Loading...8 o’clock on the dot I arrived at Diane’s studio. I was greeted at the door by the hairstylist who whizzed me straight into his room where he immediately put me at ease with his lively chatter. He took me right though a typical shoot, what would happen and when. What I should and should not say or do. I was sure he was gay;
his whole manner and his attitude convinced me, even though he was far from the popular stereotypical poof. Also, he seemed to be interested in me as a person, not especially as a woman, i.e. a potential bed-partner. I knew I was set to enjoy my day now I understood exactly what to expect, until the totally unexpected came along. Or, more precisely, walked through the door.
“Hi, Julia, what a surprise!”
I don’t know who was more surprised, me or Terri.
“Yeah, er, sure.” I stammered. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Terri.”
Terri explained that, as part of her college studies, she was working on a number of assignments related to art and design and was spending a month at Diane’s studio to experience all aspects of commercial photography. She was to be Diane’s assistant at the shoot this afternoon; adjusting the lights, archiving shots to the file server, assisting with backgrounds and poses. ‘All that fun stuff’ as she called it.
“You guys know each other, huh?” guessed my friendly stylist.
How could I explain? Shit! Terri knows I work for Passionella but I’m supposed to be here as a valued client. “Yup, we hang about together, weekends mostly. Kind of a working relationship,” I bluffed. I hope that didn’t sound like we’re on the game.
Mr Hair finished with me early so I dragged Terri to one side.
“Listen, I’m really pleased you’re here, this is going to be so much more fun with someone I know and trust. But, they don’t know I work for Passionella, I’m here to check out the quality of their work. So don’t blow my cover, OK?” Terri nodded just as I was whisked away to manicure and pedicure. Then makeup where an unpleasant and patronising bitch got off to a bad start with “Oh, you’re so clever with your make-up. You look so beautifully natural, it looks almost as though you aren’t wearing any.”
“I’m not,” I retorted, “I never do. So don’t spoil my ‘beautifully natural’ look by caking me in mud and slime, OK?” She never spoke again.
In the studio, Diane shot numerous angles and poses, seemingly at random, of me in my own clothes. “I need to see what works,” she explained, “what angles suit your facial shape and colouring and to get you used to posing.” Terri rushed around with lights and reflectors, following Diane’s simple but precise instructions.
I didn’t realise I was posing, I just acted my usual self, but Diane was so supportive with her positive feedback I knew this would work. She threw some shots up onto the monitor and I was astounded at the quality of her pictures, but she laughed and insisted they were just quick ‘junk’ shots.
After lunch I had to dress and Diane’s stylist took me through the various outfits I was to model. To start were some variations on simple Passionella bra and panties designs. Then we would move onto some ‘foundation’ products that included really glamorous corsets, bustières and deep garters and suspenders in exotic colours and materials including shaped polished metal and flexible polyurethane. Under a cover was another rail that I was told was for ‘later’. I couldn’t wait.
I refused to have Mrs Patronising do my make-up so we agreed Terri could keep my face and body topped up during the afternoon. This included rubbing copious amounts of concealer and skin-tone creams onto all exposed parts of my body arms and legs at regular intervals as the heat of the lights caused me to perspire and as each change of clothes revealed yet different areas of flesh. I had to change quickly; I couldn’t keep any garment on for too long, as the elastic and straps would leave marks on my skin, which Terri then had to massage away. She also had to apply darker shades in my cleavage to accentuate the shadows, which we both particularly enjoyed!
Passionella Italy had produced some fantastic new colours and I modelled both soft-cup and aggressive padded uplift bras in exotic deep ‘Sunset Orange’ and shimmering ‘Midnight Purple’ with metallic reflective flakes woven into the surface. These came with matching pants in several different deep or skimpy cuts together with suspenders which I attached to a pair of lovely shimmering lace-top stockings. I soon gave up using the screened-off ‘modesty’ changing area and simply pulled off one pair of pants and stepped into the next pair right in front of Terri and Diane. Since some of the skimpy thong styles hid very little of my most private shrine, I figured it made no difference if they saw it all. My favourite from the first session was a bustière with balcony-style uplift cups that pushed my boobs upwards and forwards, leaving a very deep and mysterious cleavage.
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Time flew by and soon we were onto the corsets. Diane continually complimented me on the way I posed and wore the stuff and I was becoming quite horny from the look and feel of the clothes and also from all the attention.
Terri helped me into a long red satin corset that covered my breasts completely, crushing them against my rib-cage, and stopped well below my crotch. It had buckle straps all the way down the back that my Australian assistant secured tightly so I could hardly walk and certainly couldn’t bend forward at the waist. I kept on my hold-up stockings and Terri attached the eight wide suspender straps.
Diane shot me from in front, the side and from behind, standing up and laying down (Terri had to help me get up again!), all the time helping me to find the right pose and expression. She seemed very pleased with the results on the monitor and I felt so exquisite, being tightly encased in all that stiffened luxurious fabric.
But not as good as when Terri released me after the shots. One by one she unfastened the suspenders and then the buckles allowing the blood to circulate around my body again. The rush made me feel so horny that my nipples stiffened and poked out from my naked tender breasts. Diane started to shoot pictures of me topless in just my slender pants and stockings. Confused, I pointed out that I was there to model clothes but Diane pleaded: “Just a few more, please. You have such a photogenic body and the look on your face as Terri helped you out of your corset was exquisite. I’ve never seen such a sexy shot when working with a complete rookie. Wait, just to the left, there. Look down, hold! Again; look at the lens, yes, now look at your feet. Turn your head towards Terri.” Diane’s instruction came in quick succession and I became quite mesmerised.
Terri appeared from the next room clutching some more garments and soon she had wrapped a black polyurethane waspie around my waist and tightly secured its Velcro fixings at the front. It made me feel light-headed and I closed my eyes as Terri rubbed skin-tone make-up over my naked breasts. Instinctively I opened my legs slightly and Diane clicked furiously, encouraging me all the time and suggesting ever more erotic poses.
Then the atmosphere in that studio became much more intense and highly-charged.
“Terri,” Diane, pronounced, “I need you in this shot. Can you stand behind Julia, and cover her breasts with your hands, please? I need to hide her nipples, they’re too conspicuous and the glimpse of a second woman, barely-visible in the shot, will add to the mystery.”
Terri did as instructed and cupped her small hands over my boobs, pressing her clothed body against my back. Click, click, click, click. Diane shot from various angles, swapping her own lenses as “Terri has her hands full”, she joked.
Diane looked at the monitor, then at us two, and pondered. “Hmm. Terri, you look like a spare part. Uninvolved. You need to look more sophisticated. Can you slip out of your jeans and pull on that silk wrap-over jacket that Julia was modelling earlier?”
With no further prompting, Terri peeled off her jeans, and shirt too; she wore no bra underneath but she did keep on her tiny white lycra panties that covered her pubes but little else. But all too quickly she covered herself again with the silk jacket. I hadn’t seen her naked before and yet she looked exactly as I had imagined her in my ‘dildo’ dream, except even more attractive. It’s that Antipodean gene pool: perfect symmetrical form, tight muscular tummy, slim hips. And small but very firm boobs which she pressed into my back as she stood behind me where I could not see her.
Terri reached around in front of me again. And squeezed. Bitch.
Click, click, click.
Each time Diane turned away for a moment, Terri caressed my boobs and rubbed the palms of her hands over my nipples, making them stiffen again. And she ground her pussy-mound against my bum-cheeks, which I pushed back to balance her pressure. Terri murmured in my ear “I think Diane likes your body. Why don’t you show her more?” Terri was teasing me, and I loved it.
“Thanks, Terri. Those shots look terrific; I’ll let you see them later. Right, can you help Julia out of that waspie and into the next garment?” Diane requested.
Terri came back carrying a cream leather cat-suit with more zips and buckles than you’d find in a zip and buckle shop. She took the suit carefully out of its plastic cover then held it so I could step into the narrow legs. Then I had to place one hand on her shoulder to steady myself as she pulled the close-fitting upper part over my torso. I slipped my arms into their soft sheaths and Terri zipped me up. One long double-ended zipper ran right from my navel, down between my legs, tight inside my bum-crack and all the way up my back to my neck where the choker collar almost lived up to its name. She pulled more zippers along the outsides of my arms and also down the insides of my legs so the suit fitted really tightly around my wrists and ankles. It felt like a second skin and it moulded seductively to my shape as I moved. The front of the suit was stitched into two distinct, separate boob-shapes so my own breasts were formed to the profile of the supple leather outfit, which had more zippers running down from the middle of the collar, diagonally across my nipples as far as my lowest ribs. Every zipper had a large stainless-steel ring-pull on it and there were several more identical rings attached to the suit at the shoulders, elbows, waist, hips, thighs and knees. This was very definitely one of Linda’s new Pleasure In Control lines!
It was really hot inside under the lights and Diane wasted no time in shooting me from all angles. I had no difficulty entering into the mood of the outfit and adopted my best role-play Dominatrix persona. Diane’s studio had no mirrors as, she explained, they would interfere with the lighting. But she allowed me to see myself on the monitor every couple of dozen shots so I could improve upon my facial expressions and poses. Diane clicked away as I moved and held position to her instructions.
Then she asked the ever-attentive Terri to unzip some of the zippers part-way.
“There, she does want to see more,” Terri whispered. She started by unzipping the diagonal zippers over my upper chest, stopping just below my areolae. The cold of the metalwork teased my now-visible nipples into stubby bullets which almost hurt me they were so hard.
Diane kept shooting but after a short while I noticed she was no longer giving instructions; Terri was taking the lead. I was feeling fabulous and loved being the centre of attention. I was becoming more and more aroused by the feel and smell of the supple but constraining leather close against my skin and my pussy twitched with delight as Terri pulled the long zipper down from my navel to just above my pubic mound. The suit parted to expose my tummy and Diane clicked some more.
I squealed in token protest as Terri unzipped it further between my legs, but Diane did nothing to stop her. I wore nothing under the suit so as not to spoil its lines and my shaven, helpless pussy was exposed to Diane’s eager, all-seeing, all-capturing lens. “Terri, please, no, what are you doing?” I cried, but Terri unzipped me more and deliberately pulled aside my clinging cream covering to reveal my soft, smooth mound. The situation in which I found myself both shocked and excited me and I realised that my struggles and protests lacked any conviction. I shifted my feet apart a little and Diane murmured approval. Terri was right, Diane wanted to see my body.
Terri stood in front of me with her head on one side and her hands on her narrow hips. Her small, perfectly-rounded breasts pushed against the thin covering of the silk jacket and her nipples made small peaks in the fabric. Were they erect? Was Terri turned on by the sight of me and my Pleasure In Control catsuit? Did she too like seeing more of me exposed?
I wanted to see more of her. I wanted to reach out and untie the belt around her waist so that the silk jacket would fall open and I could once again feast my eyes on her young body. I wanted to watch her as she moved around the studio and I wanted to touch her. I wanted to feel her breasts in my hands. I wanted to know if they were as firm to the touch as they appeared and I wanted so much to run my hands over her muscular body, her tight, small bum and down her slender legs. My pussy was responding to my conscious desires and I was sure that Diane would notice it opening up and moistening.
Terri steeped forward and reached out her hands. She took hold of the two rings on my chest and slowly dragged the two zippers right down over my boobs. I stood with my arms outstretched and the suit gaped open and Diane took some close-ups of my breasts as they escaped from the enlarged openings.
“Oh, yes, Linda will love these shots,” purred Diane as I looked down to see just how erect my own nipples were, jutting forward and contrasting against the pale flesh of my boobs and the cream and stainless-steel of the suit.
Weakening and succumbing to my powerful sexual motivation, I leant forward and pulled tentatively at the loosely-tied belt around Terri’s waist. She did not object. She allowed the jacket to fall open and I took my chance. Hooking my thumbs inside the soft lapels, I slipped it off her shoulders. Terri pushed her arms back so it dropped to the floor, at the same time thrusting her lovely young breasts towards me, proud and inviting. I felt weak at the knees at the sight of her gorgeous body and I desperately needed to touch her.
I heard another click but this was not the shutter of Diane’s camera. I looked over my shoulder to see that Diane had left the studio and had closed the door quietly behind her.
Terri walked right up to me and whispered: “we are alone now.”
We had been alone together in my apartment many times, but this was different. The atmosphere this evening was electric.
“Terri, you don’t need to whisper. You …” I stammered, but before I could say anymore, she planted a long, passionate kiss full on my lips.
Stupidly, I pulled away and made some inane comment like: “You’ll ruin my lipstick.”
“Who cares?” replied Terri.
She was right, there was no-one else there.
She kissed me again and she pushed her eager tongue into my mouth. She ran its tip right around the insides of my lips and under my own tongue. She kissed me like no man ever had and I felt a rush of excitement fill my head.
Terri cupped her hands over my exposed breasts and massaged my tender flesh into a state of heady expectation. I did not have to wait long for that expectation to be fulfilled and exceeded. Supporting my breasts in the palms of her hands, Terri leant forward and drew first one then the other distended nipple deep into her mouth, rolling her tongue over and under it. Each time she sucked in her cheeks the vacuum she created caused a sudden rush of hot blood to the foci of her affections, engorging them deliciously. Then, when she pulled her mouth away, each sensitive, swollen nipple tightened and contacted, further intensifying the sensual feelings.
I spread my feet wide apart to try to take some pressure off my pussy as my labia blossomed, but this only served to draw attention to it. Terri moved her hands down from my breasts, leaving them aching and craving renewed attention. But her hands were on a journey. Downwards over my leather-clinched waist, she slid them onto my abdomen and down over my tense tummy left exposed by the open zipper.
I tried to speak, to encourage Terri, to tell how desperately turned-on I was becoming, and to ask her what I could do to please her. But every time, she put her finger to my lips to signal ‘Shhh’.
Terri removed her hands for a moment and walked around to stand behind me again. I felt another rush as once again she cupped her hands over my sensitive breasts. She didn’t keep them there long; slowly she slid them down the front of my leather suit and onto my tummy. But this time she did not stop there. She continued down to my pubic mound and finally, to my great excitement and relief, she placed one hand over my pussy. She waited a moment, perhaps testing the waters, to see if I pushed away her hand. I didn’t. Terri rubbed her hand a few times over my bare pubic mound and made warm tender noises.
I threw my head back and leant it on her shoulder whilst I kneaded my own breasts. Terri put her left hand around my waist to steady me and slipped the other right between my legs. I tried to keep still in order to savour her every move, but the feelings were too intense. I shuddered and moaned out loud as Terri slipped the middle finger of her right hand into my vagina.
She slid it in and out in a slow rhythmic way; my pussy was so wet that her movements made exquisite squelching noises, which confirmed just how desperately aroused I was. But I couldn’t tell her since she cupped her free hand over my mouth to prevent me from crying out
I had never experienced a woman’s finger inside my vagina before and I was not disappointed. I looked down and saw Terri’s hand moving up and down and the sight was delectable. I wanted her to rub my clit now. I wanted her to bring me to a climax, but I did not want our sex session to end. I wanted to have girl-on-girl sex with this young woman who until today had been my paid help around my apartment and an occasional sympathetic ear. Now she was my lesbian sex partner, in a stranger’s photographic studio, with me half-undressed in a wildly erotic fetish-fashion outfit. My mind raced and my body tensed, hoping for what might happen next. But still Terri would not allow me to speak and her imposition of silence only magnified my excitement
Forcing myself to remove my hands from my aching breasts, I reached behind me and cupped them over Terri’s tight bum-cheeks, squeezing them and pushing her pussy against my behind. Terri ground herself against me and made warm appreciative noises.
But just as I hoped Terri would increase her speed and intensity, she withdrew her finger from its warm, welcoming refuge and backed away from me. I nearly cried from frustration, my vagina felt so empty. I closed my eyes tight and awaited whatever pleasure she might have in mind for me.
I couldn’t see what she was doing but she picked up something from the floor behind me. It was the belt from the silk jacket she had been wearing. Still standing behind me where I couldn’t see her almost-naked body, she reached around my waist and threaded the belt through the stainless-steel ring fixed to my suit, just above my navel. Pulling more of the belt through the ring, she aligned the two ends then passed them back between my legs, covering my exposed, throbbing pussy. Finally, holding one end in each hand, she pulled gently, first one way then the other, so the silk fabric rubbed up and down the length of my pussy. The feeling was exquisite and I wanted to tell her how good it made me feel. I moved my feet wider apart and crouched slightly so my pussy was more accessible to its new source of stimulation. Gradually Terri tightened the belt so it invaded my slit and sought out my clit, rasping it ’till it was on the verge of becoming sore and spoiling the pleasure.
But just at that moment, she took hold of both my wrists behind my back and tied them together with the free ends of the belt, then pulled it tight between my legs. Now, if I tried to move at all, my actions either pulled the belt harder against my clit or slid it through my slit across my vaginal entrance and between my outer labial lips that had engulfed it.
I began a steady rocking rhythm and felt a climax building inside me. But my recent experiences with Kirsten and Linda had taken me beyond non-contact orgasms; what I craved was human contact. Tender stimulation. And not just from caring hands now, but from a warm, moist soothing mouth. I knew that I wanted to be licked; what I really wanted now was for Terri to kiss and suck my pussy lips, to cool my sore pink flesh with the soothing salve of her saliva, to stick her tongue inside my vagina and to pleasure my clit until I came.
Terri was not a Passionella employee, so the Look Don’t Touch rules didn’t apply. My pussy was still a tongue-virgin but I just knew I’d enjoy it. I wanted Terri to fuck my pussy with her mouth, and I wanted to do the same to her. So I told her so. No more ‘Shhh’ now!
“Fuck me, Terri! Get this off me and fuck my cunt!” I pleaded.
“It’s OK, Terri;” I was shocked to hear Diane’s voice reassure us. “Go ahead,” she purred.
I hadn’t seen Diane re-enter the room; the door was behind me and I was lost in my cravings, but no doubt Terri had.
I must have looked like a wonton whore, cat-suit unzipped and hands tied behind my back. Conversely, Diane looked sublimely gorgeous. In place of her working clothes of loose cotton top and trousers, she was now wearing a black leather half-cup bra that supported her under her full breasts. It had narrow straps fixed to the inner and outer edges of its cups that then terminated at a wide choker around her neck. She also wore matching pants consisting of a belt around her waist to which were fixed several thin straps that secured a narrow leather triangle between her legs. The tops of her large brown areolae emerged above the edges of the bra-cups like twin early-morning sunrises and she balanced on the impossibly-high heels of black patent buckled-calf boots.
I also realised where I had seen her before – she was the woman in the bar in Windsor, who had noticed me road-testing my new butterfly vibrator. Diane is obviously a very experienced sexually so she knew exactly what I was doing, by my body and facial language. I wondered if she had recognised me.
“Don’t let me stop you,” continued Diane, putting her camera to her eye, framing me in my debauched state and clicking the shutter. I didn’t care if I was being photographed; my mind was on only one thing.
Terri untied the silk belt and unzipped my cat-suit all the way up my back. I freed my wrists and ankles and struggled out of my soft cream prison. Still wearing just her white pants, Terri bent down and arranged several cushions on the floor and lowered me gently by my arms.
Diane walked around to stand at my side and I lay back and made myself comfortable, desperately hopeful that Terri would kneel between my ankles and plant her warm mouth on my pussy.
“Go ahead, Terri. You’re my assistant, remember. You take your instructions from me, no-one else. Fuck her, so I can see.”
Did she do as she was told? Hell, no. She went one better. She stepped out of her pants, stood with her feet either side of my neck and knelt down with her thighs astride my rib-cage. She squatted so her own pussy was right over my mouth, just as Kirsten had. Her pubic hair was blond and trimmed but not short; my nostrils were filled with her aromatic scent and her pussy was wet and open, indicating that she was as aroused as I was. Diane clicked as Terri leant forward and engulfed my clit with her mouth, and sucked.
I came instantly.
Looking up I saw Diane standing above my head, one hand trying to hold her camera steady and the other hand on the small leather triangle between her legs as she frigged herself in unison with our photogenic 69-ing. “Make her wet, Julia,” goaded Diane. “Yes, let me see cunt juice ooze from her. Get her so wet that her juice runs down onto your face where I can see it.”
Terri responded to my novice mouth-action and ejaculated copious amounts of aromatic lubricant from her gaping vagina, which was at the same time both slippery and sticky. It ran over my chin and down my cheeks and I lapped it up with my tongue as a cat licks cream from its whiskers. “Yes, Julia, make her so wet for you,” Diane reiterated, clicking and frigging right next to us whilst Terri and I mumbled words of encouragement to each other whenever we momentarily surfaced for air
I came at least four times that evening, each one different as Terri used her lips, her tongue and even her teeth on my craving cunt. She made me feel fabulous, like I had never felt before. She also brought me to almost indiscernible mini-orgasms that merged from one to the next. Like being spoon-fed a large, delicious dessert, but in numerous tiny morsels. I guessed that her technique was very well practised despite her youth; I tried to mimic her technique but I was a mere beginner. I replicated as best I could the girls in the lesbian hard-core porn movies I watch when I’m away from home. I loved the taste and texture of her pussy and I derived tremendous satisfaction from bringing her to orgasm for the first time.
By the time we had totally consumed each other, Diane had dispensed with her camera completely. She screamed and moaned her way to a couple of climaxes of her own, sitting with her back against the studio wall with her booted legs spread wide apart and her fingers inside her pants. Strangely, I didn’t mind being watched. In some small it added to the excitement even though I’d been almost too engrossed in Terri to notice. I enjoyed it.
I had expected, or even planned, that Kirsten should be my first female fuck, but I was not ashamed that it should turn out to be Terri. I’d fancied her ever since she started working for me and I didn’t think that Kirsten would mind when I told her. She’d probably want to know all the details.
But what about Diane? Who would she tell? Who would see the pictures? Does she often get off on her models like that, and how many of her subjects fuck in her studio? Maybe more than I imagine! And what about those clothes she was wearing? Are they some of Passionella’s new products (or her own?) and when do I get to try them?
All these thoughts ran through my head as I dressed and brushed my hair. Terri had disappeared and Diane had changed back into her casual clothes. She walked past the changing-room door and glanced at me as though nothing unusual had happened. I collected my stuff and left. My heart skipped a beat as Diane called after me: “I’ll put the proofs over to Linda by tomorrow afternoon. Bye!”