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Subject: Angeline's Portrait g2 (Mf, extr pedo, exhib, voy, mast, oral, cons)
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Date: Thu, 17 Feb 2005 12:16:04 -0800
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Angeline's Portrait g2 (Mf, extr pedo, exhib, voy, mast, oral, cons)
by ltlgrl69
I am a photographer by trade. Some would say I am blessed with a gift;
others, that I am cursed by it. My work is highly sought after. I am
expensive, but when you receive the final product, the thought of the
expense immediately escapes you. I craft from something that is
non-existent into an unbelievable image. Breathtaking, in fact.
My specialty is portraits. Male or female, young or old. I have
photographed every single type of human being on the earth. I have
transformed the ugly into the beautiful. The innocent into the
unabandoned. The shy into the extrovert. And it all comes out on the
print.
Besides being expensive, I am also demanding. People who hire me know my
conditions ahead of time. To ask otherwise is folly. The rules I work
under are quite simple. I work alone. I work one-on-one. I work at my
own pace.
I have no nor do I need an assistant. I work only with the subject;
there is no one else allowed in the room with me when I am working. No
matter how old or how young the subject may be. Sometimes I work fast,
sometimes I am painstakingly slow. But the end result is always the
same--magnificence.
If I may sound cocky to you, then so be it. Until this very day I have
always been far superior to anyone else; not only in my field, but also
among other humans. I generate top quality, I display top quality, I
expect top quality treatment and respect. And I get it.
I have always been the one in control. Always the one who has the upper
hand. That is how I control my subject and how I am able to create such
a masterpiece of photographic art. I am the best there is and shall ever
be. No one has ever brought me to my knees--until I met Angeline.
The first time I saw sweet Angeline I immediately faltered in my
discussion of the expense with the subject's mother. What would normally
be a commonplace gambit turned out to be a highly confused state of
affairs.
She was just a wisp of a waif, peering out at me from behind her
mother's long skirt. Seemingly shy, Angeline teetered unsteadily on her
feet, holding on dearly to mom's pleats. Angeline, her mother informed
me, had just turned 18 months old. She was quite the fast learner too, I
was told, in that she was able to stand and walk on her own for quite
some distance before she either fell forwards onto her outstretched
hands or backwards onto her softly padded derierre.
I immediately saw the fantastical beginnings of what a fine portrait I
could create using this little girl's, this little toddler's, visage.
Her beauty enraptured me in such a way that no subject has ever done. To
try and describe her would no doubt cause me great distress, for fear
that I would not do her justice. But I shall try, for the dear reader's
sake.
Angeline had soft brown hair lying straight on her head. The front part
of it lay in waves down over her forehead. She had a round face, typical
of babies her age, and a cute little semi-flattened nose that seemed
perfect for her cherubic smile. Her mouth was as if the goddess of
beauty herself had shaped it and placed it below her nose. Her lips were
bow- shaped, thin and soft-looking.
Her eyes were the greenest I had ever seen. They pierced your very soul
when she stared at you, as if she was looking into your heart to see
what your intentions were. This may seem strange to you, dear reader,
but then you have not cast your eyes upon her. I have.
I was commissioned to do a portrait for Madame Rothschilde of young
Angeline. Madame Rothschilde knew of my rules and therefore conceded to
me to leave Angeline
alone with me, as was my usual custom.
There would be no problem, I had assured Mme. Rothschilde, because I
have always seemed to have a certain way with children, of all ages.
Besides, I had added, Angeline seemed to be quite the obedient little
todder.
I am not sure if Angeline had understood what I had told Madame, but she
looked right at me and smiled a smile so warming that I felt weak in my
knees while standing there.
I agreed to the payment and was informed that Angeline would be in my
studio in a fortnight.
I would have to wait two weeks to see my lovely beauty again. But I was
as patient a man as I was an artist.
----------------------------------------------
Angeline was brought to my studio exactly as promised. I was informed
that she had been just fed and changed, and therefore I should have no
problems with her. I was given a supply of baby food and juice and
several pairs of disposable baby diapers called Pampers. I was no
stranger to babies, my own sister having had three of them, so I was
more than amply able to care for Angeline if the situation should arise.
The extra supplies were offered and needed because in order to create my
magic, much time would be needed. How long no one knew. Not even me. It
might happen in a few hours. It might happen in a few days. But I was
prepared for either.
I carried Angeline over to the set I had prepared for her session. Mme.
Rothschilde had wished for a schooltime motif, so I had arranged a
sparse, simple yet conducive arrangement of
a raised platform covered with black felt, an old- fashioned oversized
teacher's bell, and a small missal-book that Angeline could hold and be
pretending to read.
Mme. Rothschilde had dressed Angeline for the part of the prim
schoolgirl, even though Angeline's schooling days lay many years in the
future. Angeline was wearing a white long- sleeved cotton slipover top
with a small picture of a black poodle on the chest. She wore a
red and white tartan skirt, short, exposing most of her chubby white
baby thighs. She wore
red knit knee high socks, with aerated cystules running up and down the
sides. The cuffs of her socks were thick bands, topped with a scalloped
edging that ran around her white skin right underneath her knobby knees.
Black Mary Jane shoes, shiny and brand new, adorned her small feet.
In her brown hair was a matching red and white plaid hairband, not
retarding her hair from falling down her forehead; rather, it allowed
her brunette locks to cascade down her sloping brow in bangs.
I sat Angeline on the raised platform and stepped back in order to
survey her. She
followed me with her green eyes, not saying a word, even though I had
been told by Madame
that she was able to articulate some sounds. If she understood what was
about to transpire, that I was going to create a portrait of her that
would be the envy of all the other children on the earth, she gave no
clue. She sat there quietly and gently--watching me.
Her tartan skirt covered her upper legs primly. Her legs dangled off of
the platform, her feet pointed downwards. I handed her the missal-
book and she took it, unquestioningly. She looked at it as some babies
do, turning it this way and that as if trying to find something that
would unlock its mysteries. Or maybe she was just looking for where it
opened. I am not the one to say.
I stepped back behind my camera and fired off a few shots in rapid
succession. Angeline heard the clicks and whirrs and looked up, her
green eyes searching for the source of the sound.
"It's just the camera, Angeline!" I said, talking to her for the first
time.
"Can you smile for me, Angeline?" I asked her, not knowing if she even
understood what I was saying.
Angeline just continued staring at me, eyes unblinking. Mouth unsmiling.
But stll she remained beautiful. I moved to my right, her
eyes followed me. I moved to my left, again, her eyes followed, but her
head never turned.
I fired off more shots, and her eyes darted to the camera, resting on
its tripod. She seemed at first confused; I was over to her right, away
from the camera, but the camera was clicking away. How was I doing that?
her eyes seemed to ask.
The cord in my hand was attached to a small button which when I
depressed it worked the camera. It was this method by which I was able
to obtain shots that took my subjects either unawares or by surprise.
But Angeline seemed to become wise to the situation rather quickly.
For her tender age she was remarkably astute. When I would move around
her, sometimes even going behind her in order to force her to
turn her head, when the clicking sounded, she no longer turned to the
source of the sound. She knew, I swear she knew, that I was
controlling the camera from where I was.
After about an hour of shooting, film changing and countless efforts to
get Angeline to smile even a little bit, I took a break. I offered some
juice to Angeline who refused with a shake of her head. I drank some red
wine, sipping it and tasting its bouquet. Angeline was extremely
non-fidgety for an 18 month old girl. She sat there unerringly, never
complaining, never crying, never making any facial expressions at all.
Somehow, I was going to get her to smile.
After our small break, it was back to the project at hand. I re-arranged
some of Ageline's hair on her brow, fixing it just right. I positoned
her
legs a little farther apart to attain some density to the photos. I
situated her skirt by taking it from the sides and putting it in between
her little legs, covering her crotch with it. This had the effect of
leaving her upper thighs bare, but modestly covering her groin. I
stepped back
behind the camera and looked through the lens.
I used the 30x zoom lens and focused in on a tight close-up. Her eyes
bore into me through the camera lens. I panned down over her body,
taking in all the sharp details. The little black poodle on her chest.
The waistband of her tartan skirt. The white skin of her chubby thighs.
The tops of her red knit knee high socks.
Everything about Angeline was perfect! I looked up from behind the
camera and gazed at her over its top. A vision of true loveliness if
there ever was one personified. She shifted her stare from the camera
lens over to me suddenly and I depressed the button in my hand and fired
off a few quick shots. Perfect!
Angeline sensed that she had been had, for she looked quite sternly at
me, as if expressing her displeasure at my having caught her by surprise
for the first time. I walked on up to her, looked her right in the eyes.
"We will come to terms, will we not soon, Angeline?" I asked her.
As if I expected an answer from an 18 month old baby.
Angeline looked deep into my eyes and suddenly I saw the tiniest little
smile appear on her lips--for the briefest of seconds--then it was gone.
You may not believe me, but it happened. I did not imagine it. When
Angeline smiled at me just then, I knew that I was in love.
Hopelessly, helplessly in love--with a toddler. At first I just felt the
kind of love you feel when something or someone is so dear to your heart
that it hurts when you think of not being close to them. But, gradually,
as I continued photographing her, it became a more intense
feeling--something feral and untamed.
Something sexual.
Yes, I know, shocking to most of you, isn't it? I can honestly say that
it was to me, too. I have always been a lover of women. Sure, I have had
some 14 and 15 year old models that I have photographed that could be
termed as
sexy. They turned me on as they would have any normal man in the same
position. But I have never felt any sexual attraction to a child
before--never! And to feel this way towards a baby girl--even at 18
months old--was preposterous!
But there I was, gazing at sweet little Angeline as if she were my
romantic lover and I was about to seduce her into my bed.
I decided that another break was in order so I sat down and poured
myself some more wine. I again offered Angeline some of her juice, but
again she refused sweetly by shaking her head.
I sipped the wine, thinking hard. How was I going to get this portrait
done when all I could
think about was sweet little Angeline sitting there on the platform
wearing her little schoolgirl outfit looking so sexy? Oh God, was I
going mad? I stared across the room at her
sitting there, legs still spread apart; motionless.
She held her pose like a professional.
I am not exactly sure if what I saw next was a figment of my imagination
or if it actually occurred. But as I was gazing lovingly at Angeline,
she suddenly reached down between her legs and with one hand lifted up
her tartan skirt that was covering her crotch. She did not hold it up
and expose herself to me as if saying,
"Look! Here it is! This is what you wanted to see, isn't it?"
Rather, she lifted up her skirt for a moment before dropping it down
again into its original
position. But in that brief moment I caught a glimpse of the pink pair
of Pampers that she was wearing. They seemed to fit rather snugly over
her vee, held in place at her hips by Velcro snaps. The Pampers were not
the thick kind of disposable diapers that toddlers sometime wear, but,
rather, they were thin, and quite small. For Angeline was quite small
herself, in case I fogot to mention it to you, dear reader.
Angeline voiced no reason. She betrayed no emotion with her face. She
just continued to stare at me fixedly like before.
I finished my glass, and stood to continue the session. It was then that
I felt the improbable. My penis was starting to grow erect in my pants.
How could this be? Surely it was the wine. Yes, that was it! The wine
went to my head and in turn caused me to become tumescent. But deep down
inside I knew better.
Trying not to think of it, I walked towards Angeline and stood in front
of her. She stared at me intently. I visualized her pink Pampers in my
mind and felt my penis grow longer and harder. I saw Angeline's eyes
shift away from my own stare and dart downwards. No! It couldn't be! She
wouldn't know what..........
But sure enough, Angeline's gaze was now fixated on the front of my
pants, at the growing bulge there. Surely this toddler girl could not
know what she was looking at! How could she comprehend? But there she
was--gazing interestedly at my erection.
I moved away from her. Her eyes followed my body. I moved back in front
of her--she locked onto my crotch. As I stared hard at her face, another
smile seemed to play across her lips. Amazing!
I am not now sure when I lost control of all reality and all that is
sane, but I can say now that there was no demarcation line. There wasn't
a period where I struggled with my feelings, shocked at my thoughts, and
then voluntarily decided to do what I then ultimately did. No, rather,
it just happened. Just like that. One time I was photographing a
beautful young 18 month old girl, and the next I was sinking into a pit
of depravity.
Only to me, it wasn't depraved. I didn't feel like I was doing anything
wrong. It felt absolutely normal. I was in love with this little siren
and I
wanted to share that love with her.
So I showed her my penis.
With Angeline's green eyes staring at my pants crotch, I reached for my
zipper. I began to tug it down, opening my pants. Angeline's eyes seemed
to widen as my undershorts came into view. But that was impossible,
wasn't it? How could she know what lay await underneath?
I was wearing boxer shorts, so I reached inside and pulled out my
semi-erect penis. My cock.
My manhood. I displayed my cock to Angeline's eyes wantonly and
lustfully. And she never took her eyes off of it.
I was about three feet in front of her. If I would have been any closer,
I am fearful of what I may have done next. As it was, I proceeded to
stroke myself with my hand. In my other hand I still held the camera
button. While I stroked my cock in front of this lovely toddler girl in
her
schoolgirl uniform I depressed the button, firing off several shots of
me debauching myself.
My cock continued to grow harder and longer as I stroked it. Little
Angeline watched with
interest and what I can only describe here to you as wonderment. Soon,
my cock was at its fullest length and girth. It stood straight out from
my opened zipper. It wavered in the air
like a bobbing rod of iron. Like a man possessed, I slowly walked
forwards, closer to sweet Angeline.
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