The Fires Down Below
Disclaimer: This story includes sex with a photographic model. It is a work of fiction, pure fantasy!! Please don't mistakenly think this happens regularly at photo shoots. The vast majority of models, about 99.9% are normal, hardworking, but beautiful women who use their good looks to earn a living, or supplement their income. Being beautiful they quite understandably have partners, husbands, etc. already. They are there to do a job, not be the target of your unwanted attentions. If like me you have the privilege to work with models, keep your distance, don't touch unless invited. Control yourself, and don't trash the reputation of all photographers - thank you.
Kerry sat in church listening to the incessant drone of the preachers voice. She was bored, as she was all too often bored in church these days. Bored with religion, but somehow she just couldn't shake herself out of the habit of attending church that had started in childhood. A habit she'd gone along with unthinkingly up until recently, and which had an all too powerful hold on her life. Not only that, but all the friends she had known since childhood were all here today in the congregation. To leave the church, stop attending, would mean losing all these people in her life. She knew exactly what, 'peer pressure,' meant when it came to church. It was just easier to keep on pretending than rebelling.
She wasn't just a regular church goer though, she was deeply and inextricably involved within her church community, volunteering for various activities including Sunday school for the kids. She was seen as a highly respected and admired member of her church. On that hot summer morning she felt anything but holy.
If they only knew what was running through her head, they'd be horrified at what the staunch, and seemingly highly religious church going Kerry was thinking. Sitting there, seemingly deep in religious thoughts and prayers, contemplating heaven or hell, who could have known the true nature of her thoughts?
Kerry smiled secretly to herself, although nothing showed on her face. A clue was seeping slowly but steadily out from between her pussy lips, which were once again demanding her attention. She felt swollen, her pussy twitched with need, so she crossed her legs, squeezing her naked thighs together, stimulating herself even more. She could make herself come, just squeezing her thighs tightly together and stimulating her pussy like that, but here in church it was more a case of stimulating her mind, and keeping her pussy, well...herself, 'on the boil.'
She wasn't wearing tights, (panty hose) her long shapely legs were sun-tanned and required none, but she had decided she
would
wear panties, although on many previous occasions she had worn none. It excited her to be naked under one of her, 'respectable' and very modest dresses. She reasoned that if she got wet in church again like she had been doing every Sunday for months now, the panties would prove to be substantial enough to stop her flow leaking through. Sometimes it didn't matter, especially with one of her black dresses, but not today.
With the colour of this dress, a mid-blue, it would be all too apparent if that happened. It would be embarrassing to be left with a wet patch on the back of her dress where she'd been sitting. Still... she loved the feel of her juices leaking out, making her wet. Her, 'flow' seemed to increase, and when she uncrossed her legs, she could feel a momentary coolness that told her that her panties had failed to contain her wetness and the inside of her thighs were wet too. She'd need to do something about that, and do it soon.
Sitting at the end of the pew, with her husband and kids, she looked to her right at the side door that led to the more public areas of the building, including the toilets. As the minister's overlong sermon was wound up, she knew she would need to slip out to use the toilet. Waiting, waiting, and then he announced the next hymn, and this was her opportunity. As everybody stood up to sing, she walked the few short steps to the door and, 'freedom,' and closed it behind her, muffling the voices of the faithful raised in song.
The toilets were cool and quiet, and she slipped into a cubicle, hastily shimmying her dress round her waist and pulled the matching blue panties down. There was a sopping wet stain where she had leaked into the reinforced gusset, with a few little white streaks of her secretions where a slightly thicker, 'cream,' had oozed from her. She touched herself, the feel of her fingers, made her breath in sharply. The sensation was wonderful, her prominent clitoris begging for more, and who was she to deny her favourite little, 'love button.' She circled it with the expertise of a woman who knew what she wanted, and knew exactly how to get it.
Wasting no time, she let the fingers of her other hand part her pussy lips, releasing a further flow, and then she impaled herself on two of her fingers, slipping them into her slippery hole. She loved to stretch her pussy-lips, adding to the pleasurable sensations, and began to finger-fuck herself rapidly, while her other hand stimulated her engorged clitoris. No time for finesse, she had to come quickly before anyone noticed she was, 'missing,' and came to look for her.
She could hear the distant hymn of praise, and although her orgasm felt close, she stayed alert. Aware and cautious enough of her surroundings to hear if anyone else came into the toilets, but all was quiet part from the wet noises her pussy was making and her breathing. She added another finger inside her, 'cunt,' stretching, harder, deeper, and then she was coming... and coming.
The sensations washed over her in waves, her juices flowed between her fingers. It took all of her willpower not to scream out loud as she was wracked by the pleasures of her own making, and then gradually, slowly, the tremors began to subside. She sat there for a minute or two, slowly recovering, feeling wonderful, before reality, 'bit.'
