Exhibitions and Adventures Ch. 02
Keywords: Exhibitions, Ch., 02, and, Adventures,
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She moved slightly forward on her chair.
"Experimental sex then?" I smiled and laughed.
"Call it dialectic sex. My thesis, your reaction as antithesis, move onto the synthesis or try another thesis. Sex as a debate perhaps."
"So it's an intellectual exercise..."
"Of course..."
"What do today's photo's say?"
It genuinely was quickfire conversation. Challenging and intriguing.
"Defining glamour on your own terms. Gothic is a form of romanticism, but you're trying to connect it to eroticism that doesn't depend on a love interest. It asks questions as well. Are you playing with images from pornography, or are you saying that those things can have other meanings than the ones we traditionally attach to them?"
No movement from the leg resting against mine, no change in facial expression that you could describe, but a sense that we'd made the transition from flirtation to something else.
"Traditional meanings?"
"Traditional porn, if it's visual, doesn't tell you about the model's intelligence. We always attribute the intelligence to the photographer, or the consumer. But the intelligence today was yours."
"So who was in charge?"
"Do I tell you I was in charge, and risk offending you? Or tell you that you were in charge, and risk disappointing you?"
"Would you rather be a voyeur or be in charge?" Deep breath time; a moment to place my cards on the table.
"When I'm in charge I can be both. And I'm sure that can make space for what you want to be..."
"You know what I want to be? I don't know that I do..."
"So I create the space. Right now, based on what I know, I think you like being submissive. I don't think you like being led so much as being in a place where things happen. I didn't tell you to bend over the boot of the car; you did it, to see what happened. You weren't submitting to me; you were putting yourself into a place where you might have to submit to me. Where you are now...
I think you love yourself being glamorous. I can arrange a coincidence of glamour and sex for you."
"So when does this start? This adventure in submission for me?"
I know mocking ironic enthusiasm sounds like a cumulative contradiction, but that was what her expression conveyed.
"It can start as soon as we've finished these drinks. You can take your jacket into the toilet, put your top and any panties you're wearing in your handbag, unbutton your skirt almost to the top, then come and pose for some pictures on the way back across to the hotel."
And she obeyed.
As simply as that.
Picked up her coat, walked to the toilets, and returned. The pub was almost empty; she saw me waiting for her, camera in hand, and paused at the step up onto our raised seating area, her left leg on the step, her right leg at floor level, coat half open and the skirt falling around her raised thigh. I took the first photo, then gestured to her to hold her coat wider. She did. She reached down and held her skirt wider apart as well, not revealing any more of her groin, but showing more of her legs, turning so that her thigh was more clearly visible.
She turned as I joined her, smiled at a barman who was trying to work out what was going on, left her coat undone as we made our way through the porch into the car park. I held out my hand to her.
"I'll take your coat."
Again no question from her, or indeed, any visible reaction.
I folded the coat over my forearm as I took in the view of her, began to direct her to pose.
The corset, tightly laced, the neat bows hanging from the middle of the back, the bare landscape of her shoulders, the black fall of hair along the line of her spine.
The skirt, plain and undemonstrative from the back, provocative and wicked from the front, a frame for thighs divided along their length by suspenders..
The boots, gleaming in the flash light as I made her pose with one foot up on a plant pot as if adjusting the laces.
The silver ring on her second finger, almost as pale as the skin of her mound, sharply contrasted when I demanded she stroke her clit while leaning back against the fake pillars of the portico of the pub.
And the whiteness of her teeth against her cherry lipstick as I took the final shot, of her licking that finger.
She was relieved when I gave her the coat to drape round her shoulders. She would have been happier if I had allowed her to put her arms in the sleeves. But then the hotel receptionist wouldn't have got as clear an impression of how lucky I was to be with such a sexy woman. Joss smiled at that. She smiled too, but more nervously, when I made her repeat the clit stroking for the camera in the lift, the door held open by her foot, her head bowed a little by the awkward pose, while I stood away from her. I could see around the corner, could see the receptionist and any guests making their way to the lifts. Joss had to trust me. She didn't stop touching herself until I lowered the camera, not even when her face flushed and her mouth pouted around a murmur of arousal.
She had to trust me. If she were to obey, as she wanted to, she had to trust me. I started to say that sentence as the lift doors closed, and she finished it for me. Between the ground floor and the second I unfastened her skirt completely, took it off her and folded it over my arm. Try as she might her coat wouldn't close completely from the waist down. I told her to stop trying.
Our rooms were around a corner of the corridor, the last two on a south facing wing of the hotel. At the bend in the corridor I stopped, gestured at the coat. She understood, took her card key from the pocket of the coat, then added the coat to the skirt draped over my arm. She walked away from me toward her bedroom door, and I called to her to slow down so the camera could get another shot of her buttocks, athletic but pale against the black of the corset.
Something inside me expected the spell to break when she opened the door. It didn't. She hung the coat on a hanger in the wardrobe, the stood in the centre of the room, hands by her side. Waiting.
So I instructed her to pose. In front of the mirror looking at her reflection. Seated on the only chair, looking at her legs. Spreadeagled, legs over the arms of the chair, hands behind her head. Kneeling, buttocks raised, on the bed. Kneeling on the bed with her hand between her legs, her fingers entering herself. Lying on the bed, one knee raised, a parody of the recovery position, one hand on her buttocks. The same pose, with the hand straying lower on the buttock, closer to her crease. On her back knees apart, no pretence at art, except perhaps the languid way her hand draped over her pussy, one finger parting her lips and probing. Not the index finger but her middle finger, stroking and pushing at herself. I took pictures selectively, waiting for the flash to recharge, waiting for her breathing to become more ragged, her face more flushed. She came, with the camera pointing at her face. As she caught her breath she called me a bastard. A lovely cruel bastard. And stayed in her pose on the bed, waiting to see what happened next.
So I did what I thought a lovely cruel bastard would do in that situation. I found a discarded stocking in her laundry bag, and tried her wrists together. I posed her at the bottom of the bed, kneeling, hands above her head, bottom raised, knees wide apart. I took pictures of her in that position. Then I stripped, standing one side so that she could turn her head and watch me. I took care to make sure she watched me take my belt out of the loops of my trousers. I didn't speak, didn't comment on my obvious erection, didn't offer it to her or try to sexualize my actions. Only once I was naked did I walk to my position behind her, wrapping the buckle end of the belt round my hand.
"This will hurt."
She didn't flinch, not from any of the six blows with the belt. She gasped a little at the fourth and six blows, and let out a tiny sob when I told her it was finished. She flinched as the flash went off, as I recorded the reddened state of her cheeks. She sobbed again, and sagged at the waist, as I pushed my cock into her pussy. I reached under her, stroked her clit, pushed harder and faster at her. She came again as I came, arching my back.
She let me strip her of her clothes, putting them away as she would, the corset on a hanger in the wardrobe, the boots neatly placed under, aligned with her other shoes. She let me unfasten her earrings and place them in her jewellery box. I offered to unfasten her wrists, to undo the knotted stocking. She shook her head. 'Not yet'. So I lay behind her in bed, her bound arms stretched out in front of her, while a late night radio station ran the gamut of emotions from A to B, from Will Young to Air Supply, and listened to her talk, and answered her questions.
"I've wanted to feel like that since I was sixteen. The moment you hit me with the belt? The first time? Better than any fuck ever. Will you do it to me regularly?" There was no hint of fear in the question.
"It depends; judging by your reactions so far, yes, I will."
"I've wanted to feel like this as long as I've known about sex. To feel possessed, to feel that I'm wanted. Not a girl, not a woman, generic, fucking for the purpose of, but Joss, a woman who gets what she wants." Her nipples were still erect under my fingers, her breasts malleable but full. I laughed at her words, and kissed the nape of her neck.
"Welcome to your brave new world Joss."
"It is a brave new world Ed. I don't want to be some kind of little girl, dreaming of how bad she can be, or some jaded housewife wanting to transfer responsibility to somebody else. I just want these feelings..."
"Domesticity would be a waste Joss. You are attractive because you're the complete package."
"What are the other names for oral sex?" asked Sandra.
"Giving head, going down, blow job, sucking cock, slicking the salami -- those are just a few of the terms I've heard.
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Keywords: Exhibitions, Ch., 02, and, Adventures,