Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Master Paul’s cock was different. The thought of it, the image of it—thick and veined and heavy, curving slightly to the left with a weight that suggested solidity, substance, something that would fill a space inside me that I hadn’t known was empty until this very moment—made my inner muscles clench involuntarily, a reflexive squeeze around nothing that sent a fresh wave of slickness between my folds.
I could feel it happening. I could feel myself getting wetter while he looked at me, and the knowledge that he could see it, that his face was close enough to see every shameful detail of my arousal, made me want to press my knees together and disappear.
But I held them open. I held them open because he’d told me to, and because the hand on my shoulders—the invisible one, the one that had settled there when I’d whispered the word submissive—pressed down a little harder every time I thought about closing them.
“Darlene’s ready.” Melissa’s voice cut through the humid fog of my thoughts. “Bathroom’s lit, but she wants to get the bedroom inspection first while the energy’s fresh. She says the light in here is perfect right now—something about the color temperature matching Anne’s skin tone.”
I heard footsteps. The click of equipment being repositioned. The soft, mechanical whir and click of an old-fashioned film camera taking stills.
“Don’t move, Anne,” Master Paul said without looking up from between my thighs. “Stay exactly as you are.”
“Rolling,” I heard Darlene call, and then she appeared at the periphery of my vision—a flash of silver hair and black clothing, moving with silent efficiency. She circled the bed, and I heard the shutter fire in rapid succession; a quiet, precise series of sounds, like a hummingbird’s wings.
“Gorgeous,” Darlene murmured. I couldn’t tell if she was talking about me or the light. “Can you get her to shift her hips left about an inch? The nightgown is catching the key light beautifully along the lace, but I want more of it pooled at her waist so the contrast with the bottom reads.”
“Anne,” Master Paul said. “Shift your hips to the left.”
I shifted. The movement was tiny, barely perceptible, but it changed the way the chiffon fell across my stomach, and Darlene made a small, satisfied sound as she moved back toward one of the video cameras.
“There. Perfect. The pink against the red—it’s incredible. And her pussy lips just peeking out… Melissa, come look at the monitor.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Melissa appear beside Darlene, and I heard them conferring in low voices while I lay there, legs spread, holding my knees in my hands like a girl at the gynecologist’s office… if the gynecologist’s office were a pornography studio and the gynecologist were a man whose cock I couldn’t stop imagining thrusting his rigid penis inside me.
“Oh, that’s stunning,” Melissa said, and her voice carried that electric quality again—the creative fervor that seemed to override everything else in her. “The baby doll reads so innocent against the spanking marks. See how the pink of the fabric picks up the pink of her cheeks? It’s like the nightgown and the punishment are part of the same palette. Darlene, can you get a wider shot that shows the full length of the baby doll and the bottom together? I want the viewer to see the whole story in one frame—the pretty nightgown he chose for her, and what happened when she didn’t cooperate.”
“Already on it,” Darlene said. She moved from the video camera and raised her Nikon. The shutter whirred again. Darlene disappeared, and I felt her move behind me, shooting over my shoulder and down the length of my body—the lace bodice, the bunched chiffon, my parted thighs, and Master Paul’s dark head between them.
“Anne, you’re doing beautifully,” Melissa called. “Don’t change anything. Whatever you’re feeling right now, keep feeling it.”
What I felt seemed a combination of arousal and mortification so intense that the two had fused into a single, undifferentiated sensation that occupied my entire body. I was a girl on a bed in a pink nightgown with a well-spanked bottom being photographed while a man old enough to be my father examined her pussy. That was what I was. That was what I was feeling.
Master Paul’s fingers parted… parted… me. My pussy. Not roughly, but with the same deliberate, thorough touch he’d used standing. This time, though, he spread me open with both hands, his thumbs pressing gently against my outer labia, drawing them apart so that the inner folds, swollen and glistening, were fully exposed to his gaze, the studio lights, and Darlene’s cameras.
I made a sound. A thin, reedy whimper that seemed to come from somewhere deep in my chest.
“Hmm,” he said. The sound was low, contemplative, and carried a note of displeasure that made my stomach drop. His thumbs moved through the pale blonde hair that covered my mound, and he shook his head slowly. “This won’t do.”