Kinky Penny: Filming

“Pen, are you sure you’re OK with this?”

I looked at the paraphernalia around us. All pointing toward our Colorado condo bed.

There would be filming. There would be editing. Then there would be a rendition of our fucking for future generations.

Ben swore that the technology used to film this could not be uploaded… slight pause… currently. There was always the chance that it could be later.

Did the idea of us being out there put a tingle between my thighs? Oh, hell, yes. Did I want to be exposed? 10 pounds heavier on the camera? Oh, hell, no.

“I think so, baby. I’d really like to see us going at it,” I replied.

“Game film?”

I think I know what he was saying but not certain. “Like football?”

“Kinda.”

“You want to critique your performance?”

“Kinda.”

“So what I’m thinking of as arts you’re thinking more of as sports?”

“Kinda.”

“Pig.”

“Yeah.” His silly, sexy grin.

“Oh, hell, just get me a tequila shot and let’s get going.”

He smiled and moved toward the kitchen, returning quickly with an oversized shot glass. “Bottom’s up,” he whispered.

I was standing there beside him, beside all the tripods and cameras, in a pink and black corset, boobs out to there, ass out there, everything else cinched in the middle. Thigh highs. High heels. Hair stacked up as high as I could get it.

A fucking eighties pin-up queen. And Ben was as fucking hard as a rock from what I could see in his jeans.

What the fuck? Why doesn’t he get to play dress-up sometimes? A nice suit? Some smell good?

Alas, the cameras waited. Ben waited.

I took the shot glass from his hand and swallowed it down in two gulps.

“Fuck it. Let’s fuck, stud.”

“OK.”

“Where do you want me? On the bed? What position?” I was wet as hell already. No need for a warm-up.

“Pen, I was thinking we’d do it a little more organically and see what evolved.”

“What?”

“Let me just kiss you, Pen, and let’s see what develops.”

That wasn’t what I was thinking at all. But OK.

We stood together at the end of the bed. His rough hands in my hair. Caressing my neck. Gentle, oh, so gentle feathering touches against my skin. Softening me. Melting me.

“Fuck,” I whispered into his lips. “Damn, Ben, that feels so good.”

“Roll with it, baby. Just let me love you and love me back.”
His hands. Everywhere. On my neck. On my back. On my ass. Then some magical way he handled my tits as if his hands where molded to cup and caress them.

“Oh, baby, that feels so good,” I cooed into his lips.

More kisses. More fondling. The cameras forgotten for a moment. His touch–his sensuous, gentle touch–all that remained.

Ben. The perfect gentleman through all of it. Except for the end…

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