Given, Not Taken
written by:
The Softer Side of Passion

Given, not taken

She walked up to me with that smile. You've seen her pictures on the sites, so you know what I am talking about. You can't look at her when she is wearing that smile and not smile back. And when she's wearing that smile, it takes a minute to notice what else she is wearing.

In this case, it was her blue corset, the same one she wore the last time I saw her. She was wearing it as a blouse, with a tight, 1940's skirt. Stockings with the seam in the back just perfect. And those heels! Perfect, absolutely perfect.

But most perfect was the smile, wide and friendly and it ran all the way into her eyes. Not like the last time.

As she walked up to me, leaned forward and kissed me, I knew that there were envious men in the bar. Her kiss was softer and lingered just a moment longer than I expected. I felt a stirring and pulled back. That wasn't why I was here.

Looking at her at arms length, I had to say it. "You look great."

She giggled, and infectious giggle that made you think of a young girl, not a woman near 40. "I know." She said. "Isn't it fun?"

I pulled out her chair, let her sit and then sat across the table from her. "So," I said. "This time you want to do it."

That giggle again. "Oh yes. I really, really want to this time." She looked me straight in the eyes, her smile never wavering. I knew she meant it. Not like last time.

Last time had been nearly a year ago. Her husband worked for one of my clients and my hobby of photographing wives in lingerie evidently came out. He contacted me and asked me to do a shoot of his wife the next time I was in town. "I hear you are good and you're discrete." He wrote in his first e-mail to me.

I'm both. It is a hobby, something that sort of happened over the years, and something I have invested a lot of time learning. And a lot of money on the right equipment. But I understand how private having intimate pictures of your wife is, and so I go a little overboard on the discretion. And I have a set of rules that I follow to protect both the people I am shooting, and myself.

Number one in those rules is that I insist that the wife is on board. A lot of guys talk their wives or girlfriends into it, but the women are uneasy with the whole idea. So part of the arrangement is that the three of us have dinner before we do the shoot. That way I can get a feeling for whether the woman really wants to do this, or not.

A little nervousness on her part is fine. What woman would not be nervous sharing herself in lingerie, or less, to a stranger? That's to be expected. But there is a look in a woman's eyes that tells me she really doesn't want to do this, and if I see it, the shoot is off. No exceptions and the call is one hundred percent mine.

The first time I met Faye and her husband, I saw that look as I approached the table. No question. Game over. No need to go further. She had a frightened look on her face. Her husband walked up and shoot my hand.

"We're ready" he said. "Got the guy lined up, and the room, right here where you're staying. All set."

"The guy?" I asked. I almost never do hard core, and I never do group sex shoots. It's fine for others but I do this to capture beauty, not porn. He had never mentioned sex, or another man. I was ready to leave.

He could tell.

"Look," he said. "She's into it. She wants it. We've fantasized about it for years. Now she's gonna be taken by two of us. Right baby?" He looked at her.

There she was, dressed that same corset, skirt and stockings, but I swear, she looked like a little girl. Beautiful? Oh yes. But her blue eyes looked frightened. And her blond hair was overdone, like a little girl who's gone to the beauty parlor and gotten a grownup hairstyle.

She nodded, but never looked up.

I wasn't going to waste my time. I stood up.

"Where you going?" His voice got harder and he stood up too. Hell. He was bigger than me by a few inches, and a lot of pounds. I wasn't liking this at all.

"Look, say what you like, but she's not into this. She's scared. I'm sure she loves you and I am sure you've played bedroom games, but you should let her off from this. But whether you do or you don't, I'm not going to be a part of it. It's not what I do."

"You can't pull out now."

"I can. You know my rules. And Faye?" She looked up.

"You deserve better. You're beautiful. Your man needs to understand that a woman is never taken, she gives herself. Even when you play bondage games or have hard sex, it's a gift, not something we take. You're precious. Don't let him convince you otherwise."

I knew that would rile him, but I also knew she needed to hear it. I saw a brief spark in her blue eyes just before I saw his fist coming at me.

But I had expected it and was moving even before I finished talking to Faye. I'm just an average sized guy, but I grew up mean and that's something you never lose completely, I ducked and dropped to one knee, then let loose with an uppercut to his groin. In a second he was doubled over and I caught his head with a second uppercut. Game over even before the bouncer got to the table. I hadn't lost it, but damn, I had forgotten how much hitting hurt the hand.

I got up, threw a hundred dollar bill on the table and looked at her. "I mean it Faye. You choose, not him. You're better than that."

She broke into a wan smile, but I knew I had been heard. I walked away from the table with the bouncer at my elbow. I looked back. She was standing up. Would she go to him, or leave, I wondered.

I found out a month later, when I got an e-mail from her.

"I found this address in his computer. I hope", said the e-mail. "That you are the man who punched my husband out at the Marriot in Chantilly."

I almost didn't answer, but I remember her blue eyes and that small spark I saw in them at the end of the evening, and I had to know how it turned out. I wrote her back and asked.

We began to write regularly. She had left him. He had pushed her and pushed her sexually, she said, and then each time she did what he wanted, called her a slut, a whore and worse.

"No one had told me I was better than that in years." She wrote. "I had forgotten."

As we wrote, I had to wonder how she had forgotten. She had been a cheerleader. The homecoming queen. She had majored in drama in at Auburn and had modeled on the side in college. We began to call and talk to each other every few days.

"Damn woman," I told her one night "Didn't you ever look in the mirror when he told you that crap? You're gorgeous. You're classy. You're smart. Only about half the world would kill to have you at their side. That would be the male half."

"You're exaggerating."

"I can prove it, if you are feeling brave."

"How?"

"I have to be in DC in two weeks. Let me do a shoot of you."

"I don't know..." a bit of hesitancy in her voice.

"Faye, I walked away before. Remember? I'm not after sex. I just want to capture your beauty. It deserves to be captured. And you need to see and understand how stunning you are."

"let me think on it."

"OK."

If you've read this far then you know what she decided. And I was glad she did. There's not a man alive who doesn't enjoy being greeted with a smile and a hug from the best looking woman in the restaurant.

She may not have thought so. Talk to her about her looks and she'd tell you she's too short, and she has a little belly and her backside is too big and her thighs are... You've probably heard it before.

But she's missing what most women miss. You see, what counts for most men is that she had gorgeous curves, full round breasts, shapely legs and most of all, a confidence in her looks, the kind of confidence that she could wear that corset and skirt in public.

I knew she had that confidence now, because there was no husband at home to make her dress sexy. I had even told her she didn't have to dress for dinner, that she could wait to dress sexy for the shoot later that night.

But she had chosen and I loved it, not just for the effect, but because it said something wonderful about who she had become in the past few months.

We talked about all kinds of things, and dinner went much too quickly. Soon it was two hours, two bottles of whine and four courses of food later.

She giggled. "I've been looking forward to this all day. You can't imagine. Just getting ready was like an aphrodisiac. I've never done anything like this before." She blushed. "I got so excited that by three this afternoon, I had to take care of myself."

I laughed, entranced by her openness. What a difference between now and the first time I saw her.

The shoot went wonderfully. She had rented a room at the Chantilly Marriot and we took over a hundred shots of her in her corset on the big king sized bed with it's rich Mediterranean carvings. As the shoot went on, she continued to sip on yet another bottle of wine and whatever inhibitions she had slowly evaporated. She'd undo one snap, then another, then another until her unbearably perfect breasts were exposed. She napped her stockings and took them off. Slowly, she went from fully dressed and sexy to naked and stunning. We ended the night with shots of her touching herself; first her taut pink nipples and finally her silky smooth shaven pussy until she could not bear it and exploded in an orgasm that I caught on camera, her face so perfectly frozen in that moment of abandon and pleasure.

Was I hard? Of course! What man wouldn't be? But I keep my promises and I had promised not to make a move. Trust me when I said that this was the single hardest temptation of my life.

I began to take down the lights when she rolled over onto her stomach and with her chin in her hands, and otherwise naked, she asked me "So?"

"So what?"

"Oh come on, how do the pictures look?"

My voice was husky with lust that I could not completely disguise. "Faye, you are simply perfect. The pictures will be perfect too."

She got up, and pulled on a silk robe she had brought with her. It hugged her curves and I snapped a couple of shots.

"JT?" she began.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. You gave me the courage to stand on my own."

"It was in you all along. I just saw it before you did."

"Still. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm so pleased. You're something special lady, and I am glad you know it finally."

"You really think so? That I am special?"

I stopped putting up the lights and sat down on the chair next to her.

"How many women do you think I have shot over the past five years?

"I don't know."

"One hundred and fifty one."

"Wow!"

"And you are the best. Your beauty is so strong, so much from within. I've never seen any one like you. I could shoot you forever. Hell, I could fall for you and I don't fall for women any more. Trust me, you're not just special, you are extraordinary."

"JT?" She had that little girl look again.

"Yes?"

"Why don't you fall for women any more? Are you gay or something?"

I laughed. "No princess. But I was hurt badly in my marriage. Betrayed totally. Honestly? I am afraid of that kind of pain again."

"What did she do?"

Tears were in my eyes at the remembrance. "She lied about her love. Lie about anything else Faye, but never love. The pain you cause when you do is too terrible."

"I'd never lie to you, JT."

I looked at her. Her eyes were soft and compassionate. "I believe you."

"What would make the perfect woman for you?"

I laughed despite the emotion of the moment. "You really want to know?"

"I do. Because I don't think most men would tell me. But I think you will."

"OK. I want a woman who understands that she is beautiful, that beauty is not just things like your perfect skin or those magnificent breasts or your soft full lips, but that it comes from confidence in who you are, and that in that confidence, she is not afraid to give herself totally to me."

"Totally?"

"Totally."

"Like a slave?"

"Yes and no. If a woman can give herself, she'd learn what pleasures me and makes me feel loved, and want to do it. Want to, because her love would be such that loving me that way gives her pleasure too. That's the way I want to give to someone. And that's what I want from a woman."

"Yes!" Her cry was nearly a shout. "That's it. That's what my husband never got. I wanted to give myself, but he wanted to take me, push me, force me. If he had just trusted me, I would have done anything for him. I want to give myself to someone just like that. Please JT. May I give myself to you?"

Rule number one of a boudoir photographer. Always say no to proposals like that.

"Yes." I said.

She came to me and sat on my lap, putting her arms around me. My arms went around and my hands slid across the perfect softness of her skin. She leaned forward and kissed me.

How long was that kiss? I cannot say. It went on and on, and was wonderfully slow and languid and grew slowly in intensity until I felt that my very soul was being shared as our lips and mouths and tongues kissed and explored.

And our hands. They moved and caressed. Mine over her skin, so naked and smooth and warm in front of me. , hers over my shirt, my back, my neck, through my hair.

If you have been in love, have made real love, you know how it happens. It's a blur of touch and clothes being pulled off and hands all over each other. No one who has been overcome with love and lust can describe that moment in honest detail for you are over come with each other. The taste. The smell, The touch. And so it was with us until we were not both naked, and I was on top of her, looking into her eyes, my cock hard and throbbing right at the soft, warm opening of her.

And I began to push in, slowly, gently. She was so tight, so warm, so wet and the movement of her hips met each slow thrust of mine. I felt surrounded by her, felt every tight inch of her each time I went in and slid out. I heard her moans. Heard my own. Heard her call my name, felt my hard cock be swallowed by her, felt my pumping take on a life of it's own, moving faster and faster.

I heard her cry out and grasp my back and pull me to her just as, overwhelmed by it all, I too came and pumped her wildly, both of us crying aloud in lust and pleasure until we fell limp into each other's arms.

How long did I lie there, still hard inside her, feeling her warmth, her pulse through and through? I do not know. I was mesmerized by her.

"So that's what it feels like." She said.

"What what feels like?" I murmured.

"To really give yourself to someone, To give, not be taken."

"I hope you feel that way."

"I do. And I want to always feel this way. I want to give myself to you every way a woman can. I want to serve you, love you, kiss you, suck you, give you every bit of me, over and over. Will you let me?"

I laughed despite the seriousness in her voice. "Who could say no to that?"

=====================

Written by thesoftersideofpassion@yahoo.com ??

??

??

??