I drove home - shock, wonder, and incredible burning desire growing inside me. Questions, so many questions. Why had he treated me so coldly during the shoot, only to stroke himself later? Does he do this with all his clients? When the photos are ready, will my husband notice my lust? For now, I had to put these questions away, I was already having enough trouble concentrating on the road.
I pulled in the driveway, still aching with desire. I did my best to compose myself, taking a moment to smooth my hair and calm my thumping heart before entering the house - an effort at which I was only half successful. I opened the door and saw my adoring husband sitting on the couch, languidly reading a book. Desire overcame me. It was all too much. Visions of the handsome photographer stroking his thick cock to my photos flashed my mind. More images, more fantasies burned through my mind. The photographer standing over me as I kneeled, then him kissing me, his hands on me, pulling me close and then bending me over his couch....
"Upstairs, NOW." I commanded.
"What? How was the photoshoot with..."
"NOW." I interrupted.
I can be dominant in bed if the mood strikes me, but this was different. I was inspired in a whole new way and needed to be fucked. Hard and fast. I watched as a smile crept through my husband's face as he practically jumped up the stairs. By the time I made it up there, he was already naked and hard. I needed no encouragement and mounted him, my thighs straddling him as I lowered myself down on him. He pushed deep as he could, and moaned, low and slow. I felt the ridges of his cock thrusting into me, surprised at my passion and urgency. His fingers gripped my smooth firm thighs as I rode him, a boat on the ocean. My body guiding the waves of his thrusts into me and my breasts bounced tantalizingly in his face and his hands squeezed them together. A thin, shimmering layer of sweat formed in my ample cleavage and drew his eyes.
I closed my own eyes, savoring the passion and deep thrusts, but when I closed my eyes as I took my husband into me - it wasn't my husband's face I saw in my mind's eye. It was the photographer's. That serious, no-nonsense face that had earlier been so close to my body. Those eyes that have seen my curves, all of my body. That mouth that I had longed to feel pressed against mine. And guilt started to creep up on me - could I really be thinking of another man while my husband pleasured me? I was no better than the rest of those women, swearing they loved their husband while fantasizing about someone different...someone new.
I tried to shake the images of the photographer from my mind and concentrate on the pleasure. My husband sensed my urgency and started to pump faster, harder deep into me as I moaned. He didn't know that that my mind was on the other man,
His hands went to my ample tits, squeezing and pushing them together. He leaned up to take them into his mouth, tasting my salty skin as he relentlessly attacked them with his tongue.
But without warning, he pulled out and came, covering his stomach.
"mmm babe...that was fantastic" he gasped, breathing heavy
The next day, I received a request from the photographer. We need to retake some shots, something about the lighting and not being in focus. I made an appointment later that afternoon and made my way. I pretended hadn't seen the photographer pleasuring himself to my photos. This must happen all the time, I told myself, this is nothing. Over and over I repeated that to myself but I wasn't even sure if
I
believed that.
I walked into his studio, driven by my roiling emotions. Guilt and arousal fought for control of my actions. The images of the passionate, yet unfulfilling, love-making my husband and I shared yesterday cycled through my mind as I entered. But soon, my focus was on the photographer. He was facing away from me, but I could see the powerful muscles lining his back, and I was immediately lost in fantasy again.
Even as I walked towards him, my mind's eye peppered me with images and sounds, fantasies to be fulfilled and desires to be met. His strong hands guiding my body into the perfect position for the pictures. Then, a slow unzipping of his pants and my mouth opening so willingly...
"Good to see you again" he coolly said to me, interrupting the fantasy in my mind. It was an effort for me to return to reality and to engage in a coherent conversation,
"uhhh...hi." I managed to get out, clearly not having totally regained my composure.
"Most women don't return for a second session, even when I ask. They get what they need to satisfy their husbands and don't come back."
"Well, here I am!" I practically shouted.
Get yourself together,
I scolded myself.
"And I am glad to see it" he replied. "You have such a lovely body and it would have been sad for me to not get to photograph it again...I hope you don't mind me saying."
MIND?! I've been thinking of almost nothing else since my last session.
I managed a bashful smile and I'm sure he noticed the flush in my neck and chest, my thin button-down blouse doing little to hide my increasingly deep breaths.
"Please, use the room behind you. I hope you brought a couple of changes of clothing". As I entered the dimly lit changing room, I took the opportunity to look myself over in the floor-length mirror. Not so bad, I thought to myself. A early 40's woman, still maintaining much of my youthful form. My breasts had mostly stood the tests of time. While not immune, they still bounced and held their shape. The pale, delicate skin of my upper chest still rosy pink with flush from our extremely brief conversation just moments ago. I squeezed my breasts together gently, feeling their warmth and closed my eyes - wondering where the next hour or two would lead. I imagined his hands on me, fondling and caressing my breasts, and once again, guilt crept up. My loving husband devoted and committed, at home with no idea what I was doing. Or considering doing. I told myself again,
this is innocent.
My hands crept down my sides, tracking my curves and enjoying for a sensuous moment my soft, smooth skin. Down over hips and then flowing over my lower stomach, attracted to the growing heat between my thighs. I touched, for the briefest of moments, the delicate folds between my legs, and yanked them away again. I was composed for a moment, but it was clear that this was a battle I was losing.
I chose a remarkably revealing red lingerie outfit for the photos. Even though I had worn this before, it suddenly seemed so tiny, so revealing, and certainly NOT appropriate for a married woman to be wearing around someone who was not her husband. Fire engine red heels, a garter connecting the sheer red stockings to a lacy thong. To say the top was tiny would be a tremendous overstatement. A see-through red-bra meant to accentuate my bust - and accentuate it did. My breasts overflowed to the point of obscenity. Pale, perfect skin fully on display for anyone in the vicinity. I let my hands squeeze gently my breasts and stifled a soft moan. One final glance in the mirror, a covering of myself with the robe provided for me, and I entered the main room of the studio.
He stood there, statuesque and broad, a powerful muscular chest pressing against his shirt and a fierce, focused look in his eye.
"Please, sit on the couch" and he gestured towards a long, low couch in the center of the room. Warm, gentle lights surrounded us and I made my way to it with more urgency that any married woman in control of herself should have done. I caught a glimpse of his eyes following my shapely body. He could have asked me to do anything at that point and I would have done it.
"You can take off the robe now and show me what you brought to wear."
Far too willingly, I pulled the robe from my shoulders, exposing my barely clothed body to him. The lights caressing my breasts, accentuating them, and gave no less attention to the graceful curve of my hips. I gave myself a moment to admire my own figure and met his eye, which I saw linger on the way light hugged my body. Instinctively, I sat down on the couch and awaited further instructions.
"Lean towards me, chin up."
I obeyed.
Click. Click. Click. He moved around me gracefully, clearly practiced at this, taking photo after photo of me. Lowering the camera, raising it, zooming in, zooming out. I let my dark hair fall in the way it desired as if controlling it in any way would be treasonous to the moment. And suddenly, I felt a rush of embarrassment and shame, guilt again as I had to fight my hands to keep them from caressing my body. Instead, my arms moved and folded over to cover my chest.
