It has been a while since my last submission and I hope this that's all about me offering "extras" at photo shoots makes the wait worthwhile.
I really have tried everything I can to get Lit. to publish my photos, as they used to, but nothing works. Any help you can give, evem just sending a mail when you look at my bio, really would be greatly appreciated.
I hope you are all still enjoying me and thanks for the feedback, most of which is gratefully received. I try to reply to all and as quickly as possible. I've made some good friends through the feedback and have found corresponding with them a real pleasure, mostly.
If you have read the previous parts, you will know the score, so you can skip the rest of the intro and go straight to the action. If you haven't read them, I would strongly suggest you do. You see the accounts flow naturally and are intrinsically linked, so they really do need to be read in the sequence I wrote them.
Whatever way you do read them, though, enjoy them, leave whatever comments you wish and e-mail me if you'd like to discuss anything.
*
My bio, Part 14
Pushing the boundaries out on my modelling, going further, much further with the photographers.
Chapter 1
It was probably the most intimate moment of my life. Certainly it was amongst the most erotic and without doubt, it was one of the most sexually challenging positions I had ever been in.
I was lying on a settee, a big one, one that could probably seat four people comfortably and one that would be perfect to make love on. But I wasn't making love.
I was wearing a bra, a white see-through one. Both of my tits had been lifted out of it. Other than that, all I had on was a pair of stockings. Black, fishnet, seamed holdups. I looked good, I knew that. I was dressed for sex. But I wasn't having sex.
I could feel my heart pounding, my body starting to have slight tremors, my breasts feeling ready to burst and that familiar tingling warmth starting to flood through me. All those feelings a woman gets when she's being fucked. But I wasn't being fucked.
No, I wasn't making love, I wasn't having sex and I wasn't being fucked. I was being photographed. Yes, I was posing in a one to one situation for the very first time.
I had posed undressed and more than that many times. I had had photographers take shots of my most intimate places several times now and I had simulated masturbation for them, occasionally. Never, though had I done those things when it was just one photographer and me. And that, I was finding out, was an entirely different kettle of fish than being photographed by a number of guys.
When being the model for amateur photographer clubs at their group evenings, I posed in underwear, topless and naked as up to a dozen camera-men clicked away. Lying there scantily clad with your legs wide open brings a range of sexually driven feelings. Exhibitionism, power, sordidness, being abused and demeaned yet, at the same time, adored and revered. Nice feelings for a glamour model.
Overriding all those, though, is the comfort of being in a group. The security of having all those guys together. The blanket of respectability they throw over the proceedings by making out it is all about art, not taking pictures of my tits and pussy that they go and wank over later.
When it's just you and a him, though, it really is an entire new ball game. There isn't the distance, there isn't the crowd to divert things and there isn't the embarrassment of the men to take the pressure of the girl. There's just a naked girl and a man, often an aroused man and sometimes an excited girl. That is exactly how it was with me and Paul that afternoon in the studio in East London.
My, sort of, agent, Sandra had told me that if I really wanted to earn money then, in addition to posing for the group sessions, I had to do one to ones. I had to agree to pose for just one photographer. I had to be willing to spend up to three hours in a studio with one man. I had to be willing to give myself to one person for the length of the session for which he had hired me.
She explained that it was necessary because a man would pay much more to have me to himself. I questioned that, saying that he could get the same shots as part of a group as he could with me by myself.
"But not Sammi, with you by yourself." Sandra said.
"So what's the difference?"
"The mood Sammi, the mood."
I pushed a bit on what she meant, even though deep down I probably knew the answer.
She explained that the pairing of just the two of you often created a uniquely erotic mood and atmosphere.
"It's a bit like being in a chat room on the net. There you seem isolated from everything else and you have that anonymity of being separated from everything else and everybody. You know it's unreal and the people you chat to do as well, but you make it seem real. So, you create a unique atmosphere between you. It may only last a short time, but during that time you are like a different person, or the person chatting does not seem to be you. It's like that in the solitude of the studio. You take on a different personality, a separate role, you become someone else and so does he. For the hour or two that the pair of you are together under those lights and in front of the camera, you are a partnership, he's the only man in your world and you are the only woman in his. Nobody else exists or matters."
"Wow," I interjected, "you make it seem almost religious.
Sandra smiled. "Actually it is I suppose, although it's probably a fairly rare religion that encourages you to bare your tits and pussy and for him to get a hard on looking at you."
I laughed at Sandra's wit and down to earth attitude. She went on.
"So that's the mood Sammi and when that mood is created some strange things can happen."
"Such as?"
"You'll see."
"Oh come one."
"No it's up to you to find out."
"No don't be a cow," I moaned flashing her my sexiest smile and pushing my tits out towards her knowing that she was almost certainly thinking about trying to fuck me again.
"I'll just say two things," Sandra replied quite coyly for her as she took hold of my elbow.
"OK," I replied in two minds as to whether I wanted sex with her or not.
I certainly wanted sex for I had been without anything other than myself for a couple of months now. Steph was back at Bristol and David and his wife were attempting yet reconciliation, so my main sources were unavailable.
Sandra and I had been "active" a few times, but her increasingly aggressive and very dominant style was pretty off-putting to me and I was not sure I was quite up to a session with her.
I eased myself away from and slumped my shoulders a little making my tits even smaller than the B almost C cups they are.
"One is, remember what happened between us that first time I photographed you. The second is don't give it away."
She would not say any more, so with that advice ringing in my ears I had left.
I sort of worked out what I think she meant.
Chapter 2
She wasn't wrong. Not about the mood, the atmosphere or the feeling of being separated from the rest of the world.
Paul and I got on well from almost the moment we met. He was in his early forties, I guessed. He was well dressed in a pair of, quite tight, beige, linen trousers, a dark blue shirt, with two buttons undone showing a nice sprouting of hair, and a pair of thin, leather loafers without socks. He looked good. He also smelled good as he came close and we shook hands giving off a waft of lovely aftershave. He had a nice tan.
We chatted away as he set up the lights and arranged the studio. The room wasn't that big, but it had a large settee at one end and a posing area with a variety of pull down backdrops at the other.
He asked if I would put on black underwear and stockings and selected a short, pleated kilt type of skirt in a red, green and black tartan and a white, cotton blouse from the wardrobe I had brought with me. He took a load of photos of me in that. At his direction I gradually opened the buttons on the blouse, until the bra was clearly displayed. He took quite a few shots, lying on the floor, shooting up my skirt and more with him standing and kneeling as I bent over and sat on the sofa with the hem of the skirt going further and further up my thighs.
As the session went on I felt that he seemed to be competent with the lighting and focusing and quite creative with the poses he asked me to adopt. His style was more erotic than porn, or so it seemed, for he appeared to prefer suggestive poses and clothing rather than more obvious and basic. During the first hour, we didn't do any nude stuff, but focused more on revealing poses. I wore two different skirts a really clingy dress and tight jeans. Most of the time he had me pull the hems up, have the zip on the jeans undone or pull my tops up, down or to one side so I was flashing goodly expanses of my legs and most of my boobs. He posed me with nothing on under the tight dress and the jeans, with no panties under the skirts and no bra under the tight, boob tube top or the see through, cotton blouse.
It was all pretty normal stuff, but as Sandra had said, it was far more intimate and certainly the mood and atmosphere was far more heavily charged than usual when I posed with several photographers.
That was particularly the case when we took a break for a cup of tea. I had been posing in just my panties. Laying on the floor, my legs spread wide he had asked me to push my boobs together, something, that for some reason, I always find sexually stimulating. I was acutely aware as he, firstly, stood right by my feet and shot downwards at my full, supine body and then knelt between my widely spreaded legs, that my nipples had hardened.
"Mmmmm, lovely, Samm, lovely," he grunted letting me know that he had, naturally. noticed that. I felt embarrassed, which wasdaft really, after what he also been looking at.
He moved closer. That meant further into the wide vee of my legs, further up them, nearer to my pussy that was clad in just the flimsiest, as good as see through, black, lacy thong. He was focusing on close ups of that as he moved even nearer and then he moved the camera towards my face and breasts.
"Hold your pussy, Sam," he ordered, not, I noticed, asked. It didn't occur to me to object, even though we hadn't agreed that I would do that or how far I would go.
As I held myself there he concentrated on my breasts and nipples, that were now stunningly hard, and on my face.
Photographers often talk in a fairly crude way to explain a pose or a look.
"Give me that, I want to be shagged look, Sam."
It wasn't difficult. The more I held my breasts together, so the harder became my nipples. The harder they became, so the more acute became the sensations that were starting to run through my body. And the closer Paul moved towards me, clearly now focusing the camera on my face, so the more I did, indeed, feel as though I wanted to be shagged.
"That was great, thanks Sammi, he said as he handed me a cup of tea.
