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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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I recently put up a post called "Cuckold Sent to the Spare Room" which was a true account of something that happened to me last year. I've been really encouraged by the comments and feedback that people where so kind to leave plus some requests for more of the same I decided to post the piece that follows.
Whilst "Cuckold Sent to the Spare Room" was a true account, what's follows was something I wrote purely as piece of fiction about a year ago. So, without further ado here's:
The Photoshoot.
Amazingly a decade had passed since the very first occasion that Rachel had floated the idea of having some professional, high-class nudes of herself shot as a very special present to myself. As so often is the case, life had gotten in the way and that idea had never developed into anything more substantial than the occasional episode of pillow talk in bed. However, whenever it did pop up, I always found my reaction to the idea of Rachel posing for someone else never varied. It always, without fail, got me hugely excited.
The first step to actually taking the idea and turning it from fantasy into reality, although I didn't know it at the time, was when as a couple, we began to "play" again. By play, I meant I got to see Rachel have sex with other guys. And it truly was a case of again.
We had ventured into this territory some years before. For almost two incredible years, I had gotten that intensely powerful rush that came only from seeing Rachel wrapped up in the arms of another man and clearly enjoying the sex with him immensely. It had been during this first period of playing that Rachel had first mentioned the idea of the photo shoot. But our journey into the realms of cuckolding or the "hot-wife" lifestyle - call it what you will, at that time came to an end before any serious thought could given to the photo-shoot, let alone trying to arrange it.
For me since then the itch to watch as Rachel cuckolded me would often resurface, but we didn't actually dip our toes back into the lifestyle until a couple of years ago; and what a couple of years we have had since then.
I can't speak for Rachel, but for myself at least, being older - and maybe just perhaps a little wiser has paid off. This time round I think we both know with a better degree of certainly what we are looking for. For me, it was the realisation that loosing control, that being a willing cuckold to Rachel, albeit in a mild form, was what I both desired and needed. Not that I am adverse to joining in now and then, but only, and this is the key-point: only when I am invited too.
Despite Rachel being what I guess some people would call a "hot wife, she's certainly never been interested in meeting and fucking a whole string of different guys. If she had wanted to, she certainly could have done so judging by the continue level of interest she generates on the swingers site we use. No, what worked out best for Rachel was finding a guy who became her regular. A guy who Rachel certainly see's more of as a fuck-buddy than she does as a "bull" in cuckolding parlance.
So, I hear you ask, what's all this got to do with the photo-shoot? Well, a great upside of our return to playing, especially in terms of the unrealised idea of the photo-shoot, was the massive boost in self-confidence that the interest of a younger man gave to Rachel. The fact that the sexual chemistry between them works so well that it has resulted in Rachel having some of the best sex she's ever had also helped. I swear, it has been almost like turning back the clock ten years for her. If you could bottle and market that effect, you'd make a fortune in the cosmetic's industry.
It was against this background that whilst enjoying some pillow talk with Rachel's after her latest meet with her FB, that Rachel slipped in the question of whether I was still in touch with the professional photographer with whom I had been chatting online just a few months earlier? I replied that yes, from time to time I was. With my curiosity aroused and when nothing more was volunteered by Rachel for a few minutes, I couldn't help but enquire as to why she had asked?
Before I give an account of her reply, let me take just a moment to explain who the gent in question was.
He had first sent us a message via the swinging site we used after I had posted some new photos I had taken of Rachel posing on her own to our profile gallery. I had been both pleased and flattered to read how good he thought the photos where, how hot he thought Rachel was and that she was a natural model. Although true that Rachel had never posed for anyone else, I'd been lucky enough in the extreme to have had my very own private model for the majority of our relationship.
Whilst I don't for a moment consider myself anything other than an amateur, the photos of Rachel had apparently really caught his eye. Over an exchange of several messages he informed me that he was a professional photographer by trade. But whereas the bills were paid by the usual fare of weddings etc, he did enjoy - for purely personal pleasure - shooting wives and couples from off the site. These shoot he did free of charge at his own studio. He sent us several examples of his work and links to his own online portfolio that really illustrated his skills with work that ranged from boudoir to classic nudes to photos of an extremely explicit nature and with a sharp, edgy style that I instantly called Art Porn. What he shot depended on what the wife or couple wanted. He also said that he would really like the opportunity to have Rachel to model for him should she ever feel so inclined. Okay, so now lets get back to the why.
That was easy, Rachel explained. It would soon be my birthday and that together with my having been ill for sometime lately had made her think that in some crazy, but totally great way, that this would be her "get well" and birthday present both rolled into one for me. Instantly, my cock did its best impression of a flag pole. The idea of Rachel posing provocatively, either semi-nude or completely naked for photographer, was an incredibly powerful one for me. On some level the act itself was, for me at least, almost more important that the results. It somehow struck me that posing for someone would be very different from meeting up with another man for sex. I wasn't at all sure why that was, but whatever the reasons, my buttons were being thumbed hard as in my mind I imagined Rachel in a studio with a photographer admiring her, probably seeing her all and working in co-operation with her to produce some great photos. But above all this, there was just one really simple idea that was the hottest one for me. That Rachel would be doing what she wanted to do for her own satisfaction, even if that satisfaction would be producing a very special gift to myself.
I took a moment to pinch myself, just to make sure I hadn't nodded off and dreamt the whole thing, before I asked how serious she was? The look I got back said enough. Whenever we meet up with her regular, Rachel is totally in charge. How much, or how little, I see depending on her mood and on how she reads me at the time. If she wanted some time alone with him or wished to tweak the cuckold streak in me, she would give me a certain, dead-in the eye look that I never got to see at any other time. That was the look I got right then. She nodded and to reinforce the point said "oh, I'm sure," with a thin smile that left me in no doubt that she was serious, and more importantly to me, very very much in charge. However, she added on quickly, there was to be one condition: I was not going to be permitted to be present at the shoot.
That came as a complete shock to me. In all my imaginings, I had always assumed that if the photo-shoot ever did take place, that I would get the pleasure of seeing Rachel pose at first hand. Never, not even fleetingly, had it ever occurred to me she would exclude me. Instantly, I felt that strange rush of both pleasure and pain that only a man whose been willingly cuckolded by the woman he loves could truly understand. With my heart thundering in my ears, a mouth suddenly uncomfortably dry and a cock like an iron bar, I asked why?
She smiled sweetly and wriggling her hips, snuggled up even closer saying "babes, I don't have to tell you that. But this one time, just this once mind you, I will." There were two reasons she explained. Firstly, she would be much more relaxed without my being there and secondly, because this was something she wanted to for me and not something she want to do with me. Moreover, it was either going to be that way, or not at all. If I was, she reminded me, outside of my comfort zone then there was always our safe word to fall back on. This word, known only to herself and I, was the only word that would instantly tell the other to back off, to not push so far or as hard or that the idea being suggested by either of us wasn't going to work for the other. The safe word never left my lips.
That had been six weeks ago. Three hours ago I had dropped Rachel off at the studio. With a quick kiss on my lips, she had picked up the holdall that was her outfit bag and reminded me to be back to pick her up at agreed time of 9pm.
Those three hours seemed to stretch forever.
Initially I found a MacDonalds and decided to have a coffee, but I couldn't settle which, given the circumstances, was hardly surprising. All sorts of thoughts raced through my head, each hardly having timed to be considered before the next arrived like a runaway express train. What was Rachel doing right now at that very second? Which set where they using? How much was she enjoying herself (lots, I hoped)? Did she wonder what I was doing (not at all, I hoped)? What was she wearing right now? Was she actually wearing anything at all right now? How much of her body could he see?
The one thing that I wasn't worried about was her safety. Besides having numerous good verifications, we had meet the photographer socially for a coffee. It was the only reasonable way to be to sure that Rachel would be safe and that Rachel was okay with him too. Ironically, despite the fact that the social meet would, if all went well, be the precursor to the photographer seeing every inch of Rachel's body, Rachel found meeting him socially much more difficult to deal with than the thought of him seeing her naked at some later point.
After MacDonald's, I drove round pretty aimlessly for a bit. I didn't want to go too far as I didn't trust my SatNav that much and the last thing I wanted to be was lost in an unfamiliar city in the dark and panicking to get back in time to pick her up.
With a slowness that would have made even a glacier seem racy, the time dragged itself by like a mortally wounded animal. 8:30 found me parked up in the car park outside a closed furniture shop a little roughly under a mile away from the studio. Here, comfortable in the knowledge that it would only take a minute or two to reach the studio, I sat watching the clock creep on when without warning a text message from Rachel came through: hi babes all ok. need a bit more time. pick me up at 10. love you xxx
Another hour? Four hours in all? Bloody hell, I thought, just what on earth they were doing? I did know that Rachel had wanted to do some bondage photos with some quite complex knots. It must have taken longer to sort these than anticipated. That extra hour would be hard for me. I now desperately wanted Rachel back. But there was nothing I could, only sit and wait the extra hour for 10pm.
At 9:50, I pulled up outside the studio's shopfront. I had promised myself not to be there more than 5 minutes early, but in the end had failed. In the darkened window, I could make out the usual collection of framed photos, the weddings, the christenings and the graduation of strangers. Beyond the window display I could make out the faint glow of a light leaking from somewhere deeper inside the building. Other than that glow, there was no indication that anyone was inside.
Fingers tapping on the steering wheel, I whistled tunelessly, waiting whilst trying not to glance at the green glow of the dashboard clock. For it seemed to have stopped. At 9:58 there was a flash of light within the shop that made me jump with a start.
It was the suddenly, unmistakable flash of a fluorescent light being switched on at the rear of the shop. Then another light came on and another, until the whole shop was lit up. I could see the shapes of figures moving inside, one I instantly recognised from the way it moved as belonging to Rachel. The other I assumed must have been the photographer. Then for a spilt second I spotted the suggestion of more movement form more figures. Yes, I was quite certain that there were two people at the back of the shop. I couldn't make out any details, but clearly from how they stood and moved they were both guys.
I got out and stood on the pavement as with a metallic clunking the lock of the shop door was undone. The door opened and Rachel stepped out on to the pavement. Any alarm that had been caused by the mystery figures at the back of the shop melted away instantly as she gave me a big, hugely wide smile and said "Hi babes."
When I had dropped her off she has been wearing a light summer dress, all the better to avoid clothing marks the photographer had said. Now she was in a pair of jeans, t-shirt and a cropped denim jacket. Her hair looked slightly tussled and her face seemed to be more than a touch flushed, although it was difficult to be sure in the light spilling from out of the open doorway behind her. The photographer acknowledged my presence before saying "I think you're going to love the results, mate. Rachel was fantastic. Weren't you bunny?"
To my surprise, I saw Rachel look up and grin at the photographer as he slid an arm around her waist and give her a gentle squeeze. Looking back at me again he said with some degree of seriousness. "You know, you really are one lucky son of a bitch to have this one. Anyway, have to dash. Lots to tidy up and really got some rest before my first clients in the morning. That was exhausting. I'll have the photos Drop-boxed to you by Tuesday."
Lots to tidy up? Get some rest? Exhausting? I was all rather confused. Yes, I knew that, despite popular belief, doing a photo-shoot was always hard work if you wanted to get anything like decent results. But exhausting for the photographer? I was missing something here, but the question of what that was was pushed aside as he leant in to give Rachel a good-bye kiss.
I expected a polite peck on the cheek, but what I saw was a kiss than became languid with lingering light touches of the lips before Rachel extended her arms up and around his neck, pulling him in tighter so that their lips pressed together fully, more wantonly and with a unmissable hint of tongues.
The kiss seemed last for minutes, but could not have been much more than 10 or 15 seconds. Despite my presence just metre or so away, it was clear that I was completely unimportant and had been dismissed from their mutual focused on each other instead. Finally - eventually even - the kiss broke. Rachel's arms slowly came back across his shoulders and down to her own sides. Without another word to the photographer she turned and smiled at me. "I'm shattered. Take me home."
Somehow, God knows how, I remembered to be the gentleman and opened the passenger door for her. Closing it, I turned to find the photographer holding out Rachel's holdall. With a grin that would have put the Cheshire Cat to shame, he said "anytime she wants to do that again, just let me know. Okay?"
I nodded. Would Rachel want to do another photo shoot? Strangely that idea had never crossed my mind before he had just said it. Over all the years we'd discussed it, I had always kind of assumed that it would be a one-off experience. Now it had happened, I wasn't so sure. Nor was I sure about what he had meant when he had said "do that again." It seemed an odd thing to say. And so had been the way he in which he had said it. Nor was I sure about some of the other things I had just heard and certainly I was not sure about that kiss I had just seen. That really wasn't the sort of kiss you gave someone who had just been taking your photos - not matter how much or little you had on in the way of clothing.
With my mind racing, I got into the driver's seat. Fumbling to secure my seatbelt I glanced at the rear view mirror as some hint of motion caught the corner of my eye. Two guys were walking down the road with their backs to me. They certainly hadn't walked passed us, of that I was sure. I was also sure that neither of them were the photographer either.
Finally I turned to look at Rachel. In the illumination cast by the interior light that her face was rather flushed was even clearer to see. What was clearer still was the look of contentment written all over her face and that she also looked gorgeous.
"So?" I paused before I continued. "How did it go?"
She looked at me and smiled. "Good," she replied. |
