"I… am I okay?" Mimi asked sheepishly, wrinkling up her nose, her voice cracking. Her cheeks were two scarlet patches that looked like someone had splashed them with two quick strokes from an artist's brush.

"Now just stand still… do everything I tell you to, and we'll both make money…" replied Dobkins, loosening the collar to his short shirt, perspiration rolling in beads down his neck.

She was the most delicious perfection of womanhood he'd seen for a long time – not since that young surfer Polynesian from Hawaii. He grinned, his piercing dark eyes two murky pools of lust as he anticipated his plans for this delectable young beauty. He tried to imagine what that warm moist, inviting crevice between her long legs would be like… he knew it would be tight and hot – it would just have to be… and those gracefully long legs would wind so perfectly around his back as he furrowed wide that sweet warm slit of hers until she begged for mercy. But he could see she was no shopworn working girl, not some broad he could just climb on like so many of the others he took photos of. He knew this young filly was something special, and he'd have to plan his moves ever so carefully…

"Yes… we're gonna get some great shots of you. First," he directed, pointing with a trembling finger at the pitchfork leaning against the cool whitewashed stone wall of the barn, "… let's get this hay into a better pile and then I want you to lay down over there on top of it… then we'll bring in one of the horses and have you kneel next to him… you know, a little touchy, feely…?" Huh, kid? Money, money, money…

"Ummmm…" Mimi eyed the man suspiciously.

With a sense of utter humiliation, Mimi, still in the nude, swaggered to the wall, picked up the pitchfork and started forking the hay into a neat pile. The air billowed with dust and she heard a deep grunt, turning in time to see Mr. Dobkins fluttering hands covering his camera lens with his shirt. Now he stood with his bare chest naked to her, and that seemed to quiet her fears of nudity a little.