A Plausible Analogy

She had not worn this gown before, a thing of her own creation. Ankle length it was, with a wrap-around that opened along the leg as she raised a thigh to my waiting hand. At some point I took her hands and stepped back to see the flow of material that swept upward over those wide hips and soft, soft belly, then rose out over each shoulder with just enough exposure of her long neck and delightful cleavage to suggest that her sweetly blossomed nipples lay just inside, awaiting my wet tongue. I knew without looking that her creation opened in the back, just below an imaginary line where her bra strap would have rested. She read the look I gave her and told me the gown was but only one of several surprises she had prepared for me this night.

“I’ve brought you a thing or two from the Kingdom - come see,” she said, leading me to the low sofa. A bottle of fine sherry and little gift-wrapped boxes were there on the coffee table. “I’ve already started without you. Couldn’t wait, they’re so good....” She bent and reached underneath for the little copper box and took one out. I brought a candle near and touched its flame to the twisted end, and she brushed silken hair to the side and drew in with hollowed cheeks (a lovely sight, indeed, as I pictured those same lips sucking me). I followed then, knowing she’d already reached a high, remembering as I tasted the tip’s wetness that her occasional work in Londontown presented an opportunity to make a small clandestine purchase. I poured us some sherry and commented on its velvet taste as the inhalation of the sweet smoke had its desired effect.

“You know, if the customs people should ever find these on you, they’ll have your ass,” and her response was a smile that seemed to show amusement over my choice of words. Whatever could she have been thinking, I wondered?

March the Thirty-first

A train ride this day to begin one more adventure, this time to capture on film her smile and her form against the background of the city’s contemporary quarter; home to the artist, the university, and the boutiques offering the latest in European fashions. A small travel bag with camera and attachments that I’d brought became the subject of her attention, as the train followed a path to the main station. She sat beside me, a vision of pastel-colored blouse and worn, tight fitting jeans (totally in character, I thought) with lengths of brown hair brushed to a brilliance in the smokey light - I wanted her so badly. There were others in our compartment, so I could only fantasize, imagining having her straddle me there on the upholstered seat and move on my cock with the sway of the rail car. I smelled the fragrance of bathing oils on her skin and thought for a moment of how these scents were also to be found near her secret crevasses....

I was jarred back to reality as the train began a synchronized shuddering accompanied by the release of pressure and a shrill whistle, all to signal our arrival in the terminal. A glance through the glass now to see the transformation from natural to artificial light, then a dusty darkness as each car stopped with a jolt. One more steel carriage among many that had come home again to this greatest of stables. She leaned over to use the window glass as a mirror, touching her hair and breaking into a smile for my watching eyes. We found our way along the aisle to the end of the car and stepped down into the crowd. Its motion swept us onto the concourse, away from the baggage carts and ticket lines, and once again into the sunlight.

Our walk to the city’s square - recently converted to an open area for pedestrian shoppers - only lasted a few minutes, yet in that short time we were able to taste and feel the very life of the city. Noises of commercial transportation surrounded us, people of all ages moving with us, meeting us head-on, cris-crossing our path. Everywhere was evidence of a rapid pace of life only broken by the amblings of the very young and the very old. I looked at her as she moved beside me, her proud stature with jutting chin and breast and, once again, that loving smile. She seemed in a parade of her own making, drawing upon the inner thoughts of those she confronted along the way. Perhaps this was something of her mystique.

I for one knew her aura was not only evident in a crowd where so many at one time could pay her tribute, recalling visions of her atop the bed or kneeling against it, opening herself as if to say, “ The Princess Ariadne is now prepared to receive the cock of the delegate from Thessaloniki.” Then again, I cautioned myself, there was never any overt sign of this noble lineage in her voice or conscious actions. It was, however, quite apparent in the way her body moved, and, glancing at those passing by, I realized they, too, were aware of this special quality of hers.

It had been impossible to have her pose effectively along the thoroughfare without drawing the unwanted attention of others and losing the natural rhythms of the city. Instead, she continued to make her way along the boulevard, pausing to window shop at her own pace, while I kept in lense range (sometimes ahead of her) timing the motion of the people to capture her body in stride or her face in joyful beauty - and surely including a number of exposures that captured the rounded swell of her sweet ass cheeks hugged in faded denim. I never tired of seeing that part of her. How could I not capture the curve and flare of her womanly arse?

We came upon a secluded bank of telephone stalls, and, probably remembering a previous photo session, she stepped into one and began to pose for me under the pretense of making a call. Her back turned to me, head thrown back listening to the words of a make-believe speaker, she emphasized that part of her body she knew most fascinated me. Now hearing the camera working behind her, a turn of the head (and that devilish look, so often a trademark of her desire to give or receive a sensational fucking!). Then turning full around in the stall to face me, phone receiver held to an ear, eyes partly shut, she let her free hand roam into the front of her jeans. I watched fascinated as her fingers came to life inside. It lasted only seconds, but long enough for me to overcome my surprise and get the shot.

I loved her for her inventiveness, her sexy and provocative sense of humor. I walked over to her, held her and told her so - now feeling her soft perspiration and whisper of her hair. She brought two fingers to my lips, and I caught the scent of her pussy. My eyes focused on a tiny ringlet of hair she now used to tickle my nose and lips. And she placed her middle finger on my tongue to taste her saltiness and sweet musk. People were moving near us now, some in animated conversations. To them we could well have been casual lovers relieving the day’s tensions by sharing an intimate kiss, while having no idea of the symbolism the striking woman had attached to that kiss.

Later, we looked for a table out of the sun. We found one that was set back near the second rise of a terrace; a low wall that overflowed with the season’s first tulips separated us from the tables of an adjoining café. The shade umbrella advertising Campari filtered some of the noonday glare. I watched fascinated as a tiny fly circled near the white froth of my Pilsner beer. She had opened the little bags in front of her examining the details of the hand-carved ornaments of Easter she’d just purchased. I set the lense for another closeup of her face and working hands - closer this time. Chairs scraped the stone floor beside us, as students began to arrive from the university for their midday meal. Waiters were already on their way with trays of soup and bread and tall glasses of beer (I could use another one of those if I can get his attention).

A few more exposures of her on the terrace and we would continue this inside - ‘One Day In The Life Of Justine - A Visual Tribute To Her Divine Body.’ I set the camera down and tasted the foam of warmed beer, while she nibbled at her sandwich and spoke quietly, “I love this when there is no connection with a paying job. I can be myself and put on all my faces for you...even improvise. You know, I really had to scratch myself down there before (open smile with sparkling teeth exposed). That’s what that silly pussy shaving’s done to me - given me a terrible itch.” I laughed with her and felt myself becoming hard.

Inside, I paid the requisite deposit at the desk, and we walked up to the third level and found the little studio, complete with shower and lighting equipment. I’d learned it was once a small hotel that was converted a few years ago to individual studios for photo sessions, among other things. The temperature was pleasantly cool as we stepped inside. Slatted blinds allowed thin bars of sun to enter the single window. The heavy lounge chair and single bed and table left little room for the three tripods that held strobe lights and reflectors. She wasted no time undressing and went in for a shower, while I shouted after her to hurry. We had the room for two hours, and I was anxious to begin the first of several more rolls of 35mm film. I reached for her blouse she’d dropped in a pile with her jeans and used it to dust the SLR I had fixed to a spare tripod.

She came out of the shower drying herself and sat on the chair’s arm massaging a nipple to pink hardness, tugging at its length, watching me as I chose a filter and checked the camera’s position and meter readings. We had worked out this series of poses earlier, visualizing all the necessary settings and angles for maximum effect. She was quite good at introducing new ideas, drawing I guessed on her years of experience behind the camera. In a side pose, her swelled breast lacked any highlighting, so I poured out some scented oil I’d brought in the camera bag to bathe the soft globe that molded itself to my fingers. Her hands busied themselves with my belt and zipper, tugging my pants to my knees, teasing me with little sighs of delight. And she followed my example by taking cock in hand and stroking the oil along its length (the moist suction there reminded me of her mouth), as I increased the pressure on her breast.

With the timer set to fifteen seconds, I brought the glans up to the very tip of one breast and gently pushed against its nipple. The pressure there was so slight, yet her little nipple squeezed outward as though to taunt me...and the shutter clicked. I experimented with this pose for a few more shots, each with some variation in camera and strobe positioning, once even with her soft breasts pushed together to envelope my hardened length. At one point, my concentration was shattered by the sounds of heavy love-making from the studio next to ours - unmistakable noises of bodies coming together mixed with a woman’s wild cries. She became hysterical, shaking with uncontrolled laughter, and she mused that some office manager was having a taste of his secretary’s little cunt for lunch. I said it was a shame that I’d already eaten, but she, having none of that, was already guiding my head down to the shiny clit that poked out to meet my lips.

Only ten or so frames to finish the shooting, but the room was ours for another forty minutes. Now, every pose she held for me suddenly became an open invitation to fuck her, and, with that thought in mind, I worked to allow us some time for sexual reward. Remembering a practical rule of contemporary photography, I tossed her the bikini panties to slip on - a touch of female intimacy to blend with her skin tone and highlight her sexual center. Stepping into these and pulling them up to cover her pussy, she snapped the elastic band and turned away to kneel on the bed. I helped her to prop herself on all fours with her thighs apart. With handheld camera, I crouched behind her, caressing for a moment one of her sculptured ankles, and I was struck by the vision of her breasts dangling there like some unpicked fruit - sweetened pears that swayed with her gentle breathing.

I tore myself away and adjusted the lighting to illuminate one of her titties - it caught the full brilliance from the lamp - and I tugged the little panties above her suntan line so that it all but disappeared into the deep cleft of her arse. It was with this pose that my camera recorded two of her most enticing and sexually explicit features in the few frames that remained. I became aroused again at the sight of her two globes suspended in light and shadow; one in darkness paired with its radiant sister. I asked her to massage her titties with the oil, and her long fingers spread to encircle first the left, then the right one, lingering for a second or two to tug on each nipplet. I controlled my breathing as best as I could under the circumstances and pushed the shutter button, then again. I became mesmerized, watching her contemplating the soft fruit of her own body, framed by the beauty of light and dark thighs, and matched with the near perfect vision of divine buttocks that held captive a few strands of panty silk now stretched to show off the wet lips of her pussy.

I had to have her then. I brought her to her feet, mouth searching for her neck and earlobe through a cascade of soft brown hair. She responded, laughing quietly, whispering those special love words. The camera work and all her seductive posing was over for this day, and I allowed my hand to explore the line of her thin waist and downward onto the supple flare of her ass cheeks. The skin there still held the patina of oils we’d applied, shiny in the meager window light.

She began to make a gentle turn, then thought better of it. Was she enjoying the excited probing of my penis against her bottom? I hesitated only a moment, then pulled the bikini panties down and off of her ankles, and she, anticipating the delight of my entering her, leaned over the bed again, offering me her sweet pussy from behind. But the sight of her delectable ass, now partly opened, made me delirious and I watched, transfixed, as she stood for me with her back gently arched, her soft cheeks shining in the afternoon light, inviting. Each of her semi-globes taut and proud, the dark cleft between parting to take in the full length of my middle finger. When I moved my body against the back of her, my thighs felt her sexual heat.

She sensed my unspoken plea for assistance, and her hands came around to spread herself open. Thin white stencilled lines from a thong she’d worn stretched apart. And when she felt my hardened penis against her opened valley, she released her buttocks to close around the glans and several inches of its length. I satisfied myself with staying between her soft cheeks and not pressing farther, knowing that one day we would each come to enjoy that ultimate penetration - but not today.

Instead, I delighted in the discovery that the cleavage of her sweet bottom was so fleshy deep, so encircling that I was able to draw out almost entirely, and plunge upward only to be enveloped again by her delightful flesh. I bent my knees slightly to improve the angle of my entry while pressing her flesh together, and she stood upright to accentuate the arch and flare of her ass.

As I continued to fuck her in this way, she began to increase the pleasure by squeezing, the relaxing her buttocks in unison with my thrusting, her mid-section taking on a sexual rhythm of its own. Now that my cock had burrowed a kind of love channel of its own between her cheeks, my hands began to roam to pinch her nipples or join her own hands to play with her clit, even managing through all this to work a finger inside the wet mouth of her pussy.

I was at this point nearing the edge - she slipped a hand under to cup and squeeze my sacs - and I exploded, the added lubricant giving more ease to the fucking. I looked down once again to see in the dusty window light the utter sensuality of her womanly arse caressing my shaft, tightening once or twice more as if to swallow my offering. It seemed she’d brought herself to climax at the moment I came!

She turned her head to me and gave me her mouth and tongue, and I felt her hand take hold of my cock from behind her and press it against her pussy lips. I turned her around then for a deep kiss and allowed my fingers to wander downward to feel the sticky wetness inside the crack of her ass. She said, “I liked the feel of you back there, you know,” and I confided in myself that I was indeed making progress, as we collapsed together on the studio bed for whatever minutes remained on the timekeeper’s clock.

* To Be Continued *