GREATER EXPECTATIONS (or WHAT I DID ON MY SUMMER VACATION)
written by:
Naughty Miranda

The photographs were better than I'd ever expected. They were taken so quickly, just a series of snaps when my mind (and his) were some place else entirely. I'd not even bothered looking at them since I returned home from my vacation and, if my friend Lisa hadn't been so insistent... she was bored with the usual touristy pics... I might have deleted them out of my digital camera without a second though.

Now, though, I was hooked. And so was she. "Wow. Now that's a photograph. Just look at the expression on your face. You're really beautiful."

I shot her a what-do-you-mean-by-that glance, but I could see what she meant. It was another close-up, only this time I was looking up... a little away from the camera, towards the ramrod-straight penis that was suspended just above me. My eyes were bright, my mouth was smiling, my teeth white behind my parted lips, my tongue tipping out just a little. A shiver of saliva glistened on the lower lip. Beautiful and... "and so sexy! Portrait of a Young Lady Contemplating Fellatio. Put that picture on a billboard, and you could sell blowjobs to a convent. Mind if I e-mail it to myself?"

"You're not e-mailing it to anyone," I scolded. "Just save it to my hard-drive. You can visit."

"Spoilsport," she hissed. And then, "so which one of your conquests is this mysterious photographer?"

"I'm not sure I actually told you about him," I said. "You said you only wanted the steamy stuff..." She clicked through a few more pictures, then halted at another, an aerial view of my ass being spread, and the head of a penis disappearing within, its helmet distended by my tightness. "This looks pretty steamy to me," she replied. "Come on, spill the beans."

I was changing the film in my camera, using my jacket to block out the light, when a shadow fell over me. "I've got a bag in the car if you want to do that properly."

I'd seen him in the park across the way, setting up a tripod and a camera that cost more than I earn in a year - a professional, probably taking pictures for postcards, I decided, and I hurried off, so he couldn't laugh at my little 35 mil. "Thanks, I think I've got it."

He gestured to the chair opposite. "May I?"

"Sure...."

I was right, he was a professional, but he was scouting locations for a TV documentary. His name was Andy. "And you?"

I held up my camera. "Vacation. Tourist. Holiday snaps. Lots of thumbs and strangers with no heads." He laughed. "Ah, but think of all the memories. To be honest, I don't even take my camera when I go on holiday; I'd think I was still at work."

We talked easily and, when he asked me if I wanted to tag along as he did the rest of his rounds, I was more than happy. Most of his shoots were in places I intended visiting myself and, if we left my car in the parking lot here, I'd be saving myself a bundle of aggravation, negotiating the narrower lanes.

"Have you eaten? If you don't mind stopping off at my place, while I dump my stuff, I know a brilliant Indian restaurant." Sounds good. I followed his van in my rental, parked at my hotel and then hopped in with him, up the high street, over the hill and into a maze of residential streets, tiny little brick-built boxes and he seemed to live in the tiniest of them all, a two room apartment that had been transformed into four with some judiciously-placed particle board. He gestured around - "bedroom... dark room, kitchen..." "Bathroom?" I asked. "Upstairs. We share."

Yuk. I hoped I wouldn't have to use it, and turned my attention instead to the photographs that hung everywhere: pinned to the walls, dangling from a bird's nest of wires, tacked to the furniture. Portraits, performers, landscapes, store fronts... "a bit of everything," he told me when I asked if he had a specialty and, as I worked my way along the wall, I began to see what he meant, as I came face to face with a topless blonde, thrusting her breasts out with a come-hither look.

Andy saw where I was looking. "I'd stop there if I were you. They get a little saucier from that point in." I sneaked a peek and saw what he meant - blondie bending over, knickerless now, and sliding a finger... a dildo... a cell-phone (a cell-phone? Good Heavens) inside her. "I told you, a bit of everything. So long as it pays," he said. "And, talking of which..." he pulled out his wallet, flicked through a thick stash of credit cards, and then, "dinner time."

I knew he was going to make a pass at me, long before it happened; could sense it coming from miles away and the only surprise was, how clumsy it was when it finally arrived, somewhere between the main course and the dessert.

"Have you ever done any modeling?"

I shook my head. "No."

"You should."

I apologized, but he wasn't listening. "A lot of it's in the lighting; you catch the highlights - not just the tits and bum, but the shadows, the bone structure, the eyes... you've got incredible eyes."

"Thanks, but I'm still not..."

"I know, I was just saying." He was silent for a moment, and then; "but I would like to show you what I mean."

I was interested despite myself. "And how would you do that?"

"Look, come back to my place, I'll get out all the lights and filters... no cameras, I promise. And you can keep all your clothes on. How does that sound?"

Harmless enough. "You're on." We finished our meal - did I eat a little faster than usual? Maybe. But we were back at his apartment in half an hour... and then I sat and watched the TV while he spent the next 40 minutes setting everything up. "Okay, come and look at this." I sat where he gestured, on a tall bar stool, and saw myself projected back in a small TV monitor.

"I thought you said no cameras," I protested.

"No camera. Or rather, no film. It's just a relay unit."

"Alright then." I looked again - Andy was right, I did look great. He stood behind me, mussed my hair with his hands, took a brush and some powder and dabbed my face. "I don't do make-up per se, but I know the rudiments." He stepped back, made a few adjustments. "What do you think?"

"I like it. No-one'll ever believe me, of course, but...."

"I will. Now, undo a couple of buttons." Without thinking, I did so, and leaned forward. Back again, he dusted my cleavage with the brush, adjusted the shape of my blouse. "Are you wearing a bra?"

"Er... no."

"Okay, we'll leave it at that if you want."

I thought for a moment. "You're sure there's no film in that thing?" He shook his head. "Come on then, I'm curious." I unbuttoned the rest of my blouse, pulled it open. Andy stepped over, brushed, then leaned closer and blew lightly. His breath tapped my nipple and I felt a tiny pulse as it hardened. "Sorry," he said, then stepped back. "Could you..." he mimed a twist on my other nipple. "Even them up a little?"

I did so. "Perfect," he nodded. "But if you want to really...." His voice trailed off. "Really what?" I asked, because I was really getting into this. "Lick your finger, dab a little spit onto your nipples." I did so, as he tilted one of the lights. I saw the difference immediately, and leaned forward, parting my legs as I did so. He fiddled with the viewfinder, closed in on my breasts, then panned slowly down towards my waist. "Do you want to see some more?" he asked.

I nodded. My mouth was dry as I fiddled with the button on my skirt; I asked for a drink of water - he disappeared into the kitchen, then returned with a bottle of wine, by which time I was down to my panties. "Raise one leg..." he directed me through a series of poses, each one making me a little hotter as I saw them reflected back in the monitor. Every so often he would dart over to make an adjustment, to my hair, to the hang of my blouse or my panties; once, he wiped a fingertip of his own spit around the corona of one nipple.

Another close-up of my crotch; I could see my pubes thick and dark behind my white panties, and another darkness, as my pussy moistened and sopped the fabric. The image tightened, closed in even further. I glanced at him; he nodded, and I pulled my panties off, then spread my lips with two fingers. "Hold it there," he breathed, but I'd had enough teasing. "No, I want to see what you look like under this lot." I gestured at the lamps, and then reached for my purse. "And you may not have any film handy, but I do." I pulled out the digital camera I'd been carrying everywhere, but hadn't used all vacation.

Half-in., half-out of his trousers, Andy took the camera from me. "This should work nicely." He took a test shot, zooming in on my face and clicked. There was a flash, then a nod of approval. "These things will put me out of business one day," he tutted, then fired off a second shot of me, as he finished undressing.

I reached for him, but he stepped back. "You think I'm going to do this, with you looking like that?" he chided; taking his powder and brush, he began dusting his own body, inspecting the results in the monitor, wiping some patches clean, laying it on thicker in others; then stepped over to a drawer and pulled out a small pot of gel. "Amazing stuff this." He smeared it over his stiffening penis, then handed the pot to me. "They use it in porn films. It absorbs some of the light, reflects some. It's for enhancing things like length and depth. And it's totally tasteless." I raised a finger to my lips, smelled it then touched it to my tongue. Another flash of my camera.

"Are you going to keep doing that?" I asked as I moved towards him.

"It's your camera. You tell me when to stop." He stooped to take one nipple in his mouth, while his finger stole into my puss. "And it's a wonderful lubricant as well. Not that you seem to need one."

The evening passed in a blur of sensation and flesh, lit by the sometimes-stroboscopic flashing of my camera. I was glad I'd added an extra memory card, but still wondered whether we'd run out of room before he ran out of tricks... and, I think, in the end, we did. Scrolling through the thumbnails after Chrissie had gone home, with one finger flicking round my clit as I studied them, I was sure there was at least one more scene that hadn't been recorded - although that might have been Andy's fault. He faithfully documented everything else, but even he could not have kept his mind on the job at the end.

I looked again at the shot of his cock as it pushed its way into my ass; wondered how something that looked so uncomfortable for him could have felt so glorious to me. He'd slicked us both with a second glob of his miracle goo, and still the pressure was almost unbearable, as my hole stretched wider and wider to accept him - and then, the protest suddenly ceased and he slipped in, burying himself so deep inside that he could have come out the other side.

I gripped the stool; almost toppled over as it swayed precariously, but then found my center of balance. His hand was gripping my stomach, his strong fingers and nails gouging into the flesh; I was aware of a couple more camera flashes. And then his other hand was on my shoulder, and he was pushing, grunting, even swearing as he pounded me.

The jolts shook my stomach, pounded my chest; if I looked down, I was sure I'd see my breasts bouncing from the force of his cock; if I tried to speak, my voice would be wobbling. I reached one hand down to my swimming pussy, circled my clit and began frigging furiously; then let go and curved my arm behind me, stretching to the limit, placed a finger in his ass and jammed it up there.

He came in seconds, his cum boiling up inside me and triggering my own massive orgasm; we collapsed onto the floor together, still linked by a prick that clung on inside me, even as a cascade of cum slicked down it, to pool on his thigh and drip to the ground. "I hope you caught all that on film," I whispered, but he shook his head. "That's why you always need a reserve camera man on the set," he smiled. "In case one gets too carried away. And, I'm afraid, I always shoot solo."

"You shoot gallons, more like," I joked.

I stayed the night, and we made love once more, as the sun rose and blinded us through the wafer thin curtains that hung above his bed; then, as I prepared to leave after breakfast, and reached for my camera, he put his hand on my wrist. "Promise me something. Don't look at them yet. Save it. Wait till you're back in America and feeling lonely one night. Then e-mail me and let me know what you think. And, if you do want to try modeling... or anything else, I can easily set you up with someone."

He handed me his business card and drove me back to my hotel; I packed the camera away in my luggage, and really didn't think about it again until this evening. I scrolled back through the pictures he'd taken. I really did look good. Sexy, too. And the one that made Lisa speak so highly of me, the one with me licking my lips before sucking him off. She was right, it was beautiful.

I signed on-line and brought up a letterbox, tapped in Andy's address, and then subject: Re Modeling.

"Hi Andy. Gave it some thought, and it really isn't me. But just so you, and the world know what you're missing, here's your own private centerfold. Love, Chrissie."

A few pages from my first novella. What I Did On My Summer Vacation, available from Mardigraspublishing.com