The Power of Photography

"Are you sure?"

I wasn't, but typed back. "Yes."

We tied up the loose ends.

I was incredibly nervous waiting for him to arrive at 1.00 pm. Several times, I thought of calling him and changing my mind and numerous times I hoped he would call me. But almost dead on one, the intercom at the gates buzzed. I opened those and waited for him to buzz at my door then went down the stairs and opened the door.

We had a couple of drinks. We talked about the other evening and he asked if I would like the rest of the photos put onto my PC. I agreed. I logged on and stood alongside him as he popped his memory stick into my computer. That did make me giggle.

"What's so funny?" He asked.

"Oh just you shoving that memory stick into my PC, makes me think."

"You dirty woman," he smiled, turning and sliding his arm round my waist.

"Yes," I managed to say before he kissed me, deep and long. It was a great first kiss and it melted any reservations I may have had.

He was holding the remote mouse and I heard him clicking as he looked over my shoulder at the screen.

"Bloody hell these are good," he said.

I turned and saw the screen filled with just my breasts in that black diaphanous bra. The outline of my coral pink, fairly large areola and the horrendously swollen nipples were pretty clear, despite the dim light and small flash on the camera and I had to agree, they did look good.

We sank onto the sofa our arms round each other still kissing as we watched vision after vision of my breasts, my head and shoulders and just my face and hair on the screen.

I felt his hands on me, on my boobs through the thin sweater, inside that sweater and on my bra. Then, inside it, on my flesh, squeezing, pinching and rubbing. Mine went inside his shirt. He was pulling my breasts out of my bra, pushing the sweater up and clamping his face to them, sucking and slurping as I pressed that soft, so sensitive flesh against his pleasure giving mouth. His shirt came off and his chest was against my boobs. Flesh on flesh at last, wonderful.

It was all a whirlwind of action, removing clothes, grinding our mouths together, squirming our bodies and feeling, rubbing, stroking and caressing.

And all the time there were pictures of me fading on and off the PC screen.

"Fuck Mandy, one view of your tits is fantastic; seeing them in stereo is just amazing," Matt was saying as we removed my sweater and bra.

Gloriously topless and wonderfully bare above the waist, I felt liberated, free and so fucking horny I knew that little would be needed to make me cum. 'Please, please, God, give me the strength to resist cumming until he is fucking me,' I was unashamedly praying. It's so bloody naff and sodding embarrassing to start your orgasm before he's even in you, as I had a couple of times when having my first sex with two different guys, just after the divorce came through.

I needn't have worried unduly though, for he seemed to be in just as much of a rush as I was.

It wasn't a romantic shag. It wasn't slow, languid or particularly tender. It was fast, a little rough with hardly any foreplay and, I suppose, rather selfish on both our parts.

Although we managed to get my panties off, we were not quick enough with my skirt, his trousers and his boxers. The skirt was simply rolled up and bunched round my waist and his stuff just pushed down round his knees.

So, once more I was being fucked on that black leather couch. For a second time in three days, this new man in my life was between my legs on that settee. The only difference was this time, it was a real cock, his cock, yes, it was Matt's cock that surged up my eager, open, wet and waiting pussy. Yes, for the first time in that lounge, for the first time on that couch, for the first time in my apartment I was really being fucked, not fucking myself as my imagination had done so many times.

"Phew, where did that come from?" I asked cradling his body and stroking the back of his head as he slowly slid from me as he lost his erection.

We had a glass of wine and we showered.

"I'm on duty tonight, as you know, so I have to go light on the wine."

He got dressed, I put on some underwear, Lejobe of course, and a dressing gown, turquoise, blue silk, long and tied at the waist

I felt a little guilty at having sex with him so soon, but hey, we're both grown ups, I reconciled as I also came to terms with having sex in my apartment.

"I made some salad," I told him. "Would you like some?"

"Yes that would be lovely."

"Don't get excited, it's only a Caesar, I'm a hopeless cook."

We refound the easy way of chatting that I had so enjoyed that first time; in fact, it was that, as much as anything, that had attracted him to me.

"Oh shit," I said as I walked in from the kitchen, past the PC and saw the film show still going. "How do you turn that thing off?"

"Why do you want to turn it off?"

"It's embarrassing."

"It's lovely," he replied, taking the bowl of salad from me. I looked at him. "But not as good as the real thing Mandy. That really was so good."

"Well good, I'm pleased you enjoyed it," I said in that post-sex with a new partner awkwardness, as I did the bread and cutlery. "Will you have any wine?"

"Just one more glass."

"Ok fine."

He smiled. "Here let me pour. That will leave more in the bottle to help you with your inhibitions won't it?"

"How do you mean?"

He reached into the bag he had brought with him and pulled out a Canon digital SLR, the latest stuff.

I felt a little shiver of excitement when Matt said.

"We have some unfinished business, Amanda, our photo shoot."

It wasn't that I had forgotten about it, more, I guess, that I felt it had been rather superseded and replaced with the shag on the sofa. 'Hmmm certainly a cake and eat guy, but then why not?' I thought, wondering if that was part of my untypically, strong attraction to him.

"Shall we start, are you ready?" He asked giving me that quizzical, engaging smile.

Now I did feel nervous. It was one thing being photographed on the spur of the moment, as I was on the bridge, or as part of a sex routine, as in that doorway, but in the cold light of day in a planned and calculated manner, it was a different thing.

"Er no, I'm not sure."

Smiling he said. "Not sure about starting or whether you're ready?"

His quickness with words again impressed me. I smiled.

"Well both actually?

As it happened, it didn't matter.

"Not going shy on me are you?" He asked pointing the camera at me. He fired off a few shots quickly moving the focus or the zoom maybe. I smiled again when I realised that I preened at the camera. He walked round behind me.

"Look at me over your shoulder, Amanda."

I did, he snapped away.

"Lovely, that's great, the hair looks fantastic."

He was saying all the right things, I could feel myself responding.

"Turn and look at me Mandy."

I did; more shots.

"Open the robe a little."

I did; more shots.

"A little more, grab the lapels."

I did; more shots. It was getting to me.

"Undo it completely."

I did.

"Oh fuck that's great, touch your tits."

I did; more shots.

And so it went on with more and more directions, which I followed, after which he fired off more shots.

"Let's lose the robe?"

"Turn away; let me get some from a new angle, your bum."

"Bend forward."

"Kneel down."

"Stand up."

"Push your tits out."

"Put your hands in your hair, ruffle it up, push it so it falls over your face."

"Undo your bra, but keep it on."

"Take your bra off for me Mandy."

"Show me your tits; show the camera your tits."

Now I was gone. I'd had it. I was over the top. The posing had got me, the camera was devouring me, eating me up, it was fucking me and I was fucking the lens.

"Lay down on that rug." He ordered pointing to an Persian, silk carpet that had cost over two thousand pounds.

Matt seemed to know exactly what to say, at precisely the right time in perfect accord with the camera. We were becoming a hugely intimate threesome, him, me and the lens.

"Hold them Mandy, play with them, squeeze them, pinch your nipples. You do want to don't you?"

Laying on my back, being caressed by the smoothness of the silk carpet as he stood over me shooting away, at that moment there was, nothing I wanted more than to do as he asked: other, perhaps, than to be fucked, but as that seemed quite likely, I pinched my nipples instead.

"Stroke your body," he told me.

'Stroke my body,' I thought, what an expression, what a phrase, what a thought? An odd term, but a wonderful one. I did that, I did exactly as he asked, I stroked my body. My chest, my arms, my tummy, my thighs and my legs.

It had to come, he had to go further, the instructions had to be given. It was inevitable. They poured forth, one after the other. I responded, willingly to each one.

"Touch yourself through your panties"

"Slip your hands inside."

He was now kneeling beside me, his shirt had several buttons undone, his erection was obvious. He kept photographing my every action.

"Rub your clit."

"Keep one hand in there and hold your tits with the other"

"Push them down, not too far, just enough so we, the camera and me, can see what you are doing with your hand."

I did that. I rolled my knickers down so they were just beneath my pussy, so that they were down far enough to let, my lover, the camera see what I was doing to myself.

I was in a terrible state. So aroused, so turned on, so out of control, so under the influence of him, but more so, the camera.

"Show us your cunt Mandy," was the over the top, defining phrase that turned this from a photographic session into a fuck. That request, demand, suggestion or whatever, did it. Matt's order to me to "show him and the camera my cunt," caused me to be able no longer to satisfy myself by being photographed. That made me want more, need more, demand more. Yes, the power of the camera, of posing for it and being photographed had removed every single vestige of my inhibitions. I had become a camerachick, a lens slut, a focus fuckgirl. And that meant I wanted and needed just one thing. I reached out for Matt. He pushed himself forward, he offered himself to me and I took it.

His cock was in my hand, I was kissing it as we tore his clothes off. It was in my mouth. I was sucking him, licking him and slurping at his thick, sturdy and blisteringly hard prick, as I murmured, possible nearly incoherently, but sincerely and so pleadingly.

"Make me cum Matt, please make me cum."

I didn't show the camera my cunt on that occasion, for then he fucked me. More to the point, we fucked. Even more so, the camera, Matt and I fucked.

'What next?' I thought, when I woke up alone the next day. 'What more was to come, what more might happen?'

Over the next few weeks, I found out.

The first thing I learned was that I liked being in front of the camera. It brought something out of me, it drew something from me and it added a dimension to sex that I didn't know existed. Secondly, was that that I became a camera junky, a lens groupie; I couldn't get enough of posing for Matt and his enquiring camera. And thirdly, I learned that the combination of being photographed and being fucked was just about the most powerful amalgam of sensations known to man, well at least to the men I know!

We had several sessions during our four-month relationship. Each time we went further and each time we had the most stupendous sex. There was a sort of synergy about combining me posing for Matt's camera and us having sex, the output was certainly far more than two and two making four. I couldn't explain it then and can't now, but the sensations, excitement and pleasure I gained from Matt screwing me after photographing me were more extreme and, I guess, just more sheer, bloody horny than straightforward sex.

After the two 'trial runs' on the bridge and in the doorway and the initial real posing at my home, we got serious a few weeks later and that went on at each subsequent session.

The defining moment at the first session was when Matt had said. "Show us your cunt Mandy." I hadn't shown them, which included the camera, but I had shown him, for it was the use of that word at that particular time, which had made us fuck. And boy did we, right on my best Persian carpet.

The next time, the defining moment was when I was laying in the middle of bed, with Matt standing at the foot of it shooting away and he said.

"Take your panties off for us Mandy."

Was it the use of the 'us' that made the term so exciting? Who knows? Whatever it was, I didn't get them fully off before again, I was reaching out for Matt and helping him tear his clothes off. We did get them off, though, just before he entered me.

The next time, we started with me in my underwear. A black get-up similar to what he had seen in the photos and which I had been wearing in Starbucks. We gravitated through the stripping and tits only shots and onto the nude, well apart from the black, stockings, which this time were seamed fishnets and were held up by a lacy suspender belt; actually one that was a size too small. I was laying on the black leather, sofa rolling my boobs together and pinching my nipples, which were already starting to ache, when Matt gave me a new set of posing directions. These were different to any I'd had before; they were more explicit, they were more challenging, they were more intriguing and, certainly, they were more exciting. My first thought as Matt said.

"Touch yourself, Mandy, touch your pussy, touch your clit," was, 'could I go that far?'

My second thought, as I felt the searing intensity of my finger right on my clit was, 'take me as far as you want.'

I masturbated in front of Matt and the camera. At first, it was tentative, but then quickly it became more assured, more confident, more abandoned and more fulfilling. I made myself cum. Well Matt, his camera and my fingers did that really, not just me. It wasn't just masturbation though for, hardly had my body stopped quivering from the throes of my climax, then Matt was easing his hugely erect cock right into me.

Before the affair ran out of steam, we experimented with other aspects of Matt photographing me.

I have a large balcony/patio, which is secluded enough for me to sunbathe topless and occasionally naked. It was perfect for our first outside photography when we used it twice on the same day. Once before sex and again after it. By then, it had started raining. Fortunately, it was quite warm for to pose writhing on the wet deck, soaking wet as I masturbated while Matt photographed me, would have been awful in the cold. In the warm, rain though, it was strangely even more arousing and he got a load of shots of my soaking wet body.

"Let's go into a field," Matt suggested, one day.

I guess the fact that somebody could pass by and see me nearly naked, on top of being outdoors and being photographed combined to make the following fuck as immense as any we had together.

Perhaps, though, one of the most exciting aspects of this photography came one evening. We were in Matt's small flat in Dartford. He had taken loads of shots of me, this time with me using a vibrator. We had had great sex and had bathed together. I had put on his dressing gown, he had slipped into a pair of tight, black, CK, boxers, which I had told him would look better in white, although they didn't look too bad as they were. He was semi-erect and was thus creating the most interesting bulge in the material. We were lying back on his bed. He got up and walked across the tiny bedroom to the dressing table. He picked up the camera and walked back towards me. I fluffed at my hair and let the lapels of the robe gape a little exposing more of my cleavage in anticipation of what I expected him to say. He didn't say that. Instead, he said.

"Mandy take some shots of me."

That, I think, though, should wait for another day.