Life moved on, and we continued to experiment sexually, sometimes successfully, sometimes not.
I took Andy to the strip bar where this had all started and introduced him to a few of the dancers that I now considered friends. He was treated to a lap dance while I watched, and I genuinely found it a huge turn-on when the dancer ran her hand over the bulge at the front of his trousers and winked at me. I handed him my soaking knickers on the train home and watched in delight as he put them to his face and inhaled deeply. I got well fucked that night.
Other less successful ventures included trying full anal, which didn’t work as Andy is just too big, and pain seemed like a pointless element of sex to me. We also went to Hamburg for a weekend and paid quite a few Euros to see a live sex show as recommended by Veronica. The setting was all very glamorous, and the actors were beautiful, but I thought the actual show was quite embarrassing and had a fit of the giggles about ten minutes in.
It was around this time that Andy’s mother died, and as well as all the problems that come with such a thing, we had to clear her house before selling it. This had been Andy’s childhood home, so it was a very painful process for him, and I obviously supported him in every possible way. One day, when I was clearing out what had been his room, I found his stash of porn mags in a box, covered with old schoolbooks. I called him through, and he actually blushed when I showed him my discovery. Andy was very embarrassed but eventually told me that most of them were from the 1990s, having been bought from a local newsagent by a friend’s older brother who charged a commission for his services. He wanted to dump the entire box immediately, so I said that I’d do it the next day, along with all the other junk. If you’ve been paying attention to earlier stories, it will be no surprise that I already knew I was going to hold on to them. Entirely for research purposes, you’ll understand.
The next day, while Andy was at work, I made coffee and sat on the couch to go through them. I have to say that by today’s standards, the contents were very tame. There was no hardcore sex or masturbation or even guys; it was just women posing. Some of the women had pubic hair, and some didn’t. They did pose with their legs apart, and a few held their pussies open, so I supposed that this had been Andy’s introduction to female anatomy. There were stories and letters, as well as adverts for sex toys and telephone chat services.
As I said, all very tame, but several of the magazines had sections headed “Readers’ Wives,” displaying Polaroids and photographs of apparently amateur models sent in by readers. These pages had a mix of ladies of all shapes and sizes trying to look sexy in their living rooms and bedrooms while showing their charms, presumably to husbands, partners, or boyfriends. I didn’t find them particularly erotic, but I did wonder if that was entirely the point. It seemed to me that twenty-plus years ago, before the internet, this might have been one of the few ways of showing off publicly. Perhaps that had been driving these women, and as someone who had gotten the biggest thrill of her life displaying her pussy at a party, I totally understood. I also saw it from the guy’s point of view, as there was always a chance of seeing a neighbour, colleague, or even a mate’s wife or girlfriend in these pages.
I also noticed that some of the magazines had spreads showing ladies who had won competitions such as “Reader’s Wife of the Year” and “Reader’s Wives Striptease Winner.” These sets looked of far better quality than others, and reading the attached blurbs revealed that these were women who, after winning a reader’s poll, had been invited to the magazine’s studio for a shoot with a professional photographer. That got me wondering, so I sat back and started going through the magazines again, paying much closer attention.
Bear in mind that these magazines were more than twenty years old, that they showed only naked women, and that the letters and stories within were obviously made up. Nevertheless, I started to get excited, and after a bit of thought, I took the magazines up to the bedroom.
I stripped to my boring, average-day underwear, then lay on the bed and copied some of the poses I had seen. One bra cup down to expose a nipple; knickers pulled over to one side to show my pussy; my hand inside my panties apparently pretending to be playing with myself (the models might have been pretending, but I wasn’t); knickers off, legs wide, and my cunt spread open; and then up on my knees with my bum in the air and everything exposed. All the time, I was imagining Andy watching while a professional photographer, a total stranger, was telling me how to pose and taking very intimate pictures of me for later public viewing. My fanny was absolutely soaking at these thoughts, and all I had to do was finger my hole and rub my clit for a few minutes before I came.
I had a quick shower to cool down, then sat in the kitchen with more coffee to formulate a plan to get Andy on board with my next evolution. It didn’t take long.
The first thing was a check to see if “Reader’s Wives” was still a feature in top-shelf magazines. An internet search revealed that it was.
The next phase was to get some decent pictures of me, and for that, I had to find a photographer. My idea was to present those to Andy, and if he approved, I would send them in to a magazine. If Andy wasn’t on board, I wouldn’t do it. I called Susan, my friend from earlier adventures, who worked for an advertising company with lots of photographers on their books. I thought she was going to wet herself on the call as she was shrieking with laughter. When she calmed down, she told me, “I wouldn’t trust any of the sleazeball fuckwits who work here, but I’ll think of something. Hang on for a bit, and I’ll get back to you.”
I wondered how long she would take, but she called the next morning to say that she’d take the pictures. “I hang around the studios all the time, so I’ve picked up a few things, and I’m pretty good with a camera. Anyway, I’d fucking love to see you with your legs open again. So, is that a deal? When suits you? Will we do it at your place?”
It’s hard to fight against that kind of enthusiasm, and anyway, what she said sort of made sense, so I agreed, and we set a time for the weekend when Andy would be out at the football with his friends.
The weekend came, and Andy went out as planned. Susan must have been waiting around the corner, as she arrived within minutes of him leaving, carrying a big bag. We went up to the bedroom, and I showed her some magazines, pointing out the photographs that I wanted to copy. I had decided against Susan directing me in poses, and I was just going to get myself into standard revealing positions while she operated the camera. As Susan set up two small lights, I took off my clothes and dressed myself in a standard 1990s wank mag outfit of a black bra, knickers, stockings, and a suspender belt.
I sat on the edge of the bed in my underwear, and Susan took a couple of photographs, then checked the screen on the camera before adjusting the lights. She took some more pictures and announced herself as happy with the lighting.
While Susan took photographs, I used the magazines as a guide and posed the way that the “Readers’ Wives” did. I took off my bra and pinched my nipples, then pulled the gusset of my panties up between my fanny lips. I pulled my knickers over to one side, as that seemed a very popular pose, and taking them off to hold my labia open, I realised that I was quite wet. Susan was going beyond her brief and moving around to take the photographs from different angles, as well as coming in for close-ups. She must have noticed my wetness too, but I didn’t mind, and the idea of her seeing me in detail got me even more hot and bothered.
I moved onto my knees, pushed my bum in the air, and with my anus exposed, I did three poses: pussy pinched closed, pussy with one finger resting between the lips, and finally, pussy held wide open. I heard Susan say, “Fucking hot,” and realised that she was really up close and personal, as I could feel her breath on my fanny. I stopped posing and saw her very flushed face. “Susan! What’s with you?” I asked.
“Sorry, I can’t help it, and if I don’t fucking do something about it right now, I’m going to have an accident.” At that, she sat on a chair, lifted her short skirt, and pulled her knickers down before spreading her legs and starting to rub her pussy.
I watched, captivated, as Susan masturbated right in front of me. I had only watched this in a porn movie and had never been so close to another woman’s pussy in my life. As Andy had told me previously (See “Bath, Bed, Bath, and Lounge,” in this series), she was quite hairy, but I could see clearly that she had big fanny lips, which were already swollen and protruding through her pubes. I watched as she parted them slightly, allowing me to see that she was dark pink, almost red, inside. I could hear how wet she was as she fingered her hole and couldn’t help but notice her rather enlarged clit poking out from under its hood. It was amazing to look at, and I was incredibly aroused as she rubbed and fingered herself just a few feet from my face.
I got onto the floor, moving closer to her. I have no doubt that she ramped up her performance just for me when I did that. Still using one hand, she pulled her pussy lips wide apart. I could see every crease and fold glistening with her juice in graphic detail, while her clit was swelling in front of my eyes, sticking further out from its hood than I think mine ever has. Her vagina was gaping, and I could see that she was leaking a creamy white fluid. I had to fight the urge to lean forward those final few inches to lick up those juices, and she must have sensed that because she wriggled forward on the chair to get closer to my face.
I swear that I almost did it. I so wanted to taste her and push my tongue inside, but my promise with Andy is sacrosanct, and I pulled back. Susan was now stroking the full length of her clit, and considering the intensity of her moans, I realised that she was getting very close to climax.
I had to join in, so I took a dildo from the bedside drawer unit, knelt with my thighs wide apart, and as Susan watched with a wicked smile, I rammed it into my own wet, gaping cunt. That was all Susan needed; with two fingers knuckle-deep into her pussy, she squirted hugely all over my poor, abused bedroom carpet, screaming in utter orgasmic bliss. It only took a few minutes of dildo thrusting with Susan observing closely for me to come as well. It was certainly less spectacular than Susan; however, having an audience made it very satisfying.
After a few minutes’ recovery, we looked at each other and started giggling like teenagers. “Did you get the photos?” I asked.
“I sure did,” she replied.
I’m sorry to disappoint, but we didn’t go any further and showered separately before Susan went home, promising to email me the photographs later. As good as her word, I had about a dozen very reasonable images of me in various stages of undress and arousal in my inbox within a couple of hours. Susan had been correct, I did look hot, and I’ve got to say that up close, my pussy looked amazing.
Following his after-match beer, Andy came home in time for dinner and went upstairs to change. He was back in a few seconds, looking utterly bamboozled. “What have you been doing up there? The bedroom smells like pussy, and there’s a big stain on the carpet.”
I smiled at him. “Sit down, have another beer, and let me explain.”