Adoration of the Vagi

This is the fifth part of a series exploring an artist delighting in the female form. The story includes a 'threesome'. For those who last long enough there will also be some incest, but that is all ... yet to come.

Everyone engaged in sexual activity in this story is at least 18 years old.

.......................

Steve, an artist, advertised for models to be part of a project. They have been offered $2000 for a two hour session. When they respond they find out that the artist wants to take photos of their pussies for an artistic project. Grace, Steve's wife is fully supportive and involved. The models who have participated so far have come from a variety of ages and backgrounds. The search for willing participants continues.

.......................

Margaret.

'Why am I doing this again?' Margaret asked herself. She couldn't actually believe that she was going through with this ridiculous suggestion from her therapist. If any of her friends or family found out she would never be able to set foot outside the house again! 'Ridiculous. Bizarre. Unthinkable.' Yet she had thought and had decided to take up this challenge to regain some of her self-esteem.

Her therapist was the one who had seen the advertisement. She had discussed with Margaret how she could become more comfortable with her own body as a way to becoming more comfortable and accepting of her whole self. 'Trust me to find a young therapist with crazy ideas!' Yet here she was, Standing in the doorway of the studio where she had been directed to attend.

Margaret had just celebrated her 72nd birthday. She didn't see much to celebrate because, in her mind, her life was so muddled and depressing. She did not think of herself as 'old'. Old was over 80 or beyond. She had only just stopped working and only then because the company where she had been employed for 45 years had been taken over by a big conglomerate with strict HR policies. At 72 Margaret was well outside their guidelines for appropriate employable age. Of course, in this age of freedom from discrimination for many reasons, they could not actually force her to retire. But the subtle persistent suggestions and reallocating her to more and more menial tasks finally got to her and she decided to jump.

The loss of her job led to depression. Depression led to over eating and, though Margaret was not really overweight she had filled out and was disturbed to find that the new clothes she now required were two full sizes bigger than those she had been accustomed to wearing. That depressed her more which continued that cycle.

Now she was caught up in this hair-brained scheme which was supposed to give her a new perspective and redirect her sense of herself. Bullshit. Margaret would never have been so uncouth as to utter that word aloud. But in her mind that is exactly what this was. Bullshit. She had nearly decided to walk away and tell her therapist where to stick her ideas when the door opened and an attractive woman welcomed her.

Grace could see, as she opened the door, that Margaret was already turning to go and so she warmly welcomed her, encouraging her to come inside. The studio was a large open space, warm but mostly empty. Near the door were two couches and a low table on which sat some 'coffee table books' of photographs and a clipboard with forms. Steve, the photographic artist, had been sitting on one of the couches but rose as Margaret entered. 'A handsome man' she thought. 'Not unlike my David,' though that thought cast a shadow over her mind as she remembered his death five years earlier and how much she missed him.

Noticing the moment of sadness Steve stepped forward. "Please, come and sit down. Welcome to my studio. Thank you for taking up this invitation. We really appreciate your assistance in this project."

Those words from Steve were actually deeply reassuring to Margaret. It almost sounded like work. She could cope with it if she thought she was doing a 'job' and also being helpful. If she just thought about taking her clothes off and letting some man take photographs of her private parts then it seemed so sordid that she had almost been sick a few times even considering the idea. A job. Being helpful. Ok. She could cope with that.

The required forms and information were, of course, highly embarrassing and personal. Margaret wanted to ask about a few of the details requested but was far too embarrassed to even inquire. As Grace and Steve sat and watched her they could see clearly that Margaret's face was flushed and she was highly uncomfortable. They worried that she would decide not to be involved but were relieved when she finally signed her neat, precise signature on the last page.

The request to have a shower before they began caused another wave of panic but Margaret kept repeating to herself: 'This is a job. I am preparing for work. I will do the necessary tasks and then I will go home.' When she emerged from the bathroom Margaret had the robe wrapped so tightly around her body that it was as if she was in a cocoon. Steve noticed and jokingly thought to himself 'and I am about to release the butterfly within', though he didn't utter this aloud in case such a sentiment scared her away completely.

Grace was very aware of the older woman's hesitancy and she stepped in to assist her to remove the robe, climb onto the platform, position her feet in the supports and to place the cushions and pillows so that she would be reclining comfortably. Margaret shut her eyes tightly, wondering if the flush which she knew infused her face went all the way to her lower body. She decided to blank out her mind completely. She would endure this ordeal then go back and find a different therapist. As Steve completed his final preparations she said "When you are ready just please complete the whole process. No need to stop when you begin to video me ... there. Please just get it over with. Thank you."

Not wanting to disturb someone so clearly flighty Steve did not even reply but quickly set his camera to record the still photographs for the project. He worked quickly but the need to move the lighting to achieve different effects still meant that this part took over 20 minutes of the usually allocated 40.

Then, without any further conversation, he set the video camera in its central position between Margaret's spread legs. Grace had been wondering what to do, whether to sit beside Margaret or perhaps hold her hand to reassure her but then decided that Margaret may be happier being able to ignore the fact that anyone else was present, probably even to imagine herself being somewhere else too.

The touch of Steve's finger penetrated Margaret's inner cocoon of focus. No one had touched her there since David died. Even he had not been interested in sex for the last few years before that. She had never, of course, touched herself. A lady never would do something so ... sordid. There was that word again. But even as she thought the word it was washed away by a wave which began to move through her body. She could feel a delicious heat rising from ... down there ... and almost pulsing through her. It was like being immersed in a lovely warm bath yet the heat radiated out from between her legs.

This was delightful. Bliss. It was not sordid at all but ... oh dear. Oh dear. Margaret began to breathe more heavily. Her chest rose and fell with each breath almost approaching a gasp. She could feel now not only the heat radiating but that embarrassing wetness, that delightful wetness. The word 'moist' seemed to be so much out of favour with women because it suggested something completely lacking in sexiness. Yet that was what Margaret was now enjoying. Her private parts felt warm and moist, so delightfully moist.

Then she began to tingle. She knew her anatomy and recognised that the tingles were running through her labia majora and labia minora. No point in having been forced to learn Latin if you could not use it sometimes! Oh dear! Oh dear!

The cries that Margaret thought were only in her head had actually been uttered aloud, spurring Steve to caress more carefully, focussing on the entrance of Margaret's vagina and on her clitoris, the places where he had noticed his touch produced the greatest change in her rapid breathing. Finally Margaret's body took her to that place of release. Rather thana loud cry or moan Margaret said, in a light and floating voice "I feel as if I am flying. Flying. Flying."

Steve did not interrupt but simply removed his fingers, washing then very quietly beginning to pack away his equipment. Neither he nor Grace wanted to interrupt the euphoria which was enveloping Margaret.

After some minutes Margaret slowly sat up. "Thank you, my dears. I really didn't want to be here today. But I am SO glad that I came." She gave an embarrassed titter because the connection between words suddenly struck her, not that she would ever have intentionally said anything so brazen and naughty!! "I must go now. I need to go again and talk to my therapist. She was the one, you know. The one who insisted that I come here for ... this. I must go and thank you. I feel that now a new chapter has opened up. I need to talk to her."

Steve and Grace stepped aside. As far as Margaret was concerned, it seemed to them, they were no longer really there. She was focussed on the next steps, what she needed to do next, seeing her therapist (Whatever that meant. Steve and Grace had no idea Margaret had come on anything other than her own volition). They watched as Margaret quickly dashed to the bathroom and emerged, dressed, and promptly left.

"Well that was the most straightforward and simple model yet!" observed Grace.

"Yes," replied Steve, "though, among the fascinating back stories of all those who we have met here for this, I think her story would be just as interesting. I doubt we will ever find out what was actually going on there, but we have our woman in her 70s to cross off the list. Tomorrow we see the last, apart from the troublesome teenager we have yet to find."

Cheryl.

Cheryl needed the money. At 51 years old she felt she shouldn't have had to find all sorts of odd ways to keep food on the table for her kids, and even grandkids. The youngest two of her three were still living with her. She had a husband but he seemed to spend most of his time on a bender or on walkabout. Useless bastard. When they were both younger his wild streak had seemed like a lot of fun. Now she realised he never grew up and his larrikinism was just annoying. He pissed her off when he was gone but pissed her off even more when he dragged himself back home again. So him being 'away' was better.

Cheryl was part Aboriginal. One eighth as far as the government was concerned, which meant she got a few privileges and access to some extra assistance. It wasn't enough though. Her oldest son took after his father, except with more violence, and life was much quieter and safer with him living over in WA with the latest sheila he had managed to smooth talk into supporting him. 'Struggling artist, working through a dry patch in his creative spirit ... my arse!' He was a sponging loser and eventually each of the women he conned realised that and ditched him. So he moved on and found another target.

The next son was a good boy, focussed on his studies. He was the first in her clan to get to Uni which made her real proud. He was studying computers and even though Cheryl couldn't understand exactly what he was doing she knew that he would be ok. He was like her. A steady head. He managed to stay off the booze even when the rest of the mob were getting themselves pissed every weekend, some every night. He was a good boy. He would be ok.

The youngest, a daughter, had a mix of her mother and her father. At times she seemed to settle down then she would go wild and be a worry to everyone. On one of those wild streaks she had disappeared for over a year then turned up on Cheryl's doorstep with no warning, a baby under her arm and the marks on her face from having received a severe belting.

When the father of the child turned up a month or so later, whinging and begging her girl to go back to him it took only a severe look and harsh words to get him to clear off again to whatever sewer he had crawled out of. Well, it did help that Cheryl had been screaming at him to piss off while holding a loaded shotgun in her hands. You have to do what you have to do sometimes. He wasn't going to tell anyone about the gun and after that Cheryl hid it again carefully where it could not be easily found.

So she had four mouths to feed, and more when the mob dropped in, which they did often. Cheryl was the stable one. She was the one everyone relied on and also the one who everyone hit up for a few bob when they were skint. She was tough though and only helped where she could see that the need was real and the person asking was prepared to do something to help themselves too. She was no pushover, mate. No way.

There was never enough to go around though and when she saw the add offering two grand for two hours she was suspicious but thought it was worth checking out. Easy money. Perhaps. She was ready to cut and run if this got too weird. And she was tougher than she may have looked. She could look after herself. Don't you worry about that.

Cheryl stepped into the studio and the first thing that struck her was the smell. It was a mix of many things. Someone had used eucalyptus oil to clean a stubborn sticky stain from somewhere. The floor had been washed with a bleach that left an acrid odour. The lingering smell of coffee was not only in the air but seemed embedded into the fabric of the couch. These white fellas drank a lot of coffee. And wafting across from the platform that looked like a big bed in the middle of the room were traces of human scent. Not just any bodily smells but this was a place where people had been seriously aroused and the aroma of sex lingered.

Cheryl had always been aware of smells. Some of the mob mocked her for it but that was partly because drugs and booze and too many smokes had killed off their senses. Cheryl knew what she could smell and that waft from that big bed was not unpleasant. Not at all.

Grace and Steve welcomed Cheryl and explained the project, the procedure, the session and how it would unfold. She was a hard woman to read and they were not sure if she was taking it all in. But Cheryl understood completely. She kept a straight face because that made people waffle on more and sometimes tell her things that they didn't even mean to say. Like these white fellas who hinted that some of the sessions had gone a bit further after the 'models' were aroused to a climax.

'We will see,' she thought to herself. He is not a bad looker. And she is hot too. Cheryl had always felt attracted to women as well as blokes but she wasn't about to tell anyone that. Her mob would shit themselves because in her culture that was not on. But here ... maybe this would be a chance to play a bit ... maybe.

"So you want me to clean myself up a bit before you take the pics, right? Wash all me bits and get them all spiffed up?" Cheryl was mocking them and they knew it.

Coming back from the shower Cheryl noticed those wafts of aroma became stronger as she approached the big bed. The sheet on top was clean and fresh but she suspected that some of those bodily fluids had seeped into the mattress below. Again, she registered that the smell was not unpleasant. Actually she began to warm to the idea of adding her own contribution to the aromatic mix.

"Ok Steve. You do the first bit then lets talk about how that second part happens. Ok?"

"Sounds fine. I always need to reset the cameras and the lights anyway. We can have a yarn about how that second part happens at that time."

Cheryl lay back in the place as she had been shown. When Grace helped her find comfortable support with the cushions and pillows Cheryl let her fingers drift across Grace's arm. Slowly. Invitingly. Then she lay back as if nothing had happened.

Grace smiled. She was well aware of the mutual interest but had also seen how Cheryl had been eyeing off Steve. Once the session and the project side of the arrangement were completed this could well turn into another interesting afternoon!

Cheryl's aboriginality was clear in some of her features and her skin was an even light brown across her whole body. Her skin was a lot lighter than Gladys, who had modelled earlier, adding to the hues which would be expressed in the final artistic works.

Steve explored her pussy with his eyes while he set the camera to the proper angle and position. Deep in the creases at the top of Cheryl's legs her skin seemed to become lighter but darkened again as her curves swept up again to alongside her pussy lips. Those lips were a deep chocolate brown. The image that came to Steve for a moment was that her pussy had been dipped in chocolate.

He had played that sexy game with Grace using strawberries and chocolate but here were pussy lips that already looked as if they had been dipped. He wondered briefly what Cheryl's pussy lips would actually taste like, but put that thought aside. There was work to do.

The photographs which Steve took would form part of a series for each of the models. The main photograph would be of her pussy as a whole but the others would show the various aspects and angles, contours and textures of this beautiful part of the female anatomy.

Steve worked his way through the series of photos, moving the lights and positioning the camera as required. When he was finished he moved to where he could see Cheryl's face. "First part all done. Now what did you want to say or ask before we move to the next part?"

"Well I know that what you want is to get me to cum so that you get that recorded on the video." Steve nodded. "I am happy to have you touch me but if you really want me to go off then there is something else which will help."

"What is that?" asked Grace. She had come to join in the conversation.

Looking at Steve, Cheryl said, "If you rub me and get me to cum then it will be just be something like I bet you have had from all the others. But when I really go off I squirt. And I mean I gush! Would you like to be able to record that?"

Without hesitation Steve said "Definitely! What do we need to do to help you?"

"Ok. Steve, you get down there and work your magic. Grace you come in close here. I am naked so I might as well have company. Slip off that skirt girl. What will get me to splash is if at the same time as being touched I can touch you, and taste you. Is that ok?"

Steve and Grace looked at each other but, with all that they had already shared with some of the models, they had no hesitation agreeing to this new request. Grace not only slipped off her skirt but stripped completely. She lay on the huge bed, on her side, one leg lifted, her pussy where Cheryl could reach out and touch easily without moving in ways which would affect the video of the whole experience. As Steve stroked Cheryl, Cheryl began to run her fingers up and down between Grace's pussy lips, slipping her fingers inside Grace then bringing her hand to her face, letting the rich aroma of Grace's arousal fill her nostrils then dipping her fingers inside her mouth to taste the salty delicious juices.

Both women were throwing off pheromones, breathing roughly, getting wetter and wetter and more and more aroused. Every time that Cheryl licked her fingers Grace shuddered, knowing that those fingers would soon return to caress her pussy. She was also almost overcome with the desire to plunge her own face into Cheryl's pussy, to taste her as well.

Steve was watching carefully, ready for the signs that the climax was about to be reached. He had taken Cheryl's promise and prediction seriously and had a towel ready to soak up any of Cheryl's cum which might actually flow out beyond the edge of the bed. He had heart about women who squirted but had never seen it for real. When it happened Steve was caught by surprise. If he called it a waterfall it was just a slight exaggeration.