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Annie's Camera

By: tarkatony



OK, I'll admit it, I'm 24, damn near a virgin, no prospects, not one, so I go online and try to imagine my way into some guy's bed. But it ain't happening for me, mainly because I haven't the creativity to imagine myself in some stud's arms: I'm a little over-weight, girl-next-door attractive and unbelievably bossy. And I'm a pissed off: I'm tired of page after fucking cyber page of rail-thin skanks with plastic tits and I'm really pissed that they've become the online-standard, as if most of the women out there aren't built more like me. 

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm not the loser I think I am, maybe I just need a lot more exposure, maybe there are guys out there who appreciate a full-bodied bossy bitch like me. Who knows? 

After a few weeks of indecision, I decided to go for it; I decided to seek a little feed-back about myself — and I would seek it out in more or less the same way that I found out that I could write smut: a few months ago I sent my stories to a porn site that elicited reader feed-back and they liked me, they really liked me! So, what the hell, once lucky twice ... whatever it is — I'd do the same thing with pics: I'd send them to one of those post-your-own-sexy-picture sites and get a little cyber feedback. What could I lose? As it stands now I couldn't possibly think less of myself. 

When I asked her, I knew Annie was going to think I was nuts but I didn't expect the over-reaction. "Are you crazy? No way — not a chance."

But my logic prevailed: she is a professional news photographer with a local paper; she has the camera; she knows how to use it and, hell, somebody has to take the goddamn pictures, I would be busy enough trying to contort my body into seductive poses. So I decided on next Saturday, she reluctantly consented, and I said, "that will give us some time to dream up some poses."

"I'm not going there, Bets. I'll push the friggin' button but that's the extent of my commitment to this." She wasn't happy.

But I was, but it was a little scary, too, but kind of neat-scary — I was actually looking forward to it. But I knew that having the pictures taken would be the easy part — sure stripping in front of my best friend would take a little ... brass, but the hard part would be posting them: that would take real guts.

Or so I thought. But the easy part wasn't going to be as easy as I thought: I didn't plan on the little white umbrellas over the gazillion watt lights and when I complained, Annie's response was dismissive: "You said you wanted your pictures to look professional, this is what it takes."

Do you know why fat people wear black? It makes them look thinner — even an anorexic can look pudgy under the flood lights of the portrait artist, so when I pulled my sweater over my head I was expecting the solar bounce-back from the lights off my flesh. What I didn't expect was the feeling of utter helplessness, "What should I do now?"

"How the hell do I know! This is your gig." 

She looked more scared than amused and that made me even a little more uncomfortable. And talking about uncomfortable, taking off my jeans reminded me of those times as a kid when I was just about to dive into a cold lake, you know, nervous about the impending shock of the cold water — only on the dock I had more clothes on than I did now. When I kicked off my jeans the broiling lights were frying a lot of white skin and what I think is a very sexy, semi-see-through pink bra and panty set that I had just picked out for the occasion (I knew looked a whole lot better on the manikin than on me). "Is it a 12 or 36?" I said, trying to deal with my nerves.

"What?"

"The roll. How many shots on the film ... exposures?" I added the 'exposures' because I wanted her to know I knew something about photography.

"It's digital, you idiot. I can shoot you until ... until you realize how absolutely stupid this is."

I don't like being called stupid, although it seemed to happen a lot, so with renewed determination I crawled onto the white sheet, propped myself up on the two white fluffy pillows and I got seductive.

"Are you sucking in your cheeks?" Annie's camera was disdainfully at her side.

"Yes," I said, annoyed that by saying the word I was spoiling the affect. 

"Don't — it just looks like you're sucking in your cheeks, and don't pose, either, you just look like you're posing. Look, do you know what you want to accomplish here; what kind of pictures you want?"

"The silk purse from the sow's ear kind."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Please do."

"We give it, say, ten-fifteen minutes, you just move around, do all the kinds of things you want ... get into all the positions you want and I'll click like hell and we'll see what we've got at the end, OK? No posing, just you moving and me shooting."

"OK, but remember who we're shooting for, I don't think anyone out there is going to give a shit about the colour of my eyes."

Sure I felt stupid, really stupid but as I squirmed all over her bed, most of the time without underwear, I kept my eye on the prize: the pictures were going to find me fans — they had to be out there somewhere.

xxxxxxxxx

Annie was busy all week, or so she said, so I couldn't see the results of my labours until the following Saturday — that pissed me off and I told her so as I entered her apartment.

"I work, Bets, a lot more hours than you do."

"You didn't have a spare hour during the week?"

She laughed contemptuously, "A spare hour? It's going to take you a lot longer than that to go through these — there are 314 of them!"

"314!"

"I wasn't composing, Bets, I just more or less put the camera on autodrive and held down the button. If there's any quality here, it's only because of the quantity — I just couldn't quite bring myself to concentrate on framing your ...," she laughed, "your, you knows." 

When I sat down beside her in front of her computer I thought I knew what I wanted, I had seen enough of this kind of stuff on the sites, but most of it was either shot from a lousy angle, out of focus or way too dark. With all those lights, my pics were going to be as bright and cheerful as I wish I was.

"Ready?" she said.

"Action," I replied, and in an instant I filled the screen. 

I liked my smile, it was warm and welcoming and open ... just like my pussy. "Son of a bitch," I said, in wonder, "I'm going to send that to the world?"

"Why are you doing this, Bets, I mean why?" 

She sat back and looked at me, at least I think she was looking at me, I was too busy checking myself out to notice — it was me from an entirely new angle, Jesus, talk about T and A. "Feedback," I muttered.

"Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?"

I snickered, "As stupid as I look?"

"You don't look stupid, Bets, you look naked."

"God, no kidding. Are they all like this?"

"No, in some you have underwear."

"No, I mean this good, God, it's beautiful, I mean, you didn't have much to work with but boy, look at it, I'd put that on my mantle if I had one. It's stupid but God, am I ever fucking sexy. Next!"

"Here, watch," she move her hand and positioned the cursor over the arrow on the top right of the screen, "hit this to go to the next picture, hit the back arrow to go back and hit this flag here," she moved the cursor over to a flag icon in the menu, "to identify the ones you like," then she got up.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm not going to sit through your anatomy class, Bets, Saturday is cleaning day."

It's amazing: the shock of seeing yourself au naturel is absolutely shocking ... but just for a minute or two then you're no longer looking at yourself but at some image on the screen and you're becoming as critical of that image as if it was a perfect strangers or even an enemy, that's how critical you can become: thighs are too fat, ass is too big, pussy is too hairy — but strangely, it isn't depressing because somehow that isn't you you are criticizing, you are your mind and emotions, the copious corpulence on the screen is only a virtual reality of you, run amuck, or maybe it's that you just get deadened to the naked reality of the pictures, who knows? But it's kind of fun clicking an arrow that leads you to another, even more intimate angle of yourself, even if you're on disconnect.

By the 98th picture, after about an hour, I had flagged maybe four pics — all fairly discrete, none with a wholly identifiable face. The 99th was none of the above: it was full frontal nudity shot over my hairy crotch, past my rubbery tits to my grinning teeth, it was shockingly, even obscenely graphic but before I clicked the 'next' arrow to escape it I notice ... it had already been flagged! Annie had flagged it! Jesus, this one! The worst! Why? I was about to wheel around and ask but I think I was too embarrassed. Me? Too embarrassed? I shrugged and moved on.

I phoned Annie that night at about 11:30, after I had been in bed for half an hour. When she picked up with a sleepy 'hello,' I said, "Numbers 99, 137, 139, 142 and a few in the 250 range had been flagged when I got to them. Why did you flag them?"

Dead air ... then a meek, "I liked them."

"Oh," I said, not expecting this, "Talk to you tomorrow."

You know, when you've got a lousy image of yourself you can think that someone who gives you a compliment is an absolute fool or a horrible liar. That was my first thought when I heard Annie's words. But Annie is no fool and she's no liar. But she did say it, I had replayed her words over and over in my head, 'I liked them' — she did say it, I heard her ... and I had heard that long silence, too, that long awkward silence like when you've been found out and you don't know what to say. To my ears both the silence and the words sounded strange, really strange, but together, they sounded flat out weird.

I didn't phone Annie the next day, nor the three days after that. Even after thinking it through, I didn't know what to say to her, I mean, after careful and painstaking evaluation — God knows, I thought of nothing else but this — the simple fact appeared to be this: the pictures of me that Annie liked, maybe 12 of them in all, just happened to be the most obscenely provocative pictures of the bunch, all tits and pussy, some of them without a trace of face. And that was the bottom line here: she couldn't say, 'ya, I really like this one of you' when all it showed of me were my tits resting on my belly and a thick jungle of pubic hair with my insides hanging out, I mean, who would say that? That's the question I'd been asking myself over and over for the past four days and that lead me to a larger question, one that I had never really asked before: who is Annie? Because the Annie I thought I knew, and I've known her most of my life, we've been best friends for God's sake, the Annie I thought I knew would never say such a thing — the Annie I knew would be cleaning her fucking apartment instead of looking at pictures of a naked friend.

Troubling. And then it became more troubling because it started to excite me, the thought that Annie would flag such pictures. At first, I was kind of shocked by it and then I was just surprised and then I got kind of curious as I thought about it and then I became a little intrigued — this was over a few days and then on Thursday night it kind of floated into my head as I was cruising porn sites. I always look at lesbian pics mostly, the real kind of lesbians not the phony posed ones, I really liked that the 'natural' women looked so intense and they didn't seem to care that they were fat or flat or hairy or ... whatever. In the better ones, the ones I liked, the women seemed really focused, really into it, really uninhibited — they seemed a whole lot more interesting to me then the shots of those cyber-women with their perfectly injected tits and their amazingly tanned legs wide open for a raging cock. 

As I said, as I cruised the porn sites, and I did a lot of it that week, Annie floated through my thoughts, but an Annie I had never know before — pretty soon this one was lying on a bed in front of me, I don't know why but I just started to imagine that; I started to replace the women on the screen with her. In the one that stayed with me the most, she was lying on a bed with a woman's fingers on her white nylon panties and the woman was sucking Annie's breast — Annie sort of became the picture on the screen and it just seemed to make so much fucking sense, and it stunned me for a moment — because it seemed to fit: I could see this happening and then I don't know how but I sort of placed myself in the picture, too — it was my hand on Annie's panties and my mouth at her breast and when I imagined that, fear stabbed at me and I stabbed at the power switch.

That shut the computer off but not me. I've never imagined myself in a lesbian picture before; I just liked lesbian pictures because the women seemed so accepting of each other, so real and maybe a little powerful, too, that they had the power to express themselves, they weren't just sitting back waiting to get rammed by some lust-driven power-monger. Well, sure, I liked to look at the bodies, too, they were so varied, so interesting and some were even worse than mine. But now, about mid-week, I wasn't just dealing with a bunch of anonymous cyber-images, I was dealing with something a whole lot more real and physical than that: I was deal with the image of me and my best friend naked on a bed — and I was liking it. Not at first, at first it just scared me and I fought it off. But, later, when I fired up the machine again, I fired up myself.

I touched her all night and I was touching her when I phoned her in the morning to confirm dinner at her place that night.

You can talk yourself into almost anything. When I knocked on her door, I had talked myself into wanting to experiment with my best friend, I wanted to have sex with her, I wanted to know what the whole lesbian thing was about — that's all that I had been thinking about for the past 24 hours; I had worked myself into my first sexual lather and it didn't seem to matter to me that all my excitement was over ... a girl.

And that girl was opening the door and looking at me and when she did I came crashing back to reality. I had seen her face a million times before: homely, serious, familiar — it wasn't the face of my fantasy, it was the face of my best friend.

She was more nervous than usual, I knew it was because of the pictures but I didn't say anything, I just opened one of the two bottles of wine I'd brought, poured us each a glass and settled into a chair and watched her cook. And that's all it took: just seeing her move about was enough to morph her reality back into my sexual fantasy. I knew her look well: she is short, a little over-weight, really big breasted and a little bit pretty in a very self-conscious, very shy kind of way but as I watched her move about the kitchen I realized that never mind the face, this was the body of my fantasies and the words just came out of me, "Annie, are you a lesbian?"

I was watching her closely, she was stirring something on the stove and with my words she tightened for a moment as if startled, then her shoulders slowly sagged as if she was feeling utter defeat. "Yes," she whispered. 

The admission was oddly shocking to me, even though I was prepared for it — I mean, it meant that I didn't actually know my best friend, someone I had known most of my life. How can you not know your best friend is a lesbian? "Do you want to talk about it?"

She didn't say anything, she just slouched over the stove, pushing at some food in a pan.

"Do you?"

"What's there to talk about?" Her voice was still almost a whisper.

"I want to talk about it, OK?" She didn't move, didn't say anything so I got up and went over to her, "Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Neither am I." I turned off the dials, pulled the pan and pot off the burners and took her by the arm, "Come on, let's talk." She went with me to the couch and sat down while I returned to the kitchen for the wine bottle and her glass which I filled and handed to her, "Let's celebrate."

"Celebrate?" She straightened from her slouch and stared at me.

"You've come out for God sake, that's a reason to celebrate if there ever was one."

She laughed, sort of, and drank, then said, "I haven't come out."

"You're gay, you just admitted it, that's coming out."

"I've admitted it to you but you aren't going to say anything ... are you."

"No, of course not." I took another drink while looking at her — I was finding this really exciting ... and a bit titillating — I've never talked about lesbianism with anyone before, "So what's it like to be gay, I mean, do you get turned on a lot?"

"Come on, Bets." She put her glass on the table and slouched back into the corner of the couch.

"No, I mean it, ... I mean when you pass a chick do you, like ... get the hots, is that the way it works?" I honestly didn't know.

"Ya, all the time."

"No, seriously."

"Seriously?" she looked up, "To me it means that I'm more or less miserable all the time."

"Miserable? Why?" This really surprised me.

"I have no identity, Bets, not even to myself ... unless you call being really fucked-up an identity."

I laughed, "It's an identity, Annie, it's mine," I laughed again, "but we're all fucked-up, aren't we, everyone of us, in one way or another?" I hadn't planned to bring it up, but with all the talk of being fucked-up I did, "So what about those pictures? Why did you flag them?"

"Come on, Bets, jeez."

"No, seriously, why?"

"I don't know," she got up, walked over to her desk and came back with a CD, "There all here."

"All of them?"

"Yes!" She said, emphatically, as she slouched back into the corner of the couch.

"Didn't keep any copies?" I was smiling coyly.

But she wasn't looking at me, "No, of course not."

"Shit," I said, "I can't even excite a lesbian." I laughed, I though it was funny.

But she didn't, she quickly looked up at me, "Is that why you asked me to take those pictures?"

"No, of course not, I had no idea you were gay then, but now that I know you are, it's a bit of a downer that you haven't said they're pretty.

"They are pretty, Bets."

"And sexy?"

She laughed, "Sure."

"No, seriously, did you think they were sexy?" I hesitated for a moment, "I mean, that was the point."

She shrugged and didn't look up, "Yes."

"Do you ever go online to check out ... other lesbians?" I have often wondered if other women, even non-lesbians, liked to look at other women, I mean, I did.

"No."

For some reason it didn't surprise me. "Never?" 

"No."

"Why not?" I mean, why wouldn't she? I did, regularly.

"I just don't."

"So the only pictures of a naked women you've ever seen have been of me?" I could tell she was uncomfortable with this but I just waited her out.

"Yes," she finally admitted.

"And you didn't find them sexy?"

She looked up at me now, a little defensively I thought, "I said they were sexy."

"Did they turn you on?" Her eyes were on mine and I had the feeling that for the first time in our life we were finally having a real conversation.

"Come on, Bets."

"Did they?" I demanded.

I think she was looking for a way out but she couldn't find one, "Yes," the admission was almost inaudible.

"A lot?" I could see she was going to give me another 'come on, Bets,' so I repeated more forcefully, "A lot?"

"Yes."

"Did you masturbate?" When she slumped back into the corner of the couch, totally defeated I added, "I want you to say 'yes,' Annie, I would really like it if you said 'yes.'"

"Yes."

That kind of stunned me a little, I was really surprised she'd admit it — it must have taken a lot of guts. "A lot?" 

She seemed absolutely defeated now; she looked like she had been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar; she looked like she was about to cry. "Yes."


Annie's Camera Ch. 02



It was mid-afternoon the next day, we had been out of bed for about an hour, she had on her usual attire, jeans and bulky shirt, only this time I knew what she had on underneath. I was in the chair in the living room with a magazine but I wasn't reading it, I was watching her, really, I was sort of seeing her for the first time.

She was at the stove when I said, "I want pictures of you ... like the ones you took of me."

She looked over her shoulder at me and laughed, a little nervously, "Not a chance."

I knew she'd object but I also knew she didn't have much of a choice. "You took mine."

"You told me to."

"And I asked for them back, but you didn't give them, did you? You kept a set — for the same reasons I want a set of you." She didn't say anything so I upped the ante. "How often have you looked at them?" She didn't respond, she just kept fidgeting at the stove. "Once a day?" Nothing. "Twice a day?" Nothing. "You do, don't you: you look at them when you come home from work and before going to bed. Do you look at them when we talk on the phone, too? Do you sniff my panties when you look at them?" Still nothing. "Next weekend when I come over, you will have the lights, the camera and you will be prepared for some action. Got it?"

We talked every night all week but never for very long: I told her before I left her apartment that I had a lot of thinking to do and I didn't want to talk about what we had done together — I had found it really surreal, I told her that and I told her I wanted to let it all sink in; we would talk about it next weekend.

And I wasn't lying, I did find it surreal. And why wouldn't I? I'd had sex with a woman, my best friend for god sake. What did it mean? Were we just fucking around or did it mean something more? I mean, it didn't make a lot of sense to me that one day I was having lurid photos taken of me so I could lure in a man and the next I was wiping a woman's cum from my lips — reluctantly, I mean, it just shocked me that I would do such a thing, and it stunned me that I loved it so much, that I couldn't get her out of my mind, that I couldn't wait for Friday to come around again so I could get back at her body. Am I a lesbian? Do I want to be? I mean, what's going on here?

As I've said, Annie and I had been best friends for years but we had never been particularly good for each other, or to each other for that matter. For instance, we never acknowledged each others' birthdays; we never gave presents for each other; we never went shopping together; we never went to the movies together and we never really talked about anything important; we just hung out when we had the time, that was about it — so she didn't really know how to handle the flowers I handed her when she opened the door and I brushed by her heading for the kitchen and some much needed wine.

As I sat in the only chair in the living room Annie sat on the couch, "Cheers," I said lifting my glass to her before drinking. She lifted hers and when she drank from it and put it on the table I asked her, "So, why are you so nervous?" She clearly was.

"I'm not."

"Ya, right. Look, for once in our lives let's have a real conversation." I hesitated for a moment to queue up the question that had been on my mind all week, "What do you want out of me?" She wasn't looking at me and wasn't going to answer so I said, "Do you just want a fuck buddy, is that it?"

"No," she said, emphatically — she seemed a little shocked at the suggestion.

"Then what?"

She still wasn't looking at me and she was slow in answering, "I told you last weekend."

"Told me what?" But she wasn't going to respond. "Look Annie, I'm having a tough time with this."

"Well, so am I," she said, combatively, looking up for the first time. 

"Why are YOU having a tough time?" I said, equally combatively, "You're the fucking lesbian."

"Because you aren't!" She took a quick drink from her glass.

"How do you know I'm not?" I tried to be calmer now because I wanted her to calm down. 

"Because if you were, you'd be feeling like I am right now and there's no way the last five nights could have gone by without us being in each other's arms."

The confusion I had been feeling all week came tumbling back. "Is lesbianism just about sex?" That's one of the things I was having a lot of trouble with, I honestly didn't know, but I sure as hell knew that sex played a huge part, I had been unbelievably horny all week, hornier than I've ever been in my life.

"No, of course not, but it is about strong feelings and ... "

She didn't complete the thought and wasn't going to, and, anyway, I wanted to get off a topic that wasn't going anywhere so I asked, with an objective in mind — I had thought of this moment all week, "Why are you wearing jeans and a sweat shirt?"

She looked at me curiously, "That's what I always wear."

"I know, but what did you WANT to wear tonight, I mean, did you think of putting something else on, like you said you did last week?"

She nodded, meekly, "I almost always do."

"So what did you want to wear?"

"Something cute." Her words were pathetically whispered.

"So go put it on."

She looked up at me like an excited child, "Do you want me to?" 

"Put on something cute ... for me."

She wasn't gone very long, about five minutes, time enough for me to beat up on myself again. As usual, I had been thinking only about myself all week, what all this had meant to me, my constant horniness — I had barely given her a thought. But obviously it had been a tough week for her, too, far tougher than for me because she knew exactly what she wanted ... me, and she seemed terrified of not getting it.

I had filled our wine glasses and moved to the couch when she came back in. She stopped in the middle of the room; she was so anxious for approval it hurt me. "Come here, Annie."

She came over and stood in front of me so close I could feel her heat and when I put my hands on her hips I felt a jolt of exhilaration as I realized just how badly I wanted what was inside that little black dress, "You look beautiful."

She reached out, cupped my head and as I forced my face into her stomach she pressed herself against me and we were motionless for a moment and then she clutched my hair, pulling me in tighter and my hands went from her hips to her bottom and I could feel her try to push away. "Stay still, I want to touch you." And she did, she stayed absolutely still as my hands travelled around her strong, smooth ass and then slowly down her sensuously slick nylons to her ankles and then slowly, very slowly my fingers travelled back up the backs of her legs with my fingers lightly tracing a straight line along her inner thigh and then they were under her dress which rose up with my hands as I felt the tops of her stocking give way to the hot flesh of her groin and then I forced my fingers under her panties as my thumbs dug into her. "Annie?"

"Yes?" Her voice was weak, almost hoarse.

"Tell me how much you love me. I need to hear that." And I did: this was the crux of the whole thing to me. I could see in her eyes that she loved me — and in her actions. I believed she loved me, now I felt an irresistible urge to hear say the words.

She didn't hesitated, "I don't know how much I love you, Bets, I have no way of knowing. I didn't think I could love you more, then last week you got in bed with me. I thought I couldn't love you more, then tonight you gave me flowers. I thought I couldn't love you more, then you ask me to dress for you tonight. I thought I couldn't love you more, then you pressed your face into me and put your hands on me. I don't know how much I love you, Bets, how can I know? I love you more every moment."

She tried to pull me up but I continued to press my face into her — her words had stunned me, for their meaning but as much for their sadness. "When we made love last week, was it what you wanted, Annie, was it the way you wanted it?" I hadn't cared about this until this moment, but now it really mattered to me.

"I want to be better for you, Bets. I need that, I need to know I'm giving you everything you want, everything I can give you." 

I had never thought about sex much, mainly because I never really had the opportunity to experiment with it — I've never had a steady boy friend. But I've masturbated a lot, I really get into it and I've been going online for the pictures and to post my stories, like I've said. But throughout this past week I've thought of nothing but sex, exploring Annie's body, seeing her, feeling her, smelling her, tasting her and I've been constantly, I mean constantly, horny and constantly wet and constantly confused because what turned me on the most, and this really shocked me, because what turned me on the most was her doing what I told her to do — me bossing her around and her quick response to make me happy. I found that unbelievably exciting, as if I absolutely controlled her, sexually, and her words reminded me of that — 'I want to be better for you, Bets. I need that, I need to know I'm giving you everything you want, everything I can give you.' The moment she uttered those words I felt unbelievably empowered, I felt a sudden unshakeable urge to dominate her, to push her around — to make her prove to me that she would give her body to me. "Lift up your dress." My words sounded fierce to me, insistent, demanding — foreign.

As she obeyed, I studied the black panties that slowly emerged. They were tight against her hips, black against her white belly, elegantly smooth against her course skin, shockingly erotic for the thick hairy sex I knew they concealed. I pressed my face into her where her panties met her skin, feeling the exotic fabric with my lips, smelling her intimate heat, feeling with my thumbs the hot moisture in the creases of her crotch and I dug my fingers into her cheeks, squeezing her, then twisting, allowing my fingers to explore deep into the wet crevice of her ass but when the tips touched her bud I couldn't take it any more, I pulled my hands away, fumbled with my belt and buttons but when I sat down on the floor to kick off my pants and panties, she tried to move away. "Stay there, Annie.," I said, coldly. "Pull your dress up higher, I need to see your belly." 

I sat up as she lifted her dress high above her hips and I quickly leaned forward and pressed my face into the focus of my thoughts all week, her hot, fleshy belly, but I sucked on it only for a moment because almost as soon as I did a flood of cum that must have been building all week washed over my fingers and I slumped forward on my hands and knees, too weakened to kneel.

She waited until my last shudder before helping me up, helping me over to the couch and sat down beside me, pulling me into her. 

I pressed my cheek into her chest, "Do you know what's going on here, Annie, because I sure as fuck don't. I'm constantly horny now, constantly — ever since I notice you flagged those fucking pictures of me I've been creaming myself, I mean constantly, 24 fucking 7."

"I know what's going on with me."

"What?"

"I'm in love with you, Bets, I always have been — this is all a dream to me. I'm not horny ... well, ya, I am but mostly I'm just in love with you." I was going to say something, to try to fend her off but she continued, "I love it when you tell me what to do; I love it when your fingers and lips are on me; I loved it when you asked me to dress up for you, I mean, I really love that, I really love looking pretty for you."

"Come on, Annie."

"I do, I know it sounds stupid to you, but it isn't for me, I've thought about it for years."

I didn't know what to say, or do, so I decided on, "Let me look at you again. I don't think I've seen you in a dress since Jill's wedding."

She quickly wriggled out from under me and when she stood a few feet away, smoothing down her dress with a look of child-like excitement I could feel my eyes welling-up. She was like a little puppy anxious for approval, to my eyes a really sexy little puppy, but I didn't give her the complement she expected ... and deserved — it was still all about me: with the sight of her standing there in front of me, wanting my approval, I could feel the juices start to build in me again. "I just don't get this, Annie, why am I always so fucking horny ... jeez, I'm constantly fucking soaked." 

Her sparkling excitement changed into an encouraging smile, "So be horny. I love that you're horny, ecstatic you're horny."

"Take off your dress."

She seemed cress-fallen at this. "Don't you like it?"

"Take it off," I demanded, more insistently as I felt a panic building inside of me which I knew was sexual desire. "Take it off."

She didn't move, she seemed shocked at my demand so I quickly got off the couch and went over to her, "I told you I was horny," I said, as I unzipped her and pushed her dress to the floor. "Now just stand there, I want to look at you."

I know I haven't described Annie very well, probably because up until now I hadn't really seen her, never really looked at her, but I see her now, God knows, I see her now.

Annie has quite a round face with straight brown hair that contours to her cheeks like parenthesis. She has kind, brown eyes, a pretty nose, a wide attractive mouth and a weak, rounded chin — the effect is on the pretty side of homely but she has a warm, generous look about her, too. I knew all this without even looking at her face which is just as well because my quick peek at her showed nothing but shame. But I was way too far gone to care. I lay back, put my fingers between my legs and tried to absorb the woman in front of me.

Dressed in some version of jeans and sweat shirt, as she always is, Annie looks quite squat and dumpy but take those clothes off and to my eye she seems to positively drip with sensuality. She has very large, very round breasts, as I've said, with an entirely luscious cleavage but it's her belly that really gets to me. Dressed, she appears over-weight, but nearly nude, like now, it's obvious she isn't, not really, she's just strong and stocky with just a little flab on her belly which is slightly rounded and white and soft and ... for some reason, and I have no way of explaining this, I just love my face in it; I love to stick my nose in her navel and push hard into her, sucking noisily, I mean, I love that even more than I love resting my cheek on it while sucking her breast. 

"Pull your shoulders back." She had been slouching forward, drooping in modesty with her legs squeezed together. She didn't move at my demand ... which made me mad, "Look, you started this, you got me onto your bed, you fucked me, now I want to look at you so do as you're told or you've fucked me for the last time." I waited for her to move but she didn't. "Do it. Stand up straight, open your legs or I'm out of here." And I think I meant it.

And she did, too because she did as directed but she looked so pathetic I just lost it, I jumped to my feet and grabbed my panties from the floor, "I'm not interested in your fucking games, Annie."

"What do you want?" There was panic in her eyes as she wrestled the panties from my hand.

"I want you to do what you're told and I want you to look like you're glad I'm telling you what I want."

She went back to where she had been and turned and faced me, my panties still in her hand, "Tell me what you want, Bets and I'll do it." Her shame was replaced now with a determined resolve.

Which was a huge turn-off. I sat back down on the couch and leaned forward on my knees, "I want you to turn me on and I want you to look like you want to."

"I do want to, Bets, tell me what you want." She looked a lot more willing now so I took my top and bra off and slouched back into the couch with my hands on my breasts and my legs wide open. "Push your panties down ... no, not off, just down to ... yes, there. Now feel your belly with both hands, all around it," she did, but strangely, she still had my panties in her hand, "let your fingers sneak under your panties ... now up again and squeeze your fat, really squeeze it." I couldn't get this damn belly of hers out of my mind: why would I get off on it, that just didn't make any sense to me. 

But something else was making sense to me now, a feeling I'd had before, while online and while masturbating: I loved feeling like a dirty slut, I was loving the filthy feeling of squeezing my tits in front of Annie, humping my naked pussy at her, it felt disgustingly lewd, deliciously filthy — I just loved being out there, my nipples stiff, my pussy wet and her looking at me.

"Take your bra off." She obeyed, quickly. "Now your panties." I guess she had a sense of what I wanted because the moment she kicked them away she brought her fingers back to her belly, my panties still in her hand, and she squeezed at her fat but there was no excitement in her eyes, she only sought approval. "Do you want to make me happy, Annie?"

"Yes." She did, I could feel she was scared she wouldn't.

I lay down on the couch and pulled a pillow under my head. "Pull the table back," I eyed the coffee table beside the couch, "and stand here, beside me." She did as ordered. "Closer, and really squeeze, Annie and lean over so your breasts are ... yes," and there it was, the second really great moment in my wonderfully emerging lesbian life, a woman was leaning awkwardly over me, dangling her tits while squeezing her belly and she was doing it all for one solitary reason: because I demanded she do it. When my orgasm hit my hips were thrashing my pussy at my fingers, my cries could probably be heard in the street, my mouth was open and wet with sex inspired drool and my mind was just fucking spinning because I was getting off, not just on the sight of Annie's belly and breasts but mostly I was getting off on knowing that a woman was sexually degrading herself at my demand and I felt exquisitely dirty and I knew I loved it.

"Where's your camera?" We had been lounging about all Saturday morning, me now in a borrowed nightie.

"Come on, Bets."

"That was the deal," I said, getting up. "Set the lighting stuff up," I demanded. "I'm going to have a shower."

I took a long one, long and, for the first time all week, frigless, and after I dried myself I was about to put my clothes on when I realized that my panties were still disgustingly soaked, just like they always were these days, so I walked into her bedroom, went to her pillow and took back the ones I had left there last week. When I sat on her bed to slip them on I noticed that the ones she had been wearing last night were on the floor by her dresser. "Do you mind?" I had picked them up and was dangling them on my finger, "Mine are soaked."

She almost grimaced, she wasn't in a very good mood now. "They may be damp." 

When I put them on and admired myself in the mirror behind the door — they were the most elegant panties I'd ever worn, and the sexiest, she handed me the camera and told me, curtly, how to use it, basically what button to push and how to use the zoom and then she said, "Five minutes, max. OK?"

But it was going to be five minutes of absolute hell for her, that was obvious. She was wearing a yellow bra and panty set — and a sullen frown that was a real turn-off so I took a little compassion on her and said, "I'll make a deal with you. I want 20 pictures of you so I'll tell you how to pose. Give me those and we'll cut this short, OK?"

She had been on all fours and I had been photographing her ass when I made the offer; she quickly fell on her back and looked at me with undisguised relief, "OK."

"Pull your panties down, just to the top of your pubic hair like before," I waited for her to comply, " ... ya." I leaned over her, framed and pressed the autodrive as I made a circular motion all around her. "Now the tits," I took some close-ups and said, "Take off your bra." She did. "Hold them." I clicked away, "press your thumbs into your nipples ..., ya, get them really stiff, now smile at me as if they were stiff for me."




Annie's Camera Ch. 02



"They are."

I was going to take pity on her and put the camera down but then I thought about being home alone and wanting to see her and, well, I got a lot more aggressive. I crouched down at the end of the bed, "Open your legs wide," she did, but so slowly and reluctantly that it pissed me off so I stood up, not disguising my anger, "So let me get this straight, you can have your #139's of me but I can't have mine of you?" She opened wider. "Put your fingers on your panties," I crouched down again and shot from various angles, "now under them," I waited for her to do it, "Come on, Annie, further under." 

I was getting really turned on — I just loved looking at Annie's body, but she was making me feel a little like a torturer so I sat on the bed and tried to be encouraging. "When I was at home and I thought you might be at your computer looking at my pictures it just made me so unbelievably fucking excited ... I loved it ... I want you to have pictures of me, Annie, I want you to look at them, I wanted you to finger-fuck your brain out while you look at them — and I hope you would want me to have some pictures of you." 

Her face was etched in a doleful sadness, "I don't want you home looking at my pictures, Bets, I want you here. I only look at your pictures because I can't look at you."

"Exactly," I said getting up and trying to change the mood, "that's what I want, too, the pictures of you when I can't have your flesh. Take off your panties." Then I remembered an image I had had, "Wait." I sat down on the bed again, held the camera up and put my fingers on her magnificently sloping mons and autoclicked while my hand wisped across the silken surface, and under. Then I jumped up again, "Let's make this quick. Take them off."

When I finished getting close ups of her pussy and belly I put the camera down, crawled in beside her and flopped down on my back with my legs wide open, "Annie, I need you to eat me."

This stunned her. So far she hadn't had a chance to do this — I was way too busy exploring her. "Oh, God, Bets, can I?" In answer, I shimmied up to butt my head against the headboard where I propped my head up with two pillows so I could watch her.

I pushed her panties off me, "Slowly, Annie, really slowly, OK?"

She licked at the juices I could feel on my leg, then she licked deep into the crevices of my crotch before she sucked the juices from my hair and probed the margins of my lips. But I've never been much of a spectator, I could only take this for a few minutes before I leaned down, grabbed her indelicately by her soaking wet crotch and pulled her leg up so we could lie together. It was her smell I needed, and her taste and her warm and willing intimacy. I spooned my tongue into her, lapping up some of her cum then I pulled my face away. "Annie?"

I could only hear a mumble from the lips that were pressing into me.

"Thanks for all of this."

When I put my lips back into her pussy I felt the first flood of her orgasm.

She was cleaning up after a long lunch; I was in the living room with a coffee watching her. I had made the decision when we were lying with our faces pressed into each other but I was smart enough to know that I would probably change my mind after the last traces of my orgasm. I hadn't, but as we dressed and as I sexually sobered up I was still afraid I might. An hour later when I hadn't I was sure I wanted it, and I was equally certain it would be good for me. But still I was trying to hold off the announcement but finally I couldn't any more.

She was at the computer, downloading the pictures from her camera.

"Are they ready yet?"

She laughed, "God, I just sat down, give me a few minutes."

I went over behind her, lifted up her t-shirt and leaned into her with my cheek against her neck while I fondled her breasts, which were braless at my insistence. "I want this, Annie."

She laughed again, "You can have them any time you want them, sweets."

"No, I want this, I want the intimacy, I want pictures of you on the computer, I want you naked in my bed, I want you in the bath with me, I want you walking around here with your tits bare, I want to feel you, taste you, smell you, I want you to put your nipple in my mouth when I tell you to, I want to hear you tell me you love me, and I want to tell you that I love you, too."

Half-way through my little speech, when she got an inkling of what I was getting at, she tried to turn around to face me but I gripped her tits really hard and wouldn't let her, but the moment I completed my speech I couldn't stop her, she rose out of the chair, jerked her breasts from my hands, turned into me, more or less tackling me and she drove me across the room and I landed on the couch with her on top of me, her hands on my shoulders; she was looking at me almost fiercely, "So what does this mean?"


"It means I want us to be ..." I was searching for the word ...

But she found it, "Partners?"

"We've got to be together, Annie."

I cried right along with her, but it was harder for me because she was squeezing me so tight it hurt, but I lay limp in her arms intent on feeling the miraculous joy of giving myself to her and trying to understand the body against me, the body I now owned, the body that excited me so much. When we started kissing it was awkward at first, we had already connected as passionate lovers but we hadn't quite connected as partners but that came after a few minutes, I knew it because we were both moaning through lips that were soaked with each other's spit and then our clothes came off, but very slowly, neither of us was in a hurry, we both knew we would have a lifetime of it. 

When I pulled her panties off I lay down, pressing my face into her belly and as I wrapped my hands around her strong thighs, I sucked on her fat. I knew this would be a pattern for me, I knew I would suck on her belly, then slide my face down through her pubic hair until my tongue, lips and face could go into her and and I could complete my connection, as she completed hers with me.

It was over in a matter of seconds but neither of us moved, we just lay there resting, occasionally kissing, sucking and licking each other until the time was right and we gave ourselves to each other again. 

I wanted to celebrate our future together, to go out, to be seen but she didn't. She insisted we stay in which pissed me off at first until I remembered her pictures.

"We don't need them any more, Bets. Can't we just delete them?"

"Sure, OK, pitch mine out if you want, but what am I supposed to do while you're out running after your next Pulitzer pic, rely on my imagination? Get serious ..." then I added, "and be prepared to give me a lot more of them; I've already got some ideas."

We were both nude when we sat down in front of her computer and it only took her a few minutes to get the photos ready.

"God," I said, rubbing my hands together like an excited child, "this is going to be unbelievably hot." 

She laughed, derisively, "I don't think so, Bets. I've got mirrors, I know how hot these are going to be."

The photo that splashed onto the screen was a close up of her yellow pantied crotch and the moment I saw it my hand went straight between my legs, "And you want to deprive me of that?" I laughed.

At first she said nothing, but even though my focus was elsewhere I could tell she was staring at the screen, "Do you think I should ... shave?"

She isn't particularly hairy, not half as hairy as I am but she did have sparse settlements outside her panties. In response, I leaned forward and kissed the monitor, "God, and to think I could have gone into your hamper for all those years ... and you even wanted me to."

"I wanted you to know what I was feeling."

I got up, went over to the couch and was back in a moment, "This is what I've been feeling, Annie." When I dangled my wet panties in front of her and said 'next', she took them from me and became very quiet.



Annie's Camera Ch. 03



When Annie and I set up house together I knew, in part, it was because I wanted to entirely change my life. I had worked really hard through college, waiting tables when I wasn't studying, and I had worked equally hard for the year since graduating. Now was a perfect time for a change. My job, an accountant for a large advertising firm, was really challenging and going well, but the rest of my life had been badly neglected. Sure, now I had Annie, but socially, physically, emotionally and spiritually, I was a bit of a wreck, so at 24 with my foot firmly planted on the bottom wrung of what I expected to be a very tall corporate ladder, I was due for a bit of a make-over and with my A-type personality I knew I would work hard to make it happen.

But, that said, by far the biggest change in my life was and would continue to be the inseparable duality of my newly discovered lesbianism and its singular focus, Annie. Three months after our first intimate touch and a month after moving into our new apartment, we were no longer experimenting with each other; we had fallen into a predicable pattern that was exciting, nurturing and naughty. 

You have to give to get, I knew that, I knew that in getting the unbelievable thrill from having Annie as a fully obedient partner, I had to give her what she wanted: I had to feed her panty fetish. We never talked about it but when we moved in together, far from it going away, her fetish seemed to intensify. And it evolved.

I guess all couples develop a comfortable sexual routine together. We did, from the moment we set up house. I needed a lot of sex, it shocks me how much of it I need, and it was sex I crave, not warmth and love and intimacy: sex, raw sex, dirty sex, even degrading sex.

I hit on it the first night in our new apartment. I was naked on all fours on the bed, my tits and belly hanging down, my legs spread obscenely wide. It took her awhile but she finally got all the elements right and it became our standard: she would kneel on the floor at the end of the bed and lick and suck my rectum while she fondled my breasts and when the moment was right, I would lean my head down on the bed and offer her my pussy; she'd take my clit in her lips and suck until my shouting stopped. And then it would be absolutely quiet, me pressing myself into the bed, Annie pressing herself into me, her face on the small of my back. I loved it, it was the crescendo of everything I wanted and I felt so deliciously dirty it never took more than a few minutes for me to explode.

And then one night, things changed. When I was kneeling on the bed expecting the usual, Annie handed me a pair of panties and asked me to put them on. When I did, it made all the difference in the world ... to her. What had been a delicious, easy and fool-proof way for me to quickly get off, now became a prolonged production. With my ass sticking out there for her, Annie made love ... to my panties. Her fingers would trace lazy circles all over them, then she would follow their borders along my skin, poking under them in places, pinching the material, running her finger under them at the crotch, lightly pushing the material into my pussy, pushing the material into my anus. Only when she sensed my impatience did she take them off and get down and dirty with my rectum before biting onto my clit.

I didn't really get her panty thing; I thought she'd get over it, especially when we moved in together. But she didn't. I didn't know it at first but when I started paying attention to it, her fetish seemed to be everywhere.

The first thing I noticed was that, just as when she lived alone, now she always had a pair of my panties under her pillow, even though I was pressed into her side every night. Didn't get it. Then, after about a month of living together, I noticed that my panty drawer started to change. Going were the variety of panties I had; they were being replaced by cheap nylon granny style, either yellow or rose, with a thick cotton gusset. Then, after a few weeks I noticed that those were the only panties in my drawer, cheap nylon yellow or rose — all my usuals I guess had been pitched, and then I noticed that the drawer sometimes was really full of them and at other times not nearly so full. It kind of freaked me out a little and I was going to talk to her about this wierd panty thing but decided against it. Who cares if she liked my panties, she had already admitted as much. Big deal. And I told myself that it was no big deal when I discovered my panties ... in her purse, then, when I went looking for them, in her jacket pocket and in her camera bag, always the rose or yellow, always the cheap nylon.

In fact, while initially I was a little troubled by it, after awhile I started to really like this panty thing of hers because it made our sex so much better. I am a taker, I want her to service me, sad but true and I had been feeling a little guilty that in my taking I hadn't been doing much giving. As far as I knew, she rarely had an orgasm while mine were as regular as the multiple-vitamins I took. 

That all changed when I started to feed her fetish.

I didn't like it that she left my panties on when she licked my anus. But I didn't say anything, instead, one night I took my panties off early during a session and, as a result, had a better than average cum, but when it was over, rather than just collapsing on the bed like I usually did, I rolled over and used the panties to clean myself, like, really thoroughly, then I just dropped them there on the bed. That's the only time I had to do it. From then on in I wore her yellow or rose nylon granny panties for no more than a few minutes before she took them off, licked, felt and sucked me to a predictably terrific orgasm then, when I rolled over on my back with my legs wide open, she would carefully, meticulously, clean me with them. And I loved to watch her do it, it just seemed to matter so much to her.

But things were far from perfect with us.

On a Thursday night I was talking to her pussy, as I often did, punctuating my sentences with nuzzling pecks. "I joined a gym today, I've tried it out a few times in the past month and decided to go for it."

This surprised her enough that she lifted her head from my thigh and looked at me, "You're kidding."

"My birthday's next week. You'll want to get something special for me," I gave a little tongue to my nuzzle, for emphasis. "I need something to wear in the gym so I thought we'd go out on Saturday and try to find it." When she started to object I bit her on a lip, hard enough that she jumped and cried, 'Heyhhh.'

It's one of the great curiosities of our relationship that the lesbian, Annie, and the lover, me, have essentially changed roles: she is doing everything she can to conceal her sexual identify while I, in a giggly kind of way, am trying to create one. She'll go out for the occasional drink, if the bar is dark enough, but she won't, in effect, allow us to be seen together as a couple. It's been like this from the get-go so I haven't taken offense, but after a month or so of living together it has crossed the line of absurdity; we're either a couple or we're not, who cares what your family thinks? Well, she does, she doesn't want them to get wind of her sexual aberration — the way they would think of it — before she could find the courage to tell them about it.

I knew Annie's parents, I knew why she would want to keep her secret from them but she didn't see much of them anymore so ... and anyway, I was starting to feel like a second class citizen, "We're going to the mall on Saturday, we're going to pick out exercise stuff together; then we're going out to dinner; then we're going to a movie, you can pick it; then we're going out for a drink and maybe talk to some people. Got it? We're going to step outside these fucking walls together and we're going to socialize." I knew this would traumatize her but I didn't care, my life needed to change and it wasn't going to change without her. 

I tried to cheer her up with my tongue but I wasn't getting anywhere so I rolled away and pretended to be getting myself off but the atmosphere was way too tense for that and I was just about to quit when she rolled into me and started kissing the back of my frigging hand. "What kind of gym is it?"

"The exercise kind of gym," I said, encouraged to go deeper.

"Men and women?"

"Ya, both."

And it just hung there, her lips were on the hand that was slowly frigging but I knew they were pensive lips, not passionate, and that's when it occurred to me. I roughly pushed her head away and sat up, looking down on her. "You're jealous," but I wasn't certain I was right, it seemed too stupid and then it got more stupid, "Of whom, the girls or the boys?"

She didn't answer and she didn't look at me.

"Which?" I demanded.

She still wouldn't look at me, still wouldn't talk.

"Goddam it, which?"

"Both."

"Both?" It took me a moment before I laughed, it took some time for her inanity to sink in.

This really made her mad; there was more fire in her eyes than I've ever seen before, "You're not really a lesbian, Bets. You're only a lesbian because I am."

This really pissed me off: I'd given up a heterosexual identity just for her? "So I'm not attracted to other girls?" I laughed scornfully, "Want to bet?"

"Why are you so mean to me?" She pushed her face into the cover.

"Oh, get real. You won't even be seen with me in public and I'm mean to you?" I started to get up, disgusted by the entire thing, "What a douche bag you can be."

She pulled at my arm, "I don't want to fight, Bets."

I pulled my arm away, "Well, nor do I but I don't want to be called a part-time lesbian, either. I either am, or I'm not. We're either in this together, publicly or I'll hook up with the girl on the fucking treadmill or the guy, for that matter, seeing as how, according to you, I can go either way." I got off the bed and started dressing. "You know, it's really cruel of you to treat me this way. You're all over me in the safety of this apartment but you won't be seen with me outside it. What does that say about me, about you, about us? You're the fucking lesbian, why don't you start acting like one. You're supposed to be in love with me for fuck's sake."

"I am."

"Behind these four fucking walls ..." I stomped out of the room, grabbed my purse and left the apartment but I wasn't even at the elevator when I started to calm down. She did love me, I knew that and I knew she was feeling real anxiety about coming out, fully out: I knew her parents weren't easy people, but I found it depressing to be living a half-life, a kind of secret life. That just isn't me.

Ten minutes after leaving our apartment I was having a glass of wine in the bar down the street. 

"Hi." 

I was sitting at the bar, ridiculously high up on a high-backed stool, half way through a glass of dry white wine. The guy, who was standing just a little behind me to my left, had his tie undone and had clearly had a few. "I'm a lesbian," I said, dismissively. I don't know why I said that, but as soon as I did, it felt good.

"What's that like?" He rested his arm on the back of the stool beside me, as if he was waiting for a long, in-depth answer, or maybe it was just to keep his balance.

My first thought was to tell him to piss off, but the question was the very one I had been mulling at that moment so I swiveled to almost face him. "Do you know what bipolar is?" He nodded, "Well, it's kind of like that, one moment I'm ecstatic, the next I'm depressed." I took a sip of my wine, "Did you know that more lesbians commit suicide than gay men do? Did you know that?" He didn't. "I don't know why that is, probably something to do with the DNA of birthing, child-rearing, nurturing, domesticity. But it says something, doesn't it." 

I had swiveled away, thinking about my answer when the guy said, "What about the sex?"

I swiveled back, studying him. "You married?" He nodded. "How is sex with your wife?" 

He hesitated, unsure of how to answer, "OK, I guess."

"Only OK? Why just OK? I mean, you're pretty young, your wife probably still has some pretty nifty bits and pieces, you know, good tits, tight pussy, probably still looks really fetching ..." 

I was admiring my use of the word 'fetching' when the guy shrugged, "I don't know, it probably has a little to do with the 'been-there-done-that' factor."

I threw back the rest of my drink, "Ya, I hear ya. Sometimes when I'm sucking my way along the inside of Annie's thigh — particularly when she really stretches to open herself up for me, like she does — and when I've lock my lips onto her hairy puffies, snorting in that magnificently musky aroma of hers before I start lapping-up those juices, ya, I often say to myself, God, it all seems so fucking monotonous. Am I right?" I looked up at him. The dumb fuck was slack-jawed and speechless. I pushed the spare change away from my coaster, picked up my purse and left.

Annie met me at the door, she was really excited, "I phoned them, Bets. They're going to meet me for lunch on Saturday. I told them I had something important to tell them, then I'm going to take you out and get everything you want. You'll be the best looking girl in the gym. They'll be drooling over you, Bets, the women ... and the men."

I had been a long time since I had seen Annie this excited, "Do you want me to come with you ... to talk to your parents?"

She shook her head, "No, I've got to do that, I should have done this years ago."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Honestly?" She didn't have to add any more, her eyes told the story, but she did, "I'm kind of excited about it. I'm not their little girl any more. If they don't want to see me again ..."

"It's not going to get to that, Annie ..."

"No, but if it does, I'm OK with it ... but I'm not OK with hurting you any more. I know I have, it was stupid and I never will again. OK? Honest. I was just such a chicken-shit." 

She started to pull my shirt from my pants, but I pushed her hands away. I have a bit of a mean streak in me but that's not why I did it. I did it because I wanted to wipe the slate clean: her thoughtless stupidity needed to be punished, otherwise, she might feel a lasting guilt — or so went my logic. And I had long planned her punishment, I just needed to come up with a reason to dispense it. This was it. I've asked her a few times before, told her really, to bring home a digital video camera. I wanted her to masturbate for me. And that's what I told her. 

"No way." 

"Fine," I said, pretending indifference. "Don't." But I knew she would: guilt is a great motivator.

She phoned me at work the next day to try to weasel out of it, pathetically. Maybe laughing at her wasn't the best approach but I was still a little pissed at her and I really do think she needed to make some considerable sacrifice to get back in my good books. And I guess she did too, because she lugged home the lights with the camera but she clearly wasn't happy about it. "I'm not into this, Bets," she said, obviously pissed off, "this is your thing, not mine."

"And it was my thing, not yours to want to be seen in public with you."

This really got to her, "Am I going to spend the rest of my life paying for that?" 

I found her shame delicious. "No, just the rest of the night, that's the point. One good cum on film and I'll consider us even, until you do it again."

"Can I eat first?"

"Anything that will get you in the mood." And, at the prospects of directing this film, that's where I was, in a good mood. I told her to set-up the lights in the bedroom while I made supper. 

But she wasn't exactly hungry; when she sat down she absently pushed her stirfry into three neat piles, chop-sticking the stragglers onto their peaks. 

"Do you want to hear the storyline?"

She looked up at me for the first time since sitting down, "What storyline?"

"The movie story line. You'll wear that cute red dress with the drop neck; you come into the bedroom; you slowly take your dress off, seductively if you can do it; you take my picture from the dresser; you sit down on the bed looking at it dreamy ..." I looked at her to try to gauge her reaction.

"Get serious."

She looked so uncomfortable I just laughed. What a fucking wuss. "I'm going to shoot the movie, Annie, get used to it." At this, she sprang from the table, grabbing her plate which she almost threw on the kitchen counter before stomping off to the bedroom. But I was loud enough so she could hear me through the closed door. "Anyway, you're sitting on the bed, you have a dreamy look on your face then you get up and light some of our candles, get some creams, then you lie down on the bed and show me what you've been doing to yourself all these years, I want to see it all, in technicolor."

Strangely, I wasn't bothered by her reaction, I guess I sort of expected it but it didn't matter because I knew she was going to do precisely what I asked because I just couldn't see a way out for her, so I went back to my stirfry and almost alternated my bites with drinks from my wine glass. I had just finished when she came back into the room holding her red dress, which she put over the back of a chair before she sat down, filled her wine glass, took a drink, sat back and looked at me, defiantly.

"That face will not make it into a single frame." I said, sternly.

"Then you're going to have to air-brush it out."

Not the best thing for her to say. "So, what's the deal here, Annie, I don't get it." I was using a voice I knew she feared. "You want to suck every crevice of my body and you want me to suck every pore of yours but masturbation is out? What's up with that? I mean, you'll masturbate with me, but you'll never masturbate for me. I'm not getting this, Annie, particularly after you've admitted that for years you've been fucking yourself to sleep every night with my panties on your face. I mean, what gives?"

She sank into her sulky body droop, "I don't like you watching me."

"I can lick, suck, bite, eat ... but I can't look at you, which, of course, is pretty much what I'm doing 24/7 — looking at you in my mind's fucking eye. Do you want me to stop that?" I waited for her to say something but it didn't look like she was going to. "Because, I will, if that's what you want, I'll banish you from my fucking thoughts: no bum, no belly, no thighs, no tits, no smiling face that looks at me with love in her eyes, none of that ..."

"So I go in to the bedroom with my red dress on ..."

"Not any more." I gave her my best pissed-off face, because that's the way I was feeling. "Do you think I'd ever want to fire up the fucking computer to watch a girl I've forced to masturbate for me, sulk? Do you think I'd get a thrill out of that?"

"Come on, Bets."

"Help me out here, Annie, there's a lot about lesbianism I'm not quite getting, like the part where the two girls can't be seen in public together, I don't quite get that, and the part where one doesn't want the other to actually see her body, I don't much get that, either. Obviously, I've got it all wrong: I'd masturbate in fucking public for you if you wanted me to, that's how fucked up I am. So, really, when you think about it, you should have given me a few of the fucking ground rules when you talked me into your fucking bed." I laughed, sardonically, "I feel like such a stupid fuck, I mean, I thought this whole lesbian thing was about giving yourself to the other, you know, lock, stock and fucking belly. Now I learn, noooooooo, that's not your kind of lesbianism, your kind is about a little panty-sniffing and controlled eating behind a closed door. Great, I may not be a quick study, Annie, but I think I've finally got it and I'm so just fucking embarrassed I expected more. Can you ever forgive me?"




Annie's Camera Ch. 03



"I don't respond well to sarcasm, Bets."

"And that's the problem here, isn't it, Annie? You think this partnership is about response — you responding to me, while I think it's all about giving, like, you to me and me to you and, say, a DVD of a little personal passion, maybe with a little red bow around it and a note, 'here honey, I want you to have this. I want to show you how much I love you, how much you turn me on; it's something to enjoy when I'm not around.'" I had worked myself up so much I was almost shouting at her, "For fuck's sake, Annie, you should be demanding that I lust after you."

"I want you to," she could be really wimpy.

I tried to control myself, "Not convinced."

"Well, there's a way I can convince you." She stood up, reached for the dress on the back of the chair, came around the table and held her hand out to me, which I took and she helped me to my feet. "I thought my new life would begin at about 12:15 on Saturday — after I broke the news to my parents, but I guess it's going to begin now." She laughed, "I guess I'm about to find out if I can cum when I'm scared shitless."

"Scared?" What was she talking about? "Why are you scared?"

"I haven't got the best body in the world, Bets. If you've been spending time with those girls online you're sure not going to like looking at me for very long."

God, this never occurred to me, "Is that what this is about?"

She laughed again, nervously, "I don't bare a lot of scrutiny, Bets."

I pulled her into me and held her tight, reassuringly; I held her for a long time, trying to understand her fear. When I let her go, I stepped back, "Look, Annie, that body of yours ... it's mine, that's the way I think of it, as mine. When I touch it, it's like I'm touching my personal property. I love your body, Annie, I love everything about it, especially that it keeps me constantly horny." I stepped forward and put my hands under her shirt, feeling the heat of her back. "We belong to each other, Annie, me to you, you to me ...," I tried for a dramatic pause, "or have I got that wrong, too?"

"It's just that I'm getting such a better deal."

I could never sustain my empathy for very long, I stabbed her in the chest with a finger. "That's mine and I don't want to be told I have lousy taste, so stop it, that's the last of it and right now I want to capture this body on film so go get dressed, turn on all the lights and get ready to give me the best cum you can — I plan on looking at it, a lot. Do you know why?"

"No." And I knew she didn't. 

"Because I love you looking at me with love in your eyes and I'll love it even more when you're ready to explode."

Annie is a lot of things but she's no actor. The camera was rolling when she entered the bedroom in her pretty red dress with the drop neck; when she sat down on the bed; when she reached for my picture on the bedside table; when she looked at it, as she had been directed, but none of this was interesting, she was just going through the motions, doing what she had been told to do. And it didn't get any better when she got up, took off her dress, unceremoniously stripped off her underwear and lay down on the bed with her arm across her breasts and her legs locked shut. Some people are born actors; then there's Annie. I though of giving up, then I thought, what the hell. 

It was awkward but I held the camera as steady as I could, focused on her face as my left hand undid my belt and button and slowly undid my zipper. I studied her as I did this, watching her eyes move from a point high up on the wall behind me to my fingers and the moment she figured out what I was doing, that's the moment she became a porn star and her transformation couldn't have been more fabulous.

I didn't want the camera to shake so I was very deliberate when I pushed my pants down and kicked them off and it was awkward but I was no less deliberate when I let my fingers play over the cheap yellow nylon, casually brushing across the silky surface, sliding under the waist band and then back along the nylon down along the slope of my mons. I think I've made it clear by now that I just didn't understand her fascination with panties but I was finding a lot of fun in it, particularly now when, completely unaware, her eyes were riveted on my fingers, her jaw was slightly sagging, her legs were slowly opening and the fingers of her right hand were sliding slowly down her stomach. This was it! This was the sexual funk I was looking for. She just oozed an entirely uninhibited sexual lust ... and then I turned it up a notch. I slowly spread my legs and when I had an obscenely wide stance I brushed my fingers up and down my pussy a few times while I watched her lick her lips and find her pussy, then I pushed the material into me, rubbing myself with it. "Do you want them, Annie?"

She nodded, but she didn't need to, her face couldn't have been more demanding.

"Do you want them wet?"

She nodded again, pathetically.

"Then make me wet, Annie."

Annie is a thick, strong girl with big thighs, a tight hairy crotch and a slightly, but delightfully flabby stomach. She was squeezing that flab now, squeezing it really hard and she had her middle finger in her and she was lightly fingering herself while watching my fingers play on my panties, I noticed all this, of course, but it was her face that I was really watching because it had become a mask of lust as she watched as my fingers pushed my panties further and further into me and when I heard her moan I knew it was time so I pushed my panties down and kicked them up to her and the moment I did, she became completely still, just holding them in front of her, her fingers pinching the waistband like two clothes pegs holding a pair of cheap yellow nylon panties hanging from a clothesline.

This was her thing, the choreography of countless nights at home, alone, alone with her thoughts and my panties, she just held them up and looked at them, imagining what? Me in them? Someone else? Some-thing else? It was a mystery and then the gusset was on her nose and her fingers slide slowly down her body again and she brought her right leg up so high her knee was almost pointing to the headboard when her fingers inched into her, or, really, quarter inched into her because she was just teasing herself as the panties teased her nose. She was in a story, I felt sure of it, the panties were taking her there and so were my scent, my dampness and her fingers.

I worked the zoom, shooting the fingers squeezing the fat on her stomach, then I went south to her fingers, glistening with her juices, delicately caressing her inner lips and then I very slowly travelled north, up across her hairy mound, her little sand dunes of fat, up between the two large breasts that spilled over her rib cage to the yellow nylon that masked her face. And I waited, focussed on the cloud of yellow, a delicate membrane between her fingers and face.

Strangely, I felt a jolt of jealousy. As I filmed her, I had expected me, myself, to be the source of her lust, my face, my eyes. I had expected her to be laying on that bed with her legs open and her eyes on me, begging me to understand just how much she loved me. Instead, all her senses seemed to be invested in an artless swatch of cheap yellow nylon that was now moving, like her fingers, like her belly, like her body — the nylon was pushing into her face as she rhythmically bucked at her fingers which slid deeper inside her while her body shuddered, her tits flopped against her ribs, their erect nipples stabbing at the sheets and when it came, her moan, muffled by my panties, came from deep within her, perhaps the same place as the white cream that was running from her pussy to pool on the sheets beneath. 

I could see all this, but the camera couldn't; it could see only the smudge of yellow between the hand and face. I knew this because my eye was back at the lens again, I was waiting for the yellow mask to be pulled away, I was waiting for the eyes to look up at me, to smile, perhaps self-consciously, perhaps with a hint of shame, but also to tell me how glad she was to have given herself to me. But the mask didn't move, it wasn't pressing as firmly now but it wasn't moving, either, not for the longest time and then slowly it moved away, like a limp yellow cloud it rose above her face and when her eyes followed it, their lust barely diminished, I knew I would never ever understand the woman I loved and the thought made me unbelievably excited.

When I turned off the camera I knew I would never see the film. Her act, an act of a thousand nights, was an entirely private affair, a one-act play to an empty house. 

When I put the camera on the night table and sat down beside her I had planned to console her, to try to connect with her, to somehow try to embody her fantasy — flesh and blood entering her fantasia, but I had barely settled when she was on her knees, pulling at my sweater, undoing my bra and then she was standing at the end of the bed, patting it insistently, as she does, and I crawled there, and I turned around, and I distributed my weight evenly on my hands and knees as she pulled at my right knee, opening me and when I was just right, her fingers were wisping across my breasts, lightly cupping then as they sagged into her palms and then I could feel the familiar cool ball of saliva drop into me and then her tongue against my anus and I danced for her, as I do, back and forth, feeling my nipples brush against her palms and her pointed tongue play lightly at me and as the familiar delight of depravity flooded through me I forced myself at her stabbing tongue more insistently until the moment came, the feeling of lewd surrender, and my arms collapsed, I pressed my face into the bed and I screamed, as I always did, as she bit into my clitoris and sucked.



Annie's Camera



"Do you still have copies of my pictures on your machine?" I would have been very disappointed if she didn't.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Is number 139 still flagged?" That was the most graphic of them all — all me without a face.

She didn't answer right away, she just slumped further into the corner of the couch, she had been found out — she couldn't have been more miserable, more defeated. Finally she said, "I'm sorry, Bets, I just couldn't help it."

"Great." She looked up at this, "It really excites me that I turned you on, Annie, like, that's really neat."

She couldn't conceal her surprise, "It does? Why?"

"I don't know, it just does," I sat back, put my arm around her and pulled her into me, consolingly, like a friend would do. It felt strange, really strange, neither of us has ever been the touchie-feelie type. 

She hesitated for a moment but when she tried to pull away I held on tight. "Why are you doing this to me?" she said.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes, of course I want to know."

"Then if you'll relax, I'll tell you, OK? Will you just relax?"

She did, I could feel her against me, she was much softer now — I liked it. But she stiffened when I said, "It started because of those pictures you flagged.' I squeezed her, "Jeez, just let me get this out and then you can run, OK?" She relaxed a little but not much so rather than the long story I planned to give her I gave her a really shortened version. "I thought you must have liked those pictures, I thought all week about it, at first I thought it was really strange but the more I thought about it the more I liked it, then I started thinking, you know, how you'd look in those kind of pictures and when I started thinking that way, I started masturbating and when I did that, and I did a lot of it, I knew I wanted to be here on the couch with you and I wanted us to start ... sort of ... exploring our feelings ... like, together."

Annie peeked up at me, "You're not a lesbian."

"How do you know?"

"Are you?" Her eyes changed but you really couldn't call it hope.

"I don't know what I am, Annie, honestly, I really haven't a clue, but I do know that I want to be here on this couch with you, and I know I want to explore my feelings with you, OK? So we're both kind of coming out, right?" I gave her a quick kiss on the forehead then leaned back to look at her, "So Annie, I've thought a lot about this and this is the way I want to do it ... I'm going to put my lips on yours, I'm not going to kiss you, I'm just going to put my lips on yours, OK? We'll just see what it feels like." I could see she was going to object and it pissed me off, "Look, this isn't easy for me, either but we're going to do it, we're going to explore ... so get used to it." I had been bossing Annie around for as long as I had known her so we both knew I was going to get what I wanted. But, even so, when I turned and slowly leaned towards her I was kind of surprised when she didn't try to run, she just sat there, impassively and waited for my lips to close in on hers — she could have been a mannequin. And it didn't get any better on contact, because that's what I felt like I had contacted, the lips of a mannequin, only these ones were warm and slightly scaling.

I had thought a lot about this first kiss, of course, I had thought about it at home, at work, on the subway, while cooking, in bed, when I first awoke in the morning. What would it be like? What would it do to me? What message would I get? Well, it was ... nice, an awful word, I know, but that's what it felt like, nice: soft, warm, safe, feminine, intimate — I liked it and I knew I didn't want to break it off so I eased my head sideways to rest on the back of the couch and when I did her lips followed mine. 

Nice — feeling her breathe, her heat, her closeness to me, we weren't kissing, we were just touching and then I reached for her hand and held it, resting my hand in her lap. I liked that, too, liked her intimate touch, the feel of her hot, wet skin in mine and I liked it that when I gently squeezed her hand, she squeezed me back, telling me, or this is the way I took it, that she liked it too.

It wasn't my plan, but it should have been. With my lips on hers, my hand in hers I just relaxed and enjoyed it, I wasn't waiting for anything, I was just enjoying the moment — but I had more patience than she did. I could first feel her lips move, almost imperceptibly, then she was pressing them a little harder into mine and then I could feel her breasts pressing into mine and that's when the escalation began, really it began with a moan, it escaped from her, I could feel it on my lips ... and then I felt that moan of hers in my pussy. When I knew for sure she wanted this, I was pretty sure I did, too.

As she kissed me more insistently, I put my arm around her, leaned into her and as I pushed her into the corner of the couch I opened my mouth and brought my hand to her breast — and she almost sucked the tongue right out of my mouth.

With that I sprang from the couch, pulled her up and I hauled her into her bedroom, pushed her onto her bed and before she had settled, I was on her, my knee between her legs and my lips pressed into hers and we kissed, or, rather, we artlessly beat each other with our lips until I pulled away, kissed her in both eyes and put my lips gently back on hers and licked her. "Have you ever imagined me here, Annie? Have you ever imagined doing things to me?"

Looking back on it, this was wholly consistent with what I would have said at that moment, I mean, right from the get-go this had always been about me: me getting her to take lewd photos of me; me posting those photos on-line so I could lure men into my fantasies; me probing Annie about her lesbianism; me teasing her about keeping the photos for herself; me imagining her on a bed; me imagining myself in bed with her. It was never about her; I never once gave a moment's thought to my best friend who had supressed her sexuality all her life but was now willing to express it. So I will never, ever forget the pain in her voice when she said, "Have you ever wanted to be here with me?"

Those words and the obvious anguish in her voice just froze me. I was in this for my curiosity; for a little harmless slap and tickle; a little daring lesbian experimentation. She was in it to express her love. I'm not a heartless bitch ... well, I am, but not this diabolical. I couldn't just use her ... but I didn't want to bolt, either, I liked my lips on hers and I liked my hand on her breast but I really didn't want to fuck her up either, I didn't want to play with her just to see what it was about. "I don't know, Annie, I don't know if I want to be here with you, I don't know what it means, to me or to you. But, I don't want to leave, either. Can we just go really slow; I don't want this to screw us up. OK?" Then I added, because ever fibre of my being demanded it, "But, fuck me, am I ever horny."

I was half on her when I said this and my knees was between her legs. She pulled out from under me, pushed a pillow under my head and plumped up a pillow under hers. "I don't want to scare you, Bets."

I turned into her and kissed her gently on the lips, "You don't scare me but I am scared of what might happen so let's talk about it ... but after."

"After?"

"I've got to get off, Annie, Jesus, I've never been so fucking horny in my life. I can do it here or in the bathroom. Which?"

She smiled and pecked at my lips, "You're not the only one."

We pulled off our pants. I don't know why I left my panties on, modesty I guess and she did too and as we lay there shoulder to shoulder I noticed that her fingers were on top of her panties, rather exquisite-looking panties, while mine dove under mine. It would have only taken me a nanosecond so I backed off — I wanted the moment to last. "Annie?"

"Yes."

"How long have you known you're a lesbian?"

"Forever." Her fingers seemed to be barely moving.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"I don't know, I was probably scared to at first and then it hurt too much."

"Hurt to much? Why?"

"Because you aren't — how were we going to relate?"

"So you've thought about me — you know, like a lesbian would?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Bets."

I took my fingers from my pussy and reached over and tapped the fingers that were caressing her panties, "Is there a better time?" She laughed when I did but before I brought my hand back I dragged my fingers across her panties to confirm that they were expensive, "Jeez, what's with these, we're not talking four for five bucks here." She didn't say anything so I added, "I sure never figured you for the lingerie set." Still nothing so I said, "Come on, Annie, I'm doing all the work her."

"They're my fetish, all my underwear is like this." 

"God, go figure," this kind of shocked me, I mean, she just didn't seem the type. "I haven't got anything like that."

There was a long, awkward hesitation before she said, "I know," and I was to learn this was no slip of the tongue.

"You know?"

She waited almost a full minute before she said, "I shouldn't tell you this ..." she hesitated again and I was just about to insist that she should when she said, "Every time I go to your place I go through your hamper," she waited a moment for my shock to register, then she reached under her pillow and pulled out a pair of white cotton panties, "I've been hoping you would develop a little more imagination."

"They're mine?" She had a pair of my panties?

She dropped them on the corner of the bed, "You caught me once ... in the bathroom. I said I found them on the floor and dropped them into the hamper, the only time in the past few years when I wasn't able to recycle my stock — it was a bad week. I have a couple of your bras, too." 

This just totally floored me, I mean, that this girl, my best friend, would do something like that ... and that she wanted to, hell, it almost seemed she needed to do it — she must have been unbelievable desperate, "God, Annie, you should have told me."

There was no mirth in her laugh, "That I love your underwear?" She laughed her empty laugh again. "A few years ago, before I'd go over to your place, I used to dress and re-dress a dozen times ... trying to find the right ... statement — seductive tank tops, pants that showed the top of my underwear, braless, that sort of thing. Nothing. I never found the right look so I always went in jeans and top until maybe two years ago, that's when I started this underwear thing — I thought, if I was going through your hamper, maybe you'd be going through mine and if you did you'd see ... well, you'd see there was something sexy underneath the jeans — that I had a pulse. But you never did, I know you didn't because when you left I always checked, that's the first thing I'd do and I was always disappointed."

"Jeez, Annie, I'm sorry." I was listening to her so closely, I was just so unbelievably fascinated that when she stopped talking that's all I could think of to say and when I did, I laughed when she did. But it wasn't funny, not to her and not to me, either.

She continued in the same voice — she could have been at a confessional, "When you would leave my place or after I got home from yours, I'd always go straight to bed and I'd imagine we'd be there together, that you were in my bed with me and we'd hold each other for a long, long time — it got so I would leave your place early — I knew nothing was ever going to happen there, just so I could get home because as soon as I got there I'd get in bed and you'd take me in your arms, tell me you love me and then you'd do whatever you wanted to do to me," she laughed, again without humour, "anything I wanted you to want to do to me." 

"And what was that?" As she was talking I was trying to sort out her words so my head was reeling: from disgust, shock, pity, compassion ... but I was definitely feeling her confession, too; my hand was under my panties but my fingers didn't dare even touch my pubic hair, the slightest movement down there would have set me off.

"Everything I could imagine." Her voice was dead, without a hint of emotion.

"Could you imagine us doing this?"

"I imagine this all the time."

"And when you did, what happens?"

"Do you really want to know?" 

"Ah ... ya," I laughed.

"You get really turned on."

"Me? Just me?"

"Every time we'd lie like this ... sort of masturbating, it's always the same — you get unbelievable turned-on, I didn't need to be, I was always jumping out of my skin when I lay down beside you."

Ya, well, I was about jumping out of my skin now, too, so I turned on my side, propped my head up with the hand that a moment before had been hiding harmless in my panties and when I looked down on her I could see that she was a bit scared. "How vulnerable are you, Annie?"

"What do you mean?" She didn't look at me.

"I mean, are you going to get really fucked-up about this," she wasn't absolutely sure what I mean so I filled in the blanks, "that we are lying in your bed masturbating together."

The fright stayed on her face and she didn't say anything.

"Well?"

She took a peek at me then turned away again, "It will make my dreaming seem more real."

"And do you think I'm really turned on?"

"If you are it's not because of me."

"What do you mean?"

"If you're turned on now it's because we're doing something you've never done before, not because you're doing it with me."

She looked just miserable, more miserable than I had ever seen her. "You don't think it's a turn-on that your best friend ...," I laughed, "wants a piece of you?"

She didn't say anything.

I made a snap decision to go for it, and not just because she so desperately wanted it. I wanted it, too. "Look, I'd really like to experiment with you but I have no idea how that will turn out and it scares me that you'll take it the wrong way. Will you?"

"Will you?" She looked at me for the first time, but with the same painful misery.

"Will I what?"

"Experiment with me." She turned away, as if she was afraid of my verdict.

I knew I was a jumble of emotions and I knew it might be the tipping point in my decision but I did it anyway, I looked more closely at her, studied her: the tantalizing outline of her breasts underneath her sweater; the sexy bulge of her belly and her strangely erotic green panties and I felt a lust rush through me that stripped me of all doubt and inhibitions. I slipped my fingers under her panties and slide along her slick hair to her wet and waiting hole, and when I did she rolled over on her side, slipped her fingers under mine and we stuck our tongues in each other's mouth and we thrashed at each others fingers for a few seconds before we shuddered with long, noisy orgasms — an instant release that we both desperately needed. But it didn't sober me up; when the last spasm passed, I probed deeper into her pussy and licked the spit on her lips — surprised that my sex battery had already fully recharge. "What's next?" I tried to laugh but I knew I sounded more insistent than amused.

"Your breasts." 

I have nice breasts, not big, but full, round and bouncy with really nice aeriolas and nipples that I just love to pull: my breasts are nice, like my face is nice, sort of girl-next door nice — proper. Her's on the other hand, which I've never actually seen, are huge so if there are breasts to be exposed they are going to be hers. "You first," I said, and I pulled at her shirt. But she just lay there and looked away, making it impossible for me to remove her sweater. "Are you fucking kidding me!" For some reason this really pissed me off. "You want to fuck me and I can't even see your tits? Sit up!" She quickly looked at me, I guess to gauge how annoyed I was and I guess she knew I was because she quickly sat up and pulled her shirt over her head exposing a really big but really pretty black bra with necessarily wide straps to carry her tonnage. She looked at me again and put her hands behind her back but I stopped her by leaning into her and giving her an approving kiss, "I'll do that," and I sat up on the bed with my knees crossed and I motioned for her to do the same.

Her face looked to me like a blend of fear and shame so I reached out and put my hand on her face, "Relax, jeez, we're experimenting, remember? This is supposed to be fun." Then I put both my hands on her and for the first time in my life felt another woman's breasts, albeit through her bra. "God, why have you kept these a secret? I mean, why? I don't get it — if I had these beauties I'd at least wear a tank top once in awhile. I mean, jeez, look at them — talk about a couple of assets."

"I've never like them, they're too big, they make me look ridiculous."

"Bullshit, they make you look like you — you should be proud of them; women all over the world are getting fluids and jells pumped into theirs to try to get what you were born with." My fingers had been lightly traveling the full surface of her silky bra when I directed my thumbs to her nipples to see if I was having any affect on her. None. "You should be proud of these, Annie, they're wonderful."

"Not to me."

I was back travelling their contours when I thought I'd give it a try. "So, what if I like them, Annie, I mean, what if I really, really like these magnificent tits of yours, would that make a difference to you?" I could see she was really thinking about this. "Would it?"

"Yes." She didn't look a me.

"And if I asked you to wear that tank top you'd never wear or go braless for me, like around the apartment, because that would excite me, would you?"

She didn't need to think about this, I could feel it on my thumbs, her nipples were hard now and remarkably prominent. "Yes."

"And if I was lying on your couch watching TV and I called for you to bring them over, would you do that for me?"

"Yes."

"So if I really like them, I mean really like them, and I do, and I want you to show them off, and I will, does that make a difference to you? I mean, if I think they're really, really great, do you think you will think about them differently?"

Her eyes had glazed over a little now, I attributed this to what my thumbs were doing to her nipples, "Yes," she whispered

"Good," I leaned forward and kissed her lightly while my hands encircled her and I unclasped her bra, then I sat back taking her bra with me. "Woa," I laughed, they were as big as I had imagined but I hadn't imagined the unbelievable huge, unbelievable dark aerolas — they seemed to cover the entire front surface of her enormously pendulous breasts.

She took my reaction entirely the wrong way, "See!" She tried to turn away, but I grabbed her by the shoulders, straightened her out, then forced her down on the bed and I followed her in an urgent need to feed.

I ravenously sucked on her for a few moments then I looked up at her, "Goddamn, Annie, am I ever into this, so get comfortable, we're going to be here awhile," then I nestled one cheek into her soft, hot stomach and I held her breast with both hands and fed her nipple to my lips and I sucked on her like I was starving, I mean, I sucked and sucked and I squeezed and I rode her knee and even when I came, which didn't take long, I still didn't let up, I just pushed my face between those two unbelievable mammaries and squeezed them against me and shut out the entire fucking world and when I finally let them go and sat up I knew something in me, way deep inside of me, had changed.

She didn't move as I sat up and pulled my sweater over my head and when I threw it on the floor and turned back to her I notice my white cotton panties on the corner of the bed. I reached over her and picked them up, dangled them from a finger, "Do you want to recycle?"

It was the wrong thing to say. She must have been a bundle of nerves right then because she turned away, curled her body around her clasped hands and whispered, "God, I'm sorry for that."




Annie's Camera



But I was way too into this for that crap. I pitched the panties on top of my sweater, pulled off the very wet ones I was wearing, tossed them on her cheek, pulled off my bra and demanded, "Sniff them. You've been doing it for years now so let me see you do it. Sniff them." I can be a bitch, sometimes even I can't see it coming.

She tried to turn away but I pushed her shoulder flat and picked up the panties and dangled them over her face. I didn't know why I was doing this, well, not true, it kind of turned me on that she would do that but it was also pissing me off that she was now coming off as some kind of injured waif — that isn't Annie, she's a determined news photographer for God sake not ... "Sniff the fucking things, I want to see it." My voice shocked me and I could tell it shocked her, too because she did as she was told but pretty passively so I dropped them on her face, "I don't think you'd rush home to sniff them like a dog sniffs poop. Do what you rushed home to do."

She hesitated but only for a moment, then picked up the panties, looked at me defiantly and as she brought them to her nose she put her fingers on the steep wet slope of her own panties and I knew immediately it was a well rehearsed choreography because she knew exactly what she was doing. The panties just touched her nose at first as she fingered her pantied pussy, then she got slowly more aggressive with them and her fingers, pushing both more insistently into her and then she started to curl and her tongue was on my panties and her fingers slipped into the side of her panties and I was long forgotten until I said, "Jesus, I want to try that," and I pushed her flat again, pulled her panties from her and bumped her over as I lay flat on the bed.

She was getting to her knees watching me intently as I slowly brought her green silken panties to my nose and I could smell her instantly, her pungent odour so unlike my own assaulted my nostrils just as my fingers slid into my pubic hair and as my finger eased towards my opening I could smell and fell her stinking wetness and I couldn't resist it, as I pushed the soaked panties into my face, I meant to push my fingers deep into me, but she stopped me, she pulled my hand away and her fingers slid into me and her lips found my breast and she sucked and fingered me, lovingly, until my shouting started and I pumped out about a bucket of cum onto her bed.

"Fuck me," I said when I finally found the strength, but then I felt a little stupid so to lighten the air I handed her panties to her and said, "Would you freshen these up a bit?"

But she didn't laugh, none of this was frivolous to her, her face was deadly serious. She took her panties from me and was about to throw them on the floor when I said, "Put them on," well, I didn't just say it, I demanded it — if she had a panty fetish I wanted to see more of it.

There must have been something in my voice because she quickly did as I demanded, then I pulled at her shoulder and when she fell on the bed I got out of it, went to the end and looked down on her. As I stood there she opened her legs, hesitantly at first and then slowly — it must have taken a couple of minutes for her to open up — it reminded me of a flower in time-lapse photography — and as I got down on the floor on my knees, she scooted along the bed and she wasn't quite still when my lips were on her sopping wet gusset and her pungent stench was flooding my senses.

"I never saw this happening, Bets, never in my wildest dreams. It was always me there, never you, I never thought you'd ever want to do this for me."

"Massage your tits for me, Annie, I want to see that." But when she started I couldn't see her very well so I got up, propped two pillows under her, handed her my panties and got down on my knees again, relieved that I'd already cum about a hundred times in the past few minutes because I really wanted to enjoy this. "Talk to me Annie, tell me about some of the things we did together." If she was anywhere as far gone as I was I knew she was about to explode so I didn't put my lips and nose back on her crotch, instead I started to suck the inside of her thigh.