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  #11  
Old 08-23-2018, 08:12 AM
Omega88 Omega88 is offline
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Originally Posted by Emperor Wang View Post
Here's to keeping the dream alive! She may surprise you yet.
One can only hope... and plot and plan! This happened to be the same cottage I wrote about a while back in a different thread where my wife was caught by the owner / brother wearing only a bikini bottom as she put on sun block before heading out to the beach. She was quite casual about it and really seemed to enjoy being seen. If only I had picked up on it sooner and put the idea together.
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  #12  
Old 08-26-2018, 05:25 PM
Emperor Wang Emperor Wang is offline
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Default Part Three

As promised, here's Part Three, albeit a couple of weeks late. The bad news: it ends rather abruptly. The good news: there will indeed be a fourth and final installment, probably within a couple of days. (No, SERIOUSLY, a couple of days this time!) Thank you all for your patience, your kind compliments and related anecdotes. Enjoy.

(THREE)

My girlfriend’s modeling gig continued – usually several nights a week – for nearly a year, and in addition to providing me with some candaulistic thrills and her with an outlet for her innate exhibitionism, the situation brought fringe benefits for us both. She soon picked up some waitressing shifts at her artist-employer’s restaurant and did occasional courier work for several of his business associates. When she mentioned to him that I’d been laid off from a job, he hired my best friend and me (for a rather generous fee) to move his office furniture and mountains of files when he relocated to a bigger space in the same office building. I also helped out on several occasions when his restaurant was shorthanded for catering jobs.

During their sessions, my girl continued “casually” neglecting to cover up between poses but made a point of not doing it every time; she enjoyed the hungry looks he gave her while she nonchalantly paraded around naked and didn’t want him to get too used to it. Even after several months I was as aroused as ever by the prospect of her exposing herself, which she in turn found equally enjoyable; the only drawback was that we still couldn’t come up with a legitimate reason for me to be present while she modeled. We realized we’d have to look elsewhere to make that happen. But where? She soon floated a new idea: photography.

The local weekly arts and entertainment paper always had a number of modeling jobs posted in the classified section – in fact, that was how she’d connected with her current employer in the first place. In any given issue the postings were more or less evenly split between artists and photographers, although the latter tended to be much more diverse, ranging from mundane catalogue-type content to swimwear to “artistic nudes” to various euphemisms for hardcore porn (“adult content,” “full contact” and my favourite, “some casual penetration required” which cracked us both up). We checked the ads weekly. Our criteria seemed easy enough to meet and after about a month of near-misses, we seemed to have found the right one: “Photog sks attr F models, pro or am, 18-35 for shoots involving lingerie and Playboy-style nude.”

She made the call from the kitchen and at her insistence I listened on the bedroom extension. Introducing himself as Martin, the photographer came across as professional and personable, describing himself as a semi-pro hoping to eventually turn his passion into a full-time gig; he was currently holding down a day job at his parents’ wholesale business while honing his craft shooting weddings and the occasional model portfolio. He explained that while he had plenty of experience shooting nudes, his only model so far had been his now ex-girlfriend; the prospect of working with a stranger for a nude model was something he considered a big step forward professionally. My girlfriend gave him a brief rundown on her own background, explaining that she had experience modeling nude for drawing and painting but never for photographs, let alone anything “glam,” and she was eager to give it a try. The fee he was offering wasn’t overly generous but quite reasonable given his limited resources, her lack of experience in this particular medium and the fact that the photos would not be for publication. She agreed to the amount without dickering, then broke it to him that there was one catch: for safety reasons, her boyfriend had to be present throughout the shoot.

Brief silence at his end, then “Ummm…” My heart sank. She jumped in: “Hey, he’s totally cool about the whole thing, really. He wouldn’t cause any trouble. This is strictly for my own peace of mind, since it’s the first time with someone new. He came with me the first time I posed for this artist I’ve been working with for months now – just that first time.” This last part, of course, was a total lie, and I prayed that he’d buy it.

Martin responded, “Well, I suppose it’d be fine if he waited in another room.” It was all I could do to keep from exclaiming “Oh fuck NO!” She remained cool but insistent: “No, I really would need him right there with us. It’s the only way I could be, you know, completely uninhibited for something like this the first time around. Trust me, he’d be totally unobtrusive and it would make me more confident.”

The back-and-forth continued for a few minutes, both remaining calm and friendly but unwilling to budge. Eventually, they agreed on one thing: they’d need to meet in person first so she could get a look at his portfolio and he could get a look at her (this being the early 1990s, emailing photos back and forth was still a few years off). Naturally, I’d accompany her to the meeting. Disappointed as I was over his reluctance, I was optimistic about how things would go in person. I’d put him at ease just being my (ahem) charming, mild-mannered and thoroughly unthreatening self. More importantly, I was convinced that one look at her would change his tune in a nanosecond.

Which was basically how it went. We met up with him the next afternoon on the patio of a nearby coffee shop, with her sporting my favourite pair of Daisy Duke cutoffs and a threadbare old Rolling Stones tour shirt with no bra. Martin turned out to be an easygoing, clean-cut guy around our age. His reaction upon meeting her was pretty much as I’d expected – his jaw didn’t quite drop but his pleasurable shock was evident. The prints in his portfolio showed an emerging talent, some fine work of generally semi-pro quality. There were multiple images of his rather attractive ex-girlfriend scantily clad, including the occasional topless shot, but no nudes; he explained that while he had hundreds of pics of her in the buff he was honouring her wishes by keeping them private even after a somewhat acrimonious breakup, which we found admirable. As I’d predicted, he was sufficiently won over by my girl’s looks and charming demeanour that he quickly caved and agreed to have me present throughout the shoot, under certain conditions that I found perfectly reasonable: I was to remain strictly fly-on-the-wall and not interrupt or distract the model in any way, all fine by me. He explained that his initial reticence was rooted in an unfortunate recent experience: back in the spring he had attempted a shoot with another model that called for some toplessness, though not full nudity, and he had agreed to have the model’s boyfriend present. The guy assured Martin beforehand that he was completely cool with the idea, then went ballistic a minute or so after the girl removed her top. Martin wound up calling the session off and the couple had a screaming match on the street outside the studio, eventually attracting the attention of passing cops. He also confided that he’d been in my position before, going along to supervise when his ex did a couple of nude shoots, although both times the photographers had been friends of his. Of course, this had me wondering if he shared my candaulistic tendencies – had he been as turned on by it then as I was now? How common could this really be?

With all terms agreed upon, a session was arranged for the following Saturday afternoon; rather than renting studio space again, the shoot would take place at a large condo where he was house-sitting for friends that month.

Come Saturday, we were forced to park blocks away from the high rise where Martin was staying. It was a near-perfect summer afternoon, on the hot side but gently breezy. Walking past a park that was teeming with families, I noticed my girl getting some appreciative looks from various men (and, I swear, at least one woman); she had worn my favourite sundress, a loose-fitting, ultra-light number with spaghetti straps which, from just the right angle, offered intermittent glimpses of sideboob. Upon our arrival at the spacious, beautifully appointed fifteenth-floor condo, it became apparent that Martin shared my taste for the sundress. “I have some lingerie for you wear in the earlier part of the shoot,” he said to her, “but I’d actually love to do some shots of you in that dress first. It’s absolutely gorgeous.” She readily agreed and he spent the next few minutes giving her a rundown on how the shoot would go, explaining that they would be progressing from clothed to lingerie to topless to fully nude. The condo’s living room and master bedroom had floor-to-ceiling windows, providing ample natural lighting without the glare of direct sunlight until much later in the day. I helped Martin move a few items of furniture out of the way, then took up a position along the living room wall to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Shooting soon got underway with a series of her posing in the sundress, mainly standing, some sitting, occasionally leaning forward to afford him a partial glimpse of the upper part of her little breasts but never quite full exposure. Martin certainly didn’t need to worry about me interrupting the proceedings; she was so radiant, I was hopelessly tongue-tied. Her relative inexperience was nowhere in evidence as she followed his instructions like a seasoned pro: flirtatious here, demure there, dead serious one moment, giggly the next. What was evident, on the other hand, was her enjoyment; the sundress wasn’t sheer but her stiff, protruding nipples practically threatened to rip through the thin cotton. Martin’s demeanour remained strictly professional but he was clearly enjoying himself as well, voicing encouragement and approval to her at regular intervals. He didn’t need to force it – even to the most casual observer, she was stunning. He eventually did a beautiful series of shots of her standing in front of the big living room window, facing away, looking out over the cityscape, the dress’s straps down over her shoulders, back fully exposed but breasts still (barely) covered as she held the dress up in front, looking as if it were about to fall away…

“…aaand that’ll do it,” he said. “Let’s give that lingerie a try now.” She pulled the dress up again and readjusted the straps before turning around to face him, fully covered and casual, although her jutting nipples continued to betray her excitement. “There’s a good-sized bathroom off the master bedroom down here,” he said, walking her down the hallway. “You can get changed in the bathroom but if it’s not big enough you can use the bedroom too. Just don’t leave anything lying around there because we’ll eventually be doing some shots in the bedroom as well.” As soon as they were out of the room I did my best to catch my breath and get composed, taking advantage of their brief absence to reach into my pants and readjust my erection to be less prominent – good thing I’d worn an oversize t-shirt that hung down low. I couldn’t believe how aroused I already was when she hadn’t even exposed herself yet, which I knew was going to change sooner than later. I suddenly realized that I was absent-mindedly stroking my throbbing cock; I quickly got my hand back out of my pants just seconds before Martin returned. We made small talk for several minutes while she was down the hall changing into the next outfit. Soon our conversation was in danger of descending into an awkward silence, so I was relieved to hear a door open down the hall, followed by the sound of her bare feet approaching.

That deep-burgundy, thong-back lace teddy she sported upon returning to the room wasn’t really her kind of thing – her taste in lingerie ran to the minimal, as did mine – but I had to admit she looked fucking hot. The colour perfectly offset her dark eyes and deep auburn hair. The garment wasn’t quite sheer but was cut high over the thighs and hips and the light, lacy material was clingy enough that her nipples seemed to stick out a mile. She looked incredible and the split-second glance she shot me upon entering told me she knew it too. Martin was unreserved in his approval: “Damn! I do have impeccable taste in intimate apparel, don’t I?” he said. She beamed at him, accepting the compliment without hesitation. He glanced to me for confirmation; I shrugged and mumbled, “Good taste in models too.” He smiled and nodded his agreement, then turned to her: “Okay, let’s get started again.”

They got underway, with her taking up many of the same poses as previously. When he had her face away toward the big picture window it was all I could do to keep from gasping out loud at the sight of her exquisitely round ass in that thong. She clearly knew it was having the desired effect, thrusting her hips out towards him as he clicked away. I managed to stay unobtrusive, lurking along the wall on the other side of the room, but felt on the verge of exploding already. I wondered how I’d fare once she exposed a bit more. I soon found out.

They continued a while with more shots of her standing by the window, then he had her move over to the couch. A few more poses clicked by with her reclining and stretching; then he had her sit up and forward, perched on the edge of the couch, back slightly arched, eyes never straying from straight into the lens. A few more shots, then, “Okay, keep the top part held up in front but let the straps fall away from your shoulders.”

Oh fuck, I thought, here we go. She followed the instruction, levelled a come-hither look toward the camera, delicate neck and shoulders bared, the teddy’s skimpy top now held up in front with her right hand; he snapped four or five more frames. And then, “Alright, now let the left side of the top fall away.”

The moment remains tattooed on my brain forever: her dropping the left side as instructed, exposing one exquisite, perky little breast. The nipple stood stiffly at attention, the areola tightening, puckering, growing darker. And all the while, her smoldering gaze straight toward the camera never faltered; he clicked off another succession of shots, then lowered the camera and just looked at her, pausing a moment to ponder his next move. Or – who knows? – maybe just looking.

“Okay, drop the other side now. Let the top half fall down around your waist.”

She complied without even a hint of hesitation, fully exposing her tits and midriff. He clicked off a few shots, paused, stared at her a few moments, then smiled and quietly intoned, “Beautiful.” Another moment, then, “Hold that for a few more.” He snapped off another seven or eight, then told her to give him a few variations. Again, she followed orders like a natural, leaning back slightly on one arm, then up straight again, then forward slightly, then back, with him clicking through four or five each time. My heart pounded as they went through more variations on the couch, lying back, then propped up on one elbow, then sitting forward again. Even as I kept my composure outwardly I was sure she could sense my incredible arousal, although I was glad Martin was so caught up in shooting that he seemed almost to forget I was there at all.

“Back to the beginning – couple more like that,” he said and she went back to the initial pose, sitting forward on the couch as he snapped away, “and we’re done with this one.” She relaxed and stretched a bit while he quickly checked the camera. “Okay, let’s get you switched into the next outfit.” They disappeared down the hallway again; moments later he returned with a circular light reflector panel about three feet across. “The natural light in here’s mostly good as is,” he said, “but I may need you to hold this to bounce the light just a bit in this next series, okay?” I happily agreed. Glancing out the huge picture window, I remarked on the magnificent city view, which provided us with some much-needed conversational fodder as the model seemed to be taking her time about getting changed. Before long she reappeared, topless, delicious and seemingly perfectly casual in white fishnet stay-up stockings and a barely-there matching lacey g-string – again, a far cry from anything she’d normally wear but so very, very hot. Shooting resumed, this time concentrating mainly on her standing near the window, though just far enough back that she wouldn’t be visible to anyone in the surrounding high rises. (Well, not to very many of them, at least.) Martin was using a fairly high-end Nikon but budgetary constraints were such that he only had the one camera, so he soon had to stop and pop in another roll of film. He made the switch quickly but was distracted just long enough for my girlfriend to steal a look at me. She smiled, clearly aware that I was enjoying myself to the fullest, and silently mouthed “I love you” just moments before Martin turned his attention back to her to begin shooting again.

There was a pretty wide space open on the deep-pile carpeted floor since Martin and I had moved the furniture earlier and he now had her sprawl out there, stretching, twisting and slowly writhing around, then halting at his command when he saw a position he wanted to shoot. The nipples remained rigidly at attention throughout – god, what I wouldn’t have given to be able to suck on them right then and there. Her legs – fishnet-clad, stretched out, toes pointed – looked particularly spectacular in these shots; the skimpy lace g-string accentuated her gorgeous ass magnificently, and when she rolled over, barely covered her delicious little mound as she opened her legs wider on certain shots, then brought them back together again coyly. I wondered how far she’d let that go once the g-string came off? My balls were beginning to ache dully and she wasn’t even fully nude yet. I was suddenly jolted from my trance when I heard my name called from some great distance.

“Huh?” I looked toward Martin, then back to my girlfriend, then back again. A moment of silence, then both of them burst into laughter. “A little distracted, are you?” he snickered. “Uh, yeah, I guess,” I said sheepishly. “I mean, the visuals are a bit, you know…” “Aw, baby,” she said, shooting me a wink, “that’s very sweet.” I shrugged, beginning to laugh myself. Martin smiled and reassured me, “Hey, not that I blame you. She’s quite something, isn’t she? Anyway, I’m gonna need you to hold this reflector for me, just for a few shots.” “Oh, sure,” I said, regaining my composure.

He handed me the device, showed me where to stand – just to the left of where she lay on the floor – and had me hold it overhead, angled toward her, for a series of shots. How I managed to keep it from shaking is beyond me. Martin went back to work and the pace began to pick up, with her rolling from side to side into different poses, her facial expression becoming a little more intense with each passing minute; he seemed bent on matching her pace, jumping up onto a footstool to catch her full form from above, jumping down and crouching close to zoom in for a portrait, then back up again. After a few more minutes he stopped shooting and said, “Great, great, thanks! Okay, let’s take five. You ready to go fully nude after a quick break?” She smiled at him, then quickly glanced at me before saying, “Sure!” He offered us drinks; she opted for a bottle of mineral water but I was only too happy to join Martin in several fingers of bourbon on the rocks. We sat and chatted a few minutes, her not bothering to cover up, looking magnificent in the lingerie, firm little tits brazenly displayed to us both. The booze was just enough to take the edge off my nerves, although I must admit the sensation hadn’t been altogether unpleasant. She soon excused herself to go to the bathroom.

“She’s doing fantastically well,” he said as soon as she was out of the room. I nodded. He hastened to add, “Yeah, I know she’d done some figure modeling for drawing and painting before, which I’m sure helps, but this is a whole different medium and a different feel.” I heartily agreed, complimenting him on putting her at her ease. He shrugged, saying, “She’s certainly a lot more at ease than my girlfriend was her first time.” He went on to explain that he had basically been in my position on two different occasions when his ex modeled for friends of his. “I thought the fact that she was friends with Steve, the first guy, might help. But no. Tell the truth, it wasn’t very enjoyable for any of us. It was very tame stuff he was doing, just your typical black-and-white nude, sort of sculptural-looking stuff. We got through it okay but she cried for hours afterward. I felt horrible. So I was kind of surprised when she suddenly suggested trying it again about a year later with another friend of ours.” I finished my drink; he poured us both another. I offered that maybe the other friend was someone she felt more at ease with. “I think maybe she was,” he offered. “But it was seriously night and day – she wasn’t just more relaxed this time, I mean she really got into it! Really, you know, enjoying herself. And the style of stuff he was doing, well…” He trailed off. I needed to know. I waited a moment, then prodded, “What about it?” He sipped his drink. “Well, it started off pretty tame, much like what we’ve been doing here today. But we were there for several hours and eventually her inhibitions just went right out the window.” He stopped again. And again, I prodded: “How do you mean?” He smiled at the memory. “It just got more and more… intimate, I guess. Graphic. He eventually had her spreading her legs – like really wide – touching herself, you know, really sort of Hustler-style stuff. Of course by this point she’d been doing that kind of modeling for me for ages, but…” He trailed off. I tried to complete the thought for him. “But for someone who wasn’t her boyfriend,” I said. “Yeah,” he nodded, “and then to take it so far beyond just nudity, well, I was kind of blown away.” He paused a moment, then began laughing, “So was my friend!” I was so close to asking him how he really felt about it, whether he got half as much pleasure from that incident as I was getting now, but we were cut off when my stunning girlfriend boldly strolled back into the room, stark naked, and leaned nonchalantly against a wall. I actually gasped a bit, which no one seemed to hear because luckily Martin gasped a bit louder. The moment hung between us. Then she broke the silence: "So - we good to go again?"


(Hope you enjoyed Part Three. Again, I look forward to your feedback, including any related anecdotes you may have. The fourth and final installment will appear within the next couple of days.)

Last edited by Emperor Wang; 08-26-2018 at 05:28 PM.
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  #13  
Old 09-06-2018, 05:12 PM
Emperor Wang Emperor Wang is offline
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Default Part Four (final)

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.)
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Old 09-07-2018, 09:04 AM
Omega88 Omega88 is offline
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Fabulous story, and very well written. The asides to the audience / readers exhibit a great sense of humor.

So, what happened then? Did she continue modelling for this fellow, for others as well? And most importantly, do you have any photos from then? Presumably things did not work out with her in the long run...
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Old 09-07-2018, 10:07 PM
Emperor Wang Emperor Wang is offline
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Omega88 View Post
Fabulous story, and very well written. The asides to the audience / readers exhibit a great sense of humor.

So, what happened then? Did she continue modelling for this fellow, for others as well? And most importantly, do you have any photos from then? Presumably things did not work out with her in the long run...
Thanks for your comments.

We did get some prints from Martin a month or so later - as I'd expected not all of them were really pro quality but still hot as fuck. I went over to pick them up at his place on my own as she was working that night. He showed me shots of a couple of other models he'd worked with since then, one very hot, one kinda… less hot. A lot of the pics in both cases were quite a bit more explicit than the ones my girlfriend did - a lot more spread-open shots than she had done and some with full-on masturbating, one girl just with fingers, the other with several toys. I asked how he'd managed to get them to go that much farther and he told me one was a stripper and the other an escort. He asked if I thought my girlfriend would be up for doing anything similarly explicit in the future; I replied (quite honestly) that it would be fine by me but she'd probably balk at anything more than what she'd done the first time. Which is exactly what she did, not that I blame her. She did continue modeling for the other guy - the artist she'd first started with - for another year or so. We broke up a couple of years later. Sadly, she got the prints.


I do have another anecdote about a threesome with another girlfriend from later on, which I'll share on some other occasion.
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