Annie's Camera Ch. 03

"I don't respond well to sarcasm, Bets."

"And that's the problem here, isn't it, Annie? You think this partnership is about response — you responding to me, while I think it's all about giving, like, you to me and me to you and, say, a DVD of a little personal passion, maybe with a little red bow around it and a note, 'here honey, I want you to have this. I want to show you how much I love you, how much you turn me on; it's something to enjoy when I'm not around.'" I had worked myself up so much I was almost shouting at her, "For fuck's sake, Annie, you should be demanding that I lust after you."

"I want you to," she could be really wimpy.

I tried to control myself, "Not convinced."

"Well, there's a way I can convince you." She stood up, reached for the dress on the back of the chair, came around the table and held her hand out to me, which I took and she helped me to my feet. "I thought my new life would begin at about 12:15 on Saturday — after I broke the news to my parents, but I guess it's going to begin now." She laughed, "I guess I'm about to find out if I can cum when I'm scared shitless."

"Scared?" What was she talking about? "Why are you scared?"

"I haven't got the best body in the world, Bets. If you've been spending time with those girls online you're sure not going to like looking at me for very long."

God, this never occurred to me, "Is that what this is about?"

She laughed again, nervously, "I don't bare a lot of scrutiny, Bets."

I pulled her into me and held her tight, reassuringly; I held her for a long time, trying to understand her fear. When I let her go, I stepped back, "Look, Annie, that body of yours ... it's mine, that's the way I think of it, as mine. When I touch it, it's like I'm touching my personal property. I love your body, Annie, I love everything about it, especially that it keeps me constantly horny." I stepped forward and put my hands under her shirt, feeling the heat of her back. "We belong to each other, Annie, me to you, you to me ...," I tried for a dramatic pause, "or have I got that wrong, too?"

"It's just that I'm getting such a better deal."

I could never sustain my empathy for very long, I stabbed her in the chest with a finger. "That's mine and I don't want to be told I have lousy taste, so stop it, that's the last of it and right now I want to capture this body on film so go get dressed, turn on all the lights and get ready to give me the best cum you can — I plan on looking at it, a lot. Do you know why?"

"No." And I knew she didn't.

"Because I love you looking at me with love in your eyes and I'll love it even more when you're ready to explode."

Annie is a lot of things but she's no actor. The camera was rolling when she entered the bedroom in her pretty red dress with the drop neck; when she sat down on the bed; when she reached for my picture on the bedside table; when she looked at it, as she had been directed, but none of this was interesting, she was just going through the motions, doing what she had been told to do. And it didn't get any better when she got up, took off her dress, unceremoniously stripped off her underwear and lay down on the bed with her arm across her breasts and her legs locked shut. Some people are born actors; then there's Annie. I though of giving up, then I thought, what the hell.

It was awkward but I held the camera as steady as I could, focused on her face as my left hand undid my belt and button and slowly undid my zipper. I studied her as I did this, watching her eyes move from a point high up on the wall behind me to my fingers and the moment she figured out what I was doing, that's the moment she became a porn star and her transformation couldn't have been more fabulous.

I didn't want the camera to shake so I was very deliberate when I pushed my pants down and kicked them off and it was awkward but I was no less deliberate when I let my fingers play over the cheap yellow nylon, casually brushing across the silky surface, sliding under the waist band and then back along the nylon down along the slope of my mons. I think I've made it clear by now that I just didn't understand her fascination with panties but I was finding a lot of fun in it, particularly now when, completely unaware, her eyes were riveted on my fingers, her jaw was slightly sagging, her legs were slowly opening and the fingers of her right hand were sliding slowly down her stomach. This was it! This was the sexual funk I was looking for. She just oozed an entirely uninhibited sexual lust ... and then I turned it up a notch. I slowly spread my legs and when I had an obscenely wide stance I brushed my fingers up and down my pussy a few times while I watched her lick her lips and find her pussy, then I pushed the material into me, rubbing myself with it. "Do you want them, Annie?"

She nodded, but she didn't need to, her face couldn't have been more demanding.

"Do you want them wet?"

She nodded again, pathetically.

"Then make me wet, Annie."

Annie is a thick, strong girl with big thighs, a tight hairy crotch and a slightly, but delightfully flabby stomach. She was squeezing that flab now, squeezing it really hard and she had her middle finger in her and she was lightly fingering herself while watching my fingers play on my panties, I noticed all this, of course, but it was her face that I was really watching because it had become a mask of lust as she watched as my fingers pushed my panties further and further into me and when I heard her moan I knew it was time so I pushed my panties down and kicked them up to her and the moment I did, she became completely still, just holding them in front of her, her fingers pinching the waistband like two clothes pegs holding a pair of cheap yellow nylon panties hanging from a clothesline.

This was her thing, the choreography of countless nights at home, alone, alone with her thoughts and my panties, she just held them up and looked at them, imagining what? Me in them? Someone else? Some-thing else? It was a mystery and then the gusset was on her nose and her fingers slide slowly down her body again and she brought her right leg up so high her knee was almost pointing to the headboard when her fingers inched into her, or, really, quarter inched into her because she was just teasing herself as the panties teased her nose. She was in a story, I felt sure of it, the panties were taking her there and so were my scent, my dampness and her fingers.

I worked the zoom, shooting the fingers squeezing the fat on her stomach, then I went south to her fingers, glistening with her juices, delicately caressing her inner lips and then I very slowly travelled north, up across her hairy mound, her little sand dunes of fat, up between the two large breasts that spilled over her rib cage to the yellow nylon that masked her face. And I waited, focussed on the cloud of yellow, a delicate membrane between her fingers and face.

Strangely, I felt a jolt of jealousy. As I filmed her, I had expected me, myself, to be the source of her lust, my face, my eyes. I had expected her to be laying on that bed with her legs open and her eyes on me, begging me to understand just how much she loved me. Instead, all her senses seemed to be invested in an artless swatch of cheap yellow nylon that was now moving, like her fingers, like her belly, like her body — the nylon was pushing into her face as she rhythmically bucked at her fingers which slid deeper inside her while her body shuddered, her tits flopped against her ribs, their erect nipples stabbing at the sheets and when it came, her moan, muffled by my panties, came from deep within her, perhaps the same place as the white cream that was running from her pussy to pool on the sheets beneath.

I could see all this, but the camera couldn't; it could see only the smudge of yellow between the hand and face. I knew this because my eye was back at the lens again, I was waiting for the yellow mask to be pulled away, I was waiting for the eyes to look up at me, to smile, perhaps self-consciously, perhaps with a hint of shame, but also to tell me how glad she was to have given herself to me. But the mask didn't move, it wasn't pressing as firmly now but it wasn't moving, either, not for the longest time and then slowly it moved away, like a limp yellow cloud it rose above her face and when her eyes followed it, their lust barely diminished, I knew I would never ever understand the woman I loved and the thought made me unbelievably excited.

When I turned off the camera I knew I would never see the film. Her act, an act of a thousand nights, was an entirely private affair, a one-act play to an empty house.

When I put the camera on the night table and sat down beside her I had planned to console her, to try to connect with her, to somehow try to embody her fantasy — flesh and blood entering her fantasia, but I had barely settled when she was on her knees, pulling at my sweater, undoing my bra and then she was standing at the end of the bed, patting it insistently, as she does, and I crawled there, and I turned around, and I distributed my weight evenly on my hands and knees as she pulled at my right knee, opening me and when I was just right, her fingers were wisping across my breasts, lightly cupping then as they sagged into her palms and then I could feel the familiar cool ball of saliva drop into me and then her tongue against my anus and I danced for her, as I do, back and forth, feeling my nipples brush against her palms and her pointed tongue play lightly at me and as the familiar delight of depravity flooded through me I forced myself at her stabbing tongue more insistently until the moment came, the feeling of lewd surrender, and my arms collapsed, I pressed my face into the bed and I screamed, as I always did, as she bit into my clitoris and sucked.