Hot Flash!: For the Camera

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It was little more than a warehouse, a wide space with a backdrop at the far end, a bed surrounded by lighting rigs poised just outside the faux bedroom created there. One camera was already set up on the tripod, another in the hand of the photographer, Carlos. Kira waited outside for her manager for almost twenty minutes before entering the building alone.

Carlos was in his mid-thirties, with close-cropped dark hair and a matching beard. The camera around his neck was a real throwback, and Kira admired the lines of the bulky thing, which must have been fifty years old or more. The lens protruded from the base with one of those accordion-like attachments and Carlos had to look down, holding the camera against his belly, when he viewed the world through it.

“You’re here!” he exclaimed, approaching Kira, the heels of his cowboy boots thumping on the cement floor, echoing in the mostly-empty building. “Sorry for the drive.”

“No problem, Carlos, I’d drive to the ends of the earth to have you shoot me again. Have you seen or heard from Miranda?”

“I’m afraid I have not.”

Carlos took her elegantly decorated hands in his own and planted a kiss on each of Kira’s cheeks, stepping back to admire his model. At 33. she was stunning, with high Nordic cheekbones and a prim mouth that suggested aristocracy. She was tall and lean, with a body that looked just as alluring with clothing or without. More than a decade ago, she had been the most sought-after model in the world, and her home was filled with framed magazine covers showcasing her unreal beauty.

There is an inherent cruelty in a business based solely on appearance, and Kira had sense her extinction from the world of modeling for five years, now. The advertisers and publishers consistently wanted younger, fresher-faced women to grace their commercials and covers, and Kira was more known now for her appearances than she was her modeling jobs. Miranda, who should have been at Kira’s side, booked the gig with Carlos at a time when the phones rang less and less for Kira. Despite the strangeness of the location and the vagueness of the shoot, Kira could no longer afford to turn down jobs, especially with a photographer as well regarded as Carlos Vinetti.

“Where did you get that antique?” she smiled, brilliantly white teeth on display.

“This,” Carlos said with his hint of Italian accent, “is a family heirloom. Only the most beautiful women, the most ravishing beauties, may be captured by this camera.”

“Flatterer,” Kira said with a wave of her hand.

There was only one other soul in the room, a pale, balding man who paced nervously near the makeshift set. He was chewing on the end of half a cigar, glancing furtively at Carlos and Kira.

“Who’s that?” she asked Carlos, nodding to the stranger.

“That’s a potential investor. His name is Reynolds, but you can forget he’s here.”

“As long as this isn’t a nude shoot and he keeps his cell in his pocket. What are we shooting, anyway?”

Carlos took Kira by the elbow, admiring the long, slender legs shaped in part sophisticated heels. Her dress was a black-and-white affair with a swirling skirt that flowed up her thighs in quick, tantalizing billows. Her hair was in a tight bun at the side of her head, her makeup exquisitely done. This close, Carlos could also see the crow’s feet extending from the corners of her eyes and the lines beginning to carve into her skin around her mouth.

“Yes, I apologize for the mystery. This is a personal shoot for me and you. Something to announce we are both here and vibrant. No artifice, no hair and make-up, only that bed and your beauty and whatever you choose to bring to the session. Let your spirit soar, Kira.”

“Nothing nude,” she admonished, a finger raised like a silent exclamation point.

“Of course not. You are Kira Clark, not some pornography actress.”

They both turned as Reynolds barked a laugh, then held his hands up in apology.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice raspy with a lifetime of smoking. “Just thinkin’ about a joke I heard.”

“Quiet. That is the arrangement.”

“I got it, I got it,” the stranger said, a cloud running over his features as he chewed his cigar more aggressively.

“Forgive him,” Carlos said, “and take your position whenever you are ready. Shoes on or off, hair up or down, it does not matter to me. I want to see the real you.”

Kira nodded gravely, running through her personal inventory of looks and angles, then took Carlos by the hands again.

“I am in your hands today, Carlos. I am your clay.”

“Then let us begin.”

Kira left her shoes behind as she crawled onto the bed, wrinkling her nose at the bright pink set. It looked almost childlike in its bright pastel glow, but Kira assumed Carlos knew what he was doing. She held a pose – her leg bent, back arched, head tossed back to look at the ceiling, arms supporting her from behind – as Carlos mounted his ancient camera and lined up the shot.

“How is this?” Kira asked, keeping her body perfectly still. She had learned long ago to keep a pose until she was told to change or the pain of holding it grew too intense.

“Perfect,” Carlos grinned, “but tilt your head to me. Look directly into the lens.”

Kira made the adjustment, staring at the top of Carlos’s head as he peered down into the camera viewer.

“Just like that and…”

CLICK!

Kira blinked hard against the flash and shook her head. “Sorry… I guess I wasn’t expecting such a bright flash.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, seeing a wall of bright pink behind her closed lids. It was a wall against her thoughts, making it difficult to concentrate.

“This way, one more time.”

“I’m trying… my head…”

“Look at me, Kira,” Carlos repeated and Kira obeyed, fixing her eyes on the camera’s lens aimed at her.

‘Strange,’ she thought, ‘I don’t see a flash, but-‘

CLICK!

Kira collapsed onto the bed, the heels of her hands pressed against her closed eyes. That flash was burning her, searing her brain. It was as if a beam of pink light was transmitted directly into her skull where it was trapped, pushing and stretching her brain.

“Are you alright, Kira?” Carlos asked from some distant place beyond The Pink.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice sounding odd in her ears. Then again, everything seemed odd. Her own body felt uncomfortable and itchy, a weird displacement beneath her skin. She had to focus just to remember she was in the middle of a shoot.

“Why not let your hair down?” Carlos prompted.

“Sure,” she said thickly, wincing again at the spikes of pain she felt streaking through her head.

She fumbled with the pins holding the bun close to her head and tossed her hair, the silky locks whipping around her head. She frowned looking down at her shoulder, seeing the light blonde strands clinging to her dress.

“What?” she asked stupidly.

“Back to the camera,” Carlos prompted her and Kira let thoughts of her hair evaporate and turned to the camera.

CLICK!

Another piercing ray of The Pink in her mind, swirling there, devouring her attention and awareness. She was on her back again, turning her head to avoid the bright pink light, but it wormed its way into her mind again, uncoiling and filling it. Her body was alight with sensation, some painful, especially her legs and arms where the joints and bones screamed at her, while others were blindingly arousing. Never one to deny herself the pleasures of the flesh, Kira enjoyed her partners intensely, but she had never felt such an aching need to be touched. Within the wall of The Pink, Kira saw every flavor of sexual imagery. For a moment, all she could concentrate on was cock, pale and thin, thick and black, curved and veiny, straight and long… She licked her lips unconsciously, imagining her lips sinking down one of these ghostly shafts, then whimpered as the images shifted to women. Her mind exploded with pictures of pussies, some trimmed, some shaved, some hairy, all opening for her, revealing the pink slickness within.

“Fuck,” She moaned aloud, embarrassed at first, but she couldn’t deny the hunger inside her.

“Is she alright?” the stranger asked Carlos.

Kira’s eyes were still blinded by the camera, but she could make out the voices discussing her, even as she writhed on the bed. She had to hold her wrist to keep her hand from tearing at her skirt, fumbling into her underwear to sink her fingers inside herself.

She thought of every man and woman who propositioned her. Working as a model, there were those who assumed this was code for a very high-priced and exclusive escort, a notion Kira was quick to dispel, despite the power and attractiveness of the solicitor. There was a pang of regret now that she considered all the potential lovers she’d dismissed, all the pleasures she had disallowed herself.

“She will be,” Carlos said. “In a manner of speaking.”

Kira knew they were talking about her, but she couldn’t focus longer than a few seconds, distracted by the diminishing aches in her body and the heat raging in her sex. The Pink was fading, like water called back to the sea by the tide, leaving behind its residue. Kira’s mind was sticky with The Pink, and bits of it clung to every thought and memory.

“So, that camera… It’s magic or something?”

“It’s an old magic, an enchantment that reverses the usual camera. We’re projecting instead of capturing. All the subject has to do is look in the lens and I snap a picture. Do it enough times, the picture in the camera becomes the person you’re photographing.”

The stranger chuckled. “It’s doin’ a hell of a number on our girl, here.”

Kira giggled at the sound of the men speaking. It sounded important, but if it didn’t directly relate to Kira having her pussy filled and soon, she didn’t much care. She examined her hands, surprised to see her nails long and curved, pink with cheap rhinestones fixed into the tips.

“Pretty,” she said and lapsed into another fit of giggles.

Carlos and his unkempt companion watched as Kira rolled onto her back and kicked her legs in the air, scissoring her feet as she laughed and squirmed.

“So, is she, you know… done?”

Carlos shook his head, admiring the developing beauty on the bed. “Not quite. It will take a few days for her new self to settle into place, but the foundation is laid. What was Kira Clark is gone. That woman is someone else.”

“Who?”

“Up to you, I suppose. You’re her new manager.”

Another low chuckle. “I’m thinking something sexy for her name… like Candy Cumz.”

This drew another giggle from the blonde on the bed. She spun onto her belly and sat on her knees, looking at the men before her. Carlos had initiated these changes before, but it never failed to amaze him how totally the transformation could occur. Where the Kira who walked in was long and svelte, this girl looked almost a decade younger, long blonde hair spilling down her back and shoulders to frame a wide and dumbly curious face. Even her makeup was paler to accentuate the light tan of her body.

The small breasts of a fashion model were replaced by two mounds of caramel-tipped flesh, huge mammaries straining at the top of the dress. To match, the skirt clung greedily to Kira’s newly-wide hips, her legs thicker and shorter, as were her arms. There would be no mistaking this girl for Kira, nor was there any doubt what was on her mind as she stared at Carlos and her new manager, a finger in her mouth, cheeks hollowed as she sucked the tip.

“My god, she is one delicious piece of ass,” the balding man said in true admiration. “I mean, I seen plenty of girls but this one is something special. She’s gonna be a star.”

“She always was,” Carlos said, somewhat remorseful. His regret was tempered by his knowledge that Kira Clark’s modeling career was over. Rather than subject her to a life of reality shows and unfair comparisons to beauty long-gone, Kira’s former manager, Miranda, and Carlos had agreed that this would give Kira a measure of happiness, even if it meant reducing her mind and body to something less than she had been.

“You got any film in that other camera?”

“It’s digital,” Carlos replied.

“Fine,” the seedy stranger said, “I want a couple of shots for promotion, if ya don’t mind.”

“Let’s make it quick, huh?”

“I brought her a change of clothes,” Candy’s manager grinned around the cigar. “She’s gonna be hot.”

Carlos’s work was beyond reproach, and the head shots for Candy Cumz were gorgeous. In them, Kira’s clothes had been stripped away, Candy’s new body covered by a band of pink material barely containing her heavy tits, her ass and legs bared by a pink thong. The pink set highlighted the seductive expression on the face of the sexpot, even as she cuddled a matching pink teddy bear. The photos appeared on Vizor’s web site, the premiere online pornography studio. When the pictures hit the ‘net, there was an immediate response. People wanted to know who this new starlet was and where they could see her in action.

Reynolds, Candy Cumz’ manager, was eager to reveal his newest star. His trademark cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth, he watched as Candy was led to the bedroom set where she would shoot her first scene.

He wondered if she realized she was even doing a movie. Candy was many things, but bright would not fit well in her description. On the other hand, Reynolds could vouch for her cocksucking first-hand. The first night he’d brought her home to his house, far nicer than his clothes and demeanor suggested, he’d shown Candy her new room across the hall from another young starlet. Even then, Reynolds wasn’t sure how much Candy comprehended, but when she pulled him by his battered coat into her new bedroom, he had followed without hesitation.

Most of the new girls required a drink or two, maybe even a puff or two, but Candy was given over to her new life, as much choice as she had in the matter. Before Reynolds could assist, Candy had his pants around his ankles, ooohing over his cock as it grew to life before her eyes. With a giggle and a glance up into Reynolds’ eyes, her mouth devoured his member, tongue circling and teasing while she sucked eagerly at his root. When she felt him tensing, Candy released her lip-lock on his member and leaned back, finishing him off with a steady stroke of his cock, moaning as his seed splashed against her lips, chin and chest. She licked her lips clean and rose, pulling him to the unmade bed, heedless of who might have last occupied it. She spun and wiggled her ass at him as Candy removed the pink thong she was born into. The sight of her round, naked ass inspired his erection to hold fast. Clutching her hips, Reynolds eased his tingling length into her shaved pussy. It was the silkiest, hottest, tightest pussy Reynolds had yet to encounter, and her enthusiastic rhythm milked another orgasm from him.

Over the next week, Reynolds treated Candy to shopping trips and nights of passion, but it didn’t take long to realize how insatiable his newest star was. She’d even managed to bring his shy starlet across the hall out of her shell, and the two were nearly inseparable as they explored Reynolds’ home and each other’s bodies.

Watching Candy approach her first scene in an actual film was akin to seeing a Hollywood star in an early role. She was inexperienced, yes, but she stunned her fellow actor, a young man with an impressively large cock, by impaling herself on his rod before the director called action. Seeing her ride the actor, hands on her huge tits as her hair bounced along with the rest of her, Reynolds said two small prayers of thanks – one for a life that allowed money to be made from the miracle of sex, and the second for the camera that could turn an aging model into the greatest porn actress he’d ever seen.

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