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#31
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
keep up the good work, really delighting to read such an intense and provocative story!
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#32
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
From a distance, and in his state of drowsiness, it sounded like rain. As he stirred, his senses coming back to life, he realized it was the sound of running water. He blinked; the ceiling of the room looked almost foreign to him.
Lying on his back, he took a moment for his mind to clear and wondered how long he had dozed off for. What had just transpired quickly came flooding back. For the past few hours, he had toiled as he took countless shots of her cavorting naked in every angle and pose imaginable. In the blink of an eye, she had transformed from a complete stranger into his private porn star. He could still see every detail of her body, and the mere thought of how she had first masturbated for his camera suddenly made him hard. It was not so much the sight of her pussy‚ that wet, gaping mouth, its lips obscenely splayed‚ that turned him on than it was the expression she had worn on her face while she twisted and stretched, that come-hither look that said "Fuck me" as she gazed at his cock, her expression inscrutinizable save for a hint of desire. No, it was definitely desire, he thought. Why else would she have breached the unspoken rule of no touching, right? She did reach for him first. He got out of bed and wrapped a towel around his waist. He grabbed his camera and crossed the room over to the bathroom. Standing at the doorway, he quietly observed, his camera raised. Condensation crept lightly down the fogged vanity mirror and over her reflection as he framed her up for a shot. In the accented lighting of the bathroom, her naked body glistened with hundreds of dewdrops. Finally she heard the clicking. Peering through her wet hair, she saw him standing outside the shower stall. "Put the camera down." He complied. She gathered her hair over her shoulder. He watched as water fell and meandered around her left breast. She stepped out of the shower stall and began to speak, stressing every word as though she was talking to a child. "We've just had four hours of foreplay and all you can think of is to take more pictures?" "Well, I am still on the clock." "Did you like what I did earlier this afternoon?" she smirked, her tone almost goading. It made him smile. "Very much." She stepped up to him and, with a fierce intensity in her eyes, brushed the back of her hand on the bulge already forming beneath his towel. "Do you know what I want?" "I think I do." She smiled cruelly. "Well, you thought wrong," she whispered. Unceremoniously she took her hand away and stepped around him. "You..." he began. "... are such a tease," she completed his sentence for him. "Yes, I know." Turning around, she flipped down the heavy toilet seat and sat down. The coldness of the marble seat made her curl her toes. "I gave you a good come just now, didn't I?" she asked. "Now it's your turn to return the favor." Without waiting for his answer, she parted her legs obscenely wide. Her pussy was swollen and red from the hot shower. She nodded once at his towel. He understood. As she gazed at his hard cock, she pulled her pussy lips apart with both hands. "Eat me." He fell to his knees and tasted her for the first time. With his lips and tongue, he played with every fold of her vulva, and observed as her thick, protruding pussy lips moulded to the shape of his exploring tongue. He lapped and sucked gently, resisting the urge to tongue-fuck her. That will come later. Besides, it is still foreplay. From time to time, he would glance up and find her staring at him, her mouth agape, her hips buckling. The noise she was making only further encouraged him. She sighed. She whimpered. She moaned and gasped as if each was her last breath. It came without warning. No growing cry, no fingernails digging into flesh. For a moment, he froze in complete surprise as a strong stream of her ejaculation spewed forth from her contracting pussy lips, spraying all over his face. It flowed copiously, hot and sticky, into his agape mouth, and down along his face and throat. A large stream glides past his right cheek and dripped off his chin. Only after the first, hard gush did she begin to moan and gasp. Her hips buckled, and her thighs clamped in on both sides of his face. As her orgasm began to subside, he grabbed her thighs, shoved his tongue deep past the cascade of her pussy juice, and began tongue-fucking her. She writhed helplessly, a dying animal. * * * * * * |
#33
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
Bro, your writing is intensely arousing! Well done bro n thanks for sharing, cheers ...............
__________________
" Life is what happens when you're too busy making other plans." - John Lennon " All that is needed for Evil to succeed is, that decent human beings do NOTHING. " - Edmund Burke |
#34
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
Damn powerful English!!!
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#35
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
He lost count after the third time she came. It could have just as well been one big orgasm because he gave her no chance to take a break. With every climax, he attacked her with renewed vigor; his tongue and lips and nose and chin never once let up.
His face slick with her ejaculation, he stood up and took a step back. Her eyes tightly shut, she laid sprawled on the toilet seat, her limbs hanging lifeless like a marionette forgotten. Her chest was heaving, and her breasts quivered with every deep, sharp breath she took. It looked like she was trying to suck in all the air in the bathroom. It was too exquisite a sight to merely behold with his eyes. He reached for the vanity top. Click. Click, click, click… Despite the tiny earthquakes still coursing through her body, she managed a small laugh. "You workaholic…" she said between breaths. He leaned in close and rubbed her wetness on her taut stomach, her heaving breasts, and then her face. His back straightened, he got down on his haunches and gently nestled his cock along the length of her splayed pussy lips. She drew a sharp breath, her body stiffening. Slipping his tongue into her welcoming mouth, he kissed her deeply. His cock remained outside her pussy, the ridge of his bulbous head flicking her clit each time his cock glid up and down. She got the sense that he was in no hurry to get to the next stage, and the anticipation drove her crazy. Planting light kisses along her neck, his lips reached her ear. "You know what I want," he whispered. In the thick, damp air, his whisper boomed in her ear and the suddeness made her gasp. "And I know you want it too." "Yes I do." Suddenly he stopped moving. Caught by surprise she, too, froze. Uncomprehending, her eyes searched his face. In that position they remained unmoved. Seconds crept by, and the only sound was their breathing and the gurgling of water draining in the shower stall. Finally he leaned his face into hers. "Well, you thought wrong," he said, and bit her earlobe for emphasis. She blinked in confusion as he got up on his feet, a smirk on his lips. In a split second, she recovered. Her expression contorting into a mix of indignance, embarassment and amusement, she began to laugh. "You fucking t…", she began. "Tease. Yeah, I know." Laughing along, he stepped out of the bathroom, and she gave chase. * * * * * * |
#36
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
bravo bravo clap clap clap
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#37
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
The evening has descended upon the city. They stepped out of the lobby and into the street where every object and every person was awash in a pale, diffused light. In her hand she held her gym bag; his hands were empty. He led her to the taxi queue. For a while, neither of them said anything. Even as their body language remained that of two near-strangers—she, turned away to the road while he gazed into the evening crowd—the space between them was all but absent, their shoulders grazing.
A taxi rounded a corner into the driveway. He watched as the cab approached. She turned to him. "Thank you," she finally said. He managed a small smile. "I'll call you once the photos are done." “Can’t wait." Then there was the same small, mischievous smile at the edge of her lips, the one he has seen so many times in the past few hours. "Look, about what happened back there—" She put a finger to his lips, a gesture that was so intimate he flinched. "Anything for the shot," she whispered. "Besides, we didn't do anything." "No, we didn't." The throaty gurgling of the taxi cab's engine drowned out the last of his words. As he held the door, she stepped up to his face and whispered into his ear. Using her body as cover, she thrust a small object into his hand. As he began to beam, she winked triumphantly, turned and got into the back seat. With a flourish, she hitched her skirt up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her fair thighs. He watched as the taxi cab segued into the rush hour traffic. Then, with a lightness in his steps, he strode into the lobby, smiling to himself, his hands nonchalantly in his pockets. In the right one was the parting gift she had given him only seconds ago. He recalled her words as he felt the smoothness of the satin. My favorite piece, for my favorite photographer. It was still damp. * * * * * * That's all, folks. Hope you enjoyed it. |
#38
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
Wow TS , great job ! But that's it ? Wat do u mean ?
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#39
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
That's the story... Short and sweet. Writing about them bonking would've lessened the story.
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#40
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
Powerful story. I am truly impressed. Thanks!
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#41
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
I want to be that photograper.....
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#42
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
Great story..
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#43
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Re: The Photographer and His Muse
Thanks for reading!
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