Nude Shots Page 3

  “They’re not as big as yours,” she said in a small voice as she reached behind her for the hook and let the flimsy bra fall to the floor.

  “But they’re beautiful,” Clara reassured, wanting to reach out a hand to touch but restraining herself. “Size doesn’t matter.”

  “So they say,” Connie said with something approaching bitterness. “Come on, enough of all this talk. Get the hot water. Let’s shave us some pussies.”

  Chapter 2

  Creepy Clive surveyed the two naked girls before him in the studio and was painfully aware of just how stiff his cock was. Jeeze, could they see it through his pants? Worse, was it spoiling the crease? But, shit, he had other things to worry about today. These broads were first-timers and even Connie, the cocky one, was looking scared, and scared didn’t come over well in the pictures. He needed to get these gals relaxed and preferably sassy if he wanted to make a movie that would sell.

  “Alright, Peaches,” he said to them in what he hoped was a suitably avuncular tone, “this here ain’t nuttin’ to be scared about. We’re all friends here. I just want to catch your pretty little titties and asses at their best for your first film. So, relax a bit and let’s play a game. I want you to blow bubbles for me...”

  “Blow bubbles?” Connie said, her eyebrows raised, “Is this code for something, Clive?”

  Clive laughed, his cock so hard it was hurting him. They’d taken him at his word and shaved all right, and he could see every little bit of pressed ham that this chick had to offer, and he so wanted to just throw her down and fuck her sweet little pink pussy where she stood, but he held himself in check. Shit, he wanted to be a movie director, didn’t he, and, hell, he’d seen naked chicks before, so why the fuss. Come on, Clive, concentrate.

  “Here,” he said, handing them each a little coloured glass bottle with a wire ring, “blow some bubbles, it’ll look great on screen. Have fun with it.”

  The girls shrugged, then Connie undid her bottle top rather stiffly and blew a stream of bubbles like a naked underwater mermaid, watching them cascade up quickly into the air currents generated by the hot klieg lights and then float down again, bursting on Clara’s big bountiful breasts, making her giggle and her nipples shoot up hard and rubbery.

  “Now you,” Connie cajoled and Clara slowly blew a large bubble that drifted ponderously towards her friend and burst on her pussy with a splash.

  “Mmm, just like being kissed,” Connie intoned like a bored harlot.

  “Yeah, by a frog,” Clara retorted, and both girls began to laugh.

  Creepy Clive grinned. This is it, he thought to himself as soap bubbles and laughter began to fill the air, this is show time.

  And, his cock twanging like a harp string, he reached slowly for his Bolex...

  ***

  They were exhilarated when they got home that night, having spent over an hour cavorting naked together in the studio and then getting fifty dollars in their hands at the end of it.

  “I think this worked out good,” Clive had said as they were leaving. “I shot two reels, so I’ll get it processed tomorrow and then edit it up neat, then I’m gonna show it to Mister Tonnelli that owns the Mermaid Club. If he likes it, you’re on the bill, and we’ll be shooting one of these a week, more maybe, if we make the main stag circuits...”

  The girls couldn’t believe it. They were really going to be movie stars, even if it wasn’t quite Hollywood. “Go on home,” Clive had said, his hardon still killing him, “square things with your landlady and buy yourselves some hooch from Barney’s store, tell him I sent you so he knows you ain’t cops. Oh, and get some olive oil, I don’t want you getting no rashes.”

  ***

  Clara flopped down on her bed, exhausted but much too wired to sleep. “What did Clive mean about olive oil, Connie?” she asked, seeing her friend putting the little green bottle on the side table.

  “So we don’t get a rash...”

  “We gotta drink olive oil?”

  Connie laughed. “A shaving rash, Dufus,” she said, smiling, “we need to keep our pussies nice and smooth for the camera.”

  “But we ain’t showing the camera our pussies, is we?”

  “Not yet,” Connie said, opening the bottle and pouring oil on her fingers, “but we might some day, for big money. So come on, slip your panties off, Sister, it’s time to get your cute little cunny oiled.”

  Clara giggled a little too eagerly and wriggled her panties down to her ankles. “Yours for the taking,” she grinned, lying back.

  Connie gulped and sat down beside her and gingerly lifted her skirt, letting out a little gasp as she saw Clara’s plump little pussy again.

  “Shit, you’re beautiful, Girl,” she breathed, finally daring to touch.

  “Hell, you’ve been looking at my bare cooch all night,” Clara whispered, kicking off her panties and pulling her dress off up over her head, “what’s so good about it now?”

  “’Cause we’re alone now,” Connie replied, covering Clara’s closely shaved cunt with the temperate oil she’d already warmed in the palm of her hand. “I can do what I want to you without Clive seeing and getting turned on.”

  Clara laughed. “Did you see the bulge in his pants? He certainly liked what he was seeing tonight.”

  “Yep, let’s hope he keeps liking it. But whatever you do, don’t ever fuck him.”

  “Fuck Creepy Clive? Yuk, not a chance. But why not?”

  “Because,” Connie purred, stroking and caressing Clara’s hot wet pussy with oil, “if he’s getting to help himself to your sopping little slit here for free he’s not going to be so inclined to pay to film it. Treat him mean and he’ll take us all the way to the top.”

  “God, you’re a hard bitch,” Clara laughed, luxuriating in Connie’s touch and past caring that her clit was stiff as a nut and felt like a swollen cashew under her friend’s caress.

  “Want to find out just how hard I am?” Connie replied, not laughing anymore.

  “Yes,” Clara nodded.

  ***

  They were both naked on the old bed, their clothing in untidy piles where they had thrown it on the floor, nipples hard and aroused, their bare cracks wet and hungry for attention.

  “Hurry up, oil me,” Connie pleaded, her fingers already circling Clara’s pulsing and swollen clit, making the other girl pant as she fumbled with the oil bottle.

  “I will if you stop distracting me. Oh fuck, Connie, you sure do feel good, and your clit feels like it’s carved out of wood. And much bigger than mine.”

  “I don’t know about that, Lover,” Connie purred, rocking her hips in a slow, easy rhythm and arching her back, “yours feels pretty big from where I’m lying.”

  “Nicer than all those hick town pussies you used to ogle down at the ole’ swimming hole?” Clara hissed, her breath hot on Connie’s face, so close was she to her skin.

  “Much nicer,” Connie replied, suddenly aware how near to cumming she was, “so much nicer.”

  “Bet you wish you could have done what you’re doing to me now when you had all those pretty little pussies to choose from,” Clara persisted, working Connie’s clit hard and slipping her other finger deep inside her friend’s hot wet slit, fingering her slowly but very hard.

  Connie paid her back in kind, pushing two fingers up and frigging Clara firmly, her thumb on the clit, making it beg. “I’d still swap them all for you, Lover. You and your fat little cunt...”

  Clara’s breathing was laboured as she hovered on the brink. “Will you make me a promise, Connie,” she begged, panting heavily.

  “Name it.”

  “Whatever we show or do on the screen, whatever they ask of us, we only do the real stuff, you know, the true stuff, when we’re alone together like this. That no-one gets to share you with me, or me with you. Will
you swear that?”

  Connie thought that she would rip herself in two if she didn’t cum soon, and she finger-fucked Clara hard, trying to tip her over but to no avail.

  “Swear,” Clara persisted, frigging her back and stretching Connie’s tight hole as she pushed more fingers inside.

  “Is this a proposal, Clara?” Connie eventually managed to ask, her voice strained and her breathing ragged.

  Silence for a moment. Then. “Yes.”

  Connie groaned, an onion skin’s breadth away from orgasm. “Then I do,” she whispered, “I will. I swear. I’m yours, but on one condition.”

  “Name it,” Clara gasped, clambering on top of her and roughly groping her friend’s small but excited breasts.

  “That you kiss me. Now...”

  Clara didn’t reply but simply ate up Connie’s mouth with her soft pink lips, feeling her lover’s tongue enter her and fill her up, awaken her beyond any feelings of arousal that she had ever previously experienced as their orgasm exploded and thousands of fireworks detonated all over her brain.

  Chapter 3

  True to his word Creepy Clive took the finished film to Tonnelli, the boss of the Mermaid Club, and their movie premiered there that week. The audience, mainly sailors from the fleet, cheered their soap bubble antics lustily, and, standing wreathed in smoke by the projection stand at the back of the club, Tonnelli gave Clive a reserved nod.

  “OK, make another,” he said quietly, “but show a little pussy this time, then, maybe, we’ll talk money...”

  ***

  “Do you mind people seeing your pussy?” Clara asked thoughtfully as they got ready for bed in the small hours of the morning, after dancing till the Mermaid shut down on the first night of their second movie premiere.

  Connie thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No, not really, if they’ve seen my ass they might as well see my crack too. But, hell, forty dollars each. They’re paying more to see fresh clam, so why should we care?”

  Clara shook her head. “I just wish I could keep it only for you,” she said pensively, “I know I can’t, of course, not if we’re gonna be big movie stars and all that, but I still wish I could...”

  Connie kissed her softly. “You know I belong to you, whatever happens, don’t you, Lover?”

  “I guess,” Clara said in a small voice, “but I still wish I didn’t gotta share you.”

  Connie pulled her tight sheath dress up and over her head, leaving herself naked save for a pair of tiny silk panties so sheer that Clara could see every detail of her exquisite pussy through them. “How about then,” she kissed into her friend’s ear, “that I put on a little private show just for you?”

  Clara nodded. “I’d like that, Baby, I’d like that very much.”

  Their apartment was far up in the attic of the old rooming house and well away from other tenants, so Connie turned the radio on low and draped a chiffon scarf over the tiny bedside lamp, immediately bathing the room in a soft orange glow. The radio was playing an old Ruth Etting song, Dancing With Tears in My Eyes, and, picking up another transparent scarf, Connie began to slowly undulate her slim body in time to the sad old melody.

  “I’m dancing with tears in my eyes...” she mouthed, her body swaying in mesmerising rhythm to Etting’s broken-hearted voice, “cause the girl in my arms isn’t you. Dancing with somebody new, though it’s you that my heart’s calling to...”

  “Oh, that’s such a sad song,” Clara said in a small voice from the big empty bed, “come down here, Connie, come and hold me and tell me you love me.”

  “On my way, Lover,” her friend replied, letting the scarf float to the ground and stepping out of her panties.

  ***

  They lay cradled in each other’s arms later, naked and almost spent, but still too buzzed to sleep. In the dead-of-night stillness they could hear the distant cries of gulls and the restless pounding of the surf as the morning tide came lazily in, and the first glimmers of dawn were already staining the night sky a tentative blood red.

  “Do you wish you’d had more lovers before you met me?” Connie suddenly asked, breaking the spun-glass silence of their bond.

  Clara smiled and squeezed her pal’s little breast affectionately. “No, Baby Doll, you’re all I’ll ever need.”

  But Connie persisted. “Did you ever love anyone, you know, really care for them, before you met me?”

  Clara laughed and kissed her. “Are you asking me to tell you about who came before you? It’s a short list.”

  Connie nestled closer, suddenly aroused again. “Tell me anyway,” she whispered. “I’ll play with you while you do it...”

  ***

  “I never had any what you might call official boyfriends,” Clara began, parting her legs slightly to let Connie’s curious little fingers explore her immaculately shaved quim, “but I did do some stuff some men back home.”

  “Hmmm, tell me everything,” Connie purred, finding her friend’s stiff little clit and teasing it. “I want to know all about your sordid past.”

  “Well, my Daddy was pretty strict and no boys could call at the house or take me to a dance or anything, but there was this one boy called Willard as was the son of the pastor, and he went to the same Bible class as I did, and, sometimes, in the winter when it was dark, he would see me home if my Daddy couldn’t come pick me up. Well, they must have thought that Willard was quite safe, what with him being the son of the reverend and all, and he was usually the perfect gentleman, not taking my arm or anything, but one night something must have gotten into him and the devil took hold.”

  Connie raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

  “It was a particularly vicious night in February, Bible-black and colder than Antarctica, with sleety rain slashing at our faces as we ran from the church to our house. It was only four blocks, and normally there was street lights, but the wind must have blown the gas out and it was blacker than pitch out there.

  We were gasping for breath, it was so cold, when Willard suddenly grabs me and drags me into the porch of Johnstone’s Stores, and the next thing I know he’s kissing me and declaring undying love.

  “Willard, what the heck are you playing at?” I demanded as soon as I managed to work free of his slobbering lips and push him back, “what’s come over you, Boy?”

  “I love you, Miss Clara,” he blurted, “I’ve loved you all my life. Feel me, see how much I love you!”

  He grabbed my hand and pushed it on his you-know-what, and, shit the boy wasn’t exaggerating. He surely was hard. Well, I was a well-brought-up Baptist girl and not used to this sort of attention, and I blushed pure scarlet, but Hell if I didn’t just keep my hand where it was, fascinated by that huge living beast that was pulsing away down there.

  Willard was groaning, “Kiss me, kiss me,” but I certainly didn’t have any intention of doing any such thing, but there was a fire in my pussy the like of which I hadn’t ever felt before and I sure as hell wanted to do something about it.

  I knew that my Mama knew just how long it took me to walk from the church to our house, so there wasn’t much time, so I quickly tugged the buttons of his pants open and put my hand inside, stunned by the heat of him. He was groaning like a stuck pig by now, pleading with me to kiss him and marry him and God knows what else, so I put my other hand to his mouth to quiet him, gripping his big smooth cock tightly while I did so.

  “Willard,” I said to him, trying to sound stern and failing, “I ain’t gonna kiss you or marry you or anything, but I’ll pleasure you here and now if you show me how. Now, are you gonna be a good boy and be quiet? Nod if you are. Okay, that’s good, now take my hand and show me what you like.”

  The preacher’s wife had given all of us girls a talk on how we’d all burn in Hell if we ever even thought about touching ourselves, much less any boy who wasn�
��t our husband, but we’d all done it anyways, and I already knew just how to make myself cum with just a few strokes, a bit like you’re doing to me now, but Willard’s equipment was new to me and I wasn’t sure just how to operate it. He soon put that right, though.

  I know now that his cock wasn’t very thick but it was very long and very, very hard, a bit like a young sapling branch that’d been whittled clean of its bark, and I ran my hand up and down it, squeezing and tugging like he said. Outside of that porch the wind was howling like a banshee wail, which was good as it drowned out the all noise he was making, his big white cock gleaming like a ghost elm against his dark clothes as I worked him up and down, his cum suddenly shooting out of him like a whale’s waterspout, and splashing my hand like hot oil off the stove.

  He flopped back with the force of it, flattening himself against the store’s shuttered windows and panting like a gun dog after the hunt, and I seized the moment and ran from him, running through that stormy night like all the devils in Hell were after me, locking myself in the house and then acting normal until bedtime so I could go upstairs and touch myself, biting the bed sheets when I came so that I wouldn’t cry out and wake my baby sister.

  ***

  “And did you grease Willard’s pole again?” Connie asked, covering Clara’s neck with little kisses as she oiled her finger round her clit, delighting in how hot and wet her partner had become.

  Clara shook her head. “No. The fool went and told his best friend what we’d done, and it wasn’t long before the whole town knew. I heard my Daddy saying that he was going to have me locked up in a convent so I packed my bags and ran that night, hitched my way to New York in Mack Trucks, fucking any driver that had a rubber in exchange for food and fare. And that, my darlin’, is my story. So, in answer to your question, no, I’ve never loved anybody before you and had enough of men and their big knobbly cocks to last me a lifetime.”

  Connie kissed her slow and hard. “I’m glad,” she whispered, “cause I couldn’t bear sharing you.”