As she said, at 2:50 her sister was loading up the kids into
the light blue Prius. Two large swim
bags were already in the open trunk. Kate wasn’t married though I don’t know why. She was pretty in an “older sister” kind of
way, the softer hips of a certain age, but long brown hair, beautiful eyes, and
today, an eye-popping outfit that showed way more cleavage than the average mom
taking her kids to swim lessons. Maybe
she was going to distract the lifeguard.
I drove by, pretending not to stare at her as I rolled to a
stop at the light, but she caught my eye as she stared at my rear-view
mirror. It was easy to see I was staring
at her in the reflection. I signaled, made the right turn, and took a long eastward
loop around the block to give her time to leave. The pool was down the hill in
the other direction, so I was safe.
My parking spot was behind the neighbor’s garage. They travelled
extensively for his Ministering work so I could be off the street. Not that
anyone would care, who’s going to notice a 2013 Nova?
I didn’t knock on the front door but stepped around back to
her studio. The is where was supposed to be painting. She did on occasion, but that occasion was
not today.
She was in her regular ‘fit, suitable for seeing her sister
and playing the part of the caring suburban mother. Bent over and spreading a new blanket over
the big couch, I stayed quiet and watched her as I set my camera gear on the
little couch.
I admired her slim hips, even after two kids, and her strong
arms, built from hours at the barre and in the gym. “Strength & Grace” was painted on the wall
as her personal motto.
“I know you are there,” she said, “stop staring at my ass.”
“I’m not staring,” I retorted, “I’m admiring.”
“Either way,” she said, standing and turning toward me, “we
need to move ahead, Tim’s coming home at 4:30 to grab some tools for an
emergency job.”
I stepped around the room turning on the lights I wanted, turning
off the others.
“Emergency?” I asked.
“The pipes at Grace Lutheran on Penn Street,” she said and
turned toward me, pulling her sweatshirt over her head as she talked, “they are
leaking again.”
Her bra was dark blue, thin, sheer, and beautiful. Her
breasts were real though many assumed they were fake because they looked so
good after nursing two kids and dealing with a cancer scare.
“They are real,” she said once at a party, “but repaired.”
The circle of friends laughed, and the men tried not to stare at the topic of
conversation. “Getting some new upholstery
doesn’t mean your couch isn’t real.”
“Pipes leaking?” I asked as I prepped my gear?”
“Whistling,” she said, as she sat on the arm rest of the
couch next to me, putting her hand on my arm for balance and pulling off her
shoes and socks, “last week’s little 3.2 tremblor shook the organ pretty badly
and he’s picking up his welding great to help the techs.”
She removed her tennis shoes and, as the client requested,
her toenails were deep green with a read stripe, maybe he was getting in the
Christmas spirit.
“How do you want to do this?” I asked, Same as last week?”
“I have a couple of Ideas, but yes, let’s get started.”
She stood up next to me and our eyes met because she knew
this was my favorite part. With two thumbs in her waistband she pulled her
sweatpants down and off in a single motion and stepped out of them. Her panties
matched her thin bra and she did a little pirouette for my enjoyment. Once a
dancer, always a dancer, I thought in my head admiring her long thin legs, her
strong thighs, and her perfectly tight round little ass. The thin blue fabric
disappeared between her cheeks and the front triangle was low across her shaved
pubis.
“Did you obey the rules?”
She was starting to get in the mental space she needed to be
in and answered, yes Sir yes Sir. New paragraph I returned to the favor, taking
her left hand in mine and pulling her toward me, I kissed her on the forehead,
and said, “Good girl.”
The first shot was always the same, she lay on her stomach
with her head facing away from me and in a washable magic marker I wrote the
client's name on her left foot. On the right foot I wrote the date.
My camera focused on the words making them crisp and clear
and putting her slightly parted legs in the background in a soft blur. Later,
that beautiful ass would be in crisp clear focus and he would get his money's
worth. After the initial shot was finished, she rolled onto her back and
scooted up on the couch. Her feet were the focus, the beautiful nails, the
slender toes, her polished skin, and even her heels were porcelain smooth. She
knew what she was doing. She was giving her client masturbation material. His
foot fetish was well documented and had made her several thousand dollars over
the last six months.
The money came in handy as her husband's medical bills piled
up.
“It's just my feet,” she said at first, but then he offered
more money in exchange for more pictures, and to pay off more bills, she
accepted.
She and I have been friends for years period I knew her
husband through the Rotary Club and some local business deals we were both
involved with. His diagnosis was devastating to everyone but I'm the only one
that knows how those bills are getting paid. He thinks she negotiated a really
good insurance deal and was grateful when she offered to take care of all the
billing and insurance statements. Right now, he's clueless.
My camera clicked quietly and frequently as she moved
through a fairly standard set of pictures. Her toes and feet would be in focus,
her body in the background, her deep blue bra, the sheer panties, her hands and
hair all start off in soft focus.
She always got a little nervous when it was time to escalate
We always paused for a mental check, and I switched my
camera to video to record the same disclaimer I insisted on every week
Hello, my name is Claire, it is October 19th, 2026. I am
here with my photographer known as “The Eraser”, I am here voluntarily. All
pictures taken will be done so voluntarily, I am not under coercion, I am here
of my own free will. The safe word of the day is pixel and I am independently
recording this session for everyone's safety.
We then hit stop on the video, and I start a new file.
My name is Claire, it is October 19th, 2026. The video I am
about to shoot is of a sexual and intimate nature. I do so voluntarily and of
my own free will. I certified that I am over 21 years old in the state where I live
and am legally an adult making this decision of my own free will. I have
personally selected the actions and images I will share. There is no coercion I
am here with my own free will. My partner who may or may not appear on video,
and my cameraman, have both signed disclaimers which are on file with my
attorney at Jenkins, Collinsworth and Penske Associates. All rights to these
videos are held by me and my legal corporation of Pixie Films Incorporated LLC.
“Are you ready?”
She sank deep into the couch and brought her heels inward so
her feet and panties were in the same shot.
I adjusted the lights, tuned my flash, and focused.
Her fingers stared to caress her feet, play with her toes, and
then move to the outside of her panties.
Through the sheer material I could already see she was getting wet. Just
because it made her nervous, did not mean it didn't turn her on. She laid back
on the couch and the pose became more relaxed, less staged, as her fingers
disappeared between her thighs, using her long fingernails to scratch add her
lips now damp and pressed against the translucent silk. Soon her fingers
slipped inside her panties, I adjusted the light to create a shadow that showed
what her fingers were doing.
“You shaved.” I said, chiding her gently.
“I needed to be ready, Sir.”
“You did well.” I said, “Are they on your phone?”
“Yes, Sir.” She whispered as her fingers began to explore
deeper.
It is always a challenge to stay focused as our sessions get
more intense. But that's what I was getting paid for, so ignored my girl ain't
cock and focused on her fingers sliding up and down under they were panties.
Without prompting, I watched her body shift and backed up to
let her move, her panties slipped down over her legs and onto the floor where I
took several pictures of the abandoned silk. When I looked back up again, she
was in Lotus position, the soles of her feet press together, her beautiful toes
touching, her legs spread wide, the lips of her pussy sworn and spread as her
fingers slid up and down the wet loops.
“Penetrate”
She obeyed me with the right amount of teasing, sooner read
and where green and red striped fingernails disappeared inside her body only to
be brought back up out wet and slippery to plunge back in again.
“Spread”
Shifting her body again, her feet went wide and her legs
were spread and completely open as she laid back on the couch. I knelt on the
floor in front of my wife’s best friend and watched her masturbate herself to
orgasm through my lens.
She wasn't kidding that there was an independent video being
made from the upper corner of her desk. It was purely for legal reasons, but it
also proved that she did everything voluntarily. Every touch, every stroke,
every penetrating thrust of her fingers that brought her closer and closer to
climax was of her own free will and choice. I gave her very little
instructions. An occasional tap of my finger on her inner thigh would help keep
her spread for good pictures for the light for the movement for the motion.
“Bra”
While her feet were the focus of her client's obsession, she
was too perfect to keep covered. The shots that were already taken hinted at
her magnificence, but now her piercing came into view, a single diamond through
her left nipple. For these there would be an extra fee that he would gladly pay.
Her fingers pulled and pinched at the tight brown nipples. As they got larger
and larger my cock did the same, swelling within my black slacks, bulging,
coating my boxers with pre vum. I zoomed out and shot her beautiful torso,
hinting at her face but never revealing it.
Her first and 2nd orgasms were tight and intense and quiet
and came from deep within her body. As #3 and 4 rolled over her, I changed my
camera settings to catch the blurred fingers the high-speed thrusting, the
stroking, the engorged to clit. Each picture was the kinetic frantic motion
moment of pleasure. The blanket was dark with wetness, her fingers were smeared
with juices, and her lips were bright pink with engorged pleasure. Climax #5
made her call out, half in tender pain and half in frustration.
“I want you to fuck me come on I want you to come inside me
I want to fill me up”
“That's not the deal”
“Fuck the deal, I want more.”
“That's not what we agreed to”
‘But that's what I want”
“That’s only what you want now.”
“fuck fuck fuck”
“I'm ready for the final picture.”
She gathered herself back up on the couch and we quickly
arranged the blanket to be smooth and pretty while keeping the giant wet spot
visible between her legs. This final shot went to a different client account.
Premium pricing. She sat up and unbuckled my pants and pulled my belt out and
unzipped my slacks.
She repositioned herself I adjusted my camera for one final
set of pictures, her feet were snug uptight against her wet and swollen pussy
and I had my target zone.
As we agreed she put her hands on her knees and watched me
stroke my cock. I wanted to fuck her with every ounce of my body I wanted to
come inside her but that was not the deal.
This is where I made my money along with hers and I came and
came in rope after rope and coated her feet with cum. My camera was shaky in my
hand but the settings would remove the blur and capture everything. 20-30 shots
later I was finished.
My cum was on her toenails, white against the dark green and
red stripe. She giggled and cried a little bit, then giggled some more and
complimented my output.
Still shaking, I stood up, cleaned up with the supplies we
learned to have on hand, and then pulled her to her feet.
She kissed me gently on the lips. Temporarily satiated, our rational
minds were back in control. She placed the blue panties and bra in a mailing envelope
and tucked it into a file cabinet under her desk. She bagged the blanket in a black trash bag and slipped into her sweatpants and shirt. She gave me a wonderful, full-body hug and handed me the trash bag. Getting rid of the evidence was my job.
I packed my gear, kissed her on her forehead, and walked toward
the door. I tapped the digital clock on
the wall which said, 4:07.
“Right on time,” I said, and slipped out the door to let her
reconfigure before being mom again.
I started up the car and pulled onto Olive street when my
phone chimed with a text.
It was a screenshot, a text from Kate.
“Swimng pool closed bad pump-taking kids for burger, back
home early. Need anything”?
As I waited at the light, I looked in my rear view mirror,
and saw her staring at me in front of her light blue Prius.
