The Photographer & the Glass Dildo

Sex and photography really go hand in hand, Francesca thinks, splayed out half-naked on the satin sheets of Rob's bed.

Rob is a friend. Well, a friend of Francesca's Master, in any case.

A few weeks ago, Master asked her if she would consent to an afternoon of hedonism with a gentleman of a similar age to him (a little shorter, a little balder, but still handsome enough to be appreciated by a young lady, he said) who is a wizard with a camera. You'd have to be naked, of course, he teased.

Francesca agreed to the suggestion.

Since her teenage years various people had told her that she should go into modelling. With that face, people would say, and those legs. She never knew whether to believe them or whether that was just flattery, but in either case, she was never really interested. Francesca likes to use her mind rather than her body, to get on in life.

But when Master mentioned it as something she could do just for fun and his pleasure, she felt differently about it. If she could please him, she'd go to the Moon and back. Having some naked photos taken for him wouldn't even register as a blip on the scale of effort she'd put in to make him happy.

She should have known that a photography session wouldn't be all, however.

"When you go to see Rob," Master said, "I want you to be a good girl, as you always are. You know what that means, don't you?"

Francesca shrugged. "It usually means he won't be alone. Am I right, Sir?" She looked up at her owner.

He kissed the top of her head. "You're right, as always, baby. Do me proud."

A shiver of desire went through her body. She lifted her face up to kiss him. His beard, very trimmed and neat, felt scratchy and masculine against the softness of her lips. He returned her kiss, deeper, stronger. She loved the way he kissed. She'd often said to him you're the best kisser in the world. And what wouldn't a woman do for the best kisser in the world?

So here she is now, wearing stockings and suspenders and a pair of tiny G-string panties, spread out on the bed of her Master's friend, the photographer. As promised, he's a shortish man with a receding hairline but with a very friendly face and a sunny disposition. Francesca liked him immediately. He offered her cake and tea and made her feel at ease when she arrived at his flat which doubled up as a photographic studio.

"Don't worry, poppet," he said to her, "I know it all seems a bit daunting at first but it's easy. You'll be a natural, I can tell."

Now they're halfway through the photoshoot, or at least it seems that way to Francesca who's been posing for over an hour, while Rob snapped away. They'll have hundreds of photos at this rate, she thinks, but she doesn't mind. Master will have some nice prints to choose from, hopefully.

"Turn over on your front," Rob says. "Arch your back. I want to see your beautiful derriere."

Francesca smiles. He is sweet and funny, a very likeable man -- a real 'people person'.

"Beautiful, that's beautiful," he exclaims, snapping away, then he frowns and says, "Wait -- hang on a sec."

He leaves the room and returns with a small apparatus of some kind, which he brings close to Francesca's body, measuring something.

"I'm just checking the light," he says. He huffs, dissatisfied. "It's too late in the day, we've lost the natural light. That window isn't big enough, if I'm honest. Next time, I'd like to take you outdoors -- to a wood somewhere, perhaps? But let me set up some lamps in here. Don't worry, it'll all be soft lighting, very flattering."

For the next few minutes, Rob busies himself with various equipment. Tripod lamps, reflective screens, it's all erected around the bed until Francesca feels like she's on a Hollywood movie set. After some more adjustments and readjustments, Rob finally seems happy.

"That's better," he says. "Now, there's just one more thing."

Francesca's sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone, waiting for him to finish the set up. She looks up. "What's that?"

Something changes on the man's face. "Lose the knickers," he says, not smiling this time.

Here we go, Francesca thinks, and starts to remove her underwear. Somewhere in the pit of stomach, a spark has been lit.

Once naked, she waits for the next instruction.

"Lie down," Rob says, "and open your legs a little bit. I want to get just a glimpse of your cunt."

The crude words send an electric current through her body. There's something deeply arousing in that moment when normal, polite social etiquette drops away to reveal something darker, more powerful, more erotic underneath. They both know why she's here and that's it's not for cake and tea. The first moment when that's openly acknowledged is maddeningly exciting to Francesca. When finally the mask slips, when what's about to happen is said out loud and allowed to escape, to fill the air in the room with an electric charge of anticipation -- that's her favourite moment of these encounters.

This is why she loves taking on the tasks her Master sets for her. He knows exactly the kind of man to send her to, a man who knows how to strip layer after layer of civilised veneer from her until she's just a primal female, a bitch on heat, desperate to be fucked and open to degradation of any kind. Nothing in this world is more exciting to Francesca than her own transformation from the elegant, beautiful, professional woman she is in real life, into a wanton whore covered in sweat and cum of men she's usually never met before, whom her Master had selected and who understand what a woman like her needs.

She does as the photographer has told her.

For a minute or two, he snaps away from different angles. "Do you want to see?" he asks at one point. She nods.

The photographs, even so raw and unedited, are beautiful. The light in them is warm, almost reddish, lending a glow to Francesca's skin and a softness to every line and curve. Her legs, clad in fishnet stockings and gently open to reveal a pink, puffy slit, look elegant and slim. Her pointed toes could almost belong to a ballerina. The photographs are more art than porn. She loves them and tells Rob so.

He looks at her, as if something's just occurred to him. "Yeah," he says. "I told you you'd be a natural. Let me get something. Trust me, you'll love it." When she looks at him quizzically, he adds, "The final result, I mean."

He comes back into the room with an object it takes her a moment or two to recognise as a glass dildo, see-through but decorated with a deep red streak which spirals around it. It's so beautiful it could be a museum exhibit.

"I want you to put this in your cunt," Rob says. "I want to take photographs of you being penetrated with a glass dildo."

She nods and takes the glass phallus from him.

"Do you need some lube?" he asks.

She shakes her head. She's so excited, she can already feel the wetness and openness of her entrance. No lube will be needed, no lube at all.

"I don't know if you've been fucked with a glass one before," Rob says. "It'll feel a bit cold."

"I don't mind," Francesca says, thinking how her body feels so hot she may well melt the glass once it's inside her pussy.

"Do you want me to put it in for you?" asks Rob. "Come on. Lie back. Open your legs."

Not breaking eye contact with him, Francesca lies back. The man hasn't touched her up to this point, except for the kiss on the cheek when she arrived. She's so aroused at this change of dynamics she can barely breathe. The moment the line is crossed -- when someone who only minutes ago was a perfect gentleman, respectful and polite -- when the door is suddenly open to something very different -- that's what makes these encounters addictive for her. That, and pleasing Master, who loves to hear all about it afterwards.

When she has settled on the bed, the man puts his hands on the inside of her thighs and pushes them apart. "Like that," he says. "Good girl." He looks straight at her pussy, which to Francesca feels like it's throbbing with desire. Can he see that? Other than her wetness, how much of her arousal is obvious to him?

"Take a deep breath," he says, "and then breathe out when I tell you."

She obeys. In the same moment as she exhales, the man pushes the glass dildo deep inside her pussy. She gasps. It is cold, and by far the hardest object she'd ever experienced in her body. The sensation is frightening -- there's no give, it doesn't yield in any of the ways that a penis-shaped rubber dildo does.

"Oh," she says. It's a nonsensical sound, it doesn't mean anything, but she's overwhelmed.

"You okay?" he asks. "Too cold?"

She shakes her head but can't seem to find words to explain how she's feeling.

"You're very wet," he says. "Enjoying this?"

She nods.

"Good. Because now I'm going to fuck you with it."

He uses his other hand to gently open her pussy lips a bit wider and then he pulls the glass dildo out by a few inches, before pushing it back in. He does a few thrusts like this, until Francesca's breathing settles into a less ragged rhythm. Then he pulls it out more swiftly and rams it inside her more forcefully.

She lets out a little yelp.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says. "The dildo is made for this. It's rounded at the tip and shaped to fit your body. I'd never hurt a woman. Well, not in any way she hasn't consented to," he says with a soft laugh. "Just relax. I'm going to give you an orgasm like you've never experienced in your life."

What about the pictures? Francesca wants to ask, but she can't seem to think straight, can't grasp anything beyond the sensation taking place inside her body, the in-and-out motion of this hard object that seems to be hitting places inside her that have never been touched before. Even Master, who's used so many toys and tools and props in their sex life, has never delivered pure concentrated pleasure in this way. She must remember -- must remember -- not to admit to how good this felt. He wouldn't like it if he heard that another man, even a friend of his, has given her more pleasure than he had.

The dildo is pushed into Francesca with increasing force and aggression. Rob's face is very focused, his eyes not leaving hers, he's watching every tiniest change on her face. "I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats. "Stop resisting. Let it fuck you. Let it go all the way in."

"Oh god," Francesca says and tries to relax, tries to open her body more, but that's not in her conscious control. She loves -- emotionally loves -- the feeling of fear that sometimes accompanies these encounters. But that same feeling of fear sometimes makes her body clench up and resist penetration in ways that are hard to overcome.

"Wait," Rob says. "I know what you need."

He disappears out of the bedroom again and then comes back, a moment later, with another dildo in his hand.

"This one, my dear," he says, "this one we're definitely going to lube up. Because this one's going in your ass."

A few seconds later, Francesca is impaled on two solid, glass objects -- one inside her pussy, and one inside her anus. The man has pushed the second dildo deep inside her rear entrance and left it there. He's not thrusting it and Francesca is grateful for this, as she's not used to double penetration. The other dildo is working its way in and out of her body, and she's completely open now, accepting it, every fold on the inside of her vagina receptive and welcoming to the delicious violation.

When he can hear her breathing hitting a higher pitch, Rob smiles. "Not long now. Let that orgasm build up. I want to see you come all over my bedsheets." As if to arouse her further -- if she even could be aroused any further -- he grabs her throat with his other hand, applying just enough pressure so that she can still breathe but can't move. She's completely helpless, on the bed of this man she doesn't know, who's fucking her with a glass dildo with one hand and choking her with the other.

When the orgasm comes, she screams, but Rob's hand is too tight on her neck and all that comes out is a croaky groan. Her heart is beating so fast she thinks he must be able to see it on the skin of her sternum. Her hips buck, and she almost convulses with the strength of the climax. Something pours out of her, warm and wet, gushing all over the bedsheet.

"That's it," Rob says, "good girl. I knew you could do it."

When the waves of pleasure have finally subsided and Francesca has recovered somewhat, Rob brings her some more tea and cake. "Here you go, poppet," he says, all gentle and smiling again. "Enjoy that?"

With mouth full of vanilla sponge, Francesca just nods.

"Good. I'm glad you did. It was just a little prelude, of course. You know that, don't you?" His eyes are searching her face.

She blushes deeply. This is not it?

"In about....." he looks at the Rolex on his left wrist, "in about twenty minutes or so, my friends should be arriving," he says. "That's when the real event will begin. But first we'll take some photos of you and them. Have you ever done any porn?"

-To be continued...