The Photographer

Chapter 1 by Emma Emma

I first met him when I was eighteen-years-old at Kings Cross railway station in London England. I had run away from home and I was not quite sure of where I was going to sleep that night. All of a sudden, out of nowhere came this tall grey-haired man. He looked like he was at least seventy years old. He was a very charming man, the sort that instantly made you at ease when you talked to him. We chatted for what seemed like hours and then he expressed he had an interest in photography.

He told me that I was a very beautiful young girl and that I was good enough to be a fashion model. I was young and stupid enough to be taken in by his charms and I eventually agreed to accompany him back to his house to be photographed.

For almost 10 minutes he spent fingering all the various features of the camera, loading it with film, and generally planning his first shoot of me.

I didn't object when he had me "pose" in a swimsuit and a bikini. I thought it was OK as long as it was only "posing" and he promised to pay me well for the session. After we had finished the shoot he said that I could sleep on the couch for tonight, if I didn't have anywhere else to go.

He took a picture of me lying on the couch, sleeping. I looked so innocent, as back then my body was just beginning to develop. I was wearing a short little mini-skirt that was all the rage back then, but in my sleep the skirt had crept up above my waist, exposing my skimpy white knickers. It was so cute. You could tell that I had no idea what a spectacle I made, with the tight little knickers pulled up, so you could actually see the indentation made by my plump little cunny-lips.

What now?

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