Free Escapades of an Erotic Spy - Part 1 A Spy is Born by Lexington Manheim Page B

moments
simply to admire the fullness of my own free-swinging bubs. Sitting
where I was on the rear seat, my view of Nanette was restricted to
her back and ass. However, I assumed her tits did themselves as
proud as mine. An artist like Monsieur
Robinet would never select a model with a lesser bosom!
    Flash .
    "Lean forward more." As he loaded fresh
film, the photographer directed me to lower my shoulders. I
complied by moving a couple of inches. "More," he instructed.
"More…more…."
    I was so low that my nipples were now
rubbing against Nanette's bottom.
    "Bon!" The old man had gotten what he wanted. "Hold
still."
    Flash.
    "C'est bon," the artist murmured in low tones. "C'est érotique. Les filles nu sur la bicyclette
en la rue. Two girls riding the bicycle
naked through the city. Can you imagine?"
    This was the first time I'd heard such talk
from Monsieur Robinet, but I knew what he was up to. He was trying
to get us thinking sexy thoughts—the kind that would evoke the sort
of naughty facial expressions and body language that would make the
photographs that much more erotic and, I assume, that much more
marketable to an audience that wanted sexual titillation in its
postcards.
    Although I can't speak for
Nanette, the bawdy talk was starting to have an effect on me. The
thought of actually doing it—two naughty ladies bicycling without
any clothes on through the streets of Paris—everyone seeing,
everyone staring, no place to hide. So fully, completely, and
publicly exposed. How utterly
embarrassing! Our big tits would be
bouncing and swinging freely as we pedaled. Our pussies would widen
with every brush against the seat, the open air cooling our
engorged sex lips. Combine that fantasy with the fact that, at that
moment, Nanette's bare ass was tickling my naked bubs, and I felt
both a stiffening of my nipples as well as a dampness on the seat.
I don't know whether my face was responding, but my tits and pussy
certainly were.
    Flash.
    My dark bubs resting on her white ass must
have made an especially intriguing image. He took four more shots
just like it before we moved on to another pose.
    That afternoon's photo
session seemed to go more quickly than the previous day's. It was
obvious Nanette had done this several times before. So I only had
to follow her lead to be a competent and efficient model. The old
man posed us in various ways on the bicycle—sitting up, facing
forward, turned toward the camera, arms over our heads, holding
hands. There was one shot in which I was given the wicker basket to
hold while the other girl reached back as though about to extract
one of the few prop flowers that had been strategically placed into
it. After that photo was taken, Monsieur Robinet instructed me to
hold the basket out behind me, as though it were being blown away
in the breeze. With the basket out of her reach, Nanette dropped
her outstretched hand and allowed it to come to rest on my thigh. I
had never had another girl touch me there. The tingle her fingers
produced on my bare flesh made me feel incredibly wicked. My
initial reaction was to brush the uninvited hand away. But I
didn't. I was being professional about it. At least, that's what I thought a professional would do.
    Flash .
    Once again, the afternoon ended with me
stepping onto the street with fresh francs in my hand. Prior to the
previous day, it had been more than a month since I had earned
wages. Now it was two days in a row that I experienced the
gratification of pay—and neither payment involved the drudgery of
scrubbing, mopping, or any other type of housecleaning.
    This, I could get used to!
    When I exited the front door, I noticed a
woman in a dark blue dress standing on the sidewalk, leaning
against the building's outer wall. It was Nanette. She had gotten
her pay first and left the studio about a minute before. Despite
having just spent the past three hours with this woman, I almost
didn't recognize her. I wasn't accustomed to seeing her