Sexual Biography of a Young Woman Pt. 16

Hi

For those that are returning to read more about me, you will know that I lead a varied sex life. Not that I have a really high drive, more that I seem to get sexual thrills from different things to most girls of my age. I seem to get involved in sexually stimulating situations, I seem, as it were, to bump into sex, without even looking for it. Very odd. It does, though, I think,( but then I would wouldn't I?), make for interesting reading. If you have been following my bio, then you are a testament to that, if you are a newcomer, then I hope you decide to join our club.

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. In most parts, and particularly in this one where my mother features strongly, I refer back to what has happened in previous parts, so they should be read in the sequence I wrote them.

Nevertheless, whatever way you do read them, I hope you enjoy them and get as much pleasure and excitement from reading them as I do from writing them.

Please feel free to leave whatever comments you wish or e-mail me if you prefer.

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Chapter 1

The first time I looked at my mother's breasts in a sexual way was that day I came home from Bristol unexpectedly.

I had decided to leave university half way through my second year and had chosen that Thursday as I knew dad was away on a business trip, but then he nearly always was. Mum was an easier touch on such a delicate subject as their daughter dropping out of college.

She would soften him up, or that was the plan. I didn't know at the time that they were going through a really sticky period that has subsequently led to them parting. But then, spoiled, rich bitches do not think too much about other people's problems do they? Well I didn't then; perhaps I do a little more now though!

To see my mother kneeling on the mat in the small gym was a surprise. It was particularly a surprise as she was not alone and especially one because of the way she was dressed. Sure she was wearing the regular leotard and leggings but not in the conventional way. I mean, you don't usually wear the neckline of your leotard around your waist do you? You don't normally have both straps pulled down your arms and generally, you wear a bra under your top don't you? Mum, though, was wearing the neckline round her waist, the shoulder straps were hanging down and she most definitely was not wearing a bra. Her breasts were completely bare.

It was that, I think, which first hit me, when I quietly opened the door and went to walk in. To paraphrase, it stopped me in my tracks. It was not how she was wearing the leotard or that she was not wearing a bra, it was the bareness. It was the fullness, the firmness and the roundness of her breasts. They looked so ripe and delicious. The fact that she was holding them and pressing them together, the fact that her nipples looked so puckered and hard and the fact that between them was the hard cock of her personal trainer did not register anywhere near as strongly with me as the sheer gorgeousness of my mother's breasts.

Nothing was said then or since. All that was exchanged between us was a smile.

The vision of her breasts stayed with me. That night when I masturbated, they were in my hands, my mouth was all over them and I made the most exquisite love to my mother's tits.

Over the next few months as her and dad's marriage crumbled, he went to live In Spain, I had to leave the flat he owned and moved back home I had many more moments when I felt extraordinarily, strong sexual feelings towards her, generally and her breasts in particular. I also made exquisite love to them many times, in my mind.

There were several particularly difficult times when I came so close to giving the game away about my lesbian desires for my mother.

The time she and I were in Spain. The weather was lousy and I went to her room.

"Why don't you slip in with me and we'll watch TV?" she had said.

I did. She was wearing a white button up the front, satin nighty. She did not realise but more buttons were undone than there should have been. Every time she moved, large expanses of her breasts were shown. We were so close in the bed, almost cuddling and all the time parts of us were touching. How I stopped myself touching them I just don't know.

Mum swims in our half indoor and half outdoor pool nearly every day. Often naked and always topless, the first time I saw her in the pool after the gym episode, I was overwhelmed by seeing her naked breasts as she performed a lazy backstroke. On holiday, I had seen her topless for all my life and had thought nothing of it. When she climbed out of the pool, pulling her bikini pants up over the crease in her bum and her pubic line, and I held a towel out for her, I was in agony. Her gorgeous breasts with the nipples wrinkled and swollen slightly from the coldness of the water, were so close and so inviting. They were also so forbidden.

There had been other times. Times with reducing frequency between them, like now it seemed almost every day I would find myself being turned on by her. No not by her really, more by her breasts. They would be in my mind almost endlessly. My imagination would lodge those glorious orbs in my inner vision, so when I was on a train or at college studying, I could see the soft flesh, the tanned skin and the fullness of each boob.

It got worse when I "accidentally" found the photos of her. Her friend, lover I thought, Colin, who unbeknown to me was a professional photographer, had sent her some photos of me. He had found them in an online portfolio of a studio for which I occasionally posed for glamour and nude shoots.

I had, of course, like any self-respecting natural liar denied it.

"Not me mum", I had said when she broached the topic one evening when we had both had a little too much to drink.

"I do know my own daughter when I see her you know," she had said lightly adding. "Go and have a look, they are on the PC."

I went to the study and logged on to the PC I shared with her. I opened up the folder she had told me was in "my photos". Fortunately, being in the portfolio, they were very tame but nevertheless, I thought, quite erotic shots of me. There were four. One with me in a bikini, one with me in bra and panties another with the bra off and my fingers about to push the panties down and the fourth was me nude.

They were undeniably me. There was no way I could lie my way out so I had to find something or somebody else to blame for the fact that I had become a part-time glamour model posing, at that time, for amateur photographic clubs around London. As I pondered who or what that should be, I was messing around with the PC when I saw a folder named "Colin." Nosy as I am I naturally opened it. As some say, I was absolutely gobsmacked. They were photos of her. Photos the like of which most daughters would never see of their mother. They were hugely erotic, beautifully posed, well lit and awesomely photographed. They were so much better than the ones of me that the photographers sometimes sent me. Still it did mean, I felt, that she couldn't be too mad at me.

As it happens she was not mad at all, especially when I said I was doing it to earn money, as dad was being mean, she liked that bit.

I think it was from those photos that Colin had the idea about mum and me posing for him.

Chapter 2

The days seemed to drag by so slowly between that evening when I had agreed with both of them to pose for Colin and the date of the first session. Although it was only a week, it felt so much longer than that between saying yes we would pose together and going to his studio. The seven days from when he had explained his idea and putting that into practice felt like an eternity. Yes, the day when mum and I were going to pose for him to take shots of us both to enter in the Berlin Festival of Erotic Art seemed as if it would never arrive.

The day after we had agreed to do that I had an early class at college, had arranged to go shopping to top up my posing underwear collection and had a session booked for six that evening, which the studio owner had said "was a definite two hours with an option on a third."

Such long sessions were rare, but they were welcome for the posing fee alone would be over £200. That was without any extras and in my limited experience of one on one posing that was unlikely. When a guy is spending over £300, on my fee and the studio costs, and was going to be with me in various stages of undress at his direction for that length of time, a little extra something was almost always requested. After a few months of refusal, when I was getting my head round selling sex, if the request was from anyone reasonably fanciable, then the requests were not turned down nowadays.

I had now developed a short menu. A list that I could recite to the photographers when they asked, as about two thirds did, if there were any extras. I still retained some "dignity", though and had this little caveat that I had to, at least slightly, fancy them, but then as time had progressed my standards, I have to admit, had slipped and I guess probably seventy five percent passed that test. But then, could a girl who for a man had: been in various stages of undress, stripped naked, posed with spreaded legs, simulated masturbation and responded to the direction, "look as though you have just been fucked" not, to some extent, be entitled to fancy him? I usually ended up doing that for, quite frankly, many of the times I was probably as aroused as they were!

As he lay beside me on the bed, (yes they are part of the props in most studios, purely for posing purposes of course!), I told him that I did not do full sex.

"But oral is ok?"

"Yes fine."

"Both ways?"

"Yes, with a rubber."

"Fine. So how much do you charge?"

When I had first started offering extras, what seemed so long ago, but was only a couple of months, I had found this the most difficult part. In some ways, funnily, I found discussing the charges of wanking some guy, more difficult than actually doing it!

"So what do you want?" I asked as he cupped my naked breasts and nuzzled my neck.

He pulled me hard against him as he replied.

"How about we just play and see where it all leads?"

I was tempted, for that then takes the commercial side away and helps me, and him as well I guess, to make believe it's more a date than a financial arrangement. When I had first started I had done that a couple of times, but one guy had then refused to pay, "I thought you wanted me to play with you," and another claimed to only have twenty quid on him Yeah right dickheads I thought, putting them down to experience.

"No you tell me what you want to do, let's get the money out of the way, then we can play."

"OK. How much if I massage you, give you oral and you suck me?"

"How and where do you want to cum?" I asked. See what I mean about the messy commercial side?

"Anywhere?"

"OK in the rubber, anywhere, that lot will be a hundred."

"And out the rubber?"

"On me?"

"Yes."

"Where on me, my tits?"

"Yes," he said, his voice strained, his hardness seeming to grow against my leg; I had noticed before that with some guys this sort of talk was very arousing

"Yes Sammi," He grunted his hands and fingers doing nice things to my tits, "On these, right on your lovely tits."

"Ok call it a hundred and fifty and you can do what you like apart from fuck me."

I can still hardly believe I could say such things, be so basic and matter of fact about such a sensitive topic as sex, but I could and did, quite often now.

His kiss and his grunted "yes" indicated the conclusion of our negotiations. With that out of the way, I am usually then able to shut everything else out and give myself over to him. I sort of go into a zone where it is just him, me and the bed we are on that represent my world. I can put aside normal morals and standards and forget that I am selling myself. It becomes just like a date. This sort of paid for sex is a compartment of my life that I open when needed, like now. When finished, though, I can shut the door to that and, almost, forget about it, until the next time. Convenient morality ay?

The sex is usually surprisingly good, but in such a different way to that I had with DD and the other, rather small number of, men that I had "given" it to in the past.

Grant was soon naked. They nearly always want that almost as much, I think, as they want to kiss me, well me to kiss them really. So I do both. I mean if I'm going to sell sex then I might as well give them as much as I can and get as much as I can, mightn't I? Enjoyment that is, of course.

He had a good body and was clearly quite an adept lover, so just why he was paying for it was a mystery to me; something, I have been told, about paying for it is not really cheating is it? Sounds like typical men's logic, so it could well be true.

He used my tits well with both his hands and mouth, manipulating my nipples and the fleshy orbs, sending lovely feelings through me. We were kissing as he did that and as his fingers ran round, along, across then in my pussy. He made me cum, twice in fact.

Again, they seem to love that, which is just as well for I cum easily in such circumstances and rarely have to fake it, odd really that I cum so much easier when selling, than I do when giving! But then after all, when I girl has been flaunting her body at a camera, often being naked or dressed in outrageously sexy gear, striking "just fucked" and "fuck me now" poses and sometimes feigning or actually masturbating, its not likely to take much to make her cum is it? Well not me at least.

I was holding his cock. It was nicely hard and smooth, not that long but quite sturdy and would, I imagined, have filled me very nicely indeed, if my pussy had been today's target for it. But today it wasn't, for today my hand was my cunt for Grant. And boy was he fucking that!

His fingers pumping in and out of me acting as a surrogate cock, his mouth, chewing licking and sucking my tits and nipples, his hips thrusting and pumping against my palm, my surrogate cunt for him, we hand fucked each other. We hand fucked to a glorious, humping, quite noisy and very messy mutual climax with his spunk filling my hand and streaming out all over my hips and stomach. So much for cumming on my tits, I thought.

Chapter 3

"He wants us to pose separately first," mum explained as we drove over to Colin's house, the top floor of which was his official studio. The rest of his house and the small, walled, totally secluded garden, he had explained, was his unofficial studio.

Most of his work was for ad agencies and big companies, that was his "bread and butter."

"Glamour stuff, mainly for friends to surprise their partners is just a sideline, a bit of fun. I do, though, get a kick out of photographing lovely women," he explained, pointedly looking from mum to me then back again, before adding, "of all ages."

As he showed us round the studio that seemed stuffed full of lights, reflectors, umbrellas and other lighting and focusing props; much more so than the ones I was shot in I thought, he went on.

"It's the erotic competition stuff I most enjoy about glamour photography."

He opened a bottle of white wine and we sat down in his editing room. We were surrounded by loads of IT gear; PCs, plasma screens, MP3 players, speakers and other stuff I didn't recognise. He certainly had the goods and from what I had seen of the photos he took of mum, he knew how to use them. I felt quite good actually, being, for the first time, with a real pro photographer.

"Ok let's talk about the shoot; you know it's for an erotic art festival?"

"Yes Berlin," mum chipped in sounding as though we did it all the time moving from city to city.

"Right, it's probably the premier one in Europe other than Cannes and it caters for practically every art, literature, painting, sculpture, film and of course still photography. Even if you come tenth the prize is worthwhile, something like five thousand Euros."

"What's first?" mum asked, obviously interested, as the money from dad, who was still separated from her, was not as forthcoming as had always been the case.

"Fifty thousand, but that's not all, for you're then guaranteed quite a lot of publication and other personal appearances."

"When you say, "you are" who do you mean?" She asked.

"All of us, we would all be in demand on the Euro arts circuit."

"And the money?" I couldn't resist asking. "How does that get split?"

Colin smiled. "Equally, we split everything three ways after paying traveling and other expenses, Fair?"

"Eminently," I replied, feeling quite excited.

"Right, let me tell you about my vision for the shoot."

Mum and were I sitting side by side on a small sofa, the outsides of our legs touching. We listened as Colin, who was sitting in a swivel chair at the desk explained.

He told us the title of his entry would be Mother and Child Reunion, he never explained why it was called reunion and I didn't ask in fear of looking stupid. All the shots would be nude and many would be in close up, he explained.

"You see," he continued, "all of the shots will be in black, white and grey tones with pink being the only colour in any of the shots." He paused for a moment as he sipped his wine, looked from mum to me, and back again, before adding. "So the parts of you both that will be in the greatest focus will be your pink bits."

That actually made me feel awkward in front of my mum and I wondered just how the shots would be arranged.

"Some will be individual poses and some will be both of you together, look I have mocked some up with computer graphics."

He clicked his mouse a few times and the mid-sized plasma was filled with a pair of breasts with the nipples obviously aroused and hard. It was only when you looked really close that you realised they were not a pair belonging to the same person. He put more images up. Nipples touching, mouths kissing, lips round nipples, tongues licking the tips of nipples and then of course, pussy lips!

There were shots of them from all different angles, some with hairs around them, some without. Some from the front of just a pubis mound with the blackness of the pubic hairs bisected by the slash of pinkness of the model's lips and some from behind with the model bent over her pink, full, seemingly bloated lips in stark contrast to the whiteness of the back of her legs and her bottom.

He explained that he had cribbed these shots from photos on the net and those he had taken before, usually cropping the shots to produce what he was showing us and what he wanted to take of us.

"I'll show the shots in a certain order so that not until the end will there be any that show either of you fully, well not of those places, your pink bits," he smiled topping up our glasses. "The mystery that we will put to the audience will be for them to work out which pink places have the freshness of youth, the daughter and which have the perfection of maturity, the mother?"

I didn't get it myself, but mum seemed impressed, although to be fair I think it was the idea of all those Euros, the chance of being published and of appearing on continental cable chat shows that had greater appeal than the puzzle over whose pussy lips we were looking at.

Colin went on to explain that he had to submit twenty shots to the judging panel. To get that number of the quality he required he would expect to have to take probably a thousand or so and that would require numerous sessions, some together and some individually.

"Bloody hell," I couldn't help blurting out, "that will take for ever."