Peter gave me a sidelong glance. “Well, if there ever is a time when your art calls for more hands-on involvement, I’m okay with it—as long as you stay focused on the bride.”
“Don’t be silly. I get my pleasure in other ways.” I jerked my chin toward the spot on the carpet where we’d just fucked.
He laughed, but his eyes held a touch of doubt.
Ah, so deep down even Peter thought it was about bumping uglies. So be it. Nothing would stop me from my calling: to make the mystery of real female pleasure into something everyone could see. Maybe I’d never find anyone who understood.
But I had to keep going, and watching, and reaching.
TWO DAYS LATER I GOT A CALL on my private line from a woman who identified herself as “Jaime.” She’d seen a honeymoon album I’d done for a friend and wanted to arrange a session.
“I’m afraid I’m all booked up through July. When’s your wedding?”
Jaime’s laugh was velvet mixed with sandpaper. “I was actually hoping you could fit us in this afternoon. We’re in New York on vacation, and we leave tomorrow. As for the wedding part, Serena and I have been married in spirit for years, but I assure you the honeymoon isn’t over yet.”
I was ready to turn her down, but my pulse jumped at the name Serena. I’d never photographed a lesbian couple before. Since I always focused on the woman, the idea of doubling the challenge intrigued me.
Later that afternoon, I found myself at the client’s posh uptown hotel, pressing the doorbell to suite 2114.
The door opened.
The woman before me was absolutely stunning, but not in the conventional way. She reminded me of a cowboy in a movie with her dazzling sapphire eyes and cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Her sturdy frame was shown to advantage by low-slung black jeans and a muscle shirt. This gal clearly spent time in the weight room.
“Hello, you must be Melody. I’m Jaime.”
I felt an immediate twinge between my legs. The flicker in Jaime’s eyes told me she liked what she saw, too, although the spark was different from a man’s. I know you. I know what you want.
For a split second, I wondered if she did.
“Come in. Meet Serena.”
Another woman rose from the canopied bed, her red satin robe clinging to her curves like a second skin. She was a Mediterranean beauty: all long, dark curls and glossy, melted-chocolate eyes.
“I loved the pictures you did for Charles and Emma, Melody. I told Jaime we absolutely had to do it, too,” Serena said.
“Thank you. I’m afraid this session will be a departure from the usual, though. I always schedule a preliminary consultation with each couple to discuss their needs. Some prefer a romantic approach. Others like it down and dirty. I can do a lot with Photoshop after the session, but I like to get a feel for your preferences first.”
Jaime gave another disconcertingly tactile laugh, prickling and soothing at the same time. “We trust you, Melody. We’ll put ourselves in your hands.”
I swallowed. I couldn’t exactly go with my standard wedding night program: the bride as the star, the groom as her willing servant, coaxing her pleasure into bloom.
“How about we start with a kiss?” Serena suggested. “Jaime has the hottest lips this side of hell.”
Jaime planted a smooch on Serena’s plump lips. “That’s the way I like to warm you up best, sweet thing.”
“Excuse me. I have to set up my equipment first,” I interrupted, my voice trembling slightly. I realized I was blushing, too. This job might prove to be more challenging than I thought.
Fortunately, both Jaime and Serena were naturals before the camera. Their kisses were almost sculptural, Jaime’s angular face the perfect counterpoint to Serena’s soft lushness.
I was so enthralled, Jaime had to nudge me on to the next step.
“Could you do some of those pictures with just my hands caressing Serena’s beautiful body?” she asked. “Come on, Serena. Sit between my legs, and I’ll show you off.”
Laughing softly, Serena took her place at the edge of the bed between her lover’s open thighs. Jaime untied the sash of Serena’s satin robe and drew it down over her shoulders to reveal her heavy breasts. The dainty pink nipples were already stiff.
“Do you like to have that pretty photographer watch me play with your tits?” Jaime whispered, just loud enough so I could hear. She caught the rosy points between her middle and ring fingers and began to open and close them like scissors.
Serena moaned, the sound rising from deep in her belly.
I crouched over the tripod, snapping away like a madwoman.
Jaime pulled the robe open farther. Serena wore no panties, and her plump thighs were encased in black fishnet thigh-highs that gave her a whorish air.
“You’re so wet. I can smell your perfume. Good thing you waxed your treasure box just yesterday so we can see your goodies,” Jaime crooned. “Now open your legs for the pretty lady.”
Serena whimpered and eased her thighs wider apart.
“Now I’m going to finger your pussy so Melody can take a picture of it,” Jaime said.
“Oh, god, yes,” Serena growled.
My own hands were slick on the camera, but I stayed the course, capturing several long shots of Jaime pleasuring Serena, then moving in for more-intimate views of graceful, tapered fingers playing satiny folds like a guitar. With the way she hummed, you’d think Serena’s pussy was indeed a musical instrument.
Suddenly Jaime pulled her hand away and flashed me a knowing smile.
“Don’t stop. Please,” Serena begged.
“You want more, sweet thing? Tell me what you really want. Don’t be shy in front of Melody. She’ll make it beautiful.”
“I . . . I want Buddy. I want him inside me,” Serena choked out.
Her smile widening, Jaime stood up and walked over to the writing desk. For an instant, I expected her to pick up the phone and place a call to some guy named Buddy, which would have made the shoot even more of an artistic challenge. Instead, she reached into the drawer and took out a glossy leather case. Eyes twinkling, she opened it at an angle that gave me a good view of the contents: a dildo harness and a medium-size rubber cock, lifelike except for the lavender hue.
Jaime peeled off her jeans—she, too, wore no underwear—to reveal shapely, muscular legs and a dark thatch of pubic hair. She slid the cock into the leather ring and stepped into the harness. Then she pulled off her shirt to expose plum-size breasts, as disdainful of gravity as a teenager’s. Grabbing a bottle of lube from the outside pocket of the case, she sauntered over to the bed, “Buddy” bobbing jauntily between her legs.
Serena’s eyes were riveted on Jaime’s cock. She licked her lips. I realized I was doing the same.
Jaime pushed Serena gently back onto the bed and tucked two pillows under her ass. Kneeling between her lover’s legs, she poured some lube into her palm and smoothed the slippery gel over her shaft.
I’d never seen anything so strange, yet so beautiful. I focused and began to shoot. Jaime stroked her cock tenderly, lovingly, as if it were alive with nerves, as if she could feel the pleasure she would give her partner with it. Suddenly, it hit me that this was not so strange.
Jaime held her cock the way I held my camera.
Guiding her tool to Serena’s swollen cunt lips, Jaime eased herself inside.
I captured her entry, inch by aching inch.
The women began to move together. Jaime reached between them to strum Serena’s clit. Soon, Serena was almost sobbing. “Harder, Buddy. Ride me harder.”
Jaime quickened her pace, her jaw clenched, her eyes glazed. The muscles of her high, firm ass were bunched and tight as she thrust in and out.
Serena arched up, and a high-pitched wail rose from her lips. Jaime pounded into her—one, two, three strokes—then pumped gently a few more times until her lover collapsed back onto the bed.
Only then did I realize that I was so busy focusing on Jaime’s cock that I missed my chan
ce for a close-up of Serena’s face as she climaxed.
Silently I vowed to make it up to them somehow. But first, I had to finish with Jaime.
“I have an idea for a good shot,” I said, my voice thick. “Standing up by the bed—you and Buddy.”
“Your wish is my command, sweetheart,” she said, instinctively taking the proud pose I’d envisioned, legs wide, hands on her hips.
I took the camera from the tripod and knelt before her. Shooting from below always gave the subject a look of dominance—not that Jaime needed any help there—but I also sensed the marriage of her sparkling blue eyes looking down over that glistening purple dildo would make a riveting image.
A few shots later, I stood and wiped my palms on my jeans. “You didn’t come yet, did you?”
“Not yet.” She continued to gaze at me, a smile playing over her lips. “I was keeping it for you.”
I stared back, mesmerized. Her eyes sank into me, as hard and deep as that lavender shaft poking Serena to her core.
Bedroom eyes.
I never really understood what those words meant, until now. And Jaime knew it, too. She knew my nipples were taut and aching, my panties soaked with my juices.
As if on cue, Serena slipped off the bed and took my hand. They both guided me to the bed, laying me out with care, as if I were a princess on her wedding night. Serena propped pillows behind my neck, and Jaime knelt beside me, her obscene tool jutting out over my supine body.
“Trust us, Melody. We’ll give you just what you need and no more,” Jaime purred.
Serena had fetched a condom from the leather case. “It’s blueberry-flavored. They’re the best.”
“We’re both healthy, but safe sex is a must,” Jaime said, wiping Buddy with the sheet and rolling on the rubber. “Have you ever sucked girl cock before, Melody?”
I shook my head.
“I have a feeling you’ll be good at it. It won’t take me long to get off today. Would you like to try it?”
I nodded, my shiver of lust spiked with delicious fear.
Jaime straddled my chest and gently teased my lips with the head of her rubber penis. I opened for her. Her tool filled my throbbing mouth, and I began to suck. Fake fruit flavor flooded my palate, but the cool, springy sensation of the dildo quickly distracted me. Jaime sighed and closed her eyes. Serena lay beside me and held my hand, whispering encouraging words. “You’re doing great, Melody. You’re making Buddy feel so good.”
Indeed, Jaime’s thighs were quivering now, and her breath was ragged. But how could that be? I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sucking, the surrender as she possessed my mouth a little deeper each time. And suddenly I saw it as if I were standing by the bed, camera in hand. Three female bodies touching, interconnected in an odd, but lovely array of shapes and angles. A quick zoom in to Jaime’s cock, the flared purple base chafing her hard clit with every stroke. And then my own greedy lips being filled, taken, yet giving back even greater pleasure.
My own pussy was drooling, and my belly tingled with jolts of lust. It wouldn’t take too much effort to unzip my jeans and play with myself. Maybe I should ask Serena to do it? But beneath the lust I knew it wasn’t about that. Serena and Jaime were leading me farther down my path. They understood how far we should go.
Suddenly Jaime stiffened. “Suck it, oh god, suck my prick.”
I rose up on my elbows, taking her straight into my throat. She cried out and pumped into me with long, rhythmic strokes, just like a man.
Something clicked inside me, and a warm brightness filled my belly. Later, when I took Peter’s cock in my mouth, my own hands busy between my legs, I knew I would remember in my body this magical moment when Nature merged with Art.
I usually finished a session with afterglow pictures of the honeymooners gazing into each other’s eyes. This time my subjects looked straight into the camera, Serena’s face glowing, Jaime’s eyes soft as a summer sky.
Female pleasure never looked richer.
DOWN IN THE LOBBY, I called Peter at work to ask him to pick up some takeout from our favorite Hunan place on the way home.
“Order it extra spicy. I had a last-minute honeymoon session downtown, and I’m starving.” I paused. “It was my first lesbian couple.”
“Oh?” I could see his eyebrows shoot up, even through the phone. “Did it go well?”
“Remember that hands-on involvement you were talking about the other night? Well, I didn’t exactly use my hands, but . . . ”
“Hmm, maybe you’ll have to tell me all about it before dinner.”
I wasn’t planning to hold anything back, but telling him everything that happened with Jaime and Serena would definitely be a challenge, like describing sex to a virgin. “This might be more of a ‘show, don’t tell’ situation,” I admitted.
“I understand. I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy watching,” he said, his voice husky.
I smiled. He’d enjoy it all right. But not as much as I had.
EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
Jeremy Edwards
It was the first summer since Nancy had come out. And suddenly, Philadelphia, where she’d lived all her life, seemed like Disney World. Its familiar streets were fresh and mysterious, and its formerly dull landmarks had been colorized, in her mind, into “attractions.”
Nancy still felt like a tourist in the land of self-fulfillment and self-actualization. She knew this phase would pass, but she was enjoying it while it lasted. She didn’t mind being treated like a newbie by other lesbians. Just the fact that she got a thrill from mentally articulating that phrase—other lesbians—proved what a newbie she was. And she wasn’t above a little hand-holding. Indeed, hand-holding was one of Nancy’s favorite things.
She did feel silly for having expected, on some level, that her partnerless status would magically change as soon as she came out of the closet. They don’t automatically issue you a steady girlfriend when you join the lesbian club, she chided herself. It had, for the most part, been a lonely winter. Nancy was proud about having acknowledged her identity, but being proud doesn’t keep a girl warm on a January night—or light up the kitchen of her third-floor apartment at the end of a long Monday.
Today, with the fragrant, pregnant beneficence of June all around her, the sense of magic, even if it was an irrational sense, had returned. She was a bighearted girl in a city full of possibilities, standing in line to fall in love. She even kind of liked the feeling that she didn’t know where to start. Maybe she’d go out tonight and explore.
But it was still afternoon—her first afternoon of leisure following a hectic end of semester and an exhausting move across town—and there’d be plenty of time to ponder the nightlife options after sunset. Today’s street fair, an all-out food festival, seemed like paradise, and Nancy wasn’t even hungry. She was simply happy to be here. She had donned the little peach dress that she’d picked up on clearance last October and the white sun hat she’d had forever. Summer rippled through her blood vessels, and the vitality of the city pulsed up from the asphalt, straight through the soles of her sandals, to power her liberated strides.
She stopped just before an intersection. From her vantage point, the fair was infinite: The parade of delicacies continued in all directions, with the usual traffic diverted into another world. She hesitated while considering which way to proceed.
“Hey, Peach.”
She turned her head. The woman at the last booth on the block had beautiful gray eyes, and they were locked on Nancy’s.
“Want to try some vegan yummies?”
Why did the way she said that innocent word, yummies, make Nancy feel as if the woman were grabbing her ripe summer ass?
“Yes,” said Nancy, approaching the booth and forgetting that she wasn’t hungry. “I think I’d like that.”
She began to fish in her purse while the woman plucked some sort of dumpling from a curry-bright bath, depositing it on a plate with her tongs.
And then there was a hand
on Nancy’s wrist, warm through the flimsy food-service glove. “Nothin’ doin’,” said the woman. “I’m giving you a sample.”
“Really? I mean . . . thank you.” Flustered but pleased, Nancy snapped her purse shut. She was turned on by the sensation of her flesh being handled, sanitarily, like a piece of food. It didn’t even occur to her to walk on, plate in hand, as she’d done with countless other tidbits at countless other street fairs. She felt she owed it to the gray-eyed woman to show her how much she appreciated complimentary morsels of inventive, skillfully prepared delectables.
The sauce was piquant and heady, like a complex perfume, and the filling tasted sharp, earthy, and savory—like an aroused woman, Nancy couldn’t help thinking. “Mm. What am I eating?”
The woman laughed. “I like your spirit, Peach: bite first, ask questions later.” The woman hesitated, and then her lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly as she extended her hand and added, “I’m Tina.” As they shook, Nancy saw hope in Tina’s eyes—for an instant her affect was ingenuous and vulnerable, rather than seasoned and breezy.
She took a better look at Tina. She realized that despite the confident, take-charge manner, Tina couldn’t really be much older than she herself was—probably not even thirty. Tina’s skin was baby-soft, and her lips fresh and plump. The black hair that framed her angular jawline was as thick as a forest.
“I’m Nancy,” Nancy responded belatedly. “And I still don’t know what I’m eating.” She giggled, and a strand of blond escaped from her hat to touch her eyelid.
Tina’s face relaxed, as if an awkward passage had been negotiated. “Nancy?” She shook her head in mock scorn. “Nah. Mind if I keep calling you Peach?”
Maybe Nancy should have felt insulted by this, but instead she felt special. Curry whatever-it-was tingled in her mouth, and the halfgrope, half-caress of Tina’s gaze was making her pussy tingle as well.
This wasn’t the way she had expected things to happen. She’d been imagining a giddy summer of delicate online dating, timid lesbian-bar encounters, and flirty all-girl dance nights, as a storybook that would somehow culminate in a relationship. Instead, with summer barely begun, she was moistening her panties in broad daylight for a stranger whose idea of romance was evidently to tease her by feeding her unidentified dumplings.
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