I Can Use Filthy Game Currency In The Real World
Chapter 75: Soaked Panties

Chapter 75: Soaked Panties

"Wow," I breathed, barely audible, my eyes locked on her.

The panties she wore were a whisper of fabric—thin, lacy, and leaving nothing to the imagination.

The delicate flutter of lace framed the soft mound above her clit, outlining every curve with shameless clarity. No cover, no mystery—just smooth, bare skin staring back at me.

"Huh?" I blinked, caught off guard. Something was missing. No trace of pubic hair. Not a single strand. From the front, Emma’s private area was completely exposed, waxed to perfection.

"Did you just get that done?" I asked, tilting my head.

"Oh, uh... yeah," she stammered, her voice tripping over itself. "It’s, um..."

She couldn’t finish, her cheeks flaring red, but I barely noticed her words. My gaze was glued to that flawless, hairless stretch of skin.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing—imagining the silkiness under my fingertips, the warmth of it against my lips. It was too much to shake off.

"Looks good," I said, forcing my voice steady. "Can you turn to the side for me?"

"Like this?" She shifted, her bra strap slipping just enough to tease a glimpse underneath.

Her sharp eyes caught mine lingering, and I didn’t even try to hide it. Her firm nipples pressed against the lace, daring me to look longer.

Click. Click. The shutter fired as I circled her, zooming in on her chest one moment, dipping low to capture her lower half the next. I played it cool, like this was all just part of the job, but my pulse was hammering.

Emma didn’t flinch anymore. She moved with me now, hitting every pose I threw her way without a second thought. She trusted me—or maybe she was just too deep in it to care.

"Alright, let’s kick it up a notch," I said, a grin tugging at my lips.

So far, the poses had been tame—kneeling, twisting a little, nothing wild. Sure, she was in her underwear, and yeah, that alone might’ve felt awkward at first, but I’d kept it easy. Now? I was ready to push.

"Sit back on your hips," I told her.

"On my hips?" she echoed, frowning slightly.

"Yeah, just relax into it—like you’re chilling out."

"Ugh..." She hesitated, then eased down onto the bed, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her hands hovered nervously, one shielding her chest, the other flattening against her stomach. She still looked tense, like she wasn’t sure where this was going.

"Spread your legs a little," I said, casual as I could manage. "Lift your knees up."

"...Wait, what?" Her eyes widened.

"You know—the M-shape pose."

Her brows shot up. This wasn’t some innocent product shoot anymore, and we both knew it. I’d already snapped plenty of shots showing off her bra and panties—more than enough for whatever excuse I’d started with. But that wasn’t the point now.

"Seriously? That pose?" she asked, her voice shaky but curious.

"Yup," I shot back, bold and unapologetic.

If I acted like it was no big deal, she wouldn’t push back. And sure enough—swish—after a beat of doubt, she parted her legs, knees rising into that perfect M. Her hand darted down instinctively, adjusting the thin fabric with trembling fingers.

"Ugh... Manager, this is..." Her voice hitched, a soft little sound slipping out—half protest, half something else.

"Hm?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, no, I just..." She trailed off, mortified.

"Holy crap," I muttered, stunned.

With her legs splayed wide, her upper body arched back naturally, like a slow stretch gone wild. That pale, waxed skin gleamed between her thighs, smooth as glass. The white thong clung to her, barely covering the narrow slit—a pristine, untouched tease that stopped me cold.

Gulp. "Lift your waist a bit," I said, my tone firm. "I want the middle to stand out."

"Ugh..." She let out a strained whimper but obeyed, raising her hips higher.

Click. Click. The camera sang as I framed her—legs wide, body open, breathtaking. She was a vision, and I couldn’t keep the compliments in.

"You’ve got some serious muscle here," I said, nodding at her. "Those hips? Insane. I could tell earlier you work out."

"Oh, yeah... thanks," she mumbled, dazed.

Ever since the M-pose, she’d been off—flushed cheeks, breath shallow, her nipples now sharp against the bra straps.

She was feeling it, and I wasn’t about to let up. This was too good. The shots were fire—composition, vibe, everything. I leaned in closer without thinking, zooming tight on her body.

"Oh, damn!" The curse slipped out again, louder this time.

That white thong? Soaked. Not just a hint of dampness—the whole thing glistened, wet and clinging to her skin.

My heart thudded hard, excitement sparking through me like a live wire. I forced myself to chill, steadying the camera with a slow breath. From this distance, it was subtle. I needed to get closer.

"Alright, just a few close-ups," I said, keeping it smooth. "Then we’re done."

"In this pose?" she asked, her voice small.

"Yeah. It’s perfect right now."

I stepped up to the bed, dropping low until I was nearly level with her. The camera hovered inches away, and there it was—undeniable. The thong shimmered, and even the skin around it glowed with a faint sheen.

"Heh," I chuckled under my breath, a stupid grin spreading across my face.

Anyone else might’ve called me out, labeled me a perv and stormed off. But right then? I didn’t care. This was gold, and I was riding the high of it—thrilled with her, the shots, and the wild, messy thrill of the moment.

Clink. The office door clicked shut behind her, and Emma let out a soft, shaky sound—half groan, half sigh, slipping out before she could catch it.

"Ugh...~~"

She leaned against the door for a second, her breath unsteady. The first outfit was finally done. Photographed, finished, over. At the start, she’d been a mess—nerves twisting her stomach, cheeks burning, her body stiff in poses she couldn’t even track.

She hadn’t known what she was doing, just fumbling through it. But the manager? He’d been patient, guiding her step by step until the tension in her shoulders started to unravel.

It hit her mid-shoot, though—snapped her right out of her daze. His eyes. The way they lingered on her bare skin, sharp and focused through the camera lens.

She’d caught it, and suddenly she remembered: I’m a paid model. This is my job. Shy or not, awkward or not, she had to push past it. Own it.

From that moment, something clicked. The poses felt smoother, her movements looser. She stopped overthinking and let herself settle into the rhythm—kneeling, turning, stretching out like it was second nature.

It was almost easy... until he’d pushed her further. Those bolder poses. The ones that made her heart race again, her skin flush for a whole new reason.

"Ugh... it’s really soaked," she muttered to herself, the words tumbling out as she stepped fully into the office.

The second the door closed, she didn’t waste time. Her fingers hooked under the hem of her t-shirt, peeling it off in one quick motion. It hit the floor with a soft thud.

Then the panties—those drenched, clinging scraps of fabric—slid down her thighs, pooling at her feet. She stood there, bare and unguarded, the cool air brushing her skin as she let out another shaky breath.