Chapter 16
Peggy had no way of knowing and no criterion for judging the true meaning of the-posing- for Ken. She hadn't understood what he meant, except that it was fervent and appreciative. And she was happy. It had been very good posing. And it was good that Ken liked what had happened. He would want to pose again. But that would take time. Peggy was beginning to grasp the mechanics of the male in this posing technique. Even if she didn't know the why of it, she knew there had to be a delay. Whereas she was quite ready to start again-after a few minutes rest. She didn't understand the need for delay, though Jim explained it as a need to recharge his batteries.
She rolled her head to one side, close to Ken's ear. "How soon can we pose again?"
She didn't see the astonishment on Ken's face or the curious glance he sent down toward his prick. Again? Do this again? He had been many years nerving himself up to this, this first wild fling. And to be asked how soon-again.
And, oddly enough, felt a faint stirring in his loins, a little weary, but a feeling-a new start, perhaps. Was it really possible?
Peggy nuzzled him sleepily. "After we rest..." And yawned a small kitten yawn in his ear. And dropped off to sleep, one slim arm flung across his chest, one little bubbie pressed tight against his ribs.
She stirred sleepily when Ken moved and then, as the lights went out, sank back again, smiling dreamily. She awoke as easily, as casually as she had fallen asleep, awoke refreshed and only momentarily puzzled that she wasn't in her own bed-and then delighted that she wasn't.
She was only briefly frightened by the towering shadows from the work light and the ladders and tripods. Then they were no longer bogeymen. They were the familiar trappings of the studio where she posed. With me. Men! Yes, there were two of them, now. And there had been an implicit promise of more posing. At the moment just who with was hazy. Oh, yes. Jim had said he'd pose with her. And there had been a faint, hesitant suggestion that Ken would do a repeat.
She stood up, stretching, rising on her toes, breathing deep, enjoying the sensations of muscles stretching. She yawned, far wider than she had intended, almost cracking her jaw. But it cleared her head. Yes, very distinctly she remembered there had been promise of more fu- posing.
And she meant to see about it.
Her little cunt was already itching, giving distinct signs it was ready for use again.
She heard voices in the studio lounge and marched in, naked, her little breasts shaking with the motion, her hips swinging, her feet moving to that inaudible music. She stood in the doorway, small fists on slim, rounded hips and looked at them. Her two men. Jim ruffling his already tousled hair with chemical-stained fingers and Ken Robertson, the impeccable Ken Robertson, sitting in his jockey shorts, writing out a check. That would be for the posing. Peggy nodded approval.
Not that she was really concerned about money but it seemed only fitting that posing- and the pictures from them-should be paid for. And, of course, the model's fee.
Ken glanced around and, seeing her, looked faintly embarrassed, as if he didn't like being seen in his jockey shorts.
Jim took the check, waved it once and dropped it in the center drawer, casually, as if he regularly received two thousand dollars for a single set of pictures. And the use of a model.
Peggy approved. Business matters settled, she marched in, wagging her cute little rump with a deliberately provocative waggle. She had no idea of the sum involved. It would have baffled her completely to think anyone would pay that price for a set of photographs-even of her scr-posing.
She did nod toward the drawer. "Is that for one pose? Or does he get another?"
Coming from that childish figure, naked, small bubbies moving delicately with her own built-in rhythm, the question was astounding.
And didn't have a ready answer. Ken glanced at Peggy's slim little figure, his eyes fastening on the slow, easy motion of her bubbies, and then back at Jim, his eyebrow quirked in a question.
Jim patted the desk top, just above the check, hesitated, and then nodded. For that price the man was entitled to two-poses.
Ken drew a deep breath and nodded, letting the air out noisily. Another session with this nymphet! Now that his manhood was established... Ken went off into personal extravaganza that could never have taken place. A whole harem of nymphets each remarkably like Peggy! And Ken performing prodigiously, time after time.
Now that the question of yes or no was settled, the timing should be set. But Peggy was in no hurry. There was something gratifying in the way these two men looked at her, devouring her with their eyes, that gave the moment a special thrill.
Of course, men would be looking at the photographs of her, posing. And they would get- well, some kind of kick out of it. But Peggy wouldn't feel it. This she could feel, as if the impact of their eyes had pressure on her skin. And a special warmth. She moved slowly, tilting her pelvis, letting her hips ride in a sort of balance, rocking her small rump, moving in time to that inaudible music that was part of Peggy.
She turned and headed back for the studio, swinging her little rump with a touch of very naughty insouciance, certain the men would follow.
Ken selected a pose that Jim called "The Rocking Chair,"-in which he sat in an armless chair and Peggy sat facing him, straddling his lap, his prick jutting up, so that she slid on to it, moving her little pelvis in and out and even waggling it sideways. And Ken humped, so that his rod slammed up in to her, jolting loose new fires and skyrockets and lights brighter than the studio lights when his prick shot its load into her.
And he could play with her bubbies and run his hands down to tease the front of her little box. And it all went far too fast-and too exciting. Or so it seemed to Peggy.
Actually it had been a little slower, but the novelty of it made it seem to be over quickly.
Peggy slumped against him, and Ken kissed her forehead, smoothing back the damp tendrils of hair. "You're a lovely child. Lovely. And-desirable. What a puny word! Desirable. A miserable little word to wrap up so much delight."
Slumped, she watched his prick slide out of her little box, still quivering. And her box was still mouthing at his pecker.
He was looking down her, too, staring at her little slit. He raised his eyes, studying her whole front, the creases between legs and stomach, her little bellybutton, her flat little stomach and her bubbies. His eyes lingered longest on them and then came up to her face. He reached out and took her face in two hands, tilting it up. "Such a soft, sensitive, sensuous mouth. And such big eyes. And a delectable bit of a nose. You're a beautiful child. Beautiful. And you've given me new reason to live, my dear. You'll probably never really understand how much you've done for me, even though Jim may have told you of my-difficulty.
Peggy didn't understand. He was right. But she was glad she had helped. If just posing had helped. It was certainly simple enough.
"I want to come back, my dear. Often. And we'll-pose again. If you're willing. If you like me."
Peggy smiled at him, liking the earnestness in his eyes, the tone of his voice. "I like you. I like you very much." And kissed him. Not one of her hot kisses. Just a little-girl kiss. On one corner of his mouth.
Posing with Jim was funny. While, not ha-ha funny, just odd. He wanted her to do it like a dog. He showed her some sample photos. It looked simple but awkward. A little unhandy. But Jim said he had a gay old dog who liked his raunch haunchy.
Obediently Peggy knelt on the bed, her little rump stuck up in the air. And waited. Jim climbed up behind her and let his prick hang down between the cheeks of her ass, where her little brown hole was. She could feel it begin to stiffen even as he moved against her.
His arms went around her, cupping her bubbles, starting those old fires into hot new life, making her little cunt quiver with the opening of its lips.
And Ken, half dressed, was watching. He caught her turning her head to peer at him. "Do you mind?"
She gave it a moment's thought, then shook her head. "I kind of like it. It sort of makes things build. And makes my skin tingle, just to know you're looking at it."
And dropped her head to watch down between her bubbies, between her legs where Jim's prick was rising, tapping at her slit, moving in on her. She saw the bulb push at the lips of her box, felt them spread and the quick, hot entrance into her, wincing a little. Not from pain but from the sudden hot excitement of it. Jim slowed his motion and Peggy backed a little, driving him deeper into her. It became a sort of game with them, Jim pulling back a little and Peggy bucking backward to get more of that prick up her tunnel, to feel it sliding over the wails, going deeper and deeper.
This time it seemed to go far, far up. And Peggy caught her breath with the exciting expectancy of it, knowing that as it went the banked fires within her body were building to an outburst.
And she could wiggle a little. Up and down. And sideways. Which caused odd and wonderful motions far up her canal-way up into her belly. And now Jim was bucking with short, quick strokes, teasing her insides to greater tension.
His hands caressed her hubbies: His fingers nibbled at her amber-pink nipples until she wanted to scream, not with the pain but with the tightly contained excitement.
And Ken was watching. She wasn't really conscious of his intent look, just the knowledge that he was looking, that this was being played to a live audience, not just cameras, was enough to create new and more intense excitement.
Jim's hands roamed over her bubbies, sliding down her stomach, reaching under her to lay his finger against where his prick went into her cunt, where her little clit was sticking up like a miniature prick. His finger teased it, and Peggy moaned, squirming with the pleasure of it, and getting more motion of his prick far up her cunt.
They went slowly into the increasing tempo, a step at a time, matching rhythms as the tempo climbed and tensions built. His fingers were digging into her stomach with his excitement. It wasn't painful. Not really. Just very exciting, as if he might hurt her at any moment, rip something loose and tear her apart-but that was part of the new excitement. Jim was nibbling at her neck, and then fastening his mouth on her throat, sucking in a rhythm that throbbed with his prick up in her. And she was moving, barely conscious of it, but knowing it made for more fire within her.
Then Jim was still, holding her tight in strong arms, his hands on either side of her waist, stilling her motion, pulling her tight against him. For that moment of supreme intensity, when Peggy would...
She let go, in a vast, exciting surge of juices, of lights and drums, of pinwheels and spasmodic tightening in her stomach. And Jim's bulb shot heavy juices into her, hot and creamy, way up.
Jim clung to her, holding her tight against his pelvis, boring into her with very short, quick takes. And then stopped with a sigh, his prick still shuddering and pulsing against the sensitive walls of her tunnel.
It was over.
Except for the lingering sweetness, the last few shuddering movements, the last drops of creamy juice.
Then Peggy slid forward, almost falling out of Jim's arms to sprawl on the bed momentarily spent, while long, delicious shudders shook her slim body. And Jim fell face down beside her, gulping for air, letting the long shudders shake his body, not even trying to reach for her, just letting their warmth communicate.