[Emperor Wang]

Thanks for your patience. Here's how things turned out.

(FOUR)

I knew she’d been intending to give her pussy a good trimming that morning before we left but I hadn’t realized exactly how short. She wasn’t shaved completely bald – that wouldn’t happen until several months later – but this was the shortest I’d seen it at that point. Her reddish-brown pubic hair was rather fine and sparse to begin with and now only a token tuft remained on her little mound; the lower region was completely smooth. Her prominent pink lips now stood out more boldly than ever. After a moment or two, I tore my gaze away from her sn*tch to study Martin’s reaction. His professional cool never really faltered but his attention was clearly riveted; he stared for several seconds, then downed the rest of his drink and rather hoarsely intoned, “Okay, let’s get started again.”

This time he grabbed his camera and without warning took a couple of shots of her still leaning against the wall, then had her move over into the kitchen doorway, which framed her beautifully. A lengthy series of shots ensued here, first with her facing forward, then facing away as he captured her incredible ass and delicately proportioned back and shoulders, then back to facing forward again, tits and now almost-bald pussy unashamedly displayed to the world. Eventually he had her move over to lie on the couch, first on her back, then on her stomach, stretching and arching to accentuate her lithe form. Next, he had her switch and lie on her left side facing him, head resting on the armrest, legs stretched out together and toes pointed. Then, a variation: in the same position, he told her to bend her right leg at the knee and bring it straight up and out a bit. Without hesitation she complied with his direction, and while it wasn’t completely brazen by most girly-mag standards, it certainly put her gorgeous sn*tch fully on display, plump lips ever-so-slightly parted. “Beautiful, hold that,” Martin told her and immediately snapped off a long, rapid series of shots, almost as if he were afraid she’d change her mind. But she didn’t.

From here he had her get up off the couch again and for the next twenty minutes or so they ran through several rolls of film on a wide variety of standing poses around the living room, including another series in the kitchen doorway. Stopping to reload again, he said, “Alright, just relax a minute here and then we’ll do a final series down there in the bedroom.”

My girl leaned languorously in the kitchen entrance, winked at me and said to Martin, “I think I’ll take you up on a shot of that whisky now.” “Oh, certainly,” he said, stepping past her into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and pouring her a generous shot and another for me, as if reading my mind. She stepped into the kitchen and he slid her glass across the counter toward her, then said, “Here, let me grab you some ice.” He opened the freezer door but before he could even reach inside to retrieve the ice she said, “Thanks, that won’t be necessary.” She downed the shot in a single motion, exhaled loudly, gave her head a bit of a shake, grinned at us both and said, “Let’s rock!” She set her empty glass down on the counter, turned on one heel and stalked off down the hallway toward the bedroom, ass bouncing deliciously as she went. Martin, initially dumbstruck, now looked at me, burst into laughter and called out, “Right behind you!” as he turned and followed her. I took several steps out of the room behind him, then halted, stepped back into the kitchen and retrieved my drink before joining them.

By the time I reached the large master bedroom – a grand affair dominated by another huge picture window – she had already taken up a position on the king-size bed, leaning on one arm, legs drawn up to one side, smiling sunnily for Martin who began immediately clicking away again. They soon exhausted that roll of film and while he paused to put in a new one, he said to her, “Alright, this last bunch we’re doing are going to be a bit more…” He trailed off. She looked blankly toward him. “More, uh, personal,” he finally said. “More revealing. Are you okay with that? Feel free to tell me if there’s anything you’re not comfortable with.” I wondered if another shot of booze might be in order, but now she just smiled and nodded, “Sure, that’s fine. I’ll let you know.” They went back to shooting. Nothing particularly risqué for the first while. Then he had her get on all fours; he took a couple of shots from the side, then moved around directly behind her. With her incredible ass in the air and plump labia peeking out from between her thighs, they did a series of shots straight-on from behind. Then he instructed her, “Okay, stay in that position but keep your feet together and bring your knees out to the sides a bit more.” She complied and he began clicking away again. I was still off to the side but knew exactly the view he was getting from directly behind with her thighs parted. She stole a quick glance at me, grinning naughtily, while he was busy behind her. Again, knowing her face was momentarily hidden from his view, she mouthed the words “Love you,” to me.

He clearly appreciated her ass, spending the next while (and several rolls of film) shooting her from behind in a variety of poses, legs partway open in some, closed in others, some on all fours with that gorgeous posterior stuck up in the air, others lying flat. Stopping to change film once more, Martin said, “Okay, pretty much in the home stretch now. I’m down to two rolls, so we’ll be done soon.” I looked at my watch – God, how could it be after three? Had we really been here almost two hours? He saw me checking the time and remarked, rather apologetically, “Yeah, I know – a professional shoot would probably last quite a bit longer than this, but it’s all I can afford at the moment.” I smiled and shrugged. Of course, there were a few things I didn’t tell him: that my balls were aching fiercely, that I was dangerously close to coming in my pants, that I wanted nothing more right now than to race home with the love of my life and fuck her back to the stone age. But I didn’t. I muttered something lame along the lines of “Well, there’s always next time” or some such – I really don’t remember. What I do recall with absolute clarity is what happened next.

Martin clearly didn’t want to waste any of his last shots, so he had her lie back on the bed, slightly propped up with pillows behind her head and shoulders, and instructed her on the final series: “Okay now, really need you to heat things up for this one. It’s not just about the pose – I need to really see this in your eyes, your mouth, more of that come-hither thing. You’ve been doing lots of that so far and doing it well, so let’s bring it up a notch for the big finish, okay?” And off they went. She was half-reclining and half-curled up for the first few; then he had her unwind, stretching and arching, legs slightly apart, then together, then apart again. He hovered mainly around the end of the bed while shooting, then dragged a footstool over to the side of the bed and stepped up on it to catch her from a higher angle. As per his orders, she brought the facial expressions to match the poses, lips parted slightly, grinning here, serious there, eyes locked onto the lens with a predatory gaze. I’d never seen her more beautiful, more sexually alive.

He paused to change film again. “Alright, last roll. Really gotta bring it now. Ready?” She smiled and nodded to him and then, as she was getting into position again, shot me a split-second, wordless glance that I could easily read: it said check THIS out. As shooting resumed, both of them seemed to bring a renewed intensity to the proceedings to make the final shots count – I swear I felt the room temperature rising, although it was probably just mine. For a number of shots he had her up on her knees in the middle of the bed, facing forward, hands on her waist, knees apart, labia visible, then had her lie back again, legs almost together, stretched out toward him. A few shots of this, then, “Bend your right leg a bit, bring it up and out to the side.”

She did as instructed, but with an impish grin, she brought the leg up and all the way out, fully displaying her gorgeous sn*tch. The lips were parted and slightly engorged as they always got when she was seriously aroused; the tip of her swelling clit was partially exposed and some juices were beginning to glisten on her full, dark-pink lower lips in the natural light pouring in through the big picture window. I thought I was going to collapse. He snapped several frames, then said, “Great, now with both legs – spread them wider.” She brought both legs up and back and then, without being instructed, scooted her hips forward a bit so her vagina was now angled slightly upward, steadily-moistening lips parted, butthole now visible just below. “Beautiful,” he said, taking a couple of shots, then leaning in closer for a couple more. “Absolutely beautiful.” He lowered the camera, stared a moment, then looked into her eyes and spoke in measured tones. “I’ve just got a few left now. What I need you to do is reach down with both hands and pull your lips open for me. Are you okay doing that?” Without hesitation, she responded in a hoarse half-whisper, “Yes.” Her hands crept downward over her thighs, she gently pressed her finger tips against her swelling inner labia and very slowly pulled them apart as far as they could stretch, exposing the slick, deep-pink inner walls beyond. More juices began to flow from within. Martin carefully clicked off the last frames, pausing a moment after each, not wanting to waste the last of his film, or maybe just savouring the moment or – more likely – both. Those final eight shots couldn’t have taken more than about twenty seconds, but in my memory it plays out in endless slo-mo. When the last shot was done, she held the pose a few seconds longer, her eyes never leaving him; he looked up from the viewfinder, met her gaze, smiled at her and softly said, “Thank you.” Then he straightened up, still smiling, looked at me and in a somewhat more businesslike tone said, “And thank you! All done.” She straightened out her legs, got up from the bed, stretched and – in a gesture that was both odd and endearing – gave Martin a hug. Glancing at the bed, I couldn’t help grinning at the little wet patch our model had left behind on the comforter, a small souvenir of her enthusiasm.

Martin and I stepped out into the hallway and walked back out toward the living room while she stayed behind in the bedroom to get dressed. He poured us each another drink – I assumed he needed one as much as I did – and we chatted away, our conversation somewhat less laboured now that the shoot was over. He told me he’d call in another week or so and arrange to get us some prints (this having taken place in the now-oh-so-distant pre-digital era). She soon joined us, fully dressed again; he paid her in cash, we said out goodbyes and were off. Of course, we practically ****d each other in the elevator; it’s amazing how far things can go while descending fifteen floors when there are no other stops and you’re both blissfully oblivious to the security camera. Feeling the elevator slow as we reached the second floor we managed to pull away from each other and frantically straighten our clothes, giggling like a couple of randy teenagers as we exited the posh building.

The walk back to the car was only a few blocks but seemed to take forever, my swollen, painful testicles making me wince as I walked, each step a reminder of how overstimulated I was. Keeping our voices down as we passed multiple strangers, we teased each other mercilessly with promises of what we had in store for each other upon returning home. As we drew closer to the parking lot, I asked her to drive, reminding her that she’d only had one drink while I’d had three (or was it four?); truthfully, even without the alcohol I was probably distracted enough to rear end a bus at some point during the relatively short drive back to our apartment. Upon reaching our elderly Volkswagen GTI, she opened the hatch and, giggling slightly, retrieved a beach towel that was still there from our trip to a friend’s cottage a couple of weeks earlier. Initially mystified by this, it all made sense when I watched her spread it over the driver’s seat before sitting down – lost in my reverie, I’d forgotten that I wasn’t the only one in a state of overstimulation. I sat in the passenger seat and waited as she turned the engine on and cranked the air conditioning. I quickly scanned our surroundings. Not much activity in the lot right now; a five-ton truck was parked on her side, blocking out the view beyond completely, while on mine there were no vehicles for about twenty-five feet in any direction and foot traffic was sparse. That, I decided, was sufficient.

She was about to put her seatbelt on when I made my move. I reached across her and, in a single fluid motion (that actually impressed us both), I grabbed the lever between her seat and the door, released the catch and abruptly reclined her seat all the way back. Her shocked gasp turned to giggles – “Oh, good!” she exclaimed – as I hiked her skirt up, grateful to discover she hadn’t bothered with panties when getting dressed after the session. Her perfect little sn*tch was still dripping wet; her excited laughter turned to whimpers as I put my middle finger between her swollen lips and ran it lightly back and forth over her clit a few times, then abruptly sank two fingers deep inside, penetrating as deep as I could before curling them upward into her sweet spot. Making her orgasm had never been difficult but I had never, ever seen her go off this fast. She immediately went completely rigid, clamping her thighs shut so hard my right hand was rather painfully crushed between them, although there was no way I’d stop at this point. Her head was thrown back, mouth open wide, but no sound escaped for several seconds; then, the sharp, ragged intake of breath followed by a single long, loud cry as her body arched and spasmed, her vaginal muscles convulsing around my fingers, more juices now drenching the beach towel below her. I looked around to double check that the windows were closed; a few people milled about the parking lot and a car pulled out onto the street but none of them were in our area and none seemed to be able to hear my lovely girl’s violent orgasm. She now gave out a few shorter, sharp cries, body twitching violently several more times, then went completely limp, wrapping both her hands around my right wrist to make sure I kept my hand in place. The cries were replaced by soft moans. She now lay very still, save for panting. Tears ran down her cheeks. I knew full well she was far from satiated but at least this would suffice until we got home.

She drifted off into unconsciousness for a few minutes, looking impossibly beautiful and blissful, before slowly opening her eyes and shooting me a smile so radiant I thought my heart might stop. Still shaky, she grabbed the steering wheel with her right hand and pulled herself up to a sitting position and blinked a few times, then scanned the parking lot before bringing the back of her seat upward. “Still not much activity here for a Saturday, is there?” she said. Knowing exactly where this was leading, I smiled at her and said, “Yeah, pretty dead, isn’t it,” then grabbed the lever on the side of my seat and reclined it all the way back as she began undoing my pants. I lay back to savour what was to come.

After tugging my pants down to my knees she stroked the underside of my cock a few times, then gently cupped her hand around my swollen, painful balls. I winced just slightly, although it was a pain I’d always found oddly pleasurable. A soft, involuntary “Ow!” escaped me. “Aw, sweetie,” she said, immediately assessing the situation. “Yeah,” I replied, “just a little overstimulated after all that.” She smiled and softly replied, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” Which she did, probably in record time. She licked the length of the shaft a couple of times before taking my cock fully into her mouth, then into her throat. She released it, then repeated the same slow engulfing once more before my moans told her critical mass was imminent. Instinctively she wrapped one hand around the base, moving her hand and head in tandem, picking up speed. About fifteen seconds of this was all I required before exploding into her mouth with a force so intense I half-worried about blowing a hole through the back of her head (“Seriously, Officer, I can explain!”). I’m not sure how much hot semen gushed out of me and down her waiting throat but it must have been unprecedented; there was no way to tell for sure because I swear she didn’t spill a single drop. I also hoped no one nearby could hear me let loose with a long half-shout/half-laugh, the kind that could only accompany the single most intense orgasm of my life. By ten seconds or so after my climax finally subsided, while my girl gently and meticulously milked out the last drops my cock had to offer, I blissfully blacked out.

Next thing I knew, a familiar, cool hand was stroking my face. The surprising part, when I opened my eyes, was discovering that we were now home – she had simply tugged my pants back up and driven back with me passed out on the reclined passenger seat. “Huh?” I said, groggily propping myself up on one elbow. “You drove us home like this?” She laughed, leaned in and kissed me gently. “You looked so happy,” she said, “I didn’t want to move you. Come on, sweetie, let’s get inside.” I fucking near asked her to marry me on the spot, but resisted.

Entering the apartment, she pretty much read my mind, stripping off the sundress in a single fluid motion. I chased her into the bedroom, wrestled her roughly onto the bed and kissed her passionately, working my way down, lingering a while to suck her delectable little tits before continuing south to lick hungrily at her labia and clit. Soon she was in the throes of another howling orgasm. After a couple of minutes to catch her breath she straddled me and rode hard, harder and faster for another fifteen minutes or so until we both came like crazy once more. We began drifting off once again with her collapsed on my chest. I was half-unconscious when I heard her mumble something like, “…steak.” I was puzzled at first, then remembered we had a couple of big, beautiful striploins in the fridge and a really good merlot we’d been planning to celebrate with. A delicious prospect but it all seemed like a lot of work now. “Steaks tomorrow,” I mumbled. “Order pizza…later.” Eyes closed, she moaned her agreement. And that’s what we did… two hours later.

(Hope you enjoyed the conclusion. Thanks for your patience. As usual, I look forward to your comments and questions.)