Paris 5:3 - Sophie & the photographer

Patience had never been a virtue that Sophie especially possessed - she had always lived for the moment, acted upon impulse, allowed her whims to carry her forward - occasionally to her detriment, but such impulsiveness kept life thrilling, exciting, and frequently very sexual. As she posed by the window for Duchamp, giving him tantalising glimpses of her soft, naked skin, her delicate, enticing curves, she longed for him to be able to photograph her with more haste, to be able to capture her movements, to be more in rhythm with her. She found herself having to wait between each shot as he exchanged plates, and his nervousness, his clear arousal, were doing nothing to speed him up - the poor man was very distracted.

Between shots, she reminded herself why she had chosen this studio, this photographer - he clearly wanted good photographs, wanted to be able to freeze this moment in time, to be able to enjoy looking at her later, alone, his cock no doubt in his hand, bringing himself to fevered orgasm as he recalled the intimacy of the session. None of this was of any interest to Sophie. She was far more interested in Duchamp as a voyeur, watching her, wanting her, desperate to touch her - she didn't care about the quality of the photographs, beyond them being an expression of his lust - she wanted to tease him, to arouse him, wanted that heat between them, wanted to feel his lust burning from him as he watched her pose and move for him.

She looked down at his crotch as he fumbled with the plates, looking for signs of his excitement. He was undeniably getting hard - there was a tell-tale bulge in his trousers - but he wasn't as intensely aroused as she wanted him to be - he was far to busy messing about with lenses and lights to feel the mood - perhaps he was afraid to disappoint her with the photographs. Or perhaps he was simply too shy to push her further.

Sophie didn't need to be pushed. She had already decided to give Duchamp far more than he would dare to ask for. Despite his nervousness, despite her frustration with the time this was taking, she was wet. Wet between her thighs. She loved to be watched. She was going to show him far more than a glimpse of bare shoulder, of this she was certain.

Another shot, by the window again, her nightshirt daringly open now - she knew she was displaying everything to him, in that soft light from the window, and his breath was still rapid, his movements nervous and twitchy. Why didn't he ask her to remove her nightshirt? Couldn't he take a hint? She wanted to be naked for him. Perhaps she would need to take the initiative...

Sophie sat down as he changed the plate again, facing away from her. He needed some different lens or other - he excused himself from the room for a moment, busily rooting through boxes in the next room. Sophie took the opportunity to slip her hand between her thighs, wanting to touch herself. Her fingers traced up the inside of her bare thighs, to her cunt - so very wet... her fingertips traced up the lips of her wet slit, feeling them part deliciously, and trembled a little, dragging her finger up to her clit, spreading her wetness over and around it, rubbing gently in circles, stroking herself... she felt her clit pulse gorgeously... rubbing again a few more moments, then moving her fingers away from her clit discreetly as Duchamp re-entered the room, watching him, smiling at him as she brought her wet fingers up to her lips, sucking them briefly. He watched her for a moment, clearly unsure what to say, not entirely sure what she was doing, then turned nervously to his camera, changing the lens, adjusting again for the next shot.

While he had his back to her, Sophie slipped her fingers back down between her parted thighs, caressing her clit again - if he was to turn around, right now, he would catch her touching herself... just a few feet away from her, and he had no idea that she was masturbating, had no idea just how wet she was, how much she was throbbing... perhaps she should allow him to see her doing this... but not yet... as he turned around, ready for another shot, her hands were already back at her sides, standing up ready for the next photograph.

He was about to give her direction, but she acted first, smiling at him again, and allowing her nightdress to slip from her shoulders, all the way down her back, and drop to the floor. She stood naked by the window, smiling at him, and posed again - he took the shot remarkably quickly. And then another as she turned to face him, and another... she glanced down at his trousers - now he was fully erect - his arousal was obvious, straining from his crotch - she imagined it must be a little uncomfortable, but she simply smiled as he took another couple of shots.

Needing more photographic plates, he disappeared momentarily into the adjoining room again. Sophie leaned against the edge of the window. Seeing his cock bulging so resolutely at his crotch had pushed her own arousal further - she was dripping wet now - she was sure she could feel a trickle of wetness down the inside of her thigh, her clit pulsing deliciously. She lifted a hand to her breast, cupping it, pinching her nipple between her thumb and forefinger - the sensation shot straight to her clit - she hadn't realised quite how close she was - he was still rustling through packages in the next room, a few feet away - she quickly slipped her fingers between her thighs, dragging more wetness up from her lips, her fingers skidding around her clit - she was pulsing so much now - she rubbed harder... faster... she felt herself tremble hard, a rush of sexual pleasure throbbing from her clit - she couldn't stop it now - she leaned back further against the window, opening her thighs, her fingers splashing as they skidded around her clit, pinching her nipple again - and that was it - she let out a stifled cry, her body convulsing as her orgasm rippled through her, her fingers rubbing, stroking urgently as she came deliciously - and as her soft cry escaped her lips... Duchamp stepped back into the room, frozen in the doorway, gasping audibly as he looked at her, his gaze fixed on her as she convulsed through her orgasm...

to be continued...