Photo Shoot Saras And Keiths Version

This was a little fantasy that I had in the bath after my husband bought me a photo shoot for a surprise gift. The photographer turned out to be more than a little cute. The events of the story (told here through the perspectives of the two protagonists) are a fiction. But a girl can dream, can't she?

I've made a few edits as a result of useful feedback people have sent me privately. Of these I want to thank Neil especially for his advice - and for the pub lunch. I was very nervous about meeting you, Neil but you were a real gentleman, and I hope you think of me whenever you're wearing my panties.

I guess Literotica must have taken over the homepage address of a Puritan Society at some point in the past, and many of the prudish former subscribers are still coming here looking for Bible stories so if you're someone who is easily offended by fantasies about married women spreading their legs for men other than their spouses, please navigate away now - and certainly don't bore us all with your comments. Life is too short to bother with trying to pretend we all see things the same way.

Sara's Version of Events

I'd been married three years and we had started to talk about maybe trying for a baby when Steve surprised me with an anniversary present I hadn't expected at all. It was an afternoon session at a very expensive photography studio about two miles from where we lived. I'd passed the window of this studio a few times and I usually stopped to look at his displays. He had a couple of well known television personalities among his clientelle and they both looked stunning in the black and white pictures he had taken of them. One was on what was clearly a tropical beach. The other was a moody studio shot - backlit and artistically composed. These display shots weren't for sale of course, but it was obvious each session would have cost thousands of pounds to put together.

My session wasn't quite as sophisticated as that. Steve had had a bit of luck with an assignment and had decided to blow £500 on an offer the photographer was promoting that month. He would take a portfolio of ten pictures and put them together in a faux glossy magazine. The model would get the full treatment and the magazine would look like a professional undertaking - the sort of thing you'd see on the coffee table of an upscale hair salon.

I was touched and delighted by the thought. Steve's usual presents were lovely but predictable: flowers, inexpensive jewellery, occasionally an item of lingerie that was as much for him as it was for me. I found myself warming to him as I made the appointment, selected a day and a time I would be free from my commitments as a part time lecturer in anthropology at a local college and started to think about how I wanted my hair and makeup that day.

The day I chose for the photo shoot was 6th June. I was told to come along at 10 in the morning and expect to be there for three hours. Clothes would be available, and some simple hair styling was offered, but make up would be down to me. I decided I'd choose my own outfits and I dressed in a simple white silk top from Coast and a chocolate brown skirt from Zara that I hadn't yet worn but that I knew would look good and show off my legs - Steve's favourite feature.

It was a lovely day and I drove the two miles to the studio with the roof down and the radio playing. I was at the top of my cycle and for some reason when I'm ovulating I tend to expose more flesh. I'd dispensed with tights and stockings completely and, after some consideration, I'd taken my bra off before setting out. Steve had had to leave early that day so he hadn't seen me getting ready but I knew I looked smoking hot and I was looking forward to presenting something special to the lens and letting Steve see a quality product when we finally received the finished portfolio book.

I parked in the little car park just behind the studio where there were just three spaces and two of them already filled. I walked into the studio via the door at the back and introduced myself to the secretary at the desk. She was striking: very tall - at least six feet, dark skinned and wearing a red silk top that looked like it cost more than my entire wardrobe. She smiled and ticked my name off the list and asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I said no and she made a quick call and then told me I could go upstairs. Upstairs turned out to be four flights of stairs. The studio was in fact several studios, and my shoot was to be on the top floor. I walked up the stairs and entered the only room. It was set up for my shoot with a tripod in the corner and a white setting sheet draped up over a vertical frame at one end of the room. In the opposite corner was a bed with white and purple bedding and there was a black leather bauhaus chair against one room. i sat on the chair and waited for someone to come.

After ten minutes I was getting impatient. i walked to the door and as I opened it the photographer walked in. We bumped against each other and i felt something warm and wet splash across my stomach.

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry," he said. I looked up and saw he had been carrying a mug of either tea or coffee. Whatever it had been it was now splashed across my skirt and top. Both were ruined for the purpose of the shoot. I must have looked pretty pissed off because he caught my look and said immediately "Look, that was completely my fault and I will pay to have the items cleaned or replaced. We have other clothes you are welcome to look at or we can do the shoot another day or we can do it from the shoulders up. Or..."

He stopped. I looked at him.

"Or?" I said.

"Or, if you want to, we can do it without those items. Just make it an underwear shoot."

"For your information," I said "I'm not wearing a bra."

"I know." He replied. "I saw that as soon as I bumped into you. But we could still do the shoot."

I shrugged. The blouse had to come off so i started unbuttoning it. After all, he had probably seen hundreds of pairs of tits in his day, and it wasn't as if mine were anything to be ashamed of. I wasn't quite prepared for him to come over and help me take the top off, but that's what he did. I assumed he was just being helpful and I let him unbutton the last three buttons and take it off to put in a pile to go to the dry cleaner.

I slipped the skirt off and gave it to him. He put it in the same pile. He indicated the bed and I sat on it determined not to feel self conscious. He adjusted the tripod and the light reflectors and then came over to me to put me into a few trial poses. After each of these he went back took some shots and then returned to me. After a while I started to understand the routine. Almost never would any of these shots be used. They were purely for establishing levels of light and exposure. I started to be less nervous and began to relax. He would move a foot or a hand or tilt my face and then go back to the camera. Once he came over to place the light meter on the bed next to me. He moved my shoulder and two fingers touched my breast as he withdrew his hand. I was sure it was an accident and said nothing but two minutes later he did exactly the same thing again. Before I could complain he moved a hand to my left ear and gently moved my head. My ears are my most sensitive erogenous zone and I could feel my face flush. At the same time I knew I was beginning to moisten down there. There is no escape with white silk panties. If you are wet, they will show it. I could feel a visible damp spot start to form where my pussy was betraying me. I was starting to enjoy being in this stranger's company and it was exciting to think that only a millimetre of Shandong silk separated my increasingly wet cunt from his sight.

The shoot proceeded now he had his light levels sorted out. He would come over after every shot and move me slightly one way of the other. Cross legged on the bed. Ankles crossed demurely while I stared off to the right. Arm draped across breasts. Hands in lap staring straight into the lens... We ran through a score or more of poses. After each one he would return to me and adjust something in close proximity. I could smell his cologne. he would lean across me and let part of his body touch mine as he adjusted something or other. All the time I was in that delicious limbo between nothing happening and something happening.

Then he stroked my breast. It was blatant and deliberate. I had been day dreaming and I now startled and looked at him. He had sat down next to me and was touching my breast with his hand, gently stroking my nipple.

"You're turned on, Sara," he said. If I take any more shots, everyone will see that your pussy is wet. It's been getting wetter for the last hour now but it's too obvious to hide any more. Your panties give you away. The stain will show on the pictures and I don't use photoshop."

I didn't know what to say. I moved his hand from my breast but my body had betrayed me. He knew I had been enjoying it. My face was flushed, my pupils were dilated and my cunt was soaking wet.

"The best thing would be to take them off and we'll carry on without them, Sara," he said.

I pushed at him but he held me firmly. Was I about to be raped, I wondered? Surely this couldn't be happening!

"No!" I said. "I'm a married woman. I don't want this"

"You might not want it, bitch. But your cunt does. look how wet it is!" he replied, and his fingers reached down between the legs I was desperately trying to keep tight together and stroked my cunt through my now sopping panties.

"No, please. Don't do this" I begged, but I wasn't convincing and he simply shook his head and raised a finger to his lips as if to say "hush".

The tears welled up in my eyes. My body clearly wanted to feel him go further but my head was confused. I was nowhere near ready to take the step he was pushing me to take.

Then he bent over me and gently kissed my left ear. My whole libido seemed to go into overdrive. "Oh god!" I heard myself say. "Don't do that. I love it when you do that! Don't kiss my ears. I LOVE IT!"

He bit and nibbled my ears and his hands very gently - almost imperceptibly continued to stroke my cunt. I was now aflame and my hand clutched his hair behind his head and when his mouth moved over mine I accepted his kiss willingly. I simply had no will power left. Turned on as I was and with my ears betraying where my vulnerabilities lay, I knew I was his and there was nothing I could do about it.

I said nothing but closed my eyes and felt him gently tugging at my panties. I lifted my ass off the bed and he pulled them down and put them in the same pile as the rest of my clothes.

He pushed me gently down onto the bed.

"Now, let's try one more pose we haven't yet tried but that I know you're going to love," he said.

Even as I whimpered a pathetic "Please, no!" I was parting my legs for him and my hand was pulling his jeans down and massaging his arse as he got into position. I remember begging him "Don't fuck me, please! I'm married. I'm ovulating. I'm not using any protection. Please don't fuck me" but as I felt him move into me I was hungrily kissing him and moaning with ecstasy. I lasted no more than a minute before my ass clenched and I started cumming. He was thrusting into me and I begged him again but this time my words were "Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Push, push, push PUSH!"

I felt his warm sticky cum flood into me in five or six powerful spurts. He quickly pulled out and pushed his still throbbing cock against my lips. I opened my mouth and took him in, licking the rest of his cum off his cock and swallowing what I could. He slid a finger into my cunt and gently ran it across my engorged clit. I started to cum again and we kissed as I slipped back into delirium.

Around 4 PM I left the studio dressed in model clothing and with an appointment for the next day when we would do the real shoot so Steve would at least have something for his £500.

As it turned out, we managed to get through that shoot without too many distractions and the whole thing was in the can before he turned to me and said "Right. Let's see if we can resume that other little project we were working on..."

Keith's Version of Events

I'd seen Sara with her husband three times before he came into the studio alone one day to book the shoot. She was a hot little number. I loved the way she hung onto his arm as they walked by. I loved her poise, her balance, the way she brushed the hair from her left ear with her little finger. they were obviously fairly new in marriage. She was hot and I felt the usual lustful stirring in my loins whenever I saw a hot married chick. They're my thing. I score with about one in five of the chicks I photograph, but married women who I actually fancy and want to fuck are a rarer catch. In the last three years I've only managed to bed three married women. Sara became my new challenge.

The day Steve came into the studio to chat about the offer I'd put up it took me a while to recognise him. But as we chatted I suddenly realised who he was and who we were talking about. The poor fool was actually setting his wife up to be in the same room as me for an afternoon - and in a photoshoot where he said he wanted her to look hotter than hot! It was a basically an invitation to fulfill my fantasy - and he'd be paying me to do it!

I sensed his keenness and added twenty percent to the usual fee. He still accepted. the fool. I was more determined than ever to take full advantage of the situation. I asked him a few intimate questions about her. Did she have any favourite poses? What colours did she like to wear, what erogenous zone did she have? That one got him startled. I played it cool. "It's important to know so she doesn't flush if I put her in a pose where she's stimulating an e-zone" I lied. He told me about her ears - especially the left ear. I made a note to use that to my advantage. I wondered how far I could take this. Would it be a flirt? A grope? A kiss? A full fuck? If so, would it be consensual or would I have to use my powers of persuasion? By the time we got to the payment I was handing Sara's unwitting husband a receipt with one hand and hiding an erection with the other.

Sara arrived on the due date wearing a white blouse and a chocolate skirt. I watched her park the car and get out. I saw immediately she had no bra on and I mentally increased my odds. She had short sleeves and bare legs. I wondered if she was ovulating. Women who are ovulating often expose more flesh - it's usually an unconscious dressing choice, but it has served me well before now. She had three inch heels, dangly earrings and her wedding band. Other than that all she was wearing was a nervous smile. I knew Kemara would keep her for a few minutes so I disappeared down two of the six flights of stairs that lead to my studio and made a small cup of espresso in the kitchenette we have on the third floor landing. This had worked once before when it had been a genuine accident. I wondered if I could stage something.

Married women are a special kind of prey. They often want to stray without consciously knowing it. given the opportunity - and the certainty of non-detection, they will allow the right guy with the right kind of approach to get close, and after that it's often simply a question of luck. I love the thrill of fucking married women. There's the wickedness of it all, but more than that there's the feeling that you're stealing something from another man. Taking his cherry from under his unsuspecting nose. I get high on that feeling.

I let Sara wait just long enough and then staged my coffee spill. It went perfectly. It splashed onto her white blouse and skirt and I played my apologetic clumsy oaf act to perfection. This was the crucial point in the game. I call it the bridge. Half of them will storm away pissed off and never return - or if they return it's only to give you the dry cleaning ticket. Sara stayed, however. And with that decision she sealed hr own fate. There was now no way I was going to let her leave that room without fucking her and going all the way - cumming bareback inside her married cunt.

Once she'd allowed me to take her blouse off she was putty in my hands. her skirt followed, and I led her to the bed where I'd already fucked nineteen women this year. Some were college girls getting their graduation photos done (two together in May had been the highlight even though one was fairly plain-looking). Some had been aspiring models I'd indicated I could get started on a career ladder. One was a soap star who was a kind of ex of mine, and there was that bride to be I'd humped while her fiancé was waiting downstairs. All great days but Sara was to beat them all.

I started by making a few "dry" shots, posing her with a tilt of the head here or a crossed leg there. I turned the heating up for her to keep her comfortable and once or twice touched her left ear on the pretext of moving her head. What Steve had told me seemed to be true. She visibly flushed when I did that. I resisted the temptation to stroke it. But I could see her moisten. I was as good as in.

After ten minutes of pussying around (quite literally), I made my move. I touched her breast and she didn't object. I think she was actually day dreaming. I touched it again and gently stroked her nipple. She confronted me.

"You're turned on, Sara," I said. "If I take any more shots, everyone will see that your pussy is wet. It's been getting wetter for the last hour now but it's too obvious to hide any more. Your panties give you away. The stain will show on the pictures and I don't use photoshop."

That seemed to floor her. She moved his hand from her breast but her body had already told me everything I wanted to know. I knew she had been enjoying it. Her face was flushed red, her pupils were dilated and her cunt was moist and waiting for my cock.

"The best thing would be to take them off and we'll carry on without them, Sara," I said. I deliberately used her name and watched for the signs.

"No!" she mumbled. "I'm a married woman. I don't want this"

I decided to go for it. The all or nothing approach. An ex once gave me a great piece of insight. She told me women want it rougher than we sometimes give them credit for. I decided to throw caution to the winds and I put a edge into my voice. With my left hand I scrunched the hair behind her hair. I squeezed it tightly and saw her gasp a little. She looked at me in astonishment but not anger.

"You might not want it, bitch. But your cunt does. Look how wet it is!" I said, and I reached with four fingers of my right hand down between her legs and stroked her cunt through her panties. They were wet through. Either she'd peed herself or she was well sluiced for me, wedding ring or not. I undid my belt and unzipped my fly.

"No, please. Don't do this" she begged, but I wasn't having any of that and I simply shook my head and raised a finger to my lips as if to say "Shut the fuck up you married bitch. I'm going to fuck that married cunt of yours until you scream with the joy of an adulterous orgasm and beg me to nail you harder".

I pushed her down onto the bed and looked into her eyes that were beginning to fill with tears. Then I bent over her and gently kissed her left ear. She tensed and then seemed to explode. "Oh god!" she moaned. "Don't do that. I love it when you do that! Don't kiss my ears. I LOVE IT!"

I bit and nibbled her ears and continued to stroke her cunt. She reached up to me and scrunched my own hair behind my head, pulling my mouth towards hers and thrusting her tongue into my willing mouth. There was no going back now. I was going to thrust my hard as nails cock into this married bitch and keep fucking her until I came inside her.

I pushed her down onto the bed.