Merry Christmas 7

"Merry Christmas, Babe. I didn't want to leave this in your stocking", you say with a faint quiver in her voice.

I had just entered the bedroom as we prepared for bed after arranging all of Santa's gifts around the tree. Having gone on a bit before me, you had changed into a beautiful and sexy emerald silky nightgown. The color accentuates the red of your hair nicely. Your amazing breasts are outlined in the soft lighting that faintly highlight your hard nipples. Your creamy thighs are revealed by slits in the gown that end tantalizingly at the bottom of your buttocks. Your long legs taper gracefully to reveal a pair of matching marabou stiletto pumps. You are stunning.

"Thank you, Baby!" I exclaim and move towards you, thinking that the nightgown and all that its shimmering silk contains is my gift. After a couple of steps, I see a slight hesitation in your eyes, and only then, notice that you were concealing something behind your back.

"You mean there is more?!" I ask with a smile.

"I hope you like it", you say extending what can only be a photo frame wrapped with a small bow in the corner.

As I take the gift and sit on the edge of the bed, I say "Baby, what I see is more than enough of a gift for me, but thank you."

Tearing the corner of the paper reveals a simple, but elegant, black frame. What is revealed within the frame causes me a small gasp. There behind the glass is you. You are wearing the same emerald green gown, reclining provocatively on huge brass bed against a large pile of assorted pillows. The slit in the gown shows the slight swell of your butt and your legs are extended luxuriously towards the camera. Your toes, sporting a polish that matches the gown, extend from the ends of the same stilettos I had admired mere moments ago. The thin straps of the gown had fallen off of your shoulders and lay loosely around your arms and your breasts were fully filling the laced bodice of the gown. As captivating as the pose was, the look on your face causes a stirring in my groin. The look is something of a mixture of "come hither" and "I'm about to rock your world."

"Well, do you hate it?' You ask, a little anxiously.

Stirring from my admiring the picture, I realize that you have now repeated the question. Having already asked it once and received no response from me. The nervousness in your voice is a little more detectable than before.

"It's absolutely stunning!" I respond. Probably a lot faster than normal, but my heart rate has jumped up a few notches.

You look a little relieved. Sliding your hand up the leg of my pajamas, you say "I can see now that you must like it... at least a little." And with that you give my growing erection a gentle squeeze and smile.

As I continue to stare at the photo, I comment that "I love that you would do this for me, Babe. I just can't believe that you would get a picture this risqué taken by a stranger. Strangely, it makes it even a little hotter. Where and when did you have it done?"

As you sit down beside me, still lightly grasping my crotch, you say, "I was at the school several weeks ago waiting for pick-up and I overheard two other moms talking. They both looked to be at least my age. One actually looks quite a bit older. And while I'm not bragging, I think that I look much better than either of them. They both seem a little too prim and proper for my taste. It was the subject matter of their conversation that caught my attention. The younger woman was telling the other how much she appreciated her referring her to some photographer. She said that it had been a very memorable experience and that she was planning on using him a lot more in the future. At first I thought they were talking about family portraits or something like that. Then the older one said that she could believe how hot and bothered she had gotten being photographed "like that." Well, that sort of piqued my interest, you know?"

Continuing your story you say, "The younger of the two then said something about how she had practically molested her husband for a solid week after her shoot. And they talked about how at ease the photographer made them while making them feel like they were the sexiest women on earth. They couldn't believe some of the things they did and the poses that they actually "wanted" to do. I could see them getting a little flushed just talking about it. Their obvious excitement overcame their attempts to be discrete and their voices actually got a little louder as they spoke. They both went on and on about how much their husbands had loved their photos and how much their "bedroom life" had improved.

I pipe in with a raspy "I can certainly believe that!" while never taking my eyes from the frame

As you lightly run your finger along the outline of my cock, which was now straining against the flannel material, you comment that you can see how much I am obviously enjoying the picture.

"Oh I am. I am", I reply. "Please don't stop."

Smiling now you ask, "With my story or with my petting?" Your earlier anxiety is gone and a devilish gleam in your eyes is now evident.

"Yes", is all the response I can muster.

"If you insist," you say with a smile. "Well, by this point I think I had abandoned any pretense of reading my book and was actually leaning forward trying to hear every word of their conversation. I was totally hooked. I was so caught up in the whole slightly taboo vibe that they were giving off. I mean, you know me, I don't usually care what other people do as long as it doesn't affect me, right? I didn't know why their conversation captivated me quite so much, but it did."

"Go on." I say. And then almost begging I add, "Please."

Looking me hard in the eye, giving my cock a little squeeze and smiling, you say, "Oh, so you're hooked, too, huh?"

I look back at the framed photo and simply nod.

With another little squeeze, you continue, "Where was I? Oh yes, so they were practically giddy discussing the response they had received from their husbands after receiving their gifts. Then the younger woman looked mischievously at the other and said, "It's been a long time since I felt the way I felt being there in front of Blake. It just felt so naughty. I mean I was terrified being in that neighborhood. And that building looked a little rundown. I think that being on the wrong side of town and the seediness of it all got me a little excited before we even started shooting. Just knowing that I was about to be half dressed and helpless made me nervous and excited at the same time." The older woman nodded eagerly and chimed in with, "Oh, I know exactly what you mean. I felt the same way when I arrived." Then the younger one went on with a teenage-girl-crush-look on her face and almost gushed, "And aren't Blake and his assistant some of the nicest looking hunks of men you've ever seen?" "Um-hmmm." Was all that the older one could manage before the younger one said, "They were so reassuring and complimentary! It's no surprise that I was able to feel so comfortable and confident during the shoot." Then giggling, she added, "And you could tell that they really enjoyed their jobs." The older woman started fanning herself with her hand like she was suddenly in a heat wave and laughingly replied, "I know! They must love their work in a big way, because..."

You look down at the picture, which still has my rapt attention, and go on, "I was blatantly eavesdropping by then. I was trying to figure out their meaning when the school bell rang, obscuring the last part of what they said. I almost asked for them to repeat it, but the buzz of all the kids coming out of the school made any further discussion impossible. On the drive home, I replayed the conversation I had heard over in my mind. But by the time I got home, the homework, laundry, dinner and all the other things that demand my attention pretty much washed it all out of my head."

"Then one morning the next week, after you kissed me goodbye and left for work, I couldn't go back to sleep. The book I was reading wasn't really grabbing me, so I just laid there trying to will myself up out of bed to start my daily routine. When out if the blue, the eavesdropped conversation popped into my head. As I recounted what I had overheard in my mind, I felt myself getting a little excited. My curiosity got the better of me. I knew I had sometime before preparing for school that I could use doing a little computer research. I remembered that the ladies had referred to "Blake" as the photographers name and that his studio was on the "wrong side" of town. It took a little while, but I found a photographer's website that I was pretty sure had to be the right one. Just as I started to click the link, I heard the stirring in the house that told me that my research would have to wait."

"After I got back from the school drop off, I fixed a bowl of cereal, poured a glass of milk and sat back down at the computer. There behind the screensaver was the site and I was barely able to start clicking before I was interrupted again. Just as the screen changed, the phone rang. "Fuck!" I shouted and walked over to see who was calling. Seeing that it was a telemarketer, I went back to the computer and couldn't believe my eyes. There on the screen was a webpage that could have just as easily been for Olan Mills or any other family photographer! It didn't seem possible, but I re-ran my Google search and came to the conclusion that this HAD to be the guy. I mean how many photographers in this town are named Blake and have a studio in a seedy part of town? So I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the screen. A very pleasant sounding young man answered the phone and I found that I couldn't speak. He said "Hello?" a couple more times and I screwed up my courage and blurted out that I had been referred by some fellow mother's from our school who had had some "boudoir" photos taken for their husbands. But that looking on his website, it looked like I might have been mistaken."

"Oh no." The voice answered with a hint of a chuckle. "I believe you have the correct number. We don't advertise those particular services publically. But we have an abundance of experience with that particular genre of shoot. Quite frankly, risqué shoots make up well over 50% of our income. We've found that word of mouth is more than enough advertising for us."

"I think I managed a half intelligible "uhhhh", before he asked if I would like to meet for a preliminary consultation to see if I was interested in doing an actual shoot. Half in a haze, I made an appointment for the next morning. I think I wanted to do it before I chickened out."

I manage to stutter a barely comprehensible, "I see. Go on."

"Are you sure you aren't upset with me for doing this?" you ask, sounding a little worried again.

"Hell, no!" I answer. "It's a little hard to really put into words. As you can tell, I am thoroughly enjoying the picture..." motioning down to my groin, "...and I have a small pit in my stomach that I think is a little jealousy. The two emotions are kind of fighting inside me and excitement and lust seem to be winning at the moment."

"OK. Then I'll go on if you're sure you want to hear it. I don't want to upset you. Should I keep going?" You ask.

"Please", I say.

"OK. If you are sure", you say teasingly while rubbing my rock hard cock.

"I'm sure" I groan.

"Well, I dropped off at school and then came home, showered, did my hair and make-up, and then picked out a pair of jeans and a casual sweater. I wanted to look nice, but I didn't want to get all sexy'ed up, you know. But, I must admit that I wore the little lacy undies that you like so much. It was a little surprising, but I was actually getting a little excited at the thought of going there. Not just like I was eagerly anticipating going. I mean I

was

anticipating it. But I was getting a little sexually excited, too. The whole butterflies in the stomach routine -- only in a good way."

"So I drove across town. Now, I'll admit that I was a little scared driving to the building. It

really

isn't in a good part of town. I kept thinking about all the times I would ask about going somewhere and you would tell me that I couldn't go there alone. This felt a little like that. But it was broad daylight and I didn't really see anything or anybody that should scare me. I found the address and it was a huge building in decent shape. It had a fenced-in parking area with a few really nice cars already inside. There was a gate with an intercom next to it so that I could drive up, roll down the window and push the button. The same voice that I spoken to on the phone the day before asked me if he could help me. I gave him my name and he welcomed me and told me to come on in. The gate slid open and then closed as soon as I had driven through. At that point, I was hoping I wasn't making a mistake, but I was already there, right?"

"I parked close to the building with the drivers' side door closest to the building in case I needed to run to the car and drive away fast. I realize now I was just being silly, of course. The solid steel door opened into a tasteful, well decorated lobby. It was open and spacious with just enough of the industrial vibe to be cool. The walls were covered with a mix of the usual family portrait poses and several really creative, eclectic still-lifes and landscapes. Just saying that probably makes it sound as though it shouldn't work, but in that setting it really did. So anyway, I was standing just inside the door, taking it all in and gathering my nerves when out walked a nice-looking, fairly well built and toned young man. Well, I say "young," but he was probably about my age. He had an easy, confident, but not cocky, air about him.

"He gave a very pleasant smile as he greeted me, "Mrs. Stone, welcome to our studio. I hope you found us without too much trouble." I told him that I had no trouble what so ever."

"Please come this way to Blake's office. Can I take your coat and get you a coffee, tea, or water?"

"Well, I was too nervous to even think about drinking anything. You know how I have to pee all the time when I'm nervous."

"Blake's office was fairly large, with a small table and four chairs to one side for reviewing proofs, I assume. It had the typical beautifully finished executive style desk with a matching credenza behind it and two leather arm chairs in its front. The wall above the credenza was all glass with a glass door in the left hand corner. The windows and door opened into a large studio space with an impressive array of lighting set-ups and backdrops hanging from the ceiling. The usual portrait props lined the outside walls. You know, out of the way, but close enough to grab quickly. It was a really nice set up. In the other corner of the office was a solid door that was painted out to blend with the wall. As the assistant - I learned his name was Craig - hung my coat on the coat tree, he looked towards the desk and seemed puzzled."

"Hmm", he said. "Blake must be running a little long on his shoot. Would you like to observe a bit to get a feel for what you may be doing?" he asked.

"Well, I was a little puzzled, too. I looked out in the studio and there wasn't anyone there. I wasn't sure where Blake could be shooting. But, I was game so I said, "Sure."

"Craig asked me to follow him and started towards the solid door in the corner. Opening it, we entered into a small, dark vestibule that was dimly lit by a faint red light hidden out of sight somewhere. Pulling the door closed behind us, Craig explained that the vestibule kept light from the offices from messing up the photo lighting in case someone opened the door. And I guessed that made sense. Craig crossed the small room and opened the left hand of two matching doors set about six feet apart. Inside I saw a long narrow room with two tiers of seating arranged to face a large piece of glass set in the right side wall. Craig motioned me have a seat. He said he would let Blake know that I was here and he backed out of the room closing the door behind him."

"Well, I picked a seat in the front row and had a seat. What I saw through the glass was surprising. There was a whole other studio here. And while the backdrops and lighting rigs may have been similar to portrait studio, the rest of the studio was definitely different! Where luxurious arm chairs, benches, and portrait props were in the other studio, I saw a big canopy bed decked out in lace, Victorian red velvet chaises, and brightly colored, overstuffed sofas. There were several animal skin rugs, you know a bearskin, a lion skin, and even a zebra skin. In the darkened back corner I saw a few leather clad things that I can only assume were based on torture chamber fixtures. Only they weren't all that scary looking. But they were definitely designed to hold someone in various positions and to keep them from moving very much. Across the studio there were several racks of silky gowns, skimpy lace outfits, feather boas, and a whole rack of leather outfits. There were also shelves full of shoes, hats, jewelry and one with... well, let's just call them adult toys."

As you describe the scene in front of you, I realize that your hand is simply laying in my lap now. Of course that's just fine because I don't how much longer I could have lasted with even just the light caresses you've been administering through the pajamas. I look up to you and notice that you seem fixated on the photo, too. With a slight start, I think you caught yourself, you look up. Smiling, you say, "I do look pretty damned good in it, don't I?" I respond, "I always think you look good, Babe. But you are absolutely spectacular in this picture! It's too bad I can't have it enlarged and hung over our bed." I finish with a smile and lean over for a soft, prolonged kiss on your glistening lips.

"Keep going. Don't stop now, this is interesting", I urge.

"Well, all that I've described was all around the edges of the central area, what I guess you would consider the "studio" part. There in the center of the room was a huge brass bed turned at an angle to where I was sitting. So I was sort of looking from the footboard up to the headboard. The backdrop was a very light blue and bed was made up with white satin sheets and had lots of throw pillows in different light shades of blue. Spread out on the sheets, reclining on the pillows was a rather large woman who looked vaguely familiar. Searching through my memory, I realized that I know her from the school! And I've got to tell you, it would have been easy to not recognize her. I mean, I don't dress up to go by the school, but I usually look a far sight better than she does. Not to be mean, but she is just not an attractive woman. When I see her at the school, she always looks like she just rolled out of bed and usually looks like she is constantly pissed off at the world. I've even wondered how she looked when she met her husband. You know, what did he see in her that I couldn't see now? But there she was having her pictures done and she looked pretty good. I think that's why I almost didn't recognize her. She had her hair and makeup done up. She had on tasteful lingerie that had that sophisticated amount of sluttiness to it. And she definitely looked pretty damned sexy there posing this way and then another. It was obvious that someone, I assume Blake, was coaching and directing her well. "

"I wasn't sure how long I watched. It is actually a little bit of a blur. But I do know I was impressed by what I saw. This guy must be good. What sort of shook me out of my stupor was that I noticed that the lights had come up in the studio. I saw the lady almost slinking over to a man I could only assume was Blake and engulf him in a hug that was just a little too long and a little too enthusiastic. The door to my viewing room opened with a click and I saw that Craig was standing there smiling at me.