Glamour Shots: Chapter 1 free porn video

You know how it is when something happens on one of the milestone dates in your life, or one of the ones on the calendar, something that then becomes inextricably tied to that date or that holiday each year when it rolls around? For me, for what I’m going to tell you about next, it started on my birthday, and I suppose I’ll always tie these events to that date. And that, for some reason strikes me as being very odd. Well, really it’s odd that it started at all, regardless of the date, but all the more so because it started on my birthday, October 22, 2012, when I turned thirty-two, a date that I will thus always pin as the very beginning of all of this that came next.

And all because of an incredible gift that my wife chose to give me that year, a gift that was all the more amazing because it was something so completely out of character for her. It was great, don’t get me wrong, but at the time I simply didn’t attach the significance to it that it would ultimately come to have. Of course, in my defense, there’s no way I could have known.

Alli – that’s Allison, my wife – surprised me by getting up early and coming out to the table, where I was eating my breakfast and reading the paper before heading off to work. She looked sleepy and sexy in her short robe and bare feet, her chestnut hair tousled and that soft innocence about her which would still be present, but much less obvious, once she was fully dressed, make-up applied, and perfectly coiffed for work. I go in early, starting my day by about 7:00 a.m. Mountain time, while she can sleep in until after 8:00 most days, after which she works from home for a few hours on her computer before going to a meeting, or to help out at the no-kill animal shelter that she founded.

Many days Alli’s work-time away from our home begins with a meeting with donors, but more often she just pitches in and does whatever needs doing with the animals – mostly dogs – that they care for as they try to find good homes for them. This day, however, she came to the table bright and early, looking drowsy, soft and sexy, her eyes smoky with sleepy sensuality and her hands behind her back.

She gave me one of those slow, sexy smiles that never fail to put some rather carnal thoughts in my head. “Hi baby. Happy birthday!”

I returned the smile. “Thanks beautiful – same to you! Well, it’s not your birthday, of course, but good morning anyway. Hell, you know what I mean.”

She laughed, which had been my goal in intentionally screwing up my response, and then bent to kiss me. “Fortunately I do, you glib, articulate charmer, you. I have a birthday present for you. Would you rather open it now, or wait until this evening?”

“You’re still meeting me downtown for dinner, right? I thought you were taking me out to dinner as my birthday present.”

“Yes, I’m still meeting you, and yes, that is your present. This is something else, a little something that was just a whim; do you want to unwrap it now, or wait until we get home – after I take you to dinner?”

I pulled her to me and tugged on the belt of her robe, untying it. “Mmmm, I think I’ll open it now; I can always go in a little late, if necessary.”

She quickly freed one of her hands and pushed mine away. “Not me! I mean, you can have that too if you want, but I have an actual present for you.”

“Whatever it is, it can’t possibly be as nice as this one.” I reached around her and pulled her to me, my hands squeezing her firm buttocks as I did so. She whipped a wrapped package out from behind her back and held it between us, squarely in my face, effectively creating a wall.

“This, Davey, I mean this package!” That’s me, Davey, although she’s the only one that calls me that. To everyone else I’m either Dave or David, or maybe Mr. Baxter. She’s Allison Baxter, formerly Allison Delaney, and right now Mrs. Baxter was holding my birthday gift directly in my face. “Here, open it now – it will give you something to do to keep your hands busy for a minute.” I took it from her, and she was laughing as she pulled away. “Jeez, you’re like an octopus sometimes!”

The package was not terribly heavy, maybe a pound or two, and was roughly three inches thick and about a foot by maybe fourteen or fifteen inches, not quite square. It was nicely wrapped in birthday paper in bright colors, and had ribbons and a bow around it. Fancy, the way Alli does things. She takes pride in the presentation of things, and is always meticulous about how packages are wrapped.

I was as meticulous in unwrapping it, carefully peeling the tape away and opening it from the seams rather than just ripping it to pieces. She prodded me along. “Hurry! Quit goofing around and just open it!”

I grinned at her. “Now, now! I’m trying to show proper appreciation – and aren’t you the one that always says that the anticipation is the best part of these things?”

“Yeah, well, screw that! Just open it, OK? I want to see what you think.”

Laughing, I stopped dawdling and tore the paper off, uncovering a white cardboard gift box, generic, with no outward markings to reveal the original source of the gift. I set the box on the table and pulled the lid off, setting it aside before turning back to the tissue-wrapped contents. When I folded the tissue paper back and got my first look at what was inside, my breath caught!

It was a beautifully framed 8 x 10 photo of my wife, a portrait of my gorgeous, sexy, incredible wife, obviously professionally done, and both the subject and the quality of the work were stunning! It wasn’t just a photo though; it was one of those special photos, where the subject (always female) is specially made up, with period costume and hairstyle to mimic the glamorous era of the 1930’s and 40’s, in the fashion of those famous photos of celebrities such as Veronica Lake, Betty Grable, or Rita Hayworth. On Allison, my sweet girl, the effect was stunning!

The picture was amazing! It differed from the traditional glamour shots only in that it was in full color, while so many of the most memorable of the vintage photos were in black and white, but other than that it reflected the era. Except that Allison could have put any of those old-time stars to shame. She wore a deep crimson lipstick – something she never did - which drew attention to her full lips, lips that were set in a sultry pout, and both the lighting and the makeup had been carefully designed to flatter the fine bone structure of her beautiful face, to accentuate her cheekbones and the slightly exotic angle of her eyes.

And those eyes! Her eyes were one of her best features – even she, a very modest person by nature, will admit that! Everyone comments on her eyes, the unusual jade green color, a slight Asian-looking angle (despite her claims that she is unaware of any Asian heritage), and the unintentional sensuality that the combination delivers. The makeup artist had done a masterful job of shading her eyelids and applying eyeliner and mascara, and her eyes, in the photo, were impossible to ignore. Only those of us that look closely into those unique eyes, however, will ever notice the tiny golden rays that radiate out from her dark pupils like a tiny sunburst, fine points of gold in the jade. The photographer had obviously noticed, because he had done an amazing job of capturing that feature.

Her long, dark hair fell in soft waves that framed her delicate features, a tumbling mass of shimmering chestnut brown, the soft reflections of the romantic lighting and the subtle auburn highlights captured as additional points of focus, a couple more small pieces of the glorious whole as seen by a true artist.

The photographer had taken this shot with her staring straight into the camera, in a way that struck me as a very sexy, sensual challenge. I know that there is a tendency we all have to read things into what we see, to interpret such things as paintings, sculpture, or, in this case, a photo in our own way, in a manner that reflects our own lives and experiences, but to me Allison was challenging the viewer to approach her, to dare to get close, and to challenge her in return. Perhaps even to try to take her, possess her. That was my sense anyway, and I found it very enticing.

Although consumed by the beauty of her face and held rapt by those eyes, I couldn’t help but notice that the shot was taken with her lying on her stomach on some sort of flat surface that was covered with a soft, flowing fabric of some sort, perhaps satin sheets or some other fabric that would lay in gentle folds and display a subtle sheen. The reason I noticed – what drew my eyes – was the fact that the entire upper halves of her breasts were exposed, nearly down to her nipples! Only a soft fold of ivory colored satin concealed her more private assets; I know I was staring. The photo showed perfect, pale mounds, full and taut above a very low-cut satin gown of the same color as the sheets, skillfully lit, with a dark shadow which descended into her ample cleavage, leading the eye. Alli has great breasts – not great as in huge, but great as in perfect – perfect in shape, in size, and in the way they seemed to fit her, to match her overall body proportions, and with pert and perfect dark, rosy nipples which are quite sensitive and responsive, and which always seem eager to announce her degree of arousal. She sometimes says her breasts are too small; as for me, I love them!

She had her right elbow resting on the platform on which she was laying, so that the upper part of her body was raised, her arm bent so that her hand was up beneath her chin, which rested lightly on the backs of her fingers. Her other hand, the one with her wedding and engagement ring on it, was flat on the satin sheet in front of her, the diamonds sparkling in the light. It was the smaller set that she insisted on wearing, the best I could afford at the time that I had asked her to marry me. Later, when I had started to make decent money, I had bought her a bigger, flashier replacement set, but she seldom wore that, claiming that the original set was her favorite and that she would always love it best.

The photographer had obviously taken the photo using a very large aperture, and even then perhaps biased the focus to a point slightly in front of his subject, because only her face and hands were truly in clear focus; everything beyond that softened to fuzzy, indistinct forms, with even the hair along the sides of her head beginning to soften and lose focus, so shallow was the depth of field. Further back, pretty much completely out of focus, I could see that her feet were in the air, her knees obviously bent, and her legs crossed at the ankles, and also the twin mounds of her beautiful buttocks, which appeared soft and hazy – quite different than real life, in which her buttocks are actually quite firm, and anything but hazy!

I’m not sure that my words can adequately describe it, but the photo was of an extraordinary woman that was undeniably beautiful and at her physical peak, but who was also incredibly sexy and sensual, captured in the full blush of her beauty by an artist that knew how to use light, shadow, composition, form, color, and probably things I am utterly unaware of to bring out the beauty, sensuality, and femininity of his subject. It was glorious; my bride in a whole new light, and it took my breath away.

I don’t know whether I stared at the photo for a minute, or five, or ten, but I was thoroughly absorbed in it, taking in every detail, every subtle nuance… and yet I always came back to the eyes, those amazing eyes that seemed to be staring right back into my own. In fact, I was so captivated by the eyes in the picture that I almost forgot that the real eyes – and their owner – were right here in our kitchen with me! I had not even noticed when she had stepped behind me so that she could look at the picture over my shoulder, and so I jumped, slightly startled when I felt her hands touch my neck and shoulders.

“Well?”

All I could get out was a strangled “Wow!”

She laughed. “Is that a good ‘wow’, or a bad ‘wow’?”

I glanced up at her, and then looked again at her picture. “It’s an incredible wow, as in amazing, glorious, unbelievably incredible wow! This is just beautiful…I mean, you’re always beautiful, but this just captures it like…” I paused, momentarily at a loss for words. “It’s like the camera loves you, like it’s just been sitting there on a tripod or something for years, waiting and praying for you to come along.”

She laughed again. “So you like it?”

“Like doesn’t begin to describe it! I absolutely love it; it’s just so…I don’t know, maybe sensual? Certainly gorgeous. Who took…I mean how, uhh, where did you get it…” I trailed off, still gazing at the picture.

I looked up at her again, just in time to see her brush her hand across her eyes, perhaps wiping away a tear or two. “I’m so glad you like it. I hesitated to do it; I thought maybe giving you a picture of myself might seem a little egotistical or vain or something, but Sherry said she’d had hers done, and her husband really liked it.”

Sherry is a longtime friend of ours, and Alli’s second in command at the shelter. She’s also a part-time real estate agent – strictly residential – and not an unattractive lady, but also not in Alli’s league in the looks department. Her husband Rob is a construction foreman, a big-time beer drinker with the belly to prove it and, despite being rather gruff and a little rough around the edges, a truly nice guy. They are probably our closest friends.

I looked at her. “And Sherry is nowhere near as beautiful as you. You look gorgeous. You could put movie stars and models to shame. I really do love it, but where in the world did you get it done?”

She was actually blushing, and she made another swipe at her eyes, at what I hoped were tears of joy. “I was so nervous about what you’d say. I was afraid you’d laugh at me, but I should have known better. You’re always so sweet.” She softly caressed my neck, and then bent and kissed my cheek. “I got it done at that place in the mall, the one we always walk past right by where we go in, called ‘Sizzles” – you remember.”

I did. “Oh yeah, the place where they always have the pictures and posters like this plastered all over the windows! You know, I always thought that a place with a name like ‘Sizzles” should have been a burger place, or maybe one that specialized in bacon.” She laughed and I went on, contradicting myself “Babe, they’ve never had a picture anything like this in their window – I mean, this is just head and shoulders above any of that other stuff.”

She performed a small curtsy. “Why thank you! You flatter me.”

I laughed. “Well yeah, the subject matter couldn’t have been any better, of course, but also the quality of the work. This is really expert photography. Why would someone with this kind of talent be working at a schlocky place like that?”

She smiled. “Apparently I lucked out. The day that I went to get this done a new guy was there, a guy named Derek. He’s actually a commercial photographer, but he just started working there, one day each week. He said he makes a little extra money, makes a few contacts, and he’s also trying to rebuild and update his portfolio, and working there at the mall gives him the opportunity to do those things.”

“Ah, so he’s a real pro that just fills in occasionally? You were pretty lucky – and as a result, so am I!” I held up the picture.

She smiled at me. “I hope you really like it.”

“Oh, I do, it’s incredible…now, about that other present that I was trying to unwrap…” I laid the picture back in the box and pulled her around and onto my lap, tugging at the belt of her short robe.

She grabbed my hands, stopping me. “Davey, wait! I need to ask you something.”

I waited, but she seemed to hesitate. I finally prodded her. “Well, go ahead; I’m all ears.”

She wriggled around on my lap, grinding her bottom against my erection. “Hmm, that doesn’t feel like an ear to me.”

“OK, so I’m ninety percent ears and ten percent horny dick. Talk to the ninety so that we can then focus on the ten.”

“Ten percent? Let’s see…you’re about six foot one, around a hundred and eighty pounds, so ten percent of that would be roughly… Well, let’s just say ten percent of that would make you eligible for the Guinness Book of World Records – and very popular with the ladies!”

I laughed. “I think a eighteen pound cock would send them running – in the opposite direction, of course. Now, if you’re done making fun of my extremely eager but less than eighteen pound dick, back to what you wanted to say…?”

She instantly became serious, a worried look crossing her face. “Well, the thing is, Derek – that’s the photographer, remember, Derek Chambers – he asked me if I would be willing to sign a model’s release so that he could use me in his portfolio.”

I hadn’t expected that! “Really? Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” I looked again at the portrait before indicating it with a wave of my hand. “That’s fine work, with a beautiful model; it would certainly enhance any portfolio. What did you tell him?”

“I told him I couldn’t sign something like that without checking with you first, of course.”

I was touched, but still… “Babe, you’re an adult; you can make these decisions without me. I mean, I appreciate the consideration of course, but I don’t own you, or control you like that. The whole idea makes me very uncomfortable. We’re equal partners in this marriage, remember?”

“No, I know that! It’s just that, well, you know more about the legalese and all that kind of stuff. I’m fine with letting him use my picture, but I wanted you to read over the release and make sure that it says what it needs to say. I’d just feel better that way.”

“Oh. Well sure, I can do that. Why don’t you get it and I’ll take a look.” She had a valid point; I’m a one-third owner of a commercial real estate brokerage, and as such I deal with legal contracts all the time. The single page release that she handed me was child’s play next to the voluminous contracts – often worth several million dollars - that I was accustomed to dealing with. She seated herself on my knees facing me, straddling my legs, and as I read through the short document she busied herself tracing the bulge in my pants with her fingertips. It was exquisite, but distracting, as I tried to focus my attention on the wording of the release while my cock strained at the thin worsted of my dress slacks.

I had finished reading it, but I let her continue to touch and stroke for a few moments before I alerted her to that fact. “It looks all right to me.”

“Why are you so hard?”

“What? Why? Oh, I don’t know; you think it could have something to do with you fondling me?”

She shook her head. “You were rock hard before I ever touched it.”

“Oh, you mean after you were grinding that gorgeous little round butt of yours against me? Yeah, that is a mystery.”

She shook her head again. “No, you were hard when you first pulled me onto your lap; I felt it. But why?”

I chuckled. “Well, let’s see.” I began to tick off the reasons on my fingertips. “Reason A, it’s morning; you know me and mornings. Item B, here you are looking all rumpled and sleepy and sexy in your short little robe – which I happen to know for a fact has nothing under it but you; and then reason C, if the first two are not enough, you gave me that picture of some gorgeous bombshell looking all hot and sexy, flashing me her cleavage and staring at me with those eyes that just dare me to come and take her. And you’re surprised that I’m aroused?” I chuckled again. “I’d have to be dead not to get turned on at this point – and even then it’s a possibility.”

She smiled seductively and leaned forward to kiss me. It turned into a long and passionate kiss, our tongues performing an intricate dance, her back arched so that her breasts pressed against my chest. She eventually pulled away. “You’re so sweet, giving me all the credit for your horniness.”

I laughed. “Well, you’re the only one in the room. Well, you and the temptress in the picture, of course.”

“Mmm-hmm – and good thing for you that the temptress is me, or you’d be in big trouble! So the form looks OK to you?”

I nuzzled her neck. “Your form looks perfect to me.”

She pushed me away. “Not my form – that form!”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that one. Yes Alli, it looks fine. It’s written very narrowly, specifying that he can use you solely for his own portfolio, to be utilized only for the purposes of displaying and demonstrating his work for prospective clients, and also specifying that all photos taken on this certain date, at this certain time, and at the specified location are the only ones referenced by this release. It looks like it gives you pretty good protection, provided that the time, date, and location he listed are correct.” There was something nagging at me about the release, some subtle thing that I felt I should notice but wasn’t; perhaps that’s because Alli was slowly stroking my penis through my pants, her fingers on one side of my rigid shaft and her thumb on the other, very slowly and softly masturbating my aching sex. I’m going to blame my failure to see the obvious on lack of blood supply to my brain; a significant portion of my total blood volume was busy elsewhere.

She nodded. “Yes, those are all correct. Well, I guess I’ll sign it if it’s OK then. You’re sure you don’t mind him using my pictures?”

I shrugged. “No, it all looks very professional. If you’re all right with it, then I suppose…” suddenly, despite the fact that she was still fondling me, the thing I had been missing snapped into focus (to use the appropriate photographic euphemism). “Wait a second Alli – pictures? You said ‘pictures’ and the release specifies ‘photos’. How many photos are we talking about here? More than just this one?”

She stopped rubbing me, although she continued to hold on. She looked down first, to where her hand gripped my cock, and then off to the side, and finally over my shoulder before meeting my eyes. When she did there was something in her expression – a touch of worry perhaps, or maybe even guilt – that concerned me. “What’s going on?”

“David…” I knew it was serious if she was calling me “David”; it’s her third default after Davey and Dave. “David, of course there are other photos! You know how photographers work. They take lots of shots, different poses and angles, different lighting, different exposures; they take tons of shots while everything is set up, and then work from proofs and thumbnails – computers now, I guess, since everything is digital – to select the best ones to print. Time is money, and film – or pixels, if you prefer – are cheap. No pro is going to take one shot and count on it being good enough to print. Or sell.”

She was right of course; no photographer takes one shot, especially when they have someone sitting for a portrait or are doing commercial work. Technically, Alli’s shoot was both, and he had probably taken dozens of photos. “Well, that’s true I guess. What else does he have – did he print any other ones for you?”

She again looked away, hesitating before answering. “Yes, he did. I have a few others.”

“Do I get to see them?”

“Now?”

I frowned. “No time like the present; is that a problem?”

“Well, no, I guess not. Won’t you be late for work?”

“I’m the boss; I can be late if I want to.” Technically, since there were three equal partners, I wasn’t ‘the’ boss, but I was certainly a boss. We had a meeting with clients scheduled for that morning, but Louis (one of my partners, Louis Nolan) and I were planning to meet with them together. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle on his own. Besides, the meeting wasn’t until 9:45, so I still had plenty of time.

“You’re sure you really want to see them – now, I mean?”

“Alli, the release specifies all photos from this shoot. If there’s something you’re worried about me seeing, you probably shouldn’t sign it.”

She thought about that for a moment before nodding. “Well, OK – but you have to promise not to get upset.”

I hadn’t really been worried before; now I was. “You do know I’m not the type of person that gets upset easily, right?” She smiled, and I reached out and stroked her cheek before sliding my fingers back and through her thick, dark hair until they rested on the back of her neck, and she leaned her cheek against my palm. “I can’t really promise something like that in advance, but let’s say that I’ll do my best. Get the pictures babe, and let’s take a look at them.”

She slid off my lap, which required that she release her hold on my cock; that was the downside to my request, but it couldn’t be helped. I admired the rear view as she walked away, down the hall to the room she uses as her office. In just a few seconds I was able to admire the front view as she returned, carrying a dark, burgundy colored folder, which she laid on the table in front of me before again settling herself on my lap, this time facing away, positioned such that the hard ridge of my penis pressed firmly against her ass. She twisted slightly to put one arm over my shoulders and turned her head to kiss me. “Remember, this is me, and the photographer was a total pro; nothing happened there that day except photographs, OK?”

“You’re starting to scare me.”

She laughed. “Sure! Nothing ever scares you!” She was wrong about that; there are any number of things that scare me, and any thought of living my life without her in it – for any reason – was at the top of that list. She went on, unaware of my thoughts. “All right, these first few pages are what he calls proofs, but they’re not those little tiny things you’re used to seeing; he prints them out like this…” she laid a stack of three pages in front of me on the table and then splayed them out, like playing cards. I could see that each page – sheets of white, standard-size copier paper – held six photos, two across by three down. She continued “…these are the other shots of the same one I gave you. He likes to print them this size first so that he can see details and pick the best shot – which you seem to think he did!”

I looked at them. The colors were less vibrant and the focus somewhat less sharp than if the pictures had been printed on good quality photographic stock, but other than that each picture differed from the beautiful framed portrait that she’d given me only in the most minute details; the angle of her head, subtle changes in light and shadow, depth of field, perhaps the way the camera had caught her amazing eyes, or the way the folds of fabric lay across her breasts. They were all good – very good, actually – but she was right; my eyes almost immediately went to the one that I knew was the particular one she had given me. He had definitely picked the best, most beautiful and seductive shot to enlarge, the single one that possessed some unique quality that made it stand out even among the eighteen shots I was looking at.

I looked at them. “These are all good, any one of them would be a spectacular photo, but yeah, I’d have to say he done good.”

She laughed. “If I ever see him again I’ll be sure to tell him that you think ‘he done good’. I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that.”

“So is that it? I don’t see what you were so worried about.”

She chewed her lower lip for a moment, staring into my face from just inches away. “No, that’s not it. There are more.” She dug back into the folder and came out with a small stack of what I recognized as 5 x 7 prints, on photographic stock that was trying to curl just slightly, as unframed photos are wont to do.

She held them so that I could see only the back side of the last photo - the bottom, as it were, of the stack. “He asked me to let him take some black and white shots, partly just because he likes working in black and white, partly because he wanted some vintage looking pictures for his file, because he says that clients can really see the quality of work in them better than they can in color shots, and partly because he said I was the perfect subject for it and he thought that I – and you – might really like the way they turned out.”

She paused, just looking at me for a moment, her eyes moving as they searched my face for some clue about my thoughts; since I had not seen the pictures yet I really didn’t know what to think, but her whole attitude was kind of freaking me out. She sighed and squared her shoulders, as if preparing to take the plunge. “All right then, here goes.”

She flipped over the first shot as she handed it to me. The photographer was right; he did do fine work in that medium, and Allison did look stunningly beautiful. The part that was up in the air was whether I’d appreciate the way she looked. Oh, she looked great, there’s no question of that, but what struck me first, like a punch to the gut, was that she also looked very exposed, and very vulnerable. These pictures could not have been more different than the framed portrait unless he had also chosen a different model. But he hadn’t.

No, this was definitely my wife, Alli, in glorious black and white. They had completely changed her makeup, removing the dark red lipstick and most of the eye makeup, softening her look and making her much more natural, but no less beautiful. This looked more like the Alli that I see every day, her lips full, but the light gray shade – probably a pale pink – much more subdued. Her eyes were pure and natural, maybe a little mascara but not much else, which didn’t detract from the beauty of those unique eyes; it simply allowed for the focus to be on the sparkle in them rather than the shape and color. If her eyes in the portrait had issued a sexy challenge, these eyes issued a sensual invitation instead.

Her hair was not perfectly styled as it was in the portrait either, but rather mussed and tousled and falling partly in her face – much like it was right now, when she had just crawled out of bed – which also made her appear softer and more approachable, and the lighting was artistically done to highlight and shadow the fine bone structure of her face to best advantage. She was posed with one arm bent so that her hand was up by her collarbone, fingertips touching her neck, and the other hand was on her hip, elbow out; all of her weight was on one leg, her other knee bent so that just her toes were on the floor, and her chin was down slightly so that she was looking out through her lashes toward the camera, although not directly into the lens.

She had also changed her apparel, from the soft satin gown to…well, that’s really the thing that I was stuck on, you see. What she was wearing here in this photo was not much; what appeared to be a man’s white cotton shirt, old and soft, comfortable-looking, not crisp and freshly pressed. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and it was unbuttoned down to the third button, collar spread, exposing her cleavage and the upper curve of her breasts; it was also quite thin, so much so as to be almost transparent. So thin, in fact that the shape of her breasts and the dark rose circles of her nipples were readily apparent through the fabric, as was the fact that those nipples were firmly erect. Other than the shirt, she wore only a pair of lace panties – a thong, really, with a small white lace triangle covering her mound, her dark patch of downy curls plainly visible through the lace.

I knew I was just sitting and staring at the photo for quite some time. I also knew that Alli was waiting for me to say something, and I could almost feel her trepidation about what that something might be. When I finally found my voice, I said “How could you do this?” My voice sounded strained, even to me.

She looked shocked, and I saw the hurt in her eyes. “What? What do you mean? Don’t you like it? Are you upset with me?”

I waved my hands, palms down, stopping her before she carried the misunderstanding any farther. “No, the picture is beautiful – you’re beautiful. What I mean is how could you - shy, modest, easily-embarrassed you - pose for shots like this, dressed like this. You’re self-conscious when you wear a two-piece swimsuit! Babe, you gotta admit, this doesn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination. How did you manage to overcome all of that?”

I could see the soft blush climb her neck and begin to bloom on her face. “Well, really it was pretty weird; scary, at first. But you’re not mad, or upset?”

“Well, to tell the truth, I’m not wild about the idea that some guy you barely know – and I’ve never even met – was ogling you looking like this. Jeez Alli, you’ve hardly got anything on! They take pictures like this at the mall? Our cheesy little mall?”

“Oh c’mon Davey! It’s not like I was in the middle of the food court or something! They have very private studios where all the photos are taken, with private dressing rooms.”

“Or undressing rooms, as the case may be” I grumbled.

“Stop, OK? Look, they did my hair – actually all of the women’s hair and makeup - out in the storefront, where you can see those salon chairs when you walk past in the mall. That’s part of the draw for people walking by, to see it being done and catch their interest, I guess; maybe it helps to drum up business. But for all of the actual pictures we were in a very private studio at the rear of the space. I saw doors marked A, B, and C, so I think they have three. At least three.”

I was still looking at the picture she’d given me, looking back and forth between it and her face, but I was becoming very curious what was on the remainder of the pictures she held in her hands as well. “So then you’re just locked up in a room with this guy, barely dressed, while he ogles you and takes pictures?”

“Stop saying that! He doesn’t do that; he was very professional the entire time – and also, his assistant, Jennifer was there the whole time too.” I could tell she was becoming upset with me, which was not what I intended to happen. I appreciated the gift very much, and had no desire to spoil the moment. In addition, there’s the fact that I trust her completely, but I was somewhere between surprised and shocked that she had allowed herself to be photographed this way. She truly is a very modest and shy person, especially when you consider how attractive she is. Not puritanical or prudish by any means, just very private.

“Alli, don’t get upset, OK? I’m just trying to get a picture in my head of, well, how you got these pictures. The whole thing just seems so out of character – I mean I love it, and the pictures – both of them – are beautiful, but it’s just weird to me; you know, that you’d do it at all. I guess I’m pretty glad that he kept his assistant there.”

“Well she was, the entire time. I was nervous at first too Davey, but I just plowed ahead.”

“And you didn’t mind him seeing you like this, looking at you practically naked?”

“I am not practically naked! I’m covered; it’s just a little bit see-through is all.” Before I could point out that it was more than “a little bit see-through”, she shrugged and went on. “Besides, I don’t think he ever looked at me except through the lens of his camera.”

“Really? Then he’s either insane, a eunuch, or he’s gay.”

She laughed. “Stop! He’s none of those, he’s just extremely professional, like I said. I was so nervous when we started that I couldn’t relax, and he could tell that I was all stiff and tense. He just sort of…I don’t know, talked to me, I guess. He just talked like we were sitting waiting for a bus or something, very easy and natural, and then once he got me to relax, when he started shooting, he had this prattle-thing going on.”

“So he’s Derek, the prattling photographer. What did he prattle about?”

She tweaked my nose and ground her bottom against my still-hard cock. “You sound a little jealous, my love.”

“Maybe I am, a little. Do you think it’s strange for me to feel that way?”

She kissed me. “No, but you shouldn’t. We were at the mall, remember? Nothing bad ever happens at the mall.”

I returned her kiss, touching her tongue with my own, and ran my hand up her thigh until my fingers touched her soft, downy curls; I was right, she had nothing on beneath her little robe. “Oh, I don’t know about that; remember those green shoes you bought? You gotta admit, those were pretty bad.”

She laughed again. I love her laugh. “OK, you’ve got me there. Do you want to see the rest of these pictures?”

I was dying to, but I tried to act casual. “Sure, why not?” She began to show them to me, one-by-one, laying each one face up on the table after I’d seen it. The first few were variations of the first one, with subtle changes to her pose, or the lighting or exposure, or to her facial expression or the way her hair or her shirt were arranged. They were surprisingly good, crystal clear and sharp, and they showed very skillful use of light and shadow, so very important when you have only the gray scale of the black and white medium with which to portray your visual artistry. Allison was beautiful, and he’d done a fine job of capturing her beauty, as well as her sensuality. Then again, he’d intentionally dressed her in a very sensual manner.

When she got to what I think was the fifth photo in her stack, I stopped her. “Holy cow! Jeez Alli, that’s pretty daring!”

“Mmm, it’s one of my favorites.” The one she described as one of her favorites was a shot of her from the rear, although she was twisted at her hips so that the side of her upper torso was visible, and her head was turned so that she was looking at the camera over her shoulder. The pose was very flattering to her legs – which, by the way, can totally get by on their own, without a whole lot of flattery. Alli is five foot eight, of which a significant percentage is legs…long, shapely legs; one of the first things that I ever noticed about her was those legs, and it was clear that Derek the Photographer had also noticed them.

The other part that was eminently visible in this shot was her perfect little ass, totally bare save for the narrow band of white lace, the back part of her tiny thong, which was nestled snugly between her cheeks! The thin strip of lace was the prime meridian, dividing the eastern and western hemispheres of a very cute, very pert, and very firm and well-formed little butt…my wife’s little butt! The little butt that I thought she only showed to me, the same one that was currently pressed tightly against my raging erection!

If that wasn’t enough, the side view of her torso also proudly displayed a fine profile of her breast through the thin white shirt, her hard and jutting nipple thrusting out so that the fabric draped from that dark little nub in a soft fold. This photo was by far the most blatantly sexual of anything we’d seen thus far, and my cock strained against her. My fingers, resting on her thigh and still barely touching her soft bush, began to move on their own, to explore, lightly caressing the inside of her thigh, gently stroking her soft curls. “Alli, that one is almost x-rated!”

“No it isn’t! I mean, it’s not pornographic or anything…it’s more like an old-time pin-up, really. One of those whatchacallits, those cheesecake photos.”

She had a point; it was not in any sense pornographic, not compared to some of the stuff you see out there today! In fact, it was quite mild in that comparison, with no resemblance to some of the photos that look as though they belong in an anatomy or gynecology textbook, or perhaps a bonfire. This photo – like all of them, actually - was romantic, maybe, and sexy certainly, but also playful. And that’s what the small smile on her lips and the gleam in her eyes said; “Come play with me.” There was that invitation again, and it was very alluring. “I guess you’re right; but it’s very hot, you have to admit that. Very sexy, very sensual. You’re just so damn beautiful!”

She took a deep breath, in which I detected a slight shudder, and said “Mmmm.”

I wasn’t sure if that “mmm” was an appreciative acknowledgement of my compliment, or an appreciative response to the fact that my fingers had just found her warm, slick center and parted her lips to lightly touch the hard bud of her clit. Either way it seemed a positive thing, and it was gratifying – and arousing – to discover that she was as turned on as I was!