"It's not working like last time is it Jay?" Sophie, my son's girlfriend, said putting the camera down on my dressing table after she had spent half an hour or so photographing me.
"No, it isn't, sorry," I replied catching her eyes in the mirror.
"Do you feel ok? You don't seem as relaxed," she asked
"No, I don't feel it."
She came up behind where I was sitting on the dressing table stool and placed her hands on my shoulders.
"Why do you think that is?"
"Because this is more planned, last time was ad hoc, impulsive, I suppose," I told her as she gently squeezed my shoulders.
Sophie is an aspiring professional photographer and has been dating my twenty-two-year old son for the best part of a year. She studies at a college in Brighton some sixty miles almost due south of London where we live and her parental home is in Dedham in the heart of Constable country around one hundred miles to the north east of London. As a result, she often stays with us sharing a bed with Peter, my son, in the granny flat we had constructed over the garage when John's mum came and lived with us for a couple of years before her death.
Three months ago Sophie persuaded me to act as her model for some photos for an exam that would count significantly towards her degree which would qualify her to teach photography and work as a professional.
The session got out of hand and ended up with me posing in the nude and touching myself as she took photos. It went further and we both masturbated. I had done nothing like either of those in the past and had no experience whatsoever of sexual activities with women. After it was all over I was mortified and hugely embarrassed but more petrified that somehow Peter or my husband John would hear about it.
Despite that, Sophie and I had developed a sort of parallel relationship to that of boy friend's mother and his girlfriend. We had exchanged emails and texts and had long phone conversations. At first they were more about me denying my excitement at what had happened. But as she showed me the photos, particularly those that had been category winners and was third in another, I had to admit to feeling aroused and that I found hard to understand. How the hell, I thought and told her, as I looked at shots of me topless, naked, cupping my breasts and touching myself, can I get turned on by looking at myself? Of course, it wasn't just looking at myself that caused the turn on, it was more recalling the whole situation. The gradual undressing, Sophie looking at me, taking shots, telling me how sexy and attractive I am and then as I was nude touching myself and seeing her doing the same.
The parallel existence with her had shut out a great deal of normality and when talking on the phone, messaging, texting or exchanging emails she had taken me into another world where just us, the photos and what had happened existed. Our relationship became more open and intimate, we discussed sex, to an extent, and we owned up to the arousal we had both experienced at that session. Thus, when she started trying to persuade me to pose again, although I resisted for some time, I was really putty in her hands and here we were in my marital bedroom with me clad just in my black panties and a crimson, silk dressing gown held together by a silk tie at my waist. The pretence at this being art was fading.
I felt her fingers slip inside the collar of the robe and onto my shoulders. She rested them on the muscles that run from my neck to my shoulder joints. Her touch was light and tender. I opened my eyes and caught her glance.
"Let me get rid of the tension and help you relax," she said quietly.
Sophie is a beautiful, young woman, the type often called a 'willowy blonde.' Tall, around five eight and slim with long blonde hair and legs that go on for ever she has a bum to die for. Why the hell she 'holds a candle' for me a mid-forties mother of two I don't know? Being an artist, albeit a photographic one, she looks at things in a different way to most others. She tells me that she sees an erotic beauty in me and loves the curves of my 36D 28 36-inch figure and totally forgives and likes the naturalness of my slightly sagging boobs, the small mumtum, the excess on my waist and hips and my glasses. As she has said several times. "It's warts and all nowadays Jay."
"How will you do that?" I asked.
"Like this," she replied pressing her thumbs into the muscles either side of my neck.
"Mmmmm that's nice," I sighed closing my eyes as I felt her fingers move outwards from my neck.
They went out to my shoulders, paused there and slowly she massaged them back to the base of my neck. With her two thumbs pressing on the top of my spine she wrapped her other fingers round my neck and slowly ,moved them upwards until they ran across my ears, pausing briefly to fondle them before sliding her thumbs into my hair and onto my scalp that she massaged for a few moments. She repeated that several times varying the amount of pressure from that of a deep tissue massage to more of a fondle. I loved it and leaned backwards so that my shoulder blades pressed against her awesomely flat stomach and the crown of my head brushed against her boobs that I knew from washing her bras were B cup. I was pretty sure that she was naked under the mid-thigh length, dark blue tee shirt and that sent surges of arousal through me.
John and Peter had left at the crack of dawn to drive to Sunningdale, a very prestigious golf course in Surrey and Sophie and I had breakfast together. A few times after our first photo session when the two of us had breakfast together as the boys played golf early on a Sunday morning I had got dressed, although Sophie had stayed in her mid-thigh-length tee shirt that she slept in, or so I assumed. As our 'parallel relationship' developed, though, I stopped being prudish and reverted to my normal breakfast outfit of a dressing gown. Most often that was an ankle length, thick towelling job that covered everything. Now and then, though, I wore my shorty, crimson silk gown the front of which was held together with a silk tie. Probably having a premonition of what was to happen today, as we had pretty much agreed that I would pose for her again, I wore that with just a black thong under it.
As she massaged my shoulders I was, inevitably I suppose becoming aroused. Her touch was sublime and her closeness as she pressed her body against mine was so intimate. Although we had agreed to have a photo session nothing further was on the agenda or had been overtly discussed, but I guessed something more and possibly similar to last time might occur. As we had gone to my marital bedroom and she had set up her lights and reflection umbrellas I amazed myself at how readily I was accepting that shortly I might indulge in some bisexual activity
We had come a long way from that night when we had both masturbated and been embarrassed about it. We had discussed it and our feelings at some length in emails, phone chats and one face to face discussion and although nothing specific had been agreed I think we both felt that some form of sex would take place today. That part scared and part excited me. Since masturbating with her I had thought a lot about women having sex together which seemed so much more prevalent and acceptable nowadays. In one of our long, rambling and open email exchanges I had asked if she was experienced with other women and she said that she had messed around with girls 'as everyone does nowadays' but that's all.
I felt her easing the neck of the silk dressing along my shoulders towards the joints. I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror and our gazes met. Then I looked down and saw that the lapels were parting and the start of my cleavage, which as I was not wearing a bra was quite wide, was being exposed. Her thumbs were still, softly now, massaging the muscles just above my shoulder blades but now her other fingers were stretched down my chest almost to where my breasts swell out from my chest. The sides of her hands were pressing against the neck of the silk robe applying the pressure that was pushing that towards my shoulders and opening the lapels. I contemplated grabbing them and stopping the front being opened further. But that thought flashed in and out of my mind quickly. As her extended fingers softly fondled the start of my breasts so we held each other's gaze. I watched mesmerised as the red silk reached my shoulder joints and slowly slipped over both sides and down my upper arms pulling the lapels further open so the insides of my breasts almost to the areola were exposed. She stopped and looking at me smiling she raised her eyebrows. I didn't know what to do. It was a clear sign of asking my permission. Requesting my agreement to baring my breasts for her, but why, what for? She had seen them several times now, had taken shots of them, even earlier this morning. I didn't know what to do so I applied the old maxim 'if in doubt do nowt.' So, I leaned my head back against her chest and closed my eyes. She got the message and I felt the luxuriant material slip over my breasts and across my hardened nipples. She had bared my breast certainly to her gaze and I wondered to what else?
I opened my eyes and caught her gaze. She was staring intently at my naked breasts with their clearly stunningly hard nipples. She smiled.
"Oh, Jay they are so beautiful."
I didn't know what to say so I simply smiled back.
"Ok?" she asked sliding the robe down my arms to my elbows. I nodded and she slid it off my arms so it hung down from my waist.
"God you look amazing," she whispered placing her hands back on my shoulders as we stared at each other in the mirror.
"You look pretty good too," I replied.
Holding my gaze, she took hold of her tee shirt and pulled it up and over her head so she stood behind me naked.
"How about now Jay," she beamed moving to one side so I saw all of her nakedness in the mirror.
"Mmmm lovely," I heard myself saying as I gazed at this beautiful young creature who, I was surprised to see had a fairly full bush of flaxen coloured pubic hairs that I hadn't noticed when we mutually masturbated before. Momentarily I wondered if the fashion for shaving that I followed was changing back and that hair was in again? I made a mental note to aske her later.
Moving back behind me she started massaging my shoulders again. Now when I leaned backwards my bare flesh found her naked chest and stomach sending shudders of excitement through me.
"Oh Jay, that's lovely," she sighed as the skirt part of the robe fell open to expose my black thong.
Now she was making no pretence of medically massaging my shoulders as her touch was more that of a caress or fondle. And as I watched almost flabbergasted I saw her fingers sliding slowly downwards. Down towards my breasts. Our eyes locked in the mirror as I watched them glide onto the start of the swell of each breast where they paused. She would have known as well as me that where they rested was the beginning of the sexually sensitive areas of a woman's breasts and in any case if she didn't know the look on my face would have told her. Just as it would have told her that they were welcome there. I was acknowledging that I wanted to receive her sexual advances, I was welcoming them and yes I wanted my son's girl friend to fondle my tits. I arched my back to greet them as she cupped each orb and pinched each achingly hard nipple.
"Touch yourself Jay," she said in a strained voice.
"Where?" I asked extremely naively .
"There," she nodded towards my stomach adding after a pause. "Between your legs."
I could hardly believe that not only did I not object or resist, but also I didn't even think of doing so.
I slid my hand through the silk folds of the dressing robe right onto my pubic mound covered snugly by the thong.
"Oh Sophie what are we doing again," I groaned as an even stronger wave of feelings roared through me.
