Bluewater

The Saturday afternoon light was exactly as Ethan had promised—golden, forgiving, and thick with dust that danced like slow confetti in the air.

Julia arrived at three sharp, garment bag over one arm, heart already beating a little too fast.

Ethan opened the heavy studio door for her, smiled the same calm, professional smile he’d worn in the coffee shop, and then closed and locked it behind them.

The soft click of the deadbolt echoed in the high-ceilinged space.

They were alone.

That sound… it’s just a lock.

But it feels like the last door closing on the old me.

He had dimmed the overheads and left only two softboxes glowing low, plus the wide, uncurtained factory windows that poured in the late sun.

A low, sultry jazz track played from hidden speakers—just loud enough to fill the silence, not loud enough to drown thought.

Julia’s eyes swept the room.

Exposed red brick.

Rusted iron beams.

Concrete floor scattered with a canvas drop cloth and a few old wooden crates.

On one wall hung three large framed prints from Vanessa’s portfolio: women of every shape and age, half-dressed or bare, looking straight into the lens with unapologetic power.

Julia’s breath caught.

This is a place built for women to be seen.

And today, that woman is me.

Ethan gestured toward a corner screened by a heavy velvet curtain.

“Changing area’s there. Take all the time you need. I’ll finish setting the light.”

She nodded, disappeared behind the curtain, and heard him moving tripods and reflectors while she changed.

My hands are shaking.

It’s only clothes.

But it feels like stripping away twelve years of pretending.

When she stepped out from behind the curtain, Ethan was crouched behind the camera, adjusting the tripod.

He looked up.

And everything inside him stopped.

Jesus.

She’s… perfect.

The cream silk caught the window light like liquid gold, sliding over her body in a way that made his mouth go dry.

The dress was modest—buttons to the throat, hem to the knee—but the way the fabric clung to her hips, her breasts, the soft curve of her waist… it was anything but innocent.

He forced his voice steady.

“Perfect. Let’s start simple.”

But nothing about this felt simple.

Every time the shutter clicked, he felt it in his chest.

She’s nervous. I can see it in her shoulders.

But she’s trying. For herself.

And that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

He positioned her on a low wooden crate near the window.

“Sit. Legs crossed. Look at me like I’m someone who already thinks you’re beautiful.”

The first shutter click sounded.

Julia’s shoulders were stiff at first, courtroom posture.

But Ethan’s voice was low, encouraging.

“Relax the jaw. Good. Tilt the chin a fraction. There—hold that.”

Click. Click.

With every affirmation, something loosened inside her.

I’m not performing competence.

I’m just… being.

She felt the silk warm against her skin, the light stroking her collarbone.

She felt seen.

And it doesn’t feel like weakness.

It feels like power.

As she relaxed under his quiet instructions, something shifted in her eyes.

Confidence.

Real, unforced, blooming right in front of him.

That’s it.

This exact moment when a woman remembers she’s powerful.

But with her… it’s different.

It’s not just professional admiration anymore.

After a dozen shots, Ethan stepped closer.

”Try pulling open the collar a little—just enough to let the light catch the edge of your bra.”

He paused, voice low and steady.

“Show me a hint of lace. Let the silk frame it.”

Julia’s fingers hesitated, then obeyed.

The collar parted.

Black lace peeked.

The air touched her throat.

Her pulse fluttered visibly beneath the skin.

Twelve years, and no one has seen this much of me.

Not even me.

Ethan’s voice dropped a shade lower.

“Beautiful. Now roll the sleeves. Let the fabric fall naturally.”

She did.

The silk slid against her arms like water.

The room felt warmer.

My skin is waking up.

Every inch he looks at feels alive.

“Try kneeling on the floor for me. Face this way—good. Now turn your head slightly to the side.”

Julia lowered herself to her knees.

The silk shirt-dress pooled around her thighs, hem riding higher with the movement.

She tilted her head as he asked, golden strands falling across one shoulder.

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted one hand and let her fingers glide through her hair, gathering the loose waves, letting them slip between her fingers before brushing them back.

The gesture was simple, almost casual.

But under his gaze it felt anything but.

He’s watching every small movement.

Like he’s memorizing me.

Ethan circled her slowly, camera raised but forgotten for a moment.

His eyes traced the line of her neck, the curve where shoulder met collarbone, the way the silk clung and released with each breath.

She’s kneeling.

And she’s never looked more in control.

Julia felt the shift inside her too.

Kneeling, yet powerful.

They moved her to the canvas drop cloth.

She lay on her side atop the canvas drop cloth, body curved in a gentle S-shape, one knee drawn up higher than the other so the cream silk shirt-dress rode up her thighs and draped teasingly over the perfect swell of her hips, revealing the flawless curve of her ass.

One hand propped her head against the low wooden crate, elbow bent, fingers relaxed.

The other hand slowly stroked through her loose golden waves, letting strands slip between her fingers as she gazed toward the lens with quiet, awakening confidence.

Ethan knelt to adjust the angle of her hip.

His fingertips brushed the bare skin above her stocking.

Both of them froze for a fraction of a second.

Electricity.

He pulled back, cleared his throat.

“Perfect.”

But his voice was rougher now.

Julia’s body answered before her mind could catch up.

A slow, liquid heat gathered between her legs.

The small T-back grew damp against her.

She shifted, and the silk whispered over sensitive skin.

I’m wet.

Already.

And he hasn’t even really touched me.

Another pose: she climbed onto the wide window sill, the old factory glass framing her like a living portrait.

Julia was growing bolder now, the hesitation melting away with every click of the shutter.

She settled onto the sill, one leg bent and resting on the ledge, the other dangling freely down, the movement causing the cream silk shirt-dress to ride higher on her thighs.

The fabric slipped off one bare shoulder entirely, exposing smooth skin and the thin strap of her black lace bra.

She didn’t fix it.

Didn’t even try.

The parted skirt draped between her legs, offering teasing glimpses of the black lace thong beneath—just enough shadow and suggestion to make the breath catch.

Golden light poured in from behind her, outlining the curve of her hip, the soft swell of her breast beneath the half-open dress.

She turned her head slowly, looking back over her exposed shoulder at Ethan.

Her ice-blue eyes, once cautious, now burned with open invitation—lips slightly parted, gaze heavy and knowing, daring him to look longer, to want more.

The confidence in that stare was no longer quiet.

It was deliberate.

It was hungry.

And it was aimed straight at him.

I want him to see. I want to be seen.

Ethan lowered the camera for a moment and stepped closer, turning the screen toward her.

“Look,” he said softly. “See what I see.”

Julia leaned in, her bare shoulder brushing his arm as she studied the backlit shots on the display.

Her own image stared back—silk slipping, skin glowing, eyes alive with something fierce and new.

She exhaled, almost a laugh.

“They’re… beautiful,” she whispered. “I look beautiful.”

Ethan’s voice was low, warm with quiet pride.

“Are you still as nervous as when you first walked in?”

She considered it, lips curving.

“No. Not like before. I’m… getting used to it. To being looked at like this.”

He nodded, eyes never leaving hers.

“Good. Then let’s push a little further. See how far that confidence can take you.”

Julia met his gaze, a spark flaring.

“Tell me how.”

“Unbutton the rest,” he said. “All of it. Let the dress open completely.”

She didn’t hesitate.

One by one, the remaining buttons gave way until the cream silk parted like curtains, framing black lace bra and matching thong beneath.

The dress hung loose from her shoulders, ready to fall.

Ethan led her to the rusted iron staircase.

“Sit here—middle step. Lean back just a little.”

She settled onto the cold metal, the chill biting pleasantly against her bare thighs.

The silk draped open, black lace fully exposed—bra cups lifting her breasts, thong a dark promise between her legs.

Legs slightly parted, one foot on a lower step, she looked straight into the lens.

Extreme, unapologetic sensuality.

Click. Click.

The metal stairs pressed cool patterns into her skin.

She felt powerful.

This is me now.

Then he guided her to the rough red brick wall.

“Back against it. One hand behind your head, elbow up. Hip out.”

She complied.

Silk shirt-dress slipped entirely off one arm and hung from the other, barely covering anything.

Back arched, hips tilted, ass lifted in perfect curve.

Head turned sideways, eyes locked on the camera—sultry, challenging, undeniably in control.

The brick scraped lightly against her bare back and shoulder blades.

The discomfort only sharpened the pleasure.

Click. Click.

Julia smiled, slow and knowing.

She wasn’t hiding anymore.

To be continued…