Yesterday, I met a photographer in person whom I met on Instagram. He asked to do some shots of me. After I said yes, I felt this desire cumming on. It’s hard to tell what is the right impulse lately, the way I’ve been; so following this felt a little uneasy.
I asked this photographer if he would be okay with nude shots. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it. I know that sounds like I’m being facetious, but you never know. There are men out there that have lines they won’t cross. I slowly spilled my situation and how I was hoping to make amends with Him. Very little detail, but I wanted this guy to understand why I wanted him to do a very specific theme or scene. I wanted him to help me record a video for Him, too.
I’ve watched these videos of woman struggling against ropes they have been tied up in, and, without a doubt, it lit my pussy on fire. He always said, that if it turned me on, it would turn Him on. I had to try, and it was ripping at me to do this.
I went down to this local farm stand with a barn behind it, owned by a man I’ve known for several years. Years ago, I had a fight with hubby, ran out of the house and down the block. This farmer picked me up in his pick-up truck because he saw me walking by myself. We knew each other a bit already.
As soon as I started to talk to him, the waterworks burst. He took me to his barn, we had some cheap whisky and talked for a couple of hours. I’ll never forget his kindness.
I felt that sexual instinct then, but I did nothing about it. Wouldn’t even let myself entertain it. He would say, “shocking” in His dry humor, with a touch of mockery. Too in denial to deal with my sexuality honestly with anyone, at the time. At least, that has progressed about me.
That memory was in my head when I asked this farmer if he would allow me to take some shots in his barn. They might get a bit risqué, I suggested, and he pointed to his nude calendar hanging coaxingly on the wall. Yep. Just like that.
A storm was brewing; I could feel it. The closer the day got, I had more ideas…and more nervousness. Not enough to stop me, but just a touch.
Met the photographer at the barn, who I think had a hard on already just from his imagination’s playing. I was a little distant when we got there, but I pushed through it. There’s something about showing Him things that not only gets my gumption up, but my juices, as well. That feeling can make all kinds of things happen. It’s not nearly the magick that stirs when He is participating, but that desire to show Him is very powerful.
We weren’t there two minutes and the farmer showed up! I had both of their attention (the attention whore in me), and I figured I’d start the show. I dropped my shorts to the floor and then took off my top; removed my bralette and panties. The farmer said, he was glad he was there already! It brought a laugh to us all, and I continued the fun by putting on a red and black garter, black stockings, black heels and a red bra. I loved every minute of exposing my tits and pussy to these guys. The slut in me was going full tilt, I swear.
At that point, I poured a shot of the whisky I had brought from home and gave one to each of us. We toasted, downed the shot and began the shoot.
I added a secretary kind of look over the lingerie, with a tight black skirt and a white button down shirt, which I left alluringly open and off one shoulder as if ripped open. I was hoping to create a kidnapping scene. We brought in a vintage chair with a leather seat. Found some old rope amongst the plethora of hanging paraphernalia, and I sat with skirt hoisted up enough to expose the top of the garter and some skin on my thighs.
The two men figured a way to tie me to the chair. Wrists, ankles and chest. The farmer did most of the securing of the rope, and I enjoyed every second of it. I loved the helpless feeling. The feeling of being at their disposal. It wasn’t long before the farmer reached down and stroked my tits and nipples that were peeking out of the red lace bra.
I felt a bit startled and odd at first. As if it surprised me that it was actually happening. He kissed me and I felt more strange. I don’t like kissing from most people. When I am in this ‘just fuck me mode’, the romantic kissing is the farthest thing from my mind. As soon as I saw the outline of his cock through his pants, my body took over and my mind quieted. I reached through my tight ropes to feel how hard his cock was.
The photographer wasn’t nearly as bold as the farmer, and I felt him staying behind his lense. The farmer got more and more rough with my tits and started rubbing his cock against my shoulder. He pulled my tits out of the bra further, and the camera clicked away. The whiskey was feeling great at this point.
I asked the photographer to take some video on my iPad so I could share this with Him. I originally wanted to do a film of me alone, struggling against the ropes; the farmer seemed to have other ideas. He wasn’t taking his hands off of my tits.
We filmed the farmer portraying the kidnapper and me as the poor victim (figured He’d get the reference on that one) asking please to be released. He just mocked me and kept grabbing my tits, walked in front of me and slid his hand up my skirt. He slid his fingers right into my pussy, which was drenched. This feeling of being tied up and filmed and handled…I was lost in it all. I could have done this all day!
The farmer wanted to tie my hands up to a hoist attached to the ceiling. He used this to hold engines; now it would hold my wrists above my head with only the lingerie left on my completely aroused body. As they both helped to secure me, I was in heaven. It was such a fantasy and I lit up because of it.
I was so hoping he’d like the pictures and videos, but as soon as I thought about it, my stomach dropped. I knew I was still in deep shit with Him. Nothing had been made up for in the least. There was some guilt in how much I was feeling all of this, but such a release. So much tension in me when I’ve fucked up. All of the guilt and sorrow for my failures as a human being and with Him. I hoped so much that this would make amends, but didn’t feel very optimistic.
The next video we made was of the farmer who had removed his belt from his pants, whipping my ass with it folded in half. It was gentler than an open belt, but I got plenty red and bruised in some spots. The farmer was holding back so much and doing it so tongue in cheek, that it was a bit comical at times. There was enough reality in just being exposed and used and hung by my wrists, though, to make it a dripping wet experience for me.
When I was allowed down from the hoist, the farmer said they weren’t done with me yet and I got on my knees and obediently sucked both of their cocks and swallowed heavily as each drop flowed down my throat. I. Loved it!
I quickly got myself together after that and shared some pictures that were taken on my phone to Him. He was very short with me. That’s where I became the spoiled child, feeling deprived of being forgiven. My emotions and my neediness get so intense that I fuck the best things up. All of this great fun and when I can’t get instant gratification from Him…I crumble. I whine and act up.
I know what I did and believe me, I’m paying for it. Stopping myself from that behavior before I do it…that’s what I’m aiming for. The experience I had was amazing, only I wished it could have been shared with Him watching. These are the consequences of me doing what I have.