Tim
It was a toss-up as to which of us was more nervous: Jill, me . . or Millie.
I think it was Millie. Millie is a contemporary of mine, a very brilliant woman, a clinical psychologist. For years, she'd been deeply immersed in religious-oriented work until, one day, she came to the conclusion that the philosophies she was involved in seemed to be more fallacy than fact, turned her back on it, got laid, and hadn't stopped since. In fact, she and I had ended up screwing spectacularly the second time we ever met; the chemistry between us had never been right for a romance, but we'd stayed friends.
Other than fairly straightforward fucking, Millie's interest in offbeat sex, while intense, has always been as an observer: she had all the makings of a first class voyeur and, after Jill had had a chance to get to know her, we decided that, for our purposes, Millie could come in very handy.
Exhibitionists rather need voyeurs to make their lives complete -- especially if the voyeur (or, more accurately in this case, voyEUSS) happens to be a lady with a camera.
* * *
Which is how the three of us came to be sitting in our living room mellowing out on strawberry wine, as I finished explaining the eccentricities of my camera to Millie.
Millie was in slacks and blouse, Jill and I in considerably less: robes. Beneath mine, a pair of very abbreviated briefs and lots of me. Beneath Jill's, a just-below-the-nipples to just-above-the-cunt satin basque, the garment holding up a pair of sheer black seamed silk hose that led down into very high black patent ankle-strap pumps. She was also wearing a very lacy and brief pair of red panties which hid nothing.
While Millie wasn't sure, at that point, exactly what was beneath the robes, she was almost uncomfortably aware that she'd find out quickly, and both Jill and I took amusement from the fact that our friend was trying to appear very clinical and detached about the whole thing . . and failing miserably, her excitement and anticipation obvious to the two of us, if it wasn't, consciously, to her.
Not that WE were totally unaffected, of course. Since we knew EXACTLY what we were going to do (something which Millie knew only in the most general of terms) and, with her presence, were about to put into reality something of which we'd dreamed of for, literally, years, our excitement had been building ever since we'd "dressed for the occasion” earlier in the evening.
"Many of our poses will be obviously that," I told Millie. "We're not going for the "peeking at a couple alone' effect; rather, we're going for blatancy, our poses for maximum exposure and lewdness, smiles to-and-for the camera. Feel free to get close-ups and facial expressions, of course, but remember that the overall effect we're going for is to let whoever sees these pictures KNOW that we were very much aware we were being photographed -- and were loving every minute of it!"
Millie mulled that for a moment before asking, "Uh .. . who IS going to see these?" There were a few seconds of silence before Jill mock-resignedly sighed and said, “Heaven only knows . . . .”
It was enough to get a smile from all three of us and put us in the proper mood to start the session.
* * *
We'd chosen the living room for our setting; besides the fact that there is more furniture and room -- and, thus, more position possibilities -- than in the bedroom, the simple fact of the matter is that sex in the front room seems more open and blatant than it does in a bedroom setting (you EXPECT to see it in a bedroom; the livingroom setting implies that there are more people than the bed will hold and that you have company).
So we stood, side-by-side, in front of the couch, our arms around each other's waists, smiling at Millie and her camera . . . before we turned our heads to smile at each other while I peeled Jill's robe off one shoulder, exposing one lovely breast and toying with its quickly erect nipple.
From there, it was both robes hanging open, our bodies still turned to the camera but our heads turned towards each other so we could kiss, our lips barely touching and our mated tongues in plain sight. While my one hand still cupped Jill's tit, her hand was holding my half-hard cock and balls inside my shorts.
Each of our poses we held long enough not just for Millie to record, but to honestly give each other pleasure: we were unhurried, to say the least.
As Jill tugged my briefs down my hips to just below my balls, fully exposing my now-stiff cock, she was the one who told our photographer, "Don't be afraid to touch us, Millie. If you need to rearrange our bodies to get a better shot, if there’s some particular activity or position you think might be interesting, let us know, or just grab us and move us." I peeled Jill's robe from her shoulders and, as her hand reached out to milk, delightfully, my shaft, I turned her squarely toward the camera and slipped my hand inside her panties, one finger sliding into her thoroughly wet and slippery snatch. I enjoyed her almost surprised gasp of pleasure before she finished telling Millie, "Anything you can do to make this set of pictures totally lewd, revealing and beautifully obscene is fine by us." A pause before she smiled and added, "Or . . . just touch us because you want .. to touch us . . okay?"
