Sexual Biography of a Young Woman Pt. 14bysammican1©
It has been a while since my last submission and I hope this that's all about me offering "extras" at photo shoots makes the wait worthwhile.
I really have tried everything I can to get Lit. to publish my photos, as they used to, but nothing works. Any help you can give, evem just sending a mail when you look at my bio, really would be greatly appreciated.
I hope you are all still enjoying me and thanks for the feedback, most of which is gratefully received. I try to reply to all and as quickly as possible. I've made some good friends through the feedback and have found corresponding with them a real pleasure, mostly.
If you have read the previous parts, you will know the score, so you can skip the rest of the intro and go straight to the action. If you haven't read them, I would strongly suggest you do. You see the accounts flow naturally and are intrinsically linked, so they really do need to be read in the sequence I wrote them.
Whatever way you do read them, though, enjoy them, leave whatever comments you wish and e-mail me if you'd like to discuss anything.
My bio, Part 14
Pushing the boundaries out on my modelling, going further, much further with the photographers.
It was probably the most intimate moment of my life. Certainly it was amongst the most erotic and without doubt, it was one of the most sexually challenging positions I had ever been in.
I was lying on a settee, a big one, one that could probably seat four people comfortably and one that would be perfect to make love on. But I wasn't making love.
I was wearing a bra, a white see-through one. Both of my tits had been lifted out of it. Other than that, all I had on was a pair of stockings. Black, fishnet, seamed holdups. I looked good, I knew that. I was dressed for sex. But I wasn't having sex.
I could feel my heart pounding, my body starting to have slight tremors, my breasts feeling ready to burst and that familiar tingling warmth starting to flood through me. All those feelings a woman gets when she's being fucked. But I wasn't being fucked.
No, I wasn't making love, I wasn't having sex and I wasn't being fucked. I was being photographed. Yes, I was posing in a one to one situation for the very first time.
I had posed undressed and more than that many times. I had had photographers take shots of my most intimate places several times now and I had simulated masturbation for them, occasionally. Never, though had I done those things when it was just one photographer and me. And that, I was finding out, was an entirely different kettle of fish than being photographed by a number of guys.
When being the model for amateur photographer clubs at their group evenings, I posed in underwear, topless and naked as up to a dozen camera-men clicked away. Lying there scantily clad with your legs wide open brings a range of sexually driven feelings. Exhibitionism, power, sordidness, being abused and demeaned yet, at the same time, adored and revered. Nice feelings for a glamour model.
Overriding all those, though, is the comfort of being in a group. The security of having all those guys together. The blanket of respectability they throw over the proceedings by making out it is all about art, not taking pictures of my tits and pussy that they go and wank over later.
When it's just you and a him, though, it really is an entire new ball game. There isn't the distance, there isn't the crowd to divert things and there isn't the embarrassment of the men to take the pressure of the girl. There's just a naked girl and a man, often an aroused man and sometimes an excited girl. That is exactly how it was with me and Paul that afternoon in the studio in East London.
My, sort of, agent, Sandra had told me that if I really wanted to earn money then, in addition to posing for the group sessions, I had to do one to ones. I had to agree to pose for just one photographer. I had to be willing to spend up to three hours in a studio with one man. I had to be willing to give myself to one person for the length of the session for which he had hired me.
She explained that it was necessary because a man would pay much more to have me to himself. I questioned that, saying that he could get the same shots as part of a group as he could with me by myself.
"But not Sammi, with you by yourself." Sandra said.
"So what's the difference?"
"The mood Sammi, the mood."
I pushed a bit on what she meant, even though deep down I probably knew the answer.
She explained that the pairing of just the two of you often created a uniquely erotic mood and atmosphere.
"It's a bit like being in a chat room on the net. There you seem isolated from everything else and you have that anonymity of being separated from everything else and everybody. You know it's unreal and the people you chat to do as well, but you make it seem real. So, you create a unique atmosphere between you. It may only last a short time, but during that time you are like a different person, or the person chatting does not seem to be you. It's like that in the solitude of the studio. You take on a different personality, a separate role, you become someone else and so does he. For the hour or two that the pair of you are together under those lights and in front of the camera, you are a partnership, he's the only man in your world and you are the only woman in his. Nobody else exists or matters."
"Wow," I interjected, "you make it seem almost religious.
Sandra smiled. "Actually it is I suppose, although it's probably a fairly rare religion that encourages you to bare your tits and pussy and for him to get a hard on looking at you."
I laughed at Sandra's wit and down to earth attitude. She went on.
"So that's the mood Sammi and when that mood is created some strange things can happen."
"Oh come one."
"No it's up to you to find out."
"No don't be a cow," I moaned flashing her my sexiest smile and pushing my tits out towards her knowing that she was almost certainly thinking about trying to fuck me again.
"I'll just say two things," Sandra replied quite coyly for her as she took hold of my elbow.
"OK," I replied in two minds as to whether I wanted sex with her or not.
I certainly wanted sex for I had been without anything other than myself for a couple of months now. Steph was back at Bristol and David and his wife were attempting yet reconciliation, so my main sources were unavailable.
Sandra and I had been "active" a few times, but her increasingly aggressive and very dominant style was pretty off-putting to me and I was not sure I was quite up to a session with her.
I eased myself away from and slumped my shoulders a little making my tits even smaller than the B almost C cups they are.
"One is, remember what happened between us that first time I photographed you. The second is don't give it away."
She would not say any more, so with that advice ringing in my ears I had left.
I sort of worked out what I think she meant.
She wasn't wrong. Not about the mood, the atmosphere or the feeling of being separated from the rest of the world.
Paul and I got on well from almost the moment we met. He was in his early forties, I guessed. He was well dressed in a pair of, quite tight, beige, linen trousers, a dark blue shirt, with two buttons undone showing a nice sprouting of hair, and a pair of thin, leather loafers without socks. He looked good. He also smelled good as he came close and we shook hands giving off a waft of lovely aftershave. He had a nice tan.
We chatted away as he set up the lights and arranged the studio. The room wasn't that big, but it had a large settee at one end and a posing area with a variety of pull down backdrops at the other.
He asked if I would put on black underwear and stockings and selected a short, pleated kilt type of skirt in a red, green and black tartan and a white, cotton blouse from the wardrobe I had brought with me. He took a load of photos of me in that. At his direction I gradually opened the buttons on the blouse, until the bra was clearly displayed. He took quite a few shots, lying on the floor, shooting up my skirt and more with him standing and kneeling as I bent over and sat on the sofa with the hem of the skirt going further and further up my thighs.
As the session went on I felt that he seemed to be competent with the lighting and focusing and quite creative with the poses he asked me to adopt. His style was more erotic than porn, or so it seemed, for he appeared to prefer suggestive poses and clothing rather than more obvious and basic. During the first hour, we didn't do any nude stuff, but focused more on revealing poses. I wore two different skirts a really clingy dress and tight jeans. Most of the time he had me pull the hems up, have the zip on the jeans undone or pull my tops up, down or to one side so I was flashing goodly expanses of my legs and most of my boobs. He posed me with nothing on under the tight dress and the jeans, with no panties under the skirts and no bra under the tight, boob tube top or the see through, cotton blouse.
It was all pretty normal stuff, but as Sandra had said, it was far more intimate and certainly the mood and atmosphere was far more heavily charged than usual when I posed with several photographers.
That was particularly the case when we took a break for a cup of tea. I had been posing in just my panties. Laying on the floor, my legs spread wide he had asked me to push my boobs together, something, that for some reason, I always find sexually stimulating. I was acutely aware as he, firstly, stood right by my feet and shot downwards at my full, supine body and then knelt between my widely spreaded legs, that my nipples had hardened.
"Mmmmm, lovely, Samm, lovely," he grunted letting me know that he had, naturally. noticed that. I felt embarrassed, which wasdaft really, after what he also been looking at.
He moved closer. That meant further into the wide vee of my legs, further up them, nearer to my pussy that was clad in just the flimsiest, as good as see through, black, lacy thong. He was focusing on close ups of that as he moved even nearer and then he moved the camera towards my face and breasts.
"Hold your pussy, Sam," he ordered, not, I noticed, asked. It didn't occur to me to object, even though we hadn't agreed that I would do that or how far I would go.
As I held myself there he concentrated on my breasts and nipples, that were now stunningly hard, and on my face.
Photographers often talk in a fairly crude way to explain a pose or a look.
"Give me that, I want to be shagged look, Sam."
It wasn't difficult. The more I held my breasts together, so the harder became my nipples. The harder they became, so the more acute became the sensations that were starting to run through my body. And the closer Paul moved towards me, clearly now focusing the camera on my face, so the more I did, indeed, feel as though I wanted to be shagged.
"That was great, thanks Sammi, he said as he handed me a cup of tea.
We had moved into the corner of the studio where there was a small, round table and some chairs. Paul had made the tea and I had slipped into a silk robe I always take with me for both this purpose and for posing.
"Good," I replied, "I'm pleased you liked it."
"Did you?" He asked rather pointedly, sipping his tea and looking into my eyes across the rim of the cup.
"Yes it was fine," I replied a little sharply, for I thought we were in danger of talking ourselves into an area of embarrassment for me. I was still feeling the effects of the surge of arousal, as was my body, especially my nipples, under the thin silk of the robe.
I began to panic a little when he started saying that he wanted to do some nude shots and said.
"You are ok with open leg stuff aren't you Sam?" as he calmly sipped his tea with us standing no more than a foot or so apart.
"Er yes, yes Paul, of course," I replied, stammering a little.
"Good, because I've got some ideas on shots of your, er, um, of you there," he smiled nodding at my tummy.
I hadn't realised just how intimate such a situation could be. But then I'd never really had a man talk to me face to face in such a way. Well girls, even glamour models, don't often have men tell them they have ideas on how to take photos of their pussies do they?
The situation didn't improve during the next forty minute or so session.
"Ok Sammi," Paul said taking my cup and putting it on the table, "could we lose the robe please?"
"Where do you want me I asked?" undoing the tie on the robe.
"Lying on the floor over there on that black mat," he said nodding as I slipped the robe off and hung it behind the screen.
"Oh and the panties, Sam, I want you in all your glory for this session."
With the group stuff I was used to, I usually have no inhibitions about being naked. I've got used to men staring at my bare tits and pussy and taking photos of them. Actually I've got to quite enjoy it and it's hardly even exciting or arousing any more. The fact that there is a group and they all work so hard to be cool and not show the others that they take the photos to get their rocks off, sort of sanitises the situation.
As Paul took shot after shot of me with my legs open or raised with my pussy fully on show, it was far from a sanitised situation. I was turned on. I could no longer kid myself as I had been right up to the tea break. Now, I was breathing heavy, even panting a little bit, my skin was tingling and my breasts seemed full and so heavy.
"Mmmmm that's gorgeous Sammi, really fantastic," he breathed. "Now sit on the sofa, if you will please luv."
He changed something around on his camera, probably a lens.
"Ok lay back and keeping your legs dead straight lift them up so they are at ninety degrees to the sofa."
"Yes that's perfect, I can see and shoot that lovely pussy from behind now."
"Right, now kneel, lean forward, put your arms on the floor and rest you head on the back of your wrists."
"No, keep your knees at right angles."
"This then?" I asked doing what I thought he wanted.
He put the camera down and came over to me. Holding my shoulder he bent me further forward. His touch felt like electric.
I couldn't understand what was happening to me and why I was so aroused. I had never met him before and although he was attractive and fairly good looking, I couldn't say that I particularly fancied him, but then I rarely do fancy men until I know them quite well. But then also I had never been in a situation such as this before. Never been naked with a man photographing me, never been alone with a guy as he took shots of my pussy and I'd never had a man touch me as he positioned me so that he and his camera would be able to get a better view of my most womanly place.
"That's exactly how I want you Sammi," he murmured removing his hands from my body and moving away. He added, almost as if to himself. "Looking vulnerable and ready for sex."
I knew that he would be able to see and photograph everything, my bum, my anal hole and the lips of my pussy that I was sure would be glistening with the wetness that I would have secreted. I felt embarrassed about that.
"Oh yes Sam, that's fantastic, the choice and the conflict between your private places makes for an amazing pose."
I couldn't say anything other than, "thanks Paul," but was surprised when he retorted.
"No Sammi, thanks to you, it's fantastic to see your wetness."
That shocked me a little. I knew I was probably wet, but had, forlornly as it happens, hoped it wasn't showing.
He took several more shots of me with my legs wide open. They included me touching my pussy and bum and pulling firstly my lips and then my cheeks apart to, as he put it. "Open yourself up for me Sam."
We had another break then. We had been shooting for well over an hour.
"How much longer are we going to shoot for Paul?" I asked him, for the studio owner had told me that the client usually left the time open ended, sometimes just taking an hour and at other times going on for three hours or more.
"Not sure yet Sam," he said sipping his water and looking at me.
I was again in the silk robe. It was gaping a bit at the front showing my cleavage and the insides of each breast. I saw that look in his eye, that one that men have when they see a bit more of a girl than expected. It was strange and I almost smiled when I thought, "he's just been taking photos of me naked focusing his camera right on my cunt, yet gets worked up when he sees a bit of tit." It was even stranger though, when I realised that I was also becoming more aroused now I was partially dressed. "Shit it was bad enough to be soaking myself when naked, but to feel that slipperyness between my legs and to have my nipples explode with hardness, when covered up was crazy.
"I'd like to do what I call some "just fucked look" shots Sam."
"What are they?"
"As the name implies I want you to give me the look on your face that you've just had sex."
"OK, and wearing what."
My head was against the arm of the sofa, my body was stretched out along the seats, one leg was straight along the sofa the other was bent with the foot on the floor, my legs were open.
"Now Sam, can you pull your boobs out of the bra please?"
It was happening all over again. It had been there during the break, it had got stronger when I slipped on the black stockings and white bra and had continued as he took shot after shot of me pouting and making facial expressions as if I was cumming or had just had an orgasm. It was actually quite easy, for what was going on was near to being a climax.
"Oh God," slipped from my mouth when, "accidentally" was it, my finger found my clit.
"Yes Sam, yes," he croaked moving very close to me. "Give it to me."
The feelings were pouring over me, I was hot and tingling everywhere. I was starting to cum. I had fought it, I had held it back, I had stopped it showing for such a time, but now the floodgates opened.
"Oh fuck," I moaned as I rubbed harder as Paul took shot after shot of my fingers and the now tortured expressions of extreme sexual arousal on my face.
I had several times before posed as if I was having an orgasm. Rubbing my breasts or stroking my pussy I had acted for groups as if I was cumming. I had, actually, almost cum a few times. But never had there been anything like this. A full blown, right on the button orgasm as I played with myself in front of the camera, alone in a studio with just one guy, a quite fanciable one at that.
"Rub your tits as well," he asked.
I cupped my right breast with my left hand as I continued stimulating my clit and pussy with the other.
"Pull it out the bra," Paul said very huskily.
He had one knee on the sofa about level with my hip. As he bent forward taking close ups of my face and my right boob that I had now pulled from my bra, I could see the bulge in his tight trousers. It took all the resistance I had to stop myself from reaching out and stroking it.
"Are you near Sam?" he asked me. It seemed amazing that such a question was being put to me by a photographer. Amazing, but so apt and so intimate and, oddly not at all worrying.
"Yes, yes I am," I breathed as I saw him put the camera on the floor.
He moved closer. I watched with amazement as he slid his zip down. There was amazement, but oddly, no fear or real concern; it seemed so natural for him to do that. It seemed equally natural for him to get his cock out, for him to hold it and for him to start masturbating.
I wasn't until then that he said.
"Is this ok Sam?" nodding towards where his hand was pumping his dick just a foot or so away from my face.
Right at that moment I doubt that there was little he could have done sexually that wouldn't have been ok, so aroused was I?