3 comments/ 62828 views/ 6 favorites Chrissy's Photo Op Ch. 01 By: johnnieblue44 It started as a bit of a mutual joke, I suppose, but as the realization that we were both talking about the possibility became more and more frequent, there grew an underlying, sexual tension that was palpable. Christina was a bartender at one of my favorite recreational stops, the Turf Club at one of the prominent casinos in Atlantic City. For those unacquainted with the Turf Club moniker, it is simply a small haven inside of a casino where a patron can watch and bet upon simulcast thoroughbred races from across the country. I was more than simply a 'punter', I used to own a stable of thoroughbreds in the late 1990's, and had two successful fillies, including one who won a number of graded stakes races in California, and her winnings provided me with enough of a windfall profit that I was able to take an early retirement from my real estate career and buy a beach house in Ocean City. I never thought that the retirement would last forever, after all, one can only play so much golf. Yet at age fifty-one, I was enjoying some quality post-divorce free time after busting my nuts working for the past thirty years. My latest girlfriend, Stephanie, was a recent divorcee herself at thirty-seven, and came down to visit and 'play' on weekends. She sold real estate and was a part-time fitness trainer outside of Philadelphia, and she had, shall we say, an open mind when it came to all carnal activities. However, our relationship was limited to weekends when her school-age kids spent time with their dad, so most weeks, I had five days by my lonesome. Hence, my trips to the Turf Club. It was a pleasant, relaxing way to pass some afternoons, maybe make a few bucks, and it didn't hurt that Christina was behind the bar to add some aesthetic flavor. Christina, or Chrissy, as I began to call her in a paternal manner, was twenty-four years old and already divorced. She had married some military guy stationed at Fort Dix at the tender age of nineteen (WHY do youngsters DO that!?), and from what I could ascertain from our conversations, the allure was basically limited to the fact that he was the first male she knew to get a tattoo with her name on it. Regardless of the reasons for the foolish and ill-fated attempt at matrimony, by the time she reached the age of twenty-two, she ran away from the abusive alcoholic Marine, her self-esteem in tatters, and enrolled in the local community college. She held a variety of jobs to support herself, determined to do it on her own, and on weekday afternoons, she worked behind the bar. Chrissy was an absolute sweetheart, and I have no doubt that her comfort level with me was due to my age, more than old enough to be her father, and I was an aberration from most of her customers. First of all, I never hit on her, unlike ninety percent of the drunks who wandered in and out of the casino, but most important, at least to Chrissy, I think, was merely the fact that I listened to her. When you get older, you talk less and listen more. It takes less energy, and you learn a lot, about people, about things. About things that happen to people. And what people like about certain things. Mostly, though, you learn just from observing human behavior. For instance, I discovered that Chrissy never wore a hint of make-up during her shifts, unlike almost all of the silicone-chested cocktail waitresses in the casino who looked like they had cakes for faces. By her own admission, she didn't want to give the impression that she was interested in any male advances whatsoever. She had straight, light brown hair that she usually had up in a ponytail, and dressed in mostly loose clothing, conservative blouses and slacks. However, on these warm Spring days when her clothing became a bit tighter and unwittingly revealing, it was apparent that she had a killer body. Chrissy was petite, about five-feet-two, perhaps a shade taller, and couldn't have weighed more than one hundred and ten pounds. On her particular frame, though, no matter how hard she tried to conceal them, a pair of disproportionately huge breasts poked out from beneath her generally unflattering attire. On the first April day that reached eighty degrees, she wore a pair of khaki shorts that not only clung to two tight little buns, but showed that her legs were slim and surprisingly long on such a compact frame. For the first time that day, I couldn't help but to complement her in the most paternal, gentlemanly way I could muster, and she blushed and mumbled a bashful, "Thank you, John." That was also the day I got my first hard-on when thinking of Chrissy in less than a gentlemanly way, and when Stephanie arrived on Friday night for her weekend stay, she was the unwitting recipient of a hard, eager, enthusiastic fuck before she barely made it through the front door. Steph didn't know then that it was mainly due to my growing fervor for the young bartender. In my mind, I called out Chrissy's name as Steph spread her legs and begged for more cock. I heard only Chrissy's sweet, soft voice in my imagination, and I exploded the biggest torrent of cum that I'd let loose in ages on Stephanie's taut tummy. Steph left for home that Sunday a well-fucked and thoroughly sated woman. I didn't know it at the time, either, but Chrissy told me later that my simple compliment caused her, for the first time, to think of me in a way other than as a friend or father figure. She hadn't been with any man sexually in almost two years since she separated from the evil Mr. Semper Fi, yet she went home that evening and masturbated herself into a frenzy, fantasizing about what it might be like to have a mature and caring man make love to her. She came like a waterfall from the caresses of her fingers, and a metamorphic transformation had begun. With each passing day, Chrissy came into work dressed more and more revealingly. An extra loose button here, a skirt an inch more above the knees there, and a higher heel now and then, illustrating the shapely curves of her athletic calves. Her attire was by no means provocative, not yet at least, but I decided to test the waters myself and let her know of my approval and appreciation. After about two weeks, I finally proffered the question I'd been pondering since the young butterfly had begun to spread her wings. "Ya know, Chrissy, if you really want to make some serious money to keep yourself afloat, you should consider modeling. You'd make a fortune with that naturally pretty, All-American look of yours." She blushed furiously again, almost hiding her face in the locks of her hair, which she increasingly wore without restraints, below her shoulders, the locks cascading down onto her firm, gravity-defying perky tits. Every time I succeeded in evoking a blush, my cock got diamond-hard, it was a Pavlovian-dog involuntary response. She tried to brush it off as folly, but I detected a gleam of interest in her eye that gave me encouragement despite her attempt at pooh-poohing the idea. "Yeah, right, John, sure. I'd be the most famous supermodel on the runway, all five-feet-nothing of me." I tried to downplay the self-effacing remark with one of my own. "Hey, I realize you probably don't want an old man like me to take any profile pics of you, but if you'd like, I'd at least let you see some pics I've taken of my girlfriend. It's sort of a hobby of mine, and if I don't mind saying so myself, they're not half-bad." Chrissy scrunched up her freckled nose in a cute grimace. "You have a girlfriend? You've never said anything about a girlfriend." She paused, assessing the situation. "Really, you take pics of her? Wow. That's kinda sexy. Sure, I'd love to see them." It proved once again the age-old adage. No matter what age they are, women simply cannot resist the challenge of comparing themselves to another woman, they're each competitive little vixens in that way. More so, if they know you already have a woman, it instantly makes you exponentially more attractive to them. Chrissy didn't necessarily need to know at that particular time that the majority of the portfolio that I compiled with Steph either had a dildo stuffed snugly up her twat or my rather prominent cock stuffed deeply in her mouth. However, we also had quite a few PG-rated photos, too. On my porch, on the boardwalk, and best yet, some nice pictures of Steph canoeing and jogging at a local national park about a half-hour away named Batsto State Park. Chrissy needn't know, also, that the innocent outdoor photo session ended with Steph and I fucking surreptitiously inside of one of the log cabins nestled in the forest. I didn't show up at the Turf Club for a few days in a row after that conversation, designed specifically to tease and induce heightened anticipation on Chrissy's part. It must have worked because when I showed up on Thursday with a small binder of black-and-white eight-by-elevens of Stephanie in a small binder, I couldn't help but notice that Chrissy had on the tightest blouse that I had ever seen her wear. When she bent over the bar to inspect the photos anxiously, her ample tits spilled from the lacy bra, barely concealing pearl-sized and very aroused nipples. I had strategically included a few photos of Stephanie on the beach in which she was wearing a very sexy lavender two-piece. "That's your girlfriend? My God, she's gorgeous." Chrissy was truly impressed and gave me an approving stare that stirred my own loins once again. "Who knew you were such a stud? Her body is amazing, how old is she, if you don't mind me asking?" "Yeah, she's gorgeous, but she's very far-sighted, she's only interested in the size of my wallet", I clucked, trying to minimize my own desire to get Chrissy in front of the lens while I was behind the shutter. "She's thirty-seven, but she lives in Philly, we only see each other on weekends, which leaves me plenty of time all week to fight off young beauties like you and stay loyal." The look in Chrissy's chocolate-brown eyes was now one I hadn't seen before, a smoldering glare. "Yep, if she only knew how I'd been coming on to you all this time, I'm such a flirt, just interested in you for your big wallet, too." She paused. "And maybe your big.......camera....." I purposely avoided her gaze, though if she had seen my cock struggling to burst free beneath the bar, she would have known that my own interest was certainly anything but paternal. I turned the conversation back to Stephanie's pictures. "See these right here? These were taken at Batsto Park not too long ago," I said, trying to remain casual, while peeking at Chrissy's freckled mounds leaning over the bar into my line of vision. Geezus, were those some huge fucking tits! I let my next words hang in the air as I closed the binder. "If you're interested, maybe we could drive up there ourselves and do a few outdoor test shots of you...." Chrissy didn't hesitate. "I've been thinking about this ever since you brought it up." Was it my imagination, or did her eyes glance downward to my crotch as she said that? "I think it would be fun, and God knows, I need some fun in my life." I nodded as if I was only half-interested, trying to feign coyness, while my cock throbbed like a below-the-waist Judas, in blatant betrayal. Her next sentence threatened to spill my seed right then and there. "I even bought a new outfit or two, I confess. Do you think a few bikini shots would be OK, too? I've been going to the beach on the weekend, working on my tan. I really want to do this, I'm excited." I gulped, hoping that the beads of sweat I felt forming on my brow weren't evident. She purred softly in a "please, daddy" tone of voice. "When can we go, John? Soon?" TO BE CONTINUED. (Feedback always welcome.) Chrissy's Photo Op Ch. 02 This is a continuation of the well-received Ch. 01, which I encourage you to read, so that you can pick up seamlessly where we left off. Thanks for all of your positive comments! * The answer to Chrissy's pleading inquiry was provided when we agreed to meet for her outdoor photo session the following Monday. Monday was always the slowest day at the Turf Club, so it was relatively easy for Chrissy to find a substitute for her bartending duties for the afternoon. It had also been a rare weekend when my girlfriend, Stephanie, had not visited, so I had all my energy and unbridled enthusiasm stored up. Ya know, just in case... We had decided that The Village of Smithville would be a good place to meet, since it was in close proximity to the National Park, and Chrissy assured me that she could easily find transportation to the small cluster of quaint shops and cozy restaurants. I arrived a few minutes early, my prominent hard-on accompanying my short walk to the bench where I waited uncomfortably for my young fledgling model's arrival. I couldn't help but to have already masturbated in the shower shortly before departing, but my Below-The-Waist alter ego was showing no sign of chronological recognition. He was raring to see, and hopefully participate in, the photographic events about to transpire. Yes, the purpose of the rendezvous today with a woman twenty-seven years my junior wasn't about photography, at its core. Instinctively, I knew it, and I sensed that Chrissy knew it, and desired it, as well. The camera and ensuing photo session were just a convenient icebreaker of sorts, a means to an end. I sat, pretending to be reading the newspaper, with my small duffel bag containing my two cameras (a Fuji Fine Pix S9500 and a Nikon D200) slung across my shoulder. My raging dick still twitched beneath my baggy khaki shorts, and it apparently caught the attention of an attractive redheaded woman shopper who was about my age, because she walked past about three times in five minutes, increasingly closer each time, peering through her sunglasses and smiling coquettishly. I was just about to acknowledge the obviously interested redhead when I felt someone, a woman by the hint of aromatic perfume that preceded her, plop herself down on the bench to my left, touching my exposed thigh with her own exposed thigh as an unmistakable lithe frame eased next to me. Chrissy said simply, quietly, "Hi", yet the mere two letters from the sound of her sweet voice touched off another involuntary response within my naughty middle-aged cock. I didn't even have time to survey her attire, my eyes absorbed only a pair of full, fire-engine-red lips pursed to meet my own lips, which already had slightly parted in pleasantly surprised anticipation. Chrissy's velvety-soft mouth gently met my own mouth, and I heard her whimper almost imperceptibly as her mouth quivered onto my own. I pulled my head back reluctantly, aware of our public surroundings, and from the corner of my eye noticed the redhead stare at the sight of a fifty-one-year-old man being kissed seductively by a woman more than young enough to be his daughter. This was not a paternal kiss indeed. Chrissy put two small fingertips onto my chin, and diverted my attention back to the source at hand. "Hey, over here," she chastised, nibbling on my lip. I looked at her face for the first time, and nearly gasped at the transformation from when I had last seen her. As detailed earlier, Chrissy rarely, if ever, wore even a hint of make-up to her 'day job', so as not to attract the lechers. Today, however, she looked exactly like the model that she was about to become, except her appearance far exceeded the quality of the rather novice amateur photographer who was fortunate enough to be behind the lens. Her light brown eyes were perfectly augmented by an impeccable application of mascara that highlighted light gold flashes within her pupils. Her hair cascaded around her neck in small auburn curls, with bangs that hung beguilingly over her forehead. The aforementioned lips were the cherriest of cherry reds, a lipstick hue called Russian Red, as she later confessed to me. ("I chose it because it's supposed to last all day without smearing, and I knew I would be using it a lot.") Though I'm not a big proponent of comparing a beautiful woman's looks to those of a celebrity, I couldn't erase the thought that she looked exactly like Jennifer Love Hewitt in her younger days (and this comparison was only further enhanced once I finally had the pleasure of seeing Chrissy's large tits on her petite frame). Our faces were still essentially pressed together, and I opened my mouth to pay Chrissy proper homage regarding her sensational beauty, but she snuffed out my attempt by pressing those Russian Red-covered lips back onto mine, her warm, hot, long tongue snaking into my mouth, and for the first time, I felt her tits press into my chest, and, yep, I admit it, I peeked. I glanced down at her tits, smashed onto my shirt, poking out beneath a tiny, sheer, ivory bikini top, light freckles trailing a path from her collarbone down to her firm, ample cleavage. She broke the kiss and stood up quickly, and for the first time I had an opportunity to examine the entire sensational package of the neophyte model that I would be fortunate enough to be photographing today. A light pink sarong wrapped around her slender hips, starting just below her belly button, fully exposing her flat stomach yet curvaceous hips, and a tiny white bikini bottom that barely covered her gorgeous ass cheeks was visible through the sarong which was essentially transparent in the bright rays of the sun. She pirouetted, providing me with a view from every angle, and I squirmed on the bench as my Below-The-Waist alter ego twitched in rousing approval of the scene in front of me. I could still taste her delicious lipstick, and inhaled her intoxicating perfume in the fresh Spring air. The erotic tactile combinations were enough to have my dick as hard as during the many nights I had been masturbating recently, fantasizing about Chrissy, anticipating this very scenario. A lovely, nubile, and apparently very horny twenty-four-year-old was going to willingly pose for me, in semi-public, and who knew where the path would lead next. She grabbed me by the hand and asked, "Which one is your car?" She smiled as I pointed to the late-model ebony Lexus parked under the tall oak tree in the corner of the lot. "Let's get out of here, now, please, let's go." She threw a large beach bag over her shoulder and whispered in my ear as she hung onto my elbow, "I also brought some goodies for an indoor shoot later, if you're 'up' for it." She accentuated the word 'up'. "I want to take some photos like you have done of your girlfriend, I really liked that one of her in the black teddy." That particular photo was by far the most revealing one that I had shown to Chrissy when I had let her see a sampling of the photos that I had taken of Stephanie, but the desired effect it had upon Chrissy worked like a charm. You see, women, especially beautiful women, and no matter what the age, are extremely competitive when it comes to their looks. This is no secret, of course, but the magic of this truism is it also transcends any age barriers. A young woman in her twenties is going to do everything within her powers to assure that she will simply NOT be outdone in the sexy category by an older woman. Though I am by no means a fisherman, I was hoping Chrissy would bite at this bait, and when she pulled the white g-string and garter set from her travel bag, it was apparent I had bagged a prize. When Chrissy eased herself down onto the plush upholstery of my passenger seat as I opened the car door for her, she was eye-level with my cock, now nearly bursting through the zipper of my shorts. She licked her lips seductively. "Mmmm, seems someone likes my idea." I stumbled to my side and looked down through the window at Chrissy's impossibly firm tits popping almost through her teeny bikini top as she leaned over to open my door, which was more symbolic that necessary, since I had already unlocked the door electronically. She turned her entire body towards me as she removed her sarong, allowing me a full view of the small patch of moisture that was on the crotch of her bikini bottom, and tossed back her curly, flowing hair. She then reached into the beach bag, talking over her shoulder as she did so, and the crack of her ass poked through the bottom of the material, and said. "Stephanie, that's your girlfriend's name, Stephanie right?" I nodded, diverting my eyes from her backbone to the road as I started the car engine and put it into gear. Stephanie who, I thought. Chrissy smiled knowingly, now leaning over the gear shift and pressing her chest onto my right shoulder and began to stroke my neck with her left hand. "You see, Stephanie wore black in her lingerie shoot for you. So, therefore, naturally, I want to wear white, to be different." Her hand began to snake down my shoulders and chest as I pulled onto Route Nine northbound. Her small palm now rubbed over my stomach, pulling out the shirttail, and began to tug at my belt buckle. "White is more virginal, don't you think, John? Isn't that kinda appropriate for a girl who hasn't been laid in nearly two years now?" Was it my imagination, or out of the corner of my eye, did I see a small cell-phone camera in her right hand? Out of reflex, I lifted my buttocks off of the car seat as I felt my shorts begin to fall to mid-thigh and wondered if it was really true as I heard Chrissy say, "I thought you were commando today, that will be very convenient." Her left hand gripped my shaft firmly and before I knew it, about half of my throbbing cock was engulfed in Russian-red lipstick as Chrissy's head snuck under the steering wheel and her tongue enveloped my shaft in a warm, wet surprise oral dance. She sucked on me for gently for perhaps a torturous half-minute or so as I struggled to keep my eyes on the road, my hands on the wheel, and my focus anywhere but on what she was doing to my crotch. I only succeeded on two out of those three tasks, how could I not focus upon this once shy twenty-four-year-old beauty suddenly turned into a brazen vixen, a mobile cocksucker? She raised her head and began to purr into my neck and jaw line, never releasing her grip on my cock, tugging and pulling on it urgently, my length growing and stiffening with each stroke, my dick now nearly slapping against the bottom of the steering wheel. I was almost able to drive 'hands-free'. That's when I heard the unmistakable click of the camera, and Chrissy cooed, "Unngh, huge, I knew you'd be big, I always wanted a big cock, my ex was nowhere near like this." She took several pictures in rapid succession with her right hand with the lens pointed right at her left hand, which was tightly gripping my shaft. She looked at one of the images as I continued to drive and she moaned, her hand pumping my dick harder now, faster, my own foot unwittingly pressing down unconsciously harder on the foot pedal as I glanced over to see a picture of my dick being held snugly by a small, neatly manicured hand, long red nails contrasting with the pink flesh of my engorged cock head. "You're not the only one who enjoys taking pictures of beautiful things," she groaned, before again lowering her head down onto my cock, sucking about five inches into her hot mouth in one swoop. I held on tightly to the steering wheel with my left hand, and for the next ten minutes, my right hand alternated between gripping the back of her hair and fingering her sopping snatch and tight little anus through the thin material of her bikini. My climax rapidly approaching, I pulled aside the fabric to separate her slit and plunge two thick fingers into the hottest, tightest pussy I had ever digitally explored, and wondered for just a split second how my cock would ever fit into the vice-like grip of Chrissy's well-preserved pussy. Finally, I massaged her protruding clit, bringing her over the edge as we pulled into Batsto State Park's lot, cumming at the same time, her creamy cunt juices dripping onto my fingers as I shot my first hot load of the day deep into her throat, exactly as we passed by the more-than-curious Park Ranger in his vehicle stationed at the entrance, and he no doubt noticed Chrissy's hair bouncing wildly as she bobbed frantically up and down on my lap. She wiped the remnants of cum from her mouth as she leaned back in the car seat as we parked, basking in the afterglow of savoring my semen and still trembling from her own orgasm, and I brought my cum-soaked fingers to her lips so that she could enjoy her own sweet nectar as well. She moaned in delight as she sucked eagerly, mixing our respective flavors within her throat. "I think you'll find out about me, John, that you have touched on many of my fantasies all at once. Exhibitionism, having public sex, and sucking the cock of an older, well-hung man." Hmmmm. This day was not certainly going as planned, not that I was complaining. She pulled up my zipper after cleansing the last drops of my cum from my shaft with her tongue, and grabbed her beach bag, hopping out of the car, and walking towards the park's gravel path. "And thanks for being my own personal cock model, I always wanted one. Now, let's go do me, shall we? Is that a log cabin over there?" To be continued...