I hesitated for a moment with my hand on the handle of the bedroom door, wondering just what I was doing then decided I was enjoying myself so I opened the door and ventured out into the garden. Andy was there waiting for me with a couple of bottles of wine in a wine bucket with ice in and he held out a fresh glass of wine which I gulped down in almost indecent haste and handed him my glass for a refill.
He had me pose in several innocent positions using the wine glass as a prop then, “OK, Mum. Stand there and put your foot on the table as if you were a dancer practicing at the barre. Good – point your toes.” He clicked away from several angles. “Lean forward …” Click. “Further – hold your ankle …” Click, click. “Can you hold it there?” I assured him I could. He moved to my side and started opening the buttons of my skirt. One, two, three, four – open all the way to just short of my crotch. Did his hand accidentally brush me there as he re-arranged the folds? If so it was just briefly.
He took several pictures from various angles including a couple which were clearly focussed on my pants. By now my standing leg was aching: when I mentioned it, he told me to relax for a while. He poured out more wine and we sat for a few minutes sipping at it.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I asked Andy.
“Oh, yes,” he grinned. “You’re a super model, with really nice legs and a good figure. Are you enjoying it? Do you mind me photographing your knickers?”
“Like you say, it’s the same as a bikini.”
He grinned, poured some more wine and asked if I was ready to start again.
“Sure, how do you want me now?”
“On the table again, flat on your back.” I did as he asked then, “Feet on the table, bend your knees, that’s it …” Click. “Higher; feet apart, knees together, lovely …” Andy pulled my skirt right back so my legs were all exposed. Click, click. “Knees apart – lovely knickers, Mum …” Click.
Next he moved around the table and was standing near my head. Click. “Top button, Mum …” I opened the button and he pulled my shirt open to show the swell of my breasts and a little bra. Click. He took over and popped another two buttons, pulling the shirt completely to one side leaving my right breast covered only by the bra – and yes, his hand did brush over my breast. Click. I felt my nipples crinkling up and tingling: I was getting turned on by my son seeing my undies and getting a crafty ‘feel’. Click. “Sit up straight and shuffle to the edge of the table. No, let your skirt ride up …” Click, click. He opened all the buttons of my shirt and pulled it wide open. Click. “Lean forward, give me a good cleavage. Lovely …” Click.
“Take the shirt off, Mum.” I found myself complying and his camera clicked as I was doing so. He took the shirt and put it to one side then came over to me, took hold of my hands and put them on my breasts. “Push them up and together, like this. Magic …” Click. He took hold of my hand and put it inside my bra before clicking again.
What he did next surprised me: he pulled one strap off my shoulder and the cup of my bra down, revealing my nipple which engorged even more as his thumb flicked over it. In truth, I was enjoying his attention and enjoying exposing myself to him and his camera but I thought I should make some protest at this stage.