MY PETITE MORT (MY O FACE) – AN EROTIC STORY BY VENUS
O’HARA
“Don’t move,” the photographer tells me. How could I even entertain
the idea given the fact that I am lying face down in a X shape, tied to a
bed? I’m completely naked except for a latex mask and the fact that he is
fully clothed only makes me feel even more exposed and naked.
Aside from some
pointers on poses, he’s not very talkative. Although I don’t see him, because
I’m face down, I can still feel his gaze scrutinising me, both from his eyes
and from his camera lens.
I feel each click as if it were a caress on the skin. It’s
like a reiki session; there is no physical contact, but I feel a force of
energy that stimulates and relaxes me at the same time. This is how my week
starts on a Monday morning. Not bad.
Despite the
strangeness and the excitement that this situation provokes in me, the
photographer is a professional. In fact, the more formality and professionalism
there is in an erotic photo session, the more it turns me on.
He is a very serious
man in his late 40s. He is also one of the most fetishistic men I know. Tits
and ass aren’t his thing. He likes subtle details that only an experienced
observer would notice.
His exquisite
attention to detail is something I love about him. And he never loses control.
I love that. The denial of expressing carnal desires, but being able to talk
about them freely, and in a controlled way, is something that never ceases to
amaze me.
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After nearly two
hundred bondage photos, I’m exhausted from posing. It’s almost lunchtime and
I’m starving. As he unties me, I begin to remember the contents of my fridge
and the possible dishes I can prepare. But out of politeness I offer the
photographer a coffee and he accepts.
I get up and put a
bathrobe on and head to the kitchen as he packs up his camera and lights.
As we sit on the
sofa in my living room with our coffee, we start talking about how good today’s
session has been and we begin to share ideas for the next ones.
“I’d love to
photograph people when they wake up to watch their morning routines,” he says.
“Well, I always
masturbate in the morning… In fact, I’ve always wanted someone to take pictures
of my face when I cum; of my petite mort.”
I say looking out the window before taking a sip of my coffee.
“Do you want to do
it now?” He asks. “If you have time, of course,” he adds.
I thought the erotic
photo session was over, but I realise that the real session is about to begin.
Suddenly I forget about my hunger and I feel a tingling between my thighs that
I am unable to ignore. Food can wait, I clearly have another appetite that I
need to feed. What’s more, I know very well that opportunities of this kind
don’t come along every day and I plan to take full advantage of it.
“Okay,” I tell him.
Then I get up from the couch and run to my room for a toy. I want a rabbit; I
need to feel something inside and my clit is throbbing like a heartbeat between
my thighs, demanding my full attention. I pick up Ina Wave and go back into the
living room to find the photographer standing with his camera in his hands,
ready to shoot again.
“Only the face,” I
remind him, before removing my bathrobe and throwing it on the sofa.
“Understood,” he
assures me.
I lie on the floor
face up. Although it is not the most comfortable place, I am thinking about the
photo more than my comfort. I position my hair to create a halo of red curls
against the parquet. The photographer positions himself above me, standing with
one foot on either side of my hips, so that he won’t see the most explicit
‘porn’ part from the waist down. He covers his face with his camera, waiting
for the first click.
I close my eyes and
spread my legs. I caress my vulva with my fingers. I’m already so wet that the
toy goes in easily, and once inside, I turn it on. The photographer starts
taking pictures of me, but despite my obvious excitement, I feel nervous. I
know it will take a while for me to come because my head is still absorbing
these strange and unexpected circumstances. Despite being ‘face only’ photos, I
feel like I’m revealing something much more intimate than a nude photo.
As I listen to the
sound of his camera, my mind begins to wander. I think of the petites
morts of my past lovers:
the loss of control, the expression that seems to be a mixture of suffering and
ecstasy that always gives me butterflies in my stomach whenever I see it. I
also think of all the times my own petite mort has
embarrassed me and I’ve wanted to hide my orgasmic face with a pillow or with
my hair. And now here I am willing to show it to someone who isn’t even fucking
me… I can’t help but see the irony of the situation.
I almost rach my
orgasm several times. But there are too many things distracting me and I have a
hard time concentrating. I hope the photographer isn’t getting bored… he must
be thinking: “How much longer is this going to take?” I imagine that all the
photos we have taken so far will all be the same because I have the feeling
that I have not made progress in my arousal and we have been there for a while.
But this is not the
time to think about my poses, I have to let go. I have to feel it and forget
about the photographer and be as natural as possible so that I can finally get
to see one of my most personal expressions, one that I have never even seen
with my own eyes.
I open
my legs a little more to expose my clitoral glans, I increase the intensity of
the toy, and hold it tighter. I need more stimulation so I turn on the wave
effect inside making a ‘come hither’ motion against my G spot. I sigh as I feel
the toy moving inside me. My breathing quickens, accompanied by the click,
click, click of the camera.
But it’s only when I
stop hearing the clicks that I get really turned on. Without needing to open my
eyes, I realise that this is when the photographer is actually really looking
at me, with his own eyes and not through a lens. Suddenly it stops being a
mechanical process and I feel his penetrating gaze as if it were an injection
of desire, stimulating my most exhibitionist side.
I take a deep breath
and hold it. I bite my bottom lip, frowning, holding my breath until I feel my
legs start to shake. I have reached the point of no return. Finally. My body
tenses even more, before surrendering completely. Now! Oh my God, I’m going to
cum now!
Noticing the first
spasm, I throw my head back and cry out in pleasure as my buttocks bounce
rhythmically against the floor. I need to close my legs against the toy, which
I try to push even further inside me. All the accumulated tension is released.
Now I hear the clicks of the camera again, with increased frequency, watching
and capturing my ecstasy; my petite mort.
I snap back to
reality still breathing hard. When I open my eyes, I see him on top of me, just
like when we started.
“How crazy!” I
exclaim before laughing with relief and nervousness while he takes a couple
more photos of my post-orgasmic state.
“I think we’ve got
what we wanted,” says the photographer, as if masturbating in front of him were
the most natural thing in the world, which only increases the strange horniness
of the situation. I get up and put my robe back on. The photographer puts his
camera away again, he puts on his jacket, ready to go.
Later, I receive an
email with the photos. Although they are not explicit, everything is implied. I
study the entire sequence from my obvious nervousness at the beginning, and how
my expression changes, little by little as my face becomes tenser and tenser
until the final surrender. I notice all the subtle changes and as my skin turns
red, my makeup smudges as well as the appearance of veins on my neck and lines
on my forehead that I didn’t even know I had.
Some images evoke
sensuality and pure sexuality while others convey pain, like childbirth. As I
look at them I remember the feeling of being there masturbating in front of the
photographer.
I can’t believe what
I’ve done, but it’s precisely these crazy things that make me feel alive. I
review the sequence, and each time I find new details. They are not my most
beautiful portraits, but these petite mort photos are the memories of a moment that made me
feel more alive than ever.
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