The shutter clicked and it sounded as if it had deeply inhaled. He felt the same. The roundness of her swollen nipple, as she pinched them, made her throw her head back. She stripped of her thin lace underwear.
He stared at her clit. The reflection from her well placed mirror.
It looked pink, and soft, and almost entirely hairless, aside from a red stripe that seemed like a perfect landing strip to guide his way. His hands almost shook when his camera caught her fingering herself to climax.
But he was a professional.
The first time was in a bar.
He heard her first. The footsteps of nine inch heels. He smelt her next. Musky, yet feminine. Then he saw her. Right in front of him. He stared at her full breasts bouncing as she danced. The way her dress skirted a bit too high as she moved. As she sinfully bit her lip.
That was the first time he saw her.
He traces her soft skin through the pictures. Wondering who would be touching them at that very moment. A flare of envy rushes through him. That should be him. Worshipping that nipple or sucking that neck.
He wants it.
The second time was outside her apartment’s building.
He stood there as she walked into the building in a hurry. The pouring rain outlined her black bra, her top wrinkling up as she tried to open the stubborn door.
He stood there until she entered her first floor apartment. Watched her strip off her soaking top and her shorts before she hurried to draw the lace curtains. They did nothing to hide her from him.
Under the pouring rain, he finally focused his camera.
He imagined how she’d feel under him. Some days she’d be loud as he’d finger her tight clit, hungrily grinding on them. Others she’d eagerly suck him off. But he comes the most to the sound of her whining in the back of her throat, so desperate that she resorts to begging, a string of ‘pleaseohpleasepleaseplease‘ shamelessly escape her lips. It would give him a rush, an incredible high that his mere presence can reduce her to this, to a pleading mess writhing underneath him.
He wonders if cum stains the photographs. Though her clit look good with it on it.
Then there the time near her office, a café.
She was with a man. Her boyfriend presumably. Someone he had seen her before.
They sit in a corner. He sits diagonally across.
His camera captured moment that people wouldn’t have noticed.
His hand in her skirt. Her legs quivering. Him pulling two fingers from under her skirt. She sucking them while still looking at him.
The last time was in her bedroom. He waited till she fell asleep before slowly stripping off her covers. His imagination did not let him down. His fingers stroke lines on her skin. She moans and turns. She looks good naked. Sleep. Drugged, not heavy enough.
He finally kisses her. Coaxing noises out of her. Not too harsh. He wants this to last.
It simply fuels the need possessing him because her lips taste of the pleasure to come.
She doesn’t move when he prepares her. But he ignore her, taking his time stretching her. Three fingers in. He now knows she can take it.
She moans. And grinds. Moving her hips on the fingers that fuck her.
She moves, signalling her awaking. He thrusts in fast, his nails digging into her hips. And then she hisses, wide awake with fear. That only adds to his pleasure. He’s prepared for this. He covers her mouth with his handkerchief and she falls back on the bed. He continues his thrusts. His sucking. His marking. And stops when he’s finally satisfied.
The bed stops creaking.
He pulls back to admire his handiwork. The swollen, red lips, hickeys around her neck and breast, topped with his cum. Some in her, some on her.
It does look good on her.
It doesn’t matter if he couldn’t hear her worship his name.
Maybe the next one.
He is a professional after all.