The day may have been warm, but my model, David, was so hot he was practically percolating. I had to keep reminding myself, -Kelly, you’re a professional. You’ve got an assignment to do!-
He certainly wasn’t making it any easier for me. I mean, I know it’s a model’s job to make love to the camera, but I couldn’t help thinking he was putting a little extra spin on his flirtatious moves just for my benefit. There was something about the provocative way he posed that seemed to screa, “take me, I’m yours.” After an hour or so of this little dance, I decided to take the plunge.
Setting up the next shot, I pretended to study the composition; then frowned with feigned annoyance.
“Anything wrong?” he asked.
“Hang on a second, your tag’s sticking out,” I responded, walking over to him and casually running my fingers behind his collar. I let my hand linger on the nape of his neck a bit longer than necessary. He responded by wrapping his muscular arms around my waist, then pulling me close to his must-dewed body and taking a suggestive nip at my ear.
“I’m such a scatterbrain!” I said, advancing the game another move.
“How so?” he asked, as he playfully sqeezed my bottom cheeks with his large, sinewy hands.
“I seem to have run out of film,” I responded with a wicked smile. “We’ll have to finish this up at my studio.”
“Anything for the sake of art,” he answered, before filling my mouth with his luscious tongue. By then, we were so hungry for each other that we barely made it back to my loft before we were consumed by desire. Talk about public displays of affection!
We practically tumbled out of the oversized freight elevator and onto the canvas-swagged floor. I ripped the shirt from his handsome chest, as he undid the buttons of my blouse. I grabbed him and pulled him down on top of me, and our lips were locked in a torrid, probing vacuum.
In a blur of motion, I reveled in the sensual thrill as he entered me with a swift, sure stroke. I couldn’t get enough of him, arching and thrusting my hips to meet his surging lunges. Soon, we were bathed in the waters of our passion; sweat slipped off our bodies, mixed with the sweet honey that flowed from between my legs. As our passion found its rhythm, I felt the pace quicken and we headed for an inevitable, soaring climax. We both fairly screamed with release, then sank, satisfied, in a damp, laughing heap on the pile of twisted fabric.
“If you’re this talented in the studio,” he said, running his hand suggestively up my thigh, “I can’t wait to see what you can do in a dark room.”
“I think that can be arranged,” I answered, pulling his fingers to my lips. “I’d be very interested to see what develops myself.”
Copyright, Desolation – 2003.
No portions of Double Exposure may be used without expressed, writen permission.