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Have you ever noticed how many lovely available women work at the mall? In our local mall at Westridge, we have at least sixteen women’s dress shops, not counting cosmetics stores, sports apparel, and shoe stores — all of which cater to women. I should include maternity shops. Obviously the salesgirls at maternity shops are not all pregnant. In total that’s about fifty stores. One time I had a lovely Filipina who needed a dress for a dance routine. We went into a dress shop around 2 PM and the store was empty. Except for one salesgirl masturbating in the stock room.
My name is Francis, and I teach ballroom dancing. I have just returned from a month in the Bahamas, recuperating from sexual exhaustion. I look like a young Rudolph Valentino, slicked back, thick black hair, piercing dark eyes. A sensuous mouth. Beautiful expressive hands.
I happened to mention this mall issue to Victor. Expounding on the number of bored horny women in the mall. Victor, you may remember, discovered Margo and her mother, Ethel. Victor is a fashion photographer, shooting mostly women.
Naturally, Victor was already aware of the number of women waiting to be discovered. Victor knew most of the hottest new models were coming from Brazil and Russia these days. But for sheer fun and games there were hundreds of women available right here at Westridge.
“I am way ahead of you,” Victor told me. “I’ve been mining for women forever it seems.”
He had my unglued attention. Whatever Victor said, to me, were pearls of wisdom.
“I always wear my camera — the heavy, clunky Canon with the telephoto lens. It’s looks phallic so the women love it. And I carry my business cards.” He went on, “My model management cards too. That usually hooks them.”
“So how does it work?” I asked him, being quite fascinated.
“Most girls over eighteen are bored to tears working here in the mall. Their hormones are raging, they’re wet most of the time, and they are waiting for the right guy to come along …”
“And the right guy is –“
“A guy who recognizes the symptoms — nervous fiddling, playing with their hair, dry mouth, rubbing their thighs together …”
He clarified. “That, of course, happens when you speak to her.” He added, “A woman doesn’t just stand there panting like a thirsty dog. There are more subtle signs, but with a trained eye, you can easily spot them.”
He was scanning the area.
“See that girl standing in the entrance of the leather goods store? The one with the miniskirt, and the knee high riding boots? Sexy, right? Great legs!”
“Yeah. I’d like to ride her.”
“Don’t be so crass, Francis.” He started towards the leather shop. “Let’s go talk to her.”
“Hi, Sweetie … ” Victor spoke to her first. She stared at the phallic camera. She looked to be about 18 years old. “My name is Victor, I’m a fashion photographer. And this is guy here, is Francis, one of my male models.” We both appeared harmless, not like the gang bangers that usually hang out in malls.
She smiled at us, timidly. “My job is to find new talent”, he went on. “Especially beautiful women. Have you bursa escort bayan ever modeled?”
“N- n-no …”she stammered.
“What’s your name?” Victor gave her a small smile; he didn’t want to appear too eager.
“Beth,” she answered, a bit nervously.
“Well, Beth, today is your lucky day. You have beautiful eyes. Do you do your own makeup?”
“Usually I take a couple of quick shots of someone I like, and show them to my boss. If she likes your look, I’ll call you and book you for a photo shoot …” By now the girl has been hooked. The mention of a female boss did the trick.
“Do you have a few minutes, Beth? I ‘d like to take a few quick shots of you.” The poor girl had been bored to tears; she had the whole afternoon. “We can do more test shots later.”
“Yes … OK.”
“Good. Do you have something special you’d like to wear, or should I shoot what you have on?”
She was wearing a sweater, miniskirt with the boots. Her boobs looked average.
“What I’m wearing is OK,” she said. “We do have a small sofa outside the changing room.”
We walked to the back of the store, to the sofa. Women usually looked better lying down with their legs spread apart, but in this case Victor positioned her like a young sales professional, holding her cell phone. I moved over to the handbag display and pretended to be interested in a bag made in Nigeria. The price tag said $1800. Victor was working his charm, smiling at her, commenting her on her hair, and telling her he love her boots.
“You have great legs. Pull your skirt up a bit more …”
“It’s almost up as far as it will go,” she protested weakly. ” I don’t want to show you my panties …”
“Why not?” She could not think of a good answer. After all, she was an adult.
She hiked her skirt up to her hips. She had a beautiful ass.
He took a few shots, her being almost completely exposed at the crotch. Her thin panties were wet. But Victor didn’t want to frighten her away. “OK, that’s good.”
He handed her his business card, got her phone number and then we moved on.
“That was easy,” I said.
“Notice she was wet? That’s a good sign … “
“A sign of what?” I asked.
“She’s a whore …” Victor thought most women were whores.
We were about to go into a dress shop. Milly’s Dress Shop. The woman coming out almost knocked Victor over. “Oh … excuse me. I’m so sorry …”
She was a blond cutie, with a page boy hair cut. Her mouth was shaped like a cupid bow. Big blue eyes.
What bumped into Victor were her impressive boobs. She had a big chest for someone her height. She looked about 5’3″.
“No problem,” Victor said, smiling at her. Nonchalantly. Most guys would be gawking, but Victor had seen lots of boobs in his career. “In fact, you just saved me going into the store …”
She was curious. “Really?”
“Yeah …” he said. “I’m a fashion photographer. My name is Victor. ” He handed her his card. “I work with a lot of models, and most of them are newbies … you know, just getting started in the business. They need outfits for their bursa anal yapan escort photos. Usually stores will lend out clothes, in return for photos.”
She appeared very interested.
“For example, I’ll take a model into a store like Milly’s here, and help the model select outfits that are unusual. I know Milly personally, and she designs some really hot outfits …”
The woman was really interested now. “I’m sorry … I don’t know your name,” Victor said.
“I’m Cynthia,” she said.
“Are you a model?”
“Not yet. I was thinking about doing some swim suit –” Victor quickly interrupted her.
“Perfect! I am shooting a July swimsuit cover for Boston magazine, and need someone fresh, a new face …”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh …” she almost wet her pants.
“Why don’t you come along with me and Francis,” he told her. She looked hopefully over at me.
In all modesty, I’m a good looking guy. Victor always needed a shave.
“Do you have time?” He asked.
“Well, yes, I guess so. I was on my home after I get gas …”
“My portrait studio actually is in the mall,” Victor said. “My main studio on Newbury Street is quite large, but my mall studio is for convenience …” Victor meets a lot of women shopping. His mall studio consisted of a few lights and a casting couch.
We went up the escalator to the third floor and walked back into a dimly lit corner. His studio had no sign; it had a window covered by a black curtain.
Luckily the A/C was on, and it was comfortable. Other than a small reception desk and a couple of chairs, the studio itself consisted of a 90-inch sofa and two large flood lights.
“I should have tops that fit you,” he said. There was a clothes rack with assorted bikinis, tank tops and torn house dresses. “Let’s try a dress first …” He indicated a Chinese folding screen behind which she could change. “Just the dress, please, no underwear.” Victor told her.
It didn’t surprise her because you obviously don’t wear underwear with a bikini. This was just a warmup.
Her boobs came out from behind the screen before she did. The top of the dress had no buttons. Her breasts were tanned and looked massive.
“OK, you look good.” Victor said. Translated, ‘good’ means ‘slutty’.
She went over to the sofa and assumed a pose, lying down, with her breasts almost totally exposed. She had wide areola and big nipples. How Victor managed to remain calm was beyond me. I was ready to start whacking off.
He started shooting, giving her directions on how to move, what to do with her hands, how to roll her hips, and if her tongue were long enough, to lick her nipples. Within twenty minutes this poor woman was desperate for anything to jam up her soaked pussy.
Victor, as usual, was saying “Good. Good. Great …” He always acted professional. Supportive.
He knew every woman masturbated. When you go to church and look up the choir, it’s not a stretch of the imagination to imagine every woman in that choir has a wet pussy, and can hardly wait to get home to jam a dildo up her hungry bursa rus escort cunt. Some women can’t wait to get home, and you see them lined up in front of a ladies’ room door.
At my church, our pastor is a female. I could see her up in the choir loft, behind the organ, vigorously fingering herself, praying that she’d make it through the sermon before she creamed her panties. That’s why they wear robes.
I heard Cynthia murmuring to Victor, “I’m gonna cream, Victor, I can’t help it …”
He pretended not to hear her, he kept saying “Good … good … more …”
She had her right hand between her legs. Her dress was open in front, and I could see her blond pubic thatch. She was leaking heavily. Her thighs were glistening from the juice her cunt was spewing out.
“OK, let’s change,” Victor said. “Grab a bikini …”
She jumped off the sofa, a bit embarrassed, and before she ducked behind the screen, grabbed a couple of bikinis. I knew she would have a problem finding a top that fit her. She looked like a DD cup. Personally, I doubted the publisher of Boston Magazine would put Cynthia on the cover. Unless he wanted a lot of subscription cancellations. But Victor could sell the photos to Buxom Magazine, if he did it under an assumed name. It takes a fashion photographer years to build a good reputation. Why ruin it with booby shots?
She returned wearing a huge top and a bikini bottom. She looked ridiculous. The bottom barely covered her plump butt. There was pubic hair sticking out all the way from her pussy to her hairy ass.
Victor had to keep himself from laughing. The poor woman was so horny she’d fuck a donkey.
“Cynthia, you’re a beautiful woman with a great figure. A superb figure. I’m going to find the right niche for someone with your attributes …”
“But Boston Magazine —?”
“Maybe the July issue would be a bit much right now. I’m thinking of the December issue.” Cynthia as Santa Claus?
Intuitively I knew Teresa, my lesbian dance coach, would enjoy feasting on Cynthia’s titties.
Victor’s cell phone rang. He answered it. “Hello, this is Victor.”
It was Beth.
“I’m through for the day,” she said. “Are you free now? I could drop by for my test shots on my way home …”
I knew how Victor’s mind worked.
“Sure, c’mon to my mall studio. I’m very close to you.” He gave Beth the location. Within a few minutes Beth appeared. She looked wide-eyed at Cynthia sprawled out on the sofa, topless. Her wet hair was plastered to her forehead. Cynthia’s legs were splayed, her cunt soaked. Her eyes looked like she could swallow Beth whole.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Beth said. “I didn’t know you were busy …”
“No problem,” Victor replied. “Now is a good time to learn about modeling. Cynthia is auditioning for a swim suit cover I’m shooting next month.”
“This is an audition??? Is she getting paid?” Beth appeared to have a legal mind. Cynthia was softly moaning for relief.
“Usually the client pays,” Victor informed her, as he continued shooting Cynthia, in the throes of another orgasm.
Beth understood modeling is very competitive. She also knew that nudity in itself is not bad. But being in a state of orgasmic agony wasn’t what she had in mind. She wondered if Victor shot for “W”, or even Nike. After all, Victor said she has great legs.
(Victor first appears in a story entitled Margo and Her Mom Are Discovered.)
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