I couldn’t decide which of my sections to put it in because this is a rare romance for me. Bad couple isn’t right because they’re a lovely couple! Or thruple.
A rare piece of nice erotica for me, and only because I was commissioned to do it. I loved writing it, though, and so hopefully, maybe, I could write more romantic pieces and not always be so graphic and wild.
Having said that there should be plenty in this story to turn you on so I hope it still works for you! I am also giving it to TheWritersCollective so you can jump ahead there if you want to read more:
https://killhimhesasocialist.substack.com/s/wicked-wednesday
Oh, and they seemed to have changed the name of the publication!
Anyway, on with the story!
Ally matched the room perfectly. She had come dressed in a classic cherry red dress that might have been popular when The Brown Palace Hotel, Denver, had been built in the last decade of the 19th century.
It was tightly fitted to the waist, with exaggerated hips and white frills across the front. A short trail followed behind her. She could have been quite the lady, but for one detail. Instead of the high neck she should have had for modesty, she instead exhibited a plunging neckline that revealed nearly half of her breasts, barely covering her nipples.
She was not a lady but a whore. Like half the young women of Victorian London, she was dressed to tempt men into surrendering all their weeks’ wages for a night’s passion and a week in the poor house. Ally knew she would be worth the sacrifice to any sailor or gentleman that should pass.
But, she was not in this room to service the needs of drunken men. This was not Denver emerging from its Wild West days into an era of opulence. No, this was 21st-century America, and she was there to be photographed.
Ally was not a model. Although many men would agree she should be. Her figure turned heads, of course, but her unique and quirky smile made her stand out. Her right lip lifted higher than her left with a hint of teeth. It always looked like she knew one of your secrets, which she’d keep to herself, but that she found quaint and funny.
Her eyes stayed fixed on you when she smiled, even if her mouth moved, mirroring the emotions she experienced talking to you. It was not impossible for the higher side to switch or for her to bite a lip or throw her mouth open. But all of them came naturally, like life itself appeared to do for her. She was at once a naughty pixie and an infamous seductress, all from her smile.
She had arranged this boudoir photoshoot after meeting the photographer, Ava, at an exhibition of her photos. Women of all shapes and sizes reclined along a chaise longue, bent over a majestic mahogany table, or half-submerged in a clawfoot tub. Sometimes old-fashioned sepia and faded, occasionally crystal-clear close-ups.
“What do you think, John?” She had brought her friend along to the exhibition, trying to get him out more after his painful divorce.
“They are… artistic.”
“So incisive,” she laughed. And she playfully shoved him with her ass. He was not the arty type. “What is… artistic about it?”
“It’s light and dark and, um, in black and white.”
“I see what you mean, John,” she nodded thoughtfully, posing with her hand and rubbing her chin as if in deep thought. “I enjoy the way, despite how dark it is, that you can still see from her silhouette what a hot body she has. Can you see what I’m saying?”
“Yesss?” John said, not sure where she was going with this.
“Her shape, the way she is perched on the edge of the chair, looking away, perhaps with longing in her eyes. I mean, we can’t see the longing, but I think it’s implied, don’t you?”
“Errr.”
“What do you think she’s longing for, John?”
“Well, could be anything, really. Something mundane, like a sunny day.”
“The light flooding through the huge window. Yes, I see where you’re going with this. Or?”
“Or a lover, perhaps.”
“Because she is in fancy underwear?”
“Yes.”
“Cock. Yes, I thought so, too. She’s longing for and craving for cock. Don’t you agree?” John took a deep breath and turned slightly away; he could feel his face flushing hot. “No, wait, even better, I think the photographer is suggesting that it is whoever is looking at the picture that is the focus of her unbridled lust. Her urgency for cock.” Ally took great pleasure in emphasizing the word cock every time she said it. “Putting you, the viewer, in the crosshairs of her sexuality.”
“I suppose you are right.”
“Do you feel in the cross hairs of her sexuality? Her passion, her John?”
“Well. Do you?”
“Good question. I think yes. I don’t think this lady is just here for cock. Except that when I use cock in this situation, I mean anyone who’s up for a fuck with her, man or woman. I may not have a real cock,” and Ally made rude gestures at her waist height to suggest if she did have one, it would be huge. She pretended to stroke it. John glanced around, anxious that no one was watching her antics. “But I do have a damned fine pussy, which, if I do say so myself, is always a popular charm with the men. She wants my metaphorical cock as much as your real one. Not saying mine’s bigger, but hey!”
She nudged him again with her arm, and he wobbled slightly. “You are too easy! I must apologize; you are nice enough to come here with me, and all I’m doing is making you cringe. Am I forgiven?
“Always.”
“Yay!” and she poked him in the stomach playfully with both her index fingers. “Ohhh, stomach muscles! I will behave myself now. Scouts honor.” And she delivered a little salute.
“Yeah, yeah,” John smiled and sighed. They wandered around for a few minutes in comfortable silence until Ally seized John’s arm and dragged him in front of another black and white photo.
“Look at this one! Look at the way her back is arched, and her ass is in the air. It’s beautiful, but combined with what you see in a lot of porn. You know what I mean?”
“Yes,” John nodded.
“I knew it! You watch porn. I knew you did. And I bet loads more since you got rid of the cow. You were probably an avid consumer even before; she didn’t strike me as the ‘have sex with your husband’ type.”
“No, actually, I don’t; I’m more cerebral. I’m not. You know. I’m. Oh, Ally! Damn it. And she wasn’t a cow. Not exactly.”
“Sorry!” she said in a singsong voice, giggling. “Shall we go for coffee now? I am sure you have had enough of me torturing you.” She patted him on the shoulder and, like the old friends that they were, hooked her arm into his and led him across the gallery. He was handsome and lovely, but so awkward that she sometimes wanted to shake him.
“Hold on, I’ll catch you up, John; there’s the photographer.”
That night, after arranging with Ava to be shot the next week, Ally had lain in bed and imagined herself half naked with Ava’s lens focused on her body. How would she pose? Did she want to be bent over as if waiting for a Victorian spanking? Did she want to lie naked, wearing only a jewel between her breasts like on the Titanic? How close would Ava need to get to capture those photos?
It was not long before she began to touch herself with these images in her mind. The photographer’s voice in her ear told her to move this way and that, open her legs, look into the camera, and remove an item of clothing. Every night for the rest of the week, she would go over these things, and her ideas got wilder and wilder.
Ally would move in front of the large mirrors that covered one wall across her built-in wardrobes and imagine posing. She would impersonate the women she had seen in the pictures. For example, she would stand with her hands, holding her hair in a ruffle above her head. It made her look like a sexual deva, and just doing this would make her feel so powerful, as if she could get whatever she desired. Then perhaps she’d lean against the bed, one long leg straight out, her toes pointing towards her imaginary camera, fantasy photographer.
Once on the bed, she would kneel, legs spread, in her sexiest underwear, and give the ‘photographer’ her sexiest ‘come to bed’ eyes. Then she would take her bra off and move her hands around her body, sometimes an arm to cover her breasts, sometimes cupping them. Perhaps one finger on her nipples and then both arms pushing them up, leaving them naked. She hardly needed to do that, though, to make them look so damned good; her breasts were still pert and full despite how large they were. She could feel she would be the perfect model for Ava.
Her fingers cupped her crotch for another pose, and she found how very wet it had made her. What would she be like at the shoot itself?
Lying down, she would turn and show off her perfectly rounded, taut ass. With her head on the bed, she arched her back to make her ass stick up as high as possible. It wasn’t a comfortable position to hold for long, but she looked great. She looked ready to be fucked, and anyone looking at her would want to do that fucking.
Without moving, despite it being uncomfortable, she moved one hand inside her panties and rubbed herself this time. She moaned into the pillow and, without hardly trying, made herself cum. She was so turned on that she found that she had dribbled onto the bed, and later, she would cry out into that pillow.
Her legs spread, with her body reaching over. Hence, her breasts looked huge in the mirror, and her body appeared wholly open and welcoming. She licked her lips for anyone who would be watching. Blew a kiss.
Back to the same provocative pose as before, with her ass up but facing the mirror this time. Now her ass rose above her head, and she could picture a man, or men, or someone licking her. Somebody behind her, enjoying how damn good she looked. Smiling out to men and women in an exhibition or a magazine. People alone, enjoying her, bringing themselves to the same thundering orgasms that she was having, all of them looking at her, thinking about being with her.
She tried many poses. It was in the most provocative of these that she would cum the hardest, to, with a ferocious scream, and collapse onto the bed. Embarrassed a little, perhaps, but grinning with all the joy of anticipation.