"Alright, everyone. Out, out, out. Let's give the girl a chance to breath," Peyton's agent, Rebecca, shouted to the plethora of makeup artists and stylists in the tiny, mirror filled room, shooting her young charge an encouraging smile as she closed the door behind her.
Eighteen year-old Peyton Scott bit her lip nervously as she paced the now empty dressing room. Today was the day she would shed her Disney cultivated, cookie cutter, good girl image by taking a series of racy photos, set to be released in the next issue of Vanity Fair. Although she had done plenty of photo shoots before, the amount of clothing -- or lack thereof -- that she would be wearing in this one was disconcerting, to say the least.
It wasn't that she was a virgin. Peyton's employers were very obliging in ensuring that she was afforded privacy and an appropriate mate to satisfy her more primal desires whenever she wanted. It is more the display of that side of herself to the entire world that had her on edge.
"Time's up, Peyton. The photographer is impatient. Let's go," announced Rebecca, grabbing Peyton's arm, clothed by the softest of white robes, and pulling her to the set.
Peyton's jaw dropped slightly at the sight of the young man that was to take her photographs. Not only was she to be on display to the entire world in little more than her birthday suit, but also to this beautiful god of a man, who could not have been a day over twenty-five. Peyton felt herself blushing slightly at the sight of this man, with his artfully messy blonde hair, piercing grey eyes, five o'clock shadow, and lean, muscular body.
"Hello, Miss Scott. I am Carson Phillips, and I will be your photographer for this session," he introduced, holding out his hand for a shake. Peyton carefully held out her own, not wanting to have her robe go flying open.
"Hi," she squeaked out, her nervousness painfully clear on her face.
Carson smirked slightly at the sight of the girl who appeared so confident and fearless on stage and television appear so nervous. "Do not worry. This will be much easier than you expect," he assured her. "Now, discard your robe and stand in front of the black backdrop," he commanded. Two stylists rushed over to help her with her robe and direct her in the direction of the backdrop, in front of which stood a camera.
Peyton stepped over to where she was instructed, blushing at her appearance. All that clothed her was a ripped up pair of light washed jeans and a black blazer, without even a set of undergarments to hide her private areas. A hairstylist and makeup artist hurried over to her as she took her position, one artfully messing up her long, chestnut coloured hair, and the other touching up her makeup.
"Now, undo the the buttons and zipper on your jeans, and undo the blazer. Place your right hand over your left breast, and left hand at your side. Shift your left hip outward," instructed Carson, appearing unaffected by the racy pose Peyton was in -- quite contrary to the tech guys in the room, who were shifting uncomfortably.
Carson pressed a couple of buttons on the camera. "Great! Now, place a handful of your hair over each of your breasts and open the blazer wide. Stand up tall!" He snapped some photos. "Excellent, excellent." He turned to the crowd of people in the room. "Miss Scott appears slightly uncomfortable with the crowd in the room. If you would, please leave us alone for the remainder of the shoot."
