0 comments/ 46222 views/ 3 favorites Parisian Pictures By: jon.hayworth Although June's eyes gazed out of the tiny window she was oblivious to the views unfolding below her, she was deep in thought her eyes were unfocussed. She was not enjoying the clouds' formations that looked like fairy-tale castles made of cotton wool that appeared below. Looking down, the fantasy world below was so serene that it belied the fact that the Air France Concorde was flying at its cruising speed of, Mach Two leaving in its wake a trail of sonic booms. This trip is crazy she kept telling herself. She had done some wild things in her life, but this time she was going further than she had ever gone before. At times during the flight she made up her mind to get off the plane at Charles De Gaulle and catch another flight straight back to JFK. She knew if she did so, she would always regret her decision. What lay ahead was an adventure into the unknown, that might become one of the greatest experiences of her life. Her best friend Diane, (who, herself was no innocent in the wild sex stakes) was shocked when she confided in her. "Jeez! June honey have you completely flipped? A guy you have never met, Paris France for chrissakes June its a foreign country." "At least I've been communicating with the guy for ten months, I know a lot more about him than you did about the beach-bum you had a fling with last summer." "Well at least he was an American." Diane's reply reinforced June's resolution to go. "Diane that is so parochial, I suppose he had the Star Spangled Banner tattooed on his dick." "Say this European guy is some sort of nut." "Diane your being ridiculous, in case you haven't noticed we've got enough of our own home-grown nuts. I really do not think I am taking any greater risks than I would be here in the States." Despite her dismissal of her friend's fears, now at fifty thousand feet above some point midway across the Atlantic a small voice of doubt whispered gently in her ear. Say the guy was a nut? The U.S. of A did not have a monopoly on them. No, she should not be so stupid, she knew Christopher, she had read his stories, surely she had some idea of how his mind worked, surely she knew enough to trust him. He had even trusted her with the manuscript of his unpublished novel. As far as she could tell he was a perfectly sane guy who had a fetish that happened to dovetail with her own fetish. By the end of the weekend they would know how neatly their impulses joined together. Her fetish was hands, ever since the first time she had been unable to resist the impulse to look at men's hands. The clerk on Air France's check-in desk had sleek smooth hands, hands that she could feel in her imagination exploring her secret parts. Disappointingly, although the security guard who had run the scanner over her at the boarding gate had large hands, she found them a turn-off because they were rough and uncared for. The French businessman seated next to her had neatly manicured hands, although she thought them to be rather small almost effeminate. She hoped Christopher's hands would be large and well manicured, they appeared to be when she saw them on a web-cam. She could still recall the evening that her obsession began. It had been early last fall, one of those sun kissed days when mother nature seems to be giving a final reminder how delightful summer could be. She and Marc, her partner had driven out of town to the lake. A final trip to the cabin, to tidy it up and secure it against the depredations of winter. Diane and Peter, who was at that time Diane's boyfriend, had come with them. After a day spent doing chores they settled down in the evening with some beers. When the conversation flagged Peter put on a porno video. The action had been the standard fare - men with cocks that were bigger than average sustaining their erections for far longer than either June or Diane had ever known a man to last. Big breasted women on their knees giving the men blow-jobs. Women on top, taking the guy's cock up her ass and riding him like a cowgirl. She had been getting bored, all the films seemed to have no plot and little dialogue, but she knew watching the films would get Marc really hot and she looked forward to bed. It was the third or fourth film that made her take notice, she had been so bored by the earlier ones she had lost count. From the outset she could see that this film was going to be different. The scene opened with a shot of a richly furnished bedroom complete with four-poster bed and an ornate Regency style dressing table, near the dressing table was a chair and a full-length mirror. A woman dressed in a tight laced black corset, suspenders and seamed black stockings entered the room. She walked across the room to the chair in front of the dressing table. From the dressing-table she picked up a massive fluorescent pink vibrator, she lay back in the chair so her ass was barely perched on it. She laid the vibrator against her belly as if measuring it, it was so long it reached her navel. Then she opened her legs, switched the vibrator on and began to insert it. So far as June could estimate, the woman simply slid the vibrator in until just over half its length was concealed. She appeared to have more trouble inserting the second half, on several occasions she partially withdrew it before plunging it back in. Every so often she would stop her body arching as she appeared to orgasm. When there was very little of the vibrator protruding from her distended pussy a man stepped into the scene. The man wore a pair of black dress trousers, the kind worn with evening wear with a black silk stripe down each side, and a shirt with a frilly front and cuffs. The costume reminded June of some character in an old pirate film. However any resemblance to Douglas Fairbanks was dispelled by his down-turned Mexican moustache. The man knelt before the woman and urged her to take the remainder of the vibrator. As the woman wriggled and eased the vibrator up the final inch or so. June was fascinated, could she really take all of it right up to her navel? As she watched she was aware that she was clenching her hands silently urging the woman on. When she glanced across the room at Diane, she also appeared to be as intent on the screen as she was - maybe it is a woman thing she rationalised. When the woman had withdrawn the vibrator and once again demonstrated how long it was by laying it on her belly June had expected the film to end. When the man begun fingering the woman, assuming this was a somewhat unnecessary preliminary leading up to intercourse her attention wandered. Then she heard a gasp and a squeal of delight from the woman, and Diane's quick intake of breath. She had looked up in time to see the man's hand sinking wrist deep into the open legged woman. As the man began to fist fuck the woman the motion of his hand could be tracked as her abdomen rippled. June was sure that the woman was not acting the ecstasy she was experiencing, every twist of a limb every contortion of her face seemed to communicate her enjoyment. Never before had the images of a porn video stuck in her head, but this one did. She had watched the fisting scene three times that evening, until the others had become thoroughly sick and tired of watching it. "If you play that once more I'll ram my fist right up you." Marc had growled. "I think I would enjoy that." She had retorted as she had reluctantly relinquished her hold on the VCR's remote. In bed that night she had taken Marc's hand, she examined it noting its size puzzling over would it fit inside her. Folding his thumb into the palm of his hand so it lay in line with the middle finger she moulded it into an arrowhead shape. Sure she had found the solution she said. "Marc do you reckon you could get that into me?" "No way that was just a porno film. You've got to learn to tell fact from fantasy, no way did he have all of his hand inside her. It'd probably tear her or something." When they returned to the city the image did not fade. When she went to the video shop she hunted out films of fisting, on the Internet she visited pay per view sites to see the fisting action. As she watched she imagined it was happening to her. It became the centre of her desire. She wanted to feel herself being forced apart her body being filled. She purchased a jumbo size vibrator fifteen inches long and more than twice as thick as any she had previously used. Even when she was filled with this monster she felt dissatisfied, it was not alive, she wanted to feel forced, to feel she was being used by the person who was filling her. Marc said that she was becoming obsessed, still she talked about him fisting her until at last he agreed. His reluctance was based upon caring about her, the idea quite turned him on but he did not want to cause her an injury. Eventually she thought of a solution, she would get advice from people who had done it. Using the Literotica Forum there is a How To site, she posted a message asking for advice from people who had done it. Within hours answers giving practical advice appeared from all across the globe, one of the respondents was Christopher. The replies to her question, dispelled Marc's fears. That evening she manicured his nails, having clipped them as short as possible she sanded them smooth with an emery board. They spent the early part of the evening relaxing with a bottle of wine, then she had taken a bath. Initially his approach had still been somewhat cautious. When he had four fingers embedded in her knuckle deep there was a resistance. Her body refusing to yield to his gentle pushing. "Come on Marc do it harder please." She had pleaded. Finally she had resorted to threats. "Dammit I won't be left hanging out to dry. If you don't push it in I shall have to find someone else who will." Goaded by her words he had pushed. The pain that swept over her as her notch opened with an audible crack, was washed away by waves of wet warm pleasure as she came with an intensity she had never before known. She was intoxicated with the sensation, pain and pleasure mingled together, jumbling the words she used. She would plead with him to stop, and with the same breath urge him on, threatening what she would do if he dared to stop. That first time had been ten months ago. The request for practical advice had led to a cyber relationship with Christopher, he had been one of the people who had responded to her request for information, not only giving advice in his post but also referring her to a story of his called "Diary of a Fisting", that within the fictional account was packed with practical detail. Over time a relationship had developed, they had played games, he had cyber fisted her, they had watched one another on the web-cam but that had the extent of their relationship. Sure when she had looked at his strong square hands and fingers, his short clean nails she had fantasised about his hands entering her. Fantasy was all it was and all she expected it would ever be, until two weeks ago when out of the blue he sent her an e-mail saying. "June. Don't know about you but cs is ok for some people but I want the real thing - how do you fancy a fisting weekend in Paris. lol Chris." It was not until she had sent the reply that she had considered the consequences and the implications. A safe flirtation through time zones and across an ocean was moving remorselessly towards dangerous areas. "when" She typed and pressed send. Almost as soon as she had sent the one word message, the doubts crept in. One problem that remained unresolved was what did she tell Marc. At present he only knew a half-truth, she had to go to New York for a long weekend. If he looked in her dressing table drawer he would see her passport was missing. Suddenly she could see the terminal buildings were rushing towards them. A shiver tingled down her spine as she walked through passport control, she knew she was on French soil and she had taken another step down what could be a dangerous path. He was standing exactly where he said he would be, at the Concorde passenger information desk. She could have turned and run then. He watched as she approached, he saw her hesitate. Even across the busy foyer he could detect her nervousness, nerves he knew about - inside his stomach a hundred butterflies fluttered their wings. For a moment he thought she was going to turn and run. He would not have blamed her if she had done, then she braced her shoulders back and walk on towards him. She was as he had expected, about five, five maybe five, six. Her body was slim but with a lovely pair of breasts. Not the silicone enhanced probing weapons, but lovely natural rounded breasts that would fill his hands. "Hi I'm …" "June great to see you, did you enjoy the flight?" "It was luxurious." "That's why I booked you on Concorde, since I could afford it I've found it's the only way to travel." He ushered her out to a chauffeur driven Mercedes. This guy has money to burn she mused as he opened the mini-bar. "Cognac to celebrate your arrival in Paris. We are staying in the Hotel George V just off the Champs Eleysee." Although it had been extensively modernised the hotel still retained the old world charm of its story book pre World War Two days when dispossessed White Russian aristocrats had waited tables upon other aristocrats. A servile concierge greeted Christopher by name, summoning a bell-hop to take June's bags. When the bell-hop departed and they were alone in the suite June's nerves returned, what did he want, did he expect her to do it right now. "Let' go and eat." She heard him saying. Although it was only five hours since her nine a.m. take-off it was now early evening in Paris and she did not feel hungry. When she said she was not hungry he apologised for forgetting about the time difference, instead he suggested they take in a show. A quick phone call to the concierge and he had obtained tickets for the Crazy Horse. When he put the phone down she could contain herself no longer contain herself. "Can I see your hand please?" He held out his right hand, she took it in hers. First she looked at the palm, although the skin was soft she saw there were old callous scars, a sure sign that at some time he had done hard manual work. Turning it over it felt firm and strong. As she expected he kept the nails clipped exceptionally short, running the pad of her finger over them she could tell that they had recently been sanded so any trace of sharpness had been blunted. His fingers although not grotesquely stumpy were by any definition short. Far shorter than Marc's! When she tried to flex them she confirmed her impression, that they were immensely powerful. His eyes twinkled when he said, "Well do they meet with madam's approval?" "Oh yes," she replied. "Everything I expected and more." Feeling herself getting wetter and wetter every second she held his hand in hers. If at that moment he had asked her to strip and spread her legs, she would have done so only asking, "how wide". Hurrying her was not his style, he wanted fisting her to be a special event for both of them. In the womb-like cocoon of the Mercedes they were transported from the opulent decadence of the George V to the raunchy decadence of the Crazy Horse, where they drank champagne as if it was water. Light-headed and unsteady on her feet she was glad that the Mercedes was there to whisk them back to the hotel. Watch it June you're rapidly becoming accustomed to this millionaire life-style, she admonished herself. In the suite she took a long bath to relax her body. She felt like a fifties Hollywood movie star as she luxuriated in the warm bath. The bath was long and deep, she could have sworn that the faucets were gold, and the Bulgari toiletries in the bathroom, felt and smelt of opulence. She would take a bar of this soap back as a present for Diane, she knew Diane would have sold her soul to the Devil himself to spend a night in a hotel like this. Despite her intentions, the bath and the champagne the night turned into a disaster. Christopher had not tried to hurry her, but when she came out of the bathroom she had felt ready. She took off her bath-robe, revealing to him her smooth shaved body then she lay on the bed next to him. When he cupped her left breast in his hand she felt an electric tremor go down her spine. Relieved she thought, it's going to be fine. As he toyed with her nipple she felt the warm flowing of her juices as her body responded to his touch. "Oh Christopher I am so sorry." She cried as her vaginal muscles tensed and clamped tight on his lone exploratory digit. Once her involuntary muscle spasm had passed she asked him to try again. Although she had asked him to try once more, and her conscious mind was willing, her subconscious mind acted to frustrate them. The instant his fingers peeled apart her labia, than once again her vaginal muscles went into a spasm. Desperately June fought to control her body, by thinking nice thoughts, of soft gentle colours. She willed her pussy to spread and relax. Try as she might nothing could overcome the tightly clenched muscles, which were effectively barring his fingers from her. "Its no good if you can't relax." He said. She was afraid he would be angry with her, she was angry with herself, she flinched fearing a blow when he took his hand away from her pussy. The tears that flowed down her cheeks were tears of anger and frustration. "I am so sorry. So sorry, I really do not understand what is happening with my body." He moved up the bed so he lay next to her, she tried to pull away when he put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him. "Relax June don't be afraid, these things happen." She lay her head on his chest listening to the bass drum thumping of his heartbeat. "I think it was a bit stupid of us to think this would work, we needed more time together to get to know one another." "Surely your mad at me. I know this weekend must be costing you a fortune." He laughed. "A fortune yes, but as my old mother used to say, easy come easy go! Six months ago I couldn't have afforded a weekend in a B&B, that's a boarding-house to you, in Brighton, then a Hollywood bigshot read one of my stories and I sold the screenplay. Now publishers are queuing up to publish the novel they had rejected. So I went from broke to feted celebrity author with a three book contract in a matter of weeks." "Even so you have spent a lot of money." Gently he kissed her forehead. "I told you it's only money." She snuggled up against him. She wanted someone to pinch her, surely she was dreaming this man was too good to be true. "Tell you what let's have a drink." He got up from the bed, opened the refrigerator. "I hope champagne is OK - that's all we've got." He stood aside so she could see the bottles lined up in ranks. Taking one out he popped the cork by shaking the bottle. She opened her mouth so he could aim the foaming white liquid at her. He passed her a towel to dry her face then poured their drinks. As they drank they talked about themselves, their homes, their work, likes and dislikes. When a bottle was empty he opened another and they continued to talk June lost track of time and the number of bottles they drank. The only subject they never mentioned, not even in passing, was fisting. It was only when she awoke that she realised they had fallen asleep. They must both of fallen asleep leaving the bedside lamps switched on. He was lying on his side with his back to her, snoring gently. She was about to wake him when she saw his hand lying on top of the covers. Almost holding her breath, so as not to waken him, she looked at the back of his hand. Square the back appeared to be broader than it was long, she could see its bulk was muscle rather than flab, attached to it shortish square tipped fingers. The whole giving the an overall impression of strength. The short square tipped nails and soft skin were aesthetically appealing to her. Parisian Pictures She could not understand her own reaction, his hands were her ideal hands why had she been unable to enjoy them. Even as she looked she could feel the electric tremors tingling excitedly through her body. Her nipples became prickled as they hardened, and her breasts swelled. She put one hand between her legs, inserted two fingers into her slit where it was split her clitoris seeking to satisfy the itch that craved to be satisfied. Through half closed eyes and in her mind she focused on his hand, until in her imagination she could feel it pushing her open, filling her, pushing high into her. With her free hand she grasped his exposed hand as the churning within her became a warm fountain and she came. When Christopher awoke the first thing he was aware of, was her grasping his hand, then he noted her sobbing breath and realised not only was she aroused but she was masturbating. He turned to face her, kissed her parted lips and placed his hand over her hand. His tongue was in her mouth, her tongue responded engaging his in an oral duel. She slipped her hand from under his, he hesitated, she pressed his hand down confirming her desire. His finger pressed gently on her erect clitoris, moving in a gentle circular motion. Her hips rose pushing against his hand, breaking the kiss she said. "Put your finger in me." His finger entered the warm sticky well that was her vagina. She enjoyed the moment, as his tongue toyed with her hard nipple. When he suckled her the electric tingling intensified until they wracked her body in waves. He slipped another finger into her opening, then a third finger. Now she could no longer discern her orgasms individually, one following so closely on the other they almost merged. Despite this she felt a need that was not yet sated. She was sure from his actions the previous night that she could trust Christopher, and she was equally certain that trust or lack there of had been the barrier last night. "Christopher will you." "Will I what?" He mumbled his mouth still partially filled with her breast. Inconsequentially she thought of her mother's lectures on table manners and began to giggle. He lifted his head. "Are you OK?" "Sure I'm fine, just a silly thought." "Can you share it." "I'll warn you it's stupid." "Please put me out of my misery." "It's not that funny, but when you answered you talked with your mouth full of my tit and suddenly I heard my mother's voice saying. 'It's bad manners to talk with your mouth full'." Christopher laughed. "My mother used to say the same thing." He spluttered and began laughing again, his laughter was infectious both were laughing, her light laughter laying a melody over his bass belly laugh. The laughter acted like a period, her cycle of orgasms had come to a pleasant end. "Christopher I was going to ask you to fist me properly, I am sure everything is fine now and I need to feel you." Quickly they began to prepare themselves, he grinned as he hung a "do not disturb" sign outside the door. "Now everyone will know monsieur et madame are at it!" She was a little perturbed when he took a video camera from his baggage. She had no intention of unwittingly appearing in a porn film - she had visions of Marc putting a video on to be confronted by her smiling face. "Hey no camera." "This is for you, you can wipe the tape after." "I don't understand." "Look when you are fisted, all you know is what you feel right?" "Right it's what I feel that's so lovely." "So with the camera you get the complete experience you not only feel but you also get to see. Look I'll plug this lead into the back of the TV and you can see what's going on in real time, and afterwards you can relive the experience by watching the tape. Try it I promise you that you will enjoy it." She was still uncertain, so she agreed saying. "OK but I get to wipe the tape." He lay across the bed on his right side, the camera in his right hand. She lay on her back lengthways on the bed, her right leg draped over his waist her left leg near his head. She had expected to be distracted by the presence of the camera, beforehand she had found the notion intrusive, but when she saw the image of her disembodied pussy on the television screen she forgot about its source. He was right, this was a new and enjoyable experience, never before had she seen such a close up image of her sex. It was as if she was being made aware of it for the very first time. Although she had felt them never before had she looked at them so closely when they were in an aroused state. Suffused with blood even the outer edge of her labia was tinged with a blush. She watched as the fingers of his left hand parted the fleshy leaves to reveal the delicate coral pinks and mauves of the inner lips - she would love to paint a picture of the scene she was seeing, the tints were almost sub-aqua. His fingers glistened as the light caught on the KY. She felt a delicious tingling as he smeared cool KY over the inside of her labia. Her pussy and his hand sparkled, KY spangles catching the light with every movement. She watched his hand form into an arrowhead, felt it spear into her until the knuckles caught in the ring of muscle. Involuntarily the muscle contracted squeezing his hand. She felt her pubic bone pushing apart as the notch separated. Ecstatic waves washed through her as she began to cum. "Wait a minute let me catch my breath and relax." She said resting a restraining hand on the exposed portion of his hand. "I just need a moment or two to relax." She gasped, as each spasm of tension induced yet another orgasm. All the time she could not take her eyes from the image on the screen. "It's weird I'm lying here looking at the TV I know its my pussy, but it doesn't feel like it is." "That's because you have never seen yourself before, its a new experience you cannot associate with yourself." He replied. "You sound very academic. Now push go on push into me." She could see the out of focus muscles of his forearm tense as he pushed, then he pulled back slightly and pushed. The pain swept through her as he filled her and she was cumming as if someone had turned a tap on. "Oh so good … please don't stop … wait … wait!" She pleaded as his hand disappeared and her muscles went into a series of tight painful spasms. No longer could she feel waves of pleasure, they were coming one after another so fast they had become a flowing river. On screen she could see the moisture of her ejaculation seeping around his wrist, to run like a river down round the rosebud of her anus. "How you feeling?" "Like I've died and gone to heaven. Like I'm never ever going to stop coming. Like I'd like to lie here with your fist inside me for the rest of my life. Oh this absolutely so good." She felt a jolt of pleasure and pain deep within her womb as he made an unexpected movement with his hand, taking her eyes off the screen she looked down at her distended abdomen and saw the skin rippling as he moved. Then there was a multi coloured flash as if she was watching a laser display, she was certain his finger tips were tickling her belly button from the inside. "Can you feel where I'm coming from." "Everywhere my hand feels like it is in a swimming pool, its like a showerhead near my fingers." He replied confirming her own feelings. Every pore of her vagina and womb felt as if it was secreting fluid. Somewhere near the very top of her womb she too could sense a veritable gusher. The picture on the screen abruptly changed to a blue screen. "Damn." He exclaimed. "What is it?" "Change tape." He grunted as he fumbled to load another tape into the camera using only one hand. "How long does a tape last?" She asked when the picture reappeared on the screen. "An hour." "An hour! A whole hour!" She exclaimed, then a thought struck her. "Will I ever stop cumming?" "Pass!" "What do you mean pass?" "I don't know - its your body and I guess everyone is an individual." "Jeez man have you any idea what you are doing to me - I mean cumming for an hour and I mean cumming it feels like a non-stop single orgasm." "We can stop if you want." "Hell no just keep going its so fucking nice." Then a frightening thought struck her, after this would sex ever be enjoyable? She pushed the unwelcome idea away, Marc was just going to have to get used to having his fist buried in her pussy if that's what it took. For now she was going to enjoy every moment and worry about the future later. The TV screen was becoming a fixation, although she was aware of the sensations she felt as his hand moved and stilled, she had to see it, she was unable to take her eyes from the screen for more than a few seconds. The pale band of skin where he wore his wrist watch was invisible - she could hardly believe the evidence before her eyes. This was not trick photography or clever camera angles she could both see and feel that the whole hand and his wrist was most definitely inside her. What she did find surprising was how little discomfort and how intense the pleasure she felt. Her labia were no longer delicate pastel shades, now they glowed angry reds, deep moody blues and awesomely deep purples that in some areas appeared nearer black. Near the entrance she was becoming aware of a chaffing discomfort that had no pleasure associated with it. "Do you think we can stop now?" "Sure." He said. She had not anticipated how painful withdrawal would be, but found that by watching his hand as it slowly inched its way out she could blank out the worst. "Could you keep filming for a moment? I just want to see it all." She said when his hand was out. Together they lay on the bed reviewing the tape. Without taking her eyes from the screen she slid down his body, resting her head on his abdomen she took his erect cock into her mouth. Without once taking her eyes from the image of her own sex she sucked and licked it like a kid with a lollipop at the cinema. She was barely aware of the change in his breathing that was a precursor to his cumming. When he came she swallowed the thick creamy effluence and carried on sucking until his flaccid tool became hard once more. All that she was aware of was the image and the wetness within her that it caused. When he came again he pulled her away gasping. "Enough for now, I feel drained." When she showered she felt the fluid that remained in her running down her leg, then she got dressed. She was glad she had a loose dress, because his fist had caused her stomach to swell - giving her the appearance of being pregnant. Once he had showered and dressed, he rang down for room service. They enjoyed a light luncheon that was brought to their room. "Oh my god!" She exclaimed as he opened a bottle of champagne. "How I'll ever get used to drinking water or any regular drinks I do not know." He laughed, "Neither do I June, neither do I." That afternoon they spent like tourists visiting the Louvre, marvelling not only at the pictures on display but also the blend of modern and old architecture. The glass and steel pyramid entrance to the underground galleries and the ancient royal palace that surrounded it. That evening when they went to bed he did not make any moves. "Are you going to do me again?" June asked. "If you want." "I do but if you don't …" "No its not that I don't want to I just thought you might be too sore." "Hell no! We came all this way to do it and I guess this is costing you a few thousand bucks, lets do it I can spend the rest of my life recovering if I have to. Just one thing." "Anything." He grinned when she said. "Hook up the camera again." Through the remainder of the weekend he fisted her another three times, capturing each time on tape, each time afterwards she reviewed the tape. Never did she make any mention of wiping the tapes. It was not until Monday morning as they were departing that she said to him. "I can't play your European tapes on our TV's, so will you download them to me over the net?" A request to which he readily agreed. The trip back to JFK was weird, she had landed Eastern Standard Time before she had left according to European time. This is the nearest I will ever come to being a time-traveller she mused as she reset her watch at JFK. Before going home she had to go shopping. In the mall she went to a camera shop where she selected a Sony digital camcorder much the same as Christopher's camera. Before buying it she ensured there was a lead to connect to the TV and one for her PC. She also bought a tripod. Marc was there when she got home. "Hi honey I've brought you back a present." She said. She was at home alone, Marc was out at work. She slumped in her seat, her ass resting near the edge, legs splayed, a position that tilted her pussy outwards towards the camera on its tripod between her knees. Her eyes were fixed on the TV screen. She watched her fingers slowly open her darkened labia, to reveal the vivid colours of her pussy. The simple act of looking made her run wet. Lightly she toyed with her already erect clitoris until no longer able to contain herself she inserted her buzzing vibrator. The vibrator was not as good as a fist but for now it would serve as a substitute. She was still in that position when Marc came in. "Marc come here. I need you right now. Will you take the camera off the tripod get down between my knees and fist me while you are filming me." "Oh yes this is so good." She murmured dreamily as his hand entered her already wet pussy. Postscript. The weekend after her return from Paris the phone rang. "Hi June how are you?" Diane asked. "Fine." "Did you have a good time?" "Yes and he wasn't a screwball either." "Have you got some nice pictures." "Mmmmm yes." "Great when can I see your photo's - I am dying to see Paris." It was then that she realised, she had not taken a single picture, of all the video stored on the PC not a single second had been shot outside the bedroom. "You can't Diane they got destroyed by the airport X-ray machine."