Let him take pictures, I thought fiercely. I wanted him to see me in all my abandoned glory. If I was alive like no one else, then I wanted everyone to know it. Then he dipped his finger inside me and I forgot all about the whirring camera as the world condensed to my quivering cunt and his strong, insistent finger. Deeper and deeper he went, then curled his finger inside me.
“Ah!” The sound ripped from my lips, a noise of pure surprise and shock, as though I had never been touched before. My hands clawed their way up my throat, spreading over my face as I tried to stifle my cries at the slow, inexorable fuck he was giving me with only his hand.
Something cold touched my wrist, and I opened my eyes—when had I closed them?—to see the camera resting against my arm. He was holding it out to me.
I took it.
His hands freed, he moved down my body, his other hand alighting on my thigh, sending fiery shivers through my body, racing up my leg to curl in the small of my back. “Open for me,” he said, his voice dark and hard. “Let me taste you.”
My thighs parted for him almost of their own volition, the cool air of the studio hitting my heated flesh like a splash of ice water. I hissed between my teeth, and then the heat of his mouth descended on my pussy and all discomfort was obliterated. My fingers tightened on the hard plastic camera in my hands and it gave a creak of protest as his tongue flicked over my clitoris, lapped and licked down the inside of my labia, dipped inside my tight channel. Glancing down, I saw that the screen on the camera was still on, and I could see him through it, licking my pussy, his eyes half-closed in pleasure as his hands slowly massaged my thighs. He looked lost in desire, and strangely vulnerable.
He was beautiful.
I took a picture.
Immediately his eyes flickered up to mine, and he smiled at me, that devilish grin contrasting with the tiny frozen moment on the camera screen where he sleepily licked my clit with his long, delicious tongue. Then his grin faded as he opened his sensuous lips wide and sucked my entire pussy into his mouth, labia and all. The pull of his lips sent my head spinning. My legs curled, my heels finding his back and digging in as my hips bucked off the floor and into his face. He seemed to be encouraged by this reaction, and he chuckled, my pussy still in his mouth. The vibrations sent my eyes rolling back in my head and I twisted, my thighs clamping down on his head to hold him in place. I didn't ever want him to move.
His hands, trapped between his head and my legs, slipped out, circling around my thighs and then down to my ass. There they spread out, massaging, squeezing, and I moaned as he dug his fingers in and then pulled his head away from my pussy with a loud smack, the suction releasing in one great pop that echoed around the empty studio. Then he returned and sucked my clit back into his mouth before pulling away, again and again. The soft, wet sounds of his mouth on my pussy clicked and clacked against the walls, until the whole room was full of the echoes of his mouth lavishing attention on my intimate places.
In the pit of my belly, I felt my climax begin to coil, like a snake about to strike, but abruptly he pulled his head away and dropped me. Rearing back on his knees, he knelt between my thighs, and through the haze of my thwarted orgasm I saw his erection—huge, my god—straining against the fabric of his pants. He must have been wearing no underwear, because it bounced freely with his movement. Precum stained the tip dark.
Then he reached out and took the camera from my hands.
I blinked at him stupidly.
Carelessly he reached down and threw the white satin over me, half-covering my body, and, apprehension building, I reached down to cover myself entirely as he suddenly snapped off a series of photos.
“Don't hide from me,” he said, his voice hoarse with need. “You are amazing.”
I licked my lips. “I don't do porn.”
He lowered the camera and reached down between my legs again, his hot, rough fingers finding my pussy and stroking into my slick channel, harsh and without control, which just made me wetter and hotter. “No,” he said as my hips thrust up into his hand and he shot another photograph, “you aren't doing porn. You will see.”#p#分页标题#e#
“Don't take pictures of me—ah—like this!”
“You inspire me,” was all he said. He slipped his finger out and shoved his thumb inside me, sliding his creamy index finger down the crack of my ass where it curled over my puckered entrance, pushing and retreating, pushing and retreating. My body quivered around his hand, my back arching. The white satin tangled around me, twisting me up. I managed to trap myself in it like a butterfly tangled in a spider web. Relentlessly his fingers pushed their way inside me, stroking and stirring, and above me the camera clicked and whirred, capturing every moment.