This story describes circumstances that include unprotected sex. Relax. It's just a story; a product of my perverted mind.
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It was my own fault. It was my idea. Be careful what you ask for, you may get EXACTLY what you wanted...and more!
This past Thanksgiving, my wife Julie asked me, "Well my darling, what do you want for Christmas?"
I was ready for the question and had been pondering it for a few weeks, so I replied without hesitation, "A boudoir album from a reputable photographer with you as the model."
There was a rather lengthy pause before she responded. "Okay. And what, pray tell, do you consider a 'reputable' photographer?"
"Nope. I leave all the details to you. I just want the boudoir album. Make sure it's sexy."
She just stared at me. Maybe "glared" is a more appropriate word. Julie is rather shy. She never dresses in a way that exposes too much. Even at the beach she wears conservative one-piece swimwear. Of course, she's still drop-dead gorgeous and turns lots of heads.
"We'll see," was all she said in reply.
As the weeks went by, I noticed a sullenness about the way Julie was acting. She was easily provoked to anger and just as easily reduced to tears over trivial issues. I couldn't quite put a finger on it, but she seemed somewhat withdrawn from the world. I took note of this behavioral shift at the time, but just put it off as a passing phase, perhaps related to the upcoming holiday which can often lead to some depression.
As with every year, Christmas morning arrived all too soon. We got up and went straight to the tree to start opening presents. Julie seemed nervous. I was anxious. Did she go through with it? How far did she go in letting a photographer take sexy boudoir photos? Did she do it at all?
Finally, she sheepishly handed me a nicely wrapped present in bright red. It was obviously a book of some sort. Like a five-year old child, I ripped open the present and stared in wonder at the decorative cover of a photo book. With shaking hands, I opened the cover to reveal a title page with these words in bright red block letters: "For my Loving Husband. Remember that I Love You and I always will."
Pensively, and still shaking, I turned the page. There were six photos printed on each page. It was like a coffee table style book; professionally printed and bound, not photo inserts. I was highly impressed with the quality of the book as well as the sexy female whose glorious form filled the thick book. On the first few pages, Julie was dressed in a black evening dress, sleeveless and flowing to just above her knees. She was wearing sheer black hose and black shoes with about a three inch heal. The poses were tasteful, yet sexy. Some of the sexier poses displayed modest cleavage or a great deal of her luscious thigh. The look on Julie's face progressed from uncertainty to playful laughter as the sequence unfolded.
The final photo on one of the pages in the evening dress sequence gave me a shock and a thrill, though most people would have probably thought it rather tame. Julie was bent over at the waist with her backside to the camera. Her hands were on her hips and she was looking back over her left shoulder, her face revealing laughter. She had hiked up her dress in the back so you could just see the beginning of the curvature of her nicely rounded, hose covered butt. I felt an immediate stirring in my loins.
I looked up at Julie and smiled. She looked nervous, wordlessly biting her lower lip. I flipped the page.
Oh my! I couldn't believe it. There before me was a sequence of Julie hiking her skirt up. Each photo revealed a bit more of her panty clad ass, covered with the sheer black hose, until her skirt was bunched around her waist. I was amazed at the amount of courage it must have taken for her to do that in front of another person.
"Was the photographer a man or a woman?" I asked.
She hesitated for a second before answering with a shaky voice, "a, a man." My dick went rigid in the knowledge that I had succeeded in my desire to have my wife show off her body to another man. My pride swelled along with my member.
Still with her back to the photographer, the photos on the next page started with her pulling the straps of her dress off her shoulders. She was not wearing a bra. By the last photo, the dress was completely bunched around her waist revealing her bare back. The following page contained a series of photos as she turned to face the photographer, her hands covering her small B-cup breasts and her face showing a nervous smile.
"What's his name?" I asked.
"Marcel."
Without looking up, I turned the page to see photographs of her uncovered breasts. In the first photo her arms were down by her sides and she looked nervous, but the series saw her demeanor change until in the last photo, her hands were on her hips and she had a confident smile on her face. My underwear was getting wet from all the precum leaking out of my stiffy.
Again, I looked up at Julie. "Do you like?" She asked.
I managed to croak out, "Y-yes." My throat was dry. I flipped the page. Next was a series as she tucked her thumbs in the waist of her hose and then peeled them down to her ankles. She was, of course, bent over at the waist as she pushed the hose down her legs and her breasts looked tantalizing in their firm curvature. Next page: the photographer had changed position and was now behind her. She was still bent over and was removing the hose from her feet. A thick sliver of black string ran between her butt cheeks and a small patch of black material covered her pussy. A small amount of blond pubic hair could be seen at the edges. In the last photo, Julie was peeking around her right, smiling at the camera...or was she smiling at the photographer?
Another flip of the page chronicled Julie removing the thong panties, again from the rear. First she was standing upright with thumbs hooked over the strings around her waist, then bending down to remove them, full bush on display under nicely rounded buttocks. Again, she looked back at the camera/photographer with a smile in the last photo on the page. I had to adjust myself as my dick was straining at my briefs.
"Are you okay?" Julie asked.
In reply, I removed my shorts and underwear and let my raging hard-on pop free. The head of my cock was glistening with precum. "Does this answer your question?" She smiled, knelt on the floor between my legs, and rested her arms on my thighs.
I kept looking through the book. There were photo sets in (and out of) lingerie, a man's white button-down shirt, and a slingshot bikini. Julie became more embolden and empowered with each set. There were poses displaying all her charms. There were full frontal nudes. One of my favorites showed her standing in front of a window with her right hand on her thigh, her left hand on her waist, her head slightly cocked to the left side, and a bright smile on her face. There were photos of her laying on her front with her tight, round ass on full display. Then she was laying on her back and her bush was clearly visible. She was squatting with her knees together, then she parted them, and I could see a little of her pussy lips peeking through the pubes. She was smiling in all these photos, sometimes it looked like she was laughing.
All this time, Julie was softly rubbing my cock, occasionally peeking over the top of the book to see which photos I was looking at. I detected a rather nervous look each time our eyes met.
The photos became ever more risquΓ© as I continued to flip the pages. She was now posing in a lounge chair in a classic "M" position. Her pussy lips were engorged and looked slightly moist. Now she's laying on a sofa, with her right arm behind her head and her left hand on her mound, her fingers just touching her clitoris. The look on her face is hard to describe, except to say it oozed sexual energy. Then she buried her middle finger up to the second knuckle in her pussy. Finally, she was licking that same finger.