“Can I go to the bathroom?” I asked the photographer shortly after starting a bondage photoshoot. “Again? But you have just been! If I have to undo and redo all those knots, we’ll be here all day. Can’t you hold it?” he said almost angrily.
I was standing there, naked except for a pair of stiletto heels with rope wrapped all around me, with my arms tied to my body and my legs were tied together. I felt like a fetish mermaid with high heels on. I didn’t really need to pee. What I urgently needed was to attend to the extreme arousal building up between my thighs. I could feel myself starting to drip with desire. With my arms tied, I relied on the photographer to release me from the delicious torture I was feeling.
I had started to feel it during the process of being tied up by the photographer moments before. Feeling the rope’s touch and pressure wrapping around my body was like a sensual embrace. My sudden submission awakened my senses and imagination.
“It’s just that there’s a different kind of rope that is bothering me, something that is dangling, but not the one you’re thinking of,” I explained somewhat embarrassed.
I was referring to the transparent intimate nectar pendulum dripping between my legs, the evidence of my extreme arousal. The photographer lowered his camera from his face to look at me and furrowed his brow, not quite understanding what I meant.
“I’m very, very wet,” I clarified.
“Just hold on! You don’t know how difficult it is to take photos with an erection,” he said, clicking away with his camera. My eyes immediately went to his zipper, where I could indeed see that I wasn’t the only one feeling aroused, except he didn’t seem to be suffering like I was.
This, along with the stern tone in his voice, only exacerbated the situation that was developing between my legs.
After a few moments, he sighed in frustration, put his camera down, and approached me. He knelt in front of me and placed a hand between my legs. I closed my eyes as he began playing with my Venusian nectar with his fingers while using his other hand to investigate the source of that special dangling substance between my thighs.
Nothing intimate had ever happened between us before, so his reaction surprised me somewhat. It was more than welcome. I actually needed it to ground me. I willingly submitted to his advances and his touch. We didn’t kiss. He just stared at my labia as he touched me which seemed to make me even wetter.
It was only a matter of moments before my body trembled in a state of orgasmic ecstasy. He held me as I moaned scandalously as he remained formal, observing me with his eyes as opposed to through a lens. As soon as my orgasmic spasms subsided, he got up and picked up his camera again.
“Do you still need to go to the bathroom?” he asked me after my orgasm, while I was still catching my breath. I shook my head. “Well then, let’s continue!”
I stood there and devoured the lens mouth agape, attempting to absorb what had just happened and not quite believing it. I realised that my hair must have been a mess and my makeup was partially smudged. But those details only added to the uniqueness of the art that we were co-creating. It wasn’t about controlled, conventional beauty, it was about capturing my energy during a very specific moment in time.
I gladly lapped up his attention as he captured my essence with his lens. From that day onward, I was no longer his model, instead, I became his muse. I willingly surrendered to the moment and to all the sensations on offer as I became the object of his desires.
The result was one of my most treasured portraits that conveys an undeniable abundance of sexual energy. Although I was all tied up, as I posed in that photoshoot my primal passion was unleashed like never before.