Hall of Infinite Doors
"Did you bring a sample of your work we can go through?"
"Oh, yes," she beams and pulls a large folder of loose photos from her bag.
You pull up the chair next to hers and begin to go through her folder, though it is hard not to look down her shirt instead. Many of her photos have an amateurish quality to them, though you can see incredible talent beneath. She has a few nude photos toward the back, then a bunch of photos of her in lingerie. Her photos in bras and bikinis are especially good. On some she pauses and notes features of which she is proud with her pen.
You look down her shirt again--so perfectly shaped. So voluptuous. Just then she rubs her eye, and you hear something hit the page. It's either her contact or the pen she was holding.
"Did you drop a contact?" you ask.
"I don't know," she replies. She places her folder on the desk face up, and gets down on her hands and knees briefly to look. Then she gazes up at you with her crystal clear blue eyes in bewilderment. "I don't even wear contacts," she says.
Your gaze moves from her chest to her eyes.
"You weren't looking down my shirt, were you?!" she demands, almost indignantly.
"Oh, yes," she beams and pulls a large folder of loose photos from her bag.
You pull up the chair next to hers and begin to go through her folder, though it is hard not to look down her shirt instead. Many of her photos have an amateurish quality to them, though you can see incredible talent beneath. She has a few nude photos toward the back, then a bunch of photos of her in lingerie. Her photos in bras and bikinis are especially good. On some she pauses and notes features of which she is proud with her pen.
You look down her shirt again--so perfectly shaped. So voluptuous. Just then she rubs her eye, and you hear something hit the page. It's either her contact or the pen she was holding.
"Did you drop a contact?" you ask.
"I don't know," she replies. She places her folder on the desk face up, and gets down on her hands and knees briefly to look. Then she gazes up at you with her crystal clear blue eyes in bewilderment. "I don't even wear contacts," she says.
Your gaze moves from her chest to her eyes.
"You weren't looking down my shirt, were you?!" she demands, almost indignantly.