Beauty 24

I am, and I'm being completely honest here, beautiful. I know I can't take the credit for that, it's just the way nature made me, but that doesn't make me any the less lovely. It's plain for me to see that those people who say beauty isn't everything or, beauty is only skin deep, just don't know what it means to be truly beautiful. Everyone admires you and wants to be your friend.

It also helps to be a really nice person, and I am. I'm always nice to people who aren't as lovely as I am. I mean, it's not their fault that they're plain, or even if they're pretty, that they can't measure up to my standard. I'm always willing to give them little tips on how to make the best of themselves.

I point out that not everyone can have platinum blonde hair and bright blue eyes and some people even prefer mousey brown hair and eyes, even if I think they're a bit dull. And if anyone is slightly under-developed bust or bum wise I tell them that there are marvellous things they can do with plastic surgery, not that I need to worry.

Still, even though I'm so nice to everyone, it's amazing how some people will snipe at you. Just because they can't measure up they try to cut you down to their size, but I just ignore them.

I mean, I heard one girl say I'd obviously traded in my brains for beauty, and that's silly. It's not the sort of thing you can bargain with. It just is. And I'm smart, no matter what that girl says. I finished high school, after all.

There is a down side to being beautiful, I'll admit. It's hard to get a job. You wouldn't believe what a couple of potential employers suggested. I even tried my hand at baby-sitting but I can't seem to get that sort of work anymore. I'd front up to an appointment, the mother would look at me, look at her husband, and tell me not to bother.

I did get a couple of baby-sitting jobs but after that incident people say I should try another line of work. It's not as though it was my fault, and I did call the fire-brigade fast enough. If they hadn't expected me to cook they should have fed the kids before they left.

Anyway, tomorrow I turn eighteen and tonight I actually have a baby-sitting job. The guy is new to the area and he needs someone to take care of his girls tonight. Someone said it was the perfect job for me and so he called me and hired me.

- - -

I fronted up to my baby-sitting gig and this man was there, ready and waiting, all dressed up to go out. He was a lot older than I expected, nearly forty, I'd say. He took one look at me and looked slightly stunned.

"My god," he said. "You're gorgeous. Why are you wasting your time baby-sitting instead of being out there modelling and making a fortune?"

It's unusual for men to come right out and say that sort of thing although I can always tell they're thinking it by the way they look at me.

"Oh, I love baby-sitting," I told him, "and I'm really good with kids. They love me. I've been considering a career as a model, but I have to wait until I'm eighteen. My father won't hear of me trying out before that."

"Uh-huh. And do you have long to wait?"

I smiled at him, seeing him blink again when he saw how my smile just seems to light up a room.

"Actually, it's my birthday tomorrow and Daddy is going to see about getting me a portfolio for my birthday. Then we can send it out and I'll get lots of work, I'm sure."

"I'm sure you will, too. Ah, regarding being good with kids, were you told what this job actually entails?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Just that you have to go out and need someone to watch your girls."

"Hmm. Well, come in."

I followed him in and he gave a sharp whistle. The next thing I know two humongous hounds came charging up to us. Now I like dogs as much as the next person, but these two beasts were ginormous, all teeth and fur and barking. The one thing I was grateful for was that he couldn't hear me scream over the barking.

"These are my girls," he told me, shushing the dogs. "They've been unwell and are currently taking some medication. I need someone here to give them their tablets at nine and at midnight. The first young lady I spoke to couldn't do it but she said that you were perfect to handle them as you'd fit in well with a pair of bitches. As soon as I saw you I saw what she meant. You're a natural dog person."

I am? I'd never realised it, but I'd take his word for it. I wondered who had recommended me.

"You'll find that there are four rissoles in the fridge. There's a pill imbedded in each one. Just tell the girls to sit and give them each a rissole when it's time. They'll love you for it."

Peter formally introduced me to his girls and they sat up and shook my hand. They were really quite nice once you got to know them.

He assured me that I'd be quite safe with the dogs. With them in the house he never got intruders. "The bravest burglar," he said, "takes one look and then goes looking for a baby to mug."

All I really had to do was watch TV, and that was simple enough. I was a little nervous about feeding the dogs their first pills but no worries. They scoffed the rissoles and looked hopefully for more. After that it was more TV until midnight and I found the dogs sitting next to the fridge waiting for me. A rissole apiece and they went back to their beds and I went back to the TV.

It wasn't all that much later and Peter arrived home. To my surprise and delight, along with my pay, he gave me a box of chocolates, all wrapped up in birthday paper.

"Just a little something from me and the girls, seeing it's now your birthday. You officially turned eighteen half an hour ago."

I blushed and thanked him.

"Care for a cup of coffee before you go?" he asked, already switching the kettle on.

"You know, if you're serious about building a portfolio for modelling, I can take a few snaps for you. I work part time doing photography and I'm quite good. For you, no charge."

Now some people might think me cynical but men have offered to take pictures of me before this, and it always seems to include a proviso that I take of some or all my clothes. I guess the doubt must have shown in my eyes.

"No," Peter said with a laugh. "Not naughty shots. Artistic ones, yes, but ones where you keep your clothes on. Not that I wouldn't mind seeing more of you but it would be unbelievably pushy to suggest it at this point. Come on. I'll show you my studio."

I trailed along behind him, feeling slightly nervous. He opened the door to what I had assumed was just another bedroom and flicked on the lights. They were unbelievably bright. Looking in I could see he had some very professional looking equipment at one end of the room. The other end, where most of the lights seemed to point, had this green wall, green floor and green couch. There was also some other furniture off to the side. Most of it green.

Peter saw my puzzlement and laughed. Not nastily, but slightly amused, kidding me rather than deriding me.

"The green can be easily replaced using my graphics software. Recline on the couch and I can have you reclining on a gondolier in Venice. Pretend to climb the wall and I can have you attached to a sheer cliff with a thousand foot drop below you. It's all done with computers these days."

He assured me that my clothes would stay on so I sat on the couch, posing as he suggested. He took a number of shots and then looked over them. For some reason he didn't seem satisfied, taking more shots and looking through them. Seeing he was still unhappy with the pictures I asked if I could have a look.

The pictures looked good to me. They were excellent. Best photos of me that I'd ever seen and I've seen some good ones. I'm very photogenic.

"Um, they look fine to me," I said tentatively. "Why don't you like them?"

"They're OK, but your natural beauty would ensure that. What's not coming through is your vitality, your sex appeal, that charisma you project."

Now that he'd mentioned it the photos did look a little drab. I might have been a nun sitting there. I still wasn't taking my clothes off, but maybe. . .

"How do you think they'll look if I undid a couple of buttons, showing a bit of cleavage?"

"Might work. Just the top two buttons though."

So I undid the top two buttons and posed again, leaning forward so that he could get a bit of cleavage in the shot. He messed about a bit but didn't seem to be taking any pictures. Instead he shook his head and stepped away from the camera.

"That's not going to work," he told me. "I guess we'd better leave it at what I've done."

"What? Why? Won't the cleavage thing work?"

"It might, if you were showing genuine cleavage or a bit of cleavage and a bra that's frilly, lacy, and a bit see through."

I glanced down my top and nearly died. Knowing I was going baby-sitting I'd just thrown on any old thing when getting ready. Mum sometimes buys me what she calls proper bras and I'd accidentally grabbed one of those. Plain, white, and covering every inch of my breasts. A real grandmother bra. God, how totally embarrassing. Fancy trying to show cleavage in that.

"Um, hold on a minute," I said quickly, turning my back to him. I could take that monstrosity off without showing anything, and then I'd have some cleavage to show him.

"Ah, are you sure you want to do that?" he asked. "I did say you wouldn't need to take anything off."

"Don't worry about it," I reassured him. "I'm still covered by my shirt, and it's not as though I need the support."

I wriggled out of the bra and tossed it to the side and sat back on the couch. This time when I reclined you could see some decent cleavage.

"OK," said Peter. "Very nice."

He took more shots, getting me to move around as he did so. Finally he asked me for something I wasn't sure off.

"Ah, what do you mean, can I pucker my nipples?"

"Mmm?" he asked, seeming distracted by what he was doing with the camera. Then he looked up at me.

"Oh, I meant have them pout a little. Like this."

He stepped over to me and before I knew what was happening he slipped his hand inside my blouse and twitched one of my nipples. I could feel it stirring under his touch. I could also feel that touch all the way down to my toes. Before I could say anything he'd taken his hand out and was stepping back to the camera.

"Like that," he said. "See how it peaks against your blouse. It will come across very nicely in the photos, showing your breasts without actually showing them, if you get what I mean. Ah, can you tweak the other one so that they match."

Scarlet faced, I reached in and tweaked my other nipple, hastily withdrawing my hand. Looking down I could see them, pushing up like little tents. Then I moved I could feel the material of my blouse dragging against them, encouraging them to stand out.

Peter was going, "Nice. Very nice," and shooting quickly.

"You really are gorgeous, you know, and you have marvellous breasts. Can you undo another button or, better yet, undo them all, letting the drape of the blouse cover you."

I was about to point out that there was no way I was undoing all the buttons, but Peter beat me to it.

"Cancel that," he said. "Just make it one more button. I don't want you getting uncomfortable."

Relieved I undid one more button, but I couldn't help feeling a little chagrined. Didn't he think me capable of deciding for myself whether I'd undo my blouse or not? I mean, the blouse would still drape over my breasts and cover me. It wasn't as though I'd be showing them off. Irritated I reached down and undid the rest, making sure that the blouse didn't sway open.

Peter's eyes were absolutely glued to where I was showing my cleavage now. Both sides of the blouse seemed to just catch on my nipples and stay there, leaving a nice side view of my breasts and, dare I say it, the edge of my areola. I wondered if that would show in the photo.

It was a mistake, of course. I moved about a bit as Peter directed, watching him shoot, smiling at him and trying to look sexy. I should have been watching my blouse. Then I might have noticed it sliding away from my breasts, leaving them completely exposed. Peter sure noticed.

He left the camera and crossed over to me. The next thing I knew he reached out and very lightly touched my nipple with a single finger.

"God, these are beautiful," he said.

I looked down, flustered, then shocked to find I was bare breasted. Also, excited. Peter was a gentleman and wouldn't take advantage, I was sure, but he was looking at my breasts and admiring them. Mind you, I got a hell of a shock when he bent down and kissed my nipple.

"Sorry," he said, straightening up. "I just couldn't resist."

Sorry, hell. He didn't sound the least bit sorry.

"I'm going to apologise in advance this time," he said. "I'm sorry, but I just have to know if the rest of your curves are so exquisite."

I'm thinking, "What's he going on about?" when he very calmly pushed up my skirt and pulled my panties down. Of all the crazy things, the thought that flashed through my mind when he did that was that I was glad that I was freshly shaven.

He wasn't content with just lowering my panties. He had them right off and tossed down beside my bra before I could say anything. He stroked me with one finger, down there, of all places, and then retreated to his camera.

"Turn slightly to the side and push your dress down a little in the front," he instructed me. "I want it to be obvious that you have no panties but I don't want you actually showing anything."

Instead of grabbing for my panties and putting them back on I did as I was told. I just jerked my skirt down between my legs, knowing while I did so that my bottom was still on display. Oh, God, and so were my breasts. I tried to clutch my blouse together to hide them, all the time hearing that camera clicking away. There was no way some of these photos were going in my portfolio.

What I couldn't understand was how come I was lying there almost naked. Apart from my panties, Peter hadn't touched me. I'd done all the rest myself and it had been my own idea. I couldn't believe it. I also couldn't believe how exciting it was. Maybe I was some sort of exhibitionist. No. Not really, because I was trying to cover up.

"These are a lot better," Peter announced, going over his pictures. "There are some you probably won't want in your portfolio, but there are plenty that will do very nicely. Tell me, have you planned any sex education for yourself. You'll probably need it if you become a model."

I'm like, "Eh? What's he on about?"

"Ah, we did sex ed. at school," I pointed out rather delicately.

"Not that," Peter said with a laugh. "That's just theory. I mean that now you're eighteen you'll be wanting some practical experience. You'll need to pick out someone to teach you. Someone as lovely as you will have lots of men offering to educate you, but you should be careful. You need a man who is going to be gentle with you and teach you about passion. Don't pick up some young stud just because you're curious. Young studs tend to only think of themselves."

I was blushing madly. What sort of discussion was this?

"Ah, I was thinking of waiting a while before doing anything like that," I muttered.

"Mmm? Not if you're going to be a model. Have a look at these two photos."

He had two photos up on the screen. They were just portraits, but there was a subtle difference between them. Both were excellent, but the one on the right drew your attention.

"Um, why the difference between them?"

"The one on the left was taken earlier in the shoot," he explained. "The one on the right was taken when you became aware that your breasts were showing and that I was looking at them. There's a touch of passion there. Once you become sexually active you'll be able to bring that touch of passion to your shoots, projecting a vivid female personality that matches your natural beauty."

With that he reached up and cupped my breasts, rubbing them lightly. I'm like, "Say, what?" and found that he was leading me back to the couch, one hand still cupping a breast.

Then he was sitting next to me, one hand on my breasts and the other running along the inner side of my leg. I knew I should close my legs tightly, because I knew where that hand was going, but I just sat there like a dolt.

I gave a squeak and a little jump when his hand reached my pussy and just closed gently over it, holding me.

"What I'm going to do," he calmly informed me, "is to just touch you up a bit, as the boys say. I want to raise your passions a little more, then see if we can get that heightened passion projected across to the pictures."

He wanted to touch me up just for his photos? I thought that maybe I was being insulted, but then he continued.

"As a side benefit, you are, as you probably know, a remarkably lovely young woman. It is a real pleasure to touch you and taste you."

That sounded a lot more reasonable than wanting passionate photos. I could understand him wanting to touch me because I'm beautiful. Still, I probably should tell him to back off. Trouble was, what he was doing felt so nice, I didn't want to. Maybe I'd just wait a few moments.

Somehow or other my blouse had slipped right off. My skirt was all bunched around my waist, leaving me effectively naked while he worshipped my body. That's the only way to describe what he was doing. His hands would move over me and his lips would follow. When he had me stand so that he could strip off that silly skirt it just seemed so reasonable, then I was fully naked while he continued to touch and taste.

I was oh, so aware of my body. My breasts felt swollen, were swollen, the nipples wet and pointing from where he'd been sucking on them. My pussy actively ached for something, and it was hot and wet. OK. I expected him to touch me there and even slip his fingers inside me, though I was ready to prevent that. What I wasn't ready for was for him to kiss me there, and find his tongue slipping inside me. If I hadn't frozen in shock I would have screamed and bounced right off the couch.

I was about to tell him enough, really I was, when my hand came into contact with his trousers and found something there. I could feel this hard ridge inside his trousers and my hand just sort of closed over it, wondering what it was. Then I twigged and hastily moved my hand away.

Peter laughed.

"My privates are nowhere near as interesting or lovely to look at as yours," he said, cupping my pussy and giving a gentle squeeze as he did so, "but it does tend to come to attention when a lovely young woman is around."

"Oh," I said in a small voice, the first words I'd managed to say in a while apart from oh my god. "It, ah, felt rather hard."

"It is. Very hard right now. Feel free to sneak a peek at it if you want to. It won't worry me."

Sneak a peek at it? Why would I want to sneak a peek? I knew what boys things looked like. Why would I want to see another? I didn't. But that didn't explain why I was nervously sliding his zip down.

His cock looked enormous. I thought I'd need two hands to pull it loose from his trousers, and now it was just standing there.

"You don't really stick something that big all the way inside a woman, surely," I protested.

"I surely do," came the reply. "You'll be surprised how much a woman's body will adapt to something like that. Even you, small as you are, would be able to accommodate me. You'll be surprised at what your body can do."

ME? Take something like that? He had to be kidding. Still, I couldn't help wondering, what would it be like? What was worse, my pussy seemed to be curious, too. I'll swear it was positively itching for something to soothe it.

"Um, what would it be like, putting something like that inside me? Wouldn't it hurt?"

"Quite frankly, I don't know what it would be like. I've never had one inside me. As you're a virgin then it probably would hurt when it first goes in. You may not want to risk it. Perhaps find a boy with a smaller one."