confession

This is my confession. They say it is good for the soul. I want to be completely honest about this, so here goes. I guess the truth is that I just like being naked in front of a camera. I suppose that might sound a bit weird to some people, even most people, even me sometimes but there it is. I am not so keen on being naked in front of lots of people but being naked in front of a camera and the guy working the camera and knowing that the pictures will be seen by lots and lots of horny guys who are going to get excited by them – that does it for me. I love it. It excites me and makes me tingle and it makes me feel really naughty and it makes my pussy all wet and, well, you get the picture. So I often spend my free time completely naked in front of a camera with a big smile on my face and a building feeling of excitement between my legs. Of course the guy taking the pictures is always my boyfriend, of the moment, and so when the excitement builds enough he can always put down the camera and plow me senseless. I like that part too. Showing myself off for the whole world as foreplay and then getting fucked silly once the feeling of pure naughtiness is more than I can bear. I would recommend it to anyone although I doubt it is a thing that most guys could enjoy the way a girl can. I could be wrong about that but it doesn’t seem likely.



After a good seeing to and a bit of a rest we then get to looking at all the pics and deciding which ones to post for all the world to see and then I post them. I usually do all that naked too. That process, culminating in another set of sexy pictures of me being visible on the web for anyone who wants to look, is also incredibly arousing. I usually end up leaving a little stain on the office chair and my left hand invariably strays down to my pussy as my right hand finally clicks the button to release my latest nudey pictures onto an unsuspecting world. God, there is nothing like that feeling. Knowing exactly what you are about to do, just how downright naughty it is – and then doing it. It never gets old, at least not for me. It makes me feel alive. It makes me feel like a very, very bad girl who should be spanked and punished and fucked to within an inch of her sanity. It is such a sexy feeling. Feeling sexy is pretty much the best thing in the world for me. I mean what’s not to like about feeling sexy? And why wouldn’t you want more once you’ve had any? I think I might be addicted to feeling sexy. Which isn’t to say addicted to sex. Actual sex doesn’t always have to happen.



Of course having posted the pictures isn’t the end of it. That’s just the start. Then there is all the time I spend looking at them on the web site and seeing the view count go up and the comments come in. Now when it comes to making a girl feel sexy that is some pretty intoxicating stuff right there. The increasing view count constantly reminds me of all those nasty, horny, dirty boys staring at my pussy right now and wishing they could fill me up with their big hard cocks and fuck me till I scream. Which makes me feel super sexy all over again every time I look and see it is bigger than before. As for the comments. Well, some of them are illiterate and some of them are just rude but they all make my poor little pussy feel slippery and alive. Getting that kind of feedback explicitly about my vagina and my boobs and whatever else they like to drool over is just so wrong. Which makes it so incredibly exciting.



Am I ever going to regret showing my pussy off quite as much as I have? I don’t think so. I figure if I had done it once and never again then I still did it and it could come back to haunt me. So once you get past that, in for a penny in for a pound. I am already past that point of no return so I might as well enjoy myself, right? “I want you to take your knickers off and show me your pussy.” I still remember the very first time my boyfriend (at the time) said that to me with a camera in his hands. He had persuaded me to let him take some sexy pictures of me and he was working on me to get naughtier and naughtier. I knew what he wanted before we started and I was already excited by the idea even then. I didn’t put up much resistance. I let him talk me into it. I was secretly really pleased that he’d had the nerve to ask. I remember thinking he deserved a blow job afterwards for being such a good dirty boy. I think his reaction to me doing what he asked and letting him photograph me and the big smile on my face as he did played a significant part in my enjoyment of it. As soon as we started looking through them afterwards I knew almost immediately that it would take a team of wild horses to stop me from sharing my pictures with a wider audience. It was there in my mind right from when I looked at the first one. “Oh my God what if someone else sees these? What if anyone sees any of these? Christ my pussy is on fire.” The very first time I sat naked at my computer and uploaded my pictures and waited and worried and built up my nerve and knew I couldn’t not and finally pressed that button to publish my pussy for the whole world to see I had the most intense orgasm of my entire life right there on the chair. After I came down from that and started seeing the views and comments come in and realised what they did to me, I climaxed again. Right there on the office chair. Again. Completely alone and totally overcome by my own lust. Awesome.



Then there are the blow job pictures. I love blow job pictures. The first time I let a guy take pictures of me giving him a blow job he looked down at me half way through, with his cock in my mouth as I smiled up at him directly into the lens, and he said “Baby, that is the single most breathtakingly sexy thing I have ever seen.” If that doesn’t make a girl feel good what does? So blow job pictures became another obsession of mine as well as showing off my pussy at every opportunity.



It isn’t a big step from there to the facial thing. I mean if you are going to get completely naked, pose, smile, and suck a guys cock while he snaps away to his heart’s content then at some point he is surely going to cum. I mean he has to eventually. I mean I would be a bit upset if he didn’t. So if he is going to cum, where is he going to cum? Sure, he could cum in my mouth and I could just swallow it down like a good girl should and that would be that, but have you been following me so far? I like the pictures. I like the camera. I want to see something for my trouble after the fact. So really it just makes sense for him to cum all over my face and then take lots of pictures of me smiling, covered in cum, giving him a cummy blow job. Which are just the best blow job pics of all actually. When a guy stays hard after he cums and you can suck his cock some more and get some really, really sexy cummy blow job shots. God they make my poor little pussy flow like the freakin’ Nile when I look at them afterwards. “You dirty little slut.” I always think to myself, even though I am not really a slut. I don’t just fuck anybody. And I don’t even change boyfriends very often either. Unless they won’t photograph me or don’t like me posting on the web. Then I dump them pretty much immediately. But I certainly do like to look nice and slutty.



Sometimes I prefer to just say naughty, rather than slutty. Just for the understatement of it. Especially if I am introducing a new boyfriend to the whole idea for the first time. I might leave a camera in the bedroom somewhere pretty conspicuous so that the subject can come up at the right time. Sometimes he will get the idea on his own and ask me if I have ever been photographed nude before. Sometimes I have to bring it up myself. Either way we always get to the point where I confess to having posed for some naughty pictures before. Then I ask if he would like to see. They always say yes. I think it’s the look on my face when I ask them. It always makes me smile when I ask them. So then we look at some of my favourites from my collection and by the time we get to the cummy blow job ones after calling them my naughty pictures the guy is usually like, “Fuck me, you weren’t kidding were you?” And that makes me feel deliciously naughty all over again. I can always tell then if he is going to be into it or if it is going to freak him out too much. If he is good to go I don’t say anything, I just hand him the camera and then start sucking his cock and looking up into his eyes. We start there.



Once a guy is into it and we have done it a couple of times we can really start to play with ideas and discuss what we are going to do next. So even during the day we can talk on the phone or by text or email all about how to light me and pose me and make me look sexy and show off my pussy the best or my boobs or my cummy face. So that is a whole other lovely sexy thing that comes out of it. The chatter throughout the day building up to the actual session in the evening when the anticipation has been built to maximum and my pussy is already drenched before we even start. That’s some good conversation to be involved in right there. So much more exciting than talking about what’s for dinner or what’s on the TV. But maybe that’s just me.



Obviously with the camera firmly established as an acceptable bedroom accessory and with the photo sessions getting me so worked up and ready to fuck it must be obvious that I also have lots of pictures of me with a cock in my pussy in addition to all the blow job ones. I am not denying that. Once a guy is into it, and I want him to be into it, then he is going to want to do that and I am not going to stop him. I just don’t personally like them as much. I think my pussy looks prettier without a cock in it. It is still very exciting and deliciously dirty to pose for a photo with a cock in my pussy, it’s just the end results aren’t usually that great. I think I would need to get two guys involved to do it properly. One to provide the cock and one to take the pictures. I have never done that though. Only ever had one boyfriend at once. And since I am pretty obsessed with my own pussy by itself I have never really felt the urge to take that step.



As I said before, as much as I love being naked in front of a camera I am not into being naked in front of lots of people. I have never wanted to be a stripper for example. Not even at an amateur night or something like that. I love the comments on my pictures but I do like a nice solid physical distance between me and the commenter. Just in case. Does that make me a bit shy? Probably not. I did have a boyfriend once who was very, very bad. We had been on a walk out in the woods somewhere in the late autumn. It was getting a little colder as winter approached so there weren’t a lot of people about but the light through the trees and the brown leaves were very pretty. He had a camera with him and suggested that we take a few naughty pictures there in the woods. There was no one around and it seemed like a nice sexy thing to do. I was excited because it was his idea and it caught me by surprise and I liked that. So I took of all my clothes and gave them to him so they wouldn’t get damaged or stained by anything on the ground and I started posing away. He spent a few minutes taking pictures and when it was done I just saw this really naughty expression cross his face. I just knew what he was thinking immediately. We both started running at the same time but he was faster than me and I had nothing on my feet. I had nothing on my anything. I had to stop and then spent the next 15 minutes slowly picking my way back to where we had parked, all senses at full alert for any signs of other people. I managed to get back to the car without being seen and thank God he hadn’t driven off. He thought it was a blast but I hated it. Although there was some thrill element to it I was far too scared to enjoy it in any way. We didn’t last much longer after that because I didn’t trust him anymore and he didn’t understand why I had hated it so much. He thought it was hilarious.



I remember once when the subject of exhibitionism came up. I had never really thought about it much, been too busy enjoying it. But somehow the word exhibitionist had crept into the conversation and I was a bit taken aback. I remember asking, “Do you think I am an exhibitionist?” The boyfriend looked at me with a confused expression and said, “We are looking through about 200 pictures of you showing off your pussy trying to decide which ones to post on the internet to show you off looking as sexy as possible and you are seriously asking me if I think you are an exhibitionist? Well, yes. The answer is yes. Just completely and utterly yes.” So that made me face that word for the first time and learn to accept it as part of who I am. I don’t really like the word to be honest but it is definitely me and there is no denying it.



So anyway, that’s my confession about my favourite hobby. That’s what I like to do and I have confessed it all to you, complete stranger. Because I am an exhibitionist and I like to show myself off. If you ever happen across my pictures on the web be sure to have a really good look at my pussy and then tell me all about how much you want to fuck me with your lovely, big, hard cock. Don’t be shy.



xxx

A/N: Sorry for the wait. I’m so wicked.



One more chapter.




+



The supermarket was empty which relieved Christine. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with hordes of frisky shoppers.



And honestly she loved shopping, and preferred doing it alone. It took her mind off her problems. Here, the only things she had to worry about was what kind of paper towels to buy and if she brought the right coupons.



She stared at bottles of tomato sauce for an eternity, not really seeing the labels and the jars of red, but remembering her wedding day. Michael was nervous. He called her a half hour before the ceremony. His voice was shaky with nerves and her obnoxious bridesmaids joked he was backing out. Christine slipped into another room and asked him what was wrong.



“Nothing,” he breathed. “I just can’t wait to be married to you.”



Michael loved her. She knew he did.



So why, then? Why was another woman’s lipstick on his shirt? Why was he distant and distracted? Why did he barely come home?



“Emeril’s sauce is to die for.”



Christine jumped and looked up. A handsome man with dirty blonde hair and dark blue eyes was smiling at her. Her heart thumped and for a second she smiled back. But there was something malevolent in his eyes, something disingenuous in the curve of his lips, that her own smile faded.



“Thanks for the suggestion.” Christine sounded like a nervous child and she was irritated with herself for letting this stranger affect her like that. She cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders, and grabbed a jar of some other brand just to spite him.



He laughed behind her and it sent an unpleasant shudder through her body. “You know, you’re very familiar to me.”



As she rolled her carriage away, she said, “I don’t think I know you.”



He followed her. “Hmm. My name is Victor Cole.”



“Doesn’t sound familiar.”



“What’s yours?”



He winked at her, sending her heart sputtering. He was really charming, and extraordinarily good-looking. Yeah, there was something a little off about him. He could be a serial killer for all she knew. There was a deliciousness about him, however, that she couldn’t resist. Temptation has won over the best of people, after all.



She thought to herself, “If Michael can fuck around, I can flirt with a hot guy in the supermarket.” So she smiled and played along.



“Christine. Christine McGuire.” She put out a dainty hand.



Very much like the big bad wolf, Victor grinned and took it into his own. “Michael’s Christine?”



For the first time since she laid eyes on the guy, a sense of calm came over her. He knew Michael. A little disappointing, since she couldn’t very well flirt now, but comforting regardless. “Yes, I’m his wife.”



“Wow, so I do know you! Sort of. I’ve heard a lot about you.”



“Really? Are you friends with Michael?”



“My wife works with him,” he smiled. “Her name is Vivienne. Says Michael talks about you nonstop. She’s told me all about you.”



“Oh.” Christine felt a little uncomfortable. She’d never heard of this Vivienne, let alone her husband. She forced a smile. “That’s nice.”



“It’s about time we met! Listen, I was thinking of having you two over for dinner sometime soon so we could all properly get to know one another. Just as well I ran into you- women usually plan everything in the relationship. Except when it comes to me and Viv.” He gave a little throaty laugh that made Christine think this was some kind of private joke he repeated often. “You free tonight? I know it’s late notice but I was planning on cooking up something really special.”



There was a strange enthusiastic glow in Victor’s blue eyes. It was as if he needed her to say yes, far more than he wanted her to. The entire encounter made Christine feel there was something Victor was in on that she wasn’t. She didn’t like it.



Still, she heard herself answering with artificial cheer. “We’ll be there.”



She wanted to know who this Vivienne was. Something whispered in her ear that she was the reason her husband was acting bizarrely. Maybe it was her lipstick that marred Michael’s collar.



It was time to get answers, even if they’d end up shattering her in the process.



+



“Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”



Michael glared at Vivienne who sat at her desk, a strange expression darkening her face.



It had been 4 days since they last had sex and Michael was going nuts. He wanted her, he needed her. He fucking craved her and it was all her fault.



“Fucking answer me!”



“Please come in and close the door. You’re making a scene.”



He hated how cool she was. He ignored the stares of a few of their coworkers and shut the door, locking it with a satisfying click.



“Sit down.”



“Don’t tell me what to do!” Michael paced like a caged animal, his eyes wild and furious. “What the hell have you done to me?”



Vivienne sighed and rested her head against her hands, closing her eyes. “Please sit. I need to tell you something.”



Michael stopped and sat down reluctantly. “Talk.”



“Victor knows.” Her eyes slid open. “He won’t do anything to you, so don’t worry about that.”



“Don’t worry?” he asked, his voice quiet but his insides raging. “Shit. How much does he know?”



Vivienne flicked her red hair back and giggled cruelly. “Does it matter? He knows we’ve fucked.”



“Did you tell him?”



“No. He figured it out.”



Michael didn’t believe that Victor just “figured it out”, but he wasn’t in the mood to fight with Vivienne. “So now what?”



Vivienne typed at her computer. He loathed how composed she was, how none of this seemed to touch her. He was in shreds, hardly recognizable, and she sat there fatally beautiful.



“We pretend it never happened.”



He was quiet for a minute. He stood again and paced. “How?”



She smiled but it didn’t make her eyes glitter. “We go back to how we were before.”



He walked around her desk, which may as well have been a throne the way she sat and held herself. He met her eyes and spoke more passionately than he could ever remember. He was always more of an action guy than a “words” guy, but it didn’t shock him that Vivienne would force him to change this about him, too.



“I know how you taste now. I know how long your arms are. How light your body is when it presses down on mine. The length of your fingernails when they scratch my skin.”



“Stop it,” Vivienne whispered, dropping her eyes to her desk. Michael grabbed her chin and forced her gaze back to his own.



“I won’t forget how your pussy feels when I inch inside it. How wet it gets just by me teasing you a little bit. The tightness that makes me stop breathing when you cum.”



“Michael…”



“Most of all, I can’t forget you. Your red smile. The terrible way you tell jokes. Your belly-laughs that make you snort. You made me want you. I can’t go back now.”



She looked down again. “I didn’t know you were a poet, Michael.”



She tried to spit the words with vitriol. Instead she whispered them, needy and broken.



“You can’t forget, either. I know you can’t.”



“Please.” She looked at him with a strange urgency. “I have to tell you something. I haven’t been-”



“Just shut up.” He unzipped his pants and ignored her protests.



“They’ll hear,” she said, sounding scared for the first time he met her.



What a strange creature she was. All fierceness and rigid lines and flirty smiles with a little girl heart.



His cock was hard and already glistening with precum. His own words had turned him on. “Open your mouth.”



He expected her to fight a little more. He didn’t think she would respond obediently, popping open that creamy mouth and sucking him inside.



“Fuck,” he sighed. He ran the length up and down her tongue, controlling the thrusts as he made love to her face.



She looked up with eyes wide and trusting and he nearly lost it. His movements quickened. He tugged on her long red hair desperately, shifting her on and off his cock with choppy desire.



They could hear two coworkers chatting outside her office. It added to the soundtrack of sex-laced pants and pleading groans. It all somehow made him harder, and her more eager to please.



He ripped open her blouse, delighting in a few buttons breaking off and spinning on the carpet. She made an annoyed sound. He just laughed and gave a good, deep nudge into her mouth, smacking her chin with his balls. She moaned deeply in her throat and he nearly came at the vibrations.



He reached into her silk bra and toyed with her nipples. She growled and he fucking loved it. He was close.



“I’m gonna cum,” he whispered.



She raised both her hands to clutch the back of his thighs for balance and then went to town, hungry for her next meal.



His cum happily slid down her throat as he grunted and gasped. His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her to him for a few moments.



Then they parted. Vivienne wiped her chin where a few stray drops of cum had dribbled down. She laughed when she saw his ravenous expression.



He walked over and sucked in a nipple. He would have worshipped her body had her phone not gone off, harshly bringing them back to the reality of their situation.



“You can’t forget,” he whispered, pulling up his pants. “I won’t let you.”



+



Michael got out of work, expecting to wait for Vivienne and convince her to head over to their favorite hotel, but he had a text from Christine.



“Dinner at 23 Demeter St. w friends. B there at 7. U owe me.”



He wanted to fling his phone against the pavement. He didn’t have time for “dinner with friends”. All of Christine’s friends were dull. He didn’t feel like spending an evening with them.



He caught Vivienne’s stare as he got into his car. He nodded and waved, then sped off to go have a boring as fuck dinner.



+



In spite of knowing they had to stop, Vivienne was strangely upset when she saw Michael speeding off, presumably heading home to Christine. Was he trying to make her jealous? He was succeeding.



She wanted to head to the bookstore rather than face her husband, but she had a text from him he was making something special for dinner tonight and they were having guests. Usually these guests liked to watch them have sex and she was sick to her stomach at the thought. Still, if she didn’t make an appearance it would be far uglier later.



She drove home and noticed an unfamiliar blue car sitting out front. She didn’t recognize it as any of Victor’s usual “buddies” and so she assumed he picked up someone new.



There was laughter when she pushed open the door.



“Hi, Honey!” Victor bellowed from somewhere in the kitchen.



Vivienne rolled her eyes and walked into the house.



When she caught sight of who Victor’s guest was, she nearly fainted. There stood Christine McGuire in the flesh, wearing a plain black dress and a perfect string of pearls.



“You must be Vivienne,” she said, a genuinely kind smile on her face. She put out her soft hand and Vivienne automatically took it. “I’m Michael’s wife.”



“Christine,” Vivienne whispered. She cleared her throat. “I’ve heard so much about you.”



Michael’s wife gave her a small smile but said nothing further.



Victor chopped onions, keeping his eyes on the show.



“Glad you make it home on time tonight, Sunshine.”



Fuck. She pleaded pathetically with her eyes for him to stop, to pretend to be normal, to not ruin these people’s lives, but he just grinned and kept on sliding his knife into the tender skin of the onion.



Victor was planning a car crash and there was nothing Vivienne could do but sit in the passenger seat and close her eyes.



+



When Michael pulled up he noticed the house was far nicer than his own. It was almost gothic with high arched windows and stoned walls. It wasn’t a warm and cozy home, however, and something about it sent a chill up his spine.



He walked up and rang the doorbell. The man who answered with a huge, fake smile was vaguely familiar.



“Mike! Come in.”



Michael stepped over the threshold.



The man bumped a fist on his shoulder. “Glad you could make it. Christine and my wife are just inside.”



Something was off. Terribly off.



He followed the blonde guy into the kitchen and nearly threw up his lunch everywhere.



Christine and Vivienne were standing next to one another, smiling and drinking mimosas like old friends. Vivienne caught his gaze and her smile flattened out. She winked with one eye. He didn’t know what she was trying to tell him and at that moment he didn’t care. He was too pissed off.



He looked over at the man who must be Victor, furious and terrified at the same time. He remembered Vivienne saying he knew about them. This had to be his doing.



“Hi, Sweetie,” Christine laughed once she noticed he’d walked in. “I’m just getting to meet Vivienne here. She said you really helped her out on her last project.”



Fuck. In spite of Christine’s sweet tone, he knew her pleasant facade was just that- a facade. Her eyes told him she was beyond pissed, and he could make a few educated guesses as to why.



“It’s time to eat,” Victor announced, a permanent smile curving his lips.



The unhappy bunch followed him like children following the Pied Piper.



+



“Vivienne loves her job, don’t you pet?”



She sipped her wine and gave him a nasty look he just laughed off. She watched him spoon more potatoes on Christine’s plate.



She hated Christine because she had the life she never would, but she felt horrible she was mixed up in one of Victor’s many games. She wanted to tell Michael and Christine to run, to just leave now and give up trying to be nice at this sham of a dinner party.



But she could say nothing.



Michael kept glancing at her with agitation and a smidge of disgust. It boiled hotly in her stomach, making the threat of throwing up a real possibility.



“I hear you’re quite proficient, too, Mike,” Victor added.



Michael cut a piece of steak. “I do okay.”



“No, that’s not the way Viv tells it. She says you’re an all-star. I mean, why else would she beg you to help her out all the time?”



There was an uneasy silence.



“Victor,” Vivienne whispered.



“I say we all start acting like adults here and treat this for what it really is. Christine, I’m sorry you’re in the dark here, sweetie, and I hate doing this to you. But our spouses haven’t been themselves lately. Have they?”



Christine bit her lip.



“Victor!” Vivienne’s heart pounded heavy and fast.



Christine looked like she was about to cry. She got to her feet. “Listen, dinner was lovely but-”



“They’re having an affair, Christine. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. I wanted to fess up at the supermarket but I wanted to give you a chance to spit in Vivienne’s eye, so to speak.”



Christine was silent for a moment. She fingered her pearls and then cast her eyes on Vivienne.



“It’s between me and my husband now. I don’t appreciate you doing this, and I don’t know what your own game is. I don’t play games.”



“Ah, but I do,” Victor smiled. “And so does Vivienne. Michael, you didn’t actually think she wanted you for you, did you? It’s the conquest. The hatred she has for men. She wanted to defeat you. Ruin your marriage. Destroy your faith.”



“Shut up!” Vivienne shrieked, throwing a plate at the wall and feeling a second’s satisfaction in its shattering. “Stop it!”



Michael paled and got up, moving over to Vivienne. Then he paused, glancing back at his wife who stood watching him with an eerie calmness.



“It’s all a game, Michael,” Victor went on, “and you’re merely a part of it. That’s it. No matter how she made you feel, how she got you to think, she comes back to me. She always comes back. And you’re always tossed aside, back to the dutiful wife who may or may not let you back into the bed.”



“No, no, that’s not true,” Vivienne cried, shaking and putting her hands out to Michael. “Please. It’s not. You’re different.”



Victor clicked his tongue. “Just a game.”



“I’m leaving,” Christine said, her voice shaky. She looked at her husband as if she didn’t recognize him. “You can do what you want.”



She ran out, leaving the trio staring at one another.



For a moment Michael looked like he wanted to comfort Vivienne. He shook his head, breaking the spell. “You’re sick. The both of you.”



“No!” Vivienne went to run to him but Victor held her back. In a few short seconds, Michael was gone and speeding off in his car.



Vivienne struggled for a while, sobbing and pleading and cursing, until she finally quieted down. The fight had gone out of her.



Victor slowly pulled up her dress, hiking it to her waist. He pet her hair, pulling it over her shoulder.



“Do you want me?” he asked. “Or do you want to go chase things you’ll never have?”



“I want you,” Vivienne said, her voice cracking.



Victor stabbed her with his cock and kissed the back of her neck.



“Am I wicked?” he asked her, a little laugh in his voice.



She stared blankly at where Michael stood just minutes before.



“To the core, my love.”

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