“You’re up early,” he muttered groggily as she zipped up her hoodie.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered back. “I’m heading out to shoot.”
“What time is it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.
“What are you going to shoot at 3:30?”
“I need the street to be empty to get the shot I want. Go back to sleep, I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s cold out.”
“I know,” her smile went unnoticed in the dark. “I’ll see you tonight.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. He was already snoring softly by the time she left the bedroom.
At 4am the roads in the shopping district were deserted. The holiday decorations were up – arches of tinsel and glitter and holiday cheer spread across the road, signs in windows in shades of reds and greens, and the street lamps were decked out in ribbons like candy canes.
It was quite cold, and Irma could see the vapor from her breath float away as she fiddled with the manual settings on her new camera. It had been a Black Friday deal too good to pass up. She’d been saving for a similar model for months, but this one had everything she needed for a third of the price.
She found it fittingly ironic that her first shoot with the high-end camera would depict the abandonment of the spirit of the holidays in exchange for greed and capitalism.
She walked down the sidewalk, peering occasionally through the viewfinder to frame her shots. Something caught her eye a few stores down. An empty bag from Victoria’s Secret was caught by the handle on the base of one of the decorated railings attached to the front of the building. It was crinkled and flopping lightly in the cool breeze.
She aimed the camera, zoomed and focused, and took her shot. The angle wasn’t quite right, so she crossed the street to get a wider shot.
That’s when she saw the form in the window. He was tall, wearing tight black pants and a grey thermal shirt that stretched over his biceps. She could see the trail of two white wires leading from the back of his shirt up to his ears.
He was dancing, hips swaying seductively, with one of the mannequins. The mannequin was wearing a lace green corset with garter straps, and her expression appeared unimpressed. The visual made Irma chuckle quietly. She brought the camera up and took a couple shots.
He hadn’t noticed her. She continued watching as he swayed over to one of the other mannequins, one in a seated position, and started giving her a lap dance. His eyes were closed – he was really into it, but she could see his face now. He was attractive in a dorky way, and his complete oblivion to her presence made him even more endearing.
He began undressing the third mannequin as he continued his seductive dance. The music must have changed because his swaying hips were dipping lower and slower than before as he unfastened the garters and slowly slid the panties down the mannequin’s knees.
“Oh, yeah, baby. Please do this for me,” she thought to herself as she continued to snap photos. He’d dropped the panties on the floor with an over the head toss behind him and had moved on to her bra.
“Make it sexy, honey. Come on….do it for me…” she thought. He buried his face into the plastic breasts as he reached around to unclasp the bra. Instead of tossing it over his shoulder with the panties, he put it over his head like a hat.
She was laughing audibly now, her giggles fading into the empty street behind her.
She kept watching as he checked a clipboard then pulled a red chemise out of a nearby box and proceeded to dress the mannequin he’d so delightfully stripped. His head was bobbing now. The music must have changed again, because suddenly he shot his hands in the air then did a spin on the floor.
“Yes. Do it. Dance for me,” she demanded silently. It was as if he’d heard her and chosen to obey because suddenly he stood up and pulled his shirt off over his head and threw it toward the seated mannequin’s face.
The muscles beneath the shirt were well-formed. She felt a tingle of excitement as she watched him perform for her. He, of course, was still clueless to her presence. She kept taking photos, but of course now she knew this was no longer the shoot she’d intended.
She imagined his reaction when he finally saw her watching him. She imagined his embarrassment and it made her smile. He was gorgeous. Seeing a gorgeous man bashful because of her would be a treat, indeed.
She imagined him on his knees, begging her to delete the images.
She imagined what she’d make him do in order to get his wish.
Irma breathed out slowly. These thoughts were warming her up. She let the camera rest against her belly by the strap around her neck and removed the scarf and hat she was wearing. She folded the scarf into the hat and dropped the little bundle at her feet. She unzipped the hoodie and felt the chill of the air against her breasts through the thin fabric of the t-shirt.
She looked down and smiled as she saw the beads of her hardening nipples begin to poke through the cotton. She hadn’t put a bra on.
She lightly caressed the left one with her right thumb as she watched him and imagined him at her feet, under her control. She imagined her toes in his mouth, his strong hands on her body She imagined his mouth on her clit, her fingers in his short, unruly hair.
She was startled by the grip around her waist first and then the voice in her ear.
“Naughty bitch. What are you up to out here?”
“Rick! You scared me!”
“I brought you coffee, thinking you were out here having a boring morning shooting a ghost town, and here I find you making porn with some stud in the lingerie store.”
“It’s not porn, it’s…. he’s-….”
His cold hands were against the skin of her belly now, trailing upward. When his icy fingers wrapped themselves around each of her nipples, she gasped. Her eyes closed and she leaned her head back against his chest. “He doesn’t even know I’m here,” she finished, her voice faint and small.
“Oh, I think he does,” Rick responded.
Irma opened her eyes again. The guy in the window was standing there, shirtless, watching her being felt up on the sidewalk. There was a distinct bulge in his pants, and he looked neither oblivious nor awkward.
He looked intrigued.
Rick took the camera off from around her neck and turned it around on her.
“Give your boy a show, Irma.”
Phi is an erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, phi lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.