Friday evening ... She still has so much to do .... For the evening they invited guests - a married couple with whom they had been connected by almost 15 years of pleasant acquaintance.
How many years have they been together! We went to the theater together, celebrated the New Year, went to visit each other on occasion and without any reason. So today they agreed to meet, chat and exchange impressions after the summer holidays.
So much more to do! The refrigerator at home was empty. She loved to cook only for guests, perceiving everyday standing at the stove as a mockery, or torture, or just a waste of time.
Having run into the store and bought everything she needed, she barely made it home with two bags. Having only managed to throw bags of groceries to her husband and short instructions on what to do with them, she slipped into the bath and began the laborious procedure of bringing herself into her proper form. Less than an hour before the arrival of the guests, she had to significantly reduce the normal evening make-up program.
She was still in the bathroom, giving her husband valuable instructions through the door about salad preparation, roasting meat, and table setting when the bell rang. Although the meeting had been scheduled a week in advance and the guests arrived to the minute, the knock on the door was, as always, a surprise.
Putting on the final touches of her make-up as she went, she ran to open the door, looking forward to seeing her friends refreshed and rejuvenated after the holidays. They really looked great! Her friend lost at least 5 kilograms and looked 10 years younger, and her husband, having slightly tanned, acquired that charm that northern men so lack, living 11 months a year under the gray northern sky.
They were so happy to see each other and so full of impressions that for the first few minutes they all spoke at the same time, interrupting each other and trying to fit into one phrase the impressions of a whole month of vacation.
Their friends spent their holidays in France, the country of eternal love and champagne, and, under the impression of what they saw, they talked without stopping. There were no words to describe the charm of the palm trees of the French Riviera and the taste of coffee on the terrace overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. And then my friend remembered the photos they had brought with them on a laser disc. The disc was immediately inserted into the computer and we sat around waiting for the enchanting views and equally exciting eyewitness comments.
"This is our hotel, we just got out of the taxi, this is our room...
And this…” My friend stammered and blushed, as the next photo that appeared on the screen showed her almost completely naked, apparently in a hotel room and at a moment when she was clearly in a playful mood. She was wearing only transparent underwear, she was on her knees, turned her back to the camera and lowered her panties. the whole picture is even more erotic.
"Didn't you erase those photos?!" It was addressed to her husband, who seemed to be sitting with a guilty look, his head in his shoulders and trying to appear inconspicuous. His efforts were in vain and reproaches rained down on his head. Meanwhile, my husband stared at the scandalous photo. The spectacle obviously did not leave him indifferent, and after a long pause, he suddenly gave out a phrase that instantly defused the situation, saving my friend's unfortunate husband from certain death.
"And what, does the Riviera make all women Playboy photo models or just you?"
The question was calculated absolutely precisely and hit the target. My friend was a little embarrassed, then she laughed and it was clear that her husband's question flattered her.
For the sake of order, she threw a few more angry looks and words in the direction of her husband, and my husband also received a few looks, but they already had female coquetry and some playfulness. The conflict died down by itself and the party continued. The friend's husband at first hesitantly, but, meeting no objections from her side, more and more boldly began to display new frames on the screen.
Photographs of France were interspersed with photographs of my friend in erotic poses, in lingerie, sometimes completely naked, from angles that left no doubt about what she and her husband were doing before and after these photos were taken.
On one of them, she was filmed sitting on a chair in a miniskirt, from under which her panties were slightly, as if by chance, peeking out, on the other, she was resting on the bed and all the contours of her body were visible through the transparent coverlet, on the third, she was blindfolded , legs wide apart, tied to the corners of the bed. My husband especially liked this photo and, in order to keep him longer on the screen, he offered to drink cognac. When we drank, I saw that he did not take his eyes off the screen, and his cognac remained almost untouched. Then he noticed a very interesting detail in the picture - the shadow of someone else who was in the room at the time of shooting was clearly visible on the wall, and it was not a photographer. "And whose shadow is that in the corner?" the husband asked. After a little hesitation, exchanging quick glances, our guests, interrupting each other, suddenly began to tell us about a wonderful park near the sea and about millionaires' yachts in the roadstead. They obviously evaded the answer and the question about the shadow remained a mystery that intrigued me. I decided to postpone the interrogation with prejudice until better times, when my friend and I will be left alone.
Photos on the screen replaced one another, there were quite a lot of them, one more erotic than the other.
My husband sat spellbound and I could see that it turned him on a lot, despite the fact that he tried to appear indifferent. Of course, he looked at sites with naked women on the Internet, but here it was completely different - he saw a woman he had known for a long time and now perceived her as a sexual object.
My friend's husband also seemed agitated, which seemed to be backed up by memories that were still quite fresh.
"You didn't waste your time there!" I said with some feeling of envy.
"Yes, really!" - they smiled - "It was an unforgettable trip"
My friend turned to me with the air of a conspirator: “Now you are in our debt. It’s your turn to show pictures and don’t try to fool us, supposedly you don’t have anything like that!”.
I dutifully reached into the back of the closet and pulled out two black-and-white photos that my husband took 15 years ago, almost immediately after the wedding. This is all that we had from the category of family erotica. In one frame, I stood with my back to the camera, slightly turning my head towards the photographer, you could only see my butt and a small piece of my chest. On the other, I was filmed facing the camera, sitting on the couch and covering my chest with my hands. Until now, these were the most erotic photos in my life. Our friends looked at and discussed these shots for a long time, which confused me a little. As a result, my butt was recognized as worthy of admiration, and the skill of the photographer was given over to public censure.
The men, flushed with cognac and excited by what they saw, offered to immediately correct such an injustice towards me. It was tempting. I suddenly wanted to death to have the same photos as my friend's on my computer at home, especially since they, by a lucky chance, took the camera with them.
My husband liked this idea too. He suggested that I copy the poses of a friend. I saw through his maneuver, it was suggested in order to once again look at her photographs and especially the one that interested him the most.
I was willing to bet that he had already imagined me tied to the bed with my panties down.
Leaving the men drinking cognac and exchanging photographic experiences, my friend and I went to the bedroom to pick out clothes for me to shoot.
After choosing what I thought was the sexiest lingerie, I changed into a black miniskirt, a purple blouse with a wide neckline, black mesh tights, and black high-heeled dress shoes.
My friend approved of my choice and we quickly returned to the living room.
My husband and girlfriend sat down at the computer screen and began to select photos for samples. We took the first shot, in which I was just sitting in a chair, cross-legged, but slightly leaning forward so that through the wide neckline of the sweater, my breasts and bra were slightly visible. In the following shots, I showed off the roundness of my buttocks by slightly lifting my skirt or simply leaning forward so that the whiteness of my butt contrasted perfectly with the black fabric of the pantyhose mesh. The next shot was about panties under a skirt and I had to take off my pantyhose. I tried to do it quickly, but everyone present, heated by the process, demanded a slow striptease and I had to comply. Trying to stretch the moment of pantyhose sliding down from my hips to infinity, I suddenly realized that I was skillfully, slowly, savoring the details, being undressed, while not touching me at all with their hands. It turned me on!
My friend surprised me the most. Her eyes burned no less than those of men, and she clearly wanted to be in my place now. She was ready to join me, but today I was the center of attention and I liked it. It seemed that no one was breathing in the room and everyone was waiting with bated breath for the climax of the striptease. I hope I didn't disappoint the audience.
It was noticeable that the whole process captivated my friend's husband and he enthusiastically began to invent poses for the next shots. Aha! It seems that I, too, began to be perceived as a sex object. Unexpectedly for myself, I noticed that this turned me on even more and I suddenly wanted to seduce the photographer, seduce him right here, under the eyes of his wife and my husband.
The next picture on the screen required me to lower my panties, which I immediately complied with. I lowered, I unbuttoned, I turned and lifted ... I did everything that the samples on the screen and the inexorable photographer demanded of me. Finally, there was the last, most erotic shot, which I was waiting for with fear, as a sentence, and, at the same time, with a share of curiosity and excitement.
Me, completely naked, tied to the bed with my legs wide apart and blindfolded. My husband, clearly anticipating something unusual, solemnly switched the frame on the monitor and looked at me intently. In this look, I read a challenge, a crazy desire and curiosity.
"I think the next shot needs a little time to prepare. Let's not interfere ..." - he said and, winking at my friend, took her to the kitchen.
We were left alone. I was wearing only panties and an unbuttoned bra, dangling uselessly over one shoulder.
We both looked at the photo on the screen, then at each other.
There were occasional chuckles and whispers from the kitchen. They obviously savored the piquancy of my situation and, for sure, fantasized about this topic. The friend's husband was the first to come to his senses and took on the role of leader in the game.
"Well, let's get started! Take everything off and lie down!"
I was amazed at how his voice changed. The normally soft and caressing baritone turned into a husky bass. Orders given in that tone are impossible to disobey. I just said "Yes" forcefully suppressed "Yes, sir" and, quickly lowering my panties and stepping over them, went to the bed.
He put down the camera, took a wide napkin from the table and blindfolded me.
In a moment, my arms and legs were already spread wide and tightly tied to the bed. Bound, naked, with arms and legs spread wide, I only now realized that I was absolutely helpless in front of the excited man standing in front of me.
"He wouldn't dare," I thought, and suddenly I felt his hands slowly slide along my body, making stops on the nipples, gently caressing my thighs and, going down, lingered between my legs. All this gave me inexpressible pleasure. His fingers trembled perceptibly, and his breathing was ragged and heavy with excitement. I turned into hearing and the voices coming from the kitchen seemed to me something unreal and illusory. Here and now there was only my defenseless body and the hands of another man sliding over it. One hand stroked my chest gently. Feeling how his second hand went over the triangle of my hair, and his finger slid lightly inside me several times, while the other made circular movements, caressing my clitoris, I could no longer restrain the wild desire that gripped me and groaned.
Voices from the kitchen began to move in the direction of the room and the fingers caressing me instantly disappeared from my body. The creak of the door announced that the whole company was assembled again. Perhaps the spectacle that opened up to them was so breathtaking that there was complete silence in the room. I distinctly heard how my friend's husband took the camera and the shutter began to click over and over again, counting the captured frames. The last click was slightly different from the others, which meant the end of the tape. I sighed, not sure if it was a sigh of relief or regret, and prepared to be freed from my shackles. But instead, I heard the distant whispers of the three conspirators. They were clearly on to something. No matter how much I tried to listen, I could not understand a word, but judging by the intonation, the negotiations were successful. A slight doubt, smoothly turning into suspicion, and then into almost certainty, pierced me ... After a few seconds, I heard the sound of a slamming door and steps approaching me.
Men's fingers gently ran over my body, making it tremble. I answered with a long groan, a groan of expectation and the impossibility of waiting. The man was silent without giving himself away, apparently enjoying the contemplation of my arousal and helplessness, he continued to caress me. The desire that gripped me reached such strength that I now did not care who was with me.
It was the craziest, most passionate, best sex I've ever had in my life. Hands, lips and a member of a man did not give me rest until I was completely exhausted and did not fall into a deep sleep. In the morning I woke up, as always, in the arms of my husband, and only light marks from the ropes on my legs and arms reminded me of the madness of the past evening.
I didn't ask what exactly happened yesterday. I'll never know the answer to that question. And do I want to know?
Now, every time our sexual feelings get cold, we turn on the computer, look at the pictures and our memories very quickly send us straight to the bedroom.