The Gift - Turning Pages Ch. 03

"Alexandra, on the bed, lie back on the bed, I've got to eat you. Take a picture so he can see."

***

The next polaroid was blurred, out of focus, uncomposed angles challenging rules of photography, and challenging A's ability to make out exactly what was the subject of the shot. Slowly, he began to see lips and a tongue diving between the blurred and unclear image of a woman's sex. The image was so spontaneous and rushed. A could not make out which woman was which, whose tongue was inside whose wet slide.

As if in apology, on this opening of the album there was no accompanying close-up. Instead, in the centre of the right hand side page A saw a darkening of the paper. Guessing what it might be, he put the album right up to his noise. "Ah yes, I can smell you," he whispered, a faint, lingering trace of a woman's wet cunt there on the page. Finger traced, he imagined a long finger sliding from the other woman's cunt, and a slow swirl on the page as the sexual scent was rubbed there. Then the finger would move back to a clitoris, circling sensation and sweet pressure.

His fist was slower now, each stroke a long slide up the hot skin of his cock, long leisurely strokes slowly thickening and rising up the cream from deep in his body. His harder stroking earlier on had brought him to a new plateau, and now his body was demanding a new climb, allowing more sensation to build and tease. He turned the page of the album. And stroked faster.

There on the page before him was a reward. Both women were photographed completely nude, their eyes gazing deep into the camera lens, as if they were looking through the machine directly into his eyes. They stood before him, side by side, splendidly nude, observing the camera's eye just as the camera observed them. The glass lens and chemical substrates on the paper were an alchemist's re-arrangement of vision, transferring light from one place to another.

A's hand on his shaft counted out seconds as he gazed on the now familiar woman's lush, full body. Her breasts were full and would sway when she turned, and her legs were long. Beside her, the smaller woman was a slow, longing fuck standing there, her breasts flat as a boy's but her nipples big and long, she wasn't a boy. Her belly and waist were small, she really was too thin, but A could not tear his eyes away from the raw sexuality of her body.

"Jesus, you're exquisite," he whispered as his palm slid and his balls tightened to his body. A thin ridge of corrugated flesh separated the halves of his ball sac, his testes risen so high that he could only see one mound like an egg, a lightly furred, seamed egg. He lay with his thighs apart on the bed, his limbs twitching spontaneously, small shudders ripping through him. He was losing control of his climb now, his voice a low running commentary in the room.

His mind alternated between visions of the two women crawling over his body, their hands on his cock, not his; their sighs and moans in the room, not his; and then he would open his eyes and suck in the image of them watching him. His was a subservient self fuck now, he knew he was minutes away from his climax and was into his last, inevitable surge. His cock felt thicker in his hand, swelling into the cunt of his palm, and his stroke was faster, his hips thrusting off the bed. He managed to turn the page, but his fucking hand was upon him, relentless and urgent. The book dropped, and he did not see...

***

...R face down on the bed, her ass high, Alexandra kneeling over her with small tits dropping, her tongue deep in R's ass hole.

Later, R's cunt spreads wider to Alexandra's tongue, and the room fills with their high whimpers and long moans. The scent of their sex thickens the air with a high arousal and the camera is forgotten. The women don't need the all seeing eye of the machine to trigger their arousal, the plastic voyeur is nothing to them now. Their fingers and mouths, lips and tongues are enough.

Later, R takes the camera and finds the last photograph has yet to be made. She points the lens at Alexandra's sleeping face and captures her slightly open lips, her slight, subtle smile. R keeps this photograph for herself, she's not sure why.

***

In his room, A writhes in his own fantasy, wanting both of them and frantically pumping his cock, faster, crying out, wanting to be fucked like a woman. He too is beyond vision, and the album of photographs lies on the floor. A finally comes, hot jets of streaming semen splashing high over his chest.

***

In another room, a reader reaches the end of the page.

If the reader is a woman, she might pause and wonder: so that's what goes on in a man's head when he comes by himself. If the reader is a man, and the women in the story are to his taste, he might come by himself, later.

***

There is no wrapping paper in your bin, I don't know your address and I don't know your name, but these words are my gift to you. Thanks for reading.