2 comments/ 32425 views/ 2 favorites Photo Explorations: The Shoot By: deathlynx The first rule of photography; you don't touch the models. Followed very closely by the second rule of photography. You DON'T. TOUCH. The MODELS! It can be a bit frustrating at times but you quickly learn how to describe the most bizarre contortions of the body when faced with someone who's ten times more flexible than you can ever imagine being. Only slightly less confounding is why the fashion and artistic communities think it's preferable to tie their models up in knots. The rule, however, is perfectly understandable. For the most part, models are very young, attractive, and frequently insecure. More to the point, they're inundated by imagery and tales of unscrupulous photographers who seek to take advantage of them. To hear the stories, we seek to push them to find the very edge of their comfort limits. Once there, we coerce and guilt until they've gone three or four steps beyond. Furthermore, a good many photographers view the business (or hobby for that matter) as a means to obtain their own personal collection of porn in the guise of art. At best, they can live vicariously through their collective lenses as a steady stream of beautiful, nubile, young women expose everything for them. At worst, they similarly charm, guilt, or coerce them into carnal activities as if it's simply part of the model's job. As a middle-aged man, slightly balding and admittedly overweight, I go to great pains to make certain that the models I shoot don't see me this way. I admit that I live vicariously through my lens, but more as general socialization than anything erotic. I go to my dull job, filled with equally dull co-workers, come home to a meager flat and dream dull dreams. If I'd ever had any hopes of a relationship, they were dashed when the one woman who'd ever shown any interest in me, my now-ex-wife, left me for one of my models. Photography is more than a hobby to me. It's my creative release as well as my feeble attempt to maintain something that resembles a social life. After a week of high-stress memos and office politics, and occasionally at night after work, I get to drive out to whatever site I've set up with my model and indulge in the beauty of nature as expressed through the human form and the world around us. Although legally every picture is my property, I tend to view the process as a collaborative effort. Sure, when I approach a new model I bring everything to the table; theme, wardrobe, poses, location. Once we've formed a more comfortable relationship, however, I prefer to work with the model in an effort to discover the creative thoughts flowing through their minds. Unlike so many in the industry, I don't simply view them as a posable doll to bend to my will. Tonight's shoot was Vanessa. She was one of my newer collaborators. I'd only worked with her a couple of times but she had a couple of years worth of amateur experience when I'd met her online. I was a little surprised when, after only two shoots, she'd come out and made a request for a shoot. Usually it took a few more sessions before most of the models felt confident enough to admit that they had ideas as well. Vanessa hadn't discussed the theme with me so I had no idea what the plan was. All I knew was that she'd chosen a relatively swanky hotel in town as the location so I knew I needed to bring my soft box and a couple of different lighting rigs. She assured me that she had everything else under control, which inspired me to believe that her concept was firm. An hour before, while I carefully packed the gear into my car, I'd gotten a call from her. She'd given me the number of the room she'd gotten and I'd offered, once again, to pay but she'd have none of it. It was her idea, she'd said, and she'd pick up the cost this time. The hotel was as glorious as its reputation suggested. Although nearly a hundred years old, it had been remodeled and refurbished numerous times to maintain not only its air of culture but also the most modern of conveniences. Some places, the waterfall in the middle of the lobby would have seemed a bit ostentatious but here it simply felt soothing. I passed by the concierge and headed straight for the elevators. The equipment I lugged along on one of their carts (surreptitiously taken out from under the noses Nazi valets who insisted someone had to bring luggage to the room for you) didn't even raise an eyebrow. Undoubtedly, the people who could afford to stay at a place like this carried all sorts of stuff with them on vacation or business. The room wasn't on the top floor, nor was it in a corner, so it wasn't one of the suites. That didn't surprise me. At a place like this, you didn't need one of the suites to be swanky. If anything, those would probably be a little too ostentatious. Not to mention incredibly pricey. I knocked on the door and it opened almost immediately. Vanessa wasn't there as I rolled the cart in but the bathroom door was firmly closed. Last minute preparations were common, even with amateur models. Likely she had whoever she brought along as a makeup artist in there as well. "I'm going to unload my gear by the door, then I'll be right back." I called out. "I have to return the cart before they notice it's gone." "Not a problem." Her sweet mezzo-soprano voice drifted back from the other side of the bathroom door. "There's a keycard on the dresser so you can let yourself back in when you get back." "I will do!" I called back. I quickly arranged my cases along the wall by the door, for speedy access, grabbed the card she'd mentioned and headed back for the lobby. I received a few reproachful stares when I got there but nothing openly hostile. After all, at a place like this the staff couldn't afford to announce displeasure too harshly. They never knew who might be the rich, the powerful, or both. I might be neither, and they could very well know it, but even then they couldn't afford a scene for something minor when someone who was might come down at any moment. Back at the room, I noted that the bathroom was empty the moment I clicked the door open. That was a pleasant surprise. While I didn't generally have to worry about the adage 'time is money', it can be frustrating to schedule a shoot and then wait half an hour or more because the model wasn't ready. The same could be said by models of photographers, so I always made certain to arrive a little early in order to afford myself time to set up whatever equipment I needed. Of course, this time, we were both early. By this point, I had a fair idea of what the theme would be. She undoubtedly wanted to do a sensual bedroom scene. That still didn't tell me what equipment I'd need, however. If she wanted a romantic candle-lit dinner then less-is-more would be the rule and what lights I did use would need to be softened with amber filters, for example. I froze the moment I stepped into the main room. My mouth hung open, slightly, still prepared to begin our discussion of plans for the shoot. Unfortunately, my brain fought to catch up and words failed me. The first thing I noticed was the complete lack of makeup artist. The lights were off in the bathroom, so she hadn't hidden someone in there. The thing is, there's a couple of reasons why models travel with at least a little bit of an entourage. The first is, obviously, expedience. Even the most experienced model would take longer to fix her own hair and makeup than to have someone do it for her. In circumstances where time is money, a photographer appreciates the extra hands on set. The less obvious reason rolls right back to the first rule of photography. Models need to feel comfortable in order to work. It's not a question of desire, it's simple logic. If they're tense, they can't perform to the best of their ability. If they have to wonder and worry if this might be the one-in-a-million who turns out to be a kidnapper, or worse, they're not going to be sufficiently relaxed. Even if their companion is no more than their physical equals, the numbers make it much less likely that they'll be assaulted. Only a true lunatic wouldn't realize that if he tried anything, the other would have the time to get away and call the cops. It's not a question of missing persons reports but a witness actively reporting a crime. Even those I've built up a rapport with continue to bring them, if for no other reason than to speed everything up. Occasionally, they're even willing to assist in the photos themselves, when the collaborative process realizes a second subject would only aid the composition. Admittedly, I've had a few shoots without a tagalong but those usually have been spur of the moment things with close friends. I was surprised that Vanessa trusted me enough to go it alone on only our third shoot together. Vanessa herself wasn't the typical waifish model. Tyra Banks would call her "fiercely real", what would previously been called a "plus-sized model". While I agree with Rubens that this by no means diminishes her natural beauty (if anything it enhances it due to a much healthier image) I have noticed that they tend to be even more skeptical of a photographer's motives. Particularly in a private, intimate, setting such as this. I'm dense. I admit it. That alone should have been the only clue I needed. I simply couldn't make the blatantly obvious logical progression. After all, it's the models who need to watch out for advances from the photographers, not the other way around. When I finally managed to focus on Vanessa, which felt like eons but probably wasn't more than a second or two, my lagging brain gave up any attempt to slip into gear. The eighteen year old model sat on her heels on the king-sized bed, her hands loosely resting on her lap. Although covered by a robe, enough of her baby-doll peeked through to offer tantalizing suggestions of how much would eventually be revealed. My pants became uncomfortable. It's a rather familiar experience for me, actually. When dealing with female models, I learned very quickly to wear boxers and loose pants. I'm fairly certain I lost the first couple of models I tried to work with because they could clearly see the effect they had on me beneath the boxer-briefs and jeans. At least, my assumption is based on the disgusted looks they shot at my crotch as the sessions ended. My growing erection was, thankfully, concealed by the loose folds of the cargo pants. Unfortunately, I knew it did not help to mask the way my eyes were riveted well below her face. Like any healthy heterosexual male (though to the best of my knowledge this particular bit of genetic programming isn't excluded from gay men) I very much enjoy the outer packaging. Generally, however, I try to keep my glances discreet and brief. A quick snap-shot for my mind is enough. Eventually, which probably was more like the ages it felt than a handful of seconds, I managed to regain some control over my own body. True, my dick continued to pulse harder and harder, and vocal capabilities continued to elude me, but at least I finally directed my eyes to rise high enough to meet hers. The wide, innocent, orbs I encountered there didn't help the other symptoms in the slightest. I'll be honest, it wasn't like I hadn't had the occasional fantasy about her. They'd never fully formed, and I hadn't actually masturbated to thoughts of her or anything, but just as I stole glimpses of women, thoughts about what it might be like to see even more popped uninvited into me head. As it was, she'd already reached just about the limits of my idle pondering. It was the way she looked at me which finally helped to break through the hormonal haze which gripped me. I'd seen the nervous, concerned, look before. It was the look of someone who had convinced herself, logically, that she had to do something but wasn't certain if it was the right thing. Her bio said she was willing to do nudes, but that didn't mean she was truly ready for them. More likely, she saw the number of other models that listed them and felt the pier pressure to offer the same. Besides, many women were confident enough with a bathing suit or lingerie and those generally fell into the same category. Many photographers would pass on an underwear shoot if they didn't see the box marked. "Don't worry, there's no need to push beyond any comfort zones. We'll do what you want, but the moment you feel the slightest uncertain, let me know. I might ask for specifics about what you don't like, but that's only so I know where to avoid and what might work instead." It was more mumbled than my usual confident, sincere, speech. It wasn't that I was bothered by her nerves. My own lack of mental balance must have made me more susceptible to my primal urges. Not enough to keep my sense of professionalism (even though I'm only an amateur) alive but enough to cause me to falter. The speech obviously bolstered Vanessa some. While the hesitation didn't vanish entirely, it faded into the background until it could no longer be seen in those twinkling eyes. Her shyness remained, as did the uncertainty, but they seemed founded in her inexperience rather than a lack of desire for the shoot. "So," I delved into the planning, glad to finally have some measure of control over my voice once more, "what did you have in mind?" Her head tilted slightly and she now had difficulty keeping eye contact. "I wanted to do something sexy." I nodded, thinking I understood how the evening would play out. I already knew she was relatively new to modeling. While she had a fair grasp of poses and focus, she lacked the confidence to offer more than a handful of stock replies. There was enough range that she'd adapted to the various outfits I'd thrown her way but she'd probably practiced those before the mirror. Here, she knew what she wanted but hadn't the foggiest what it entailed. "Well, that depends a little. Are you looking for sensual and suggestive? Do you want something dark and romantic? Maybe an imitation of spontaneity or voyeurism?" Those innocent eyes widened with each suggestion. When he got to the last one, I could almost see her confusion cause her mind to skip. "Voyeurism?" "Where the photo gives the impression that the subject, you, is unaware of the audience. Might actually be one of the easiest ways to slip into the concept since it works better if I keep something between you and myself. Almost like a primer for the shoot. Usually something like a shower scene or through the crack of a closet door or the like." Her head shook vigorously in response to the idea. The tantalizing hints of flesh that peeked through her slightly open bathrobe amply demonstrated that her blush extended across her entire body. I suspected her embarrassment had more to do with an unexpected excitement over the concept than with disapproval. I vowed to remember to approach the subject sometime in the future, once she was more comfortable in general. After a few moments more of silence, it became clear she wasn't even confident enough to suggest among the other possibilities. Given her nerves, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to suggest something like preparing food in the small kitchenette, that lined the near wall of the room, in her lingerie. Best to go with something more simple, even if it was a bit stale. "Okay. How about something sensual, like basic poses on the bed?" When she nodded, her blush grew deeper. Even that basic a concept caused her nerves to ratchet up a couple of notches. I could see the determination in her gaze, however, and knew enough not to suggest she didn't have to do any of it. This was her idea, her plan. She had something to prove to herself and if I convinced her to postpone, she probably wouldn't build up the courage again for quite some time. I returned to the door and began collecting the materials I'd need. While still immersed in putting together my gear, she asked if I wanted the lights off or on. Without looking up, I asked her to leave on the small lamps on the wall on either side of the bed, but otherwise turn the others off. I barely noticed when the room darkened, as I set up the soft-box. When I turned around, the bathrobe had been neatly folded on a chair well away from the bed that would be the setting for the shoot. As my eyes panned over to the bed they widened in surprise, slightly tinged with horror. Vanessa had her back to me and was in the process of pulling her baby-doll off! "Wait!" I stammered. She turned, caution and shame in her eyes. "I thought you wanted to do something more sensual? Shouldn't we at least start with the lingerie?" Meekly, Vanessa allowed the dress to drop back over her voluptuous frame. I smiled reassuringly and turned to quickly set up the camera and tripod. It wasn't that I had anything against her naked, I simply thought it would be better to allow her to work her way towards that state. When I finally got the camera and lights positioned to my satisfaction, I looked up and smiled. She sat on the bed. Uncertainty radiated from her expression but her instinctive posture, half-sprawling and half-sitting, was a perfect place to begin her shoot. My fingers tightened on the shutter remote to capture the moment and she nearly jumped at the noise. "Sorry. Just a quick candid. Whenever you're ready, we can start." The smile that suddenly blossomed across her face would have been truly inspiring if it didn't seem so false. Likely, it was only my practiced eye that spotted the difference but I could tell only her determination kept her moving. It was all for show. My heart nearly stopped in horror when she immediately shifted position. Her shoulders leaned back against the headboard. Her legs swung around, knees high in the air, until they practically framed the camera a few feet away. Her hand immediately slid down her crotch and a single finger plucked at the lacy fabric of her thong as if it would be pulled aside at any moment. To me, this wasn't art. It wasn't a celebration of the female form. This wasn't even attractive. This was nothing more than base gratification for men who thought of women as nothing more than a warm place to put their cocks. I nearly cringed at the thought of where Vanessa might have come up with the idea that these poses could possibly be sexy, much less sensual. Something of my thoughts must have shown in my expression. Either that or the blatant pause, when I should have probably been maniacally been snapping away with the camera, registered that something wasn't entirely right. "What's wrong?" Her beautiful voice overflowed with near manic concern and no little self-consciousness. "You said basic poses, right? Or did you want me on my knees looking over my shoulder?" The image of her in such a position, undoubtedly with her hand still prominently between her legs and a look of supposed orgasm plastered to her face, flashed into my brain. I'm more than a little ashamed to admit that the brief fantasy sent a pulse of longing straight to my groin. As much as I endeavor for artistic quality, those types of images still held some visceral appeal. Somehow, I'd been under the impression that Vanessa had never done nudes before. That was clearly not the case. She was far from comfortable with them, true, but there was no question one of the less savory characters had already gotten to her. Frankly, I was impressed that she had even broached the subject given the obvious reluctance past experience (or maybe even experiences) had given her. After a forced deep breath, I tried to explain how I felt to the poor young woman. "You want to do something sensual, right? Something that shows you're a beautiful woman in control of her sexuality?" She nodded so I continued. "While there's nothing really wrong with those kinds of poses, I've always associated them more with the more carnal aspects than artistic ones." Photo Explorations: The Shoot It was about as soft a way as I could think of to say those kinds of pictures were porn rather than art. Not that I have anything against porn. It serves a number of very valid purposes in society. It was not, however, what I preferred to shoot. Fortunately, she seemed to understand my little verbal wordplay. "How do I know what's too far then?" I thought about it for a few moments. I'd never tried to really explain the difference before, even in my own mind. "Think about it this way. It's a difference between inviting someone to you and saying 'all right, I'm here, let's get this over with'." Her eyes widened in horror. The first hints of tears formed at the corner of her eyes and I was sure I'd pushed her too far, somehow. Maybe she thought I'd all but called her a slut? Fortunately, I turned out to be a hundred-and-eighty degrees wrong. "I...I don't know how." Her voice was almost so soft I could barely hear it. Her head dropped forward and she could no longer meet my eyes. At least her knees had closed. Her hand remained stuck where it had been and that sniveling, evil, thought popped into my brain that I'd love to take its place! It would have been so much easier if I could gently guide her body into a more seductive pose. It was a thought that continued to pop into my mind over and over for the next half hour. I carefully talked her through a handful of the more discreet poses I could think of. I figured it was best not to toe the line too closely and confuse her once more. "Is that why you didn't want me naked?" Vanessa asked over her shoulder a while later. Slowly, she'd relaxed through the shoot. Shortly before, I'd had to change the position of the lighting and she'd rolled over onto her stomach, he feet crossed playfully in the air, while she pulled out a book and began to read. I liked the pose enough to ask her to hold it for some shots. It helped that she hadn't noticed that the baby-doll had ridden up offering a tantalizing glimpse of her cute round butt. "What?" I asked, slightly dumbfounded by the non sequitur. Maybe my brain had slowed by the sheer amount of blood that had gone somewhere else in my body. I had already realized that I would have to keep the session to an hour or less in order to escape the risk of pryapism! "Before we started." She answered. Her soft voice matched the innocence of her pose and threatened to drive me nuts. "You looked shocked when I started to take off my clothes. Don't you think nudes can be sexy as well?" "Of course they can! It's just a bit harder." I instantly replied. I know I blushed slightly as the appropriateness of the last word sank in. "I just figured we'd start slow. Once I knew you were more comfortable, we could move on if that's what you wanted." Vanessa nodded. An enigmatic smile played across her face but I barely noticed. Shamefully, it had become very difficult for me to look at her face once again. She'd rolled onto her side as we talked which provided me an unobstructed view of the delicate juncture of her legs, perfectly emphasized by the pink lace of her thong. My hand instinctively clenched and caused the shutter to click a couple of times without a thought to focus. The sound startled me out of my daze and I quickly pocketed the remote. I grabbed my secondary camera and moved closer for some shots. It was easier to distance myself when focused through the lens than looking at the live subject. A giggle escaped Vanessa as she rolled onto her back and played to the camera. Her luxurious wavy brown hair fanned out across the bed and surrounded her head like an angelic halo. I snapped a few more shots and she rolled back onto her stomach to look playfully up at the camera. I don't know how I missed it. My eyes were glued to the digital screen, so it was easy not to have seen what she was up to. It was the feel that I should have caught, maybe even the sound. One moment I was smiling back down at her seemingly innocent fun and the next I flattened my back against the wall, my pants unzipped and her hand cupping my balls beneath the erection which pointed accusingly at her. Only my boxers remained to obscure my total humiliation. "What...?" I managed to gasp. I barely managed to avoid deepening my embarrassment through force of will. Otherwise, I would have exploded all over her hand. I know, the boxers were still there but every guy probably knows that it leaks through fabric pretty quickly. Her hand began to massage and only deep breaths and total concentration kept me safe. Meanwhile, she plucked the camera out of my other hand. As soon as it was safe on the end table, she tugged at my cargo pants until they fell to a pool around my ankles. When she leaned forward and kissed the edge of my pointing erection, I lost the battle. My body, now fairly well visible, turned beat red in my embarrassment. Aside from a few wet dreams, that had never happened to me before. Fortunately, it startled her enough that her hand froze mid-grope. Unfortunately, she giggled like a girl at the response to her attention. The coy smile she offered up at me was anything but immature. She leaned forward and licked the damp spot on my boxers. My muscles seized in fresh delight as she carefully used her tongue to clean herself of the come that had seeped through the fabric. Breath came raggedly and my mind refused to function. Vanessa uncoiled herself from the bed. Every hint of the innocence that had so maddened me during the photo session vanished. Her actions held the lithe grace of a great cat as she unfolded her body to press against mine. As if suddenly remembered, her hand began to massage once more, this time shifting to include the shaft which had softened despite her continued attention. "I wanted to have a sexy shoot with you." She whispered, her lips just inches beneath my own as she craned her neck to look up at me. "I know I'm expected to sleep with a photographer after one. It's only fair since I've turned them on. I just blow them, though. With you, I thought I'd go further." I wanted to object that it wasn't fair. It wasn't the responsibility of a model to relieve the photographer's sexual tension. That's what the first rule was all about! Besides, most models got paid, at least some, for their time. To expect sex afterwards would turn them into little more than prostitutes! Unfortunately, I could barely managed to breath, much less speak. "At first, I thought you might not be interested, when you didn't want me to get naked. Then, I saw your hard-on, even though you tried to hide it. That only made me want it more. You're nice, and easy to work with and you go out of your way to make me feel comfortable. Your discretion proved you were just trying to maintain that professional separation." I barely managed to nod. Her continued ministrations kept the haze of lust thick in my mind and stole my ability to do anything. The warmth of her breasts, pressed against my stomach, heated my blood. The slight wiggle of her hips drove me mad. It only got worse, a moment later, when I saw her thong slip down her legs and I realized what the action had been for. Beneath her hand, my desire began to pulse with new life. "I can't tell you how much I want you right now." She whispered before she rolled her hips, lifted me against her and pressed her naked flesh to surround the semi-hard length in her hand. When she backed up a step, I followed like a Voodoo zombie at my master's command. We took another step and we stood against the side of the bed. Vanessa finally released her control over me, both literally and figuratively, and sat back on the bed. Her legs splayed slightly so that her knees pressed against the side of both of mine. I stared down at the pose and while I still couldn't think it said anything other than "come and get me", I suddenly found it didn't matter. On paper or a screen, it didn't mean anything to me. With live flesh laid bare, not to mention shaved smooth, before me it was a demand I could not resist. I don't remember pulling off my shirt. I don't know how I managed to kick off my shoes or pants without untying them first. I vividly remember that I was almost fully hard, again, when I yanked my boxers down. Appropriately, the slightly sagging form still pointed directly at the source of its torment. I loomed over her. I couldn't help that fact, given the drastic difference in size between us. I'm six-feet tall and overweight and, while she's not what most people would call thin, she's more than half-a-foot shorter than I am and petite. She scooted back so that her entire body lay on the bed and I crawled on after her. When I crawled on hands and knees to hover over her, the effect was even more pronounced. Her body shuddered from the realization and I could actually see her nipples harden. I didn't particularly want to think about what that said about her. Especially right at that moment. She'd allowed herself to be used by other photographers and she'd set up the whole night with the expectation that I would do the same. It was only when she'd realized my reluctance that she'd taken the extra step to ensure it. A simple shift of my weight freed up one hand. My skin seemed especially rough as it glided across the smooth perfection of her flesh. (Where had that delicate baby-doll gone, anyway?) Her eyes drifted closed when my hand slid lower. I began to press against her even before I dipped between her legs and was rewarded with a gasp. My body showed how much I appreciated that gasp. Only minutes after I'd already exploded and I was now completely hard! I've always responded better to gasps than moans. After all, it's harder to fake the former convincingly, especially to someone new. With no more fanfare, my middle finger slipped between her legs. Her whole body shuddered when I pressed down against the soft button that was her clit. Rather than play, I chose to explore further. A moment later my finger drove inside her while the ball of my palm worked rough circles against her clit. Vanessa's back arched in pleasure. Her hands flew up, away from the fresh sensation, and one gripped the wrist supporting my weight while the other clutched fruitlessly at the sheets. Her legs, only loosely parted, tried to shut instinctively to trap the pleasurable torment but I'd shifted my own feet to help hold her down and open. Her mouth dropped open and a squeaked moan escaped. My finger glided easily in and out. When I reached for her, she'd been slightly moist with anticipation. In moments, my finger was drenched. It spread so quickly that my palm gained much needed lubrication. I pressed harder, circled faster and delved deeper. From the way the grip tightened on my arm, the almost constant stream of moans she produced were completely legitimate. Despite my earlier failure to hold out, I could already feel desire and need burning through my body. In particular, the pressure had already begun to build inside my balls. She'd orgasm before I would but I wouldn't be too far behind, even though I currently did nothing more than finger her. With regret, I pulled my hand free in order to support myself to change positions. One leg was all it took for her body to respond. Of course, with my hands just above her shoulders, she had nowhere to go when my knee pressed where my hand had been only moments before. She tried to slide up, in order to accommodate my body, only to discover she was trapped. And concern she might have had over the fact vanished before it could form when I wiggled my leg slightly and drove her deeper into her passion. The pattern was repeated when I shifted my other leg between hers. She groaned a shook. I could feel her body's confused attempts to accommodate me only to be foiled by my novel ways to inflict new pleasure. I don't think she even realized when my hips rolled easily beneath hers and lifted her butt off the mattress. There was no question Vanessa knew the moment my tip pressed into her hot, soaking, folds. She froze in anticipation. After I failed to progress in a few seconds, her legs, previously boneless and lifted nearly to my ribs, snapped shut around me. I timed my first thrust to the same time her legs tensed to pull me in. Even with all of the moisture she'd produced, I felt her body only reluctantly let me through. The combination of her impatience and my unexpected assistance thrust me deep. Her body parted as my unanticipated width buried itself to the hilt. There was more than a hint of pain in the scream that erupted from her but it was more than overshadowed by the sounds of ecstasy. Her legs loosened only slightly and I pulled most of the way out. I wasn't surprised in the least when they jerked tight again. I obliged by burying myself in her. In and out, hard and deep, we developed a quick rhythm. Each thrust continued to push open her body, as if she couldn't adjust to my size. Vanessa's muscles gripped and tugged at me. Her body shook constantly and soon only her crossed ankles kept her legs locked around my body. She screamed so loudly I was certain she'd be heard floors away. I half-expected security to pound on the door in time with the way my body pounded mercilessly into her. Protection never dawned on me. She was too long lost in orgasm to complain and I couldn't think through the animal need to sink my seed as deep inside of her as I could. When I exploded, not long after her own climax, I somehow managed to push deeper still and hold myself there. The fresh expansion pushed her farther over the edge and her body deflated all at once, even more unable to accommodate me. Spent for the second time in mere minutes, my own body collapsed as well. I'd try to hold my weight when I'm on top of a woman but my muscles simply wouldn't respond. Fortunately, her only response was a slight shift of her head so she could breath better. "Fuck!" Vanessa gasped after a minute had passed and a little of our strength had returned. I carefully rolled off of her and flopped to my back beside her. It was possible that the sheer length of time since my last hook-up colored my opinion but I couldn't agree with her simple pronouncement more. My head tossed bonelessly over to look at the young woman who'd seduced me. Sweat glistened off of her supple flesh. The slightest trace of white trailed across her hip from when I'd dragged my body off of hers. Doubtless, there was more in a pool between her perfectly ripe legs. A disturbing part of my mind wanted to see more of my seed splattered across her body, captured forever on film. An actual giggle bubbled up from within me. Not a manly chuckle, or even a teenaged laugh but a veritable giggle. She offered me a dazed, thoroughly satisfied, grin when her head flopped over to glance at the sound. I interpreted it to ask my thoughts and explained what had caused my mirth. "I don't think your in any state to get to those nudes tonight." Something playful and devious glinted in her eyes as she responded. "I don't know. Didn't you mention something about shooting me in the shower?" Copyright, November 2011 by Deathlynx