The Camera Incident

We talked about it several times in such simple terms; we downplayed the intensity of the act into something trivial; we spoke as if we were planning a picnic or a dinner date. In hushed tones wrapped in tension, apprehension, excitement and utter terror on my side, we allowed the idea to unravel.

“I won’t lie,” he said gravely. “I won’t say I don’t want this of you. I do. I can’t help that. But I would never ask, sweetheart. And I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I know,” I answered, repeating the same two words I have already admitted over and over every time we talked about this. No matter how many times the conversation repeated this way though, I was only ever half convinced. I did not really believe our strange lust affair, whose requirement was that there was to be no touching or sex, would last if I did not gather the courage to do this with him. Or maybe my paranoia and self-doubt were just reaching new heights.

Eventually it came to the implementation.

Honestly, I was terrified. My hands trembled as I set the camera up even as we exchanged lighthearted words, again with the same nonchalance that belied the fear clutching my racing heart and the excited arousal evidenced by his.

“Ready?” he asked, impatience lacing his voice despite his greatest efforts to subdue it, knowing that it might drive my resolve away.

“Just a moment,” I said, feigning yet another mishap with the angle or the lighting. Any excuse to fiddle with the camera once more, anything to prolong the delicious tension that sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

“Okay,” he said, settling on his seat.

I chose to stand against a plain wall. He willed all the specifics to me. This was my thing. My show. My choosing. My only condition was that he was to give me the instructions once we’ve gotten started. He readily agreed, though I knew he would much rather I did this without his urging.

Knowing it would please him and knowing how the attire complimented my figure, I wore a zip-up vest that left my midriff bare and a skirt so tiny that the slightest wrong positioning showed the curve off my ass. I hadn’t worn a bra but I did decide to slip a pair of panties on. It was yellow, with lipstick kisses splashed all over the meshed-strings material.

Since this would be the first time for me to expose myself fully to his scrutiny and pleasure, we set the limits. Or rather, I did. He readily acquiesced. I was to keep my skirt on at all times. I was never to expose my breasts or my pussy. My ass was negotiable. Yes, I did feel like a virgin about to get her first taste. I was shy and I was nervous. I was scared of rejection, of not being seen as the same woman he found so irresistible in the comfort of her sexy wardrobe.

The point was he understood my hesitations. He felt the least bit patient but executed patience with admirable finesse. I loved him for it.

“Now?” he asked again.

“Yes,” I whispered softly.

He turned the camera on.

“Mm, there you are.” I smiled despite myself. That was what I was doing it for: his uncontrolled reactions which so very rarely manifested.

“Here I am,” I replied sassily and, before I knew it, decided to cut to the chase. “Now what was it you wanted?” I just wanted it over and done with. My hands felt heavy, unsure. They wanted – needed – something to do other than span my stomach and brush through my hair again and again.

“Open the shirt up.” I have no idea how those women on TV could look so erotic while undressing slowly. As I lowered the zip of my vest, I had to admit I felt both shy and ridiculous. Halfway down the tiny garment though, he told me to stop, startling me from my very ineffective imitation of a woman thoroughly comfortable with what she was doing. “That’s enough, baby. Turn around now.” I was so grateful for the interlude that I did as he asked immediately. Instinctively, I arched my back slightly, putting my palms up against the wall. “Perfect position,” I heard him huff. “Lift your skirt.” I ignored my body’s resistance and did as I was told, only to be rewarded by the arrogantly amused sound that drifted from him.

“Do you like it?” I asked playfully, giggling a little.

“See through. I love it. It would’ve given me a glimpse of that pussy you don’t want me to see.” He was definitely smiling. I could hear it in his voice. “Now pull it down.” I tried to use my hands but it was impossible to move the damned thing without wiggling. Clever bastard. “There we go. Yeah, all the way down. God, I love your ass. I wanna rub my cock on it so bad.” By the sound of it, he was stroking his cock the way I watched him do a few nights ago. The mental image sobered my slight amusement back to nervousness and something else entirely. “Spread your legs a little—yeah, there we go. Think you could finger yourself for me in this position, baby?” He didn’t even need to ask twice.

For some reason, I did not think doing this would arouse me the same way that conventional sex would. In my head, I was doing this for him, to get him off, because.. Well.. because getting him off was what got me off, really. But when my fingers finally drifted to my pussy, I found it so wet that some of my juices had already lubricated my thighs. I was surprised both by how sensitive my lips felt and by the fact that I had not noticed my arousal before now.

With a muffled whimper, I slipped a finger into my waiting folds. The angle was a little awkward but I was guessing that at that point, it was hardly the angle that was going to give me the orgasm that I knew would soon overcome my senses. “Can you slip two in?” he asked, curiosity and effort both evident in his tone. I closed my eyes and imagined how he must look, seated there with his cock in his fist, staring at the screen, watching his shy, secretly perverse girlfriend, the picture made more indecent by the fact that he was watching her fine ass through the technological gadget as she fingered herself like he was some cross between a peeping tom and a creepy stalker.

“Too tight in this angle,” I ground out, embarrassed but highly aroused that I had to admit such a thing to him.

“Move your hips. Ride that finger like it’s my cock.” Shamelessly, I pushed my pussy to my hand, then pulled my finger out to rub my clit, alternating between fingering my wet hole and rubbing the sensitized nub the way I liked to do when I was alone.

“Fuck.” My orgasm was quickly drawing near and I knew it. “God, baby, no. Don’t make me come, please. I don’t think I can hold myself up.” It was weird how something so un-sexy rolled out of my mouth without dampening our urgency.

“Okay, slut. Okay.” There was no effort to curb his breathlessness now. “Pull your finger out. Turn around and clean it up for me.” Leaning my back against the wall, I tilted my head back, catching my breath while languidly licking the moisture that coated my middle finger. “Good girl. Such a good little camera whore.” I kept my eyes closed and simply listened, loving the abandoned freedom with which he moaned his pleasure.

[TBC.]