Chapter 1: Aperture and Arching Backs
The smell of rain hung in the hallway, metallic and clean, a stark contrast to the heat building under Matt’s collar. He shifted his weight, the bag holding his camera gear suddenly heavy in his hand. Upstairs, at Jess and Greg’s place. He’d been invited.
He knocked, the sound swallowed by the thick door.
It opened, and the breath left his body in a quiet rush.
Jess leaned against the doorframe, one arm stretched above her head. She wasn’t wearing a robe or casual clothes. She was wearing a black lace bodysuit, the kind with clips at the crotch, he realized with a dizzying jolt. The delicate fabric did nothing to conceal the pale curve of her breasts, the dark peaks of her nipples, or the neat triangle of blonde hair visible through the web of lace between her thighs.
“You’re late,” she said, a slow smile playing on her lips. Her green eyes were bright, predatory.
“I… sorry. Traffic.” His voice was rough. He couldn’t stop looking. Months of stolen glances in the shared laundry room, of listening to the muffled sound of her laughter through the ceiling, had not prepared him for this.
“Well, get in. Time’s wasting.” She turned, leaving the door open, and walked into the living room. The black lace disappeared into the cleft of her ass with each step. Matt followed, his mouth dry, shutting the door with a soft click.
The apartment was bathed in the kind of golden afternoon light that made everything seem like a dream. Sheer curtains billowed at the floor-to-ceiling windows, framing a hazy city skyline. The air smelled like vanilla candle and her – something musky and sweet, like skin warmed by the sun.
“Greg’s birthday is next week,” she said, standing in the center of the room near the large, cognac-colored leather sofa. She turned to face him, crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing them up. “I want to give him something special. A portfolio. Artistic nudes. Me.”
Matt’s brain short-circuited. “You want me to… take pictures? Of you?”
“That is what you do, isn’t it?” She nodded to his bag. “You’re the brilliant graphic designer with the photographer’s eye. I’ve seen your work online. It’s not just logos and brochures, is it?”
He swallowed. “No.”
“Good. So set up. The light is perfect now.” She gestured to the sofa. “I’ll start here.”
Mechanically, Matt unzipped his bag, pulling out his DSLR and a prime lens. His hands trembled slightly as he attached it. The quiet click of the lens locking into place sounded unnaturally loud. He powered the camera on, the viewfinder coming to life.
When he looked up, Jess was already on the sofa. She had draped herself along its length, one leg extended, the other bent. She looked directly at the lens, her expression shifting from playful to something more intense.
“Don’t be shy, Matt. Get the shots.”
He raised the camera, the world narrowing to the rectangle of the viewfinder. Through it, she was a composition of shadows and highlights. The lace strained across her hips. He took a shot. The shutter clicked, a satisfying sound.
“Good,” she purred. “Now come closer. Get the detail.”
He moved forward, kneeling on the rug. The scent of her was stronger here, intoxicating. He focused on the intricate pattern of the lace over her stomach, the way it dipped below her navel.
“Closer,” she whispered.
He inched forward, the camera almost touching her skin. He saw the fine goosebumps on her belly.
Then he heard the soft, definitive snap of a clasp.
His eyes flicked up from the viewfinder. She was looking down at him, her fingers on the front clasp of the bodysuit between her breasts. She held his gaze and unhooked it.
The lace fell away. Her breasts were free, full and heavy, with nipples a soft pink. They were perfect. She arched her back slightly, offering them to the lens, to him.
“Shoot, Matt.”
He obeyed. The camera clicked and clicked, capturing the soft swell, the tight buds. He was so hard it was a pain in his jeans, a relentless, throbbing ache. He adjusted his position, trying to relieve the pressure.
Jess shifted, sitting up. Without a word, she hooked her thumbs into the sides of the bodysuit and began to slide it down over her hips. It caught for a moment on the curve of her ass, then she shimmied, and it was past, down her thighs, over her knees. She kicked it off completely.
She was completely nude.
She didn’t try to cover herself. She turned, placing one knee on the cushion, the other foot planted on the floor. She was facing the window now, her back to him, the elegant line of her spine leading down to the perfect, round globes of her ass. The afternoon light gilded the fine blonde hairs on her skin.
“From this angle,” she said, her voice husky.
Matt scrambled to recompose, his breath coming in short gasps. He focused on the contrast between the deep tan of the leather and the pale cream of her skin. He took the shot.
Then she looked over her shoulder. “Now the front. I want the gift to be… comprehensive.”
She turned slowly, as if on a turntable, and settled back against the arm of the sofa. She opened her legs, just a little, one foot still on the floor, the other resting on the cushion beside her hip. Her hand drifted down from her stomach, through the thatch of blonde curls.
“Get on your knees. Right here.” She pointed to the floor directly in front of her.
Matt moved as if in a trance. The rough weave of the rug dug into his knees. He was eye-level with her parted thighs. He could see everything.
“Zoom in,” she commanded softly. “I want every detail.”
He lifted the camera, his hands steady now, possessed by a fierce, singular focus. He framed the shot. Through the lens, he saw her fingers part the soft lips of her pussy. They were glistening, a slick, pink fold of flesh, already swollen and open.
“See how wet I am, Matt?” she murmured. “I’ve been thinking about this. About you watching. All afternoon.”
She used two fingers to spread herself wider, exposing the dark, tight hole of her cunt and the brighter, protruding bud of her clit. The afternoon light caught the slickness, making it shine.
“Take the picture.”
The click of the shutter was a gunshot in the silent room. He took another. And another. He was documenting her, this intimate, obscene, beautiful offering. His entire world was the smell of her arousal, the visual feast in his viewfinder, the desperate pounding of his own blood.
She let out a soft sigh. “Good. That’s very good.” Her fingers moved, not just holding, but stroking. A slow, slick circle around her clit. “Keep shooting.”
He did, the motor drive whirring softly. He watched her touch herself, watched her hips make a tiny, involuntary jerk. A soft, breathy moan escaped her lips.
Then her green eyes locked onto his, through the camera, past it. “Put it down.”
“W-what?”
“The camera. Put it down.”
He lowered it, setting it carefully on the rug. The connection was direct now, unbearable. He was on his knees before her naked, masturbating form.
“You’ve been watching me for months,” she stated, her fingers still working in slow, wet circles. “In the garden. In the stairwell. I’d see you look away when I caught you. You wanted this. Didn’t you?”
“Yes.” The word was torn from him.
“Tell me what you want right now.”
He stared at her glistening fingers. “I want to taste you.”
A sharp, triumphant smile. “Then come here and stop being a polite little boy.”
She removed her hand, spreading herself open for him with both hands. An invitation.
Matt didn’t need another. He leaned forward, his hands gripping her thighs, and put his mouth on her.
The taste was explosive, salty and musky and profoundly female. He licked a slow, broad stripe through her folds, and she cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair. He zeroed in on her clit, sucking it gently, then harder, following the rhythm of her gasps and the bucking of her hips.
“Yes, fuck, just like that,” she moaned, her voice ragged. “Eat my pussy, you fucking neighbor. God, I knew you’d be good at this.”
Her words, filthy and approving, drove him on. He fucked her with his tongue, probing deep, then circled back to her clit, lapping at her until her thighs began to shake. Her heels dug into the sofa cushions, her back arching.
“I’m gonna come,” she warned, her voice tight. “Don’t you fucking stop.”
He didn’t. He redoubled his efforts, and a minute later she shattered, a raw, guttural cry tearing from her throat as her cunt pulsed against his mouth. He drank her in, licking her through the shudders until she pushed his head away, oversensitive and breathless.
She slumped back, chest heaving. Matt rested his forehead against her inner thigh, breathing hard, his face wet with her.
After a moment, her hand found his hair again, not pushing, just stroking. “Stand up,” she said, her voice soft but threaded with steel.
He got to his feet, unsteady. His erection strained painfully against his zipper.
Jess’s eyes raked over the obvious bulge. She uncapped him, her fingers deft. His cock sprang free, thick and hard. She wrapped her fingers around him, giving him one slow, firm stroke. A bead of precum welled at the tip.
“This is mine now,” she said, looking up at him. “You understand? This doesn’t leave this room. This is for when I want it. For my gift.”
Before he could answer, before he could even think, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth.
The heat was shocking. She swallowed him deep, her throat working around the head, then drew back, her tongue swirling. She used her hand at the base, her mouth at the tip, in a filthy, expert rhythm that had him seeing stars. He tangled his hands in her blonde hair, not guiding, just holding on.
“Jess… I’m gonna…”
She pulled off with a wet pop. “Not yet.” She stood up, her body flush against his, her skin hot. She turned him and pushed him back onto the sofa where she’d just been. He landed with a soft thud.
She climbed over him, straddling his hips, her slick cunt hovering over his throbbing cock. She reached between them, took him in hand, and guided him to her entrance.
She looked him dead in the eye as she sank down, taking him inside her in one slow, inexorable slide.
She was so tight, so unbelievably wet and hot. Matt gasped, his hands flying to her hips, digging into the soft flesh. She was in complete control, perched on top of him, her breasts in his face.
“This,” she panted, beginning to move, riding him with a deliberate, rolling grind, “is the best gift I’ve ever given myself.”
She set a brutal, perfect pace, rising and falling, taking him so deep he felt dizzy. The only sounds were their ragged breathing, the slick slap of skin, and the distant hum of the city through the open window. The golden light was fading to a deep orange, painting her sweat-sheened skin in fire.
Matt knew, with a clarity that cut through the blinding pleasure, that his quiet life downstairs was over. Everything had changed the moment she opened the door. He was hers now, and as she rocked against him, chasing her second climax, he knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.