Sexual Biography of a Young Woman Pt. 10bysammican1©
It's been some time since my last submission, thanks for being patient. But we're back now and I hope you'll agree it's with a bang.
If you've read the previous parts you'll 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'd 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.
Part 10: Learning lots about myself in the real world.
In this part there are quite a few flashbacks. To my times with Steph, my first girl lover, and with DD, my older male lover, to scenes with my mother and to the first times I posed for photographers. They are all described in detail in earlier parts of my bio. If you haven't read them I'd strongly suggest you flick back to see what I'm referring to in this part.
"You really do have the prettiest little cunt," Sandra said quite huskily as she aimed the camera between my opened legs.
Naked apart from a black lacy suspender belt, seamed fishnet stockings and strappy black shoes, I was in her studio in East London. She was taking open leg photos of me to show me how to pose and project my pussy on film in "beaver" shots. At the time I'd been modeling for a number of amateur camera clubs for a few months earning the money that enabled me to have a modicum of life while studying stage and film production at a private school in Bloomsbury in London.
I'd done well and I'd become quite popular on "the circuit." I'd quickly started getting more bookings than I could comfortably handle with my college work and, although I'd vowed it wouldn't, that was beginning to suffer a bit. That was natural I suppose. I mean if a girl hangs around with a gang of actors, musicians and other general layabouts most nights in bars, pubs and clubs in trendy Upper Street, Islington, it's difficult to be clear headed and alert the next morning at college. It's hard to do the studying and homework as well. And then, if on top of that, the girl has two or three evening and one or two afternoon modeling sessions most weeks, something has to give doesn't it. And at the moment, though I hate myself for letting it happen, it was the studying. Still I was bright and I could always cram for the exams couldn't I?
At first I'd merely offered glamour and topless poses. Nothing that extreme, well that's what Sandra had called them as I lie in her arms in her bed discussing my "modeling career."
"It just depends what you're after," she'd explained her tongue gliding across my hardened nipple as her hand slid up my thigh that I invitingly opened for her. I'd learned a lot from Stephanie, my bisexual mate at uni, who'd introduced me to the delights of girl sex. If she introduced me, then Sandra, who was much older and experienced, certainly totally consummated my relationship with lipstick lesbianism when she auditioned me for glamour modeling. In addition to becoming my older female lover, she also became my agent
"If you just want to make a few bob, don't get too involved, we'll put you down as "glamour and topless only" and you'll do ok."
I'd thought that was the best way. For a while I was on Sandra's books and nothing happened. None of the twenty or so amateur photographer clubs booked me for their club nights and I got no work at all.
"They really do need nude stuff," she said by way of explanation. "I mean you can almost see pubes in the Sun now can't you and certainly full on pussy on most top shelf magazines?"
The difference had been amazing. From nothing to five or six sessions a week in such a short period. But they were now slowing down a bit. Sure I was still getting new bookings from different clubs but the repeats were slowing.
I'd been asked many times, but had said no to questions like.
"Do the legs come open Sammi?" or "Are we going to see the secret squirrel Sam?"
I asked Sandra about it and with her usual blunt but quite humourous way she'd explained.
"If you want to keep going at that rate then you've got to give 'em more."
"What open leg stuff?"
"Yes luv, open leg, open ass and open pussy, they want it all."
"I don't whether I could."
"Well let me take some like that, give you a few tips and then we'll see where we go."
Just like the first time I'd met her I was soon on the floor of her studio with the lights beaming down on me her camera catching me from every angle.
"We'll take a few straight ones to loosen you up."
As I rolled around on the floor striking a variety of poses she clicked away.
"Ok Sam, hold it there," she'd said as I rolled on to my back with my legs drawn up in a fairly standard pose I'd done loads of time.
"Let yourself fall back a little."
I did and she clicked away taking shots from a few angles of all my body then focusing in on my tits and nipples. They had, as they generally did when I was posing like this, hardened and were standing up like ripe raspberries.
"Now darling," she croaked the emotion, sexual arousal or the fifty fags a day making her voice very gravelly. "Let your knees fall open."
It was easy, a piece of cake, a walk in the park. Soon I was kneeling, standing, lying and striking up all conceivable beaver shots. Yes within a few minutes of my first one I was willing, almost eagerly flashing my cunt for the camera.
As we had the first time she'd photographed me she downloaded the shots onto her PC and we sat next to each other at a table. It really was amazing to see one of those large flat screen monitors completely filled with my pussy. It was even more amazing when just a few minutes later Sandra was stroking my real pussy with her fingers as we both looked at shots of that and other parts of me on the PC. Talk about a turn on. To see your own naked body on screen as a lover caresses you really is amazing.
"Don't worry, there won't be many there," she'd assured me when a few days later she booked my first open leg session. It was at a studio in Stockwell in South London. I'd been there several times and liked the owner and the whole set up so I felt pretty comfortable as I climbed out of the cab with my big hold all and carrying "wardrobe" of outfits.
"Hi Sammi," Barry said, "here let me help you with those?."
He made me a cup of tea as I unpacked and hung everything up where I could easily get to it but where also the photographers could inspect what I had to offer them by way of lingerie and other outfits.
I'd brought loads of panty and bra sets, thongs, French knickers, bikini pants and boy shorts. A few basques, a waspie or two and a number of sussy belts with a range of stockings. I had a schoolgirl's outfit, a white, mid-thigh length coat with a tight belt similar to a doctor's receptionist or dental nurse and a number of bikinis.
"There's only six tonight Sam," he told me going on to explain that he charged twice as much for these types of session so the punters deserved more space and time, hence why there were generally less than the ten or so I was used to.
I didn't quite cum; almost but not quite; nearly but not completely.
It really was an amazing experience to be lying on my back just in a pair of lacy topped, black holdups and strappy shoes. I had my legs spread, my knees slightly raised and my fingers on the folds of my pussy pulling them apart.
"Jesus Christ Sam," one of the guys had croaked and that had made me that tad more adventurous, so I parted the folds of my pussy.
Through half-closed eyes I watched the six guys shooting away taking shot after shot. I rolled my head, I let my blonde hair fall over my face and I drew my knees up more. I didn't, though I almost desperately wanted to, move my fingers deeper into me or nearer to my clit. I mean after all they were only paying to take pictures of my cunt not to see me wank myself. That said I knew they liked to get the look on the model's face on film. The half or fully closed eyes, the open mouth, clenched teeth or the tongue out; yes they liked her to look as if she was about to cum.
To be honest when I was alone and feeling a bit down I wasn't that happy with myself. I didn't feel good about what I was doing. But I did feel good when I was doing it. Odd, contradictory, possibly illogical and hard for anyone that hasn't been in similar positions to understand. I wanted to stop, but couldn't. But then I also wanted to do more.
Later that evening thinking about the enormous buzz I'd got when the six guys were looking at me, were seeing my naked body, my body with my legs open and knee raised made me feel horny. As I recalled the feelings I had as they were staring at my most intimate place made me want to masturbate. As I remembered their eyes on me, on my body, between my legs and on my cunt I started to masturbate
I was beginning to realise that sex-wise I was an exhibitionist. I hadn't known that for most of my teens. I'd suspected it, though, when Steph and I were naked on stage when we starred in the university production of What the Butler Saw. The thoughts of the two hundred pairs of eyes on me and of them watching us under the bedclothes actually touching each other very intimately made me stroke my breasts, just as Stephanie had done on that stage. It was starting to be confirmed when I posed naked for the art students and even more so when Sandra took those first photos of me. The memories of sitting naked beside her looking at myself in those sexy poses from the first time and even more from the more recent one, sent my hands scurrying over my body.
But the thoughts that, of course, made my hands become even more adventurous were about earlier this evening. And just as I had then, I now touched the velvety softness of the folds of my pussy around my clit. I uncovered it as I'd desperately wanted to do while the six pairs of eyes watched, but I hadn't. I stroked it, I rubbed it and I pressed it imagining that I was doing that in front of the cameramen. The looks in their eyes and the expressions on their faces as they'd first seen my pussy were fantastic; a combination of lust, desire, surprise, want and, strangely, a hint of embarrassment. I would have loved to have gone further but my professional pride rather than my moral regards, I recognised, stopped me.
It may well have stopped me then, but in the solitude of my bedroom with all the memories of the afternoon and the thoughts of my other escapades roaring through my mind, nothing could have stopped me. My face buried in the pillow some of the material in my mouth acting as a sort of gag for my brother was in the next room, my knees were drawn up and my hands were buried between my thighs as I masturbated. Deeply, fully, strongly and remarkably satisfyingly. But then I hadn't had sex for over a month so I needed it badly.
Things were going well.
I'd settled back into "academia" and was quite enjoying stage school, although it was far more demanding than the breeze I thought it would be. I hadn't, because I hadn't fully thought things through which is the norm for me, quite realised the breadth of the syllabus. Not only did I have to learn the techniques of stage and film production and direction but also acting, dancing, singing, mime, lighting, sound, costumes, stage props and a seemingly endless list of other essentials. It was hard and demanding but overall quite satisfying and rewarding. Maybe because for the first time in my short life I was doing something I wanted to do and something I'd chosen.
The modeling was also going well. Despite my "morality" concerns and continual worry that someone might find out and grass to my parents or brother I was very active. Now I'd taken the shackles of closed legs off my posing the bookings were pouring in and Sandy told me I could work every day if I wanted. Fame indeed I thought.
Things were still good with DD, the lecturer I'd been bonking when I was at Bristol Uni. I didn't see him much due to the distance, but during school holidays when he returned to the marital home in Highgate, just up the road to me, we got together regularly. During term time we did talk on the phone and he introduced me to the pleasures of phone sex. That was nice!
There was just two down bits.
One was sex. I wasn't getting any on a regular basis. Now that didn't bother me that much, for those of you readers who started with me at Part 1 of this bio will know my oddness about it. I think a lot but don't do much, well that is if you ignore stripping off, lying naked and letting five or six guys take pictures of my pussy. It was I suppose companionship. I had no one to go to weddings or other functions with, nobody to share things with and no one to hold me when I was down. But I coped with that as, indeed, I seem able to cope with most things.
The other big problem though was mum and dad.
I knew they hadn't been getting on well for some time. And that was hardly surprising I thought when I'd caught her that time I came home from uni. Yes caught her in the small gym dad had had built on the back of the garage. Caught her kneeling there, her full breasts bare where her workout leotard had been pulled down. Caught her holding a young guy's naked cock that was long and hard and, so it seemed to me, was just about to go into her mouth. We hadn't spoken then, just held each others gaze, nor had we discussed it since. It was never mentioned.
Dad had been spending more and more time away from home traveling for the property development business he owned and mum had been spending more and more time playing tennis, working out and at her new love, golf.
I'd been furious at her at the time, for I am a real daddy's girl. I'd softened a little over the months since it had happened, though, and had, I suppose, come to the conclusion that one can't legislate for parents. In the end result they have the same needs and urges as younger people so if mum wanted a bit on the side why not, I reconciled. I mean after all dad is fifteen years older than her forty years, maybe he finds it hard getting it up or possibly doesn't have the urge to give it to her as much as she wants it. Who knows as far as sex is concerned, certainly not me?
"Why don't you come with me, it must be near your half-term break, or whatever they call it at that sort of college?" She'd asked me in early October
Dad had announced that he had to go to the Far East on some deal he was doing and therefore wouldn't be able to go with her to Southern Spain. They were staying at some posh golf and tennis complex and as I'd had hardly any holiday this year the idea appealed. But the thought of ten days alone with her when I still hadn't forgiven her for what I'd seen in the gym wasn't that attractive. But I agreed.
The hotel was fantastic and fortunately the weather was great. I wasn't planning on much tennis and even less golf, just the pool, the sun and me.
My mother is, very attractive. She doesn't look her age and several times we've been mistaken as sisters. Unlike me she's dark, slightly olive skinned and has a larger, but nowhere near large, build. She's got shoulder length hair, fantastic legs and a really full pair of, what I'd term, juicy tits. Men's eyes were never off them, almost no matter what she was wearing.
And in some ways, though it shouldn't have been, to my horror at first the first day round the pool she was wearing very little. A skimpy bikini, the top of which after just ten minute so she'd removed. Now I shouldn't have been shocked for on holidays in Europe she's always gone topless as indeed I do. I hadn't been on a beach or pool type vacation with her for such a time I'd forgotten all about her yen for topless sunbathing.
Late in the afternoon of the first day just as it was getting dark we went to a group tennis coaching session. It really was good and I picked up quite a few tips that would help my game should I decide to play during the holiday. We had a drink in the clubhouse with the seven or eight guys and two other women and got on well with them. Two of the guys who were in their late twenties were quite dishy and made quite a play for mum and me. That made me smile and I kept wondering when she was going to say we were mum and daughter. She didn't even mention it. Not then, not when we saw them at dinner, not when we had a drink with them and not when we said goodnight and went to our rooms.
Dad had booked a suite for him and her and I had a room one floor down.
As we parted at the lift mum said.
"Why don't you come up to the suite for breakfast, it has a lovely balcony."
I showered fairly early for being on holiday. I slipped into a bikini and a mid-thigh length, beach dress to make the short journey up one floor to her suite. She opened the door in her silk looking nighty. It was a salmon pink with grey lace round the hem and neck. It was low cut and fairly tight with very thin spaghetti shoulder straps. Across her chest it was tight enough to provide a little support for her boobs and thus there was quite a cleavage. Her nipples were very pronounced through the luxuriant material. Her hair was quite disheveled and the combination of that, the nightdress, her bare legs and the amount of her breasts that were on show made her look very sexy.
As she showed me in to the suite I instinctively looked around for signs of a man being there. Cynical little shit aren't I? Needless to say there wasn't.
We had a lovely breakfast on the terrace, we got on surprisingly well.
"Samantha," (she's the only person that calls me that) she suddenly said, "come inside a moment."
"Why, what's up?" I asked.
As I followed I couldn't help noticing the very womanly wiggle of her hips and bum under the silk. I'd suspected she wasn't wearing panties, following her into the living room of the suite confirmed that.
She stopped an turned right in the middle of the room.
"I don't know whether you've suspected or not but things are not good between your father and me," she started. Without giving me a chance to reply she went on. "In fact they haven't been for some time."
I couldn't help having a dig. "Like from the day I came home from uni" That was the day I saw her just about ready to fuck her personal trainer.
Surprisingly she just smiled and didn't rise to the bait. Instead as cool as anything she replied. "No well before that, in fact even before the time I caught him in bed with a girl of your age."
I was shocked. "Really, bugger me."
"So we've decided to lead our own lives."
"Oh fuck, it's that bad?"
"Yes but we aren't parting, we'll still live together but not in the same bedrooms."
"I suppose you mean an open marriage do you?"
"Yes, yes something like that," she stuttered, her voice breaking as she lost control. I looked at her and saw the tears running down her face.
"I'm sorry Sam, I'm so, so sorry," she sobbed as we involuntarily closed the small gap between us and hugged each other, tightly.
"It's ok, it's ok mum, it can't be helped," I responded as I also started crying.
"I'm sorry for everything, including that time you saw me that was unforgivable."
"What was? What you were doing or forgetting to lock the door?" I joked making us both laugh.
We stayed in each others arms for some time consoling each other. I hadn't cuddled her like that since I was a grown woman and it felt good. Too good maybe. Our arms were tightly round each other, our chins were on the others shoulder. Our cheeks were touching, our bodies were pressed together from our breasts to our toes.
I could hardly believe it. What sort or perverted sense of love was I experiencing? What was happening to me?