Continue undressing as Jake instructs, sliding your jeans down while your back is to the camera

After Hours Video office, Millbrook, at 5:05 PM on Monday October 16th, 2023

Your fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, and you begin the slow, humiliating process of sliding them down over your hips. The denim clings to your thighs as you work it downward, bending slightly at the waist to maintain your balance on the velvet platform.

"There you go, baby girl," Jake's voice comes from behind you, thick with something that makes your skin crawl and heat simultaneously. "Arch that back a little more. I want to see that ass properly."

You adjust your posture as instructed, feeling the denim slide past your knees. The bright ring lights cast your shadow across the black backdrop, making you hyper-aware of your silhouette—the curve of your spine, the swell of your rear barely concealed by your plain cotton panties.

"Fucking gorgeous," Jake mutters, and you hear him moving, the soft shuffle of his shoes on the office floor as he adjusts his position with the camera remote. "Step out of the jeans completely, sweetheart. Kick them to the side."

You comply, lifting one foot and then the other to extract yourself from the bunched denim. Your legs feel exposed, vulnerable, goosebumps racing along your calves and thighs despite the warmth of the lights.

"Now turn around. Slowly. Let me get the full view of that tight little body."

You rotate on the platform, and suddenly you're facing him again—facing the unblinking camera lens and Jake behind it. His dark eyes are fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. You're standing there in nothing but your underwear now, the worn white cotton panties that you know are practically see-through in this lighting.

"Hook your thumbs in the waistband," Jake instructs, his voice dropping to barely above a growl. "But don't take them off yet, princess. I want you to tell the camera what you're about to do. Say it out loud."

Your throat constricts. The idea of verbalizing it, of speaking the words aloud, feels like crossing some final line. But Jake is waiting, the camera is recording, and you can feel the weight of your rent notice, your empty bank account, your complete lack of options pressing down on you.

"I..." Your voice comes out as barely a whisper.

"Louder, baby," Jake commands. "The camera needs to hear you. Tell it what you're going to show us."

Your hands tremble as they find the elastic waistband of your panties, fingers curling around the fabric.