Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
PLAY MUSIC
Black curly hair, a tight leather dress cupping nice, plump breast in an exposing matter, tied together by a choke necklace and gloves. A dominatrix model poses in my studio. She tilts her upper body forward, bending forward, and outstretches her legs to her side, smacking a whip in her palm. Jason sits, stiff as a board, on his chair, mouth opened more than slightly. "Hey." I snap my fingers at him. "Work."
I snap the picture of the dominate woman, of course turned on, but unlike Jason, a man, I can reserve myself. My white light blazes the room. "Good, now lift yo..."
Before I can finish the sentence, the model props one glossy, perfect leg onto a stool beside her. The skinniest heel pillar clings against the top of the stool, black and red like a widow spider. "I want this chair as a belt buckle, the hook part, and my heel inside one of the holes." The model's French accent almost sings. "The belt must have ridges in it."
"Of course." I snap multiple pictures as a dark version of Personal Jesus's plays.
The subject let's the whips fringe land on her crotch and fall past her private area, dangling, my camera captures this. "Hector, come." Like a pet, her man, dressed in nothing but tight leather jeans, is summoned. "On the floor." She orders. The man, or prisoner, bed pans onto the floor before her like a fish. The model sits on top of his bare, muscular back, crossing her legs so that each are placed beside his shoulders. She places one hand under her neck, the other on his head. She passive aggressively clutches his hair with her fingers. I snap the scene, flashing white over them both. The sequence goes one as such, only including the man being tied by the wrist while lying down, and even spanked a few times. With the last part I had to change camera angles, of course.
The viewing and checkout was pleasant, the man smiled eagerly at the pictures, grabbing his girlfriend's ass in a cocky manner. "Do you like them?" He's American, now the puppy act makes sense....exotic women spell bond these type of men.
"Yes, pay this artist, sweetie." His girl says softly, yet still holding severity, or that could be her accent confusing me.
The man pays more than the asking price, $280. I nearly yelp at the bills he hands over, but I stay stoic for business's sake. "Thank you for your time, do accept a 25% discount off your next shoot."
"Adorable, au revoir!" The model shrieks hyperly.
Again, the music plays on, seeking into the customers minds as they leave the studio. Like fucking programming, I shouldn't have to resort to this. This, which is no different than the damn witch that lured Hansel and Gretal. I yawn and drop the camera which is attached around my neck with a collar. My restless eyes watch as Jason edits the photos, numbing my senses with the sound of the music like alcohol.
The computer mouse clicks, Jason drags adjustment levels, clarifying, tone correcting, and interverting one of the photos, transitioning it to a white and black ghost mode. "I'll be done in an hour." He reports.
"You can go if you want." As I say this I hear nothing but depression in my voice.
Jason turns, swirling in a modern computer chair, shaped like a white cup cut in half. "I think you might have a concussion..." Nothing in his voice hints at sarcasm.
"I'm just tired...and sleep isn't the issue. This is what I get from my creation...two clients a week, at rarest three. I know it's the location, I know it's this waiting for clients deal. This is nowhere near how I pictured GroundZero. Me happily bowing at the thought of pity cash, scrapping social media, low on business quota, dressing up a studio with fake walls." My teeth grit. "Being a commissions agency instead of a runway...photographing generic art." The music bumps the walls around us.
"It'll get better." Jason stays positive.
"No, this will get worst." My eyes droop. "Just take the day off, it doesn't matter."
My editor stands, nears me, and lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. My eyes water...my mouth dries, my throat closes up. "You just need sleep...don't worry, I have a surprise plan that'll save the company."
"What?" I say, channeling a child who has good news after a tantrum.
"Umm...well, rest first, I'll tell you tomorrow."
"Meaning your ass just lied." I glower at him.
"No." He snickers with a scrunched face. "I just need to add a few finishing touches."
