Ok Cat take the bra off slowly. Oh yes come on show me those big tits. Mmmm they look fantastic, I am so going to suck those rock hard nipples when I fuck you later."
Lots of camera shutter clicks as I unclip the black lacy, bra that hardly covers my areola. I have a slight fetish for wearing sexy underwear and I wore the bra because I knew we were going to have a session. I drop it on the floor and stand there topless striking a number of poses.
"They are fucking brilliant. Now lose the skirt. Let me see what my dirty bitch of a wife is wearing under it. I love the sexy holdups baby. Black suits you it makes your legs look even longer. I want them wrapped right round my neck. And Jesus fucking Christ look at that thong."
I was wearing an Agent Provocateur black lace and silk thong. It was pretty, yet hugely sexy, key elements in the AP style, which essentially is elegant slut. It was high round the waist and plunged steeply down from my hips over my stomach to a small pouch that cuddled my pussy. At the back, a slither of lace with a serrated edge plunged downwards and vanished between the full mounds of my bum. Several people have said that is my finest asset, although I feel the jury is out on that for I do have full, round D cup tits as well and they get quite a lot of attention.
"Turn round and bend over darling, flash that arse at me. Let me see the cheeks and the crease between them and show me that fantastic thong."
As Richard complimented me, as he told me how good I looked, how sexy I was and how fantastic the later sex was going to be so I became more and more aroused. As happens most times we have a session the latent exhibitionist in me, which Richard never lets me satisfy in public, began to come out. Emotionally I began to make love to the camera. As he said those things and took shot after shot of me in loads of different, gradually more revealing poses so he very evidently also became aroused. As usually happened he got a very strong hard on. I knew then that also as usual we would end up fucking on the floor well before the session was really finished.
"Now lay on the floor" he ordered kneeling beside me taking close ups of my tits and pussy inside the thong.
I couldn't resist touching myself and my hands without me hardly thinking found my boobs and squeezed them. It felt fantastic. I find I get such a sexual buzz from playing with myself when Richard looks on; I often wonder just what it would be like to do that in front of a stranger or strangers.
"Go down, get your hands down there" he told me, but was simply stating exactly what I wanted to do. I cupped my mound, I found my clit, I rubbed it then opening my legas and raising my knees I slid my finger right along my slit outside the thong. I was putting on a show, but wasn't sure for whom; Richard, me or the camera.
"Ok lovely take the panties off show me your cunt."
I loved hearing that word in those circumstances. As I slowly wriggled the thong off I croaked. "What do you want to see Richard?"
"You know what I want, you tell me" he said very huskily as he snapped away taking shots of my thin landing strip of tawny pubic hairs.
"Does Richard want to see Cat's cunt" I groaned softly.
"Yes I want to see your cunt, I want to photograph your cunt and then I am going to fuck you cunt. But first you can finger fuck your own cunt."
That was it, I was gone. And so was he. He was soon naked, I was on all fours, and he was fucking my cunt from behind.
*
Before I met Richard when I was at university I had experimented with bisexuality. Being bi or even les was quite fashionable in the mid-eighties. I had sex with a few girls both at college and in the year or so after I left when I worked in advertising and before I met Richard. One slightly drunken evening after we'd had sex I rather unwisely in retrospect told Richard about it. It was said in the spirit of not hiding anything from my husband and not wanting him to find out from anyone else, although that was unlikely.
Over the years he'd often asked about the sex I'd had with other women. Like most men he seemed fascinated by two women together. He would ask what it felt like when I was with them and what was different to men. Gradually over a period of years I suppose he got me to open up more. I began to enjoy telling him about the other girls and eventually I got to describing in lots of detail just what we did. It made him ultra frisky.
As happens with couples, or so it seems, our ardour declined after ten years or so and our marriage in general and our sex in particular became stale. In my opinion this was due largely to the ridiculous hours he worked and the murderous travel he undertook. He rarely got home before nine and was overseas for at least a week each month. I was bored and lonely, he was tired and disinterested. The frequency of our sex reduced and it seemed that for him to really get going we had to use the camera.
Oddly, well I thought it was, as this happened so his interest in my dallying with the other girls increased.
I was in his arms. We were both naked and we had just fucked. It had been good, like the old times I thought.
"Tell me about Paulette?" He asked mentioning one of my university lovers.
I told him how we had seduced each other for neither was aware of the other's interest in girls.
"God I would love to see you with another woman."
That was the first time he mentioned it. Nothing more was said then, but over the next year or so he quite frequently talked about seeing me with another woman. I told him not to be daft but he kept on. The pressure increased just as my depression about our marriage deepened. He accompanied it with terms like.
"It's just what we need to rekindle our love.
"It will get us back to what we were."
"You must still have desire to be with a woman."
I continued to refuse even when he said. "You've been there before do it again, for me."
Although I didn't admit it to him I did indeed have a desire for sex with another woman. In fact I was beginning to think I would have an affair with either a man or a woman. I so needed more regular se*x and affection.
Eventually I became worn down and agreed. "Who though?" I asked desperately hoping we'd be unable to think of anyone.
"Jenny down the pub," he said mentioning a girl that sometimes joined us at the pub we went to most Wednesday evenings. Jenny was an actress who often entertained us with outrageous tales of the goings on behind the scenes and after hours at the theatres and TV studios she worked in. She had absolutely no inhibitions at all and talked very openly about her sexual exploits giving very strong hints that she might well be fairly bi. "No one in show biz knows what the hell they are," she'd said once.
