The Photo Shoot 9

Where do I start with this? I know at the beginning, but which beginning? Do you perhaps want me to tell you how the world was formed out of specks of dust and rocks over millennia..... Yeah I know not that beginning. OK, so let's talk about me and my job for a minute. I am a model. No, I'm not Tyra Banks or whichever supermodel you wish to think of. I'm not in Penthouse and I'm not in Playboy, although I did think about it, except for Carmen Electra. She was in Playboy and look at what she's done- she was on a MTV show and she married Dennis Rodman; not exactly high marks for Playboy launching your career, now is it.

Now I am sure you are wondering what makes me a model. Well, I model BDSM. I appear in some of the magazines from time to time and I appear in ads for many of the different apparatus in the magazines. Hmm... you know that means I am in Penthouse since I did one photo shoot for a big name company that was launching an ad on their sex swing.

Perhaps you have seen me before; I have long brown hair, large breasts, creamy skin and blue eyes. No, I'm not going to spout off measurements; I'm not as thin as I would like and I actually think my breasts are to large for me, although I will not reduce them. Surgery scares me.

Now on to my job. I am actually a lot busier than you would think. On average I work 4 days a week. Well, it's also the most I will work. On occasion, I have worked less but never more. I take long weekends as a rule, Friday through Sunday I am as vanilla as you can get and a total sex fiend. I do not live with my boyfriend, except on my weekends, at which point he is in bed with me morning noon and night. We even stay in bed together eating, but we do get out of bed for showers, together. They are rather long showers.

Enough background and beginning. It all started on Sunday. Fade to black; then fade to me and my blonde hunk guy in, where else, bed.

I am still asleep until he places his hand on my breast and squeezes. Don't ask me why, but when he touches me I wake up. Makes it hard to sleep through the night with him, but does make for fun mornings. I lay there pretending to be asleep as he rubs my breast before pinching the nipple. I moan as he does so; he squeezes rather hard in the morning, he says to make sure I am awake. His other hand moves between my legs. At first I keep my legs closed, teasing him. His hand slides up and down my legs gently before sliding a finger down to my clit and moving it around. My legs open for him of their own accord; it feels so good and I want more

He climbs between my legs, both hands now holding my breasts, squeezing and pulling them up so he can lean down and suck on my nipples. He stays sucking on my nipples in turn, his hands kneading and pulling on my breasts for so long I was practically screaming at him to fuck me. My hips were pushing into him, my dripping cunt grinding at him. He finally pulls his hands from my breasts and, holding my hips still, lines up his cock with me and pushes it against me.

I moan as I feel his head slowly penetrating me, slowly sliding deeper into me, cunt clutching at him trying to draw him deeper. At first I lay under him, letting him enter me at his own speed, relishing in the feeling of him as each little bit of him enters me. This is not to say he just slowly slid into me. No, he was pumping, just not very fast and slowly going deeper. As he put it, "I can tease you to". I let him tease me until I simply can't stand it any longer. Then I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him down to me. As I rise up to meet him, I gave myself a small trembling orgasm with the sudden plunge into me. He doesn't stop moving, he simply starts fucking me. He isn't making love to me, he is shoving his cock in me at a breakneck speed. The headboard of the bed banging against the wall, the lamp on the dresser beside my head trembling at each vicious thrust in me.

He is giving me exactly what I need in the morning, a swift hard fucking. I enjoy slow lovemaking as well, but there are certain times for lovemaking and there are times for fucking. I don't know how long we were at it, all I know is we spent a while fucking. My tits were bouncing around, the wall somehow staying up. I had to move the lamp back away from the edge of the dresser twice and I had I don't even know where the ballpark is number of orgasms. I do know that at the end he is crushing me between his arms, his hips jerking himself in me and both of us moaning as his hot cum shoots in me.

He collapses on me, breathing hard and just lays there for a while. I just lay under him, struggling to get my breath back and feeling his cock softening in me, cum still seeping out of him. Eventually, he rolls off of me and wraps me up in his strong arms, and promptly starts snoring. I look at him, his eyes closed, his mouth open, snoring. I decide to get up, I need a shower. I still have much of what he had just put in me combined with what he had given me yesterday all day. As I try to move, he snuggles into me tighter and tells me that he needs to sleep more mom.

Well that did it! Mom indeed! I promptly hit him on the shoulder, then reaching under him to his chest, grabbed one nipple in a vice grip. Instantly, he's groaning and telling me how sorry he is. I squeeze a little harder and he's promising to never do it again. I twist for a moment and tell him he better not before letting go with a grin on my face. He puts a hand to his tortured nipple and with a pained face tells me that it hurt. The only thing that ruined the act was his sudden giggle.

I reach over, grabbing him by the ear, and get up. He follows along, holding at my hand saying "ow" lots. In the bathroom I let go of his ear, not that I was holding it tight or pulling very hard. But he still gave me a hurt look and even managed to look like he was about to cry. I went to him, wrapping my arms around him, kissing him madly as I moved us both into the shower. Somehow, I managed to reach over and turn on the water, ignoring his muted "No". I rather wish I hadn't, both of us dashing out of the shower again as the cold water fell onto us. He ended up on the floor, I find myself sitting on the closed toilet-and he always wonders why I insist he closes it. Both of us staying where we are, laughing until the mirror begins to steam up. As one, we begin getting up, him only halfway at first because I put my hands on him to get up with. He finishes getting up with a grumble before wrapping me up in his arms and sweeping me off my feet.

I let out an "eep" as he walks into the shower with me in his arms. My arms are about him holding on frantically, my head to his shoulder to prevent him running me into the corner. Under the streaming water he sets me down again and I promptly slap at him; he knows how I hate when he does that. Though he swears he only hit my head on the wall once, it still hurt darn him.

He lets me slap at his chest for a little, laughing at the water splashing all over because of my hands, really doing nothing more than getting him wet all over as well. He dropped me right under the spray so I am very wet very quickly. He grabs my hands, well grabbed at one my other still slapping at him, both of us laughing as I keep moving my hand around so he can't grab it until finally, he does. Suddenly I am pulled into him, my hands behind him, his face leaning down toward mine. Then his hands are behind my head, pulling me into him. Our lips are crushed together, his tongue invading my mouth. Valiantly, my tongue assaults the invader. It is a even match for a time, but his tongue is stronger and slowly pushes mine away before exploring my mouth at its leisure. During the struggle, my hands are roaming over his back. One of his hands stays on my head, holding me to him. His other hand is moving down my back and cupping one cheek, pulling me halfway against him.

I can feel him pressing into my stomach, his cock hard and ready yet again. His hands move to my shoulders where he presses down slightly. With a sigh, I get down on my knees. I knew what he wanted, he wanted me to stay on my knees. No matter how many times I tell him I will not swallow, he keeps trying. I take his cock in one hand, stroking him as my mouth moves closer to him. My lips wrap around the head, he gives out a moan as I start bobbing on him. I am taking him deeper and deeper, until my nose is pressing into him, the back of him just pressing into my throat. Swiftly my head is bobbing on him, my hands to his cheeks, holding him close.

As I feel and taste his precum seeping out, I pull my mouth off of him, lean him against the wall of the shower, and spread his legs wide, bringing him down lower. This gives me enough room to get between his legs. I get between his legs, on my knees sitting on my feet, and look up at him. He looks down at me with pleading eyes and says one word, "Please." I give him a look, shake my head and lean forward into him. His cock is still hard and practically throbbing as my breasts come around it. Both hands pressing them together, safely ensconcing him between, I move my body up and down on him. I suppose I could have taken him in my mouth doing this, but he barely touches my chin between them. And, he seems to really enjoy me doing it. I may as well tell you the truth, there is just something surreal about taking a hard cock between your breasts and holding them together as it moves between.

It's not like the actual feeling is particularly enjoyable; I mean, it's nice to be leaned forward with your nipples rubbing against his body. In that respect it is enjoyable. But the actual feeling of him between your breasts, well, it's more of a visual and mind arousal. Because otherwise, it's just a warm rod rubbing against you. Not to say it's a bad feeling, it's actually enjoyable to have someone run their fingers between your breasts, but it doesn't do much beyond arousal, at least for me. I enjoy the nipple play that goes on and I enjoy having him between my breasts, but it just serves to make me wetter.

Sadly, just as I am getting ready to say "screw it, I'm riding him again," his cum is shooting out against my chin, neck, chest and breasts. He is groaning and jerking and I moan with him, not having an orgasm but it's still a nice feeling to have his hot cum shooting against me. As he is leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, rather trembling actually, I lean back under the spray fully, look up and let the mostly warm water rinse over me, taking his cum with it.

That is why I do not swallow his cum. I find it to slimy and just disgusting. And I know it's all in my head, but taking it in my mouth is a big turn off. I enjoy having it in me, but the thought of swallowing it gives me chills.

His head leaning forward, his eyes open and, looking down at me with a come hither look that sets my stomach a-twitter and gets me a little wetter every time he uses it, his hands come out. I place mine in his. As I am rising up to him, the phone rings- not my home phone, my cell phone. The one I use to receive job offers. We both look at each for a moment, knowing I am going to answer it but not wanting me to. With a mutual "shit," I am out of the shower. My hand grabs up a towel as I dash into the bedroom, drying myself off quickly before tossing my head to one side. I catch my hair in the hand with the towel and setting them atop my hand. In a matter of one ring, I have gotten the towel wrapped over itself, one end tucked firmly inside the folds.

In a manner of 4 rings, I have managed to get out of the shower, get sort of dry, my hair bound up in a towel, and answer the phone.

"Hello, this is Christina."

"Hi, Christina. This is Joe Feathers. I know you don't work Friday through Sunday, but this is sort of a job for Monday. However, it requires that you board a plane in 3 hours. I have managed to make a wonderful new swing and I desperately need you to model it for me in Brazil. I'm not going to offer you your normal fee. I'm not going to say double or triple. I'm going to say one number. All it requires of you is you come to Brazil for the photo shoot and be home this Friday, 5 million dollars richer."

I practically dropped the phone, my mouth hung open, my knees trembled so badly I had to sit down. I found myself mumbling over and over "5 million." I remember Joe Feathers, he was a fly by night operation that came up with a way to make one of those intricate heavily complicated Japanese rope ties into a fairly simple harness. I say it was a fly by night because the harness was very popular world over and made him a millionaire. I was the model he got for that first harness. He made a few more since, though I was already contracted to do photo shoots for a different company and he didn't wish to wait. The next few did well, but not as well as that first one. I guess he wished to find out if I was the one who got that harness to sell so well.

"Christina I know it's a lot of money. I do very much need a yes or no answer; I am at the airport right now."

"Well, you have a yes. I have some requirements, but I suppose I can go over those on the plane."

"Limo is on the way. I was hoping you would say that, so it is roughly 20 minutes from your house now."

I hung up the phone, closed it, set it calmly down on the dresser, and started screaming. I'm not talking the guy thing of "YES!" with a hand pump, I am talking the "Oh my god! Oh my god!" trembling shaking and giggling laugh screaming. My boyfriend comes out of the shower with a towel around his waist and a quizzical look. I don't even notice him really. I mean I saw him and everything; but, it didn't register he was actually there until he was holding my shoulders and shaking me.

"Oh my gosh! I have to pack. I have to get a second suitcase out. Maybe I should get three. I just can't believe this! I don't know how I'm going to stand seeing him until Friday, but, oh my gosh, for that much money I would frame his picture and place them all over my walls. What will I take? I wonder if I should leave room for stuff I buy or just buy another suitcase there? What do I care, with that much money I can go in a towel and buy new clothing!"

"Christie, what are you talking about? Pack for what? And what the hell are you talking about?" I am shaken out of my shocked mumbling by my boyfriend; no, seriously, he was shaking me.

"I have a photo shoot I'm starting tomorrow in Brazil but have to get ready now and pack- plane leaves in 3 hours. He is paying me 5 million dollars," I tell him as I jump up past him, practically tossing him across the room.

As I am grabbing suitcases out of the closet and tossing clothes into them, I notice that he is doing the same thing I did: he is sitting on the bed, simply muttering over and over "5 million". But he starts saying other things as well, "5 million smackaroos", "5 million Washington's" and so forth. I let him continue on, packing clothes and grabbing my stuff out of the bathroom. I grab my travel makeup kit, taking everything out of the suitcases and rearranging it. It wasn't until 15 minutes after the phone call that I realize I haven't dressed, I haven't done my hair, and I don't even have makeup on.

I'm in the bathroom, my stuff back out of the suitcase, in deep red lace bra and panties, applying makeup when the front doorbell rings. I yell out to my still-muttering boyfriend who gets up from the bed eventually and walks out toward the front door. I hear him talking to somebody at the front door as I come out of the bathroom, put my things back in the suitcase and zip them up. I was planning on a simple jeans and shirt with a vest but, instead, reach into my closet and pull a silk black shirt with a dark blue skirt and matching dark blue vest. With my snazzy outfit on, I head back into the bathroom to do up my hair again. I stop for a moment when I hear a whistle coming from the door to the bathroom. I look over, getting a nasty retort ready, thinking the limo driver had come back here, but just smile as I see my boyfriend standing there.

My hair done finally, I go past my boyfriend, hand him my two suitcases and, grabbing my purse and cell phone, follow him out to the front door and the waiting limo driver. He also gives me a whistle, then sheepishly takes my suitcase from my boyfriend as we both give him looks. Although, I have to admit, he is pretty cute. With a quick kiss and a promise to call him as often as I can, I am into the limo and on my way to the best paying photo shoot I've ever done.

In the back seat of the limo, I find a folder containing information and pictures of the new swing I would be modeling. I couldn't help it, I gasped. I was to be modeling a Shibari style harness. I had actually once modeled a new style of Shibari, though it was a full on rope tie. This was a harness made in the same style. I remember the actual model I had modeled, it was uncomfortable and presented my body in a way that left little hidden or unavailable. I disliked the experience greatly, not in small part to it being chaffing and giving no freedom of movement besides whatever the person not in it decides to make you do. I remember there were several different ways your legs could be moved to: they could be splayed out leaving you wide open for viewing or sexual pleasures; they could be drawn up in a fetal position, except the hands behind the back. Well for the one I had modeled, the hands were back there. Looking at this one I was to model for the 5 million, my hands would be trussed up by my head, I guess so that a person in front of you could get your hands along with your mouth.

According to the information in the folder with the photos, this is an old style of Shibari, one where the control is given not forced. Well somewhat given; still no movement of the legs, arms can move somewhat, basically enough to reach forward a little. Well now this is odd, this style allows the feet to be drawn up so that no access is given from behind. There is even a little background on this style- it apparently was all the rage during the 60's. Apparently the wife would be strung up in this style, her feet raised and guests could get blowjobs from her whenever they wished. Then, after everyone had left or at the end of the party, her husband would lower her feet and enjoy her pussy, sometimes allowing everyone a turn with her. Apparently, it was more fun to leave her feet down. However, this style faded fairly quickly, though with all the diseases running rampant, I suppose it is a good idea for those type of parties instead of just letting everybody use all of her.

Eventually we get to the airport. I wade through all of the security checks. Luckily, I get a female guard checking me out- no long examination, no touches where they really shouldn't touch, and no "maybe we should do a full body strip search" comments. I guess we should have more security in an airport and everything, but could they at least get nicer and cuter men doing it? I'm sick of being felt up by a 40-year-old overweight, balding guy with red cheeks and horrible breath. On occasion, I find a cute one. Heck, on occasion I even find a professional. But, mostly, it's ugly men with no sex life thinking they are god's gift to women. Looks never faze them either, they just laugh and say, "Oh you can't do a good mad look, sweety-buns". I swear, I wish terrorists would attack airport security, most of the time those are the scum.

I reach the gate for my flight roughly 10 seconds before boarding begins. It's not until I sit down finally that I find Joe Feathers, he has the seat next to mine. I couldn't help it, "shit" ran through my mind. It's not that he is like the airport security or anything. He is actually a nice and intelligent man; it's just he's ugly. His nose is large and almost hawk like, his eyes are rather beady and drawn close together, he has thin lips that really can't be called lips, sunken cheeks, and his face is riddled with acne scars. All in all, he looks more like a plague victim than a multi-millionaire bondage gear designer and maker.