she felt in control. She was fully in charge here, offering herself on her own terms, with Mark a slave to her beauty, unable to stop himself from capturing her image. As the session went on and the only sound penetrating the leaden air was the rapid clicking of the Nikon’s shutter, she grew in confidence. She started striking ever more alluring poses, dipping her head so she could look coyly through her fringe, turning away so that she looked back at the camera lens over her silk covered shoulders. Then she turned to defiantly face the camera, a look of pure self-assurance on her face and she thrust her breasts forward, her nipples sharply straining against the blue silk.
Mark just kept snapping away, as if he dare not miss a precious moment.
China reached up with both hands and pulled the robe so that the centre parted, revealing a little of the inner globe of her breasts, but still Mark did not hesitate in his rhythmic clicking, his smooth moves from one point of view to the next. It became almost a challenge for China. She wanted to shock him, surprise him so much that he would hesitate for a just a moment. But she hadn’t achieved that yet, and the devil inside her urged her to be even more adventurous, even more daring. She edged the robe off her shoulders, acutely aware of her nakedness under the flimsy garment. She dropped it a little more and the camera kept on clicking. She pulled it down low enough to reveal the whole of her breasts and was sure she did detect just a slight hesitation in the rhythm of the clicking.
She could hardly believe that she was sitting here topless, her breasts exposed for the probing eye of Mark’s camera. She could feel a heaviness growing in her abdomen and her stomach muscles tense. A paradoxical contrast of fire and ice that was centred in her lower belly, just above her groin. Her arms remained at her side. Her breasts were Mark’s for now, for him to appreciate, for his eyes to ravage, for the camera to capture. She felt so alive, so desirable. In her mind she was shouting for Mark to just drop his camera and take her, throw her onto the bed and finish what his camera had started, the possession of her waiting, needful body.
Mark remained focused, the consummate professional, as China dropped her robe completely to the floor and arched her back, raising her elbows up, arms behind her head, thrusting her firm, heavy breasts at the camera. She could clearly hear Mark’s breathing, almost a panting that briefly brought to her mind the sound of a wolf patiently loping after it’s prey.
With a new level of resolve, China stood up. Somehow, although this act made her feel even more vulnerable, more exposed, her excitement increased. She sucked in her stomach and could feel a wave of pleasure flow through her tightened muscles, an electric rippling of gentle waves lapping at the edge of climax.
“You look amazing,” Mark whispered, barely audible, rumbling, subterranean. She stood there proudly in front of him, imperious, wearing just her light blue, lacy knickers, stockings and suspenders, and her blue stilettos.
The room was fading away for China. The greys even more muted, less saturated, thrown out of focus. All that was sharp was the elegantly moving man and his camera, an informal dance of courtship. It was like she was drugged. She remembered when she had tried cannabis once as a teenager, the muffled happiness, the numbed joy. But this was far more powerful and more real. There was nothing numb about what she was feeling inside. She believed that she was on the edge of control, just the slightest wrong, or right, twitch of her muscles might push her over that edge, into the fiery abyss of desire and she would not be able to stop herself ravaging the man behind the lens. She stood still for a moment, not wanting to move, not wanting this moment to end. China closed her eyes, and her head dropped slightly to one side.
The constant clicking continued, and with her
Mark just kept snapping away, as if he dare not miss a precious moment.
China reached up with both hands and pulled the robe so that the centre parted, revealing a little of the inner globe of her breasts, but still Mark did not hesitate in his rhythmic clicking, his smooth moves from one point of view to the next. It became almost a challenge for China. She wanted to shock him, surprise him so much that he would hesitate for a just a moment. But she hadn’t achieved that yet, and the devil inside her urged her to be even more adventurous, even more daring. She edged the robe off her shoulders, acutely aware of her nakedness under the flimsy garment. She dropped it a little more and the camera kept on clicking. She pulled it down low enough to reveal the whole of her breasts and was sure she did detect just a slight hesitation in the rhythm of the clicking.
She could hardly believe that she was sitting here topless, her breasts exposed for the probing eye of Mark’s camera. She could feel a heaviness growing in her abdomen and her stomach muscles tense. A paradoxical contrast of fire and ice that was centred in her lower belly, just above her groin. Her arms remained at her side. Her breasts were Mark’s for now, for him to appreciate, for his eyes to ravage, for the camera to capture. She felt so alive, so desirable. In her mind she was shouting for Mark to just drop his camera and take her, throw her onto the bed and finish what his camera had started, the possession of her waiting, needful body.
Mark remained focused, the consummate professional, as China dropped her robe completely to the floor and arched her back, raising her elbows up, arms behind her head, thrusting her firm, heavy breasts at the camera. She could clearly hear Mark’s breathing, almost a panting that briefly brought to her mind the sound of a wolf patiently loping after it’s prey.
With a new level of resolve, China stood up. Somehow, although this act made her feel even more vulnerable, more exposed, her excitement increased. She sucked in her stomach and could feel a wave of pleasure flow through her tightened muscles, an electric rippling of gentle waves lapping at the edge of climax.
“You look amazing,” Mark whispered, barely audible, rumbling, subterranean. She stood there proudly in front of him, imperious, wearing just her light blue, lacy knickers, stockings and suspenders, and her blue stilettos.
The room was fading away for China. The greys even more muted, less saturated, thrown out of focus. All that was sharp was the elegantly moving man and his camera, an informal dance of courtship. It was like she was drugged. She remembered when she had tried cannabis once as a teenager, the muffled happiness, the numbed joy. But this was far more powerful and more real. There was nothing numb about what she was feeling inside. She believed that she was on the edge of control, just the slightest wrong, or right, twitch of her muscles might push her over that edge, into the fiery abyss of desire and she would not be able to stop herself ravaging the man behind the lens. She stood still for a moment, not wanting to move, not wanting this moment to end. China closed her eyes, and her head dropped slightly to one side.
The constant clicking continued, and with her
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