Photo Session

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Author meets Literotica contact for sexy photo session.
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wigwam25
wigwam25
60 Followers

I was cruising through the Lit. Discussion Forum when I ran across a post by Skip. He mentioned that he would like to see a story about his wife getting laid by somebody else, but he didn't have the confidence to try it himself. He said he would supply an outline of some of his suspicions about his wife and hope that an experienced writer could make an interesting story from it. I dropped Skip a P.M. and told him that I had done some small amount of writing and that I might be interested in doing such a story for him. Maybe he would like it, maybe he wouldn't, but it might be fun to explore the idea.

He wrote back and agreed to the experiment. Then he sent me an outline about how he and his wife had met. I put together, "Debbie Does Skip." He liked the story and so did a lot of the Lit readers. I was surprised to hear that his wife had liked the story as well. I did several follow-up pieces, entitled, "Debbie Does Boris," "Debbie Comes Through, Finally," and "Debbie and Boris, 20 Years Later." They all met with varied feedback, being graded well by wife-sharers and down by wife-sharing haters.

The consequence of this ongoing communication was that I met Skip's wife -- in the cyber sense, only. He got us started on PM-ing, and we took it from there. Debbie was friendly and supportive, but rather tight-lipped. Her first condition was that I would not try to coerce a personal meeting in the flesh. She was well-aware of the potential consequences of meeting up with men she met on the internet. I fully agreed. My motive on Lit from the start was to learn a little about writing, and if I were very lucky, to meet a wife with whom I could correspond, with no intentions whatsoever of trying to set up a personal meeting. She also said that she was perfectly OK with me writing stories fueled by her husband's suspicions and imagination. She would read them and enjoy being the star of a series of cheating wife stories, but she would not verify or deny anything I wrote, nor would she make any suggestions. All his suspicions and speculations aside about her sexual history, the only thing that Skip knew, for sure, was that Debbie was a virgin when they met, and she still had had sex only with Skip. So, while Skip wished that Debbie was well-experienced, sexually, both from before they met and during their 25-year marriage, he could actually verify nothing -- and Debbie wanted to keep it that way.

"Go ahead and write the sexiest wife-sharing stories you can dream up," she said. "I won't dispute anything because I know they will be big turn-ons for Skip, but I have the prerogative to keep my lips sealed on the subject, and that's what I'll do."

So we did some stories, and we had some fun, but the series about Debbie's imaginary extramarital affairs had essentially run its course. It was time to move on, I thought. Then Skip told me about one final fantasy that both he and Debbie shared. They both had often fantasized about a sexy photo session of Debbie by a professional photographer. She would meet up with the photographer (in the fantasy), get the sexy photos taken, then give them to Skip as an anniversary present. Skip gushed about how good his wife looked in real life. The five-foot tall, blue-eyed, blonde-haired Debbie weighed in at 100 pounds with a pretty face and and the greatest legs he had ever seen.

"They go all the way to her pussy," he jokingly said. "You would love them -- and you would love to get into that nice, tight little pussy too. It's too bad she's not willing to spread it around a little. But that's Debbie: a lot of tease but no follow-through. That's been the story of our lives together."

I listened to Skip's description of Debbie again. He worshipped her and was always talking about how beautiful, how sexy, and how desirable she was. "You would love to fuck her," he told me for the 100th time. "She's beautiful, and she's a great piece of ass," he repeated again.

I mulled Skip's words over in my mind. He knew I was a professional photographer, so I guessed he would like to see maybe one more story about Debbie. "Would you like for me to do that story?" I asked.

"Yes, I would," he said. "It would be one final mutual fantasy for Debbie and me, if you have the time and inclination. I don't want to impose myself on you. I know you have lots of other things on your table."

"I don't need much convincing, you know," I answered. "As I've told you before: the better I get to know Debbie through our internet messages, the better I like her. I'll admit that even though we will never meet in person, I have a big crush on her."

"Of course you do. Who wouldn't? She's smart, beautiful, and sexy. I would be surprised if you didn't have a crush on her."

"OK, I'll do one more story. I'd love to insert myself into the scenario. I've fantasized many times about fucking Debbie. It would be fun to make up something along those lines, even though it could never happen in real life."

"Wellllll . . . , that's another thing I've wanted to talk to you about. Why not in real life? You could meet her someplace and actually take real pictures of her.

"Wait a minute, Skip." You know that both Debbie and I have made it a policy to never meet up with someone from the internet. It's just not a good idea. You never know what might happen. No, we've already agreed. It ain't gonna happen."

"What if she agreed? Would you do it then?"

"No. First of all, she won't agree. Secondly, we have an agreement. I won't go back on my word."

"Let me talk to her. Will you at least think about it?"

"I don't know . . . "

"That's good enough for me. I'll talk to her, and we'll see what happens."

The next day, Skip got back to me. "Wow," he said. "I've never seen Debbie so mad. She really tore into me when I suggested that you and she get together in the flesh."

"OK, that settles it," I said. "Just as I said, we both agree on no personal meetings. That's the end of that."

"Not so fast," said Skip. "I'm still working on Debbie. I asked her to think about it before she totally discounted the idea, and she said she would, but to not hold my breath. Going along with my fantasies on paper was one thing, but meeting up with a guy in the flesh, ready to take sexy pictures was a whole other thing. BUT . . . she didn't completely close the door. So now I'm back to you. If she agrees to meet you, would you meet with her?"

I hesitated. An actual face to face meeting with an attractive and sexy woman with whom I had already developed substantial rapport, was admittedly a very appealing prospect. Finally, I said, "I don't think so, Skip. While I admit that the thought of meeting sexy Debbie is a very intriguing idea, I promised her I wouldn't do it, and as corny as it may sound, I value her friendship more than I value a few nice cleavage shots.

Skip's response was, "You know I want you to get more than cleavage shots. I would like some nipple shots at the very least, and if you happened to get to feel a little bare tit in the process, so much the better. My top fantasy, as you know, is that you get a little ass in the end. So, what do you think? Will you take the pictures, if she agrees to pose.

I just laughed. That was not going to happen. I knew it, and Skip knew it, but we could both dream a little about it. I said, "Sure, Skip. If Debbie agrees, I'll take the pictures."

Skip just said, "I'll get back to you."

In our next chat, Skip said, "I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that Debbie has agreed to the photo session."

I was taken aback and sat, stupefied, without responding.

So Skip continued, "The bad news is that she insists that I have to be there."

Regaining a semblance of composure, I said, "Great idea, Skip. How am I going to take sexy pictures of Debbie as a gift for you, while you're standing there?"

"No problem responded Skip. I'll be in the next room. If Debbie needs me (which I'm sure she won't), I'll be right on the other side of the door. I'm sorry, Elvis. It's the only way she'll agree to it."

Still trying to adjust to the idea of meeting this thoroughly intriguing woman in the flesh, I said, "Great idea, Skip. Now, I don't feel quite so bad about breaking our mutual rules. We can do this without Debbie putting herself into a compromising situation. You set the time and place. I'll meet you there with my camera and studio lights. One more thing: I don't want to meet you. Knowing you in person might inhibit my ability to remain objective in my approach to this photo session. And there is one other reason which I will not explain here. But don't worry. It has nothing to do with Debbie's safety."

"You got it," responded Skip. "I totally understand. I'll stay on the other side of the door. You'll never see me. You can snap away and never have to worry about seeing me if Debbie doesn't call out to me."

Three weeks later, I was at one of the major Las Vegas hotels, camera gear in tow, knocking on the door. I knocked once and waited. Nothing. I knocked again. Still nothing. Feeling a little sheepish and just a bit miffed, I decided to knock again. After what seemed like another long wait, I cursed lightly under my breath and started to walk away. After two steps, I heard a soft female voice, "Elvis?"

I turned and looked into Debbie's face for the first time. It was easy to understand why Skip was so enamored of his wife. She was the real deal, the epitome of the girl next door: not particularly glamorous, nor full-figured, but just damned cute. Short: five feet tall, maximum. Narrow hips and slim, well shaped knees and calves, showing below her short denim skirt. Short blonde hair and blue eyes. She had an alluring smile with a blush that somehow conveyed both shyness and naughtiness. Holy Shit, I thought to myself. Nobody could be both so refreshing and sexy. If this meeting never went beyond this moment, I could never hope for a more all-consuming impression. I had really hit the jackpot this time. Try as I might, I couldn't recall anything I had ever done in my life to deserve this moment

As I stood there, struggling to regain my composure, I noticed another component to her smile that I hadn't picked up at first glance. It added just the slightest shade of confusion and curiosity to her disarming smile.

"What's the matter? I asked. "Do I have a spider on my nose?"

She gave a short laugh and said, "No, no spider. I'm just a little surprised. You told me you were Native American, but you look so . . . well, . . . so black. You look so black. Yes, that's it. You look . . . so black."

"I AM black," I said. "Some days I'm black, and some days I'm Indian. Depends on what kind of mood I'm in."

"Sorry," said Debbie. "It doesn't work that way. Either you're Indian or you're black. You can't have it both ways."

"I can," I said. "About 50 years ago, one of those Harlem Globetrotter rip-offs came to our town to play a team made up of locals to show off their considerable talents and to provide a little entertainment. Basketball was king on our reservation, and this all-black visiting team underestimated how seriously we Indians take our basketball. So they did provide some entertainment, as planned, but they also lost, which they hadn't planned. It didn't happen often to that team, even though they weren't really the Globetrotters. But they did win in one very important way. They got to fuck a lot of nubile young Indian princesses in their motel rooms after the game. My mom was one of them. My Dad married my Mom shortly after that and raised me as his own, but everybody, including me, knew where half my genes came from. And, yes, when I was younger, I was a pretty good athlete, but we won't go into that right now. We have some photos to take."

Debbie smiled, grabbed my free hand and led me into her room. "Yes, we do have some photos to take," she agreed. "Let's make this good for Skip. He's wanted this moment for a long time."

"Skip told me it was also a prominent fantasy for you too."

"And Skip is no liar. Yes, it's for both of us."

I began setting up my equipment as we spoke and quickly was ready to shoot. I didn't want to pass up a single opportunity to shoot this oh-so-photogenic subject.

Debbie was wearing the short denim skirt and short-sleeved cotton top with small holes outlined by rosettes near the high neckline. The top seemed to gap nicely which would result in a very modest look, if she stayed upright, but might also be revealing, if she bent over. She stood up straight and looked me in the eye. "Well, here we are," she said. "I never thought it would happen. It's really nice to meet you in person -- finally."

"Yes, it is," I agreed. "I have to tell you: I'm not disappointed. You're everything I hoped you would be -- and more."

"'Well, maybe not more than you hoped for," she smiled. "You know all that stuff you wrote about me . . . well, most of it, is bullshit. I'm really very straight and far more conservative than you think. Just so you know, I had one asshole boyfriend before I met Skip who got a little bare tit off me, but that's all. Despite all the bravado that shows up in the stories you've written about me, Skip is the only one who has ever penetrated me. Hell, I'm almost a virgin."

"But you've let Skip take some cleavage and thigh photos of you, right?"

"Oh sure. I'm a tease. I'll admit that. But when it comes to actually putting out, I'm not very good at that. So don't expect much from this photo session. I'll try to be brave and a little bold, but don't be disappointed if you don't get everything you want."

"But you really want this to be good for Skip, right?"

"Right. I love Skip, and I want to feed his fantasies as much as I can, so I'll try, but don't get your expectations too high."

"We won't do anything you don't want to do. Just relax and get comfortable. Now, fold your hands in front of you and give me a demure look."

She did, and even that turned me on, as I released the shutter. We looked at each other and smiled. We were finally on our way, and we both breathed a sigh of relief, then we continued. I set her up in a variety of fun but innocuous poses and talked playfully and soothingly as I did so. I wanted to help her arrive at a completely comfortable state of mind before moving on to more suggestive shots. She seemed very much relaxed and eager to continue.

"OK," I said. "Put your left hand on your hip and your right hand behind your head."

She did so.

"Now, turn to your right and look over your shoulder at me. Relax your left leg, lift your heal, set your ass jauntily and stick out your tits."

She followed my directions.

"Smile."

Flash!

"Pout."

Flash!

"Be seductive."

Flash!

"Good good. Now face me, put your hands on your knees, face up, smile."

Flash!

I had my first cleavage shot. But it would be better than those her husband had taken because I was using professional flash equipment and her cleavage would be well lit up. If a bit of areola showed, it was what I wanted.

"I know what you're doing," she said. "I don't mind cleavage shots, but no nipples. I told Skip I would do some suggestive stuff, but no nipples and no unguarded crotch shots. So, do you want another cleavage shot?"

She couldn't know that my flash equipment had already probably revealed part of a nipple, but neither of us could tell, for sure. The digital screen on my camera was too small to show that much subtlety.

"Yes, let's do another cleavage shot," I said.

I zoomed in to just her face and her cleavage area.

"Smile."

Flash!

"Smile and exhale completely."

She did, and as I had hoped, there was separation between her bra and her tits. Two nipples were clearly visible through my view finder.

Flash!

I had done it: already a nipple shot and without Debbie even realizing it. For the first time, she had had her nipples photographed, and she was still completely comfortable and still clueless of the way I had tricked her. It was true that I had a giant crush on this girl-next-door, but I was not beyond trickery to get her to make this photo session a success. Skip, the still silent man behind the door, had his first nipple shot, and he would love it -- as I had loved taking it.

That's about as far as I'll let you go."

"We're off to a good start," I said. "Now, let's try for a little more of a natural look. Why don't you go into the changing room and take off your bra and panties."

"No bare nipple shots," she repeated. "And no pussy shots. Why do I need to take off my bra and panties?"

"I put my hand up and gave her the Spock salute. "Scout's honor," I said. "No nipple or pussy shots. Just some natural-looking shots with more flesh, but still no nipples or pussy."

Skeptically, she went to the dressing room and shed the underwear. When she reappeared, she was wearing a new blouse that buttoned down the front. The top three buttons were already unbuttoned.

"I thought this blouse might give us more room to play with," she said. She grabbed the top of her blouse and pulled down, revealing some new cleavage, unhindered by the confinement of a bra.

As she walked back in front of the camera, her tits jiggled nicely. "What do you think?" she asked.

"Now, that's a nice natural look," I said. "Doesn't it make you feel sexier?"

She gave me a slightly dubious look and said, "Well, I don't know if it feels sexier," she answered, but it definitely feels breezier." She pulled it up from the neck, then let it drop down again, sliding over her tits and creating the slightest erection in her nipples.

"Now, it's time for some under-the-blouse nipple pokies," I said.

Flash!

"We need more. Roll your nipples between your thumb and forefinger.

She did so and created a little better bump.

Flash!

"That's pretty good, but we can do better."

I moved toward her and reached toward her right nipple. She pulled away.

I didn't say anything, just gave her a little frown, then reached again for her nipple. This time, she held her ground. I gripped her nipple firmly and rolled it back and forth, then I gripped the fleshy part behind her nipple and squeezed. It had the desired effect and pushed her nipple toward me. I opened my mouth and pulled my lips away from my teeth and took her nipple in my teeth. I bit lightly and moved my teeth back and forth, then let go, backed up and quickly released the shutter. It was a great shot of an erect nipple through her top.

She was looking at me suspiciously, with just a bit of a flush on her face. I seized the moment and pushed the display button on my camera and thrust it in front of her face.

"Look at that," I said. "It's a great shot of a hard nipple pushing out the material of your top."

She continued to gaze at me for a few seconds, then looked at the image on the screen. The suspicion faded, and the surprised look changed to one of interest and satisfaction.

"That did work good," she confessed. "Skip will like that one. Don't tell him how you got it though.

I decided it was time for a prop, so I moved the vanity seat in front of her, facing it longways, toward me. The purpose of the prop was to provide more posing options -- and to increase the odds of some kind of slip which might reveal more than Debbie would normally allow. "Would you straddle that for me?"

I remained in a state of alertness, ready to capture any interesting sight that may pop out.

She sat down on the back of the seat and slid carefully forward, keeping the front of her skirt pushed down modestly in front of her.

"Push your skirt down in front of you and spread your legs."

She did it.

Flash!

"Lean forward."

Flash! (Lots of cleavage).

"Sit up straight."

Flash!

"Hands behind head, elbows out."

Flash!

The desired effect was happening. Her skirt was riding up on her legs.

wigwam25
wigwam25
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