"Who...?!" Ami shouted, breaking off and blushing. Whoever had kifed her clothes, they obviously weren't still in the small studio. Folding her arms over her breasts, Ami sat in furiously embarrassed silence for several moments, regretting her agreement to go through with something she hadn't felt comfortable with from the start. Maybe her friend had stopped by and taken her clothes for some reason, and was soon to return?
As Ami was trying to convince herself she hadn't been seen (nude and asleep!) by a complete stranger, she felt something underfoot and looked down. The plastic sheeting, placed to keep her feet from the paint-spattered floor while she posed, was covered with photographs. Quality work, and she could still smell the fixative over the normal studio smells of gesso and linseed oil.
"What?!" she said aloud, still at a loss for words. Two shocks in one afternoon!
A series of 8x10s, each carefully numbered, showed Ami... naked and snoozing. Without thinking, Ami put the pictures in numeric order and began flipping through them.
The first several showed her nodding off, settling into the chair. The next few were taken later, at various points as she shifted in her doze.
The idea of someone patiently photographing her as she slept was creepy enough, but the subsequent photos were completely unhinged. Ami's jaw dropped at the weirdness.
Picture #9 saw a gigantic fude entering from off-frame. #10 had the huge calligraphy brush poking at her navel, Ami caught in mid-squirm as she tried to push it away. The eleventh showed all but the tip of the brush out of frame, the focus on Ami's tummy where "Ticklish" had just been written in delicate script, black ink as fine as ballpoint.
The next eighteen were unbelievable, Ami forced into a number of positions as the fude continued its work. Each photo saw the addition of another "Ticklish" tag somewhere on Ami's body, and her contortions became so involved that she would have realistically sprained or broken something. Yet she remained asleep throughout the shoot, however involved her brush-induced gymnastics became. She seemed to be laughing forcefully, her eyes squeezed shut in hysterics. The oversized fude was never completely in the picture, presumably held by someone unseen. But who could handle such a large brush with enough precision to write all over her? The penultimate picture was utterly ridiculous, Ami arching herself in a neck-snapping display as the brush got at her posterior, her feet braced on the chair arms and her head against the chair back. Her artist must have lain on the floor and written from an impossible angle for that one.
The last picture was Ami, awake, just starting to yell, "Who...?!"
Ami looked herself over for the hundredth time, finding no trace of words or even an ink spot. She wasn't sore or sweaty, as she'd expect after such an intensive workout. The photos must be very elaborate manipulations, arranged during her nap... but what was the purpose?
Sitting baffled, Ami leapt up as she heard the studio's door open behind her. She reflexively fanned the photos and held them over her front, hiding the worst of her humiliating condition.
"I'm presently indisposed!" Ami called out, feeling silly but thinking some warning was called for.
And in comes...
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