Harley & I

He leaned against his Harley, arms crossed and smiled almost shyly as she focused the camera lens. That glint, hint of self consciousness is the first time she ever witnessed any such display of emotional vulnerability and it rocked her. She felt, for a brief second as a child. She was humbled by his beauty in that instant, as he wrestled with the concept of posing for this photo. She watched his facial muscles change as he tried on smiles. His lips stretched into a contrived grin. So aware of the camera and so obviously unused to posing in front of one, she decided that for once, she would direct him.

"Darling Sir, please, spread your sexy arms and rest your hands on the seat on either side of you and lean back." He raised an eyebrow, said nothing. And complied.

She snapped the shutter, capturing his raised eyebrow and slight amused grin. She smiled wide from behind the camera. His approval relaxed her and she grew moist with pleasing him so far. She felt encouraged now to continue directing him. The pierce and shape of his blue eyes quite Paul Newman-ish. His smooth face was oval and untan. His six three frame easily filled her camera frame. She wished she had brought the wide lens. The Harley was long and so was he. She loved how when he leaned like this the chaps he was wearing drew the eye to contrasting jeans and the bulge within. He looked sly and curious as he positioned himself. "I'm a good distance away so let's try some wide shots. I'm not focusing on your cock or anything, but I must say that with this sunlight and those faded denims...Sir your chaps are simply shining a path up your leg to your cock". Again he cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "Does my slut like that?" "Sir, I live for your cock and it's form looks very nice in those jeans." She peaks from behind the lens as she speaks. Her eyes sparkle. His bulge bulges a little more.

She snaps again. "Sir, maybe cross your arms and lean back on the bike and give me your best come hither look." She wants him to let loose. She wants him to indulge her this time, and open up. She doesn't want to step out of her place. She is walking a precipice.

"I want to fuck you with my camera". He laughs outright and she snaps the shutter. Her shyness and limited verbal expression had not improved much and she was still much dependant on reflective emails about their encounters and his patience had been wearing thin lately. He had cured her of her troubles over saying 'cunt'. She loved being submissive with this man. She loved that he adored and encouraged her sexuality. That he called her nasty names for fun. She called him Sir when they were out together, by his name in public and Master in the bedroom.

Her submission was entirely selfish. She often wondered if it was narcissism sexualized. Submission. Domination. She felt split in two. And when he impaled her from behind she often felt that were a distinct possibility. Split and filled at once

"I want you to tell me what your gorgeous cock feels like in those jeans". She kneeled and focused, angling the lens so that his cock, hips, hands and bike seat were the photo. His long leather encased legs glided down the centre of the frame. His boots had a rounded toe with ankle buckles.

"It feels there are possibilities here." He says.

She feels a bolt of pleasure slicken her. She wants to suck him now, open his zipper and take his cock into her mouth. Caress and dig into his leather encased hips and thighs. She is heady. She peers out from behind the viewfinder, smiling vastly at her lover. "I hope you let me suck it later." "No dear, I think I'll skullfuck you later. Your deep throating still needs some work." He stiffens, she snaps. "Can't wait for later Sir." He enabled her to do things she would never do. She would never know what he was thinking and though it was part of her thrill to think what might give him pleasure, she expected that he would direct her to his. She looked forward to the instruction. She liked that he would tell her, design a situation creatively and ensure his own pleasure. That he was free enough to use her as a thing. That he was okay with taking her for his own pleasures and adored, not judged her for it. She loved how he relished her being a total slut for him. Seemingly, he liked how much she liked it and he liked to do it.

At this moment when she filled her frame with the wheel rounds of his Harley, his massive and pianist hands resting; one the gas tank and the other, the seat. His splayed shoulders simply candy to her sight. She feels proud to belong to him. Surges overcome her. Proud. Humble. She breathes and let's go of thoughts of rushing over to him and consuming his glorious cock "Master please. Your pleasure..." she gasped.

She refocuses. Rises from her kneeled position. Closes in. His leather vest rests open on his flat stomach. His arms still spayed at this distance articulate his forearms and large muscular hands. They are beautiful, his pianist hands. She thinks that if he'd continued as a tool and dye maker his hands would be different. At 50 his hands might have looked ...his hand s might have been compromised. She loves his hands. He's a big man and she knows why, that for some, he is simply too big. She adores his lankiness. His Swiss ass is the quality of likewise nationalist watch making.

She pulls herself back. Her orgasm is so close. So selfish she feels, yet can not help herself. She must bring herself back, focus on him.

Something funny. She needs to make him laugh. Relax him. "Okay, I want you to straddle the bike and pretend that you are on the road. Climb aboard and just indulge yourself.".

"Alright" and he swings one leg over and settles into his place. She snaps. In his element he is a thing of beauty. Confidently he nestles into his seat. She wants to jump on the back, lean her pelvis into him and wrap her arms for dear life around his chest. She wants to record what it feels like when he lovingly and masterfully and sexily checks and adjusts her helmet. In this moment, she is a child-woman. Melting in his care, consciously letting go. The swell of pride that he has chosen her to sit back there, to hang on to him and that it were a pleasure to him. She could almost burst with pride. Such a lovely man was he that she found herself pondering his pleasure over her own.

She readjusts her frame. "Okay these are just going to be shoulder up."

She snaps random shots of his chest and strong shoulders. His face, still tight, not ready for his close up, though his eyes, chin and now a slight laugh were all remarkable to her.

"My slut wants to suck it doesn't she?" He asks. "She does Sir. Quite desperately. You would too. I mean, it's like photographing cake. May I induldge?" "No. You may not. But you know it's such a warm day and I've really got to piss so I think I'll make my way to that tree and relieve myself." Which he proceeds to do and from the sidelines, she snaps a pic of his chap encased right cheek and the stream of his pee. She thinks it's the most unique photo she's ever taken. His pose is relaxed. W hhen he finishes he turns toward her and gives it a final shake before cupping it in his hand. He walks toward her. Begins to stroke it. Long strides. She watches it grow erect in his hand. Unsure if she should keep eye on the viewfinder or not, she stays behind it and tries to keep focus as he approaches. She can't get a focus. "Down". He smiles and touches the top of her head. She complies, her camera now hanging heavily around her neck. It's large zoom lens between his legs, hanging between her breasts. Her hands cup behind her back she looks straight ahead, and because of their proportions, she gazes straight at his cock.

"Something?" he asks. "Your cock Master. I want to devour it. And, I want your bike to be apart of it." 'My little slut is a biker wannabe." He laughs. "Sir your slut wannabe sucking you off on your bike." He turns and walks toward her and back to his bike. Resumes ;his outstretched arms, but his dick is exposed and now suddenly limp. A challenge on his face. "Come then my slut, I'll fill your throat. But you must crawl to me." He states. She meets his eyes. A thunder of desire ushers into her cunt. Her eyes close. No hesitation, she easily, humbly, pleasurably strides toward his direction. She presently places her camera on the ground gently and advances on all fours meeting his gaze.

With his hands in her hair he greets her, by entwining his fingers with her hair. He coils his fingers from the bottom of her hair to her roots. When he gets there he drops her hair and pulls her roots and sometimes he pulls her earlobes massages her tips. His hands grasp her hips. He releases. She is smirking.

It is the most fullfillig thing, sharing an orgasm.

With her ass now resting on her heels, she opens her lips onto the tip of his dick. She greedily slides down his soft shaft. It is soft and all of it is easily accommodated in her mouth. She can sneak out her tongue and tickle his balls. As she does so she feels his arousal. Knowing that once hard his girth and length challenge her, she slurps and twirls her tongue around his cock held so accommodatingly in her mouth. This is a moment she savours. She can't access his balls through the jeans and she has no hands. Her mouth works, explores, notes his breathe and hardening cock. It is now erect and she must pull her mouth back readdress her ministrations.

From the tip she has licked she slides her tongue down. A singular path to the edge of his jeans. His balls are inaccessible. She cups them in unison with "may I?" He leans a little more against the bike "Yes you may. I love being massaged. You'll have to compensate, there's a layer of denim". She brings both hands forward, slides then up his inner legs and presses her cupped palms into his balls. Then with fingertips she slides across them. Her mouth glides down and up. Spins her tongue ontop and screwtops its way down. Like her tongue is a corkscrew. But it can't screw all the way down. His jeans don't allow for that. Presently she wishes that they were at home and naked. Curses. The whole outdoor, roadtrip, freeing thing was actually impeding them.

"I'd like a picture of you. I 'd like a picture of you laying on my bike." He says, moving her away from him. He zips up and helps her up. They stand together, eye contacting.

"Of course you can Master." She says, and turns to pick up the camera.