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Chapter 5

Pick a celeb

Emma Watson - is an exhibitionist

'Boy that girl is pretty' you think as a young, 20-something pensively steps through the doors across the store. 'Very pretty.' Not too tall, not too short, not too thin, not too fat, with long light brown hair, and sporting a t-shirt and skinny jeans, she's just the kind of pretty girl you needed to see to make your day better.

She's the kind of pretty girl you don't see much in here. Sure, attractive people come in occasionally, but in Hollywood everyone is attractive. This girl... is something different. You watch her for a while when you realize who she looks like.

She looks like Emma Watson. Wow, lucky girl. And you wonder what she's doing in here.

What she's doing is stalling. Your boss always says, "in this store, people shop, browse or stall," which means that plenty of people come in, are immediately intimidated by their surroundings and pretend to wander around and look at things, but don't.

And you're a little surprised that that is what this girl is doing. Anyone as pretty as her should have nothing but confidence.

It isn't until she stops stalling and turns toward you that you realize just how much like Emma Watson she looks. And it isn't until she's about 10 feet from you, walking toward you at the register that you realize she is Emma Watson.

Of course you should have realized it sooner. But there are only so many things a man is willing to let himself believe. Now, however, you must believe it. Because Emma is standing at your register, smiling at you very timidly. The excitement you had from seeing a beautiful girl at work has quickly evolved to anxiety and even dread.

Emma Watson is one of the prettiest actresses, maybe women, on the planet. Up close it's even more apparent. Watching her on TV or in the movies, you're not sure you'd ever really noticed the light freckles painted across her nose, or the dramatic line of her eyebrows, or just how brown her brown eyes were.

You can think of any instance in which you'd love to meet and be speaking to Emma. In a club or a bar, at a concert, at an art gallery... The porn shop where you work, isn't anywhere on that list.

Then again, she'd probably have no reason to walk up to you and engage at any of those other places. And here, now, she's about to speak.

"Hi" She says quietly, almost flirting, brushing her brown hair back behind her ear with one hand.

"Hello miss. How can I help you." You attempt to be official.

She give you a 'don't-pretend-like-you-don't-know-me' type of look.

"Miss Watson" You smile.

"Oh Gawd" she say, grimacing. "Don't call me that. Emma or Emmie or something." And her smile returns.

"How can I help you Emma?"

"That's better." And her smile returns. Her British accent is soft and pristine. Playful but sophisticated. She stays sheepish for a bit, then after a pause, "I need you to do something for me... and not... tell anyone."

That suggestion sounds... interesting, you think. But you're here to help. So you nod. "Of course."

"Good... great." Emma sighs, as if she's just had a weight lifted from her. "Can you take my picture?"

The request seems odd. Who would want their picture taken in a porn shop? Then again, odder things have happened here. Maybe it's a bet, or a dare. Maybe she just has to prove to someone that she's a normal girl who goes to these places. Whatever.

Emma hands you a phone, set to camera mode and you take a quick look at it. Seems easy enough to operate. "Ready?" You ask, and she nods. So you hold the phone up to her and snap the button, noticing Emma's quick movement as she grabs the bottom her shirt with her hands last minute.

And when you look at the resulting picture you can see them... Emma's breasts. Two pretty b-cups with little pink nipples right in the middle. Your mouth drops.

Emma Watson just flashed you.

But did she do so for your sake?

She grabs the camera from you. Shouts "Thanks" and is out the door. You may never know. And you're not sure if that was exactly what you needed, or didn't need for your day.

You spend the rest of the day recovering. You go home, grab some dinner, and jerk off in bed, thoughts of Emma's rather perfect young tits fluttering in your mind.

What did it all mean, you wonder. Maybe if Emma comes back you'll ask her. Then again, what are the chances of that? You're sure you'll never see her again.

And you're wrong.

A week later Emma comes trouncing into the store again, this time seemingly filled with a bit more confidence. She wears a pretty summer dress, a strapless top and a flowing skirt that ends just above her knees. And she heads right for you.

"Emma..." you try to figure out how to form your question. Perhaps you should tell her that public exposure in this place, which happens pretty frequently, but never as pleasantly as it did yesterday, usually results in you calling the cops, or at least threatening to call the cops. You stumble over your words. "What... was...."

"Would you take my picture again?" A big smile, an eager, pretty voice.

How can you say no. Plus the promise of seeing her breasts again is too tempting to pass up. So you agree.

Emma takes two steps back, so you can get most of her in the frame. And so, just like yesterday, you hold up her camera, frame her nicely and snap, preparing yourself for the inevitable flash. Preparing to watch her pull down her dress last minute, or something.

And what you get is quite unexpected. At the last minute, Emma grabs the bottom of her skirt and lifts it up to her waist. You stare at the photo before you. Emma Watson, a smile on her pretty face, dress pulled up, flats on her feet, black socks up to her knees, no panties.

You recall a few years ago, that a paparazzi snapped some see-through undies pictures of Emma that exposed a nice brown bush. That bush, as you stare at this picture, is nowhere to be found. Instead you just see a tight bald twat, and a pair of lightly speckled thighs. But you don't see it for long. Within seconds, Emma has the phone in her hand again and is out the door, blowing you a kiss. "Thanks again hon!"

That night you jerk off some more. How on earth could you not.

And the next week you're not shocked to see Emma back in the store for a third time, clad in a tight blouse and a skirt, her brown hair pulled back into a pony-tail. You're not really sure what she could have to show you today. Though a look at her cute little butt would be alright with you.

She walks up, looking down, timid again, placing her camera-phone on the counter before you.

And for whatever instinctual reason, this time you decide to protest. "Emma... I can't... I can't keep doing this... I could get fired." You think, at least this might be a way to get some information. "I mean maybe I could... but I at least need an explanation.... something."

"It's okay" Emma says. "No naked picture this time."

"Really?" You're actually a little disappointed.

"No. But I'd still like you to take a picture of something..."

What does Emma want you to take a picture of?

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