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If you’re lucky, every once in awhile you fall for someone. Sometimes its love, sometimes its lust but its usually some sort of mixture. I was more than lucky when I first met a woman named Dianne B.
Dianne was working at the company I’d just joined. She was assigned to mentor me and we got along well. I was pleased to have made a new friend, one I continued to have lunch with every week. Even better, she was beautiful. Not some classic supermodel beauty but she pushed every button I had: long curly hair, sweet heart-shaped face, curvy body including eye-catching breasts, long legs and a toned bottom. I always had to work to not stare.
Even better, Dianne was a fashion addict. She was always dressed elegantly with sex appeal. You know, high heels, skirts, satin blouses, dresses that hinted at just a little cleavage but cupped her breasts smoothly. With the heels she stood a little taller than me, something she never ended teasing me about.
So why didn’t I ask her out? Timing. Either I was with someone when she wasn’t or vice versa. Fate was fucking with me big time. I’ll admit that even when I was exclusive with someone, I fantasized about Dianne when I was alone. I enjoyed my time with Dianne and my secret lustings. I also enjoyed my secret fetish but that wasn’t important… at first.
Dianne and I began servicing a local customer once a week. So we just shifted our normal lunch to happen after the customer meeting and we car-pooled from the office. It also turned out to be pretty near Dianne’s house so from time to time, we’d stop when she had to pick something up. First time, she invited me in.
My heart started racing and my stomach was wobbly with arousal. I looked at everything from the narrow mud room, the spiral stair to the main floor, the mounted photographs as art around the walls, the hint of cinnamon in the air. I happened to be single at the time, but Dianne was dating someone steady so once again, nothing was going to happen.
“Do you mind if I make a quick sandwich?”
“No problem. I thought that salad you had was pretty small.”
“Make yourself at home.”
I could hear her rustling around in the galley kitchen as I passed her to find the bathroom. I really tried to find the bathroom. Honestly. First door I opened was to her bedroom. Her closet was open and the light was on inside. I could see dozens of dresses, blouses, skirts, pants, and the tempting glimpses of lace and satin in its furthest depths. I saw her panty drawer hanging half open, stuffed with thongs, bikinis, and boyshorts of lace, nylon, and satin. There was a pile of high heels on the floor in front of the chest of drawers.
I was trembling. My fetish? Well, I love lingerie… on women, but I also love to wear it, to be feminine. I was SORELY tempted to slip into the room and nick a quick pair of panties. I wanted to so badly but I resisted. I just couldn’t do anything like that to her.
The door closed quickly and I hustled into the bathroom, flushing the toilet and emerging just when she looked down the hallway, sandwich in hand.
“You want anything?” The voices in the back of my head had a hundred quick suggestions but bahis firmaları I managed a shake of my head. She ducked back into the kitchen and I made my way back into the living room. Deep breaths slowed my passions. I studied the photographs.
When Dianne finally emerged she was wiping a crumb from her lips… full red lips… gack! concentrate!
“Yep. I finally got off my butt and got them matted and framed this past spring. I took most of them the first couple years after I moved here.”
“They are powerful, but grim. Most of them make me feel a little sad.”
“Well, that’s sort of what I was going for.”
“I take happier photos,” I blurted, a sudden inspiration gripping my mind. “I find them to be very powerful but I don’t think they are for everyone.”
“Oh now you have to show me some,” she grinned, intrigued.
“Okay, someday soon.”
After that visit to her place, I fashioned a plan and I spent time with my digital camera. I had tons of photos but I wanted these to be special. I pulled out my own collection of high heel shoes and took dozens of photos until I had a handful I really felt proud of artistically.
After a couple weeks passed just to show I wasn’t super eager (it was hard!), I opened my laptop at our weekly lunch.
“You know those photos you asked about?”
“Oh yeah, yeah,” she said eagerly. I queued up the slide show and slid the laptop around to her. She clicked and looked, clicked and looked, slowly. I was watching her face as her expression went from interest to surprise to curiosity. She spent a whole minute staring at the last one, a great shot of my favorite ankle-strap 4″ heels.
“Wow!” she said quietly as she eased back in her seat. I was crestfallen, sure she was trying to let me down easy. She glanced up and I had a flash, warmth in my heart, and I knew that she really cared for me and my feelings.
“I’m serious. Those are some smokin’ photos. Very sexy!”
That had me stumped. Sure I found them very erotic, but I didn’t expect her to see that. Then I thought about her fashion addiction and her own collection of heels. Maybe she found them as erotic as I did to wear. I threw that crazy thought out of my head. No one gets that lucky. Do they?
“Well, yeah, that’s what I was trying to capture. Heels are really amazing. They are made of sensual materials and their curves mimic those of a beautiful woman. They sculpt the legs when you wear them and the arch is just like…” I trailed off when I realized I was sharing way too much too fast. I felt my face blush.
She smiled and then nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. They are amazing. Can I have high-res copies?”
“Uh, sure. Sure!” I said happily, handing her the memory card from my camera.
A couple weeks later, Dianne had to do something at her apartment again after our lunch so I followed her up the spiral stairs. Not observed, I lovingly watched her bottom as she climbed the stairs. Then I noticed that she was wearing sexy high heels instead of the more subdued heels she would wear at work.
“Come here,” she said after we reached the main floor. I got nervous and kaçak iddaa excited as she led me to her bedroom. We walked in and she flicked on the lights.
All around the bedroom, she’d framed large pictures of my high heels. She had my erotic art on the walls of her bedroom. I swallowed, trying not to faint.
“They look amazing, don’t they?”
“Yeah, you did a great job framing them.”
“That’s nothing. They are just powerful. I really wanted to see them in here.”
I smiled and nodded. That’s when she stared at me, not unkindly. I’d felt that stare before. In the past, it had presaged a first kiss or a touch that was more than friends. I had wishes but I had no idea what she was going to say or do. She was the one with a boyfriend. I couldn’t make the move.
“Do you want to take some pictures… of mine?” she asked softly. The question was so layered in meaning I could hardly breathe. I took my time, meeting her eyes, letting all my emotions shine through my gaze for long, lingering moments.
“I’d love to take a picture of… of your collection.”
“You have anything critical to get back to the office for?”
“Nothing!” I declared with a genuine grin.
“Where do you want to take the pictures?”
“Well, I find the bed is the best canvas, or the floor of the bedroom. Natural habitat so to speak.”
“Heels in bed? Kinky!” My face must have blushed crimson after that. She’d never flirted like that before.
We went into her bedroom and she began to pull out her collection. I gazed happily, drinking in every sight, every feeling, every perfume in the room.
The woman had a shoes fetish. Seemed like that to me after I lost count of shoe boxes she dug out of the walk in closet. And she loved high, even fetishy heels. Maybe she and I had even more in common than our love of Captain Crunch cereal and science fiction movies.
“I’ll leave you in here while I take care of some things. I’ve got a tripod around here somewhere. Do you need anything else?”
“No, I’ll be fine with the tripod.”
For the next hour I focused on taking the best photos I could. I struggled to not caress her shoes or explore other things in the bedroom, but I arranged the shoes on her pillows and her sheets.
Finally, my memory card was full and I had to change it out. Dianne came back in wearing a loose sweatshirt and tight jeans.
“Can I see?”
She flipped through the views on the camera, nodding and smiling. She was biting her lower lip a little and I didn’t think my erection could stay hidden in my pants. So far the satin panties I was wearing from my own wardrobe had been containing my cock but it could slip out and tent my pants if I shifted the wrong way.
“Shoes all you take pictures of?” she asked at last.
“I’ll take pictures of anything you’ll let me,” I dared, so attracted to her at that moment.
“Okay, I have a couple rules. You can’t take pictures of my face. You leave the memory card here before you leave and I’ll burn you copies of the ones I’m comfortable with. And you can’t touch me. I’m okay with some modeling, but touching me is off-limits. Terry wouldn’t understand.”
I kaçak bahis couldn’t even swallow but I nodded eagerly. As I watched, she pulled the loose sweatshirt up over her head. Her full breasts were held in a beautiful red satin bra with tiny lace edging. I couldn’t help but look at the swell of her breasts, the curve of skin in her cleavage. The lace was bumped out over her nipples but I couldn’t tell if the bra was cut that way or if she was aroused.
Next came the jeans. They peeled down her legs to reveal a red satin garter belt and red satin panties, then thigh high stockings. She worked the jeans over her heels and I saw that they looked just like a pair I had photographed from my own shoes.
My cock slipped out of the panties and made a clear tent in my pants. The temperature in the room was getting warm and I was so aroused I was having a hard time thinking. I hoped my lens wasn’t fogging up.
She moved on to the bed and slid into a pose straight out of a pin-up calendar: arm above her head, back arched, one knee up, toes pointed. I started snapping away. She moved and shifted, sometimes paying attention to me, sometimes being in her own little world. She was stiff at first but then relaxed. I felt like she was embracing her sexuality, the eroticism of her outfit and body.
When her fingers started touching her nipples through the satin, I couldn’t help but moan. She sighed herself and didn’t stop.
I noticed that I ran out of room on the memory card. I didn’t have another one so I just set the camera down. Her eyes watched me do it and she didn’t stop.
“Let me see,” she asked, her voice constrained by her excitement. I unbuckled my pants and slid them down, remembering at the last minute my golden satin panties.
“They’re beautiful,” she smiled as her fingers slid down and under her own panties. She knew! How did she know? As my fingers found my cock and pulled it free of the panties, my mind raced with the question. After a few moments, the incredible sight before me… the woman of my dreams in beautiful satin lingerie on her own bed masturbating for me.
I stroked me cock and her eyes watched it closely. She licked her lips as her fingers swirled underneath her panties. She sucked her lip and pulled at her nipple through her bra.
“You’re so hot!” she moaned.
“You’re gorgeous! I want you so much,” I confessed.
“I know. Show me how much with yourself.”
I began to stroke firmly and quickly. She sped up her own fingers, her legs and hips squirming on the bed in her arousal.
“I’m going to cum,” I confessed.
“Me too! Cum! Cum!” she moaned loudly. Not wanting to spray her bed with my cum, I quickly flipped my panties back over my cock and then my balls clenched and then gobs of cum flooded out of my cock. I soaked the satin quickly and felt the come roll down over my fingers, shaft and balls.
Dianne’s legs came together over her pussy as she moaned loudly and came powerfully. Her face flushed and her head was arched back as the waves of pleasure washed over her body from toes to head.
It took us almost a minute to recover ourselves. My pretty panties were loaded with cum and pulled them up properly into place around my hips and ass. Dianne stretched like a sensual cat with a big smile on her face.
“I think this is the start of something amazing,” she said and we smiled.
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