Killing in Camera.

Posted by Barbanne on August 01, 2000 at 18:17:56:

This little tale is for Dee Dee.
My Dead House story in which I let my heroine have sex with a guy's corpse generated more comments and emails than almost any other I have done. From both guys and girls alike. So reversing the common thread here and making the man the used dead victim and the woman the user seems to have struck a chord.
Dee Dee loved it or so she said.
So this one's for you Dee Dee.
Incidentally it is REALLY dirty. Maybe I should say "WARNING perverse sex explored here."
Things your mother wouldn't like you doing.


The hotel suite was really flash.
I mean this was five star accommodation and looked every bit of it.
There were two rooms plus a bathroom. One was like a living room and had leather lounges and chairs and a dining table and chairs for six and a huge built in television and radio coming out of everywhere and music and a bar, not a mini bar but one you could get behind. Fantastic!
The bedroom had a king sized bed and a small gym attached and enough built in cupboards to take a wardrobe for Elizabeth Taylor even. I reckon Imelda Marcos could maybe fit her shoes in the shoe racks. The bathroom was like a Roman orgy place. I have never seen so many tiles or so much marble or gold taps and things. Bath for two and spa and all.
I mean this suite was mega luxurious.
All I had to do was be naked.
Which I was.
He had two umbrella flashes and a Rollieflex on a tripod and it looked better equipment to me than they have in some studios I've been in.
I was lying on my back on the leather lounge and my modelling assignment consisted of I had to play with myself. This guy was the king of avant garde photographers and this photo set in his Erotica series, which would go straight to the Guggenheim I'll bet, was to be called "Masturbating Woman."
Well, I could do that.
My eyes were closed and I started off with my arms over my head and then I slid them down and started stroking my breasts and just feathering my finger tips over my nipples and that made me tingle and I licked my lips and while I just tippy touched my left nipple with my left hand, I slid my right hand down over my tummy and I touched my soft inner thigh skin and slipped inside my pussy.
The flash was flashing and the shutter was clacking.
I writhed around on the lounge. My finger was inside myself and I could feel my long, painted finger nail scraping at the sensitive flesh inside my slit. I found my clitoris and started stimulating it the way I had learnt to do long ago as a child emerging into womanhood. I began to get right into my work and worked hard at self arousal. My mind filled with fantasy thoughts. Thoughts of submission and degradation and worthlessness and then of death. My flesh responded to my touch and the powerful images in my mind. My pussy tissues filled with blood and, I knew even though I couldn't see it, pinked up with the flush of excitation. My clitoris hardened and my nipples stiffened and I felt the thrilling feeling entering my subconscious like something peeping into the mouth of a far distant tunnel. Then it started forward, racing toward the pleasure centre of my brain with ever accelarating speed until it was rushing over me, unstoppable, welcomed, like a wave that cannot be avoided and then it broke over me and my body shook with the intensity of release and my fingers came away sticky with the evidence of my orgasm and my body dripped with sweat.
The photographs showed my body writhing on the lounge a look of indescribable need and desire on my face, my mouth open and panting and my eyes closed and beatific pleasure all over me.
Closeups showed the beaded perspiration on my upper lip, the wetness on my breasts and tummy, the trickle of sweat running between the valley of my breasts and sliding out from my armpit to track down my ribs. Extreme closeups showed my pussy with my hand covering it, my finger inside, working away, stimulating my clit. They showed the whitish wetness tangled in my pubic bush and the stringy ejaculate on my finger as I withdrew it and bought it to my lips where the macro lens captured my finger half covered with my own emissions probing at my dewy wet upper lip and then inside my pouting lips and being sucked off by my pink wet mouth.
"Masturbating Woman" was a great critical success and when I attended the opening night wine and cheese bash, I was lauded by the sisterhood as a heroine for having shown that a real woman needs no man to transport her into the perfumed garden.
The room this time was inside his house and was cavernous and lined with mauve velvet wallpaper and carpeted in a dark purple shag pile. Mirrors lined most of the ceiling and parts of the walls. The lighting was soft and seductive. The camera flashes would overcome that.
"Dangerous Liaisons" was the name given to this set.
The man, he was hardly more than a boy, was nude and beautiful. His body was almost hairless other than his thick pubic forest from which his amazingly long cock emerged. Fine downy hair covered his lower legs and forearms and sprinkled across his chest. He was youthful and wiry rather than muscular and his ridiculously handsome face bore only the trace of a shadow of his beard and was crowned with a head of thick brown curly hair. His body was sculpted by his physique into an idealised male form. His nipples were almost feminine, so big were they on his slightly hollow chest.
He was bound, hand and foot, to the four corners of the enormous bed by wide satin ribbons and a silken cord around his neck restricted his breathing. The more he moved the tighter it would draw and the less he could draw breath and the greater his arousal would become.
The camera was already firing, capturing his anticipation. His cock had begun to stiffen. Naked I crawled onto the bed, only my shoulder length crimped hair to afford me any modesty at all. I covered his body with mine and my legs entwined with his so that my pussy was pressed against his thigh, his fast hardening cock was pressed against my own thigh. I kissed his throat and I rubbed my breasts against his chest. My nipples were poking out and tingling and as I rolled on him they were pulled over and sprang back and warmth surrounded them tingling electrically and fire spread through my groin.
His cock was huge now and tumescent and leaked clear semen onto my leg. The silken cord kept tightening and he was short of breath but increasingly excited, aroused, orgasmic. His cock was rock hard. I slid down the body of this lovely man until my face was level with his erection. A man's cock at full extension is a lovely thing. That column of flesh was as hard as marble and glistened like it too. I could see where the little veins were pumping blood into it and forcing that wonderful cock to almost bursting. Impatient semen was dribbling from its little winking eye and it strained upward and curved back towards his flat, lean tummy. He was making gaspy noises as the silken cord bit into his neck and the more it robbed him of breath, the more he hardened.
I kissed his balls, his lovely full scrotum and I extended my tongue to its fullest and licked up the underside of his gorgeous manhood. There is a little ridge of very soft flesh there almost as if his skin has been joined on that line, crepey sensitive skin and it just felt magic as I dragged my tongue over it. Pink, wet drooly tongue licking up the underside of his cock just like I was licking a beautiful popsicle on a hot summer's day.
He was moaning and groaning and gasping and I reckon he must have been in some sort of heaven for a guy. I got up and let his cock rest between my breasts and I took his shaft in my hand and rubbed it up and down in the valley of my bosom letting the snail trail of cum lubricate it. He was really gasping and when I took a quick look, he was going blue in the face. The silken cord was biting into his throat and his veins were bulging above and below where it was. I slipped my lips over the tip of his erection and swallowed it down just as deep as I could. I felt it expand even more. I would have thought his dear little (little????) cock couldn't get any bigger or harder but somehow it did. I licked and sucked giving him somewhere to house his naughty penis and it seemed to love the wet slippy home for it which my throat provided.
He was grunting like really fast and short grunts sort of like "Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah...," like that and then he came.
A fabulous fountain of cum squirted into my mouth and I sucked it down.
I think maybe he died then too.
I let his lovely cock go and went up to kiss him but his eyes were wide open and the cord had just about cut through his neck and he was still and silent and dead. His body made burpy, bubbly noises and he was gone.
I rolled around on top of him and rubbed my breasts against him and delight of delights his hard cock stayed that way. I kissed all over his body and licked at his dank skin with my tongue poking right out and finally I spread my thighs and ass to almost busting and settled my pussy over that stiff, dead shaft.
Then I humped and jumped, up and down, up and down until my own arousal reached the point of no return and I came in a king of the carnival orgasm. The orgasm to end all orgasms.
I lay with my yummy dead guy until I was ready to go again. This time I used my hand to bring myself to blow off and used him as eye candy to stimulate me.
The camera went all the time.
He called those photos, "Woman masturbates on body of dead lover."
Along with "Dangerous Liaisons" they were hugely successful. Everyone thought they were posed. Well they were, except one of us didn't get up and walk away afterwards.
I went to the wine and cheese and now I really was an icon of the hard core feminists.
The police started taking an interest in the disappearance of the model whose body, limp and seemingly dead, was the centre piece of the show. I decided to make myself scarce.
Very scarce.
I had seen his next project's title. It was half hidden under papers on his desk when I went to collect my money.
"Man has coitus with the corpse of the Masturbating Woman."
It didn't sound like a photoset I was particularly anxious to star in.