Amber’s Adventures Ch. 01

Asian

Hi guys and girls, I am not an English native speaker, so I hope there are not too many spelling mistakes. I liked a lot of your stories, and so I decided to try to make a move myself, and while this story starts very slow and detailed, I plan on going a lot harder later on…enjoy, and please tell me all critics and ideas you would like to in the comments 🙂

Chapter 1

This is a story about Amber Jameson, a 47-year-old housewife living in Vermont with her 2 daughters and her boring husband, or let’s say, this story starts with Amber’s “adventures” but will probably get a lot crazier later on. She is going to open Pandora’s box of INTERRACIAL SEX, kinky, hardcore INTERRACIAL SEX in her proper hometown in Vermont without knowing it.

Amber is going to discover all her femininity and enjoy her submissive site, she never knew existed.

She is in for some live changing BBC experiences.

But what is so special with Amber? Short said, she is looking drop-dead-gorgeous!

If the term Classy-Sexy-Milf would have a Wikipedia entry, it would have had a picture of her in it. It would have had SEVERAL pictures of her, because one picture would not be enough to show all of her beauty. Her face, her hair, her boobs, her ass, her legs, even her slender hands and tiny feet…looking at her you could not tell what was the sexiest part of her. Let’s try to describe her looks as good as possible:

She had more than shoulder long, natural blonde, slightly wavy hair which she was usually smoothing, so it was straight and proper.

Her face was not that of a 47year old, except from her very small wrinkles on the side of her long lashed big blue eyes, her skin was that of a attractive 30year old.

She NEVER left the house without makeup, of which she needed very little though, after 5 min she looked awesome because she naturally had very long and dark eyelashes, already defined eyebrows, a natural gloomy shine on her cheeks, and only needed do make her hair and put some pink lip gloss or sometimes lipstick on her already full and wide lips…she avoided looking “slutty” (which seems completely ridiculous considering what this women was about to do in her near future, things that many porn stars would not consider in their dreams 🙂 ).

Her Boobs were build to defy gravity, though there would have been A LOT for gravity to pull. While other big boobed women in her age already had saggy, flat tits, hers now looked even better than in her mid 20s. When she was 20yo she had extremely perky E-cups that where so firm, that it almost looked unnatural, she often got nagged about her very eye-catching chest, so she started feeling very uncomfortable about her boobs. Over time that did not change, still, her boobs changed, because they kept growing even more over her twin-pregnancy and now at 47 she had natural F cups, but luckily over time they got a VERY LITTLE hang which made them look a bit more natural, although nobody would have believed her, that they were natural, they still looked like the perfect boob job. Because of her very full breasts her average sized pink nipples were poking slightly upwards and completely symmetrical. With boobs so firm some would ask why she even wore bras? She did not need them at all. Still, she wore them always, because it suits so for a prim and proper wife in Vermont!

Amber took care about her body and also her nutrition, she went to the gym 1-2 times per week, but she was not into that low intensity cardio or yoga shit, she squatted relatively heavy, made glute bridges and spinning classes for her cardio. And her body looked accordingly. She had a hourglass figure, a flat (though soft and smooth) belly, a BIG perfectly shaped bubble butt, and long slightly muscular legs to die for, that ended in her very little feet with her colored nails. Even with 47 years the skin on her knees was very tight, which made her nude legs look like she was naturally wearing thin silk stockings.

While she still felt uncomfortable about her big full breasts, she was very proud of her legs and liked to wear dresses and a knee long skirt from time to time and felt very feminine wearing high heels.

There was NO TATTOO on her whole body and just her little ear laps were pierced, in which she usually wore very striking big earrings.

There were some wrinkles on here eyes, some little dimples on the side of her glossy lips when she smiled, but overall from her physical presence you could not have guessed that she is a 47-year-old mother of 2 daughters. It was her bearing that showed, that she is not a girl, but a mature woman. The way she wore her hair, the way she walked in her high heels (very feminine, and elegant), the way she talked with her soft voice and well considered diction, and the way she slowly jiggled her curvy booty while tightening her skirt downwards before sitting onto the couch, keeping her spine upright and slowly crossing her legs…that small things showed that she was NOT a girl at all but a Bakırköy travesti Lady.

Day 1…

“Ludwig, now that our daughters are grown-ups I thought about doing some work? What do you think about that?” Amber asked her husband while sitting at their kitchen table enjoying the lavish breakfast she just had prepared. Every day, she stood up with her husband and her daughters to prepare for the day. Now that her kids already left for college, she had her alone time with her husband that they enjoyed most of the time, talking about politics or other daily matters.

“Well? I am not sure honey, you know I earn more than enough for all of us, you do not exactly need to work right?”

“Ludwig, I did not exactly think about doing hard labor to earn money, maybe I can do something non-profit, charitable.”

“Sure…do you have something special in mind darling?”

“I guess so, see, I talked to Christy last weekend at our BBQ, and she told me, that there is some kind of development aid at the local college, now that the Democrats are in charge, the country is flooded with immigrants, and while in the south most of them are from South American descent, we in the New England states got many people from central Africa allotted and…”

“What do African families have to do in our college? Should not they be in a proper refugee camp?” Ludwig asked putting aside his newspapers.

“Come on Ludwig, you know they are not exactly refugees, they have come to the United States for a better live, and so the actual government invested taxpayer money to fund college education for them. Christy said they are already struggling with the english language, so tutoring them would be a great help” Amber explained, as with everything, she was also well-prepared for this conversation.

Ludwig, watched confused “So you mean, while i have to pay over 200.000 dollars for our two girls college degrees I also have to pay taxes to fund the college education of African people who do not even speak our language?”

“IT IS DEVELOPMENT AID LUDWIG! ALL PEOPLE DESERVE TO HAVE A LIFE AS GOOD AS OURS! To think other would be racist!! Also these people bring diversity to our country and that is very important”

“OK, OK, honey, I am sorry, I did not want to bother you, so ok, you would tutor some of these African people, so they have better economic chances. That sounds like a good idea to me. But because you said everybody deserves to have a life as good as ours, are there also programs that would help young US citizens to improve their grades, or have a college education? Maybe this would be a better first step to start?” Ludwig wanted to advise his beautiful wife.

“NO!!! These programs are for AFRICAN PEOPLE ONLY! They do not have white privileges, so they have more right to receive help!” Amber was getting pissed, she was not in the mood to discuss immigration politics with her husband.

“Right, ok honey, do what you think is right, I will support you whenever you need it?”

“Ooooh you are so sweet! That’s my hubby!” Amber said, giving her husband one of her shining smiles, and after a short break she added “You know, I do not want to be a racist! That is very important for me! White supremacy is a big problem and maybe I can help to give something back to the black community” (she did not know yet how right these word would become). “I will talk to the responsible executive right tomorrow morning, so we can clear the details!”

“That sounds great honey!” Ludwig told his bombshell wifey, giving her a kiss on her rosy cheek while grabbing his briefcase to leave for work in the office.

“See you in the evening! Have a nice day!” Amber nodded at his husband. After doing the dishes and doing some housework, she watched some NBC and CNN news to get herself informed about what was happening in the world. Midday she made a nap and in the afternoon went to hit the gym for a short workout and 20min of sauna. “Since when are there so many black guys in Vermont?” Amber thought to herself on the way to the gym and back home “This probably just has to do with her thoughts of Africa, so she is more aware of that at the moment, it was not racism at all, she was not racist!”

Arriving at home she toked another shower and dressed herself in a beautiful blue white summer dress wearing comfortable sandals with very small heels and prepared dinner for her husband and her daughters.

Sitting at the dinner table she asked her kids if they had a hard day at the college (she referred to the long hours they had that specific day). The two daughters giggled girlish and answered in unison “O YES!!!”.

“… Long and hard but colorful” Mandy added with some giggling, Sindee made a serious face and hit her with her elbow, Mandy stopped laughing.

Amber did not ask her husband how his day was, it was always the same and it was soooo boooooring for her to listen to it.

In her mind she was already at the interview she had Bakırköy travestiileri planned for tomorrow. She was very exited, finally after over 20 years she was starting to work again. Ludwig also was very understanding that Amber was not into heaving sex that night (Monday night usually was the time of the week when they scheduled sex). Amber knew that Ludwig always was looking forward to that day the whole week but Amber just did not have the nerves at that night.

First he tried to negotiate but when Amber gave him the stare he peeled of his condom, stopped talking and offered her a back rub instead, which ended with him licking her out. Amber laid there, tensed up awkwardly way, her eyes closed and it toked her half an hour until she could let loose and let a very, very small clitoral orgasm “hit” her, or at least, up to that day, she thought that this was an orgasm.

“Good night hubby” Amber said, rolling to her side of the bed and falling asleep.

Ludwig out of breath, his jaw aching, crawled up to his side of the bed. He watched the blonde wave that was his wives beautiful hair and even with the blanket over her he could see her hourglass-like figure, smell her addictive odor. With the delicious, sweet taste of her in his mouth he laid back and thought about how lucky he was, having two proper and intelligent daughters and having such a drop dead gorgeous wife at his side…he was also looking forward to next Monday, then he will for sure get some sex…

…putting his filmed-over glasses on the night table he tried to sleep…

Day 2…

At the kitchen table again the whole family was enjoying an abundant breakfast. Amber was completely nervous which resulted in her having to go to the bathroom several times (to check if she was looking fine enough and to make sure, that she would not need a pee break before her important interview), and not speaking at all at the table. Her husband read the newspaper as usual, he was mumbling some things about the new political agenda that was heading into a complete different direction after Joe Biden was elected president.

Amber was sure, that it just was some racist chant that she heard her husband whining about so often. She did not care, nor did he care that she did not care.

Her daughters announced that they will be home late because they had to do college work and might meet with some friends afterwards.

After the two girls left for college and her husband left for work, Amber hurried to check her appearance in the big mirror that was in her bedroom. She herself would have described it as a “secretary look”. She was wearing a tight black pencil skirt that ended just below her knees and set a strong accent to her flat stomach and curvy booty and thighs. Her little feet were in a set of black toe free high heels that showed the tip of her pink colored nails and gave this conservative outfit more of a sexy look.

Elegant she was spinning and turning before the mirror as if she would have to go for a photo shooting, her long, blond, straight hair sat perfect.

On the upper part she wore a loose, white silky blouse that was NOT supposed to define her amply breasts at all, but still everybody could immediately tell, that this lady was busty as hell.

And now that the morning sun was shining through the windows she saw, that her pink bra could be seen through her white blouse…!

“Oh my god!” Amber cried out “Good luck I noticed that now!!” and very fast opened all the buttons of her blouse and threw it on the bad, now standing in front of the big mirror in just her pink underwire bra, her skirt and high heels she looked like the most expensive prostitute in the world. Amber giggled and reached back to free her boobs from her bra.

The moment the cups let go of her tits she noticed that they just lowered maybe an inch (if so) but otherwise firmly held their position.

“What are these bras even good for? They are not necessary for me, maybe I should just go out without one” Amber immediately giggled that thought away, imagining how it would have looked like swaggering around with her 2 plump breasts swaying around freely under her blouse…she noticed that her pink nipples had hardened and slightly poked out.

Running risk of being late she put on one of her frumpy, white bras and the see through did not bother at all anymore.

She grabbed her little purse, her documents and her car keys and hurried to the front door, each step in her high heels clinking loud on the tiles and the wooden floor.

Bending over the drawer she pouted at the mirror to refresh her lip gloss and close another 2 buttons on her blouse to prevent somebody from watching into her cleavage.

Once in her cabriolet limousine (though she did not drop the top) she headed for her meeting, her job interview with the executive who had an office right next to the college campus.

Walking over the campus area she once again noticed how travesti Bakırköy many black people there were. Especially black men…well, it seemed that there were just black man and just very few black women…”that had to be by accident” Amber thought. She remembered when she grew up and went to the college herself there were maybe 5% black people, TOPS, now it seemed that the majority of male college students were black.

Amber had no problem finding Professor Samuel Johnson’s office and after she had registered herself at Professor Johnson’s assistance she waited a few minutes in a rather humble looking anteroom.

When the young assistance told her that Mr. Johnson now is ready to talk to Amber, her heart rate went through the roof. With juvenile energy she stood up and hurried to the door, knocked and immediately opened the door…if her heart rate would not have already been up, it would have jumped at that very moment. She was expecting a small, white, bald guy with mustache, glasses and a dad bod, who tried to speak intellectually with a funny voice. A guy like her husband, well, she was mistaken.

In front of Amber stood Professor Johnson. A (by Amber’s estimation) 6′ 3” tall guy with at least over 220 pounds, broad shoulders and a very manly, chiseled, kind of brutish face, with a big, broad nose in the center. The only thing that he had in common with the “Professor” she had imagined, was the mustache. For a second Amber thought this is, while not beautiful at all, the specimen of what she would call a “real man” but immediately she pushed that thought away as she felt like her heart was ripping her tight bra at any moment.

“Amber Jameson right?” Professor Johnson said in a very deep voice, walking sideways from his big desk approaching Amber, “You are here to take part in our development aid to support the black community right?” He reached out his right hand to greet her.

At this moment Amber realised that she just stood there, her mouth slightly open, clinching her little hands around her purse as if she was afraid somebody could steal it. Her big, blue eyes wide open and staring at the man in front of her that looked like a linebacker in a suit. She toked a deep breath, heaving her full breasts, set up one of her beautiful shiny smiles and shook his hand…well, it was more fitting to say HE shook HER hand. His Hand engulfed nearly all of her petite hand and it felt like one of his fingers was nearly as thick as on of that small bananas from the supermarket that Amber loved so much.

A warm chill went up her neck.

Amber could do nothing but stand, smile and nod.

“Please take a seat Mrs. Jameson”

“It is Mrs. Jameson” Amber answered and the moment the words left her dry mouth she realised that the mistake was on her side.

“Please take a seat Mrs. Jameson” Prof. Johnson said again.

Amber looked on the ground and hoped that her blushing would not be recognised while she fixed her tight skirt and let herself glide elegantly into the brown leather seat, slowly crossing her pantyhose free, silky legs.

“This clearly is the sexiest bitch I have ever seen in my whole life, she looks like the offspring of an Angel and a Porn star” Johnson thought to himself. “Now he knew where her two twin daughters had their looks from, they both looked like more girlish version of her more ladylike, curvy mother”

“Can I have your papers please Mrs. Jameson?”

“Of Course Professor Johnson” Amber said fumbling around handing him a small folder with all the data Mr. Johnson needed from her (for now…).

“Well, I see you are a trained teacher yourself, junior highschool…and even an english teacher, that is exactly what we are searching for…look Mrs. Jameson the thing is the following, the last months we got many young, black men, from central Africa. After millions of those men fled to Europe in search for a better live in the European social system, we made bilateral agreements that many of them can come to the U.S., or at least to those states that do not already have a lot of immigration from the southern border.

We want those guys to get a college degree, and later on get good jobs in our economy.

The general regulations are already set, so that in the name of diversity those guys will be favored over any white male applicant as long as they have a college degree…”

“…The Problem is the following, they already struggle with the simplest things like our english language, our western culture, even things like using a water closet or social norms in general, so we need dedicated people…like you Mrs. Jameson…who give them some private lessons in english and some kind of coaching all over their live so they can acclimatize to our culture, get organised with all college related issues, maybe also help them with some other subjects and so on…does that make sense to you Mrs. Jameson, I know that sounds like a very broad spectrum of responsibilities, what is your first impression?

“That sounds like a big bunch of work to me but also a lot of space to grow and bring many skills to the table right? I am sure I can help those girls to become proper members of our society” Amber already felt in full responsibility to help the immigrants to live the American dream.

My Surprising New Neighbours

Amateur

If you believed everything my mates told you you’d be convinced that I’ve shagged most of the world’s most beautiful women. Nothing could be further from the truth, but when they’ve had a few pints on a Friday night after our regular five-a-side football session, they’re even more certain that I must be lying when I deny it.

Some of their comments are pretty crude — “C’mon Dave you old fucker, tell us … does so-and-so suck your dick?” or “I bet S…’s got a nice tight cunt,” or “Do you fuck them up the arse?” — all fairly typical of their filthy minds. And they’re always asking whether I’ve got any pussy photos on my smart phone. It usually shuts them up when I ask who their wives bought that sexy lingerie for — a shot in the dark of course, but it gets them wondering.

Before you get the wrong idea about what I do for a living I should explain that I am a professional glamour photographer specialising in what is known as boudoir photography. I am forty five years old and single — well divorced actually. After college I went to work for a glossy magazine, but I decided to go freelance after I discovered my wife was having an affair with my boss. I had wondered why I was given so many overseas assignments in exotic locations, but it wasn’t until I came home a few days earlier than planned that I discovered the truth when I caught them in flagrante in our marital bed. Since the uncontested divorce on the ground of adultery I have had a few girlfriends but I have never remarried and frankly enjoy the freedom of an unattached life.

Much of my work is privately commissioned but my pictures also regularly appear in top fashion magazines. These days I generally work indoors — a bedroom or a private dressing room for example — but mainly in my studio, where I can control the lighting, depth of field etc. to produce the right artistic effect. Although I do shoot my subjects in the nude with results that might be considered erotic, they are definitely not pornographic, which means no overtly sexual poses or open crotch pictures. Over the years I have developed my own distinctive style which is much in demand and I often have to refuse commissions, otherwise I would be working all the hours in the day.

However, whatever my friends may think, I do not mix business with pleasure. If I did overstep the mark and got sexually involved with my subjects, the word would soon get around, and the commissions would quickly dry up. I make a good living out of what I do and I want that to continue. I might add that I do not find what I do remotely sexually arousing — my mind is far too busy thinking about composition, lighting, skin tone and all the other elements that make up a good photograph.

Photography is also my hobby as well as my profession, but in the field of photojournalism, which is a total contrast to what I do to earn my bread and butter. Unlike my professional work where conditions are highly controlled, it is capturing the fleeting moment that appeals to me and the challenge of creating a coherent story about the human condition by reacting to what I see through the viewfinder. I am too much of a coward to consider working in war zones but I have covered many elections and demonstrations in the U.K. and overseas, and sporting events are always a good source of human interest stories. I have sold a few pictures to newspapers and weekly journals such as Time magazine, and every couple of years I hire a gallery for a week for a show.

ooOoo

Until recently I had been very strict about keeping my professional and private lives separate, but events of a few months ago changed all that. A young couple in their twenties had moved into the next door apartment and out of neighbourliness I invited them round for dinner one evening. Peter was tall and very thin, but not bad looking. His wife Veronica on the other hand was stunning, with what can only be described as a voluptuous figure — some people would unkindly describe her as short and plump, but I thought she was gorgeous. Although the modern fashion is for skinny girls personally I have always preferred something more cuddly. With her large firm breasts, broad hips and ample bottom, I privately thought Veronica would make a good subject for a study of real femininity — a modern Venus if you like.

The walls of my apartment are hung with large format copies of many of my photographs — essays in photojournalism in the hall and dining room, but pictures of my favourite female subjects in the sitting room — some in lingerie, but also artistic nudes, all shot against a black background. After dinner when we were relaxing over coffee and drinks — gin and tonic for Veronica and a good single malt whisky for Peter and me — Veronica asked where I had purchased the pictures. I explained that I was a professional photographer and that they were all examples of my work, and went on to tell them a little about my work. After a pregnant pause Peter asked what my fee would be to photograph his wife, purely for their personal rize escort consumption of course. I told him what I usually charged for private commissions, and when he indicated that they were comfortable with that I suggested that we should make an appointment for a sitting.

“Why not tonight,” Peter said, and looking across at Veronica, “if that is okay with you dear,” and turning back to me, “and I would like to watch you at work if you don’t mind.”

This was rather a novel request, but I replied that as long as he sat quietly in the background I had no objections.

Veronica then chipped in, “I think it would be rather exciting to be photographed in an intimate way, but what colour lingerie would you prefer me to wear?”

“If I was working in colour I would suggest lingerie in rich colours such as dark crimson or rich blues, or alternatively pale colours if I wished to create an air of innocence. However as I normally shoot in black and white I use a dark background and suggest lingerie from a limited colour palette depending upon the effect I am after, and also the skin colour of the model. With your pale skin and long black hair you are already a very interesting subject, so I would suggest something which is basically black. I will choose lighting to make that effect even more dramatic, which will emphasise the curves of your amazing figure and make your skin glow as if it lit from within, almost like alabaster.”

Veronica thought for a moment and then said, “I have some new things I bought the other day from Victoria’s Secret which think would be ideal. If you will give me a moment or two, I will slip back home and change.”

While Veronica was gone Peter asked me more about the photographs on my walls but mainly my essays in photojournalism. I also learned that he and Veronica had met at university and had been married for about five years. They were both accountants and worked at a well known firm in the City where they both earned good salaries. I asked about whether they were planning to start a family and he said that they had thought about it but wanted to build up their portfolio first so that Veronica wouldn’t have to go back to work until any children had started school. Basically they seemed like a sensible professional couple. I was shortly to discover that they weren’t quite as ordinary as I supposed.

Veronica was gone for nearly half and hour and when she returned she was wearing a long macintosh. When she took it off I was knocked sideways by sheer erotic sensuousness of what was revealed. As I have said Veronica was a very curvaceous lady, but in my eyes wearing just her underwear she was the epitome of voluptuousness, and she had chosen lingerie that showed off her figure to its best advantage. Under a gauzy knee length robe of shimmering black chiffon she was wearing a black open cup bustier with crimson edgings, semi transparent black panties and black stockings. Her magnificent naked breasts stood out proudly with no signs of enhancement, and they were crowned by long dark nipples in dramatic contrast to her alabaster white skin. I have photographed many scantily clad and naked women but none had aroused me sexually in the way this woman did, and to be honest I began to imagine what it would be like to fuck her. Her husband just looked at her with pride in his eyes as if to say “Look what a beauty I have been fortunate enough to marry.”

I led them through to my studio where I asked them to take a seat on one of the two chaise longues which were at the time positioned along the back wall of the studio either side of the door. For the shoot I intended to move one of them to the centre of low stage took up the full width of the rear third of the room. The stage was covered with short pile black carpet and the walls were curtained with a black velvet material.

I then began to explain the equipment I would be using and my modus operandi. They both listened attentively, especially Peter who had a look of wrapt fascination on his face.

“As you can see,” I said, “in this studio I use a completely black background — I have another studio which is set out as a lady’s boudoir with cream and pale gold shot silk papered walls — and apart from the black silk drape with which I will cover the chaise longue in the centre of the stage, the material covering the walls and floor absorbs almost all the light. The effect is that the model appears to be suspended in infinite space.”

I paused for a moment in case they wished to ask questions, and then continued, “I use three 50 megapixel digital cameras, one at waist height in the centre about six feet from the front of the stage, and two others at eye level at 45 degrees to the central camera. I will be using a fast shutter speed and a large aperture which gives a short depth of field so that only the part of the subject closest to the cameras is in sharp focus. The fact that the rest of the model is slightly out of focus softens their outline which adds to the ethereal bostnews.com effect.”

Crossing to the control desk at the right of the studio, I went on, “The cameras are controlled by this computer, which is also linked to a light meter above each camera. I usually use a remote control to trigger the shutters, but I can set the system up to take a series of pictures at pre determined intervals. Every time the shutters fire they actually take five images, each with a slightly different amount of exposure. This is known as exposure bracketing and can be achieved by using a different shutter speed, altering the aperture or, the method I use, by adjusting the ISO speed of the cameras. The effect is to produce five images that vary from darker to lighter than the exposure indicated by the meters. The five images are then combined during post processing to produce a final image with a high dynamic range where different parts of the image are exposed by different amounts.”

I paused again to allow them to take in what was for them highly technical information. Veronica merely looked at me politely, although I guessed she was probably slightly bored, but Peter gave the impression of real interest.

“Finally,” I said, “the lighting of the subject is crucial. There are LED lights behind diffusing filters directed on the part of the subject nearest the cameras running in strips along the front of the stage, up the walls and across the ceiling — a frame of light if you like. The angle, colour and brightness of these lights is controlled by the control panel here,” and I indicated a small box on the desk, “and can be altered quite easily during a shoot. There is another set of LED spotlights in the ceiling above each of the cameras directed on the subject. These create the highlights in the image, and again their colour and brightness can be adjusted from a control box.”

“Now if you will just give me a hand with this chaise longue Peter, we will be ready to start.”

Once I was happy with its positioning and had covered it with the black silk drape, I asked Veronica to step up onto the stage. When she was seated I switched off the main studio lights and, with a few presses of buttons on the control boxes, adjusted the lights so that the only illumination was the pool of silvery light surrounding her as if she was floating in a bubble in the infinity of space. Once I had set the computer to take pictures at intervals of fifteen seconds I was ready to proceed.

For the next half an hour I directed Veronica in the various positions I wished her to assume, at first wearing her robe, and then with it removed and casually draped over the back of the chaise longue. I was about to call it a day when she took over control for what turned out to be a session of the most delicious debauchery.

She started by sitting face on to the central camera and, lifting her right breast to her mouth, began to lick and suck the rapidly hardening nipple while looking at the camera with a look of irresistible seductiveness. After that she slowly lifted each leg in turn and languidly peeled off her stockings like a practised artist. Standing up, she turned away from our entranced gaze and began to undo her bustier, lace by lace before dropping the garment with a wiggle of her exquisite bottom.

The sultry effect of this slow striptease was hypnotic and against all my best intentions a fire of irresistible desire was ignited in my body. My balls ached with long repressed lust and my cock was so hard that I was compelled to release it from the constrictive prison of my trousers and briefs. I must have looked like some ancient priapic satyr with my upwardly curved erection poking out of my open flies. If I didn’t get to fuck this goddess, and I didn’t imagine in a million years that I would be so lucky, at least I would have a series of incredibly erotic images to inflame my lonely nights of exquisite masturbation.

I wasn’t alone in my lecherous ardour. Through the fog of debauched desire I heard a low moan from behind me and turning my head for a moment, loathe though I was to tear my eyes from the divine vision of femininity on the stage, and saw that Peter was stroking a raging erection with a glazed expression on his face. Almost subconsciously it registered on my mind that his cock was as long and thin as he was.

Veronica was a natural seductress and by some strange telepathy knew that she had us completely under her spell. Perhaps it was the subtle scent of our arousal that she sensed, who knows? In retrospect all I do know is that in collusion with her husband she had planned her ravishment and eagerly wanted it to be captured for posterity, as I was about to find out. The air in the studio was thick with carnal expectancy, and if cameras had senses their lenses would surely have steamed over in the heat of unfolding passion.

Veronica turned to face us with maddeningly slowness, luxuriating in the knowledge that the cameras were capturing every nuance of the libidinous provocation of her glorious sexuality. Glancing down at my throbbing cock she smiled and, looking me straight in the eyes, she blew me a sultry kiss, a gesture of blatant invitation. With the same deliberateness that had characterised her actions since she had stolen control of the evening, she slipped one hand into her panties, through the dark forest of her abundant pubic hair and between her legs into the hidden depths of her vulva. The fires of my lust were now completely out of control and if I had so much as touched my cock I most certainly would have erupted in hot spasms of ejaculatory ecstasy.

Veronica turned her back on us once more and, leaning forward, hooked her fingers into the elastic at the waist of her panties and slid them down over the globes of her majestic buttocks, and then down her legs, kicking them to one side as they dropped to the floor around her feet. Her vulva was everything that I had hoped for, plump and glistening with the moisture of her vaginal secretions, luxuriously displayed to our view between the cheeks of glorious bottom. I desperately wanted to rush forward and fondle the ample flesh of her divine beauty, but what remained of my decorum held me back, although it was exquisite agony to do so. Parting her legs in blatant invitation she slipped the fingers of one hand between her engorged and swollen inner labia and spread them wide to reveal the deep pink within.

Then she spoke for the first time since we had entered the studio an hour earlier, “Petey,” addressing her husband by his pet name, “I’m so horny. Tell Dave he can come and feel me. I know he wants to, and I want so much to feel his thick fingers plunging into my cunt (not a word I commonly used, but it didn’t sound crude coming from her lips) and making me cum.”

“Oh Ronnie,” he replied, “you are such a naughty young slut, wanting to be ravaged by another man while I’m watching. Of course he can. In fact, I insist that he does.”

As if in a dream, through air that was thick with the tension of unbearable carnal expectation, I took the few irrevocable steps that carried me within inches of heaven. Reaching down I slid two fingers of my right hand into the fluttering entrance of her vagina and deep into the velvet heat and wetness of her sex. With a cry she started to cum almost immediately, her body writhing with pleasure as the waves of her orgasm swept through her quivering flesh.

“Ooh, Petey,” she moaned, “he’s making me cum. Tell him to fuck me. I want to feel his lovely thick cock stretching me, and his hot cum spurting against my womb. Tell him. Order him to do it. Please, oh please.”

I glanced back, unsure whether this was what he really wanted. He just nodded and mouthed, “Yes, go ahead Dave, fuck my naughty slut if a bride. Ravish her cunt with your cock.”

Without even stopping to drop my trousers I pressed the purple distended head of my cock against the entrance to her live hold and with one swift thrust plunged my entire length into her.

“Ooh yes,” she screamed, “you are so big. I’ve always wanted to be fucked by a big cock. Oh God, that’s so amazing. Fuck me hard. Harder. Harder. Oh Petey, he’s making me cum again. Oh fuck … fuck … fuck … fuuuuuck.”

I grabbed the wondrously ample flesh of her pendulous breasts as I pistoned in and out of the velvety sheath of her vagina. Her swollen labia clung to my rock hard shaft each time I pulled out before thrusting back into the pulsating wetness. By now Veronica was incoherent with lust, moaning and crying with ecstasy as another orgasm ripped through her flesh. It didn’t take long of this exquisite decadence before I felt my scrotum tightening and my cock growing even harder as I pumped stream after stream of hot sticky semen deep into her womb. Jesus, I couldn’t remember ever coming so hard and for so long, the intensity of my pleasure amplified by the utter depravity of the situation. As my hot cum splashed against her cervix, Veronica screamed and would have collapsed if I hadn’t been holding her. God, it was amazing.

As the peak of our mutual ecstasy passed, I gently lowered Veronica onto the chaise longue where she lay with her eyes closed and her breasts heaving with the effort of our mating. My legs were like jelly and I sat next to her while I gathered my strength and my senses. I looked over at Peter and in the darkness I could see that I wasn’t alone in shedding my seed. His tummy and chest were covered in streaks of glistening white cum and his now flaccid cock hung wetly between his thighs.

Some time later, when we had cleaned ourselves up with towels that I fetched from my bathroom and adjusted our dress, Peter asked me how long it would take me to process the photographs. I told him that it would take me two or three days and said I would call once I had printed the final images and mounted them in an album. Veronica was still recumbent on the chaise longue where I had left her, exhausted and satiated by her orgasms. Peter tenderly wrapped her coat around her naked body and picking up her discarded lingerie, he gently supported her as she tottered out of my front door across the lobby to their apartment.