Tucked away in our treehouse hideaway under the eaves, he chose the outfit, directed me to dress, and then focused the camera on me. I didn’t get any say in the matter. My only responsibility was to follow instructions.
The panties were red lace, with a tiny pink bow sewn to the waistband. Not a thong, not quite boyshorts, they exposed a healthy portion of my asscheeks. The bra was black lace with red satin straps and insets, and a flutter of red satin in the space connecting the cups. I’d worn it the night before, under a very low-cut black cocktail dress, and let the red satin peek out for all to see. And over it all he made me wear a slutty supershort plaid schoolgirl skirt and a white top.
The sunlight came in from two large windows, flooding the room with soft, white, indirect light. We were high enough that there were no shades and no one could see in. He sort of played the role of sleazy glamour photographer and directed me to pose for him. First leaning against the wall, hip cocked, tits thrust forward. Then tits to the wall, ass thrust out. Snapping photos all the way.
A re-direction. A re-adjustment of my garment. Garment? Done just carefully enough to brush against my swelling nipples. One foot on the bed. Now a “re-adjustment” of the skirt and fingers brush my lace-adorned pussy. Now pushing me onto all fours. Trying to get an “artistic” shot, he says. Sleazemonger.
The light’s not right. It’s washing me out because my shirt’s too white. Too white? Isn’t white just…white? Couldn’t we just take off the shirt? Sure. I take off the shirt. He positions me again, leering the entire time.
Now the skirt’s not working. He flips it up over my hips, shooting my ass as I lay on the bed. He rolls me over. Sit up and spread your knees. The skirt bunches as I expose my crotch to him. He knows I’m wet. Maybe he can see the damp patch. It’s a good camera.
Let’s take off the bra. It will help the composition. The bra is gone. I cover my breasts with my arms, slightly submissive, hiding from the camera’s glare. I twist away so he shoots my back and my side, the curve of my waist and hips enhanced by the posture. Arms down. OK, I relax them. He gently pushes me back and shoots from above. My nipples are hard and tight, my tits full and heavy. I pose for him, sometimes innocent, sometimes lurid.
He takes my panties. He touches my twitching flesh. The last barrier between me and the camera’s mercenary eye. Legs tightly closed. My ass from behind. An artistic pussy shot. Legs spread wide and cunt wide open.
I think we got it. Fully-dressed, he joins my ruined self on the bed and we flick through the results of the photo shoot, a finger slipped inside my dripping slit all the while. And then he fucks me hard and dirty. The sleazemonger still inhabits him.
Later, after we’ve come down and returned to ourselves, he deletes them all.