The Unexpected Photo Shoot

“Oh, no, I can’t ask you to do that,” said Kate. “It’s your profession. It’s how you make your living. I wouldn’t ask you to come to my office and process my paperwork for free.”
“It’s different,” said Ben. “Photography is my passion. It’s not like work for me, shooting someone as beautiful as you.”
Kate smiled.
“Perfect!” said Ben. “Just like that!” He raised his new camera and snapped the shutter.
Our dinner guest sure knew how to flatter a woman. And in this case, it was my wife.
Kate sipped her wine again, then stuck out her tongue. It was already stained purple.
The shutter clicked again.
“Besides,” Ben continued, “my portfolio is really one-sided. The only women that book my boudoir shoots are the rich housewives in Lake Oswego. You know the type—they go to Palates classes every day, and to the tanning booth, and dye their hair three tones of blonde, and wear too much makeup…. I don’t have anyone like you. You’re so much younger, and more hip. So natural. The classic Girl Next Door.”

Everyone likes being told they look good, but women can get competitive about it. Kate had brown hair, sort of straight. It wasn’t dyed or styled. She didn’t wear makeup much, and her skin was pale with light freckles over the bridge of her nose.
“And it’d really help my portfolio,” Ben added.
“So it’d help you?” said Kate.
“Yes, definitely. I don’t have any shots from this new camera and it’d help me market myself.”
“I see,” said Kate. She appeared to be giving the idea some serious consideration, but I already knew the answer was “yes” in her head. Our living room was scattered with issues of Vogue. My wife loved looking at fashion models, and it seemed like modeling was always an unfulfilled dream of hers. She certainly was pretty enough, but at 5’6″she wasn’t tall enough to be a professional model.
“Well,” she said, softly. “If it will help you, I’ll do it.”
Ben let the camera drop from his face. His eyes were gleaming and a huge smile was plastered on his face.
“What do I need to do?” asked Kate.
“Um-um….” Ben seemed lost for words. “Um… well, um…. you could pick out something… um…”
I could tell he was struggling to say “sexy to wear,” or something like that. Perhaps it was easier to talk to strangers, the rich wives who were paying him $1,000 for professional boudoir photos.
Ben had been acting a little strange around my wife that night. When he came to the front door, he’d brought a bottle of wine. Pinot Noir, her favorite, and sheepishly presented it to her. As she cooked, he complimented the aroma. When we sat at the table, he’d pulled her chair out for her, like on a first date. And after diner, he jumped up to clear the table. Maybe he was just helpful because he was a gentleman. Maybe also because he lived alone and maybe didn’t get invited out to dinners that often. Of maybe, as I suspected, he harbored a secret crush on her.
Kate wasn’t oblivious to this. Perhaps that’s the real reason she wanted to pose–not purely altruistic to help his portfolio, and not just because she’d had several glasses of wine, but probably because when she’s a little drunk, she turns into a flirt and a tease.
When Kate got up off the couch, her legs wobbled a little. She swayed to our bedroom.
Once Kate had disappeared, Ben turned and looked at me with his boyish grin on his face, but also a look of concern in his eyes.
I shrugged. “Her decision,” I said. “I’m not the one modeling.”
Looking back, I don’t know why I was so nonchalant. Perhaps because I’d had a hard day at work, and really, had only agreed to Ben coming over because he was so excited about his new camera. Perhaps because Ben was so polite, so respectful, the type of boy who grew up putting women on pedestals, that it didn’t seem like he had anything but professionalism and innocent intentions. Perhaps because I knew, trusted, and loved my wife. We’d been married three years, but together a total of six. As long as I’d known her, she’d never done anything wild or reckless. Sure, she could get flirty after a few drinks, but she was truly devoted to me.
We’d been nothing but monogamous since the day we met. And maybe that was why I wasn’t too concerned when she agreed to model for Ben. I was 90% sure she wouldn’t go through with it, and was just teasing him. But the idea of the 10% chance that she might actually…. That idea thrilled me.
Kate returned wearing her pink fuzzy robe. It’s cute, but she wears it every morning to and from the shower. It’s certainly not her sexiest outfit.
Ben seemed elated with the choice and almost immediately began to snap photos. Surprisingly, I realized I was a little disappointed. I knew Kate owned more revealing intimate wear. I guess she was just being modest.
Then, after Kate reached the center of the living room, she unknotted her robe and let it fall to the floor.
For the second time, Ben dropped the camera from his face, and just stared at her.
She stood in the center of the room in her favorite lingerie–the set I’d bought her when we were first dating: a set of black garters, black lacy thong panties with little red roses embroidered on the top, and a matching black bra that cupped only half of her breasts.
Kate’s breasts were small, 34a, and so having them cupped by the bra made them look a full size bigger, and having them half exposed drew attention to her exposed nipples. I’ve always thought that sexuality is not simply what you have, but how you frame what you have.
Ben seemed frozen, unable to move his camera or his gaping jaw.
“Will this work?” asked Kate.
Ben is probably one of the fastest and smoothest talking guys that I know. It was part of his charm. He’d brag that he was born in Jersey and of Italian heritage. As long as I had known him, he wasn’t the type of guy at a loss for words.
It felt like five minutes passed before Ben snapped out of his stupor and stammered, “Y-y-yes. Th-that’s perfect.”
Having studied every issue of Vogue since she was 14, Kate seemed to know how to strike fashion poses. When she put her hand on her hip, the camera snapped. She turned, the camera snapped. She lifted her arm, the camera snapped. Then she stopped, suddenly realizing that she’d exposed her underarms.
Through the bleak December weather and craziness of the holidays, she hadn’t picked up her razor. Always wearing long sleeves, sweaters, it had been “out of sight, out of mind.” Now January, the hair had returned nearly to its natural state.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t prepared for a photo shoot.”
“It’s not a problem,” Ben assured her. “It’s just what I want–a real woman, not the waxed ones of Lake Oswego. I love it. So bohemian!”
Apparently he’d fully regained his fast-talking skills. He’d reassured her, and she resumed her posing.
Ben moved quickly, the camera shutter snapping dozens of images with each flip of her head, each sidelong glance, each bat of her eyelashes.
I was out of beer and excused myself to go to the kitchen to get another.
I took my time returning to the living room. I wanted to give them space. And, I don’t know, honesty, I sort of wondered what Kate would do without me right their. How far would she go?
I think you’ll agree that there is something in human nature that makes us stare directly at things that we know are about to go wrong. In fact, the more wrong things are about to get, the more we stop to watch. It’s like when two cars are about to collide, people just can’t look away. Even if their minds shout inside their consciousness: Look Away!! Someone might get hurt! The primal subconscious overrides the warning and shouts back: “No, I have to see this.”
Kate was getting into her poses. She sat on the couch, her back to Ben. From the kitchen doorway, I could clearly see the thong disappearing between her butt cheeks. Ben approached, and I could tell he was getting a close up.
When she turned around, she opened her legs to the camera. That’s when I remembered that those panties were crotchless. The lacy black fabric framed her natural bush.
She had turned around so quickly that Ben hadn’t had time to retreat back. He was still close to her, his camera eye level with her crotch.
He hesitated for only a second, and then snapped the shutter. He rotated it to get a vertical frame, and snapped again.
Kate looked down and considered her patch of curls that poked from her panties. In the summers, she always kept her pubic hair trimmed, tidy within her bikini. In the winters, she let it grow back to its wild and natural state. Most men seem to have extreme preferences one way or another. I always said that it was her body. She could do what she wanted with it, and if she shared it with me, that was a gift to me, not a right. And to be totally honest, I liked the variation. As such, we actually didn’t talk about it much. And she probably hadn’t though about her soft brown curls and how they looked in her lingerie until a fancy DSLR camera was pointed and focusing on them, just a few feet away.
As if by curiosity, she dropped her hand down and began to gently play with her curls. Fluffing them, pulling at them to see their true length, combing them with her finger tips.
This caused Ben to snap more photos.
“There’s too much hair there,” she said, embarrassed.
“No no,” he said. “It’s natural.”
“But those other women you shoot, they don’t look like this,” said Kate. She was obviously more self-conscious about how she compared to other women than how attractive Ben or I considered her.
Ben, always the consummate professional reassured, “Yeah, they seem to be into waxing. But to be honest, it doesn’t make them look any younger, like they think it does. And as a photographer, and as someone who’s studied the history of photography, I prefer the classic look.”
“But you can’t really see anything, can you?” she said.
Before he could answer, she parted her pussy lips, revealing the smooth pink folds of her labia. “Does this help?” she asked.
Even from a distance, I could tell that she was really turned on. Her lips were rosy, and slick with wetness.
Kate leaned back, one arm over her head, exposing her hairy armpit, and the other hand still on her pussy, two fingers parting it for the camera.
As if to test how turned on she’d actually become, she started gently rubbing herself, touching her slickness. She slipped her middle finger inside her. All the way to the knuckle. This caused her whole body to shiver.
Ben’s camera snapped.
She then lay back on the couch. Ben stood next to her, leaning over her, snapping photos. Always a gentleman, he never touched her. But when he stood up on a chair to get a higher perspective, I could see the tent pitched in Ben’s pants.
I was still standing awkwardly in the kitchen doorway. I wanted to go back to my seat, but things had sort of taken a turn and I didn’t want to interrupt.
The more Kate touched herself, the more turned on she got. At one point she moaned, and though I couldn’t see where her hand was, I could guess. When she gets really turned on, she likes to push a finger into her backside. From the expression on her face, I knew she’d just slipped a finger inside her butt.
I wanted to see more, but she wasn’t facing me and Ben kept blocking the view as he moved in for different angles. I could tell by the increase of her breathing and her occasional sigh, that she was now no longer holding back, but touching herself as she would alone. Slow at first, but then gradually faster and stronger. One hand rubbing her clitoris, the other hand pressing a finger up into her backside.
Her breathing got deeper, her sighs more frequent, turning to low moans. Her hips began to buck. I knew all the signs. I knew when she was two minutes away, and then one minute, and then, like a countdown, her breathing sharp and her moans fast and high-pitched, and with a shuttering gasp, she brought herself to orgasm.
She lay there, legs parted, lips open, rosy, dripping with her own juices. Her eyes were closed. I knew she was still floating in bliss.
Ben stepped back. For the first time, I got an unobstructed view of my wife. She lay splayed out on the couch. Her chest rising and falling as her breathing slowed. Her knees apart, relaxed, exposing her wet and glistening bush, her vuvla visible, rosy and swollen. Ready.
Ben sat back on the couch and started flipping through the images he’d just shot. Obviously very pleased, he was grinning his big boyish grin. The bulge in his pants was still standing like a flagpole.
At that moment, Kate’s eyes, still glossy from the climax, locked onto his pants.
Oh shit, I thought.
After six years, a couple learns a lot about how their bodies function sexually. Years of trial and error pick out the good, discontinue the rest, narrowing and forming, eventually, into sex habits.
We had learned that Kate not only could have multiple orgasms, but that it was how her body worked best. Her first orgasm was always a warm-up, like an appetizer to the main course.
Our routine was predicable, but it always worked. We’d be sitting on the couch, watching TV, and if I was in the mood, I’d reach over and slide my hand between her legs and rub her to her first orgasm. Or if she was in the mood, she’d simply start herself. Still quivering, her nerves wired up, and her pussy wet, she’d be ready for Act 2.
After making herself cum, my wife always liked to suck me. Normally, she’d beeline for my hard cock, but she’d seen Ben’s first and, almost by Pavlovian habit, was moving toward it.
“I really think I should pay you for your work,” she said. “It’s not fair to you.”
“No, no,” said Ben, still absorbed in reviewing his shots. “No payment is needed.”
“I insist,” she said, as she ran her hand over his pants and then unzipped him. His cock sprang up, ready. It all happened so fast.
This scene had played out in our house hundreds of times: Kate sucking on me while her free hand plays with herself. She loved to time the blowjob just right so she could make herself cum right as hot semen splashed down her throat.
For years I had watched the top of her head as she bobbed on my cock. Now I was off to the side, seeing the whole scene from a new angle.
I probably should have been raging with jealously. But instead of it seeming like Kate was cheating on me, it was like seeing us having sex–just from a different angle.
When Kate had unzipped Ben’s pants, and released his cock, he’d set down his camera. It was right there, within reach. I picked it up and looked through the viewfinder.
I clicked the shutter. An image flashed on the LCD screen.
It’s weird but looking through a camera isn’t like seeing reality; it’s seeing a digital image. Like what I’d seen online.
I clicked the shutter again. It made a heavy clack, but the sound didn’t seem to distract Ben or my wife. Already Ben was 100% absorbed in the pleasure of being sucked by Kate, and Kate was 100% focused on the act of sucking.
When we first stared dating, Kate sucked dick like the inexperienced college student that she was. After six years of living together, she was now 27, and had learned a few things.
She started with swirling her tongue over the fat cockhead, coating it in saliva, as her hand gripped the base of his cock. Gripping so tight, she nearly blocked the blood flow, causing the cockhead to throb. She licked it like a lopypop, then turned to the shaft, running her tongue up and down the underside, along the full length of the thick vien.
Then continuing down, she pulled one of his balls into her mouth and gently sucked. At the same time as she sucked a testicle into her warm mouth, she released her grip on his shaft, sending a rush of blood into his already rigid shaft. The combination made him almost instantly shoot his wad. His cock looked twice as big, and was twitching.
She sucked each of his balls in turn, and then stopped to look at the hardness she’d created. She let the moment linger. She wasn’t touching him and her mouth was mere inches from him. He could, no doubt, feel her warm breath on his skin. She was, I knew, teasing him. She was building his anticipation. Letting his balls fill.
She knew how guys’ bodies worked. She knew they hated starting and stopping. She knew it made their balls fill up, and cause an almost painful pressure. She also knew that made the ultimate release that much sweeter.
What she did next was practically cruel. As she had been waiting, her mouth hovering just inches from his straining cock, she had let all the saliva build up in her mouth. Now she let it drip from her lips onto his cockhead. She let him watch this.
Then, when his cockhead was covered in her saliva, she gripped him again with her hand and stroked him up and down, smearing her spit on his cock like lube. This caused him to whimper.
She began to pump his cock, fast and steady. With the upstroke her hand went over the cockhead, and each down stroke made his balls slap. She was jacking him as hard as a man would jack himself in the morning. She knew if she kept it up, she’d make him explode within 60 seconds. She pushed him right up to the point to shooting his load. And then stopped.
She released his slippery cock, and brought her hand down between her legs. She rubbed herself as she watched his balls churn and his erect cock twitch.
What she did next is one of the most incredible techniques she’s learned. I think it gets her off as much as the guy, and for that reason, it’s even sexier for the guy.
As she rubbed herself, she lowered her head, and took him into her mouth. The more she touched herself, the more she moaned. With her mouth stuffed with his cock, it was a muffled moan, creating vibrations in her mouth.
Without hands, she pushed her head down deeper, taking the cock back to her throat. She never mastered true deep throat, but she’d take a cock as far as she could. Once she fixed her mind on something, she wouldn’t give up.
She gulped for a breath as she took the cock deeper. She grunted as she tried to relax. She had to pause. The next push would be the hard one.
She inhaled through her nose. And then pushed deeper. The cock hit the back of her throat, and she gagged. But she didn’t panic. She kept her head down, and the cock as deep as she’d ever taken one. She’d gotten it to the point his pubic hair was tickling her nose.
From the way she rocked her hips, I knew she had two fingers pushed up inside her, curving and pressing into her g-spot as she slowly finger fucked herself.
I knew that when she sucked me and touched herself, she would imagine that she was being taken by one man while sucking another off. We’d never had an actual threesome, but it was a powerful fantasy for her. One she used to get her to a powerful orgasm.
Her grunts were muffled as choked on his cock. I couldn’t believe it, but she was going deeper than she’d ever taken me. So deep, that her eyes were watering, and she couldn’t breathe.
Finally, with a huge gasp, she came up for air. She looked like a wild, frantic animal. Her eyes were teary, and spittle dribbled from the corners of her mouth, down her neck.
I knew what was next.
She wrapped her hand around his cock once more. She began to slowly pump up and down, and then lowered her mouth onto his cock again. Her mouth and hand worked up and down in perfect unison. On the up stroke, she’d twist her wrist. The twist, in combination with the powerful suction of her mouth, would make me cum within a minute.
Her other hand was still wedged between her legs, with two fingers deep inside her. As she sucked him, she bounced up and down on her hand as if riding a cock.
He was right on the edge. So was she. She knew the timing. She had practiced this part on me over the years.

Rolling her wrist, sucking and slurping, she didn’t speed up as most girls do to push men over the edge. She knew exactly what she was doing. She would let the edge build and build and build until his body simply cold not hold all the cum anymore.
His whole body began to tense and jerk as a giant load of cum erupted.
The splashing of his cum triggered her orgasm. With her fingers pressing her g-spot, she began to squirt.
Globs of white cum spilled from her mouth, splashing on her cheeks and chin, and speckling her breasts.
They both continued to cum and cum, as if they couldn’t stop. Cum dribbled out of her mouth, and a puddle had formed under her.
Finally she slowed and then stopped, releasing him from her grip and withdrawing her hand from deep inside her.
Ben slumped back, spent.
Kate wiped her chin and smiled at Ben. Then she looked up at me, still standing in the doorway.
She had cum in her hair and eyelashes.
It had happened. Act 2. And it was done. Normally, it would have been me, and I would have been as drained as Ben. He was spent now, but I was hard. Ready.
It was time for Act 3. And we didn’t have a routine for Act 3. We didn’t know how Act 3 would go, but I knew Kate could cum again.
Ben was exhausted, spent, drained of every drop, and perhaps he sensed that his turn was over, and that he should politely excuse himself. There’s always a point when a diner guest stretches out his welcome. And Ben, always a gentleman, seemed to know when to take his exit.
He zipped himself up and picked up his camera. He thanked us both, but didn’t look either of us in the eye.
No sooner than he’d shut the front door, I pushed Kate up against it. Leaning into her, I unzipped, pulling my cock out, not even unbuckling my belt. I parted her legs with my knee, and squaring my hips against hers, poked my cockhead into the fabric of her crotchless panties. I wiggled my cock past the fabric, into the briar of wet curls. I was ready to fuck her, and she was ready to be fucked.
With one smooth firm stroke, I drove my cock into her to the hilt. I was deep inside her, hard, pulsing. She was warm, and the muscles of her vagina were still quivering. She was continuing to have aftershocks of her orgasm as I began to pump.
I wasn’t gentle. With each thrust, my balls slapped her butt. I rammed her as hard as I could against the front door, driving as deep as I could, lifting her feet off the floor with each push.
“Do you like it like that?” I said.
“Yes!” she said
“Hard? Like that?”
“Yes!” she cried.
I was pounding so hard that her breasts had bounced out of the bra.
I grabbed her buttocks with each hand, so I could force her hips up harder to meet my thrusts.
“Yes!” she screamed. “Take me!”
Her knees were giving out, causing her hips to drop more onto my cock, creating friction on her clit. I was practically holding her up. Neither of us could take it much longer, but I knew neither of us needed to. We were both ready.
Having watched the sex show she put on for Ben, and seeing her suck him off right in front of me, had caused my balls to fill with a massive load. I could feel it churning in my balls and beginning to build pressure.
“I’m going to shoot it inside you,” I said.
“Give it to me,” she cried. “Shoot it!”
I continued to ram her, knowing I was about to unload deep inside her. I gave her everything I could, as she started to climax.
“Oh god,” she screamed, “now!”
With one last final hard thrust, I shoved my cock deep as it would go. Her cunt muscles clamped around me, and I began to shoot.
And we stood like that–me against her against the door–until at last we both felt the warm creamy goo of my sperm dribble out of her and slide down her leg.
As my body began to soften, I pulled out of her soggy pussy.
She was covered in a glow of sweat and her pussy continued to drip. She looked spent and sated.
I realized she could probably still taste Ben’s cum in her mouth and feel mine leaking from between her legs. For the first time, she’d been filled by two men. Maybe it wasn’t at the exact same time, but she’d just experienced something she’d only fantasized about, and it had left her happy, floating in bliss, wet, sweaty, sticky.
Still in her lingerie, her breasts hanging out of the bra, her crotchless panties framing her hairy, leaking cunt, she looked like a woman who had just been fucked hard and good. She looked slutty. Beautiful and Slutty. Pretty and Naughty. Mixed opposites that seemed to compliment rather than contrast, all the better in a single image.
I reached for the camera. Then I realized that Ben had taken it with him. And then I realized that on the memory card was not only all the photos he’d taken of Kate in her lingerie, but the few that I’d snapped, as I watched her suck him off.
I went to bed that night thinking about it, replaying the scene over and over in my mind. It was as if it hadn’t even happened. Like I’d said, like watching a porno.
But it was reality. It wasn’t a story where we’d wake up together, and one of us would say, “Honey, I had the strangest dream.”
I wondered how I’d feel in the morning. I wondered how Kate would feel when the wine wore off and was replaced by a hangover.
Kate had gotten, as least in some way, her ultimate fantasy. Would it be enough? Would she want more? I couldn’t answer for her.
For me, well, I guess I didn’t need photos to remember the night. I’d remember the scene exactly, always. Every detail.
And so what if Ben had those photos? They were just photos. And, I’m sure, he’d beat off to them many times in the future.
And there was something satisfying in knowing that.

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