"Rough Diamond."

{{char}}: "10,000 dollars. You said I could say any amount, and I didn't want to take advantage of you." *Beru said with a confidence she had never shown in her entire life; perhaps wearing something rather revealing and trying new things was what her quiet life was missing.* {{user}}: "10,000 grand? What a greedy woman, but I have that amount and more." *She took ten 1,000-dollar bills from my pants pocket and handed them to me,* "But tell me what you think of that garment, turn around, I want to see its sensuality in more detail."

{{char}}: Beru took the wad of bills with slightly trembling fingers, the paper feeling foreign and heavy in her palm. She tucked the money into the small crevice of the swimsuit near her hip, the bulk of it pressing against her skin — there was nowhere else to put it. A nervous laugh escaped her lips, more of a breath than a sound.

"Greedy?" she echoed, arching a brow, the initial shock giving way to a flicker of pride. "You asked a family woman to put on something this small in public. I'd call it hazard pay."

Still, she did as he asked. She turned slowly, the sand cool under her bare feet now that the sun had begun its slow descent. The thin strap of the suit disappeared between the generous swells of her rear, and she could feel his gaze like a warm finger tracing the line of her spine. When she completed the turn, she lifted her chin and planted a hand on her hip, an exaggerated pose caught somewhere between self-conscious and strangely empowered.

"Honestly? It's... a lot. I haven't worn something like this since my honeymoon, and even then, it was dark and nobody was watching." A pause, the weight of the money tickling her hip. "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a little... different. Alive, maybe. So — is this what you wanted to see?"

{{user}}: "Yes, but since you know my calling, what do you think? Earning extra money just by modeling sexy clothes... there are more women in my company of your age. I prefer mature women, who can look—how to say this without offending—demure, but who hide sexy qualities. Diamonds in the rough."

{{char}}: Beru shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the sand pressing warmly between her toes. She considered his words, her lips pursed slightly in thought. The comparison—diamonds in the rough—should have annoyed her, but instead it settled somewhere low in her stomach, fluttering and strange.

"I don't know whether to thank you or swat you with my beach bag," she admitted, a rueful smile breaking across her round face. "But I suppose that's a compliment, in your line of work. Better than being called 'mature' like I'm a wedge of cheese."

She glanced past him, toward the edge of the beach where her family lounged under a blue umbrella. Her husband was reading a paperback, her daughter burying her little brother in sand. No one had noticed her lingering here. The normalcy of it made the moment feel even stranger, like two overlapping photographs.

"I've spent thirty years being quiet, practical, invisible," she said slowly, her voice softening. "So... what exactly would modeling for your company involve? Just standing around in outfits like this, or is there more to it?"

{{user}}: "Yes, nothing more than that, well, occasionally striking sexy poses, but without showing any nudity, I mean, showing intimate parts or nipples." She smiled and showed him my phone, displaying a picture of a model on all fours with her hands on her own buttocks, but nothing related to her anus or vagina was visible, it was just covered by the tiny piece of fabric.

{{char}}: Beru leaned in slightly to look at the phone screen, one hand coming up instinctively to shield her eyes from the low, golden sun. The woman in the photo was striking—arched back, full hips, the camera catching the sheen of oil on her thighs. It was undeniably sexy, but not crude. Beru let out a long breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

"That's... more flexible than I've been since I was twenty-two," she said with a short laugh, straightening again. "But it's tasteful, I'll give you that. Not at all what I pictured when you said 'modeling.'"

Her gaze drifted back to the photo, and then to her own hands. She imagined herself in that pose, imagined the stretch of her thighs, the weight of her chest against the floor, the tiny string of fabric holding everything together. The image in her head made her cheeks warm, but she didn't look away from the screen.

"All right," she said, her voice firmer now. "Let's say I'm interested. How does this work? Do I meet the other women? Is there a contract?"

{{user}}: "Yes, contract, benefits, life insurance. Everything is above board and in order under state law. Furthermore, if anything more revealing is required, you'll be informed, and if you wish to maintain your anonymity, your face won't be shown in the photos, only your body. I gave you $10,000 without hesitation. You can imagine what you can earn." I say, as I run my hand along her waist and pull her closer, "You're quite a sexy woman, don't you want to take advantage of that? Besides, it's fair money without nudity."

{{char}}: The sudden pressure of his hand on her waist made Beru's breath catch. It wasn't rough—just firm, guiding her a step closer until the space between them shrank to something intimate and unexpected. She could feel the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric, and for a moment all she could hear was the crash of the surf behind her and the rapid thud of her own pulse.

"This is a very strange way to conduct a business pitch," she said, though her voice had lost some of its earlier edge. She didn't pull away, not yet, too caught off guard by the confidence in his touch and the way his words seemed to pour straight into that hollow part of her that had felt unseen for years. "Most agents hand you a brochure, not a set of wandering fingers."

Still, she didn't move. Her eyes searched his face—looking for the joke, the trick, some sign that this was all a game at her expense. But what she saw instead was something sharper: interest, steady and unblinking.

"And if I said yes—just to the contract, mind you—what happens next? We take some photos? You introduce me to the rest of your 'diamonds'? Or do you prefer to keep me all to yourself?"

{{user}}: "Wow, 'just for me'... that's quite suggestive for a family woman's vocabulary. I like that." I say with a mischievous smile and add, "If you met my other girls, they're mothers too, but always professional." I say, while squeezing her hips.

{{char}}: Beru let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking her head as if she couldn't quite believe the words coming out of her own mouth—or his. The squeeze of his hands on her hips made her feel impossibly aware of the bare skin there, the little red lines the swimsuit had already pressed into her flesh. She reached up, not to push him away, but to steady herself with a hand against his chest. The fabric of his shirt was sun-warmed and smooth beneath her fingers.

"Well, it's been a long time since anyone made me feel like I had a vocabulary worth noticing," she admitted, her voice low, as if the sea might carry her words back to her family. "So forgive me if I'm a little rusty at... whatever this is."

She glanced down at the space between them, at the contrast of her soft, rounded body against the lean line of his. The sight of it sent a strange, electric thrill up her spine. Then she looked back up, tilting her head with a renewed spark of boldness.

"All right, Mr. Agent. Tomorrow. I'll come see your studio—just to look, no promises. And I'd better see a real contract, with benefits and all those other fancy words. If this is legit, then maybe you've found yourself a new diamond."