I was in the middle of a flower bed in Shivaji Park which is near my home, doing a little macrophotography. I had been shooting flowers and the occasional bumblebee for about a half-hour. The park is home to a cricket field, a basketball court, and various practice pitches, since it was mainly intended for the city’s cricket lovers. The Mumbai Municipal Corporation had installed a couple of flower beds around the perimeter, surrounded by low stone walls, and the summer’s weather had been good to the flowers, and the fat bees.
I looked up at one point, and noticed her watching me from a corner of the flower bed. She was one of my neighbours, a cute little hottie who had obviously just dropped one of her kids off at the cricket practice that was underway across the park. She must have picked him up right after work, as she was still in a dress and heels, rather than jeans or shorts like most of the other upper middle-class moms. I rocked back from my knees, and looked at her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Please don’t let me disturb you. I saw you from across the park and was just wondering what you were doing in the middle of the flower bed. I’ll leave you alone.”
She started to turn away, and something made me call out to her. “No, don’t go. I was about to wrap up anyway, so you’re not disturbing me at all.” To prove it, I stood up and lifted my camera and tripod out of the dirt, and started navigating my way through the flowers to the edge of the stones, where I had left my gadget bag. She turned back, and slowly wandered over to where I was, sitting down on the stone wall, hands clasping her knees.
As I started rummaging in my gadget bag, she looked at my equipment, and said, “You certainly seem to have some professional gear. Do you make money at this, or is it only a hobby?”
“Well, it’s mainly a hobby that I can’t really afford, so I do some work that I get paid for, and that keeps me in equipment.” As I picked up a second camera from my bag, I turned to look at her, and was caught by the way the sun was striking her face, glowing through her hair. She had let it down from the ponytail it was originally in, and it fanned around her face and over her shoulders, the light breeze moving wisps of it across her face.
I immediately brought the camera to my eye and started shooting, framing her head and shoulders with the zoom lens, then moving in for the head shot. I leaned at different angles, and kept shooting as she moved her head to look at me.
“What are you doing? Don’t take my picture. I really don’t like to be photographed.”
I ignored her complaints, as the camera loved this woman. I started directing her to turn her head, bring her chin down a little, put a hand to her face, and run her fingers through her hair. She actually stopped complaining with my first posing direction, so I kept shooting, and kept talking to her. I paused after a moment, and asked, “Why don’t you like having your picture taken?”
“Because I never look good in pictures. I’m not very photogenic.”
“You haven’t been photographed correctly. Take a look, you look great in the photos.” I showed her some of the shots I had taken, using the preview screen on the back of my camera.
She got very quiet as she viewed them, then in a soft voice, said, “You’re very good. Those are fantastic photos. I’ve never looked like that.”
“Would you like to do some more? You’re quite a good portrait subject. Do you have time to pose?”
“Well, my son will be at cricket practice for a while longer, so all right.”
“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.” I moved to one side of her, and looked over her body. “Sit up straight. Look out toward the edge of the park. I took a few profile shots, noting her excellent facial features, and what appeared to be large breasts.
“Lean over, wrap your arms around your knees then rest your head on your knees. Turn your face toward me. Don’t smile; look wistful.” I took a couple of more shots, moving from one side to directly in front of her, and then came back to the side.
“Are you wearing pantyhose, or stockings?”
“What? Why is that important?”
“I want to see a bit more of your leg from the side, with your face on your knees the way you were. If you’re wearing stockings, they probably have a pretty lace top. If there’s part of that visible under the hem of your dress, it adds an element of sexiness and mystery to the photo. If you’re wearing pantyhose, then they won’t be pretty, and we’ll keep that air of mystery out of things.”
“We-e-ell, okay. They’re stockings.”
“Great.” As I crouched to one side, I said, “Pull your dress back a little, so the top of your stockings start to show. You may need to lift a bit to pull it out from under you, and let it bunch a little at your waist, rather than lower down.”
She looked around, and seeing that there was no one anywhere near us, she lifted up a few inches, then pulled at the waist of her dress, and the tops of her stockings came into view.
“Okay, that’s enough for now. Let’s try that.” I coached her back into position, and took a few more shots. I liked the result, but thought I could get slightly more eroticism into the shot. “Can you pull your dress back a little further? I want to get a hint of thigh above the lace top.”
She looked at me for a second, debating, then lifted and once again pulled her dress up before sitting back down. I took a few more shots, and looked at the results. “Okay, that’s a problem.”
“Well, I guess it’s because you’re not very tall, but to get enough leg to show above the top of your stockings, I can see your panties in the shot. They’re not very high-cut. It’s too bad, because I keep seeing this flash of white. If you’d been wearing high-cut ones, or a thong, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“Or if I were four inches taller.” I laughed and agreed with her. She paused for a moment, and then offered, “I could take them off. Would that help?”
“Well, we certainly wouldn’t have to worry about a flash of white in the shot if you did. It’s up to you.”
She looked around again, then reached under the dress and grabbed the waistband of her panties, pulling them down over the stockings, and off her feet. She looked around for a place to put them, when I said, “Hold them in one hand, and let them dangle from your fingers. I took another series of shots with her panties conspicuously visible in her hand, including a couple making her appear to be sniffing at the crotch.
I took more shots from the side, this time with her dress positioned to show not only all of her thigh above the stockings, but also a part of her ass. From some angles, the lower part of her vulva was visible, and I could tell that she had a full bush of pubic hair.
I moved in front of her, and had her move one leg lower, and a little to the side, exposing her triangle of hair, and some of her cleft. I could detect moisture through the longer lens I was using.
I moved a little closer to her as she asked, “Do you do this kind of photography often?”
“Do you mean the flowers, or shooting people?”
“Oh, I meant the people, especially women. Do you always get them to take their underwear off?”
“Well, taking your underwear off was your idea, but it seems to have agreed with you. You’re getting wet. Does the thought of getting naked for some photos turn you on?”
“Hmmm, I think it does.”
“Spread your knees, let me see.”
Amazingly, she opened her legs about two feet. I sat back and had a clear view of her wet labia, even through the forest of hair.
“Okay, I’m going to tell you what kind of photos I quite often take. We’ll see if you’re interested. You’ll have to imagine yourself as the model, and if that interests you, then maybe you should spend some time in my studio. Okay?”
She looked at me for a second, then nodded slowly, an undercurrent of fear visible on her face, but not strong enough to move her off the course I was setting.
“Okay. To start, put your fingers in the waistband of your panties, and stretch them out straight. Now, roll them from the waist to the crotch, just like you’d roll a cigar. When you’re done, hold the two ends of the roll, and tie a knot in the middle.”
She followed the instructions, looking at me a little puzzled. When she was done, I took the knotted panties, then held them to her mouth, and told her to open up. Another flash of fear crossed her face, but her lips opened, and I put the knot behind them and her teeth, turning the panties into a gag.
“I’m afraid you might make some noise, and we wouldn’t want the little kids to come running, now would we?”
She shook her head, and I thought I could hear a little moan, whether of fear or arousal I wasn’t sure.
“Now, put your hands behind your head, and lace your fingers together. Spread your knees wider.” Her dress moved up her thighs a little more, and her entire mound was now on display, with her separated labia on view. I thought that she could probably feel the breeze across her wet lips.
I moved up beside her, so I could speak in a low voice but still be able to look directly into her eyes. There was definitely a mixture of fear and arousal showing, but she wasn’t trying to get up and run away.
“Imagine yourself in my studio. You’re mostly naked. There is a big white ball gag in your mouth, and your red lips show in stark contrast to the white of the ball. There is a leather collar around your neck. It’s not so tight that you can’t breathe, but it forces you to keep your head up. You can’t look down at yourself. You’re on your knees; they are widely spread, but your ankles are crossed. Your wrists have leather cuffs on them. They are fastened behind your head, to the collar around your neck. Your ankles are also cuffed, and fastened together.
“You are on display. Anyone who comes into the room can see you, and you can’t stop them from touching you.” I ran my right hand down the side of her face, and over the front of her dress, pausing to squeeze each of her prominent breasts. “Your breasts bear the marks of a recent flogging; they are flushed a light red, and some stripes are visible across them.” I felt a sharp intake of breath from her at this comment. I moved my hand to her crotch, and pressed on her mound through the front of her dress. This time her moan sounded like complete arousal, with no fear.
“Someone whom you don’t know walks into the room, and looks at you. They reach out and touch you all over, rubbing, squeezing, poking, and pinching. They look into your eyes, and say ‘Now, slut, you are going to come for us, and we are going to photograph you while you do.’ They hold up two fingers, and a thumb, and they say that they are going to make you come with just those.”
As I said this, I held my right hand up in front of her face, and folded the fingers down, until only my first two fingers and my thumb were left. Her eyes were locked onto my hand and then my fingers the entire time. I slowly moved the hand down between her legs, then toward her pussy, and I inserted the fingers into her soaking entrance in a single move, sinking them into her depths.
She moaned loudly through the gag, and closed her eyes at the intensity of the feelings that were going through her mind and her body. She thought of herself as being in bondage based on my description, even though there was no impediment preventing her from simply walking away.
As the fingers bottomed out, I brought my thumb to rest on her clit, and started slowly rubbing it back and forth. “Open your eyes and look at me.” She straightened her head, focusing on my eyes. “Do you scream when you come? Do you make a lot of noise and thrash around?” After a moment, she slowly nodded.
“Well, I can imagine that you’re going to want to be very quiet when you come this time. After all, we don’t want your kid’s cricket coach to wonder what’s happening over here, do we?” She shook her head, and I could see the slight tinge of fear returning to her expression. “Oh, and keep your eyes open when you come. I want you to be looking into my eyes the whole time that your cute little body is thrashing around.”
My fingers had been moving throughout the conversation, and my thumb had been firmly rubbing her clitoris. Her hips were moving in time with my fingers and she moaned again as I wiggled my fingers inside her. I curled the tips of my fingers toward the front wall of her channel, and located the rough patch of her G-spot. I squeezed the front of her vulva between the thumb on her clit and the fingers in her hole, and rubbed both of them quickly and firmly.
Her breath started whistling through her nose, and her moans began to rise in volume, then clipped off as she remembered where she was. Her entire body tensed, and then started shaking as the spasms overtook her. I kept massaging her two hot spots, stretching the orgasm for her, and enjoying the crash of emotions across her face. Her hips were bucking into my hand, helping me drive my fingers into her depths, and I marvelled at the strength of the orgasm, thinking that she might be a lot of fun to play with in other circumstances. I could picture her in leather straps, in my studio, welts crisscrossing her body from a flogger, and knew that she would look beautiful in the photographs.
I also knew that she would look wonderful in the photographs that I had been taking over the past few minutes. My other camera had been focused on her the entire time, and I had been triggering the remote with my left hand. She had not noticed the sound of the shutter firing; I couldn’t wait to get these shots onto my computer. I was sure that a couple of them would look good displayed in my studio.
As she calmed down, I reached up to take the gag out of her mouth, and she swallowed hard, then asked, “Can I take my arms down now?”
My fingers were still embedded in her, and I moved them around, rubbing her clit a few times, lightly. “That depends. Would you like to come again?” I stepped up the pace of my thumb and she groaned.
“Please … please stop. I can’t take anymore. I’m too sensitive. It’s starting to hurt.”
“Okay, take your hands down. You looked like you enjoyed it. Was it hard not being able to scream?”
“C-c-can you please take your fingers out, and stop that?”
Reluctantly, I slid my fingers out of her wet pussy, and then brought them to my mouth for a taste. “Hmmm, you taste quite good. Here, clean them off.” I shoved the fingers forcefully between her lips, and felt her tongue go to work, removing her juices. The feel of her tongue woke up a few nerve endings of my own, between my legs, but I knew I couldn’t do anything about it at the moment.
“So, did you want to scream?”
“Yes. You made me come very hard, but the things you said scared me. Would you really put cuffs on me, and whip my breasts?”
“I think you’d really enjoy the whipping. The way you came here, just thinking about it, tells me that to experience it would make you come like there was no tomorrow. The whip sensitizes all of your skin. It wakes up every nerve ending you have, so you feel everything. Even the breeze out here, moving across your tits when they’ve been whipped, might make you come all by itself.
“I really enjoy whipping little girls like you, and photographing them when they’ve been whipped, or when they’re coming so hard they’re screaming their lungs out. And just after you’ve come, when you’ve got that ‘fresh fucked’ look, there’s a glow about you that can’t be captured any other time.”
Her eyes were getting a little glazed, and I could tell that thinking about what I was saying was raising her level of arousal again. I moved in close and spoke directly into her ear, putting a hand on her thigh and squeezing firmly.
“You want to do this again, I can tell. You want to be completely naked, and bound, and you want to come until you scream, then come again until your screaming makes you hoarse.” I slid the hand on her thigh up to her mound, and rubbed it firmly over her engorged labia. She moaned deep in her throat, her eyes closed, and her head flung back. I moved a finger to her clit, and started rubbing it very lightly, wanting to ramp up her arousal, but not make her come—that was for another time.
“Hmmmm … yes-s-s. I want to co-o-ome … please.”
“No, no, no slut. You said you were too sensitive, so I don’t want to hurt you. Here’s what you’re going to do … you’re going to come to my house, and I’m going to put you in all kinds of restraints, and I’m going to whip you, and I’m going to make you come, and you’re going to make me come, and we’re going to have all kinds of fun.” My finger kept sliding over her clit through the entire statement; I wanted her thinking with her clit and not her mind, or else she would never come into my bondage lair. “Is that what you’re going to do, slut?”
“Hmmm … yes-s-s, I’ll come to your house … please … I need to come.”
“No, slut. You get to come when I say you can come, and not before. You keep this little clittie hot for me until I get to play with it again. You keep your fingers off of it. If you come before I see you at my house, I’ll know, and you’ll get whipped for real. I’ll give you a whipping that will hurt, not just one that will turn you on. Understood?”
“Oh, and by the way, slut…” I moved my finger off her clit, and took hold of some of her pubic hair with a few fingers, then tugged on it. “If you aren’t shaved when you come to my house, then you will be when you leave.”
I let go of her, and stood up, then packed up the rest of my gear. She looked up at her panties, still in my left hand, and I held them out. “These are a souvenir for me. You might want to be careful how you sit at the rest of the cricket practice.” I put the panties in my gadget bag. “See you soon, slut.” I walked home, leaving her in the park, pondering her next step. I was fairly certain that she would soon be screaming in my studio.