Snaps

Ass

I arrived at the hotel late on Sunday afternoon. The conference wasn’t due to start until the following afternoon and, as far as I could make out, most of the delegates were not planning to arrive until the Monday morning. Still, being one of the few early arrivals suited me fine. I’d had a hectic week, followed by only a day to tidy up my conference presentation and then a long drive. I was looking forward to a quite evening with a couple of glasses of wine and a good book. At least that was my plan until I walked through the lobby bar and almost straight into Cathy Harris.

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Here for the conference?’

‘Yeah. I thought I’d get here early for a change.’

I didn’t know Cathy that well. I’d met her through a mutual friend and we’d subsequently bumped into each other at a couple of conferences. I wasn’t even that sure what she did – something to do with change management, I thought.

‘You’re looking well,’ I said.

‘Thanks.’

She was looking well, too. In her late 30s and good looking in a slightly chunky way, she was the kind of woman you noticed when she walked into a room, even when that room was a reasonably a crowded room. ‘I was just about to have a quiet glass of wine,’ I lied, nodding towards the bar. ‘Could I persuade you to join me?’

‘That would be nice,’ she said.

She was wearing a well-fitting pair of jeans, with a simple scoop-necked T-shirt and a red leather jacket that looked as though it had cost plenty.

‘White?’ I asked.

‘Whatever,’ she replied.

I asked the barman for a bottle of sauvignon blanc and a couple of glasses. He said he’d bring it over, so Cathy and I found a quite table in the corner.

‘This hotel’s quite interesting,’ I said, kicking off the conversation.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Apparently the design is based on a Spanish palace. I don’t remember which one.’

‘You’ve been here before?’ I asked.

She nodded. ‘Just once.’

‘Yet another bloody conference,’ I suggested.

Cathy hesitated. ‘Ah, no,’ she said. ‘I came here with my friend Jennifer. To take some photographs.’

‘Oh. So you’re a bit of a photographer then?’

‘I’d like to be,’ she said. ‘At this stage I’m still learning.’

‘Do you specialise in architecture?’ I asked with an expansive hand gesture that included the bar and beyond.

Cathy frowned slightly. ‘Architecture? Oh, I see what you mean. No. I came here to photograph Jennifer. She wanted some photographs of herself to … well, to send off to a magazine actually.’

‘So you’re a published photographer,’ I said, beginning to see Cathy in a whole new light.

‘I suppose so, ‘she replied.

The barman brought our wine and poured a glass for each of us.

‘Cheers,’ Cathy said.

‘Cheers,’ I echoed. ‘Would I have seen any of your photographs?’ I asked.

Cathy smiled. ‘I suppose that rather depends on your taste in top shelf magazines.’

For a moment I was almost thrown. Had she said top shelf? ‘Your friend Jennifer is a, umm, a glamour model then?’ I said.

‘Good heavens no,’ Cathy said, almost choking on her wine. ‘She’s the administrator for a rather staid firm of estate agents.’

‘I’m confused,’ I said.

Cathy laughed. ‘It’s a long story,’ she said. ‘Where shall I start? Jennifer’s 45, 46. Quite good looking – although hardly a Page Three girl. Mind you, who is in their mid-40s? But she’s OK. She’s got a bit of a tummy and gravity has more influence on her boobs than it once did, but, no, she’s a good looking woman. She dresses well, speaks well, and lives in a nice house in a nice village. Most people would probably say she’s got it made. Except about six months ago, her husband – to whom she’d been married for almost 20 years – suddenly announced that he was leaving to set up house with a 23-year old fashion model.’

‘A bit of a shock?’ I suggested.

‘Totally out of the blue,’ Cathy said. ‘Actually, he didn’t mention the 23-year old at first. That came out a bit later. But, no, for a few weeks there, Jen was just devastated. But then, I don’t know, a couple of months after Mike had moved out, Jen phoned me and asked if I would take some photographs of her. It was the first time anyone had actually asked me to photograph them. I was chuffed. So I said yes, I love to, did she want Escort bayan me to come over to her place or what? And she said, no, she wanted to go somewhere really exotic. And then she told me she’d seen some pictures of this place in a magazine and she wanted me to photograph her here in one of the suites. So I thought, hey, what the hell!’

‘What the hell, indeed,’ I said.

‘Anyway, Jen makes the bookings and we come down here on the following Saturday. And I have to tell you, the suite we had was something else again. Talk about luxury. Anyway, we arrive at about four o’clock and get unpacked, and then Jen asks me if I’d mind getting room service to send up a bottle of wine while she has a bath. So I organise the wine and Jen disappears into this bathroom that’s about the size of a small ballroom. About five minutes later, Jen walks back into the sitting room part where I am – stark naked – her not me – and says “What do you think?” Well, I’m not sure what to think, so I say “About what?” “My snatch thatch,” she says, pointing to the neat triangle of salt and pepper pubic hair sitting atop her clef. “I gave it a bit of a trim. I thought smooth lips – because I bet that’s what she’s got – but a little triangle to remind him that I’m proper grown up woman.” “Right,” I say – or something like that. Frankly, at that stage, I had no idea what she was talking about.’

‘But this wasn’t quite what you had expected,’ I suggested.

‘No, not at all,’ Cathy said. ‘Mind you, I didn’t know Jen that well. Anyway, that wasn’t the end of it. You see we hadn’t actually talked about what Jen was going to wear for the photographs. But, since she’d gone to all the trouble of arranging a stunning designer interior for the backdrop, I assumed she would want to wear something classic – a little black dress, for example.’

‘But no?’ I said, sensing a surprise.

‘Well, there was black and it was little, but no, it was not a little black dress. Jen’s wardrobe choice for the occasion was a low-cut lacy black bra with deep red satin inlay panels, a matching red and black thong, black lacy-topped stay-ups and the kind of shoes that are designed to be worn only in the bedroom.’

‘Blimey.’

‘As you say. From sedate estate agent’s bookkeeper to sex on legs in the time it takes to have a bath.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I got my camera and I got to work,’ said Cathy. ‘What I hadn’t appreciated was that Jen wanted the pictures to show Mike – her ex – what he was missing. So that’s what we took: pictures to show Mike what he was missing.’

‘And did they?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I think so,’ Cathy said, laughing. ‘We took some seriously dirty pictures.’

‘How serious?’ I asked, getting more and more interested all the time.

‘Oh, serious,’ Cathy said. ‘In the trade I believe the term is “showing pink”. In fact, I was a little worried that we might have gone a bit too far. I thought the magazine that Jen wanted to send them to might find them a bit too strong. But no, Jen sent them in and they ran six of them as a double page spread. And, of course, Jen got a copy of the magazine and sent it to Mike and his new girlfriend.’

‘And how did you feel about it all,’ I asked, ‘– shooting porn to order, as it were?’

Cathy took a big sip of her wine. ‘To be honest, I found it all a bit of a turn on,’ she said, ‘– especially when Jen abandoned her knickers and started giving herself a good seeing to.’

‘While you were still photographing,’ I said, wanting to make sure I understood.

‘While I was still snapping, as they say,’ Cathy said

‘Blimey,’ I said.

‘And what made it even more interesting,’ Cathy continued, ‘was that Jen turned out to be a bit of a gusher. When she cums, she sprays everywhere.’

‘Blimey,’ I said again.

‘Is that the only thing you can say?’ Cathy asked. ‘Blimey.’

‘Well, you must admit …,’ I said. ‘Were you perhaps, well, tempted to join in?’ I asked, hoping that I hadn’t overstepped the mark with Cathy.

‘But of course,’ Cathy said. ‘Who wouldn’t be? After about 20 minutes of watching Jen do her thing through the lens, my own knickers were sopping. So I took them off and joined the party. I don’t mean with Jen,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I just mean that I gave myself a bit of a seeing to, Escort enjoyed my own orgasm.’

‘Blimey,’ I said for at least the third time.

‘There you go again,’ Cathy said. And then, after a bit of a pause, she asked: ‘Would you like to see some of my photographs?’

‘You mean of Jennifer?’ I asked incredulously.

‘Well, yes, I’ve got some of Jen. I’ve also got some other stuff I’ve done. I figured if Jen wanted X-rated stuff of herself, there were probably other women who might also like the idea – and it seems there are.’

‘And you’ve got some of these photographs with you now?’ I asked.

‘Up in my room,’ she said, smiling. ‘We can go and have a look now if you’ve nothing better to do. Given that the pictures are supposed to be erotic and arousing, I’d appreciate your opinion. We can take the rest of the wine with us if you like.’

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. ‘Well, yeah. Why not?’ I said.

Cathy’s room – like my own – was quite spacious. Aside from the king-sized bed, there was a good sized desk, a couple of armchairs and coffee table.

‘Why don’t you put the wine on the desk there,’ Cathy said, ‘and then I can put my laptop on the coffee table.’

I did as she suggested, topped up our wine glasses and then sat myself in one of the armchairs.

‘Let me see,’ Cathy said, returning from the closet with her laptop and a black-leather art folio. ‘Most of my stuff is on here, but I printed off some of the better ones and mounted them.’ She unzipped the folio and lifted out a stack of mounted prints which she started to spread out, face down, on the coffee table.

Cathy turned over one of the prints.

‘Jennifer,’ she said.

Her friend Jennifer was as Cathy had described her. Curvaceous but not overweight, her body was the body of a mature woman who kept in shape. Her ash blonde hair was cut in a stylish bob, and she had a generous mouth and bright smiling eyes.

‘That was one of the early shots,’ Cathy said. ‘I quite like the way it suggests a quiet sexuality. I also like the way the soft curves of Jen’s torso contrast with the geometric patterns behind her. And, I don’t know about you, but I think the cropping works quite well. I like the way that the figure is not quite – but almost – overwhelmed by the background. What do you think?’

‘I think it’s great,’ I said. ‘You’re good. You’re very good.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. But then she added, ‘But you’re thinking it’s hardly top shelf material.’

‘Well… tasteful top shelf material perhaps,’ I said.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘The real stuff starts here.’

Cathy put the first photograph to one side a turned over another two from the stack. In one, Jennifer was reclining on geometric patterned sofa. Her breasts were partially out of her bra, the red and black knickers were mid-thigh, and her knees were spread slightly. The well-manicured fingers of her right hand were toying with her prominent labia. Cathy was right: Jennifer was definitely showing pink.

‘More what you were hoping for?’ Cathy asked.

In the next shot, the knickers were down around her ankles and her knees were spread wide. Smiling straight at the camera, Jennifer was leaving nothing to the imagination. This was the shot to remind Mike of exactly what he was missing. Her freshly-shaven outer lips were looking plump and puffed; her frilly pink inner lips were parted and glistening. And I could almost imagine myself parting them still further with the head of my stiffening cock.

‘So … what do you think?’ Cathy asked. ‘Is that a ten out of ten pussy shot, or what?’

‘It certainly is,’ I said.

‘And is it having the appropriate effect?’ she asked, nodding in the direction of my crotch.

‘Well, um, yes it is,’ I admitted.

‘Good,’ she said softly. ‘Are you going to show me?’

‘What?’

‘In the interests of research,’ she said. ‘I need to understand how well my work is, well, working. After all, they’re intended to aid masturbation. I need to see how well they work. Come on.’

‘Oh, they’re working,’ I assured her.

‘I’d like to see for myself,’ she said. ‘Don’t be shy. You’re not going to tell me you’ve never jerked off in front of a woman before, are you?

‘Well, I’ve never jerked off in front Bayan escort of you before,’ I said.

‘Then this would be a good time for the first time. It’s a pity to waste the opportunity.’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you,’ I said.

‘I certainly am,’ she said. ‘I’m certainly not going to waste the opportunity.’ And with that, she unzipped her jeans, pushed them to her ankles, and stepped out of them. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘get your cock out and start enjoying yourself.’

I didn’t need a third invitation. The ten-out-of-ten pussy shots of Jennifer, together with the sight of the real life Cathy sliding her hand into near-transparent knickers, were clearly doing wonderers for my circulation. I couldn’t recall the last time my cock had been so hard.

Cathy looked across at my erect cock and nodded approvingly. ‘They are working,’ she said. ‘Excellent. I’ve got another 60 or so pictures like this so there’s no need to rush.’ She turned over another couple of mounted prints. Two more knock-out photographs; one of which captured Jennifer in mid gush.

After a couple of minutes, Cathy withdrew her hand, hooked her thumbs in the sides of her knickers and slid them to her ankles.

‘Torn?’ Cathy asked.

‘Torn?’ I echoed.

‘You don’t seem to be able to make your mind up. Dirty pictures … or the real thing.’

‘Couldn’t I have both?’ I asked.

‘Why not,’ Cathy replied. And with that she moved her chair to the other side of the coffee table to face me square on. ‘There,’ she said, sitting back down and spreading her legs wide to give me a better view of her fingers disappearing into her hair-fringed minge. ‘Now you can look at my dirty girls and watch me,’ she said. ‘And, of course, I can watch you. By the way, do you want something slippery for that lovely-looking cock?’

‘Do you have something?’ I asked.

Cathy made a quick trip to the bathroom and returned with a jumbo-sized bottle of lube. ‘Not just slippery, but also tingly,’ she said. ‘I use it when I play with my arse. It’s great. It feels cool and hot at the same time.’ She squirted some on her fingers and smeared it deep between her shapely buttocks. ‘Here, try it,’ she said.

I squirted some of the clear goo into the palm of my hand and then slowly stroked my cock from the tip all the way down to my balls. Cathy was right. It felt great – cool yet hot at the same time. My cock twitched and grew another centimetre or two.

Cathy’s next ‘dirty girl’ was a fit-looking redhead. ‘Andi,’ she explained. ‘She wanted some photographs as birthday present for her girlfriend.’

‘Girlfriend?’

‘Girlfriend,’ Cathy confirmed.

Andi was kneeling on the seat of a leather armchair. She was wearing what looked like a short black t-shirt. Nothing else. Her back was to the camera – or at least her shapely, toned backside was to the camera – and her thighs were parted, exposing her ample, meaty pudenda. Again, I could imagine my cock ploughing her sweet furrow.

Cathy turned over another mounted print. Andi again. This time she was sprawled back in the chair, her legs spread, lining up one end of what I believe is known as a double dong with the entrance to her pretty pink pussy.

‘Also part of the birthday present,’ Cathy explained. ‘And somewhere … Ah, yes ….’ Cathy turned over yet another print and this time one end of the dong had disappeared deep inside Andi’s now-not-so-secret place. The fingers of her right hand appeared to be working her clit while the fingers of her left hand were wrapped firmly around the alien shaft, making it look as though she had somehow grown an impressive cock of her own. From the expression on her face, she looked to be approaching the vinegar strokes.

It was about this point that Cathy started making little mouse grunt sounds and I realised that she too was on the verge of an orgasm. I increased my own stroke rate. Cathy’s top shelf photos had done their job. But as I entered the home straight, I must confess my focus was on the real live Cathy. Her shapely legs. Her soft rounded breasts, gently bouncing beneath her silky shirt. And, yes, her beautiful cunt. Her beautiful, sexy, wet cunt.

Within 15 or 20 seconds, Cathy was making more noise than the fat lady in the last act at the opera. And I was shooting further than I had in a very long time.

For two or three minutes afterwards neither of us said anything. Then Cathy smiled across at me and said: ‘You know that I’ve got another 50 or so shots on my laptop. But maybe we should get something to eat first.’ And so we did.