Escapades of an Erotic Spy - Part 1 A Spy is Born by Lexington Manheim

Author:Lexington Manheim
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, erotic, sex, historical, interracial, nude, intercourse, international intrigue, cabaret, multiracial

The Studio:

Speaking of blushing… Sometimes it's a comfort to have a darker skin tone where a reddening from embarrassment isn't so noticeable. I was grateful for that as I tiptoed into the shooting room of Monsieur Robinet's studio. I had nothing on. And, while he wasn't the first man ever to see me naked, this was not the same kind of experience. Well, of course it wasn't the same. This wasn't a romantic interlude. It was a job—a job where the boss said, "Please take your clothes off," and I did.

He had me pin up my hair, just to get it off of my shoulders. This photo shoot was about skin, not hair. Nothing would be allowed to obscure the camera's view of any portion of my body.

I tried to cover my rookie jitters by acting nonchalant and inquisitive. I gazed, with what I thought conveyed studious interest, at the large box-like black camera mounted on a tripod. I nodded approvingly, as if I had any idea how it worked.

Need to look professional. Need to give off an air of professionalism that says I've done this before. Done it a hundred times. Damn it! Why are my nipples erect? I worked so hard to try to prevent that this morning! Oh, my god, I hope my pussy doesn't start opening!

Monsieur Robinet had spent his morning setting up the studio for the shoot. Against the wall was a backdrop painted to resemble a tree-lined street. In front of that was a bicycle mounted in place by a pair of very thin metal rods that extended from the top of the wheels to the floorboards. Light in color, the supports were virtually invisible against the backdrop. Added to the setting were strewn leaves, both on the floor and glued onto the bike's frame and the spokes of its wheels. I knew instantly upon seeing the setup what type of "different" Monsieur Robinet was attempting to create for his camera. It would be the erotic image of a naked girl, bicycling down the street. In an age when a hemline rising to calf level was considered too scandalous for public consumption, this was definitely different.

"Mademoiselle, asseyez-vous." He motioned toward the bike. "Sit on la bicyclette."

I hadn't been on a bicycle since I was thirteen, and then it was strictly on a ladies' bike. The bike in the studio was a man's bike. It had that big bar anchoring the metal structure from seat to handlebars, the bar that's removed from a ladies' model to accommodate her long skirts. Of course, since I wasn't wearing a skirt (or a stitch else), that wasn't going to be an issue. Still, it felt a little awkward, lifting my foot to straddle the bike rather than just stepping through its frame. I was also self-conscious because raising my leg and swinging it over the seat meant I had to indelicately, and in a very unladylike way, spread my legs, widely presenting my vagina to the open air. Something about that made me feel especially exposed.

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