Dutch Studio, Outdoors Pt. 01

The wet weather had finally broken and what seemed to be a newly energized sun beamed out of a cerulean blue sky flecked with invitingly puffy clouds. It caught her blonde hair, transforming it into waves of gold and bronze and the yellow of late summer straw. This shoulder length mane, already slightly disordered by the caressing breeze, framed a face of stone-chiselled Nordic beauty. She was a North Sea beauty, elegant yet easily imaginable wind-swept and holding a rope at the prow of a ship as it crashed its way through a swell. She smiled, transforming the serious face that served her so well as a securities lawyer into something gentler and lovelier, something ineffably youthful.

After the better part of a decade with her he also knew that this youthfulness was equally true of her body, perhaps even more so. She was middlingly-tall, long-legged and slim. Yet this athleticism was offset by just enough softness at her hips and, even more so, at her C cup breasts. It was the body of a woman a decade younger and more. He gazed at her and admitted that he was fortunate indeed to have such a beautiful partner.

They were seated at the modernist squareness of the wenge wood table. The wind played with her cotton shirt-dress, leaving the flimsy robins-egg blue material both translucent and clingy. A gust flapped the hem up, revealing a length of pale thigh. She turned to look at him, flicking tendrils of wind-tossed hair aside as she did. The sun placed an aura around her head and shoulders. They were on their terrace, the view to greystones and glass towers ahead framed by sky above and treetops just below. He flipped his iPhone over, raised it and took a photo of her.

"Stand up, let the sun frame you".

She paused, smiling more, and stood, the medley of stone and treetop and sky her backdrop. Sun streamed through her dress and around her. The length of her long limbs, the sweep of thigh up to the side outline of breasts was outlined in a shimmer of light. She was not wearing a bra, the side curve showing appealingly.

She pirouetted, the hem flying higher yet. "The panties ruin the line" he remarked, levelly.

"Here? Right now? On the terrace?" She glanced at the buildings to the right with a view of them.

He nodded. She grinned.

She reached under her hemline and hooked her thumbs into her panties and slowly inched them down. She turned sideways to provide him with a perfectly silhouetted view of her body. The flimsy garment slid down her calves to lie like a pair of loose, silken fetters around her ankles. She bent (what a perfect L-line) and daintily freed herself by stepping out, one foot then the other. He tapped the screen.

She gave another pirouette - hair flying in a wind-tossed golden mane - her bum peeking as she turned. He snapped that too.

She sat on the chair, and (turning her head and letting hair obscure her face) and slightly parted her legs. Soft whiteness peeked out. And he tapped his screen for that too.

"Your swelling visibly" she said, laughing. Her voice acknowledged her power.

Indeed he was swelling. She continued. "I imagine you could even post that one with the hair over my face on one of those 'show off your woman' websites we looked at once". She arched an eyebrow at his groin. "I see the idea excites you."

She hiked up the hemline and light flooded between her thighs. A hint of hairless lips emerged. Tap. Tap.

She unbuttoned the front of her dress and the gap of cleavage and swelling breasts revealing themselves. Tap, tap, tap.

"Ever thought about posting the ones where my face cannot be seen?... Oh my, that is exciting you..."

He shook his head and tried to keep his voice calm. "The background would be visible. And even if you have the body of a twenty eight year old, a pearl-wearing blonde disrobing from a Prada sundress on a terrace like this would - and I may be wrong here - be distinctive."

She parted her legs farther. Her waxed lips were now fully on view, her slit a tightly defined line of shadow. "Get that, photographer boy" she purred.

"And how about this?" She stood and moved towards the doors leading inside. She turned and smoothly lifted the dress over her head and stood on the terrace facing the city, quite naked, under the awning but directly bathed in sunlight. Her C-cup breasts were surmounted by two tightly formed pink nipples that had stiffened in the breeze. Her arms and belly were lightly muscled in an attractive and feminine way (a testament to her hours in the pool). The line of her body from the nip-in at the waste to the feminine swell of hips was lean and yet perfectly formed and sensual. She waxed and her pussy lips formed a clear and well defined line, slightly swollen and inviting. Her legs were long and shapely. She smiled and then let blonde hair fall over her face before lifting it up in a playful smile.

"How about this? Snap a few... and when you are done I want to see them."

And he did. Several standing, several with her hands on her hips.

"Who do you think can see me? Is none better than some, my dear?" She was being mischievous.

He followed her inside - or more accurately he followed her gently and arousingly swaying ass inside. He undressed with urgency. There was no time for foreplay. She lay on her back on the pale grey sofa, legs spread wide to reveal an inviting pinkness. Pausing to admire her wanton position, he held his shaft and guided it, the foreskin half pushed back, directly to her entrance. He slid into the enveloping warmth effortlessly, and steadily embedded the length of himself deep in her slickness. The performance on the terrace had excited her too. She arched to lift her hips; he guided a pillow underneath her lower back. This had the effect of splaying her even wider. Kneeling and shifting a shoulder underneath her left leg he penetrated again til his tightly trimmed pubic hair was grazing her smooth pudenda.

Her hand drifted down her flank and then over directly to her clit. She closed her eyes as she manipulated it. "That speed, yes" she said, as he settled into a medium momentum. He reached up and began to massage a nipple. He bent and sucked on the other. He rose back to his knees as he felt his balls tightening, but he held off. Her hand was now rhythmically stimulating herself, a finger lodged firmly in her slit. He held her hip tightly and began to thrust faster. "Slow down a bit" she said. He paused with his cock almost entirely out, the head parting the entrance to her cunt, and then slipped deep in again. Her eyes closed and her head turned, she was an image of abandon. Her tits, topped with tight pink nipples, swayed with his thrusts.

She came in a series of convulsions. He maintained half a dozen strokes after and then pulled out, holding his pulsing cock to spurt a rope of cum above her belly button and onto her left breast.

They kissed. Carefully he caressed her flank with the back of his hand. He stood and walked to the kitchen where he pulled tissues from the box disfiguring the burnished darkness of slate. She was lying in the same position when he returned. He picked up his phone and snapped a shot. She smiled at him.

As he gently cleaned the puddled cum from her, he asked "did the performance excite you? Or the thought of being overlooked?"

"Yes, I was wet, wasn't I?". He nodded. He looked questioningly at her.

"I think I am a little excited at being seen and observed, and rather overwhelmingly excited by what it does to you."

"And the photos?"

"You know that! We've discussed this before. You store them carefully, and it is actually flattering that is what you find exciting when you travel. Better that than you looking at something else, but even if you did it still excites to pose for you."

She was shrugging her dress back on. "Load them onto your laptop. I want to see. Meantime I can sort two glasses of that Sancerre you opened last night. We deserve it."

They sat under the awning on the terrace, the shade providing for substantially improved visibility on the screen. She dwelt on minor flaws. He gushed sincere praise - she was undeniably beautiful, and equally bold. "A winning combination." He commented.

"You aren't bad at this photography thing - and don't take this the wrong way - but you seem rather hit and miss in terms of quality. In the good ones it is unclear how much is you and how much that trumpeted new iPhone camera."

"Rather tricky to keep focused on lighting and technique when you are excited. Systems never work well when they overheat."

That earned him a consoling pat, but she had kept her eyes on the screen. "Shame really" she said.

"Shame in what sense. I am not sensing any shame..."

"Oh no, not that!" She was laughing, and offered a sideways glance, but her primary gaze was still directed very much at the screen. "What I meant was now is the time to really capture those special memories properly. Perhaps you need a proper camera... now that would be fun."

"Or perhaps I need a professional helper' He mused.

"I saw that smirk." Outrage, seemingly pretend, inflected her voice. "Don't get any ideas, you. I will not pose for a cameraman."

They did not speak; the sounds of wind and the city melded for an expectant moment. It was his turn to arch an eyebrow.

-------

"Is it sorted?"

She was posing that question in the car, two weeks later. They were in the Hudson River Valley, driving under a half canopy of trees, sunbeams hurling spears of light at them as they proceeded.

"Hipster artist and his assistant will be on-site at four. We want that late afternoon sunshine, all those slanting angles. It is a national register site, but it will be deserted. Their gear for lighting, but our camera. They have signed the agreement you drafted, including the section clearly indicating that they are not only unable to distribute, but that if they do it is because have illegally retained the files."

She nodded approvingly, but with a nervous / excited gulp.

"His work as an artist includes large numbers of naked women, some posed rather engagingly in various bits of Brooklyn, so he seems to be rather experienced at all this."

She stared straight ahead and replied "If that is meant to reassure me I think you have it wrong. I can see how it would reassure you..."

They pulled into the main drive, past the gatehouses, and veered right, upriver and away from the main complex, towards the bluffs. The car wound through woods teeming with ferns before emerging onto an open plateau framed by trees and, forward of them, wide riverland vistas. It was a broad, secluded meadow under a broad dutch sky.

The artist was already there: all six feet two of his blonde-haired (worn artfully swept-back), well-muscled, chiselled handsomeness. His accent immediately betrayed his Australian birth. He was handsome in a perfect, actor-y kind of way, which was slightly intimidating in the context of a nude photography session. His assistant was in some ways the perfect contrast, for she was slim but no muscular, softly pretty and quite bohemian. A brunette, her hair was set in a loose bun and she was evidently rather full-breasted under her pair of Nepalese shirts.

A round screen for directing light was set to one side (leaning on a tripod), a stool and a table holding a few heavy duty black bags was immediately beyond, and a green picnic blanket was set on the grass creating a defined space that somehow managed to blend in to the setting.

The introductions were initially awkward, but the photographer had an annoyingly white and engaging smile. There was a surprising amount of enjoyment in seeing his wife quite red-cheeked with embarrassment and, quite possibly, anticipation. The photographer was nonchalant as he explained his plan; the girl strikingly curious.

The artist explained his technique as a photographer. It was only through full liberation that one could approach a re-ordering of society through eroticism. He had obviously read Weber, for he argued that eroticism, as an intellectual experience, was mutable, a completely conscious path to fulfilment and a means of undermining the institutions that held us back from true freedom. It combines, he said, physical enjoyment with intellectual satisfaction. Eroticism of this kind is an emancipation, a unique way of escaping and transforming the mundane world, and so forth. And so he approved of the emancipation, though perhaps he could use some photos in his next exhibit. "Nice try. You've signed some very strictly drafted agreements about confidentiality" he was told.

"Well, if you change your mind..." he replied, in an admittedly winning way.

It seemed that this emancipation involved her posing fully naked and doing so under his complete guidance. In his Australian accent it all seemed very natural and very hard to argue against. "You still alright with all this love? how about you, mate? Both of you?" he was asked. He nodded. She nodded.

The sun was streaming into the meadow, casting long shadows cast over the western verge of trees. The wind was scattering clouds over the long views of the river valley and providing an appealing soundtrack as it sighed and rustled through the leaves.

And then she was standing by the small white table watching the brunette unpack makeup.

He stood somewhat apart, watching the Australian direct his wife to undress and be made up. "We'll begin with all your kit off, love. Best that way, I think." He was standing staring at her in a nonchalant, seen-lots-of-hot-women-nude sort of way, hand on hip kind of way.

It was mesmerizing to watch her casually re-arrange her hair, cast a glance at him, and then being slowly unbuttoning her shirt for an audience of two men and a woman.

The unbuttoning was agonizingly slow, and then it was loose and it slipped off her shoulders. She handed the brunette the shirt, who folded it and placed it on a bag. She stood in jeans and a white, patterned, semi-translucent bra that allowed pink nipples to be largely revealed by the sunshine. The broad Spanish leather belt was unclipped and then the top jean button opened. She slid the zipper down and then kicked off her loafers. Slowly she inched the jeans down to reveal a matching g-string. She had to bend on one knee and cock a leg to remove the jeans, an inelegant move but one that allowed her breasts to swell forward, the bra barely containing them, as she bent. This also had the inviting effect of having her ass jut out behind.

Standing in bra and g-string, caressed by sunlight, she looked a lovely combination of femininity and a perfect degree of athleticism.

"What now?" she asked the Australian.

"Well love, I think we'd best keep going. We can do some more with clothes later, but the sooner you are out of that the sooner the skin loses the marks of underwear. And a blonde like you in nature - the best! You want to look your best now." It was all said refreshingly and with a smile, yet he could tell it did not entirely defuse the tension for her.

She caught his eye briefly and nodded at him encouragingly.

Curiously she chose to remove her panties first. She hooked the left side, then the right, and then inched them down, angled sideways from the girl. The sun on her flanks gave them an even creamier sheen than normal.

She moved immediately to unhook her bra. She hesitated and then freed her breasts. They swayed gently as she handed the underwear to the assistant. She stood with confidence, presenting herself to all of them.

Her skin always had a creamy loveliness, but against the blues and greens, and bathed in the suns radiance, it took on an intense beauty. The assistant approached her with a brush and powder. At this distance it was hard to here, but he saw his wife begin to turn this way and that, naked before the assistant who was applying powder to her. Naked before the hunky Australian. Naked before him.

She closed her eyes as the assistant powdered her face. His cock swelled as the assistant cupped a breast and began to apply powder. She repeated that on the other side. She was turned first one way then the other. Hos temperature rose when the assistant lightly powdered her belly and her pudenda.

And then it was time. The photographer had her walk down meadow, sun on her, as he walked backwards facing her, to one side thence to the other. He walked her to a tree, and she held it and leaned, arm outstretched with feet planted at the trunk. He captured her bending to pick up a lead, stretching forward, arms hanging from a branch. He shot her wading through longer grass, the fronds under-framing her pussy.

After - and in a practical way that did nothing to lessen the growing erotic intensity- she stood in short grass to allow the assistant and photographer to minutely examine her for any lyme disease-bearing ticks. It was clinical and yet arousing to see her so on display.

He then led her to his laptop and showed her some shots of naked women on screen, seemingly for guidance in posing. @Photo's worth a thousand words, love@ and he laughed infectiously.

And then she was steered - the photographer had now laughed and chatted enough to comfortably lead her by the elbow - to the picnic blanket.

She stood, and then she stood legs parted, And then she was on her shins, but upright, breasts proud and high and pussy now prominently displayed, the lips parted ever so slightly. His cock was throbbing, with no chance of relief.

She was crawling on hands and knees, He was behind her - he could not see but the views as she moved must surely have been revealing.

He had her lie, legs together and stretched one way, then the other. Then she sat up, legs parted a bit. All the time encouraging banter... "Let's see a bit more penthouse, love" he said. And her legs parted a bit. More banter. Legs wider.

Yes, legs wider, now one leg straight and the other up. Move that strand of hair back, now let the hair and head fall forward. Put a hand on your thigh, Let it rest near your... lower a but. Yeah there, near your pussy, which looks great." His language was becoming a lot bolder as the mutual confidence grew.

She was encouraged to go back on hands and knees, "Spread those legs a bit, dear". And she was responding more quickly, more enthusiastically now. The Aussie spoke to the assistant. "Hey, can we get some powder on her thighs... no stay put love." And then the assistant was powdering thigs as her legs were parted and he pussy lips also slightly parted. His pulse was racing. The assistant gazed, mesmerized, taking longer than strictly seemed necessary.

"Now sit up and cup those breasts, love. They are spectacular tits. To die for. Now stand, cup them again... yes, yes. Stand legs parted. Look right at the camera, yes simple smile."

That done he called her to rest on her forearms, ass raised in the air. "Lovely my love. Just lovely and gorgeous. Now spread those legs a bit, you're paying for penthouse, so you may as well get it.'

And she did. Her ass cheeks were now slightly open, a hint of her rosebud showing, but still a hint. And then the Aussie spoke again, and another barrier was crossed.

"Love, let's do some full-on slut poses here, golly are you hot. Lie on your face and chest and put your head to one side, no this side. Sweep your hair a bit, there, that's it love. Now reach back and spread your ass cheeks... There that's lovely. Both hands, yeah. Oh yes, hold that. Angie, could you go and powder that right cheek? I'm getting some shine... yes love, hold that pose."

He had a raging erection. He looked over and the photographer did too. Angie the assistant was flushed and had removed one of her shirt layers. His wife was spread, pussy and ass displayed, fully on show, aiming both holes at them wantonly and unashamedly. Her eyes were closed, and then he saw her open them expectantly...