After my husband, John’s three-week, business trip to the Far East and Australia we had rowed. It was his third multi-week business trip of the year and it was still only May.
“Why the fuck can’t Colin go, why always you,” I had screamed at him.
It was worse than other rows and inevitably revolved around sex. I had started to feel that he used rowing to avoid sex placating me with ‘it’ll get back to normal soon.’ What a fucking farce!
“So when will we get back to normal?” I asked one night when I had got into bed naked and pressed myself against him only for him to say he was too tired and that it would be better soon.
‘Soon, when’s that, when is fucking soon?”
“It’ll work out, don’t worry.”
But I did worry and we carried the discussion on the next evening over dinner.
“Let’s go and see someone,” I suggested.
We talked about that and at first, I thought he was agreeing to see a therapist but with his clever, businessman, negotiating it was pushed well into the future.
It wasn’t that we had little sex, just that he rarely initiated it any more. Something had to be done.
Both in our mid-forties, we were coming up for our silver wedding anniversary so in some way we’d had a good innings but in other ways it seemed such a shame to ruin what we had built. We had a solid financial base and secure future, a nice house near London, a holiday home in Majorca, lovely cars, two great kids, generally a fine family life, a wonderful group of friends and a great social life. Alright, there had been ups and downs over the years and both of us had strayed a little, but had returned to the fold.
Although deep down I felt that it might well be a hopeless cause, I was determined to do all that I could to save my marriage and saving meant bringing back the sexual magic of yesteryear. I had tried talking to John, but he always brushed me off, saying he was not well, was tired, had an early start the next day or was jet lagged. I agreed that each of these were, at times, valid reasons for not wanting to make love to his wife. He was a busy and highly successful executive, worked murderous hours when in the UK and he travelled extensively mainly to his firm’s offices in New York and LA. But that line of reasoning was no good to me. I needed sex, I needed to be made love to, I needed to be loved and pampered. I needed our marriage to be how it used to be and with regret I had concluded if it couldn’t then it would be over. Hard maybe, somewhat callous possibly but, nevertheless honest and realistic as I knew that I could not go through the rest of my life in a marriage without sex.
Recently, particularly since both children had ‘flown the coop’, I was so lonely and so sex starved. I was continuously frustrated and knew that if something did not change soon, I would fall prey and give into one of the several sexual predators circling around me. Yes, I felt that if John would not keep up his end of the marital sexual bargain, then the obligation for me to keep mine and remain faithful to him was becoming invalid. I knew that unless something changed in our sexual relationship then I would be forced to go elsewhere to get what I so desperately wanted my husband to provide.
I had read about boudoir photography some time ago in Elle, Cosmo or somewhere. The article that was supported by other pieces in newspapers and on the net, said that people were attending boudoir photography sessions for many reasons, one of which was to ‘spice up’ the sex life particularly in twenty plus years marriages. The article claimed that many women approaching or in middle age as I clearly was with a marriage in which the sex life was waning, were turning to having a series of photographs taken of them in various stages of undress that they gave to their husbands as a present. It was a mark of their love, a token of their appreciation, a signal that his wife was still a sexually active and attractive woman and a reminder that he should do something about it.
I had not thought that much about it at the time and certainly could not envisage me booking a session. That said, the concept appealed to me and the idea of being photographed in my underwear and maybe even naked excited me, for I was very aware that I was a closet exhibitionist. Other than at times not wearing a bra, showing a little too much leg, now and then going ‘commando’ purely for kicks and, of course being topless round pools, I had not expressed my tendencies in that direction and certainly not with the involvement of my husband or another man. Nevertheless, as my levels of sexual frustration increased, the desire to do so was getting stronger so I decided to find out more about boudoir photographic sessions.
My primary motive for contemplating this genuinely was the hope that it would bring the sexual sparkle but to John’s and my sex life. However, as I thought more about it and researched it, I recognised that as much as I was doing it for that reason, I was also doing it for other reasons, well reason. And that was for me. I knew that I would get a tremendous buzz from it and that excited me.
I searched the net extensively and got very excited looking at the lovely websites with incredibly glamourous women and men, in stylishly, erotic poses. As it happens my researching into boudoir photography gave me another interest and that was looking at mild porn or erotica on the net. And boy did that help my now frequent masturbation activities!
At the time we were living in Essex just outside London. I found two studios that specialised in what I was after that were not too far away, with one being in Hitchin and the other in Finchley, two nice London suburbs. Both were easy to get to, but not so near to home that I was likely to ‘bump into’ anyone or have my car spotted when parked.
Using a private email account I had an email exchange with both, male, owners, during which I accepted their invitations to visit each studio to find out more. Both studios were clean and well laid out and seemed to have all the necessary equipment for boudoir photography, not that I had any real idea in that direction. Both owners were very charming, seemed knowledgeable and were not the slightest bit sleazy or pushy as I had half thought they might be. They showed me on PCs their portfolios, which included underwear and nude stuff from a range of models including big and small and younger and older women and a few men.
“Will your partner be participating?” one of them asked.
“How do you mean?”
“Well watching or taking part.”
“I don’t think so.”
“We can cater,” he said searching through the files on his PC before opening one that showed a good looking couple in their forties, I guessed.
I couldn’t help gasping and blurting out. “Are they actually,” before stopping myself.
“Yes Missus West, they are actually making love, though some do simulate it.”
That evening mulling over what I had seen and learned I chose the studio in Hitchin for what well may have been the wrong reasons: I preferred the owner, he was better looking!
‘I look forward to seeing you on the fifteenth,’ his confirmation email said, adding. ‘That is for a platinum service, which includes both still and a ten minute video and our session will last for two hours. Please let me know if you need any help with your wardrobe.’
I was alone that evening with no social activity, no friends to see, no kids and, of course, no husband.
I had a glass of white wine as I prepared a pasta dinner and two glasses of Chianti with it. After dinner, I watched the Channel Four news at seven, but my mind was straying. I could not concentrate for I had started thinking about the shoot and what clothes I would need. I smiled when I realised I was starting to think in a photographic model’s parlance. I poured another glass of the red wine and went to my bedroom.
I went through my lingerie drawers and selected several white and black underwear sets. I had decided that all of the shots would be in black and white and everything I wore would also be those colours. I found some stuff I liked including a number of bras. I knew that one of the white ones was completely diaphanous. I stripped down to my panties and put that on. When I looked in the mirror I saw that nothing was hidden and I watched fascinated as my nipples hardened making indentations in the thin, white lace. I put that on the definite pile and then tried on the black ones. One of those did nothing for me, but the other, probably because it was a couple of years old and was on the tight side, made my tits look bigger and fuller. ‘Like dumplings boiling over,’ I thought grinning as I took it off and put that on the yes pile as well looking at the label as I did and noting it was a D cup. ‘Hmmmm,’ I thought realising that I probably now was a genuine DD.
I added a couple of white and black, straightforward thongs to the yes pile and then slid a pair of white silk, French knickers up my legs; I could not recall the last time I had worn them They felt every bit as good as they looked and I thought that with a suspender belt, that I did not possess they would look great. A definite yes pile garment and a reminder to buy a couple of suspender belts!
My mind was swimming from the wine. Recently I had been drinking too much and when alone I rarely went to bed fully sober. As I decided what underwear I had that I could use on the shoot and from that worked out what I needed to buy, I could feel myself becoming aroused. My nipples were constantly hard and I knew that I was getting wet. I have always been a bit of a sexy, lingerie freak and to be surrounded by it as I tried on the bras and panties and then the couple of waspies and basques, were completely turn on moments for me. I sat on the bed and looked at myself in the dressing table mirror.
‘Not bad for forty-six,’ I thought, or maybe said quietly as I cupped my, now accepted DD cup boobs and pinched my nipples.
My mind was on the shoot. I could see myself removing a black bra and showing my breasts to the camera and, I had to admit as equally arousing, Marcus. As I thought that, so I caressed them sending those gorgeous sensations through my body. As I become aroused my breasts feel so full and heavy, they become full of heat and an irritation starts in my stomach and roars through my entire body. It is as if my clit is hot wired to each of my nipples.
I fell backwards onto the bed, my knees dangling over the side, my eyes closed, my hands grasping my breasts and my mind imagining I was in the photographic studio. I reached out and found the French knickers. I rubbed them over my breasts. The silk felt fantastic on my tingling flesh. I caressed each breast and pinched each nipple with the luxuriant material as I imagined being photographed in just the French knickers. The thought of Marcus, the Hitchin studio owner seeing me like that and taking shot after shot of my breasts aroused me even more.
Holding the French knickers in both hands, I ran the silk down my body, which was trembling with anticipation of the sexual relief that it was now demanding. I slid the smooth and cool material past my waist and onto the, relative flatness of my tummy. I rubbed my bare pubis and then slid it just that short distance further until it was on my clit. The sensations as I rubbed that and then with the fingers on my other hand ran the silk along my soaked lips were simply amazing.
As I masturbated by rubbing my clit and pushing two silk covered fingers inside me, my mind was visualising me lying on the studio floor naked, holding my breasts as Marcus knelt beside me recording every detail in digital splendour.
I came very heavily and slept well that night.
*
There was four days before the shoot. Time enough to order some more lingerie online and maybe pop into Agent Provocateur in town.
I spent the entire next evening browsing round the net looking at lingerie. Although I had no desire to buy any of the more bizarre stuff, I couldn’t resist looking at sites showing half cup bras and ones with the nipples cut out, crutch less panties, knickers slit at the back so that the crease in the bottom was on show and tight corsets in PVC and leather. I couldn’t envisage myself ever wearing anything so obvious, but I did find looking at them and the beautiful girls modelling them mildly arousing.
From last night’s stocktake I knew that I needed some black French knickers, silk of course, black and white lacy suspender belts, a black waspie, the white one was fine, camisoles, lacy top holdups and seemed and fishnet stockings in both colours. With the choice available and next or two-day delivery times, I realised that a journey to a shop would be unnecessary.
Just as promised the packages from the two different sites arrived two days later, both being delivered by Amazon at the same time, just after three.
I had just got home from work and was wearing a grey business suit and white blouse with black heels. I had my hair less spiky than usual and, although it was late October I was not wearing tights or stockings as I still had a nice tan from the ten days we had recently spent in Southern Spain. I removed the suit jacket and draped that round a chair in the kitchen. As my contacts had been playing my eyes up a little recently I was wearing my horn-rimmed glasses.
I took the packages upstairs to my bedroom and with shaking fingers I undid them. It was like being a young girl and receiving loads of presents, but these were not the sort of gifts for young girls. No these were very grown-up gifts; these were gifts for women. I undid everything and was pleased with my online shopping spree. I was now fully kitted up for my boudoir adventure.
I picked up the lacy, black suspender belt and wondered just how long it had been since I had worn one. We did wear them at uni, but that was the mid-eighties and thigh highs, self-support or hold ups or whatever people called them then did not stay up high on the thighs as they do now. In the early days of our relationship, I seem to recall John buying me lingerie including a sussie belt, but that was years ago. The memory of wearing one and the feeling of its tightness round my hips came into my mind and I suddenly had an urge to try it on.
I slipped the, probably slightly too short, grey suit skirt off and stood there in my heels, panties and white blouse. Looking in the mirror, I wrapped the flimsy, black lace garment round me and clipped it together just beneath my tummy button. With the black suspenders hanging down my legs, I formed a strange, but to me quite arousing image in the mirror. I had to put the stockings on as well. Rolling them up my legs and feeling the smooth nylon against my bare flesh made me tingle a little me and made me wonder just how the hell I was going to cope with being photographed without climaxing. I had no answer to that so I stopped wondering about it.
The night before the shoot I packed the various outfits and then suddenly thought I had never posed before other than for holiday snaps and had no real idea how to do it. Marcus had said that he would organise everything and decide on the positions and that between us we would select the outfits that I would wear. It was how I should hold myself, my posture, eye contact with the camera and breathing in to expand my chest, and reduce my tummy that I realised were all mysteries to me.
Thank God for the Internet, I smiled googling how to pose for glamour shots.
After an hour or so cruising around loads of sites, I felt better. I had learned that I needed to lift my head up more than I would naturally, that I should make eye contact with a corner of or just above the camera, that I had to hold myself very upright and push my chest out and not stand with crossed legs.
Additionally, I found out something else. Well not found out, but suspected. Although the group of girls I was in at university had messed around with groping and snogging and I had experienced female induced orgasms, it was so many years since I had done anything along those lines that I considered myself now to be dead straight. Looking at the gorgeous and highly sexy girls modelling on the sites, I began to doubt that a little. I found my arousal rising as I looked at bare breasts, naked bodies and girls touching themselves. Also, I realised I wanted to see more.
I googled bisexual porn. A number of video sites came up, but they all offered two men and a woman and in the few I glanced at the men got it on together. I have to admit that I have always had a yen to see men together and seeing them kissing and sucking each other’s cock did make me tingle, but was not what I wanted to see just then.
I googled lesbian porn and got loads of sites. I flicked through a few and although the girls were gorgeous there was no story and it really was wham, bang and thank you ma’am with the girls getting down to it without any build up. Then I found a site that had a search facility so I tapped in lesbian seduction. Bingo, just what I wanted. It was a MILF as they called her seducing her friend. It was a slow build up with them starting with a drink and slowly moving onto sex. However, it was a good ten minutes, before they kissed and that went on for another ten or so. As the seducer caressed her friend’s breasts, opened her top and slowly attended to her, unfortunately surgically enhanced, boobs my temperature must have risen and my heart must have been pounding so hard I was surprised the neighbours did not hear it.
As they slowly and tenderly undressed each other I found myself following them and I was down to just my panties at the same time they were. I got so excited when they manoeuvred their legs and bodies so that they could press their pussies together and simulate fucking each other. We had a wonderful, three-way, mutual orgasm.
As I recovered from that, I could not help wondering just what the hell was happening to me?
*
“Great Jay, you’ve got some lovely stuff that should be very photogenic. You said that you wanted everything in black and white, didn’t you?” Marcus asked shortly after I arrived at the studio. I had changed my name from my real Jayne West to Jay Western for confidentiality reasons but actually I like being called Jay.
Marcus was wearing a white tee shirt and blue track pants that looked slightly too tight for him.
He had emptied all my outfits onto a table at one end of the room. It was quite a strange sensation to be with a man, especially one I did not know, as he sifted through my panties, bras and other intimate apparel. Strange, but also mildly exciting I realised with a worry.
“Well let’s make a start, shall we?”
“Sure, what shall I wear?”
“To get used to the lights and camera and for that to get to know you, just as you are will be fine.”
I was wearing blue, denim jeans with heels and a white button up the front shirt.
He stood me against black backdrop alongside a chaise longue and started shooting. He fired out his directions.
“Just move around, turn side on then back on, put your hand on your hip, now in your hair. That’s good Jay, in fact it’s great.”
I was remembering to hold my head up, push my tits out, hold my tummy in, maintain my posture and look just above the camera. Marcus was moving around using alternately a tripod camera and a hand held one. With that he would bend down and shoot upwards or stand on a ladder and shoot down. Several times he altered the lighting, making it brighter, then dimming it and using spot lights so that just my head and shoulders were lit up. Additionally I noted he had turned on the video cam that was on a tripod so I was being captured both still and moving.
“Ok, let’s look at what we’ve got shall we,” he said directing me to the table that not only held all my underwear, but also a laptop. He unloaded the cartridges from both cameras and uploaded them to the laptop. “Might be better in here,” he said opening a door off to the side. “It’s my viewing room.” All that was in there was a four-seater, black leather sofa, a couple of side tables and a large TV screen on the wall.
“Take a seat while I set it up,” he went on leaving the dimly lit room.
He returned quite quickly and directed a remote control at the TV. I was astonished when I saw myself on the screen. As the slide-show continued, it was like watching a film.
He was silent for a while, but then thrilled me by saying.
“Jay, I think you are a natural.”
He pointed out a few minor points and then said. “Come on then let’s go for it, let’s go boudoir.”
“What shall I wear first?”
“I know you are not wearing a bra, but you aren’t wearing knickers are you?”
“No I did what you said to avoid any red marks.”
“Good, let’s do the black vamp gear, suspenders, fishnets and French knickers.”
I took those pieces of underwear into the changing room and almost shaking with excitement I undressed. Checking in the mirror to ensure that they were no marks, I took a deep breath.
“Well here you go girl, enjoy it,” I whispered as I slid my tits into the slightly too small, black, lace bra and silk French knickers. Breathing in I, rather excitedly wrapped the suspender belt round me and after a deep breath clipped it together at the front and then spun it round to its correct position. The tightness felt good, a sort of restriction! Undoing the cellophane packet, I removed the seemed, black fishnets. My fingers were shaking as I rolled them one by one up my legs and clipped them onto the suspenders.
‘Not bad for forty-six,’ I thought looking in the mirror. ‘If these don’t get John going then I’m fucked,’ I grinned as I slipped the sensual material of the silk, knickers up my legs and snuggled them round my mound and bottom and slipped into the four-inch heels. I felt good and thought I looked good, thinking. ‘And if I do get him going then I will be fucked.’
“Ready Marcus,” I said as I walked back into the main area of the studio.
He stared at me for a few moments.
“You look great Jay, John’s a very lucky man.”
For some reason that sent a little shudder through me, maybe because that was taking me away from this fantasy land and back to the real world. I nearly replied. ‘Yes, but doesn’t know how lucky,’ but thought better of it as I had not, obviously told Marcus about our sexual issues.
Marcus told me what poses to take up and just as I had heard in films, he kept telling me how good I looked and how great were the shots.
“Why not just change the panties and bra and let’s use holdups instead of the suspender?”
I changed as he asked me and he took more shots.
I was getting used to it now. Used to being alone with a stranger with me in my underwear. Used to the camera focusing on me and used to posing for Marcus. I became more relaxed and with his compliments, my confidence grew. I think I became more adventurous and provocative with my poses and I hoped that would show in the shots. I was starting to enjoy it. I liked the camera seeing me and at first almost forgot that behind it there was a man and he was seeing my every move. Several times as I struck what I hoped and what Marcus said were, provocative poses I wondered just who I was posing for, John, the camera, Marcus or me?We repeated the process with my white outfits and then did a few with me wearing the waspies and the basques.
“Ok Jay, let’s take a break shall we?”
We went into the viewing room and as we sat side by side on the sofa I wished that I had brought a robe with me. Whilst I had been confident and fairly relaxed, although also highly nervous, being undressed with Marcus in the studio, in the small room it was different. I had to keep reminding myself that he was not a man, but a photographer and that he and I were not lovers, but client and supplier. And why the hell, I kept asking myself, would it even occur to me that he and I might be lovers? In some ways that was obvious as I, along with most women, had not been with a man so scantily dressed unless he were a lover. That was certainly the case with me and as I flaunted myself for the camera and not, I kept reminding myself, for Marcus my affair several years ago kept coming to my mind. And that, of course, simply added to the equation of sexual themes that was being built up.
“Glass of wine, Jay? Help you relax more for the second session,” I heard Marcus asking and pulling me out of my day dreaming.
“Oh, er yes, that would be nice, thanks.”
He poured as both a glass and then popped the latest shots up on the screen. It really was weird seeing myself in startling close up in my vampish underwear.
“I will go through them in detail later and make the selection for John’s present, but tell me any you really don’t like as we flick through them, ok?”
“Sure,” I replied as he sat next to me clicking the remote control.
I glanced at him a few times as he stared at the screen looking carefully at every inch of my body. He was quite good looking, probably nearing forty or less and was of the type that if I was on the lookout I could fancy. Thinking like that shocked me and I quickly cast it from my mind.
As we went through the masses of shots, I saw a few that I did not like and told him and he found a few as well, but in the main they were fine.
“I can see I will have a tough job screening them down to manageable proportions,” he said as we finished both looking at the shots and our wine. “You’ve done a great job so far Jay.”
“Thanks Marcus, but it is all down to the photographer and good lighting,” I smiled back, getting up and being very aware how close were our bodies.
“We have used most of the outfits Cat,” Marcus was saying as we walked back into the studio. “What would you like to do now?”
“What do you suggest?” I asked, my heart beating a little faster than it should as I knew what was next.
“Well if you still wish to, we could do some topless and then some nude. Yes?”
“Ok yes,” I replied, feeling my excitement mounting.
“How about a few in a thong and holdups to start?”
“Yeah fine, I’ll get changed.”
Removing the waspie, panties and bra, but leaving on the lacy topped holdups I slipped into a black thong and put the high heels back on. Taking a deep breath, I walked into the studio. Marcus had thoughtfully dimmed the lights and then asked me to stand with my arms folded across my breasts facing the camera. He started shooting, directing me what to do with my hands as slowly I bared my breasts for the camera.
“Mmm beautiful Jay, you have gorgeous breasts,” he muttered moving closer to me as I turned, moved around and bent forward so that my boobs hung down from my body. “Lay on the chaise longue,” he said quietly. Put your hands in your hair, arch your back, open your legs, let one fall off the couch.”
He fired poising instructions at me interspersing them with compliments and saying how great I looked.
The longer the posing went on the more comfortable I was becoming. I realised that I was enjoying flaunting myself at the camera, but had to keep reminding myself that also I was flaunting myself at Marcus and through him to John. I kept telling myself that it was no different to being topless on a beach, but deeper down I did not believe that as also I was beginning not to about flaunting them to my husband and that confused me.
“Shall we try some white now?”
I changed into a similar outfit in white and went through a similar process of posing with my breasts bare.
He laid me on the floor and standing over me with his legs straddling my hips probably taking close ups of my boobs I was looking up directly at the bulge in his track trousers.
“We are gonna have some great stuff here Jay, very stylish and sexy, just what John will love.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, my voice sounding croaky.
“And we didn’t need the ice cubes, did we?” he smiled.
I didn’t get what he meant at first, but glancing down at my breasts I saw that my nipples had hardened and realised what he meant.
“No,” I murmured realising that what that implied was true, I was aroused.
“Shall we look at that session now?”
“Yes Ok.”
This time the viewing room seemed smaller and more intimate as I sat there in just my white thong having taken the white stockings off. As we went through the slide show I glanced at my nipples several times and was horrified to see that they remained rock hard. I wasn’t sure just what was causing that but sitting as good as naked next to a good looking man who was taking photos of me and complimenting me on my body was obviously a major influence.
“You want to do some nude stuff Jay?”
Wondering if I had gone far enough or, maybe too far already, I hesitated.
“You don’t have to, but if I was the man receiving this fantastic present I would be disappointed.”
“Yes, I guess John would be too,” I replied realising that I would also be disappointed.
“Ok let’s do it.”
“Ok,” I replied going into the changing room and nervously, with shaking hands I removed my panties.
“By the way Jay,” Marcus said looking up and down my body as I walked into the lights.
“What?” I asked realising that Marcus was only the third man in over twenty years to have seen me naked. That both slightly aroused and embarrassed me but also made me feel a little guilty. For the first time I felt very awkward standing lit up looking into the darkness where I could only just about see him
“I know you said that you wanted no colour and that everything should be monochrome, but what can be very effective is to have everything posed in black and white but use colour.
“How do you mean?”
“Well the only colour there will be, will be pink. Your lips, tongue, nail polish, nipples and, of course if we go that far your er, um.”
I smiled as a definite shudder went through my entire body as he said that and as I envisaged him taking photos of my pussy. I knew that it would be glistening with my juices.
“Ok you’re the expert Marcus.”
He posed me in loads of different positions. Standing, bending, kneeling and laying. He shot me from all angles before saying quietly.
“Fantastic posing Jay, give me that I wanna be fucked look, John won’t be able to resist you.”
As he said that my heart started to pound and my body tingled, I pouted and made strong eye contact with the camera with my mouth open and tongue running along my upper lip.
“Yes, yes Jay, that’s perfect, that will drive him fucking mad.”
It didn’t hit me for a while that the tone and content of what Marcus was saying had changed. Whilst there were still the directions and lavish praise, both were now laced with more swearing and sexually biased words. He used hugely intimate phrases such as ‘I want to be fucked’ and ‘I have just been fucked looks.’ Now he was using more descriptive terms about my body. ‘Push your tits out Jay’, ‘stick your arse in the air’ and finally the phrase that no one had ever said to me before. The one that was probably inevitable. The phrase that in a way characterised this whole boudoir photography. The sentence that, being a closet exhibitionist I wanted to hear but dreaded hearing. Yes, the few words that put me right over the top and turned this into more than just a photographic session.
Kneeling next to where I was lying on my back, my hands behind my head with his knee almost touching mine, he whispered.
“Show it to me Jay, show me your pussy.”
My mind was in a whirl. He had not said ‘open your legs,’ or ‘show the camera’ he had said show me. ‘Show me your pussy Jay.’
He was looking through the lens of the camera, but I knew our eyes were locked together as I slowly parted my legs. My heart was pounding as I saw him move the camera and focus it between my legs.
“Further Jay, wider please,” he croaked.
I did.
“You ok with this?” he asked reaching out and touching my wrist.
“Yes Marcus,” I whispered.
“John will love it, I promise. Raise your legs up for me.”
I did and a little groan slipped from my mouth so excited was this making me feel.
“Yes luv,” he went on standing up and walking round me taking shots from all angles.
He made me kneel with my head on my arms and shot me from behind. I nearly grinned when I thought ‘the pink is certainly showing now.’
“On your back for me again please.”
I lay on my back, my legs together with one raised.
“Raise the other like that Cat. Squash your tits with the front of your legs. Let me see your cunt Jay.”
The word crashed into my mind. I love it when that word is used in the appropriate circumstances such as when having sex with my husband and lying on my back in a studio being photographed naked was as appropriate as when John fucked me.
“Oh god,” I groaned as Marcus took shots of my cunt from that angle in that pose.
“Put your legs flat again Cat and open them, show me that lovely cunt again.”
“Oh Marcus,” I sighed.
“Go on Jay, do it.”
We both knew exactly what he meant and with an enormous surge of sheer sexual pleasure I grasped my breasts and squeezed them. It felt lovely. He shot me doing that. He took as many of my hands kneading and caressing my breasts as he did of my face that was as he called it giving the camera my ‘I am being fucked look.’
“Go further Jay, do what your body tells you,” he said his leg touching my hip as he knelt beside me
It was an enormous relief when my fingers on one hand found my clit and on the other slid into my pussy.
“Do it Jay, do what John does, do what he would want you to do. Fuck yourself Jay,” he was croaking as looking up I saw he had shuffled further up my side so his legs were level with my forearm and his bulge, which he seemed to be thrusting towards me, offering it to me was by my elbow.
“Oh Marcus, Marcus,” I groaned as I used the fingers on one hand to rub my clit while I slid two on my other hand deep inside me.
Naturally, my orgasm started building, but I wanted something else. Again, it was totally involuntarily just as masturbating was. But now more was needed. More of the same in some ways but so different in others. And the more was for me. For my selfishness, for my need to satisfy my bodily demands and my sexual desires. We had gone beyond posing, beyond photographer and client and onto being man and woman almost, I had to admit to myself, to being lovers.
He seemed to move even closer to me if that was possible and appeared to push his bulge towards me, inviting me, offering it to me. Presumably he saw what I was doing as, I realised after, he must have done it many times, he said quietly.
“All yours Jay.”
I didn’t get it at first but when he nodded downwards and thrust himself towards me the penny dropped. Then, without planning or thinking as it seemed perfectly normal my hand reached out and finding the bulge in his track trousers. I rubbed it.
“Mmmm that’s lovely Jay.”
I rubbed it and watched fascinated as he then reached down and pushed the waist band down. He was naked under them and his gorgeous cock just seemed to leap out at me. I held it and stroked it. He was short, but excitingly thick and I wondered immediately just what that would feel like stretching my lips. Now was not the time for that sort of thinking, though. No now was the time for less, but in some ways more.
He had put the camera down, presumably wishing to avoid taking incriminating photos and was thrusting himself in my hand.
“Ok Jay?” He asked squeezing my breast.
“Yes,” I grunted back as my climax built.
“I am near, so near Jay.”
“So am I,” I sighed back.”
“Can I cum on these?” he asked cupping my tits.
“Yes Marcus cum on my tits,” I groaned as he picked up the camera and took a shot of his spunk on my pink nipples.