Some More Money- Trespassing

(Author’s note: This is chapter 4 of a multi-chapter story. It will make the most sense if you read Chapters 1 through 3 first.)

All characters involved in sexual activity are at least 18 years old.)

: : : : :

When I got back to my room after dinner, I couldn’t sleep. My mind spun in circles, reliving the last three days. In that short time, I had ‘starred’ in three x-rated videos. I had been fucked in the ass by the biggest dick — by far — I had ever seen, rimmed a guy and been rimmed, given blowjobs to four guys, had my pussy eaten by a girl, been double- and triple-penetrated, and had four guys masturbate into my open mouth. If all that wasn’t enough, I had one more shoot to go, with no idea what I would be doing in it. Knowing Ryan, it would stretch my boundaries in ways I hadn’t even considered.

All those thoughts pinballed around my head, and after an hour of tossing and turning in the dark, I accepted the fact that I was wide awake. I’ve learned that when I’m obviously not going to fall asleep any time soon, I’m better off getting up and doing something.

I had seen that the hotel had a disco bar that was open late. If I went there, at the very least I could get a drink and people-watch until I felt drowsy. I had the following day off, so I didn’t have any practical need to get to sleep by any certain time.

I hadn’t brought many clothes to the beach. I expected I would either be relaxing out in the sun or shooting video most of my time here. I had a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, but that wasn’t club-appropriate. The dress I had worn to dinner was a little too ‘office party’ and not ‘after-hours’ enough. That left a short black skirt and a festive, floral halter top, so I put them on over the bright red thong I already had on. The halter was nothing more than a triangle of cloth that tied behind my neck and the small of my back. It was textured, so even though there was no way to wear a bra under it, both the weave of the cloth and the pattern printed on it would hide my nipples. It revealed my whole back, and ended above my navel, showing a lot of tummy. I wasn’t trying to dress to kill, it was the only disco-worthy outfit I had with me, but I guess it wasn’t very different from what I would wear if I was trying to be noticed.

The inside of the club greeted me with a blast of super-chilled air. So much for hiding my nipples! The music was non-stop Euro-disco that was so loud it was almost visible. There were plenty of people, some dancing, some standing around the edges in small clusters. Some sat at tables, some sat on stools at the bar holding drinks watching the dancers. Some sat at the bar with their backs to the dance floor. I scouted the perimeter, deciding where I wanted to settle.

I landed at the bar, taking a stool in the middle of a row of empty ones. I ordered a drink and started a tab charged to my room. The DJ was good, mixing an interesting mash-up of tunes, some of which I knew, some unfamiliar, but all energetic and danceable. It was way too loud, though — people who wanted to talk had to lean in and speak directly into each other’s ears. Out on the floor, there were all sorts of dancers, some excellent, clearly enjoying the beat, and others who weren’t moving anywhere near the actual tempo but were having fun anyway.

I began to think I had over-dressed, or maybe under-dressed, depending on how you look at it. I was definitely not there to hook up, but apparently my outfit said otherwise. I had to fend off multiple offers to dance, to move to a ‘more private’ corner of the club, to leave the club for a better club, to leave the club to walk on the beach, or to go to a room with a ‘spectacular’ view of the ocean. Every unattached guy there seemed to want to buy me a drink. If I had been there on a college girl’s budget, those free drinks would have been tempting, but in the last few days I had earned $10,000, or was it $11,000? However much, I was confident I could cover my tab.

I nursed one drink through the initial onslaught of pickup attempts. It wasn’t my intent to be ‘that’ girl, the one who shot every guy down, but no one came close to being interesting enough to pair up with, and besides, the music was so loud that any conversation was too difficult.

Finally, the herd collectively realized I was not looking to be picked up and began to leave me alone. I got a second drink, and went back to uninterrupted people-watching.

I was aware that someone took the stool behind me, but I ignored him or her. A while later, I felt a pressure on my hair — whoever it was had leaned in next to my ear. A deep, sexy voice, sounding very much like Sam Elliott, said, “What are you drinking?”

I slowly rotated on my stool, and found myself gazing into the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. From his voice I expected someone older, but he looked close to my age. He was handsome, in a rugged way, with sandy tousled hair, broad shoulders, a trim waist, and flat abs. Oh my! He was oh-so-casually dressed in black jeans and a button-down white shirt, tucked in but open at the collar.

“Manhattan,” I replied.

He held his expression neutral. If that was a test, I had neither passed nor failed.

“Rye?” he asked.

“Bourbon.”

He processed that for a moment, still neither impressed nor disapproving.

“Jim Beam?”

“No.”

“Woodford Reserve?”

“No. Eagle Rare.”

He nodded. “Aaah. A connoisseur…” He caught the bartender’s attention and pointed at my drink, ordering one just like it.

He asked, “Where’d you learn about Eagle Rare?”

“A friend.”

His drink arrived. He took a sip and grinned. “Your friend has good taste.” He held his glass up in a toast to me. I picked up my glass and clinked his.

I braced myself for him to start trying to beguile his way into my pants, but he surprised me. He leaned back with his elbows on the bar and looked out over the club like I had been doing. He didn’t try to impress me with his worldly exploits, make my clothes disappear with extra-intense staring, or even engage me in any more conversation. It was like I no longer existed.

I gave him one full dance tune to say something else to me — over three minutes. He didn’t. I couldn’t stand the verbal silence any more. I leaned near his ear and said, “What brings you to the beach?”

He stared straight ahead saying nothing for a long moment. He either hadn’t heard me over the music, considered it too difficult to answer over the disco din, or was ignoring me. He finally leaned over and said, “Actually, work. I’m a photographer.”

“Oh, okay, cool. Why the pause? Shooting nudes out on the sand or something?”

He chuckled. “Not that kind of photographer. I shoot landscapes. I’ve shot some here at the beach, especially at sunrise, but mainly I’m shooting at a state park near here. It has some stellar scenery.”

“That sounds interesting.”

He paused again and eventually asked, “What brings you here?”

I wasn’t sure what to tell him. I didn’t want to blatantly lie, but I also didn’t want to just blurt out ‘Oh, not much, just sucking and fucking groups of guys in some porn videos.’ Without meaning to, I gave him the same delay he had given me. I played his words back to him, “Actually, work. I’m a model.” It was the truth, just not exactly the whole truth.

He nodded, ran his eyes quickly down and up my body, grinned, and parroted my own words back to me. “Why the pause? Shooting nudes out on the sand or something?”

I laughed and shook my head. I didn’t elaborate.

He turned his attention back to the club, and said nothing for another full song. I guess I could have taken his silence as lack of interest, but I found his utter lack of effort to reel me in quite refreshing. And intriguing.

I asked him, “Have you had any luck?”

He gave me an odd look, and only then did I realize how awkward that sounded — we were sitting in a disco after midnight with dozens of twenty-somethings around us engaged in pairing up and leaving together. I laughed at myself and said, “Photos, that is, photos! Have you gotten any good photos?”

He raised his eyebrows, paused for a long moment again, and said, “Yeah. Definitely some good ones, possibly a few great ones.”

I asked, “Possibly a few great ones? You’re not sure?”

I expected him to laugh, but he was dead serious. “No, I’m not. It takes me a couple of months to see what I’ve shot with any objectivity. Until then, I’m too aware of how I hoped the shot was going to turn out to see how it did turn out.”

I nodded. “That makes sense.”

“It does? Most people don’t understand.”

“I’m glad I’m not ‘most people.’ Do you have anything you can show me?”

“Sure, but not here.”

“Not even on your phone?”

“Phones are too small to view landscapes and seascapes. If you’re going to see them, it needs to be where you can see all the details and nuances.”

I didn’t say anything for awhile. I finally suggested, “We could go to your room.”

“Don’t you want me to reassure you I’m not an axe murderer?”

“No, because you’d deny it whether you are or aren’t.”

He looked at me like I was speaking Swahili. He was silent for a minute, then nodded that he understood what I said. I was getting used to the pauses.

He signaled the bartender. He paid his tab with a generous tip, and tried to pay mine, but I wouldn’t let him. He asked the bartender, “Can you sell me a bottle of Eagle Rare?” The bartender shook his head. “Do you have Eagle Rare in those little airplane bottles?” Again the bartender shook his head. “What’s the best whiskey you have in those?”

“Your choice, Chivas Regal, Crown Royal, or Maker’s Mark.”

“I’ll take four Maker’s Mark.”

In the elevator, I said, “Now that we don’t have to shout to be heard, I’m Amber.”

“Hi, Amber the model, I’m Nate the photographer.”

I said, “Nice to meet you, Nate.”

“The pleasure is mine, Amber.”

His room was bigger than mine but much smaller than Ryan’s suite. From the hall we entered what you’d call a den if it was part of a house — it had a desk, a sofa, a coffee table, a big-screen TV, and a door to what I assumed was the bedroom. It also had a tiny galley kitchen squeezed against the front wall. He got out a couple of glasses and said, “Do you want to fix your own drink, make sure I don’t put anything evil in it?”

I was impressed. I shook my head and said, “I’ll watch from here.” He added a single ice cube from the mini-fridge to each glass, opened two of the tiny bottles of bourbon, and poured one into each glass. He held one out to me, but I reached and took the other one. He nodded his approval and said, “Let’s give these a couple of minutes for the ice to melt a bit.”

I added, “Let the whiskey ‘breathe.'”

He repeated, “Aah, a connoisseur,” a little more impressed this time. “Same friend?”

I shook my head. “Former boyfriend.”

He booted up his laptop, which was connected to the flat-screen TV with a long cable, turning it into the biggest monitor I had ever seen. I watched him navigate his desktop to a folder called ‘first cull,’ and click on the first file there. He had a viewing app that showed the pictures full screen, without any distracting icons, border, or menu bar.

The first shot he showed me was a spectacular close-up of a wild bush with some tiny blue blooms. Its branches and leaves filled the entire frame, and formed an intricate, interlocking pattern, almost an organic Celtic knot. It was a visually lush feast of overlaps and swirls that looked infinite.

“That’s amazing,” I said. “Surely you consider that one great, not just good.”

“No, not at all. It has a wonderful pattern going on, but nothing breaks the pattern.”

I took a seat on the coffee table right in front of the TV. I asked, “What do you mean?”

“Patterns are attractive to the viewer’s eye, and this one is excellent, but a pattern is monotonous unless somewhere within it, something breaks the pattern. Nothing breaks the pattern here, so it ends up being boring.”

“It’s not boring to me. I’m not sure I get what you mean.”

“The next one will show you.” He clicked to the next shot. It was a similar bush. The woven pattern wasn’t as dense or intricate, but off-center a small sprig had been broken and died. Rather than withering and turning an ugly grey, though, it retained its shape and had turned a gorgeous shade of golden, like autumn leaves before they fall.

I said, “Okay, I see. The dead part breaks the pattern. It’s amazing how the golden sprig makes the healthy blooms look bluer, and the healthy leaves greener. So this is a great shot.”

“No,” he said. “This bush isn’t nearly as full as the first one. The pattern never really gets going, it’s a little too thin and sparse to be interesting.”

He sat on the coffee table beside me, advancing the slides with a wireless mouse on the tabletop behind my back. He found a fault with nearly every shot, highlighting the imagined flaws for me with the cursor. Although he seemed not to think so, his photos were great. He had an exceptional eye.

I hadn’t gone to the disco or come up to his room to hook up. I’m not much of a one-night-stand girl. However, the elegant natural beauty of Nate’s photos combined with his deep Sam Elliott voice and his blue eyes, along with the smooth, complex bourbon, was starting to get me in the mood. He advanced to the next picture, another great one, to me anyway. How he moved the mouse on the coffee table to highlight the details of the photo ‘just happened’ to snug his arm around my back.

I tucked my head into his shoulder. He wore a trace of a pleasantly smoky cologne, maybe something in the sandalwood family. “You smell nice,” I said.

As he narrated the image, I raised my face toward his and asked an innocuous question. I wondered how many times I would have to make my face available before he kissed me.

Just once, it turned out. He kissed me, sweet and gentle. I returned it, also sweet and gentle.

He broke it off and said, “Do you want to see any more photos?”

I purred, “Yes, definitely, but maybe not right now.” I leaned back in, but left it to him to reconnect. I’m happy to say he did, not nearly as light and soft as before. He squeezed my breast over my halter. I took his hand and placed it on the skin of my tummy underneath the loose hem. He traced up to my nipple, and squeezed it gently between his fingers. I moaned and leaned into the kiss, opening my lips. He sought out my tongue with his, found it, and softly greeted it.

That kiss took on a life of its own and lasted a wonderfully long time. When it eased to an end, he stood, lifted me under my shoulders and knees, and carried me to the bedroom door. He couldn’t reach the doorknob with his arms full of me, though. He paused awkwardly, not sure what to do. I solved his dilemma by reaching down and opening the door myself.

He set me down on the bed, stretched out beside me, and kissed me again. I reached to untie the upper knot of my halter, but he said, “Please, let me.”

I leaned forward so he could release both bows, then I laid back on the bed with the halter untied but still covering my chest. He kissed me again and raised up on his elbow. He gripped the bottom hem of the halter and began to pull it downward, glacially slow. The strings slid across the sides of my neck, caressing my skin as tenderly as silk scarves or feather boas as they glided down, raising all the hairs on my arms and neck. My nipples hardened, and as Nate continued sliding the halter, the textured fabric slid across them, raising them to full attention.

As the swell of my breasts emerged, he pulled the top even slower. It didn’t stay perfectly centered, and one of my nipples popped out from under it. He unabashedly stared. The nip itself felt like it was about to explode, from the friction of the cloth dragging across it, but also from the heat of Nate’s eyes gazing at it. He leaned forward, parted his lips, and gave it the most delicate kiss I’ve ever felt — his breath touched it harder than his lips did. A wave of warm sensuality rippled through me. He slid his lips back and forth and opened them wider, moving their friction to the areola and the surrounding skin. He circled the nip with his tongue, and flicked it rapidly across it, again as lightly as I’ve ever felt. A deep, guttural moan escaped my lips.

He cupped my other boob over my halter top and softly massaged it. His fingers located the nipple and gently twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. He lifted my top away, fully exposing my chest. He started to kiss over to the other nip, but I stalled his progress by untucking his shirt. When I got most of it free, I started undoing buttons. I got them all loose, and he slipped the shirt off his shoulders and dropped it on the floor over my top. I pulled him into a tight hug. “Mmmm,” I said, “skin-on-skin, one of my favorite things in life.”

He responded, “It’s not skin-on-skin enough.” Without separating his chest from mine, he groped around the waist of my skirt until he found the clasp. He struggled with it for a moment, got it disconnected and unzipped, and slid it down and off.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my thong, but I brushed him off. “Nope,” I said, “Not yet. You’ve got some catching up to do.” I went to work on his belt. I got his jeans down and off without any trouble. He had bright red boxer briefs underneath, low-waisted and long-legged.

“Great minds think alike,” he chuckled, I assume referring to our undies being the same color. He reached to pull me back into that luxuriant hug, but instead I pulled his boxer briefs down and off, pushed him onto his back, and climbed on top of him.

I straddled his waist, rubbing the underside of his cock with the tiny triangle of cloth that made up my thong. I leaned forward, contacting his bare chest with mine, and started what became our best kiss yet. He wrapped his arms around my lower back, and I continued slowly stroking my thong up and down the length of his cock while our mouths and tongues got to know each other better. He lowered his hands down to cup my bare butt cheeks, kneading them as they flexed and relaxed.

He slowly massaged up my back. When he reached my shoulders he tried to flip us over, but I wasn’t done with him on his back yet. I un-straddled him and crawled down to bring my face even with his cock.

I took the bulbous tip and maybe half his length into my mouth. I cupped his balls in one hand, swirled my tongue on the underside of his rod, and sucked like crazy. He pushed me off and said, “I won’t last long with you doing that. It’s, uh, it’s been a while for me, and…” I took him back in as he spoke, sucked hard, and slowly stroked him in and out. ‘For some reason,’ he lost his place in what he was saying. “and, and um…”

I sped up, stroking him from his tip to where he bumped my tonsils. “Seriously,” he said, “I’m gonna cum if you, uh, if you…”

I didn’t break rhythm or suction, but hummed “Uhmm hmmm,” around him.

He said, “Really? It’s okay if I-”

I interrupted him with another “Uhmm hm-” and he interrupted me with the first splash of jizz against the back of my throat. He came what seemed like buckets. I swallowed twice, and he still had a bit left.

After he caught his breath, he said, “I hope that was okay. It was fantastic, but it may take me a little while to be ready to go again.”

I said, “I like to start with getting the quick, easy one out of the way.” He grinned as he realized that meant we weren’t done. I rolled onto my back and placed his hands on the strings of my thong. “And I know what we can do while you get your mojo back.”

He grinned wider and started pulling my thong down. I settled back to enjoy myself.

When he got my thong off he sat up on his haunches. I tracked his eyes as he took in each body part, scanning me from top to bottom: my face, my boobs, my waist and tummy, a little extra time on my slit and thin racing stripe, and down my legs. He seemed to like what he saw. “Jeez, Amber, look at you. You are one gorgeous creature…” For once he didn’t indulge in a long pause, and settled between my knees. He lifted my calves and set them over his shoulders. He began kissing and licking my inner thighs, traveling slowly upward, while my pussy got more and more agitated and impatient to become the center of attention.

He reached my slit — finally! Anticipation was driving me crazy. His facial lips met my nether ones in a gentle open-mouth kiss, and I melted into a puddle of warm, relaxed pleasure. I rolled my hips forward and spread my legs wider, giving him all the access he needed.

He used it well. He continued the delicate touch he had shown my boobs, his tongue and lips gently nuzzling my wrinkles and folds. I settled in for a long, luxuriant ride on his face while he recovered his hard-on. His touch, although light, was focused and well-targeted, and before I meant to I exploded into an intense, full-body orgasm. My head felt light, my toes curled, and everything in-between smoldered. It was like being on a rollercoaster — I flipped back and forth between feeling compressed against the bed from too many G’s and feeling weightless.

I rolled onto my side, pulled him up beside me, curled my arms and legs around him, and pulled him in tight. He embraced me back, and slipped a thigh between mine. His dick had recovered and was fully hard. Bonus points for Nate — it’s a great sign when a guy gets aroused from making a girl feel good.

I luxuriated in our skin-on-skin embrace for a long moment, but he was ready to ride, and I was ready to be ridden. I rolled onto my back and pulled him on top of me.

He slid the tip of his cock up and down my slit, moistening himself as well as locating my wet, warm center. He paused a moment, met my eyes with his, and raised his eyebrows, silently asking if we needed something for birth control. I gave my head a tiny shake, I had that covered, and he began to push in, incredibly slowly. I savored every fraction of an inch.

He held himself up on extended arms. His cock in my pussy was the only place we touched, sending rays of heat outward from my pussy as he pressed in deeper and deeper. He bottomed out and lightly wiggled his hips, tickling my clit with the base of his cock. My skin rippled at his gentle touch. He began to pull out, as slowly and deliciously as he entered, my channel fully sensitized to each fraction of an inch as he slid out of me.

He began to pick up a little speed. I was so wet, his cock slid in and out of me lusciously smooth, shivers rippling up and down my body. I had almost forgotten the sheer joy of sex for sex’s sake, without having to worry about cameras, lights, and sound. He arched his back, leaned forward, and found my lips with his. He didn’t exactly kiss me, his lips barely touched mine, gliding back and forth. The combination of his delicate touch on my mouth and the strength of his cock in my pussy built an intense fever across my entire body — I was on fire.

He began to thrust a little faster and a little harder. He supported himself on his elbows and cupped my tits. He started out gently massaging each entire boob, and gradually focused in on my nipples, teasing them with his fingertips.

He pounded into me like a runaway locomotive, and I had to release our kiss so I could breathe. I coiled my legs around his and met every thrust of his halfway with one of my own. The muscles of his back and legs tightened, he buried his cock in me, and froze. I felt his cock pulsing deep inside me, and he groaned a deep animal growl. I squeezed him tight and fell over the edge, orgasm washing over me wave after wave after wave. When I loosened my grip on his body he fell off to my side, and I tucked my back into his front, pulling his arm around me. I was too exhausted to say anything, but I thought ‘Wow‘ at him as loudly as I could.

Nate quickly fell asleep, and in no time I joined him, all warm and fuzzy inside. This was the first time since I had been at the beach that anyone paid any attention to my needs. In addition, I didn’t have to worry any about what the damn cameras could see. He spooned me from behind — yay, he likes to cuddle. I snuggled back into the warmth of his body.

: : : : :

I woke up with a smile, and reached out to draw Nate in, but found an empty bed. That disappointment was erased by an intoxicating aroma combining bacon and coffee. I crawled out of bed and found Nate at the tiny stove in the kitchenette. He had already placed strips of bacon on two plates, and he was stirring grated cheese into a skillet of almost-done scrambled eggs.

He kissed me good morning, and asked, “How do you like your eggs?”

“I like a little bit soft better than dry.”

“Then they’re ready,” he said, scooping half the contents of the skillet onto each plate.

We sat on the sofa with our plates in our laps. Neither one of us had bothered with any clothing. “You’re a brave man,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Frying bacon naked — not worried about splatters?”

He chuckled and said, “Microwave — wrap the raw bacon strips in paper towels and put them between two plates.”

The bacon crackled under my fork and I said, “Extra crispy but not burnt — perfect!” I crumbled it into small-ish pieces and stirred it into my eggs.

He said, yet again, “Aah, a connoisseur.” I grinned, at both his approval and the now-familiar phrase.

I interrupted myself from replying when I noticed the image on the TV. It was another photo, but completely different from the landscapes he had shown me earlier. At first I only saw an artsy, abstract swirl of shadow and light, but then I realized I was looking at a close-up of a human body, a girl’s body.

I recognized a beauty mark on the underside of a boob — it was my body. I was curled up in a tight ball. My legs were drawn up around my chest, and the geometric rows of shadow were the gaps between my calf and the back of my thigh, and my arm trapped between the front of my thigh and my chest. The swell of my breast pressed tightly against my arm, and if you looked really closely you could see a tiny sliver of nipple peeking out from behind my arm. A bright, narrow beam of light bathed over me, cutting diagonally across my body, glowing a beautiful golden hue. There must have been a tiny gap in the drapes letting a narrow swath of sunrise in.

“You’ve been busy,” I said.

“Just playing around. I’ve never taken this kind of image before. I hope it’s not creepy that I shot you while you were asleep.”

It might have been if the photo wasn’t so good. “I assume you wouldn’t sell, or even display this without my approval.”

He nodded and said, “Of course.”

He clicked to another shot. This one was also a tightly-framed abstraction, but not nearly as mysterious. I was lying flat on my tummy, with the same ray of light cutting a diagonal across the small of my back, ending on my hip at the edge of my bare ass. It was more obvious that this was a shot of a naked girl than the first one, but the focal point was the slash of light. My ass was half in, half out of the frame, hidden in deep shadow, making the overall effect more of an artsy still-life than anything erotic.

He clicked again. In the next shot I was on my side, facing the camera. The shot showed my abdomen, framed below my breasts, with my navel barely visible in deep shadow. My upper leg was crossed over my lower one, completely hiding my slit, with only a tiny tuft of my landing strip peeking out. The focal point of the shot was again the slash of light, glowing across the s-curve of my waist and hips, and from there down my thigh.

I said, “These are great shots. Don’t even try to tell me they’re not.”

He nodded, grinned, and gave me one of his long pauses. By now I was getting used to them.

The next shot was similar to the previous one, but I had pulled my top leg back, revealing my entire racing stripe. The beam of light slashed across my waist and my tummy, down to my slit, which was almost completely obliterated by the bright glare of the light beam. Even though it was obvious that this shot contained intimate feminine details, it was still more about the beam of light than the naked girl, more of an abstraction than anything prurient.

He finally said, “That’s all I’ve done so far.”

All I could say was, “Those are amazing.”

He said, “Amber the model,” giving me credit for the beauty of the photos.

I replied, “Nate the photographer,” acknowledging that it was his eye and ability with a lens and shutter that made the photos, more than my looks. Any girl could have tossed and turned in her sleep and he could have gotten those shots.

As we ate breakfast, I asked, “When you say that’s all you’ve done ‘so far,’ does that mean there are more?”

“There’ll be at least three or four more.”

“When can I see them?”

“Every shot needs a little ‘developing’ before it’s ready to be seen. That usually takes me a few minutes per shot, but sometimes it can take an hour or longer. It just depends on whether the shot only needs fine-tuning or if I have to do any serious retouching.”

“What would need retouching?”

“In my landscapes, something like a bare spot in the foreground, or something man-made like a piece of litter, a sign, or an overhead wire. That first bodyscape I just showed you had an ugly bump in the sunbeam, from a crease in how the curtains hung. I smoothed the fold, but when I got back to the camera you had rolled over, so I couldn’t re-take the shot. Ten minutes in Photoshop and I cleaned it up.” He backed up to that shot, and circled where he meant with the cursor.

“Nicely done,” I said. “I can’t tell.”

I took our empty plates over to the tiny kitchenette. He said, “Just run a little water on them and leave them in the sink. Housekeeping will run the dishwasher.”

After another one of his pauses, he said, “What are you doing today?”

“I guess laying out on the beach. You?”

“I have a 3:00 flight home. I was going to shoot at sunrise in the state park, but something more interesting came up.” He grinned and winked at me. “I need to pack my gear for the airport, but there’s plenty of time for that.”

I looked at the clock — not even 10:00 yet. I said, grinning, “So even allowing time to return your rent car and get through security, you have a couple of free hours.”

He grinned back, and said, “What are you thinking?”

I didn’t say anything, I just took the Do Not Disturb card off the inside door handle, opened the door slightly, and hung it on the outside.

His dick jumped to attention. He said, “I’m a bit crusty from last night. I’m going to run through the sprinkler. Join me?”

His room had a special ‘rainwater’ shower head that mine didn’t. He turned the water to steamy hot and stepped in. I donned the plastic shower cap the hotel provided and joined him. The water was deeply relaxing. The almond body gel from the hotel smelled wonderful and felt fantastic. Our hands glided over each other’s body, sensuously exploring all our personal nooks and crannies.

While we were drying each other off, his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and said, “Sorry, I need to take this, it’s business. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

I wasn’t exactly pleased at the interruption, but from his side of the conversation it became clear that the call was about an upcoming show of his photos at an art gallery. I understood the importance of taking it.

While he talked, I had an important personal revelation. Actually, a couple. I’ve described how being pushed out of my comfort zone gets me hot. That’s been true for a long time, but I’ve never understood it. The past few days of shooting with Ryan had me thinking about it, trying to figure out why. Being with Nate, who didn’t expect anything other than mutual enjoyment, and who seemed to value my pleasure as much as his own, gave me a fresh insight.

I realized that the thrill I feel doesn’t have anything to do with being under the control of someone else. What it is about is facing a daunting new task, confronting my dread and fear of failing at it, and then succeeding.

The more anxiety I have facing the task, the greater the anticipation, which builds and builds, then pays off when it’s done and goes well. It’s like any sexual gratification: build and release. The bigger the build, the greater the release. The difference is, with each success I gain an inner sense of strength and confidence that stays with me.

When I’m working with Ryan, each new task he has me do, each boundary he has me cross, creates a greater build. When I meet the challenge and succeed, I feel a greater release. No wonder I keep coming back for more. Well, that and large amounts of money, of course. I know, money can’t buy happiness, but poverty always sucks!

A second revelation was that such a challenge doesn’t have to come from someone else. I could ‘dare’ myself and get just as turned on as if Ryan or anyone else was pushing my buttons.

With all of that in mind, I decided there was no time like the present to put the concept of ‘challenging myself’ to the test. I found my purse and took it into the bathroom. I wasn’t sure I had what I was looking for with me, but it turned out I did, and I used it to take an extra step in preparing for when Nate got off the phone.

As promised, his call didn’t last long. I said, “That sounded interesting.”

He told me about the upcoming exhibit, which was his third. The other two had been shared with other photographers, though, and this one was going to be all him. He was excited, and nervous. “If this one does well, it could be quite an important breakthrough in my career.” I said I was sure he’d do great.

Another long silence stretched out between us. He finally said, “Um, so, where were we?”

I didn’t say anything, I just took his hand and led him to the bedroom. I sat him on the bed and began to kneel between his feet, but he pulled me up to sit beside him and said, “Nope, you first this time.”

The second time with a guy is always interesting to me. Even when the first time was really good, some guys have already shown everything they have, and that second shot will be repetitive and less interesting. That is a huge red flag to me, because if the second time is already lackluster, what chance does the seventh or the twentieth have?

It was not a problem with Nate.

He immediately earned more bonus points by remembering that I like an unrushed, gentle start. It may not seem that recalling what happened only a few hours ago would be a big deal, but sadly it is very rare.

I sat on the edge of the bed, and he softly pushed me onto my back. He crawled between my legs, kissed my inner thighs just above my knees, and began slowly inching his way up. He reached the junction of my thighs, spread my outer lips with his thumbs, and delicately applied his lips and tongue. His touch was delicate and subtle — it felt like he was making out with my pussy. I wanted to say his catch-phrase to him, “Aah, a connoisseur,” but I was too absorbed in what he was doing to speak out loud.

He licked, kissed, and sucked, perfectly attuned to me with all his senses. Anything I liked, he kept doing. Things he tried that didn’t feel that great, he almost magically stopped. End result, I was in heaven, floating in a cloud of the sweetest pleasure I’ve ever felt from a guy’s lips and tongue. I hoped it would never end, but of course it did. This will sound odd, but to my relief it was a nice, ordinary orgasm rather than an intense mega-climax like he gave me last night. That was fantastic, but I don’t think I could reach that level of passion every time without my brain turning to zombie mush.

I intended to suck him next, but he had other plans. When I started to sit up to align my face with his cock, he pushed me back down on my back and settled in beside me. He draped an arm over me and slid one of his legs in between mine. I think he planned to crawl on top of me. Instead I rolled him onto his back, and climbed on top. He cupped my boobs with his hands, teasing the nipples with his fingertips. I was ready, and his steel-hard cock indicated that he was too, so I aligned his tip with my opening and began to take him in. He had always entered me luxuriously slowly, and I matched that. Once again, it felt fabulous. When I reached the bottom, he made eye contact with an expression that seemed to ask, ‘Ready to go for it?‘ I gave him a slight nod, and he gripped my hips, holding them steady, and began thrusting up into me. Not much of a gentle, soft start this time, just a couple of tentative pushes to be sure everything aligned nicely, then straight to strong, solid fucking.

I steadied myself with my hands on his shoulders, leaving my tits unsupported. They bounced up and down, and I looked to see if one of Ryan’s cameras was catching that until I realized, ‘Duh, no Ryan, no cameras. Yay!‘ I refocused on Nate, and how well we fit and moved together.

Neither of us was anywhere near cumming, but I lifted my hips and let him slip out of me. On his next thrust forward his cock only penetrated empty air between my tummy and his. He moaned in frustration.

I lifted up, raising my slit above the tip of his hungry cock. He desperately wanted to plunge back into my pussy, but I gripped his hard-on in my fist. I crawled slightly forward up his stomach, and placed his tip against my asshole. I made sure it was centered, and began to press downward.

He grasped my shoulders and said, “What are you doing?”

Well, an obvious question deserves an obvious answer. “I want you in my ass.” I felt his dick twitch against my outer ring.

While he had been on the phone with the art gallery, what I looked for in my purse was lube. I wasn’t sure I had any, it’s not exactly among my usual night club accessories. When I found it, I applied a thick coat in my ass, as far up and in as I could reach.

This was new ground for me. I had only ever done anal before when it was someone else’s idea. Before I met Ryan, there were a couple of times I let a guy try to fuck me there. Each one assured me that he knew how to make it pain-free, and even exciting. To say the least, they both failed miserably. The only reason I let Ryan try it was for an absurd amount of added money. I was amazed when he was actually able to do what the other guys promised: he made it more than tolerable, more than comfortable. He actually made it enjoyable, enough that I don’t fear doing it for money anymore.

Doing it for money and doing it for fun are two different things, though, and I was challenging myself to cross this barrier for my own enjoyment. I could tell that Nate couldn’t believe his ears or his luck. I’ve never understood why most guys are so fascinated with anal sex. Nate didn’t seem to be overly obsessed with it, but his reaction showed he at least considered it a special treat. I stifled a laugh; he probably thought he was the most excited person in the room. He wasn’t — I was about to crawl out of my skin I was so energized. I had a deep burning desire, edged with a small but distinct overlay of dread that this could end up being a painful disaster.

Nate brought me back to the here and now. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice cracking.

I answered in the lowest range of my voice, barely above a whisper, “Fuck me in the ass, before I change my mind.”

This was the moment of truth. I let gravity pull me downward onto him, while I concentrated on relaxing and letting him in. He slid into me, stretching my outer ring, and I took him in until he was a several inches deep.

From that point, he took over, and I didn’t have to do anything. He knew to start out nice and gentle, but each time he pressed up into me he went a bit deeper. When it became clear I could handle him back there, any softness disappeared. He stayed slow, but went strong and deep. Not that long ago I would have been freaked out by the force of his rutting, but with what I had done for Ryan recently, I had a new confidence that I could not only handle it, but enjoy it. Maybe even get off on it.