Helping Her Send Nudes to Her Bf

When my boyfriend first got deployed, he’d been excited. I’d been excited for him, too–I mean, he wasn’t going anywhere dangerous, and the pay was incredible. It was only six months, and when he got back…we’d sort of agreed that it would be a good time to get married.

I mean, it wasn’t like an official proposal or anything, but…it wasn’t not a proposal either, y’know?

We’d known it would be hard. We promised to Skype whenever we could, but between my studies, his shifts, and the time zones, it had been difficult. Eventually, we’d given up on video calling, and just stuck to texting and emails. Texting for short chats, for the hours we were both awake and available at the same time, email for more in-depth conversations.

But god, I hadn’t realized how lonely it would be.

He’d been gone for just over two months–not even halfway through–when everything began.

I’d asked my friend Bert to come hang out, just for the company. Seriously, that was the intent; I just wanted someone to hang out with.

It was never meant to be anything more than that.

“Hey A,” Bert said, as he stepped into my room. My name’s Amanda, but he’s called me ‘A’ since we were…6? Maybe even longer.

“Hey B,” I replied. Yeah, it was a little dorky, but…well, so was he. It was hard not to get sucked into it sometimes, y’know?

Bert was wearing a T-shirt, and a pair of these cargo shorts with thousands of pockets. His camera was around his neck, as always. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d seen him without it.

I was dressed in gym shorts, and a shirt with a loose, deep side-cut. He could probably see my black lace bra through the sides, but I wasn’t self-conscious about it. I mean, we were friends–we’d known each other since we were kids.

I had nothing to worry about, right?

As I gave him a hug hello, I noticed something hard pushing against my crotch. I sort of jumped back in shock, and glanced down–it was his camera.

Ugh. Two months without sex, and I was suddenly developing a dirty mind.

“You noticed!” he said, his face lighting up. Ignoring my confused expression, he launched into a long speech, sharing waaaay too many details about his equipment.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, picking it up and excitedly showing me the back. “Bert, you’ve always been a Nokia guy! But Sony have really knocked it out of the park this time–the MC556 has a bunch of features I’ve been wanting forever.”

“You and your cameras,” I smiled, sitting down on my bed, hoping my obvious disinterest would shut him up.

No such luck.

“Did you know they can make the lens self-stabilize within the unit?” he asked. I gave him nothing. He continued anyway. “It’s not as good as a separate, dedicated stabilizer, of course, but the technology is just getting better and better…”

For the next few minutes, he continued sharing specific new features about the unit. I tried for a few minutes, but ultimately I just could not bring myself to care. Instead, my mind wandered as I glanced around my room.

It hadn’t really changed that much since I was a kid, not really. I had a desk now, covered in verging-on-overdue homework, and my My Little Pony posters had been replaced by The Decemberists concert posters.

Other than that, we might as well have been eight years old again, playing with my Barbie dolls on the carpet. Bert hated me bringing that up.

I brought it up whenever I could.

“So…” I replied, when it seemed Camera Facts With Bert was starting to wind up. “What you’re saying…is that this new toy of yours can take a sick new Instagram picture for me?”

Bert laughed at that, exposing the back of his throat. He’s always been the funny one–it made me feel good when I could make him laugh.

“Yes, Amanda,” he eventually replied. “Just like the Death Star could be used to ‘dispose of your old couch’, I think the Sony MC556 could ‘take an Instagram picture’ for you.”

“Everyone’s always so jealous of my social media pics,” I said, crossing to the mirror and checking my makeup. “You’re the best friend a girl could have.”

“Thanks,” he said, preening slightly at my words. “I mean, some subjects just photograph better than others…”

As I turned around, I thought I caught his eyes flicking down to my legs.

“You’re making me blush,” I said dryly. I must have been imagining it–I mean, I know I’m attractive, and I know that he knows I’m attractive, but…he’s never looked at me that way before. We’ve always just been friends. Nothing more.

Ugh. I was way too hungry for attention. And David had only been gone for seventy-three days.

Not that I was counting.

“Blush away,” he replied. “It’ll come across great in the shots…and, of course, I can use photoshop to flatten the red curve a little, really bring out the color of your eyes.”

He raised his camera, and pointed it at my face.

Click.

“While you’re at it,” I said, staring at the big black lens, “can you photoshop me some better curves?”

As soon as I said it, I wished I could suck the words back into my mouth. What was wrong with me? Flirting with my childhood friend–that was a new low.

Like, I know I have a great body. I know I do. I’ve never been one to suffer from poor self-esteem.

David once said that my butt could launch a cruise liner. I told him that it was Helen’s face that launched all the ships, but he refused to believe me. “Pretty sure it was her butt,” he’d joked.

I really missed him.

And it might have been shallow, but…I missed being told that I was hot.

Not that I, like, needed it. It was just nice to be complimented.

To my surprise, Bert lowered his camera and stared at my chest in response. But not in a pervy way, somehow–like a professional, sizing me up.

It made sense, I guess; he is a professional. Mostly weddings, but he’s moving more into portraiture. It’s part of why I make sure to voice my appreciation that he still takes my social media pics for free.

“Hmmm,” he said. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about in that regard.”

I raised one eyebrow and shot him a glare, but he missed it. He just kept staring at my shirt.

You ever done that thing where you wait behind a door to scare someone, but they never come, so eventually you just come out and keep…living your life? Yeah, this was a little like that–he wasn’t looking up, so I stopped glaring. His stare was lasting so long, I realized he must have been kidding.

Bert was always kidding around, so I figured this was no different.

“Yeah,” I said, grabbing my tits through my shirt, weighing them with my hands. “I guess they’re alright. But you know how boys are–the bigger, the better…”

He laughed at that, too. I was on a roll today.

“Besides,” I continued, “I’ve gotta make sure that David remembers what he’s missing. I don’t want some German slut trying to seduce him…”

That was meant to be a joke, but…it had a weird ring of truth to it.

Don’t get me wrong–I trusted David. I really did. He’d never even glanced at another woman, the whole time we were together. But…he’d been gone for two months. I’d seen what German girls looked like, and German porn is always the dirtiest. That couldn’t be a coincidence, right?

In response, Bert picked up his camera, moved it to his eye, and took a picture.

Of my chest.

Click.

“Hey!

“Don’t want David to forget why he loves you, do we?” he said with a wink.

“I was just kidding,” I said, my blush returning. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten into this. I felt like I was being disloyal, talking to Bert about my insecurities.

“Sorry.” Bert scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Want me to delete it?”

“Yes,” I should have immediately said. Yes was clearly the correct answer. Right?

But instead…

“Show me,” I replied softly.

Bert sat next to me on the bed. His bare forearm brushed against mine as he twiddled with the dial at the top of his camera, pulling up the photo.

Like I said, I know I have a great body. I’m a little shorter than I’d like, but my boobs, my butt, my legs–I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

Even knowing that–damn. Bert’s camera added a few pounds to all the right places.

“Depite the fact that you’re being a perv,” I said, stunned at the image on the little LCD screen, “you really are good at this.”

“That’s my secret,” he said gruffly. “I’m always a perv.”

I laughed, and pushed him away. The image of my body, captured on film (or however a digital camera works) for all eternity. My tits, in the center of the frame. No face, no identifying marks, just tits in a white shirt.

Really nice tits, at that.

“You want a copy, to send to David?”

“No,” I replied.

“I’m not sure,” I said, immediately contradicting myself. “He’s always asking for sexy pics, but I don’t think he’d like the fact that they were taken by a guy. Even if it’s just you.”

David’s never had any issue with my best friend being a guy. I mean, why would he? Bert’s harmless, and David is far from the jealous or controlling type. I probably wouldn’t be with him if he had a problem with me being best friends with a guy.

But still…I knew this was crossing some kind of line.

“Well,” Bert said with a nod, “If you ever decide you want some, just for yourself, you know where to come to.”

What did he mean by that? Why would I want sexy pictures of myself?

I blushed as the image of my own tits appeared in my mind once more.

“Want to rock the Instagram world?” Bert continued.

“Shoot,” I said, posing for the camera.

“H-O-T-T,” Bert said, in response to my ironic duckface. I mean, I think it was ironic. I discovered a while back that…duckface actually looks really good on me. Does that make me a bad person?

I reluctantly relaxed my face, and we spent the next minute or so taking pics.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

“Okay,” I said. “You think that’s enough?”

“I can always use more,” he replied, and–with a huge smile–pointed the camera straight at my chest once more.

Click.

The image of my tits on his camera screen popped into my head again. I knew this was nothing more than a joke.

There was no harm in joining in, right?

“Going for the ‘I didn’t notice my tit was out’ shot?” I joked in response, pushing my boobs together. I even pulled the front of my shirt down to reveal an extra inch of cleavage.

“Perfect for Christmas cards,” he smiled back. To my surprise, he actually spent a few seconds adjusting the shot, committing to the joke more than I expected.

Click.

“Aunt Mildred will love it,” he continued.

Click.

I laughed. Actually, I sort of snorted. Aside from a chronic addiction to duckface, gigglesnorting is my very worst habit.

That was when I should have ended things, obviously. Like, posing as he took closeup pictures of my tits didn’t just step over the line–it pole-vaulted.

Instead, I struck a new pose.

“Ooooh, let’s take a sideboob picture as well!” I laughed, turning to the right. I mean, we were just kidding around, right? No harm in continuing the joke.

It was just for laughs…like the way I ironically duckfaced.

“This is the ‘I just woke up like this…in full makeup, with perfect hair.”

Click. Click. Click.

My arms were outstretched, like I’d just woken up from a nap. As the photos continued, I realized that my bra and the shape of my boobs must have been completely visible through the cutout side of my sleeveless tee.

Too late now, right?

Besides, it’s not like it’d be a problem. It was Bert.

It was just Bert.

Click, click, click.

“Give me smokey eyes,” he instructed. “Really show the camera how much you want it.”

I instinctive started following his directions. For the next few moments, I forgot that we were just friends. I forgot that we were friends at all.

For the next few moments, I was just a model, posing for the camera.

“Put one finger in your mouth.”

I obeyed.

“Crook it, like you’re going to bite your knuckle.”

My body took on an ‘innocent schoolgirl’ pose, while my index finger seductively parted my lips.

This was more fun than I expected. Of course, I always had fun with Bert–that’s why he was my first call whenever I was bored.

Not that I was, like, taking advantage of him or anything.

Click, click, click, click.

“What next?” I asked, fluttering my eyelashes at Bert, waiting for his next direction.

“Lay on your side,” he ordered. “I’m going to photograph you like one of my French girls.”

I couldn’t help but giggle and obey. No snort, thank god.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

As we resumed our banter, I continued to lose myself in the photoshoot.

“Run a hand down your waist,” he instructed. I followed his command.

Click. Click.

“Run a hand down your leg.” I stroked my leg softly as I did.

Click. Click. Click.

“Lift the bottom of your shirt a little, show off your midriff.”

As I pulled up my shirt, I noticed a glow in Bert’s eyes.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” I said with a chuckle.

“I just love photography,” he responded. “Did I say earlier that it was all about the subject matter? All lies. It’s about the angle, baby.”

“These pics are not going to Instagram,” I said, lifting up my shirt to the bottom of my bra and revealing my flat stomach.

Click, click, click, click.

“They should,” he told me, moving in closer and focusing on my upper body. “I bet you’d get a lot more followers.”

“Yeah…and a lot more creeps, commenting how they’d have their way with me.”

“That’s the internet,” Bert shrugged. “Hey, I have an idea.”

The big, black lens was just a few feet from my face. I could feel it watching me, recording me. Recording my image, for posterity.

I felt uncomfortable, as well as…something else.

But I trusted him.

“If you hold your hands up past the camera,” Bert continued, “I can take some sexy photos for David and make them look like selfies.

“You’ll have to lower the image quality,” I laughed nervously. “He’s never going to believe I took these pics with my crappy phone.”

“I can’t believe you’re still on an iPhone 6,” he said, rolling his eyes. It was a conversation we’d had many, many times before. “When are you going to upgrade?”

“When I win the lottery.”

“Yeah, I can make these look like they were taken with ancient technology. I can even photoshop them to make the composition worse. Y’know, so they look like a girl took them. Ow!”

Rubbing his arm where I’d just punched him, Bert laughed. I smiled as the back of his throat came into view.

“Watch the goods. These arms are the money-makers!”

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he reached out and ruffled my hair.

“Great,” I sighed, trying to fix it up. “How is this gonna look in the pictures?”

“Like sex hair.”

His dumb joke made me blush again. Maybe because he didn’t really deliver it like it was a joke.

For a moment, I paused. What exactly was I doing here?

Just taking some sexy pics. For David.

For David.

I mean, he’d been bugging me about it forever, right? No, not ‘bugging’ me, that’s not fair. But he’d definitely brought it up more once. More than a few times.

“Where do I put my hand?” I said, avoiding eye-contact.

“Just reach up and rest it on my shoulder.”

“This is funny.” I grabbed his shoulder. “It’s like I’m holding a giant camera.”

“You break me, you’ve bought me. Push your arms together and look up at the camera.”

“Like this?”

My elbows pushed together, creating cleavage (well, more cleavage than normal) and I looked into the lens with big, blinking, innocent eyes.

The lens winked back at me:

Click.

“Perfect.”

Click, click, click.

“Okay, now open your mouth just a little.”

Click. Click.

“Use your other hand to pull down your shirt some more. Really show him what he’s been missing.”

Click, click, click.

“Amazing.”

Click click click click.

“Use one hand to grab your boob and look at the camera like you really miss him. Like you wish he was here. Like you wish he was the one grabbing you.”

That wasn’t hard. I really did miss him. I would have done anything to feel his hands on my tits again.

“You’re going to delete these pictures once you send them to me, right?” I chuckled, grabbing my breast.

Bert shook his head, disappointed. “C’mon, Amanda…that’s no way to talk to your camera.”

Click, click.

“I’m going to change lenses,” He said, reaching into one of his many pockets and pulling out a small black cylinder. “You want to take your shirt off? Really drive him wild?”

“No way,” I panted nervously.

A part of me wanted to, but I knew it would be wrong.

So much of this was wrong.

Although…I was doing it for David, after all.

“Cool cool.” Bert’s casual response made me feel a lot better. Not that I expected him to fight me on this.

Not that I wanted him to.

“What if you kept your shirt on but removed your bra? That way I wouldn’t see anything, but we could take some really hot pictures for your fiancée.”

I’d told Bert about the almost-proposal, of course. I told Bert everything.

“Boyfriend,” I corrected.

“Whatever.”

His tone was cool and professional, but…something gave me pause.

“No,” I said, after a few minutes of thought. “No, that’s…that’s going too far. I’m sure he’ll like the pictures we already took.”

“Why don’t we have a look at what we’ve taken so far? They’re a lot of fun–you look amazing in them.”

“Okay,” I nodded, scooting closer. He draped an arm around me so casually, I barely noticed. Spinning the dial once more, he pulled up the pictures and started pointing at them and discussing the details.

“See the soft lighting on that one? A cloud went overhead, and I quickly took a bunch of pictures to take advantage of it. Oh man, I was so happy with the shadow on that one–even though your hair isn’t in the shot directly, it still evokes the feeling of it. The angle on this one is something I’ve been wanting to try for a while. Your breast has such a great curve in this picture–I used it to sort of frame the image, you see?”

As he discussed the photos, it definitely helped me calm down. I was clearly overreacting, right? We’d been friends since forever; he wasn’t suddenly looking at me sexually, it was just aesthetics. He was just a photographer doing his job.

Nothing to worry about.

We continued flicking through the pictures, and Bert’s tone grew increasingly critical.

“Like, look at this one,” he said, pointing at one of the last photos. “See how the bra strap throws off the composition of the shot? It’s almost distracting.”

I was so focused on the pictures and my friend’s words, I barely noticed the fact that his arm was rubbing against the side of my breasts as he gestured.

“Or this one–the shadow is ruined by the contrast between your bra and your top. The colors work great in person, but on the camera they’re not quite right.”

I nodded in agreement. They looked fine to me, of course, but I trusted Bert’s professional opinion above my own amateur view of the pictures.

“The line of your bra strap is completely visible through the fabric here…it totally ruins the composition I was going for.”

When we reached the last photo, he surprised me by popping the screen out, spinning the dial, and taking a quick selfie. A preview of the image appeared on the screen–Bert, with his tongue sticking out. Me, a surprised look on my face.

“Uh…”

“Just a memento,” he said smoothly.

“Sure. Just…don’t post it on social media. I don’t want David recognizing my shirt from the pics, y’know?”

“Amanda,” Bert said, a heavy tone to his voice. “I hate to break it to he, but…my face was in the center of the frame. No one is going to be looking at you in that pic.”

I laughed, and he winked playfully at me.

“You wanna do this?”

“Just the bra, right?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with. Just think of me as your friendly B.E.R.T. Nokia 1.0.”

“Ha ha,” I sarcastically replied. My heart was racing. “Okay. But you’re going to have to turn around while I take it off.”

In response, he fiddled with his camera for a moment. He se it down on the desk, pointing straight at me, before turning away. I unhooked my bra and fumbled with it for a moment to remove it from under my shirt before tossing it aside.

Before telling Bert to turn down, I glanced down at my tits. I’m glad I did–my left nipple was poking out the side of the shirt. I quickly adjusted it, then told him I was ready.

“Sit on the bed.”

I did as I was told.

Bert moved himself to my bed, kneeling above me. He must have had a great view down my top.

I tried not to think about it, instead focusing on the camera. That black, unblinking lens.

Click.

Grabbing my hand, Bert moved it to his neck. I was so conscious of my barely-covered body, and the way this whole thing escalated…I couldn’t help but feel my nipples harden. I glanced down, and yup–sure enough, they were now clearly visible through my shirt.

“Perfect,” he said cheerily. “Great job.”

God, he thought I’d done it deliberately.

Click, click, click.

My blush was back.

“That’s great, Mandy.” No one had called me Mandy since I was a kid. I could feel his increased heartbeat through the veins on his neck. My heart synced up with his, beating faster.

“Great,” he said, in a voice low and husky. “Now, reach up and pinch your nipple through the shirt.”

“What?”

“For the picture. It’s just like grabbing your boob–it’ll look really great. Trust me.”

“I’m not sure about this…”

He moved the camera away from her face, revealing a furrowed brow.

“C’mon, Amanda. There’s another cloud overhead–I don’t want to lose the lighting.”

I hadn’t even noticed, but the lighting was definitely softer. More intimate. Bert’s pulse thrummed beneath my fingers.

“David’s gonna love this.”

I didn’t move. He let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed my hand, firmly moving it to my right breast.

“Okay,” I said, biting my tongue as I grabbed my sensitive nipple. “But do it quickly.”

Click. Click. Click.

“Pinch it from below, so I can see the outline.”

“This is going way too far,” I uttered to myself under my breath as I followed his command.

Click, click, click, click.

“Oh wow,” Bert said cheerfully. “That looks great! Your dark nails really contrast well with the shirt, and this lighting is perfect. I might even make this one black-and-white; it’s almost chiaroscuro-esque.”

Click, click click, click.

“Don’t make them too fancy,” I muttered. “I’m meant to be taking these, remember? David will never believe I knew how to make it Kiara-screwy.”

“Don’t worry about it,” my childhood friend replied immediately. “I know what I’m doing, okay? Reach below your boob and cup it, then lift it up a little.”

I hesitated, but…he was a professional. And he was doing me a favor. I reluctantly followed his direction and cupped my breast.

Click click click click click.

“You could seriously be a model,” he said, pulling the camera away from his eye to shoot me a comforting smile. “You’re really good at this.”

“Yeah, I’m not ever doing this kind of modeling.”

“You know what I mean. David is gonna love these. Let me position that strap just right.”

As Bert reached down to move my strap, he started telling me about how different fabrics refracted light differently. I was too tense to take any of it in, but I nodded along as though I was listening.

When he was finally happy with the positioning of my shirt, he pulled back–his fingers brushing against my hard nipple as he did, just for a moment.

I winced as a wave of pleasure from that slight touch ran through my body. It had been so long since anyone had touched my nipples.

It had been so long since I’d been touched.

“Okay,” he said, seemingly not noticing anything. “Let’s try this–look straight at the lens. No, actually…try to look through the lens.”

“Okay…how do I do that?”

“Have you ever, like…done a magic eye puzzle? Don’t focus on the lens, pretend you can see past it. Pretend you’re looking through the lens, into my eyes. Does that make sense?”

As Bert spoke, he continued snapping pictures. Of my confused expression, I assume.

Click, click, click, click.

“Alright,” I nodded, trying to follow his instructions. “Like that?”

“Perf,” he said. Click, click, click. “Stay focused entirely on the lens, okay? It looks really cool, like you’re staring straight into my eyes.”

“Uh-huh.”

As I furrowed my brow in concentration, Bert’s hand reached down and continued adjusting my clothing. I was too focused to care, until the fabric suddenly shifted against my nipples.

“Mmmm…”

My eyes widened in embarrassment as I realized what had just happened.

Click, click, click, click.

Oh, god. I’d just moaned with pleasure as my best friend was…he was just trying to do me a favor.

Click, click, click, click, click.

He was taking photos for me, for David–for my boyfriend. And here I was, moaning with pleasure.

Click click click click click.

God. What was wrong with me??

Click click, click, click.

He shifted the fabric once more. Before I could say anything, I could feel the cool afternoon air hit my suddenly-exposed nipple.

Click.

“What are you doing??”

I snapped out of my trance, and quickly adjusted my shirt. Bert’s adjustments had left most of my boob-flesh exposed, but within a few seconds, I’d covered up once more.

“What’s wrong?”

Bert lowered the camera, a confused look on your face.

“I don’t want my nipples in the shot!”

“Oh, whoops. I didn’t even notice.”

I narrowed my eyes, but Bert just kept talking.

“I was trying to get a lens flare in the bottom corner of the pic. Sorry about that.”

“You didn’t notice?”

“They’re surprisingly tricky in this light. Do you know what a lens flare actually is?”

“Yeah,” I said. “No?”

“They’re actually an artifact of misaligned lenses–a mistake. DOP’s used to have to work really hard to avoid them. Pixar spent like six months figuring out how to fake them, so their films would look more real. Isn’t that cool?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I mean…”

Something was feeling off, but it was hard to pinpoint what. My head was still feeling light, a little spinny.

“I’m really sorry,” Bert repeated. “To be safe, how about you put your bra back on?”

“Okay.”

That made me feel much better. I was worrying for no reason, I told myself.

“Yeah,” he continued. “We’ll get some cool cheesecake pics for David. Are you wearing matching panties?”

“What?”

“I can probably edit the color if you’re not, but it’ll be easier if you just change.”

I chuckled nervously.

“We agreed, B. Bra-off only.”

“C’mon, Mandy. I’ve seen you in a bikini hundreds of times. What’s the big deal?”

It’d been years since Bert–or anyone–called me Mandy. It caught me a little off-guard.

“You want David to get distracted by some big blonde Valkyrie?” my friend continued, in response to my silence.

My lips thinned.

“David would never cheat on me.”

Bert threw up his hands. “Who said cheating? I’m just saying, you send him some cute pics, he won’t even be looking at anyone else. You know they’ll look amazing.”

He was right. They would.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, fiddling with his camera. “Let’s take a few–if you don’t like them, we delete them straight away.”

“It’s not about David,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s you, getting to see me in all these intimate positions, with barely any clothes on. I…I feel guilty doing this.”

To my surprise, Bert just laughed in response.

“Who, me? Amanda, I’ve known you all my life. We used to take baths together when we were kids.”

He was right. I’d totally forgotten about that. Blanked it from my mind, maybe.

“You don’t need to feel guilty–I’m not even seeing you as a person right now. It’s like I’m a painter; as far as I’m concerned, you’re just a series of shapes and colors.”

I nodded. He’d told me about this before–when taking a picture of a wedding or whatever, he didn’t see the happy couple as people, just elements of a photograph. It helped him get the shots just right.

What was I so worried about?

I took a deep breath.

“You can never tell anyone about this, understood?”

“Scout’s honor,” Bert said, staring me in the eyes. I raised one eyebrow.

“You were never in the scouts.”

“Mouseketeer’s honor, then.”

I smiled.

“And hey–if you’re really worried, how about you keep your shorts on? We’ll take some pictures of just your bra, see how you feel.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “Fine. But turn around while I change.”

“Of course,” Bert said, fiddling with his camera for a few moments before setting it on my desk, pointing straight at me.

As soon as he turned around, I removed my shirt, allowing my bare breasts to fall free. I quickly covered them with my hand–in case Bert accidentally turned around or something–before grabbing my bra and putting it back on.

“I’m ready.”

“Great,” Bert said. “Lay down on the bed.”

As I lay down, the feeling of discomfort slowly crept back over me. Yeah, we’d had baths together when we were kids, but that was more than a decade ago. Here we were as adults, me wearing nothing but a bra, matching panties (I’d quickly checked while I was getting changed), and a pair of gym shorts that barely covered anything.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair to David, was it?

As he adjusted the blinds and lamps, I realized: I had to say something. I couldn’t do this to David. Bert was my best friend, but he was also a guy. He was a guy, and I was a gorgeous, mostly-naked girl.

This wasn’t right.

“Perfect,” Bert smiled, just as I was about to tell him that this whole thing was off. My words died in my throat, and I unwillingly returned his smile.

God, what was I doing?

He sat above me on the bed, and moved my hand to his chest.

“This will let me take some better shots–it’ll still look like you’re the one taking them though.”

I nodded, feeling his slightly husky chest. Bert always dressed in such baggy clothes–was he secretly a little bit fit underneath them?

“Okay,” he instructed. “Rest one hand between your boobs, bite your lip, and look up at the camera longingly.”

I reluctantly followed his command, realizing an uncomfortable truth as I did. All of this half-naked posing, thinking about sex, seducing the camera…

It was starting to turn me on.

“Fold your arm underneath your breasts; use it to lift them up a bit.”

“Is this good?”

I gave the camera a coy look, pretending it was David.

Click.

I would have done anything to have David sitting above me. My hand on his chest, staring at him longingly, knowing that in just a few moments I could have his thick, hard…–

“Amazing,” Bert answered, interrupting my thoughts. “I’ve set everything up so the lighting is soft on your skin, but hard on the sheets. It’s an effect I’ve been wanting to try for a while.”

He smiled at me, then shot me a quick grin.

“Oh! And you look good as well.”

Click, click.

“I better look good,” I grumbled, “after agreeing to all this.”

“I have a great idea.”

I was tempted to give Bert a withering look, but I didn’t want to spoil the shot.

Click, click, click.

“Use your hand to trace a pattern on your stomach,” he instructed.

“Okay…”

I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

Click, click, click, click.

“Great. Now, move that hand down to the waistband of your shorts…”

“Uh-huh…”

Click, click click click click, click.

“Okay, now slip it into your shorts. This is going to look so sexy. David’s going to love it; I’m so glad you kept them on.”

Click, click, click.

I shouldn’t have. But I mean, it wasn’t like he could see anything. I was just resting my hand inside my shorts. What was the problem?

As soon as I slipped my hand under my shorts and touch my panties, I realized what the problem was.

I was soaking wet.

“Perfect,” Bert said with a smile. “Make it look like you’re playing with yourself, okay?”

Click click click click click.

Moving my fingers around, they brushed up against my wet slit through my panties. I couldn’t help but moan quietly. “Mmm.”

“Oh, that’s great. Yeah, really look like you’re getting into it. This is so fucking hot.”

Click click click click.

I could see my reflection in the camera’s single, winking eye. I knew exactly what it could see: me, writhing on the bed, one hand under my shorts, my hard nipples visible through my bra.

Without noticing, I sunk my nails into Bert’s chest as my other hand played with my pussy. I was breathing heavily, gasping as my best friend took photos of me playing with myself.

Click, click, click, click, click.

“Unbutton your shorts.” Bert’s voice was short. Hoarse.

Powerful.

I closed my eyes as the pleasure took over. I followed Bert’s command without thinking, and unbuttoned my shorts to make it easier to touch myself.

I could smell my own arousal.

“Mmmm…ffuck…”

Click click click click click click click.

“God yes,” Bert whispered, his voice thick with lust.

The sound of the two words were enough to break me out of it. I opened my eyes, to see the camera lowered, and Bert staring at me. I quickly removed my hand from my shorts, and pulled my legs up defensively.

“Ummm…”

“You must really miss David,” Bert said casually. There was no trace of the lust that I’d just heard in his voice. Had I…imagined it? Had I wanted to be wanted so badly, I’d projected my arousal onto him?

No. No, I’d heard what I’d heard.

Right?

“Want to record some video for him? This camera has a video mode.”

“No way,” I said immediately. No. I couldn’t do that.

I couldn’t.

My pussy thrummed at the idea.

“I, uh…I shouldn’t have even done that.”

“Done what?”

“That,” I said desperately. “You know.”

I could still feel my arousal. I still hadn’t gotten release.

“It’s totally fine,” Bert said, as if everything was normal. As if I hadn’t just been touching myself for him.

For the camera.

“It made for some great photos,” he continued. “Want to check them out?”

“I…no.” I uttered, too embarrassed to even look at them.

“Hey,” he said comfortingly, putting the camera down and resting his hand on my knee. His finger gently stroked my leg as he stared sincerely into my eyes. “Everything’s okay.”

“You shouldn’t have seen that,” I said, looking away. “I just…David’s been gone for so long. And I…”

I was blushing like crazy.

“Mandy, I didn’t see anything. Like I said, just think of me as your camera–I’m a tool to help you connect with David. You’ve told me how much you miss him, and I bet he misses you. All I want to do is help you guys reconnect…”

I took a deep breath as I nodded, trying to believe his words.

Bert picked up the camera again.

“I’m not a dude–I’m the Nokia B.E.R.T.”

“Model One,” I whispered back, throwing him a weak smile.

“Exactly.” He moved my hand back to his chest. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

I laughed nervously. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“You’re a good girlfriend,” he smiled. I nodded–I wanted to believe him.

I needed to believe him.

Bert’s other hand reached down and found my hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Just imagine the look on David’s face when he sees these photos.”

Closing my eyes, I tried to block Bert out and imagine my boyfriend. My future husband. The man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

“Let’s do this,” I whispered.

Click, click, click, click.

I slid my fingers back into place, this time going all the way under my panties. It felt like I was even wetter than before.

Bert’s chest was rising and falling under my hand, as if his breathing had quickened. I tried to block him out–there was no Bert. There was only the B.E.R.T.

Lubricating my fingertip with my wetness, I quickly located my clit and started carefully rubbing it.

Click, click, click, click.

“Mmmm,” I moaned.

“Look at the camera,” Bert instructed. I opened my eyes, and stared at the big black lens.

Click. Click. Click.

“Lower your shorts,” he whispered.

One hand on Bert’s chest, the other on my clit, I don’t want to move either of them. Instead, I just lifted up my hips, and waited for his help.

Without missing a beat, he reached down with one hand and pulled down my shorts.

“Keep going,” he murmured. “This looks incredible.”

Lowering my hips, I continued pleasuring myself with my fingers. The sound and the smell filled the small room. All I could hear were my own soft moans, the wetness between my legs…and the sound of the shutter.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

My panties must have been practically see-through at this point.

“Cum for me,” Bert groaned. “Cum for the camera…”

His words spurred me on, and I started rubbing faster, my body writhing on pleasure on the bed. “Ahhhh,” I moaned loudly. My fingers were pulling on Bert’s shirt as I approached orgasm.

Click click click click click click click click.

I knew what I must have looked like–my back arching, my mouth falling open, my eyes wild and aroused, a red flush spreading across my skin.

“Oh godddd…” I panted, my heart beating out of my chest. My body went into convulsions as I came, then collapsed to the bed, exhausted from the pleasure.

“Amanda,” Bert said softly. “That was incredible.”

“Fuck.”

I pulled my wet fingers from my panties, resting them on my tummy. Bert began pulling the camera apart, putting its various parts back into his cargo short pockets. Quick, deft, professional.

“You did really great,” he said casually, when he noticed me staring at him. “That was amazing.”

My face grew red from embarrassment as I came down from my sex high.

“Ummm… I–” I stuttered.

“I’ll send those photos over tonight,” he replied to my incoherent non-sentence. “David is going to love them.”

“I think we should delete them,” I said, finally able to find my tongue. “I don’t think this was a good idea at all.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bert tilted his head to the side and stared at me, a confused look on his face.

“Your boyfriend has been away for a few months,” he continued. “This is exactly what he needs. And I told you, I’ll make them look like selfies. I’m sure he’ll love to see this…side of you.”

What side of me? The kind who invites a friend over for company, and ends up screaming in orgasm in front of him on the bed? Now that my orgasm had fully passed, I was filled with a deep, deep sense of shame.

Shame and satisfaction. God, I wish I didn’t feel so satisfied.

I’d needed that. More than I wanted to admit.

“I’m just…”

I sat up, pulling my legs to my body and hugging them. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of you editing these pictures and looking at them. And what if, like, someone steals the memory card at knife point and the pictures get out! Or…I don’t know, your computer gets hacked or something. We never should have made them!”

Bert put his hand on my shoulder, bare except for my thin black bra-strap. “A, don’t worry about it. My computer has 256-bit encryption, and no one is getting to the SD card. I’ll send it through a secure service–it’s going to be totally safe.

“And don’t worry about me looking at them–I’m just helping out a friend, remember? Once I’ve sent them through, it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

“You promise?” I reply, putting on my best puppy-dog eyes. I didn’t really know what he was talking about, but his words make me feel safe. Like I was being a bit crazy.

I did ask him to help, after all.

His laughter revealed the back of his throat once more. “C’mon, Amanda. It’s me! David’s going to love this. Guaranteed.”