Sure Shot

I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to surpass my antics in Middle England.  There was a reflective glow of lurid excitement which enthralled me every time I thought back over these tumultuous events.  But like all animals one banquet, however replenishing, is never enough.  All it does is sharpen your appetite for another.

I had a number of unanswered letters to prospective lovers still in play.  I learned later that these advertisements sometimes garnered hundreds of replies.  Many immediately discarded, while a few were put into a holding pattern while all options were considered.  About half never received replies.  The majority of the remainder were polite refusals with only a very small percentage offering any hope of an illicit meeting. 

Some of these were from girls who had a ‘specialism’.  I received a reply from a nice girl, Emma.  She said she was a ‘top shelf’ photo-model.  I wasn’t entirely sure what this meant, but it sounded enticing.  What was clear was that she was very keen to offer her services for a photographic ‘assignment’.  However, certain rules were made clear.  She was very happy to dress and pose to requirements but the shoot was strictly ‘continental’ i.e. knickers were not to be removed.  She stressed she was ‘adventurous’ but made it quite clear that physical contact was not available so forget any notion of getting jiggy.  She also made it clear that this was not a cost free exercise performed purely for her personal pleasure.  Her house in Kent - £50 for an hour, £80 for two. 

I would have passed on this voyeuristic opportunity if only she hadn’t included a photograph.  Emma took my breath away.  Definitely model material with a body sculpted entirely for the admiration of hot blooded males.  Ridiculously beautiful and as shapely as an S-bend.  Forget Readers Digest this was Playboy.  I’d never considered paying for pleasure.  It seemed unnecessary, wasteful and slightly shameful but they say you get what you pay for and Emma was definitely an investment.  Something told me that it would be erotic to be the photographer in a modelling shoot where I was in charge.  The director who could order a model to pose as I wished.  Within limits of course…….Of course.

She agreed to £60 for 90 minutes and liked the fact that I told her I completely understood her rules and regulations.  She also liked the fact that I had a new camera and offered to send her copies of the best photographs for her portfolio.  She asked me if I would mind her boyfriend being in the house while we were shooting.  This slightly disappointed me as it rather closed down my hopes that her restrictions might only be cosmetic.  But I was smitten and, after all, no boyfriend could interfere with the pleasure to be gained by closely examining the evidence of such photographic indiscretions…….

Our communication was very friendly and she even said she was sure that I wouldn’t be disappointed.  I was equally sure.  Although I should have been aware that everything that glistens is not always gold.  Inevitably some metallic plate would get in the way.  I rather overlooked the fact that my novice status as a photographer meant I was ridiculously out of my depth.  Luckily such ineptitude, while bringing the term ‘photographic shoot’ into complete disrepute, didn’t entirely compromise the mission.

Emma turned out to be as gorgeous as her picture and very chatty and cheerful.  It seemed she liked me, the feeling was mutual.  The lack of any serious professional camera equipment didn’t seem to faze her.  No light meter, no boom, no range of lenses and no lighting rig all made this seem somewhat fraudulent.  My small little auto-focus Canon Sure Shot seemed a complete betrayal of the art required to capture a screen goddess.  Somehow I felt flustered and slightly awkward………But what was I here for?  Emma.  Her body captured in many suggestive poses.  In a range of outfits in which her most opulent body parts would be suggestively revealed for the camera’s delectation.  Not to mention the owner’s.  Suddenly the whole notion of being there to capture art dissipated.  I realised I was there to ogle, record the scenery and retreat with the evidence.

We moved to the kitchen where Emma offered me a cup of coffee and chatted away obliviously.  She seemed totally unaffected at the prospect of removing her clothes to reveal her gorgeousness to a stranger’s prying lens.  Let alone the stranger’s rampant curiosity.  She was wearing jeans and a tight little white top, with little make up and smelt like a flowering rose bush.  I fancied her like mad and even felt a little in love.  The fact that she was prepared to show me most of her primary assets with unadulterated enthusiasm was deeply alluring. 

Suddenly we were in business mode.  Did I have the money?  I did.  Did I have any preferences re her wardrobe?  Did I like lingerie?  Did I want her to adopt any specific poses?  If stammering had been an Olympic sport I would have had gold…….She quickly realised what she was dealing with, a gibbering amateur with possibly no experience.  It seemed to amuse her.  She told me not to worry she knew what I’d like.  We moved to her bedroom so I could ‘set up’ and she disappeared into the en-suite bathroom/changing room where she apparently had some ‘costumes’.  Setting up required me to turn the camera to ‘on’ and then stare through the lens while pretending that I had the choice of a number of complicated focussing settings.

When she opened the door wearing only a skimpy bra G-string with seamed stockings, high heels and her hair up in a precariously tied ball above her head, I realised immediately that I was toast.  This was a professional model faced by the most amateur of photographers who suddenly had to become an accomplished director issuing a series of confident instructions in order to capture light, shade, nuance and eroticism and all with a very unsure Sure Shot.  Not to mention hands that couldn’t stop shaking.  While I tried hard to appear calm and in control my instructions were patently inadequate.  I wanted her to be suggestive, to look into my lens as if she was besotted with the cameraman and convey an unrestrained sexuality which needed assuaging.  My instructions were patently inadequate and were not producing the desired outcome.  I was hopeless.

Emma quickly realised that she needed to take control to rescue this liner from an imminent iceberg.  She took over and proceeded to direct the shoot herself.  She conducted three changes of clothing and coquettishly disrobed from all of them, leaving only her knickers in place.  Her fourth outfit took me by surprise.  A short leather skirt with crotchless kickers was not what had been billed.   My camera lens had a panic attack.  It also had a precise target for its super-focus function.  I was also becoming aware that her posing was becoming more animated.  She seemed to want to convey a specific sense of arousal to the camera.  I became aware that I had brought more equipment to the shoot than I had initially realised.  I suddenly had an extra-long lens available should it be required. 

Emma flaunted herself with increasing intent.  Suddenly the atmosphere became electric.  There was much more eye contact and a smouldering that seemed genuine.  But surely this was an experienced model merely being professional and showcasing her expertise?  Well she was certainly showcasing a lot more than expected and even the primitive focus on my Sure Shot, let alone the intuition of my extra-long lens, sensed that this shoot was in danger of over-exposure.

I didn’t even need the inquisitive lens of my camera to notice that she was wet.  Not only were the signs obvious, but she was now massaging the area with considerable intent.  The camera was in danger of exploding, as was its owner.  She moved closer, her eyes fixed on the camera lens.  It was a gaze that left no doubt about her intentions.  “I forgot to tell you that my boyfriend’s away”, she said in a reassuringly enticing tone.  “Put your camera down, some things don’t need to be recorded” she uttered breathlessly.  “Some of your equipment is not really fit for purpose, but I think this is”, she said as she released the long lens from its packaging.  “Your excitement is very complimentary and you deserve a reward”.  These were her last words before filling her mouth with the photographic accessory.  She took me deep, her tongue swirling and teasing me into a full erection.  Her excitement seemed unconfined.  She reached into the bedside draw and produced a condom which she expertly fitted onto the rigid lens.  She guided the equipment to her quivering lips and inserted me, urging me to fill her up and take her hard.  I needed no telling.  This totally unexpected and impulsive turn of events filled me with an uncontainable urge that needed no further instruction.  I bucked and pounded myself into oblivion.  Our bodies writhed in this unexpected and joyful moment of uncontainable lust.  My imminent climax seemed to spur her on and we crossed the finish line together accompanied by the celebratory chords of the Halleluiah Chorus.

The shoot was complete. A sure shot was all that was required, after all