I Sold Solar Panels and Ended Up Posing for His Camera

There I was, having just turned twenty-four. Squeezed into a pencil skirt that reached below my knees and barely let me walk, a semi-transparent white blouse I’d stolen from my friend Noelia and that was two sizes too big on me, and a matching jacket that was far too warm for the twenty-two degrees that morning. I wore flat shoes because they were more comfortable for spending the day pounding the pavements, even if they made me look like a doll, which is saying something, because I’m short.

It was my first real job: door-to-door sales for a solar panel company. With a middling education and twenty-four years behind me, it was the best thing I found that didn’t involve scrubbing floors. I’ve got a good figure, “pretty” they call me, and as much as it costs me to admit it, they’re right. I barely make five foot one, pale skin, a few freckles, shoulder-length blond curls that give me a rebellious air.

My sex life was almost non-existent and, when I had it, unsatisfying. The occasional stranger from a nightclub after a couple of drinks, rushed sex that almost always ended with me alone in the car using a finger. Since I don’t like going out at night either, I fucked less than a nun. But I didn’t mind too much; when I felt like it, I was enough for myself.

Summer was approaching and the sun, which was my business, was doing me in. It was hot, hot enough to take off my jacket and let the thin blouse show through to my white lace bra, a plain little thing that didn’t support much. I could feel my breasts bouncing with every step as I rang the houses with the best orientation for panels. I only got whistles and rude comments from builders and layabouts. Same as always.

***

At last I rang the bell at a townhouse in a decent residential neighborhood. It was almost noon and there didn’t seem to be anyone home. Just as I was about to leave, I heard voices and the door opened. It was a man in his forties, in bermuda shorts, a sports T-shirt, and a headset with a microphone on. He looked like he was in the middle of a meeting. He gestured for me to come in.

In street-sales training they kept telling us never to go past the hallway and to always leave the door open. So I did. The man seemed trustworthy, or at least not like a weirdo. He was fit, clean, and the strangest thing: he didn’t devour me with his eyes or stare at my chest. Men always go for tits, pussy, and ass. This one didn’t, or at least not yet.

The cool air inside the house was a blessing. I stayed in the hall looking at the photos on the walls: friends, family, landscapes, adventure sports. All very natural and cheerful. When he hung up, he came over to me.

—Good morning, sorry to keep you waiting. Are you here for the equipment? You’re Lucía, right?

—Uh, no. My name is Carla and I’m from the solar panel company. Your house is perfectly oriented for installing them and saving quite a bit on the electricity bill.

—You’re not Lucía? What day is it today, Wednesday?

—It’s Tuesday —I replied.

—Oh, I’ve mistaken you for someone else. Sorry. —He smiled.— And what do you suggest?

—Would you like me to show you our catalog? I have two options I’m sure you’ll be interested in.

—I don’t know…

And at that moment his gaze dropped to my breasts. With the cool air inside, my nipples had hardened and showed brazenly through the thin fabric of the bra and blouse. He stared for two seconds, enchanted, then immediately looked away with an awkward gesture, as if apologizing.

—Oops, sorry. Yes, yes, show me the options, although I should tell you in advance I’m not at all sure.

I hate it when people stare at my tits, but I understood he meant no harm. I would have looked too. Even if they aren’t big, mine are pretty: firm, perky, and very sensitive.

***

—Don’t call me “sir,” please. I’m Marcos.

—And I’m Carla. Nice to meet you.

We shook hands. His was big, warm, and wrapped around mine gently. We looked into each other’s eyes and connected. I felt at ease. I took out the catalogs and explained the options to him, but between the sun coming through the window and how much I was talking, I started to tire.

—Would you like something to drink? A nice cold beer? I think I’ve got alcohol-free.

—I wouldn’t want to be a bother.

—It’s no bother. It’s hot and you talk a lot.

He came back from the kitchen looking frustrated: he couldn’t find the non-alcoholic beer, so he brought me a regular one and tap water. I accepted the beer “to replace my salts,” as if I had any idea what I was talking about. I nibbled on some crisps, made my power and payback calculations pretending they were incredibly complex operations. It made me seem more professional.

When I finished and turned my face, I found him looking at me again, spellbound.

—Marcos? Are you all right? You seem distracted.

—Yes, sorry. I was just… dazzled watching you do the calculations.

—Why? —I asked, blushing.

—Well, it’s a bit embarrassing. The sunbeams coming through the window make it so… your blouse goes transparent. And it creates a very beautiful scene. And a very sensual one.

I realized what he meant and turned red as a tomato. If the blouse was see-through under normal light, with that light it must have been like I wasn’t wearing anything at all. I started gathering the papers in a rush; I even dropped the pen.

—Carla, please, don’t be scared. I like photography and I’m always looking for that special image, that light effect. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Forgive me.

His words calmed me down. I was in a stranger’s house, I’d had a beer, and he’d practically told me he’d seen my breasts. And yet I felt safe. Marcos must have been fifteen years older than me at least; he was a real man, not a nightclub twenty-something. I left the catalogs on the table and got up to browse the photos.

***

—Are all these photos yours?

—Yes.

—They’re beautiful. Though some of the people ones are a bit strange.

—They’re artistic. Those are the ones I can keep out in the open. I prefer to store the others away.

—Oh yeah? Porn photos? —I blurted out, laughing.

—Not at all. Intimate photos, with light effects. Some nudes, like that one you were looking at before.

I looked more closely: between colorful triangles and a plant there was, indeed, a woman and her breasts. Then I understood why he’d gone dumb over my blouse. I felt the heat rising from below: I had gotten turned on by exposing myself without meaning to in front of a stranger.

—If you want, I’ll take the picture and you can see what I saw. With your phone, and you decide what to do with it.

I thought about it for a second. It really must be a special image, and I felt special being the focus of his gaze.

—Okay. With my phone.

I sat back down on the sofa and let the sun shine through my blouse. Marcos took several photos, asking me to lift one arm, turn my face, raise my gaze. I felt like a professional model. When he showed them to me, I couldn’t believe it. My breasts were there, but they weren’t the center: the window, the light, the blouse turned to silk, my flat stomach, my expression like I had never seen it before. For the first time I saw myself as grown-up, interesting, attractive.

—Marcos, these are incredible!

And I hugged him out of sheer emotion, crushing my breasts against his chest. He froze and didn’t hug me back; when he pulled away, he turned to hide an erection I had felt perfectly.

—They’d look much better with a DSLR —he said, collecting himself.— Want to try?

***

He went to get the “real” camera, and by the bulge in his pants I suspected he’d also gone to relieve himself a little. He came back calmer. We repeated the poses and, on the monitor connected to the camera, the photos were even more spectacular.

—Pull your blouse out over the skirt —he asked.— It’s so long, it almost reaches your knees.

—It belongs to the friend I told you about, much bigger than me in every way —I laughed, drawing huge breasts with my hands.

—Carla, would you take off the skirt? You can barely move and the blouse covers you down to your thighs. It’ll be like a bikini.

I hesitated. I remembered the ordinary panties I was wearing, the kind for lounging around the house, and I felt embarrassed; on top of that, I was horny and I knew the wetness would show. But he called me “sweetheart” and I relaxed. Marcos turned away to give me privacy, I pulled down the zipper and let the skirt fall. What freedom.

We started another round. At first I was careful not to show my panties; in a couple of poses it was impossible, and from then on I stopped caring. He asked me to unbutton my blouse without taking it off. Some of the photos were already pretty risqué.

—You have a very beautiful chest —he said.— The transparencies would look great without the bra. But I understand if that feels too exposed.

I was standing with my legs a little apart, letting him see the panties that had ridden up into my slit. I knew he could see it and I didn’t care.

—Okay, bra off.

He turned around, I took it off under the blouse, and massaged my breasts to erase the underwire marks. I pinched my nipples so they’d get hard and warned him. The see-through shots came out truly erotic: a close-up of my nipples outlined in the fabric, a whole breast peeking from the neckline, a shot from behind with my ass half-bared and the obvious bulge of my sex. Those photos made me even hotter, and I could tell Marcos was hard, although neither of us said a thing.

—Damn, Marcos, what dirty photos. I can’t believe that’s me.

—You’ve got a fantastic body. Seeing you is very exciting; it’s only normal that you feel that way too. It always happens.

—Normal for you. I’m getting hornier by the second.

***

I felt a tingling between my legs that only one thing could soothe. That was what I was thinking when Marcos asked me how I dealt with my pubic hair. I confessed, I don’t know why, that I only trimmed the sides and that my sex life was scarce.

—In artistic photography, your whole body composes a scene —he explained.— A bit of hair makes the transparencies more interesting. It places the parts in the composition. Am I making sense?

I understood almost none of it, but I nodded as if I understood everything. And then my mouth started talking on its own:

—Okay. But only if you promise not to freak out or make a weird face.

—Freak out? What have you got there? —he laughed.

We laughed both of us, me nervous and horny as a bitch in heat. He turned around. I hooked my panties by the waistband, pulled them down slowly feeling them peel away from my wetness, then yanked them to my ankles. I balled them up; I admit I smelled them, they smelled like sex. I wiped myself a little with them and gave a warning. Marcos took them from my hand—he noticed how wet they were—and left them on a chair without saying anything.

—Now I see what you meant —he commented, looking without embarrassment at my trimmed patch.— But I think you look very good. Since it’s such a light brown, it barely shows.

He was talking about my sex the way someone talks about broccoli, with no importance attached at all. That turned me on so much that I spread my legs a little so the lips would open. His erection, almost slipping out of his waistband, spoke for him.

***

He took a new series of composition shots. Breasts, pussy, the crack of my ass when he put me on all fours. I sighed, thinking he was going to penetrate me, but no. All very sexy, without being obscene. I no longer had any qualms about him seeing me naked.

—Now a few closer ones. They’ll be a bit explicit, but they’ll turn out well.

He laid me out on the dining table with the blouse open just enough to cover what was necessary. He fixed my hair, my neck, made me bend one leg.

—Don’t move, there’s a little fuzz on your belly button. I’ll take it off.

His warm fingers brushed my skin. I jolted and a moan escaped me. He caressed my stomach very slowly, slid down to brush the first hairs and took his hand to my thigh, passing over my groin. I sighed without meaning to and was almost about to come.

—There. Now spread your legs.

I did, showing him everything: the swollen lips, shining, throbbing.

—You have a beautiful vulva. May I tidy up these little hairs a bit?

—Mm-hm —was all I could manage.

His thumb and forefinger settled on each lip, moving the hair aside, parting me a little, revealing every fold. I wanted a finger to slide inside me. I was dying from pleasure and started moaning with every touch. He stopped to take a couple of photos and I rubbed my thighs together looking for relief, stroking my breasts.

—You’re very excited. I’m going to set the hairs in place, they tend to go back.

—Yeeesss —I whispered.

Then I felt his face coming closer. He smelled me, sighed, and started licking my outer lips very slowly. “You’re so wet, you taste so good.” He ran his tongue through every corner, circled my clit and sucked it gently, slid his tongue into me while he stroked me with his fingers. I could only moan and writhe: “Yes, like that, yes, stop, stooop!” And all at once I fell silent. Time stopped.

I came harder than ever before in my life. It felt like a volcano exploding inside me. I grabbed his head with both hands and pressed it against my sex, closed my thighs around it and screamed at the top of my lungs. It took me a while to come back. I was laughing and crying at the same time, repeating “fuck, fuck,” while he took photos of me with a face soaked through.

—Thank you —I said honestly—. I’d never come like that. I didn’t know something of this caliber could exist.

***

He came over to caress me and, for the first time in my life, I wanted to give a man pleasure. I got off the table, held his face and gave him a wet kiss. Without giving him time to react, I crouched down, pulled down his pants, and freed a hard, thick, well-sized cock. I took it in my small hand, feeling its hardness and the pulse of the veins, and put it in my mouth without hesitation.

I sucked him all over, from the balls to the head, wanking him with my hand while I worked him with my lips and tongue. “You’re a real slut, you suck it so well,” he told me, and I got off on feeling so desired. When he tried to stop me, warning he was about to come, I sped up. He tensed and shot stream after stream into my mouth. I didn’t let a drop escape. While I swallowed, I fingered myself purely for the pleasure of sucking him off.

He lifted me up slowly and we kissed for real, calmly, discovering each other. His hands ran over my back, my ass, my breasts. One slid down to my sex and started exploring it. He laid me down, spread my legs, and ate me again while his fingers went in and out. When I was about to come again, he sat up.

His cock was hard again already. He lay back, I straddled him and guided it inside me, feeling every centimeter make its way in. “How I feel you inside me,” I sighed. “Eat it with your cunt,” he replied, and hearing him drove me wild. I started riding him, my breasts bouncing and he licked them, roughing up my nipples. He took one hand to my ass and slid in a finger, pressing from inside until the second most intense orgasm of my life went through me head to toe. I shouted every filthy thing that came into my head.

***

He didn’t let me catch my breath. He put me on all fours and drove deep, gripping my hips with brutal rhythm. I could hear the slap of his body against my ass, his balls against me. He gave me a couple of spanks that left my ass red, yanked my hair, and without warning I had a third orgasm. Even so, he still didn’t stop. He started playing with his fingers at my asshole, one, two, three. I was in a trance.

—What an incredible ass you have.

—It’s all yours, no one’s touched it before —I said almost automatically.

Suddenly he pulled out, spat a couple of times, lubricated well with his fingers, and pressed the head against me. I opened my eyes, scared: “I’ve never done it there.” But I was completely given over. He went in very slowly. It hurt, it burned, a few tears escaped me, and halfway in he stopped, caressing my back. “Easy, relax, let your body adjust.” And all at once my body gave in on its own, and the pain turned into pleasure.

I took my hand to my sex and rubbed myself while he finished driving it into me with a rhythm that made my eyes roll back. In two minutes I came for the fourth time, squeezing him so hard he came with me, as if I were milking him. My first anal orgasm was unique, unrepeatable. I felt three or four spurts inside me. And above all, I felt whole for having given someone so much pleasure.

***

We caught our breath lying down, his heart beating hard beneath my hand. When he could speak again, he suggested we shower together. When I got up, my legs could barely hold me and I could feel the fluids sliding down my thighs. But I was stupidly happy, grinning from ear to ear. I had never showered with a man. He soaped me all over, shamelessly, and I got aroused again and went searching for his cock with my mouth under the hot water, delighting in the very thing responsible for putting me into orbit.

Afterward he rubbed aloe cream into my sore ass, taking the opportunity to touch me everywhere. “Don’t go on, please, I can’t take any more,” I begged him, laughing, exhausted and happy. I didn’t regret a thing. On the contrary: I discovered sex could be like this, gloriously different from my unsatisfying five-minute fucks.

When I left, around seven, I was without panties or bra. The blouse showed through to my breasts and I didn’t care. I sat in the car, pulled up my skirt to reach the pedals, and there was my sex, on display for the whole empty street. I brushed it with one finger and a shiver went through me. I never even started the engine: I got out of the car and went back to Marcos’s place to spend the rest of the day and the night.

That was the best sex session of my entire life. It took him no effort at all to convince me to pose for more photos, this time fully shaved. And all without signing a single solar panel order. Ever since then, I love the sun.