Engagement In Perversion (The Community Book 3) by PJ Gond

Author:PJ Gond [Gond, PJ]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2017-08-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thankfully, models were allowed the option of blocking their webcam “in state”. Being able to at least prevent people right where she lived from watching and recognizing her, eased her mind a bit.

But then there was what had been chosen as her “look”. First, a makeup person had pulled most of her auburn hair up, leaving a few strands, curled with an iron, cascading down. Her face, though quickly done, appeared pretty impeccably accented in lurid color: eyelids that deepened to midnight blue, then to sultry black lashes, lips made deep red, and blush of just the right shading touched in at the back of her cheeks.

A wardrobe person arrived with her outfit. She had expected that she could wear a more or less normal pair of bra and panties. What had been selected for her instead felt downright intimidating to have to try to live up to.

She donned the lingerie quietly. It was a black lace and mesh halter-style dress, with garter and stockings, that seemed tailored almost too perfectly to fit her pregnant body and heavy breasts. A sheer gauze material, dotted with little black florets, composed most of it. Lace accents were confined to a six-inch wide panel running down the front center, over the swell of her belly. Two small white ribbons on the dress, positioned to visually frame her panty triangle, also marked the spot where front garter straps attached to the sheer black stockings. Another small ribbon at her sternum called attention, as if there needed to be any more, to her breasts.

Two side panels of the sheer black material added a dark allure to the dress, and led to a back center panel of mesh. The outfit’s panties were a black g-string. A tastefully lewd view of the thong riding up her ass crack was provided by the rear mesh of the dress. Two more back garter strap ribbon markers stood sentinel at either edge of the sheer panel. where it joined a dress frill. The bottom of the frill reached down only halfway over her rear end.

She felt overwhelmed when presented with herself in a mirror. It just didn’t seem like her at all. She felt her eyes welling. She was quickly handed a tissue to avoid marring her makeup job. Then she seemed ridiculous, like a practiced escort milf or something, improbably blubbering like an ingenue.

“Hey, are you okay?” she heard a voice as she stood there trembling, with the prep people gathering up their things, and others adjusting lights and a camera. She turned. It was Michael.

“Carrie? Hi, what’s wrong?”

My wife was glad to see the photographer, if embarrassed by the circumstance. “Hi, Michael. It’s nothing, I guess I’m just a little...I don’t know. This outfit. It’s just…”

“Incomparable. You look...incomparable,” he seemed truly to have searched and found the right word to encapsulate his appreciation. But then he just as specifically tuned in to her dismay: “But you don’t like it.”

“It not that. I’m sure it’s...expensive or something. It just doesn’t.

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