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If you believed everything my mates told you you’d be convinced that I’ve shagged most of the world’s most beautiful women. Nothing could be further from the truth, but when they’ve had a few pints on a Friday night after our regular five-a-side football session, they’re even more certain that I must be lying when I deny it.
Some of their comments are pretty crude — “C’mon Dave you old fucker, tell us … does so-and-so suck your dick?” or “I bet S…’s got a nice tight cunt,” or “Do you fuck them up the arse?” — all fairly typical of their filthy minds. And they’re always asking whether I’ve got any pussy photos on my smart phone. It usually shuts them up when I ask who their wives bought that sexy lingerie for — a shot in the dark of course, but it gets them wondering.
Before you get the wrong idea about what I do for a living I should explain that I am a professional glamour photographer specialising in what is known as boudoir photography. I am forty five years old and single — well divorced actually. After college I went to work for a glossy magazine, but I decided to go freelance after I discovered my wife was having an affair with my boss. I had wondered why I was given so many overseas assignments in exotic locations, but it wasn’t until I came home a few days earlier than planned that I discovered the truth when I caught them in flagrante in our marital bed. Since the uncontested divorce on the ground of adultery I have had a few girlfriends but I have never remarried and frankly enjoy the freedom of an unattached life.
Much of my work is privately commissioned but my pictures also regularly appear in top fashion magazines. These days I generally work indoors — a bedroom or a private dressing room for example — but mainly in my studio, where I can control the lighting, depth of field etc. to produce the right artistic effect. Although I do shoot my subjects in the nude with results that might be considered erotic, they are definitely not pornographic, which means no overtly sexual poses or open crotch pictures. Over the years I have developed my own distinctive style which is much in demand and I often have to refuse commissions, otherwise I would be working all the hours in the day.
However, whatever my friends may think, I do not mix business with pleasure. If I did overstep the mark and got sexually involved with my subjects, the word would soon get around, and the commissions would quickly dry up. I make a good living out of what I do and I want that to continue. I might add that I do not find what I do remotely sexually arousing — my mind is far too busy thinking about composition, lighting, skin tone and all the other elements that make up a good photograph.
Photography is also my hobby as well as my profession, but in the field of photojournalism, which is a total contrast to what I do to earn my bread and butter. Unlike my professional work where conditions are highly controlled, it is capturing the fleeting moment that appeals to me and the challenge of creating a coherent story about the human condition by reacting to what I see through the viewfinder. I am too much of a coward to consider working in war zones but I have covered many elections and demonstrations in the U.K. and overseas, and sporting events are always a good source of human interest stories. I have sold a few pictures to newspapers and weekly journals such as Time magazine, and every couple of years I hire a gallery for a week for a show.
Until recently I had been very strict about keeping my professional and private lives separate, but events of a few months ago changed all that. A young couple in their twenties had moved into the next door apartment and out of neighbourliness I invited them round for dinner one evening. Peter was tall and very thin, but not bad looking. His wife Veronica on the other hand was stunning, with what can only be described as a voluptuous figure — some people would unkindly describe her as short and plump, but I thought she was gorgeous. Although the modern fashion is for skinny girls personally I have always preferred something more cuddly. With her large firm breasts, broad hips and ample bottom, I privately thought Veronica would make a good subject for a study of real femininity — a modern Venus if you like.
The walls of my apartment are hung with large format copies of many of my photographs — essays in photojournalism in the hall and dining room, but pictures of my favourite female subjects in the sitting room — some in lingerie, but also artistic nudes, all shot against a black background. After dinner when we were relaxing over coffee and drinks — gin and tonic for Veronica and a good single malt whisky for Peter and me — Veronica asked where I had purchased the pictures. I explained that I was a professional photographer and that they were all examples of my work, and went on to tell them a little about my work. After a pregnant pause Peter asked what my fee would be to photograph his wife, purely for their personal grup escort consumption of course. I told him what I usually charged for private commissions, and when he indicated that they were comfortable with that I suggested that we should make an appointment for a sitting.
“Why not tonight,” Peter said, and looking across at Veronica, “if that is okay with you dear,” and turning back to me, “and I would like to watch you at work if you don’t mind.”
This was rather a novel request, but I replied that as long as he sat quietly in the background I had no objections.
Veronica then chipped in, “I think it would be rather exciting to be photographed in an intimate way, but what colour lingerie would you prefer me to wear?”
“If I was working in colour I would suggest lingerie in rich colours such as dark crimson or rich blues, or alternatively pale colours if I wished to create an air of innocence. However as I normally shoot in black and white I use a dark background and suggest lingerie from a limited colour palette depending upon the effect I am after, and also the skin colour of the model. With your pale skin and long black hair you are already a very interesting subject, so I would suggest something which is basically black. I will choose lighting to make that effect even more dramatic, which will emphasise the curves of your amazing figure and make your skin glow as if it lit from within, almost like alabaster.”
Veronica thought for a moment and then said, “I have some new things I bought the other day from Victoria’s Secret which think would be ideal. If you will give me a moment or two, I will slip back home and change.”
While Veronica was gone Peter asked me more about the photographs on my walls but mainly my essays in photojournalism. I also learned that he and Veronica had met at university and had been married for about five years. They were both accountants and worked at a well known firm in the City where they both earned good salaries. I asked about whether they were planning to start a family and he said that they had thought about it but wanted to build up their portfolio first so that Veronica wouldn’t have to go back to work until any children had started school. Basically they seemed like a sensible professional couple. I was shortly to discover that they weren’t quite as ordinary as I supposed.
Veronica was gone for nearly half and hour and when she returned she was wearing a long macintosh. When she took it off I was knocked sideways by sheer erotic sensuousness of what was revealed. As I have said Veronica was a very curvaceous lady, but in my eyes wearing just her underwear she was the epitome of voluptuousness, and she had chosen lingerie that showed off her figure to its best advantage. Under a gauzy knee length robe of shimmering black chiffon she was wearing a black open cup bustier with crimson edgings, semi transparent black panties and black stockings. Her magnificent naked breasts stood out proudly with no signs of enhancement, and they were crowned by long dark nipples in dramatic contrast to her alabaster white skin. I have photographed many scantily clad and naked women but none had aroused me sexually in the way this woman did, and to be honest I began to imagine what it would be like to fuck her. Her husband just looked at her with pride in his eyes as if to say “Look what a beauty I have been fortunate enough to marry.”
I led them through to my studio where I asked them to take a seat on one of the two chaise longues which were at the time positioned along the back wall of the studio either side of the door. For the shoot I intended to move one of them to the centre of low stage took up the full width of the rear third of the room. The stage was covered with short pile black carpet and the walls were curtained with a black velvet material.
I then began to explain the equipment I would be using and my modus operandi. They both listened attentively, especially Peter who had a look of wrapt fascination on his face.
“As you can see,” I said, “in this studio I use a completely black background — I have another studio which is set out as a lady’s boudoir with cream and pale gold shot silk papered walls — and apart from the black silk drape with which I will cover the chaise longue in the centre of the stage, the material covering the walls and floor absorbs almost all the light. The effect is that the model appears to be suspended in infinite space.”
I paused for a moment in case they wished to ask questions, and then continued, “I use three 50 megapixel digital cameras, one at waist height in the centre about six feet from the front of the stage, and two others at eye level at 45 degrees to the central camera. I will be using a fast shutter speed and a large aperture which gives a short depth of field so that only the part of the subject closest to the cameras is in sharp focus. The fact that the rest of the model is slightly out of focus softens iranlı escort their outline which adds to the ethereal effect.”
Crossing to the control desk at the right of the studio, I went on, “The cameras are controlled by this computer, which is also linked to a light meter above each camera. I usually use a remote control to trigger the shutters, but I can set the system up to take a series of pictures at pre determined intervals. Every time the shutters fire they actually take five images, each with a slightly different amount of exposure. This is known as exposure bracketing and can be achieved by using a different shutter speed, altering the aperture or, the method I use, by adjusting the ISO speed of the cameras. The effect is to produce five images that vary from darker to lighter than the exposure indicated by the meters. The five images are then combined during post processing to produce a final image with a high dynamic range where different parts of the image are exposed by different amounts.”
I paused again to allow them to take in what was for them highly technical information. Veronica merely looked at me politely, although I guessed she was probably slightly bored, but Peter gave the impression of real interest.
“Finally,” I said, “the lighting of the subject is crucial. There are LED lights behind diffusing filters directed on the part of the subject nearest the cameras running in strips along the front of the stage, up the walls and across the ceiling — a frame of light if you like. The angle, colour and brightness of these lights is controlled by the control panel here,” and I indicated a small box on the desk, “and can be altered quite easily during a shoot. There is another set of LED spotlights in the ceiling above each of the cameras directed on the subject. These create the highlights in the image, and again their colour and brightness can be adjusted from a control box.”
“Now if you will just give me a hand with this chaise longue Peter, we will be ready to start.”
Once I was happy with its positioning and had covered it with the black silk drape, I asked Veronica to step up onto the stage. When she was seated I switched off the main studio lights and, with a few presses of buttons on the control boxes, adjusted the lights so that the only illumination was the pool of silvery light surrounding her as if she was floating in a bubble in the infinity of space. Once I had set the computer to take pictures at intervals of fifteen seconds I was ready to proceed.
For the next half an hour I directed Veronica in the various positions I wished her to assume, at first wearing her robe, and then with it removed and casually draped over the back of the chaise longue. I was about to call it a day when she took over control for what turned out to be a session of the most delicious debauchery.
She started by sitting face on to the central camera and, lifting her right breast to her mouth, began to lick and suck the rapidly hardening nipple while looking at the camera with a look of irresistible seductiveness. After that she slowly lifted each leg in turn and languidly peeled off her stockings like a practised artist. Standing up, she turned away from our entranced gaze and began to undo her bustier, lace by lace before dropping the garment with a wiggle of her exquisite bottom.
The sultry effect of this slow striptease was hypnotic and against all my best intentions a fire of irresistible desire was ignited in my body. My balls ached with long repressed lust and my cock was so hard that I was compelled to release it from the constrictive prison of my trousers and briefs. I must have looked like some ancient priapic satyr with my upwardly curved erection poking out of my open flies. If I didn’t get to fuck this goddess, and I didn’t imagine in a million years that I would be so lucky, at least I would have a series of incredibly erotic images to inflame my lonely nights of exquisite masturbation.
I wasn’t alone in my lecherous ardour. Through the fog of debauched desire I heard a low moan from behind me and turning my head for a moment, loathe though I was to tear my eyes from the divine vision of femininity on the stage, and saw that Peter was stroking a raging erection with a glazed expression on his face. Almost subconsciously it registered on my mind that his cock was as long and thin as he was.
Veronica was a natural seductress and by some strange telepathy knew that she had us completely under her spell. Perhaps it was the subtle scent of our arousal that she sensed, who knows? In retrospect all I do know is that in collusion with her husband she had planned her ravishment and eagerly wanted it to be captured for posterity, as I was about to find out. The air in the studio was thick with carnal expectancy, and if cameras had senses their lenses would surely have steamed over in the heat of unfolding passion.
Veronica turned to face us with maddeningly keçiören escort slowness, luxuriating in the knowledge that the cameras were capturing every nuance of the libidinous provocation of her glorious sexuality. Glancing down at my throbbing cock she smiled and, looking me straight in the eyes, she blew me a sultry kiss, a gesture of blatant invitation. With the same deliberateness that had characterised her actions since she had stolen control of the evening, she slipped one hand into her panties, through the dark forest of her abundant pubic hair and between her legs into the hidden depths of her vulva. The fires of my lust were now completely out of control and if I had so much as touched my cock I most certainly would have erupted in hot spasms of ejaculatory ecstasy.
Veronica turned her back on us once more and, leaning forward, hooked her fingers into the elastic at the waist of her panties and slid them down over the globes of her majestic buttocks, and then down her legs, kicking them to one side as they dropped to the floor around her feet. Her vulva was everything that I had hoped for, plump and glistening with the moisture of her vaginal secretions, luxuriously displayed to our view between the cheeks of glorious bottom. I desperately wanted to rush forward and fondle the ample flesh of her divine beauty, but what remained of my decorum held me back, although it was exquisite agony to do so. Parting her legs in blatant invitation she slipped the fingers of one hand between her engorged and swollen inner labia and spread them wide to reveal the deep pink within.
Then she spoke for the first time since we had entered the studio an hour earlier, “Petey,” addressing her husband by his pet name, “I’m so horny. Tell Dave he can come and feel me. I know he wants to, and I want so much to feel his thick fingers plunging into my cunt (not a word I commonly used, but it didn’t sound crude coming from her lips) and making me cum.”
“Oh Ronnie,” he replied, “you are such a naughty young slut, wanting to be ravaged by another man while I’m watching. Of course he can. In fact, I insist that he does.”
As if in a dream, through air that was thick with the tension of unbearable carnal expectation, I took the few irrevocable steps that carried me within inches of heaven. Reaching down I slid two fingers of my right hand into the fluttering entrance of her vagina and deep into the velvet heat and wetness of her sex. With a cry she started to cum almost immediately, her body writhing with pleasure as the waves of her orgasm swept through her quivering flesh.
“Ooh, Petey,” she moaned, “he’s making me cum. Tell him to fuck me. I want to feel his lovely thick cock stretching me, and his hot cum spurting against my womb. Tell him. Order him to do it. Please, oh please.”
I glanced back, unsure whether this was what he really wanted. He just nodded and mouthed, “Yes, go ahead Dave, fuck my naughty slut if a bride. Ravish her cunt with your cock.”
Without even stopping to drop my trousers I pressed the purple distended head of my cock against the entrance to her live hold and with one swift thrust plunged my entire length into her.
“Ooh yes,” she screamed, “you are so big. I’ve always wanted to be fucked by a big cock. Oh God, that’s so amazing. Fuck me hard. Harder. Harder. Oh Petey, he’s making me cum again. Oh fuck … fuck … fuck … fuuuuuck.”
I grabbed the wondrously ample flesh of her pendulous breasts as I pistoned in and out of the velvety sheath of her vagina. Her swollen labia clung to my rock hard shaft each time I pulled out before thrusting back into the pulsating wetness. By now Veronica was incoherent with lust, moaning and crying with ecstasy as another orgasm ripped through her flesh. It didn’t take long of this exquisite decadence before I felt my scrotum tightening and my cock growing even harder as I pumped stream after stream of hot sticky semen deep into her womb. Jesus, I couldn’t remember ever coming so hard and for so long, the intensity of my pleasure amplified by the utter depravity of the situation. As my hot cum splashed against her cervix, Veronica screamed and would have collapsed if I hadn’t been holding her. God, it was amazing.
As the peak of our mutual ecstasy passed, I gently lowered Veronica onto the chaise longue where she lay with her eyes closed and her breasts heaving with the effort of our mating. My legs were like jelly and I sat next to her while I gathered my strength and my senses. I looked over at Peter and in the darkness I could see that I wasn’t alone in shedding my seed. His tummy and chest were covered in streaks of glistening white cum and his now flaccid cock hung wetly between his thighs.
Some time later, when we had cleaned ourselves up with towels that I fetched from my bathroom and adjusted our dress, Peter asked me how long it would take me to process the photographs. I told him that it would take me two or three days and said I would call once I had printed the final images and mounted them in an album. Veronica was still recumbent on the chaise longue where I had left her, exhausted and satiated by her orgasms. Peter tenderly wrapped her coat around her naked body and picking up her discarded lingerie, he gently supported her as she tottered out of my front door across the lobby to their apartment.
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