Pantsing and Stripping Forums

Freesub wrote: Wed Sep 24, 2025 12:58 pm I'm going to be honest, I'm starting to get completely lost here. Who is Micke? Are they travelling for an audition?

Maybe a character legend could help.

Sorry, I totally read that as "Chapter Legend." Micke is Ingrid's older brother who still likes to hang out with the high school aged kids.

**** Original reply ****

I'm pretty new here, and I have no idea how to do that. The chapters are here in order (a prologue and 6 chapters), maybe you missed one? If you know of a tutorial or something that explains how to do that, I will try to figure it out.

Chapter 7
The Audition

Inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee and perfume. The reception room gleamed—white walls, polished floors, and chrome accents—and the woman at the desk looked up with a broad smile.

“Oh, great. Y’all did make it!”

“Kerstin!” Ingrid shouted, rushing to greet her.

Ingrid hugged the tall woman in the tight-fitting red dress as she stepped out from behind the counter in high heels. The woman hugged Malin next before her eyes shifted to Emma.

“Emma Skog, correct?” she asked, extending her hand.

Emma accepted the handshake, her stomach twisting as the woman’s curious eyes traced her figure.

“Well, you certainly are a beautiful young woman. You look a little pale, but that’s nothing some rouge can’t fix.”

The receptionist gestured toward a waiting area where several girls sat, apparently waiting for their mothers to pick them up. They were older—maybe sixteen or seventeen. Their heavy makeup, styled hair, and perfect postures made Emma’s throat go dry.

“You’ll be the last one,” Kerstin said. “I was starting to get worried. Rikard doesn’t like having to stay late on Saturdays. He should be done with the current session any moment now. We can deal with the paperwork afterward.”

Emma took a seat as Ingrid whispered commentary about the other girls’ outfits. Malin fiddled with the hem of her shorts as her eyes nervously darted around the room. Seconds ticked by. Emma clasped her hands in her lap, her knuckles whitening as she stared at the wall.

Suddenly, she heard familiar laughter on the other side of the wall. Sharp, unmistakable, nightmarish. The handle rattled, and the door began to open. A man’s voice said, “You looked great. These will be amazing additions to your portfolio.”

Emma’s stomach clenched tighter as Johanna entered the room. For a moment, she hoped that the girl wouldn’t notice them. But Johanna’s eyes swept the waiting area and froze on their little group. A smirk spread across her lips like a grassfire as she stomped over. “I cannot believe you seriously showed up here,” Johanna declared, her voice carrying across the sterile room. “You said yourself you hoped you’d get rejected. Why bother? And you look like a ghost!”

Her gaze flicked to Ingrid. “And you? A modeling studio is no place for someone who dresses like she raided her mother’s closet.”

Malin shifted uncomfortably as Johanna zeroed in on her. “And you—good grief. I’m surprised you’re not wearing your Sailor Moon shirt. That’s the nicest one you own. Your breasts are like mosquito bites. You look like you belong in Årskurs 6.”

Malin’s face burned crimson, and Emma’s fists clenched at her sides.

Across the desk, Kerstin’s eyes sharpened. She watched Johanna with measured calm, as if storing the scene away for later.

When Johanna’s mother waved at her through the front door, the obnoxious teenager huffed and strutted toward the exit. Kerstin glared at her before stepping out from behind the receptionist's desk again.

“There are times I wish I didn’t need this job so badly,” she said.

“We’re used to it,” Ingrid replied, smoothing her skirt. “But next year, she’ll be off to the Gymnasiet, and we’ll get a year-long break from Miss Sprice.”

Malin smiled faintly at the thought.

Kerstin folded her arms. “It makes me want to accidentally 'lose' her portfolio.” A sly grin tugged at her lips. “Just remember, people like that always get what’s coming to them.”

A low, deliberate throat-clearing cut through the room as the man in the studio doorway stepped forward, his presence filling the reception area like a sudden gust of wind. Not a hair was out of place as it gleamed under the lights, and his fitted black shirt clung to a body built by hours of disciplined training. Rolled sleeves revealed strong, corded forearms dusted with wheat-colored hair.

His piercing blue eyes skimmed over Malin and lingered briefly on Ingrid before locking, almost appraisingly, on Emma. She stopped breathing as the weight of his gaze pressed against her chest. “You must be my final client of the day,” he said, flashing a pearly smile.

Emma’s heart lurched. She looked at Ingrid, who nudged her forward with enthusiasm. Emma hesitated, leaning forward as if half seated. “I… I–can they come with me, or do they have to stay out here?”

Rikard arched a brow before glancing around the room, almost annoyed. “That depends on whether they are going to be a distraction for you.”

Both girls bolted out of their seats, nearly bursting with delight.

The photographer added, “But that energy stays out here.” He paused before focusing on Emma. “In fact, you could use a bit more energy. You should cheer up. This day could change your life.” He casually led the group toward the door and waved them on through. “I’m going to go and grab a bite to eat while Birgitta gets you ready. She’ll meet you in there, where all the magic happens.”

Emma stepped into a cold studio that smelled faintly of powder and the heat of hot bulbs. Tall light stands towered above taped Xs and rectangles on the floor, their cords snaking like black veins across the polished concrete. Heavy tripods carried cameras with long, gleaming lenses. Rolls of colored backdrops hung from the wall, waiting to be pulled down—white, gray, and a pale blue already dusted with faint shoe marks. The air buzzed with the dull hum of lights.

A woman with cropped brown hair, wearing a black turtleneck and matching shoes, stepped forward and introduced herself as Birgitta. “We haven’t got much time. Lose the shirt and bra and slip this on,” she said, handing over a thin white garment that resembled a short robe. “We’ll start with the makeup,” she said, gently steering Emma toward a tall chair before a mirror rimmed with bulbs.

Emma glanced back to ensure Rikard had left the studio before quickly removing her top and slipping the garment on. Moments later, she sat stiffly while brushes swept across her cheeks, powders dusted her skin, and clips tugged at strands of hair.

Malin waved from her folding chair nearby as Emma focused on breathing evenly, her reflection blurring as the stylist leaned in uncomfortably close. After several minutes, the door creaked, and Rikard returned, holding a half-eaten räksmörgås sandwich crowned with a slice of lemon and dill. He slowly paced as he chewed absently until he suddenly stopped mid-bite.

“Hold it there,” he said sharply, the sandwich sagging in his fingers. Birgitta pulled back the brush as Rikard set his lunch on a stand and stepped closer. He tilted his head as his eyes traced Emma’s face with the intensity of someone studying a print through a magnifying glass.

“You…” Rikard said softly, as if speaking to himself. He began circling her slowly, eyes tracing every angle of her face. “Your skin catches the light, almost as if it’s reflective.” He momentarily shifted his glance to Birgitta. “Not another ounce of rouge,” he insisted. The gaze returned to Emma as he leaned in closer.

“Those freckles.” He gestured lightly to her temple and the bridge of her nose. “They’re like constellations.” He froze, and, for a long moment, Emma wondered if he had zoned out. “Perfect imperfections,” he whispered. “So distinctive. Very striking.”

Emma flushed, her ears burning pink as she observed her reflection in the mirror, wishing she could disappear into the glass.

“Your hair,” he continued, almost reverent now. “Careless grace—soft, sun-touched. It will look magnificent under the lights.”

Emma pondered whether Rikard did this for every model, as if it were a ritual to motivate them. She glanced back to find him still locked in with the same intensity.

“Smile for me, Emma.”

Her lips parted, hesitant and nervous.

“Charming and memorable,” he said. “Absolutely perfect teeth.”

Emma’s breath caught when his gaze lifted to her eyes. He stood there, unblinking. “Not one color, but many. Moss, autumn leaves, and something in there searching. They demand that you look at them.”

Emma shifted in her seat, catching sight of Birgitta frozen in position, half leaning over with the powder puff still in her hands. The vacant expression answered the question for her.

Rikard suddenly pulled himself back with a sharp breath and turned to retrieve the sandwich. “Let’s finish her up. I want her under the lights in ten minutes.”

Birgitta whisked away the makeup brushes and hurried to retrieve the sundress. Before Emma knew it, she was being guided to one of the taped Xs on the studio floor. A video camera rested atop a tripod, the lens dark and unblinking. Emma tugged at the hem of her dress as the yellow and blue fabric swayed six inches above her knees. She wiped her palms and tried to steady her breathing before clasping her hands together and bobbing up and down on her tiptoes.

Rikard squinted as he adjusted the lens. “You think you speak English well enough to do a brief interview? The Japanese don’t do Swedish. Bashō’s audience loves the Swedish accent, but in English, they can focus on the girl more than the subtitles.”

Emma’s mind raced. No one had mentioned anything about video cameras or doing an interview in English. She swallowed hard and responded in English. “I think so. Not… not perfect.”

“I’ll send Bashō the subtitles along with your tape.” He laughed and added, “But no one is going to be focused on the subtitles or what you are saying. Look at the camera.”

Rikard pressed the record button, and a bright red light blinked to life. Suddenly, every inch of the studio felt brighter, hotter. Emma’s fingers twisted as she clasped her hands together.

He started simply. “Tell me—your name, your age, your school.”

“Emma. I’m fourteen. I go to skola in Elmstad, Sweden,” she said, stumbling over the words. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, shoulders stiff.

“And what are your favorite school subjects?”

Emma forced her hands down to her sides. “Eh… literature. And art class. I like to make drawings.”

“What are your favorite hobbies?”

Emma’s cheeks blushed. She tilted her head and bobbed up and down several times before replying, “I do dance.”

Rikard’s eyes shifted to her toned legs, and he gave a curt nod. “Do you know anything about Japan?”

Emma blinked, caught off guard. “A little.” Her eyes darted toward her friends before flicking back to the lens. “Sushi. Anime. Cherry blossoms.” She gave a quick, apologetic shrug as her words tumbled awkwardly. “ I-I read once about a tea ceremony… sorry, I don’t know so much.”

“So, tell us,” Rikard said, “have you ever modeled before?”

She laughed nervously and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “No. Never. I don’t know what I am doing.”

Rikard motioned with his hand. “Lift your hair behind your head. Yes—hold it there. Good. Now turn slowly… let me see the line of your neck.”

Emma complied, her trembling fingers gathering soft tufts of blond hair. She felt exposed, her neck stretched long under the lights.

Rikard studied her through the camera. “You should try to relax,” he said. “Turn slowly. Show me your profile.”

Emma shifted clumsily, her feet feeling heavy as she held the hair in place.

“Tell me, how do you feel right now?”

Emma hesitated as her hair toppled onto her shoulders. “Nervous,” she admitted, her voice cracking.

“We need to get you loosened up and moving,” he noted. “We’ll do one of Bashō’s favorite poses. Spin around for us a few times. Try to make your hair and that dress move. Smile at the camera as you come around.”

Emma turned quickly, sending the hem of the skirt flaring out. The sudden rush made her dizzy, and she bit her lip to steady herself. Her friends giggled at the flash of white cotton, which only made her face burn hotter.

Emma chuckled at the embarrassment as she gathered her feet beneath her.

“Okay, can you tell us why you want to be in this project?”

Emma froze. She forgot about the camera, the lights, and even her short dress. Why? She glanced at Ingrid and Malin, their encouraging eyes fixed on her. Emma’s lips parted, but nothing came out as a flicker of realization crossed her face.

Rikard pressed a button and stepped away from the camera. His voice softened, though his words weren’t comforting. “You must relax, Emma. If you can’t get through this, you’ll never be able to do what you will be asked to do later.”

Emma envisioned herself dropping the blue and yellow sundress to the floor. She shifted on her feet, desperate for something to do with her hands. She looked to her friends for courage.

“She’s doing it for all of us,” Ingrid stated.

Malin smiled and gave two thumbs up.

Emma stood frozen on the X, the lights pressing down as her heart hammered in her chest. She turned to Rikard and said, “Turn the camera on.”

That's awesome, and I hope Malin gets naked in the next part too.

This is exactly what I look for in a story about modeling. Detailed description and appreciation of her unique looks.

Olegg762 wrote: Sat Oct 04, 2025 8:07 am That's awesome, and I hope Malin gets naked in the next part too.

Patience, my friend, patience.

Somebody wrote: Sat Oct 04, 2025 6:03 pm This is exactly what I look for in a story about modeling. Detailed description and appreciation of her unique looks.

I'm glad my efforts are being appreciated by some. Thanks for the encouragement.

Although I can understand some of the criticism in a previous post of the slow build-up of the story, I personally think that this is exactly what sets this story apart from others, and that it is entirely positive. Your writing style creates anticipation and a keen interest in reading the next parts (preferably as soon as possible). You quickly get a very detailed picture not only of Emma's personality, appearance, etc., but also of the other characters in the story. The fact that the story is inspired by real events that took place in Sweden in 1994 makes it even more interesting and adds a sense of tension to the whole thing, and you become very curious about how things will turn out for Emma.

As for the detailed descriptions of Sweden, I would say they are pretty much 100% accurate. So either you are Swedish, have lived in Sweden during this time, or you have done some really good research to make it as realistic as possible. Either way, it's absolutely fantastic and takes the story to another level. Looking forward to reading more.

Swe123 wrote: Sun Oct 05, 2025 2:13 pm Although I can understand some of the criticism in a previous post of the slow build-up of the story, I personally think that this is exactly what sets this story apart from others, and that it is entirely positive. Your writing style creates anticipation and a keen interest in reading the next parts (preferably as soon as possible). You quickly get a very detailed picture not only of Emma's personality, appearance, etc., but also of the other characters in the story. The fact that the story is inspired by real events that took place in Sweden in 1994 makes it even more interesting and adds a sense of tension to the whole thing, and you become very curious about how things will turn out for Emma.

As for the detailed descriptions of Sweden, I would say they are pretty much 100% accurate. So either you are Swedish, have lived in Sweden during this time, or you have done some really good research to make it as realistic as possible. Either way, it's absolutely fantastic and takes the story to another level. Looking forward to reading more.

Thanks for the wonderful comments! Yes, the entire Swedish Lolita Schoolgirl fetish that the Japanese had during this era was... fascinating to say the least. The only thing I find more fascinating than how many times those Japanese guys and their rather large entourages (of mostly all men) photographed these girls and enjoyed doing it is how many Swedish junior high and high school girls lined up to volunteer to be in the projects (and the girls' parents obviously signed off on it). It is absolutely mind blowing to me that this stuff ever happened.

As for the writing and research, thankfully, it's a LOT easier to research eras and places I have never lived in than it was when I was writing historical fiction novels 20 years ago. And I would much rather write this than historical fiction novels.

Chapter 8
Finding the Light

The studio lights hit Emma immediately—hot, sharp, blinding. The soft blue backdrop hung behind her like a curtain. On the other side of the camera, Rikard adjusted the lens without even looking at her.

“Stand there,” he said, gesturing to a taped mark on the floor. “We’ll get some full-body shots before you start playing with the dress.”

Playing with the dress? Emma gulped.

Rikard finally looked, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then he set the camera down and spoke again, this time more pointedly. “You need to loosen your shoulders. You’re auditioning to model for an internationally renowned photographer, not taking a school photo. Move your arms a little—relax.”

Emma inhaled and tried to copy the posture she’d seen in magazines, with one foot slightly forward and her chin tilted just enough to feel unnatural. Her fingers fidgeted at her sides until Rikard raised a hand.

“Good. Now, hold out the edge of your dress—yes, like that. Try to look natural, like you’re having a good time.”

The flash popped, filling the room with a white burst that left her momentarily blind.

“Now look to your right. Smile—not so wide. Think softer.”

Emma’s mouth trembled as she forced a smile. Her knees felt wobbly. Each flash sent a pulse through her chest.

“Lift your chin. A bit more. Good. Now spin—slowly.”

She turned, the yellow and blue fabric fanning out around her thighs. The hem caught in the light, and for a second, she imagined herself somewhere else—on a summer field in Elmstad instead of this cold, humming studio. But then the flash went off again, and her fantasy cracked.

“Stop there,” Rikard said. He stepped closer, camera still raised. “Look at me. Don’t smile this time—just your eyes. Pretend your friends over there just told you a secret.”

Emma froze, uncertain of what that meant. Her breathing grew shallow, and she began fidgeting with her necklace again.

Rikard lowered the camera slightly, his expression unreadable. “Stop thinking. Just be.”

He took a few steps back, circling her slowly, the camera shutter clicking in a steady rhythm. “Now—run your hand through your hair. Let it fall forward. Good. Tilt your head a bit. Look at the lens again.”

Emma’s hand trembled as she brushed the hair from her face. She could feel the heat rising and the weight of his gaze following her every movement. The flashes came faster now, the shutter's sound mixing with the faint hum of the lights.

“Beautiful,” Rikard murmured absently. He picked up a light meter and approached, clicking it near her face. Emma watched nervously as he adjusted a nearby reflector panel before returning to the camera. “That’s better, now look over your shoulder—yes, perfect.”

Emma obeyed, her breath unsteady. Her stomach tightened each time he adjusted her pose, telling her to shift her hip, drop a shoulder, or lift her skirt just a tad higher. Every extra inch of skin she revealed made her feel as though she was being inspected rather than photographed. She had just lifted the skirt enough to expose the pink waistband and bow at the top of her panties when Birgitta’s voice cut through the tension.

“Rikard, I almost forgot, you need to sign those files and get them sent off before 14:00. And I know how much you hate staying late on Saturdays.”

Rikard paused mid-shot and looked up, irritated. “But she’s finally loosening up.”

Birgitta extended a hand. “I can handle it from here,” she replied, her tone polite but firm. “You’ve taught me very well. I’ve got it.”

A look of depressed realization crossed Rikard’s face as he glanced at his watch. He slung the camera strap over his head and stepped back before passing the camera off. “Well, you aren’t wrong about those files. I completely forgot about them.”

Emma eased up, realizing she’d been holding her breath the entire time. Rikard looked back at her and said, “You’re doing much better. Just follow her lead. I like your chances if you can relax.”

Rikard exited the studio, and Birgitta offered her a small, reassuring smile. “You’re doing fine. Let’s get a few more in this lovely dress, but this time, breathe.”

The soft click of Birgitta’s camera felt gentler somehow—less like a demand and more like an invitation. After half a dozen more photos, Birgitta said, “Let’s skip ahead to the underwear; we haven’t got much time.”

Emma's stomach sank as she strolled toward the chairs where Ingrid and Malin had been spectating. Ingrid handed over the two thin black pieces of material with pink lace trimming. “You’re doing great,” she encouraged.

Emma managed to produce a half-smile as she stepped behind a small curtained changing nook. Ingrid leaned inside as Emma’s dress fell to the cold floor. “It turns out Rikard is fairly famous, too. That girl who ended up on the massive Volvo billboard in Malmö, he took that photo!”

“That’s nice,” Emma said as her panties dropped to the floor.

“And he took the casting photos for the other Emma, the one who was in Bashō’s second book. She was one of the few who weren’t from Gothenburg. They say he is known for finding faces.”

Emma fumbled with the straps of her skimpy lingerie. “And where did you learn all of this?”

“Oh, it was in a pamphlet sitting next to our chairs.”

“Well,” Emma said, slipping on the nearly transparent bra, “thankfully, he won’t be taking these photos.”

When she finally stepped out again, the lights flared white and warm, and her eyes had to adjust again. Birgitta smiled reassuringly and commented, “Oh, well, now—look at you!”

A simple wooden stool stood in the center of the taped marks, and Emma’s bare feet found their place alongside it.

“Rest your right hand there, bend your left knee. Turn your body a little—yes, look back over your shoulder,” Birgitta said. The camera clicked twice.

Emma’s smile faltered, but Birgitta kept her tone calm. “Perfect. Now, sit sideways on the stool. Cross one leg over the other.”

Emma adjusted her balance as the heat from the lamps tightened the air around her.

“That’s good. Lift your chin just a little.”

From the corner, Malin whispered, “She’s so beautiful. She looks amazing, doesn’t she?”

Ingrid nodded. “This studio shot one of the Sandström twins like that last summer. She ended up in an ad campaign across Berlin.”

Birgitta lowered the camera for a moment. “Both arms folded over the stool now. Lean forward. Look off to the side, like you see something.”

Emma obeyed, fully aware of how much cleavage was being revealed. Her heart thumped as Birgitta continued, “Pull your hair back from your shoulders. Perfect. Hold it.”

The shutter snapped several times.

Emma swallowed, wishing she could stop shaking. She shifted as instructed, twisting at the waist, then leaned forward slightly, trying to remember how models in magazines appeared relaxed, never awkward.

“Beautiful,” Birgitta noted softly. “Now kneel next to the stool. Look down—yes. That’s it.”

Emma’s knees pressed against the smooth paper backdrop. She felt dizzy from the lights as the camera continued clicking. Birgitta finally said, “Alright, stand tall again, arms loose—eyes closed. Up on your tiptoes.” Emma exhaled through her nose and did as told.

A few more clicks. Then silence.

“You’re doing well,” Birgitta said, lowering the camera. “You see? Not so terrible, right?”

Emma opened her eyes. The lights shimmered in her vision like sunlight on water. Her smile was small but real this time. “I-I suppose not.”

“Well, we need a few without that top,” Birgitta said. “I hope you can manage that.”

Emma folded her arms across her chest in embarrassment. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Birgitta’s tone shifted. “Well, it is a bit much for a girl to be rushed into this so fast. Not many models go topless or nude in their first photoshoot. But I might have something that can help.”

Birgitta ushered Emma back to the vanity mirror and said, “Go ahead and take that top off. We can slap this stuff on for a while.”

Emma peered down at a gel-like substance in a tiny jar. “What is it?” she asked, unstrapping her bra.

“Some erotic dancers use it to cover up their nipples in clubs. At first glance, it’s hard to tell that it is even there. You can wear it while we do some implied nudity shots.”

Ingrid, piqued with curiosity, dragged Malin along in tow as she approached. “Like, strippers wear it?”

Birgitta laughed. “I suppose, if you want to call them that.”

“Yeah, like in Showgirls,” Ingrid noted.

“Well, they certainly don’t wear this stuff in those types of clubs,” Birgitta noted.

Emma scooped a touch of the sticky substance from the jar and smoothed it over her right nipple. She chirped when she discovered how sensitive they were.

“A bit cold, isn’t it?” Birgitta asked.

Emma looked down, aghast to discover the stiffness of her other nipple. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Ingrid’s eyes seemed fixed on the same thing before shifting back to Birgitta. “So, you know one of the girls from before, who was in the second book?”

Birgitta’s eyes drifted from Emma’s breasts to Ingrid. “Oh, of course. She is very well-known in these parts. Lovely girl. She’s studying to be a news anchor. It practically made her famous.”

“What were the photo sessions like? Did she say much about them?” Malin asked inquisitively.

Birgitta’s professionalism seemed to crack as she looked at Emma. She sighed audibly. “Honestly, girls, not everyone is cut out for this type of modeling.”

Emma’s eyes widened as she locked in, but she did not say anything.

“I was totally shocked by what she told me, honestly. She was only 16.” Birgitta scowled as her focus turned back to Emma. “And you all are even younger than that. I think you should probably be 17 or 18 to do this, but who am I to judge that?”

“What exactly was so shocking?” Ingrid quizzed.

“Oh, it was nothing dirty or anything,” Birgitta said. “Nothing like that. It was just… just…”

Ingrid chuckled through her irritation.

“Bashō has a rather large entourage of Japanese men who travel with him and ‘assist’ him in his duties.”

Emma’s jaw dropped as she stood, the cold paste intensifying the firmness of her nipples.

“Emma said they were all very professional, but that it was odd taking off her clothes and walking around outside in front of so many adult men. And Bashō speaks no Swedish, of course, or English. A few of the guys on his staff spoke some broken English, but you’d think he’d have someone amongst the eight or nine guys he brought with him who could communicate with the girls.”

“Eight or nine?” Ingrid gasped.

“Outside?” Malin added.

Emma felt herself growing ill.

“Oh, just listen to me trying to make you even more nervous. Look, Emma, if you can actually do this, it could be the biggest opportunity of your life. Bashō is a professional. His crew is professional. They take pictures of naked women for a living.”

“What are the photo shoots like?” Emma asked. “What do the pictures look like?”

“We have a copy of the book in our reception area. All the shooting took place in and around a small village near Gothenburg. About half of the photos are outside, in nature, with flowers, beaches, and trees. They took a lot of them on farms and boat docks. Then they did other shoots inside farmhouses and old estates. Bashō appears to favor a rustic look. They are all lovely photos. Astonishingly beautiful, really.”

“Is it true that over a thousand girls auditioned last time?” Ingrid asked.

“Oh, it was more than that. It was over 1,250. He originally intended to do one book with six girls, but he couldn’t help himself. He ended up with 19 girls in three books.”

Emma suddenly felt relieved. She had auditioned poorly, and if half that many girls tried out this time, she doubted Bashō would even notice her.

Birgitta shook her head. “We’d better get this done. Look at the time!”

She motioned for Emma to step back onto the studio floor.

“Let’s try a different type of pose,” she said, her tone shifting back to professional. She adjusted one of the softbox lights, dimming the glare until it fell in a smooth diagonal across the backdrop. “Get down here. We’ll go for something softer — more elegant.”

Emma hesitated, looking toward Ingrid and Malin, who stood just beyond the lights. Ingrid gave her an encouraging smile. “You look amazing, Em. Johanna stands no chance after this.”

“Yeah,” Malin added, bouncing up and down nervously. “And you’re almost done.”

Emma kneeled carefully on the studio paper, her bare breasts brushing against her knees as her thonged bottom touched the floor. Birgitta crouched beside her, brushing a loose strand of hair from Emma’s cheek. “There. Shift your weight back slightly. Perfect. Shoulders back, chin slightly up — good.”

The camera clicked.

“Now, turn your head toward the light. Yes. Let it fall across your cheek. Beautiful,” Birgitta said, circling slightly. “Now rest one hand against your neck. The other on your thigh. Perfect. Don’t force the smile — breathe.”

Emma did as told, the heat of the lamps soft on her skin. The nervous tension began to ebb as she moved through each pose — tilting her head, glancing over her shoulder, fingers brushing the side of her face, then resting lightly on her collarbone.

Birgitta’s voice was steady and low. “Good. Now look right into the lens… yes. That’s it. Hold it.”

The shutter fired several times in quick succession.

Ingrid and Malin exchanged wide-eyed glances as Emma grew more comfortable. “She looks fantastic,” Ingrid squealed.

“That’s it,” Birgitta whispered. “That’s a great one.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment before Birgitta asked. “Are you comfortable enough to peel that gunk off for a few more? I don’t think Bashō is taking any girl without seeing the goods.”

Emma glanced at her friends, who smiled broadly and gave her a thumbs-up.

Emma held still for a moment, then exhaled into a shaky laugh as her fingers began peeling the sticky gel away.

Birgitta’s lips rose into a broad smile as she began clicking, without even passing on instructions. Emma, focused on peeling away the final remnants, was startled when she heard, “Beautiful!”

Emma glanced up to find all six eyes focused intently on her.

“Lean back and place both hands on the floor behind you.”

For the first time, Emma truly relaxed as the lights warmed her once frigid nipples. She had failed to notice, but the oily residue made them glisten under the heavy studio lights.

Birgitta said softly. “You’re a totally different girl suddenly. We’ve got something here.”

The camera continued flashing as Emma was sent through a series of poses. Finally, Birgitta stepped over to adjust the lights again, lowering a reflector to soften the glare across the floor.

“Alright,” she said quietly. “Let’s try something a little different.” She motioned toward the smooth backdrop. “Lie down on your stomach—yes, just like that. Cross your legs at the ankles and lift your feet a little higher. Perfect.”

Emma rested comfortably atop the cool paper, her chin resting in her hands. The light poured over her exposed bottom and shoulders, turning her hair a warm gold.

“Now, tilt your head toward me,” Birgitta said, crouching low and snapping a few quick frames. “Good. Keep your eyes on the lens. Lovely.”

The camera clicked rhythmically as Birgitta circled, shifting positions with practiced ease—first to Emma’s left, then right, then low near the floor to catch the angle of her lifted feet.

“Beautiful. Hold that—now, give me a little movement. Wiggle your toes a bit,” Birgitta added with a grin.

Emma laughed, her shoulders shaking slightly with a genuine giggle.

“There it is!” Birgitta said, clicking rapidly. “Perfect! Perfect! Perfect!”

Emma buried her smile in her hands for a second, still laughing under her breath as Birgitta lowered the camera and smiled, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the viewfinder. A breath caught in her throat as a small, knowing smile curved at the edge of her mouth.

“Okay, we’ve got one more,” Birgitta noted. “Get up on your knees, lean forward, place your palms above your knees, and use your arms to squeeze those together for me.”

A genuine smile emerged from Emma’s lips as she complied. She couldn’t quite believe it, but she was having a good time.

“Uh-huh, that’s gold. We can’t top that one. That’s a wrap.”

Ingrid and Malin broke into applause as Emma’s shoulders sagged with relief. She rose to her feet, brushing a bit of dust from her knees as her firm breasts jiggled. “So, I can get dressed now?” she asked quietly.

Birgitta nodded. “Of course. We’ve done everything we can.”

Emma disappeared behind the curtain, tugging the sundress over her head with a sense of quiet triumph. The fabric felt like a return to herself — soft, familiar, safe. When she stepped back out, her friends were waiting with proud grins.

Ingrid whispered, “I knew you could do it!”

Emma smiled faintly as her heartbeat settled. She approached Birgitta to thank her for everything she had done.

“I knew it would take you a while to warm up,” Birgitta said, “but you know, you could be an outstanding model if you stuck with this.”

Emma pondered the words for a moment. “I don’t know. It did become kind of fun. Maybe we can do it again.”

Ingrid stepped forward and asked, “Do you think she has a chance of making it? The entire school is pulling for her to get in over Johanna!”

Birgitta slid the final roll of film into a plastic tube and popped the lid in place. “Well, it’s a long shot, so I wouldn’t stress about it too much.” She examined Emma intently before adding, “You do have one thing going for you. Aikō always picks the prettiest girls.”

Another great chapter, not just a very good thoroughly description of the modelling process but also a very good description of the transition of Emma from a nervous unexperienced first-timer into a truly relaxed aspiring model. I really enjoy that your story is so detailed in every necessary aspect without becoming slow and hence risking to make me lose interest. Keep up the good work.