Nandita To Nandini
- 3 years ago
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[K]itten And [T]eddybearChapter 3: Disclosure free porn video
Cindy:
They played phone tag for a week.
Sean:
Wednesday morning was a trial and a penance. Somewhat on a whim, I had taken an appointment to, as it turned out, bondage and domination dungeon. Being the cocky SOB that I am, I tried to turn the invitation back on my hostess. Unfortunately, she called my bluff. For almost 20 minutes she had put herself completely in my hands, and now I could not get her out of my head.
That morning, I had cut myself shaving, which is a bit of an achievement in these days of 5 - blade razors. Then I burnt the bacon, overcooked the eggs and completely forgot to make toast. If the coffee had not been set on a timer, I would have forgotten that. As it was, I burned the roof of my mouth before I let the cup go cold. It is probably a good thing I employ a driver.
Once at the office, things started to settle down. As usual, there were a dozen messages requiring immediate attention, of which three actually did need some work. I sorted those out, spent an hour speaking French, not my best language, to a cultural attaché that would not deign to speak English. After that brought my temper to a nice slow boil, I had the privilege of cutting a severance check to a big name studio, which had managed to shoot nothing usable in three weeks of work. Talking to my lawyer actually improved my mood. Frightening.
The icing on the cake was that Helen ordered lunch in. It was soup and sandwich from Cianfrani's. Three hours of wrangling with lawyers, agents and photographers had at least managed to drive Cynthia from my mind. As soon as I saw the Cianfrani logo, our lunch meeting, and everything else, came rushing back. I snarfed the sandwich, gave Helen the soup, and sent for the latest proofs from my new photographer. That gave me another hour of new joy. I almost bit Helen's head off when she brought me the messenger packet. She paused at the door, looking troubled. One look at the return address on the package closed my mouth with a click.
Helen left, and I opened the package. It was a standard flat document package, like millions of others. However, this one had come from Cynthia. Vaguely, I recalled something about disclosure documents, and that is what these were. I had a moment of amusement when I realized that all the documents referred to things that might happen to me, by Cynthia, and none of the reverse. As I had suspected, this was not a usual thing for her. I initialed and signed as indicated, reaching finally a photography page. Paper clipped to it was a thin folder. Curiosity got the better of my normal practice, and I removed the folder before reading the attached sheet. One look inside made up for the whole morning.
I recognized the scene immediately. It was a photograph of Cynthia, though no identifying features were visible. I had just let her hair down and was massaging her foot. The composition of the shot was very simple, but exquisitely done. Often simple work is the hardest to get right, and this was well up in the ranks of professional quality. The framing was perfect, in spite of the standard 8" x 10" size. Her muscle tension was clearly apparent, but the eye was drawn instantly to a curl of hair circling her rigid right nipple. It was one of those, I-saw-it-but-could-not-get-the-camera-fast-enough shots.
Only after dwelling on that rich detail, did I notice the perfect balance of the left beast, the lightly trimmed bush, and the dew drops of moisture on the cleft. I literally slapped my forehead at that point. I had visual proof that I had gotten a woman aroused, but left her unrequited. Ye Gods, forgive my ignorance. Then (seriously, only then) I noticed the bright red lipstick and the hand written note, "Love Your Work." The lipstick lips were in the position of the signature. That could not be accidental. I suddenly wondered how many other photos had the image of those lips.
The document explained the photograph. Cynthia had a digital camera set up to record all her work. This made excellent security sense, but I also saw the commercial possibilities. If this was an example of her work from fixed cameras, my admiration of her skill went up another notch. I was beginning to think I should have written that five figure check to a BDSM studio and not the photographic studio that received it.
I sat back and reviewed all that I had just seen. The broad outlines were crystal clear. She wanted me to continue coming to her studio, and sent the usual paperwork to encourage the same. She had had a positive reaction to our little session, and had given me a valuable keepsake of the moment, suitably personalized. It made a nice statement, but it seemed incomplete. Sure enough, there was a short hand written note still lying in the messenger envelope: "Call me." That seemed clear enough. Then I checked the numbers in the legal documents. This one was different. OK. Call me on my private line. I began to think that Mistress Cynthia wanted a relationship. For myself, I was not sure I remembered what a relationship was.
Leela
- 24.03.2022
- 23
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