too, like warm animal." She slid her fingers diligently, and I heard her breathing harder. "Jane?"
"Yes, honey, what? Huhhhh. . ."
"We are making love now?"
Ohhh, my God, I couldn't just be NOT facing her for this, my darling darling girl! And I turned to her, her eyes wide in surprise. I looked at her a moment. "Yes.
Yes, my wonderful, wonderful girl, we are making love now." I took her face in my hands. "I love you, Natasha."
She whispered back, solemnly, "I love you, Jane."
"Let's lie on the bed together and kiss and kiss and kiss, OK?"
She grinned, and nodded quickly. "And make much love, yes?"
"Yes!" And I picked her up and lay down with her.
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