They had chatted online for months. He’d popped up on the site where she had been browsing for Dom’s.
She smiled, thinking about that.
“Browsing for Doms”, she thought, “kinda like window shopping for shoes, or the perfect LBD.”
Although, she thought, finding a little black dress was actually a closer metaphor. Shoes were easy. Finding a new Dom, or the perfect LBD was completely, excruciatingly hard– you had to find one that fit just right. The one that showed your assets to full advantage, the one that made you want to be at your best.
They’d never yet voiced, and she had not seen him. He was balancing a vanilla life with work, and finding time to im and email was hard enough, He said. He wished she could cam, was surprised that her old Compaq didn’t even have one! She never had been very techno anyway, she explained.
He was a bit annoyed, but He said he understood.
He set her to tasks that were sometimes boring, sometimes erotic, and sometimes painfully difficult. Then this week, He’d sent her the name of a photographer.
“He takes great erotica, and you have that collection of sexy lingerie you told me about. I want to see them…I want to see You in them. Call him and set up an appointment. I know he will come to your house, or you can set up a studio shot, that’s your call, little one.”
She’d put it off.
She loved her sexy clothes, had only worn them for her own enjoyment, putting them on and posing in front of the cheval mirror in her bedroom. She loved her “hawt couture” as she called her little collection of scintillating sex-wear.
He reminded her again that night in her evening email, to call the photographer.
If He needed to remind her a third time, He’d be annoyed…and likely it would land her in the punishment zone. She really didn’t want to go there. She loved her orgasms far too much to give them “away” to Him for disobeying.
She swallowed apprehensively when the doorbell rang. He was here, and she had thought she was ready. Her heart thumped wildly as she opened the door.
The photographer pushed past her, several boxes in his arms.
“Take this and do not drop it.” His tone was brusque.
“y-yes, of course,” she answered, hurrying to scoop up the valise under his arm, which he indicated by turning and thrusting it towards her.
He walked around the house, and she found herself a bit nonplussed by his attitude. He stopped in her living room. The sun shone through at an oblique angle, giving the room a golden glow.
“Yes, here.” He placed his boxes onto the floor and began opening them. A perplexing amount of equipment began to emerge from his cases.
“Bring it.” He reached out his hand, impatiently gesturing her forward. “Go get your things.” She turned and went upstairs. Standing in her bedroom she shook herself. What? What was that?
She didn’t just ….obey…….yet, apparently she did. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that Sir had suggested this particular photographer, so perhaps…well, she had to trust that he knew what he was doing.
She brought the basket of her lingerie downstairs to a transformed room. Silver screens caught and focused the light, her coffee table had been dragooned into service and covered with a silvery cloth. A box filled with mysterious items was in the corner, though she thought one looked rather like a feather duster. Perhaps he used it to clean the light reflectors, or those big lights now set up around the room.
“Why aren’t you dressed yet?” He looked up at her from where he knelt, taking some sort of measurements.
“I…i’ll just go and..”
“no no no, silly girl, just strip and do it here.” He went back to his light meter.
She felt the hot rush of embarrassment. She picked up the first outfit. She was in the living room fergoshsakes! What if someone walked down the street? They could possibly…
“I’m not going to take all day waiting for you.” His voice, deep and admonishing, was right behind her. She jolted.
“B-but i-i’m in the…”
“Naked. Now.” He crossed his arms and stared her down. She swallowed, looked up at him, then back down. Swiftly she pulled her tee shirt up and over her torso, over her hair, tangling briefly in her ponytail. She stood, almost defiantly for a moment, looking up at him. Her nipples were poking out the front of her black lace bra.
He raised a brow, twirled his finger insultingly as if to say ‘get on with it.’ He didn’t seem at all impressed with her fit of pique.
She slid down her jeans, taking the panties with them, simultaneously grabbing the first ‘slutdress’ and pulling it over her.
She stood, almost breathless, like she had run a long distance in a short span of time. He walked around her, making minute adjustments. A tug here, the tip of his finger tidying a line of lace there. His fingers tugged at her ponytail, pulling her head back for a moment with his fist wrapped around it, then tugging away her scrunchy. Her hair cascaded around her face and shoulders.
He came back to the front, fluffing her hair, pinching her cheeks.
He nodded, gestured her to the cloth-covered table.
“Up there, on your side. Top leg slightly up.” he paused while she complied. “Good.”
He came over, and pushed her tit up so it spilled forward, almost out of the cup of the dress. She didn’t dare protest. Likely he “handled” models this way all the time. Still, the heat from his hand against her breast lingered. She felt…embarrassingly enough, aroused.
He took a few shots, moving around her to change the angle. Back and forth, adjusting her hair, her leg. He stood behind her, and pulled the skirt up, exposing her ass. She turned her head, aghast.
“What?!” she began outraged.
“Perfect!” and he snapped a series in rapid succession. “now, slut, look self-aware. You know you have a great ass there, show HIM you know it, too. Confidence is very sexy.”
She considered that. The shots were once again rapid-fire.
She went through two more outfits, and was surprised how tiring all this modeling crap was. She was sitting, corset on, fishnets, garters, and tits poised precariously on the edge of the shelf bra that completed the outfit. The sizzle of sex was definitely in the air, despite the baby blue tones of the corset.
Knees together, ankles splayed apart
His orders were rapped out tersely, every move she made followed by the quick sound of his shutter.
He pinched her nipples, hard, making her jolt and protest.
He looked at her.
“Correct me if I’m mistaken…these pictures are for your Dom?”
She nodded, arms crossed over her pointed, peaked nipples.
He looked at her steadily until she looked away, unable to bear the weight of that stare. Gawd.
“Okay,” she murmured, “i get it. Sexy for the Man…”
“Lay down.” She complied. Her belly pressed into the hard wood of her hope chest, which he had found in her dining room, and dragged in here. Then she was arched back, weight on her forearms, tits pushed together, hair tumbled around her face and chest. The picture, when finished would only clearly reveal her eyes, looking upwards, and her cleavage, and the hazed out background of one ankle insouciantly raised behind her.
She sighed, but did indeed stay. She watched him switch lenses for the 50th time, or so it seemed, then he crossed behind her, out of sight.
She heard and felt the swat on her bottom simultaneously.
“OW!” she jumped.
“I said Stay. I meant stay, little girl.” He swatted her bottom again, even harder. She heard him leave the room, his soft footfalls soon followed by the sound of doors opening and closing in her kitchen.
“now what the hell is he doing?” she wondered, muttering under her breath. She wanted to rub her bottom where he’d hit her. More, she wanted to rub her pussy. She was feeling more than a little horny. Her clit was hard and protuberant. But …he’d said ‘stay’ in that demanding way, and she felt compelled to obey. She heard him return.
And screeched when a hard series of whacks landed against her upturned ass.
“OH MY GAWD!” she moaned, “What is that…why are you..”
“Look little girl, your Dom is going to love seeing pictures of you with a gloriously red ass. Spatula’s are for more than flipping pancakes, you know.” And he slapped it against her increasingly sore ass several more times.
And then tapped between the backs of her thighs. She spread them.
And spread them when he tapped again.
And spread them until her toes touched the floor, pussy agape and exposed. She heard the click-whirrrrrr-clicck of his camera, and flushed deeply. He was taking pictures of her pussy.
She felt his fingers prodding her, and gasped.
“You really are a little slut for Him, aren’t you, little one? Your cunt is dripping, swollen, and hot.”
She felt him shift and felt herself blushing. His fingers prodded between the cheeks of her ass, spreading her there, yet even as she opened her lips to protest, she heard the click-whirrrrr of his omnipresent camera.
Dear gawd. He’d taken a picture of her asshole.
The blush was instant and highly visible in the light washed room.
He came around the front of her, and snapped several shots quickly, then grabbed a hank of hair and pulled her upright.
“You are such a little slut, aren’t you? Sir’s little whore.”
She stared up at him, her eyes clashing with his. She was morbidly embarrassed, wanting nothing more than a giant sinkhole to open up and swallow her deep.
Gawd. Why was she thinking things like “swallow” and “deep”? Her pussy clenched, and she felt the squish of liquid slipping from her folds.
He smiled knowingly down at her.
“Your pussy is soaked now, isn’t it? Showing me your slutty clothing, posing so lewdly for your Dom has you so fucking turned on, doesn’t it?”
She didn’t want to answer. She knew she didn’t need to, her body answered for her. She saw his eyes looking at her pointed, begging nipples.
She dropped her eyes when he smiled.
She whispered “yes, i am very turned on by this. Are…are you going to …to tell Him?”
He turned away. “Put on that last outfit,” he ordered, ignoring her question.
She sighed, knowing she could take that as a ‘yes’.
She presented herself to him in her last, and favorite outfit, her black lace halter dress. The demi bra underneath lifted her breasts, dramatizing her cleavage, hiding her somewhat rounded tummy. It was her best outfit, hands down. She slipped into the black heels, and felt better being a bit taller.
She sighed. Back to the one word terseness. She felt so much like a thing when he did this.
She pulled her shoulders back, her wrists behind her, thumbs and forefinger tips touching at the small of her back. She heard the metallic chink and gasped as the cold metal latched over and around one wrist, then the other.
“Wait!” she protested.
“He wants bondage shots. Has a feeling that you will be very wet with this powerless feeling. I wonder if He is right.”
She gasped again as the probing fingers slipped up under her skirt, skirted under her ass, and slipped into the wetness at the juncture of her thighs.
She could no more stop the soft moan than she could the tides.
His thick finger sawed gently through her wetness, and though she wanted to remain still, she felt her ass, her hips thrust back against that probing hand.
“Such a little slut, such a naughty girl, aren’t you?”
She couldn’t speak, the unbearable feeling coming closer, closer.
“You need to cum, don’t you? He was right about you, you know. He told me you would come apart in my hands…”
His free hand snaked around the front of her body, catching and squeezing her left tit hard, slipping forward to find the hard nubbin at the tip, and pulling and rolling it between two cruel fingers.
The dual sensations, incredible pleasure between her thighs, and terrible pain on her tit sent her over the edge, and she shuddered and moaned out her orgasm, flooding his lower hand with her sex juice.
“Next time, little one, you must ask your Sir before you cum.”
His words hung at the edge of her consciousness for a moment, as his other hand left the valley of her sex, and came around her, hugging her tight against Him.
“SIR???” she spoke, incredulous awe in her voice, and incredible joy.
“You don’t think I’d let just anyone take pictures of my slut, now, do you? At least….not yet…”
The words hung in the air, a promise and a threat.
He was so good at that.
She shivered with anticipation.