Under the Stars and Stripes (Under Him)

Her mouth hangs open like mine probably was when I first saw her.

“Five hundred dollars?” she asks. “Like, right now?”

Tony pulls out his phone.

“Yup. What do you prefer? Paypal? CashApp? Zelle? Venmo?”

She seems too stunned to speak, prompting Tony to say, “What? You’ve never heard of any of those? They’re all ways to send or receive money digtally. C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re Amish, kid.”

“No, that’s amazing,” she finally answers. “I actually just lost my waitressing job because the restaurant closed down due to Covid and this could not possibly come at a better time. Oh! And… umm, CashApp is good.”

“Here,” she says, reaching eagerly for his phone. “I’ll put in my Cashtag.”

“I guarantee you, Britt,” I say, getting one more good look at her up and down as she types on Tony’s phone, and I stare at mine. “You’re going to like this job a helluva lot more than waitressing.”

I snap a picture of her on my cell too.

She’s just so fucking gorgeous.

I fear I’ll never be able to stop taking pictures of her constantly.

“I would imagine anything is better than that hellhole I used to waitress at,” she says. “So, when do I come in for my first… um… day?”

“You’ll have a shoot in a couple days, actually,” Tony tells her. “We’ve got one scheduled and we need a model for it.”

“Great!”

She smiles and kind of bobs up-and-down on her feet before dashing toward Tony and giving him a hug, and then she runs across the room to me and gives me one, too.

I can’t tell if she’s gripping onto me a little longer than it seemed like she did to Tony, or if I’m just hoping that she is. The way that she’s pressed against me is a little tricky, considering that I’ve been fighting off a semi in my pants since I first saw her, apparently not very successfully.

Feeling her tits pressed against my chest, nearly to my chin, doesn’t do anything to help my condition, either.

I wish I could kiss her, run my lips over the apples of her checks and then her melon-sized breast.

If only we were alone and she was a bit older— actually, if I could be a bit younger, that would be even better— then I’d run my fingers through her hair and tell her how very beautiful she is.

I can tell by the shocked look on her face and the blush running up her neck into her cheeks that she doesn’t get complimented a lot. And for someone as beautiful as she is, that should change.

In my fantasy, she’d ask me to show her how beautiful I think she is, so I’d take some more photos of her. And I’d ask her first to let her hair down, and then to pull her shorts off, and her shoes before those.

Then I’d tell her to close her eyes while I grabbed a bottle of water off the table nearby before walking up behind her and pouring it over her chest so I could see those hot little nipples through that tight white t-shirt of hers.

And then I’d take more photos of her, and I’d put the camera on the tripod and grab its remote from my bag, and I’d let it take pictures of us as I pulled down her panties and ate her pussy.

I’d let it catch me coming up behind her, pulling her head to one side by the hair, and suckling on her neck and her earlobe while I groped her breast… and then my hand would slide down and pull her shirt up and off… and soon I’d let my hand travel down further so that I could finger her.

And after I’d finger-fucked her while those photos developed— right here on top of this stupid fold-up table I just beat my head against before meeting her— I’d tell her I only wanted her to model for me, no one else.

I would tell her how bad I wanted her to be mine and only mine— like a prized artifact found deep in the desert sand from times long passed.

I’d spank her ass and watch her juicy cheeks bounce back and forth as I fucked her from behind while she was bent over the table.

Oh…

Back in the real world, the hug is ending.

And thank God, too.

I’m almost fully erect.

Before she takes her hands off me, she looks up and smiles.

“Thank you,” she says. “I’m going to make you proud to have me around.”

If only she knew, I think.

But all I say is, “No problem. Welcome aboard.”

Chapter Five - Brittany

Sarah’s giving me a ride to my dad’s after a night of celebrating my newfound modeling career.

“I always said you could be a model,” she says for like the hundredth time. “It’s like I foreshadowed this very day long, long ago.”

“You did see it coming,” I say with a laugh. “And thank you for the vote of confidence by the way.”