Total Exposure

High Exposure - a CFNM story

'It was lovely to meet you today. We have so much in common.'

I was surprised to receive the message, as it was rare for anyone to reach out in private. I knew who it was from, of course, as I had spent most of the time at my local 'Pain Management Support Group' chatting with one particular lady, and we certainly had plenty in common.

I had been attending the support group for a while, due to my own medical condition, and while it didn't exactly help the pain, it was nice to know I wasn't the only one suffering.

Personally, I felt it was a way for the health service to save money rather than offering proper treatments - but whatever.

This particular lady had arrived, walking with a stick, like me. I'm gregarious by nature, and with her being new, I decided to try to make her welcome.

We started with a general moan about our conditions, which was typical, then moved on to family before talking about ourselves more generally.

"I find photography really helps," she explained, "it's the one time I really get 'in the zone.' I can fit into the role of photographer and just become 'professional,' even though it's not really my job."

I don't know if my eyes widened, or maybe I sat up straighter, but I think she probably realised that I had suddenly perked up.

"I used to be a professional photographer," I said, "but I haven't really done anything for years. My back pain, and problems with my arm got in the way. I've been planning on trying again some time soon, and I've already taken a few shots when we've been out and about. My phone's good, but nothing like using a proper camera."

We moved on to discussing which brand of camera we used, preferred lenses, technical issues - very dull to a disinterested party, I'm sure, but we talked with the true absorption of fanatics.

The meeting finished. The facilitator stood up - boring Shirley, who organised things with the passion of a slug avoiding a descending foot.

"Thanks for coming," she simpered, "next meeting four weeks from today. Any problems, I'll put them in the group chat. Feel free to get in touch through there, or chat with each other, whatever. You can stay if you like, but I'll see you next time."

Lisa (as my companion was called) turned to me. "I should go. My husband's collecting me. Thanks for the chat."

I smiled at her and said my farewells. I never saw it as a potentially romantic situation. I had asked my wife to leave some six months before, when her behaviour finally reached the limits of what I could stand, but I had no desire for a romantic relationship.

The fact was, my estranged wife had done a great job of isolating me from the friends I had, leaving me alone, friendless, with a disabled son and very little money - mainly because she had spent it. I was delighted to have had pleasant company for an hour, but being in my late fifties, I really did not want the hassle of a 'proper' relationship.

Sex, of course, was a different matter. My wife and I had enjoyed a very sexual relationship, up until her drinking became a serious problem - and she gave me chlamydia (can't forget that).

We were swingers for some time, until my health condition became such that I couldn't really cope. I was in huge amounts of pain, on medication that left me like a zombie, and hugely overweight from lack of exercise, as I needed a wheelchair.

I then took a few 'life decisions,' lost a massive amount of weight, managed to walk again, using crutches and started wanting sex. If it's of any interests, I achieved this by cutting back on the meds, dieting and exercise (chair-based at first).

I fell in love with sex again. We started our 'fun photoshoots' with gusto, rejoined our favourite swinger website, made videos of ourselves and generally had a huge amount of fun. More of that later.

It was later the same day, after my son and I had eaten, that I received a message. It was a number I didn't recognise but linked to the group chat for the Pain Management Support Group.

'It was lovely to meet you today. We have so much in common.'

I realised that it was a private message, using my number from the group. This had never happened before.

My first reaction was worry. Was this lovely lady, twenty years younger than me, interested in me romantically? If so, it would soon lead to the rather tricky 'I don't want a relationship, thank you' conversation. If not, this was a fantastic way to make friends with someone I really liked.

I replied immediately:

'Hi. We certainly do. It's lovely to hear from you. I really enjoyed our chat.'

Lisa: 'It's amazing that we're both into photography. I've not done much for a while, because I've not been well enough, but I want to start again. What sort of photography did you do?'

I had a choice. I could tell the truth, and risk putting her off me for good, or I could be honest and see where it led.

'I used to do mainly fashion and glamour, with some boudoir. What do you do?'

Lisa: 'All sorts really. I used to work with quite a few models.'

That was the first barrier crossed. She was not even remotely phased by the fact that I had worked with topless and nude models. She hadn't jumped down my throat for exploiting women or accused me of producing pornography by another name. That was good. We could talk.

Our chat moved away from photography, and on to more general family matters, and I gradually found myself opening up in a way I had never done to anyone (except a counsellor, during a spell of depression). She, in turn, was candid and open.

I don't remember exactly when in the conversation, but she suddenly began to refer to her 'husband,' and at other times, to her 'partner.' I assumed they were one and the same, as some refer to long term partners as if married - however, it soon became clear that they were not. I think she probably realised my confusion, as she suddenly typed:

Lisa: 'Oh. I'm poly'

And that explained it. I'm quite well versed in life choices and sexual and gender identities, so I immediately knew that she was polyamorous - finding love with more than one partner, openly and honestly. Rather like a parent doesn't only find love with one child. It is a lifestyle which I have always found appealing - just difficult to achieve without finding the right partners.

I went on to explain that my ex-wife and I had been swingers - a different lifestyle entirely, based solely on sex rather than any genuine relationship, but which demonstrated that both of us were open-minded sexually.

We moved on, from our mutual acceptance of open-mindedness, to discussions about sex and photography. Actually, I did, I suspect.

'My wife and I often used to pose for each other - or together - in far more intimate poses than I've done with models!'

Lisa: 'Yeah. Done all that. Done all sorts. Not any more. My confidence is really low.'

'I wouldn't mind doing it again. I'm hardly a perfect body, but I enjoyed posing.'

Lisa: 'Really? We should get together for a shoot. What sort of things are you into?'

It was time to see how open-minded she actually was (very, I suspected).

'I always liked CFNM. My ex wasn't that interested. Swinging for her was all about her, but she did organise a fun evening for me with one of her friends once.'

I remembered that evening very, very well. My wife had gone out with one of her friends, the kids were off for sleepovers with their friends, and I was alone for the evening. At about eight o'clock, the phone rang. It was my wife:

"We're coming home. It's really boring, so Sarah might as well come back, and we can both save money. Can you tidy up a bit? We'll be there in about ten minutes."

I suppose I was being naïve, thinking that Claire (my ex) would simply forego a night's drinking - there was clearly an ulterior motive.

To cut a long story short, I was stripped naked by the two women, who proceeded to use me as their naked slave and sex plaything for the entire evening. I had to serve drinks, pose for their photographs, be blindfolded and have ice and hot wax on my body, have a dildo inserted into me, allow them to stroke, suck and spank me before ultimately masturbating into their faces.

The entire time, they remained clothed, and I was not allowed to touch them.

Now - I know this should have been humiliating, embarrassing, degrading - but the fact was, I loved it. I had always liked being naked for a clothed woman and loved feeling their eyes watching as I 'performed' for their pleasure.

Once I was spent, the two women played with each other, and I desperately hoped that, after a rest, I might get to join in. It was not to be. I did, indeed, develop a fine erection while watching them, but was not permitted to participate. In fact, they took themselves off to our marital bed, and I was told to get comfy on the sofa. One more reason why Claire is now my ex.

I had loved being naked with the two clothed women - it brought feelings from many years before when I had been in similar situations, equally erotically charged. I wished the scenario could be repeated - but it never was. I hinted many times, but I suspect Claire was very aware of how I felt and had determined that that particular avenue of pleasure was to be closed off to me.

I should clarify that this was not a desire to be dominated, and pain has never been my thing - it was simply the notion of being naked and told what to do, which excited me. To do this with a friend, relax and enjoy it - then continue as friends afterwards - was what I craved.

Lisa: We could do some nude photos. I haven't modelled for years though, and I'm not very confident. I'd like to start slowly and see how it goes.

That sounds good. I'm happy to do some nude shots - tell me what you want. I'm very open minded.

Lisa: OK. I'll think about it. Shall we set a date?

And that was it. Just like, I was going to model naked. I was totally confident that I would go through with it - although a little, niggling doubt still lurked. I was suddenly aware that I had actually spoken, face to face with this woman on just one occasion. Our only real intimacy had been through text messages. Could I actually trust her enough to get naked for her? And could I trust her enough to keep the pictures to herself?

While I mused on these questions, we kept chatting, sharing family information, exchanging intimacies. We chatted idly about her husband and her partner, about my ex and my past in the swinging lifestyle. We chatted about her being very sub, enjoying bondage, impact play and how she was not really interested in being dom. We shared information about our past sex lives, both having enjoyed a vigorous, active and 'different' experience - she in the world of kinky BDSM, me in the hidden world of swinging.

What became evident, was that our sexual preferences were very diverse. We both preferred to cede control to others. It meant there was no likelihood of any sexual relationship between us - but that was fine. I was happy without a relationship; she had two relationships with which she was content.

Despite this, we were both very capable of separating 'sex' and 'relationship.' Sex was fun - a physical pleasure - while romantic love was a long-term emotional commitment.

We moved from our discussions to sharing photographs - mostly of a professional nature - I shared topless and naked women, she shared various creative and surreal images, some with models - male and female, nude and clothed.

Then we shared more intimate photos - of ourselves. She was topless, in lingerie, while I was nude, with or without an erection (images taken by my ex).

I felt we had reached a point where, quite frankly, she had seen so much of me that being naked with her would hardly be a problem. I determined to go through with it. I knew she was very professional behind a camera - a far cry from the photos taken as part of foreplay with my ex - and that would help. In fact, the notion of being properly directed by a woman, while she had little interest in having sex with me, played into my CFNM fantasy.

As the date approached, we kept messaging. She decided she would do some burlesque style images - no nudity, just stylish and sexy. I, meanwhile, would do some clothed, followed by nudes. I feel we were both testing ourselves, becoming confident in this first phase, so we could move forward to more intense shoots in the future.

I had just one concern:

I'm worried in case I get an erection.

Lisa: If you do, you do. I'll just keep going. Don't worry.

OK. If you're sure. I don't mind you photographing me if I do, but don't want it to spoil the photos.

Lisa: It won't. Don't worry. If it happens, it happens.

I was relieved. I thought I would almost certainly be rock hard, but if she was OK with it, then so was I.

As our conversations progressed, so did my determination to embrace this side of me. I wanted to enjoy CFNM and wanted friends who would be supportive. It was during our discussions that she showed me a possible way into this.

She was a member of a fetish website, and suggested I join. I think I took maybe thirty seconds thinking about it, then signed up.

What was very evident was that my particular interest/fetish/kink was rather niche, and not many would be taking up my offer - mainly because most seemed to be into more intense BDSM than me. Still. If all it meant was that I got a few open-minded friends, that would be enough.

As the day of the shoot neared, I started to think. Each time, I thought, could I really just strip naked for someone, who, in reality, I had only met once for an hour or so? Each time, I got the same answer: Yes. Oddly, I trusted this woman. We had shared a huge amount, we had clearly connected, and so what if she saw me naked? Plenty of women had seen me before.

The day of the shoot arrived, and another concern arose. It was Spring, and while the days had been warm, the evenings had become quite chilly. I knew her studio was, essentially, a garden Summer house, converted into a studio, which had no heating.

It's well known that men tend to 'contract' in cold weather - what if I shrunk to the size of an acorn? I couldn't pretend to be especially well endowed anyway, but now I had decided to use these images on the fetish website, might it tempt those into SPH (small penis humiliation). I knew I wasn't THAT small - definitely average, but on a cold evening...

I sorted out the clothes for my 'clothed' shoot - black t-shirt and jeans, packed all of my camera kit and proceeded to kill time until I collected her. I was unsure if I would actually recognise her. I have a dreadful memory for faces, the photos of herself that she had sent were over twelve years old and her profile pic on the messaging app showed just one eye. However - *calm*. I was collecting her from her home. It would be fine.

I arrived at the agreed time and got out of my car as she came to meet me at the door. She handed over various bags and boxes, all laden with photography kit and a few props, which I put in the boot, along with my own kit.

We had agreed that she would model for me first, and she added assorted items of clothing. She wanted to model in a 'burlesque' style, so I spotted corsets, a long skirt, feather fans and a red boa.

Oddly, I didn't really 'check her out.' Even when we arrived at her friend's house, where the 'studio' was located, I never thought to look her up and down and consider what she would look like. I knew she had modelled before, and I knew she was quite petite, but it was not until we actually entered the studio, laden with kit, that I actually looked.

I looked just as she was bending over to put a box down, so the first thing I saw was her bum. She certainly wasn't overweight, in fact, her backside was quite slim. She had children, I knew, which had caused her to have wider hips than in the photos I had seen, but still, her backside looked firm and well-shaped.

The same was true of her legs. She was short, a good head shorter than me, but her legs were comfortably in proportion, and slim beneath her jeans.

She stood and turned to face me with a smile. I glanced at her t-shirt. Her boobs were small, She had said to me previously that she was not well-endowed. Despite this, she certainly had boobs. There were two very definite swellings, and, I guessed, if exposed, they would fall into a pleasant shape, with the pointed, pert nipples pointing up at a slight angle. At a guess, probably a B cup.

The truth was, she was attractive. The photos of her that I had seen were from when she was much younger, before she had children, and her body had obviously changed. The fact was, however, the changes were those I would associate with a mature woman with children.

She had a softly rounded stomach. She had complained about her stomach being large, but it wasn't. It was just the sort of swelling that might be expected of a mum.

No question. She looked good. A mature woman, certainly, but none the worse for it.

Together, we set up the studio. Black backdrop, lighting, quick test shot and then time for her to change.

Regardless of this being a shoot between two friends, we were also both photographers. We had agreed that we would be professional at all times. That meant we would either change in a separate room or keep our back turned when the other one was changing. Non-photographers find it odd that rules like this apply, especially when the model is going to be nude, but they do, and proper photographers abide by them.

I was to photograph her first, so while she changed, I fiddled with lenses, shutter speeds and apertures. We chatted throughout, and, as I moved around, I certainly caught a glimpse of her sports bra as she fastened her corset. Then I turned back to what I was doing. By the time I finished, she was ready.

We ran through a series of poses, incorporating fans, boas etc - essentially creating freeze frames from typical burlesque striptease, but nothing revealing.

Eventually, we finished.

"Right," she announced, "let's do some in t-shirt and jeans, then we can go on to the nude ones."

The entire process was so casual. We were photographers, working as we would with any other model.

She directed me in a series of poses, emphasising what she required, and I was struck by how clearly she directed, and knew exactly what she wanted. Everything she did was professional.

The problem was, it really played into my fantasy.

Yes, I liked the idea of mutual masturbation, and loved the idea that a clothed woman would touch me, stroking and sucking me, bringing me to the point of orgasm several times before allowing me to jerk off onto her face or wherever she requested.

The idea, however, of being naked, being directed in every way by a clothed woman, who was dispassionate, concerned only with the outcome of the photographs, was an enormous turn on.

I felt a stiffness under my jeans. My cock was beginning to stiffen, and I needed to readjust, allowing room for my full erection.

Shit. I was going to be naked with my new friend. That was no problem. But - naked and obviously sexually excited by her presence - was that right? I know she said it was OK, but in my mind it felt wrong.

Still - it wasn't the first time this had happened with a friend (barring drunken nights when friendship lines got blurred and we ended up fucking).

I had a female friend at University, and we shared an extremely open friendship. We never had sex, nor did we ever touch each other in a sexual way - however, we often shared a bed, sleeping naked, we changed openly in front of each other, and we shared showers and baths. She saw my erection, but only as 'morning glory,' never because we were arousing each other.

Except once. She had a new boyfriend, and at times like that, we 'cooled' our openness somewhat. However, on this occasion, she approached me with a request.