Room Service Help Photoshoot Ch. 01

There is nudity, exhibitionist and voyeuristic tension, and teasing lite sex in this story.

If you are looking for animated, wailing and screeching sex, this is not for you. Move on.

***

This story is about that time when my wife and I requested our hotel room service staff to help photograph us nude.

I am John. My wife is Sophie, or Soph in our Brit vernacular. We were in our late forties then. We had been married for close to 30 years. Three grown children scattered in three continents. Grandparents three times over with installments to come. We lived in a remote countryside cottage perched on a picturesque sea cliff in southwest England.

Brown haired Soph is the quintessential English rose. Soph is pretty in a plain sort of way. Soph was a ballet dancer in her youth. Although she had stopped active dancing a long time ago, she maintained the upright graceful mien of a ballerina.

Now, how do I best describe her body without contradiction? Confoundingly buxomly and nubile in the same hiss of breath.

Let's try this. Imagine you are doing a spot of photo editing. Your base image is a mature woman, five feet four inches, just shy of buxom. She has her obligatory share of flabs and sags of her age. Medium pendulous breasts. A dusting of freckles on upper chest. Softly contoured rump, prominent, but short of provocative. Soft rise of tummy. An artful delicate caesarean section cut just above her mound. Well-turned legs flare into wide hips. Lite Rubenesque.

You have a secondary picture image resource to draw from in your photo editing project. A fresh faced nubile adolescent, also five feet four inches tall, on the cusp of womanhood. Her budding breasts are contoured in a soft wide arc. A gentle rise that promises lush in the fullness of time. Her silken mons pubis is a minimalist dainty gash. A smooth impish cleft with no inner lips protruding.

Now, copy-and-paste the budding breasts, and pubescent bottom, from the secondary to the primary image.

Voila! There you have it, Soph! A curious confluence abstraction of buxom and nubile, of pubescent and mature. It all hangs together surreally into a sensual womanly whole that is alluring. Easy to identify, but hard to define precisely.

Soph has mixed feelings about her body. Self-evidently, she likes her buxom bits. But, she is acutely conscious of her modest top. While I feel that her buxomness heightens her pubescent allure to conjure a comely feminine whole, she feels that it accentuates her topside deficit. Soph is shy. But, she is no prude.

I am five feet eight inches tall. I have my share of mellowed contours. I am average in every dimension. My penis is above average in length, but by not much. My girth is below average, but not spindly. Soph describes my endowment as statuesque, though which particular statue, I don't know. My shaved groin complements Soph's virginal pubescence.

Soph and I were on holiday. It was the farthest that we have ever been away from home. A distant continent where we knew nobody. Liberating anonymity.

The upmarket hotel we stayed in was lovely. High floor. In-room jacuzzi. Breathtaking ocean view. Balcony with 360 degree privacy. Fancy electronics for illumination, climate control, audio, video. A single remote control unit controls this electronic universe.

We would be spending Soph's and my fiftieth birthday in this well-appointed hotel. We wanted to spoil ourselves rotten. Indulge. Our birthdays were a day apart. My birthday came first, then Soph's. Also, by design, we married on Soph's birthday. This was our thirtieth wedding anniversary.

We agreed that we will do a triple celebration on Soph's birthday. My birthday. Our wedding anniversary. A three-in-one milestone. We wanted this to be special and memorable.

We had a lovely dinner. The hotel got wind of our birthdays from our check-in registration details. They threw in generous freebies. A bespoke dinner menu. Birthday cake. Wine. Champagne. An in-room couples massage. The works.

After a lovely dinner, and then drinks at the piano bar, we repaired to our room. As we were dressed to the nines, I told Soph that I would like to snap some pictures of her before we changed into our bedwear.

Soph was dressed in a mid-thigh length smoldering black dress number. The dress mercilessly hugged her body to the point of suffocation, thrusting every curve to the fore. Her fuck-me, criminally provocative high heels completed the sensual visual assault.

Soph had never been a willing photography subject because of her ambivalence about her body. I told her that this was a very special occasion. She looked gorgeous. The ambience was right. As was our mood. My camera was a digital Nikon DSLR. We could experimentally take any number of pictures, and delete the pictures that she didn't like. And the picture collection would be our private possession, privy to our eyes only.

Soph eventually reluctantly consented after much cajoling, on condition that she reserved the right to delete whichever pictures she chose. I agreed.

Soph: Let me freshen my makeup.

Me: You look just fine. But, go ahead if that's what you want.

As Soph tarted up, I got ready my camera gear.

For starters, I had Soph sit in the chair and took a couple of portrait pictures from the front and sides.

I then sat Soph on the bed against the headboard. I placed a pillow to prop her back. Soph was half-reclined, with her legs together, knees drawn up. I told her to chill. Her raven black dress juxtaposed against the white bedtop provided perfect photographic contrast.

Click.

Me: Run your fingers through your hair. Raise your right leg to rest over your left knee.

Click.

Me: Dangle your right leg high heels from your toes, come hither.

Click.

Me: Soph, move over to the coffee table. Sit near the edge. Legs crossed.

Click.

Me: Look to your left. Now to your right.

Click, click.

Me: Go on the couch. Roll onto your tummy. Elbows on the couch. Prop your chin in your hands. Bend your right leg behind you, incline it left. Dangle your high heels from your toes.

Click.

Soph: I think I'm showing too much of who I am not.

Me: Soph, you're a lovely model. And it's only you and me seeing these pictures. Now, I want to take some lingerie shots. Bra and thong. And high heels.

Soph: Oh no! We have gone way too far.

Me: Come on! It's no different from your Wicked Weasel bikini. Just this once. Humour me on this night of our triple celebration. Wear your sexiest lingerie.

Soph rifled through her wardrobe velvety stash. She selected a sinful dainty black lacy half-cup bra, and matching thong panties. She dressed up, or rather, dressed down, in these economical garments. Her light chocolate smear of areolas and perky nipples could be made out through the sheer fabric. She decided to freshen her makeup.

She then hesitated for a moment wondering just what she was doing. She appeared to decide that she was enjoying herself.

I had Soph pose in several positions. Coquettish, kittenish. Bordering on saucy. But never lewd, which I had an aversion to. And the ballerina in Soph would feel the same.

There is a sort of "marginal utility of sensuality" that a photographer is sensitive to. Knowing how to artfully calibrate the visual effect to the sensuality richter scale.

Me: Stand there. Put your foot on the dresser table as if you are a ballerina practising at the barre. Point your toes.

I clicked away from several angles.

Me: Now, lean forward towards the table. Hold your ankle.

Click.

Me: Execute a ballerina's arabesque position. Stand on one leg. The other leg turned out, extended behind your body. Both legs held straight.

I orbited Soph.

Click. Click. Click.

Me: You're a super model. Nicely turned legs, flaring to lush hips. A good figure. Are you enjoying this?

Soph: Like you said, it's the same as a bikini. I'm beginning to mindlessly believe you.

Me: On the bed again. Flat on your back.

Soph: Hey! This is getting into the lewd zone.

Me: No. It won't. It is not necessarily the pose that defines the shot. It is the interaction of model, pose and photographic rendering. Trust me. I find lewd and lusty distasteful too.

I convinced Soph.

Click.

Me: Flat on your back. Bend your knees. That's it.

Click.

Me: Raise your bent knees higher. Knees together in a knock-kneed position. Gaze left with a contemplative faraway look. Lovely!

Her legs were presented in a playful flirty symmetry.

Click.

Me: Knees apart. Lovely thong.

Click.

Me: Now sit up in the middle of the bed.

I took hold of Soph's hands and placed them on her breasts.

Me: Push them up and together, like this.

Click.

I pulled one bra strap off her shoulder and the cup of her bra down, revealing her perky nub which engorged even more as my thumb grazed over it.

Soph (protesting): Hey! This is more exposure than a bikini!

Click.

Me: Can't stop now. We've come so far. Again, these are our private pictures.

I moved behind Soph. I slipped the fastening of her bra, taking it off completely. I put my hands round and cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger. I suggested she put her hands under her breasts, lifting them some, like an offering of treasured gifts.

Click.

I put my arms right round Soph. I held her right breast in my left hand, massaging and squeezing. My right hand slid down the front of her thong. My finger slipped through the hermetic seal of her vagina. I moved my finger inside her for a few seconds then withdrew. Soph was sopping wet. I broke away.

Me: Now, I want you to repeat what I have just done. Left hand massaging your right breast. Right hand into your thong pleasuring yourself.

Soph: Whoa! We are deviating further and further from our script!

Me: Please...

She relented.

Click.

I moved over to Soph. I was so hot. I gently eased her thong to her ankles without asking her. She was surprised by my unannounced action. But, she did not resist. Soph was now totally native.

I slipped my finger into her vagina. She was leaking copiously. A musty smell permeated the air. Our eyes locked in a moment of heat.

Soph: If I'm going to be naked, you should be too. Your trousers are contorted in agony. Lose your textile.

I was naked. Soph couldn't resist reaching out, kissing the hard flesh in front of her. She licked off the precum glistening on my proud head.

Soph: I feel very exposed. Vulnerable. Just a couple more pictures only, please.

Soph was conscious of her exposed bottom. She laid on the bed, flat on her stomach.

Soph: Well, don't get anything up needlessly. I'm not showing much.

Me: Raise your head and shoulders. Pull yourself up enough. Nipples on the bed out of view, but only just so.

A provocative teasing peek-a-boo pose. I could see her soft rise of breasts nicely, but not her nipples.

Click.

Soph: You get my bare derrière. But, I'm keeping my legs closed. So, don't billow your hopes up.

I went around the bed taking pictures of her back, especially her nice, round butt. Hot!

Me: Maintain your pose. But, bend your right leg. Dangle your high heels on your toes, come hither.

Click.

Me: Just a few standing shots and we are done.

Soph: Oh no! I am not exposing my bare bottom.

Me: Let's do this. I will take the shots. Artistically composed. In our review of the pictures, we can decide what to do. You can choose to delete the pictures. Or, based on your selection, I can photo edit them and airbrush the bits you deem offensive.

Soph: Hmmm... you are determined! I guess I have to let you have your ration of jollies, this being your birthday celebration.

Soph was standing in her buxom pubescent full glory, perched on her high heels. Her legs were together, clasped tightly, guarding her nether charms. Her pristine mons pubis, and impish hint of cleft accentuated her pubescent allure. A buxom pubescent curiosity.

Click.

Me: Soph, sit on the edge of the table. Cross your legs. Kittenish look.

Click.

Me: Spread your legs. Look right, away from the camera as if something is holding your attention.

Soph hesitated. This was the first shot of her revealed bottom.

Me: Please? We are almost done. You can delete this picture in our review if you are not happy with it.

Click.

Me: Stand with your back to me. Legs apart. Wider. Good! Bend right down. Right hand hold your left ankle.

Soph: Oh God! No! This is smut!

Me: This is hot! Please? We can review later and decide if it is indeed smut. From my view here, it is a sensual aesthetic rendition of who you are. Your face can't be seen anyway. Lovely! This picture will be it.

Soph relented.

Click.

I uploaded the pictures onto my laptop-PC. I hooked-up the PC to the large TV monitor so that we could slideshow the pictures. Soph was about to put on her bathrobe, but I told her that we should stay native, enjoy our nudity, cuddle up, as we view our pictures.

I lazed on the couch with my legs extended. Soph sat in front of me, paused, as if giving me notice of her next move, then reclined, and melted onto me as if I was a lounge chair. We made some fine bodily adjustments. We were in the groove.

As we viewed the slideshow, I fondled Soph's breasts, and kneaded her pliant eraser tip nipples. Soph mewed a musical exotic kittenspeak. I then drifted south. I was in full flourish, as was Soph, judging from her moist bottom.

Soph was pleased with the black dress series of pictures. She looked regally elegant and yet, sexy.

After initial misgivings, Soph warmed up to her bra and thong shots. She particularly liked the ballerina pose shots. Dance was close to her heart. These shots resonated with who she was. The shots had the unlikely quality combination of the artistic, the pristine pubescence of a ballerina, and yet coquettish appeal, all at once.

As we were aroused viewing Soph's nude series, I told Soph that we were in the mood, and I would love to take some shots of us together in intimate poses. Again sexy, but not lewd. I lamented that I didn't have a tripod for my camera. We would do those shots belatedly when we got home.

Just then, the doorbell chimed. It startled us as we were not expecting anyone. We promptly put on our hotel bathrobes. I went to the door. It was room service. We were surprised as we didn't order any.

The room service staff, a good-looking fresh faced young man in his early twenties, introduced himself as Joao. He asked if he could serve us the complimentary champagne for our birthdays, to crown this memorable night. Soph and I were pleasantly surprised. I let Joao in.

He set up the champagne bucket, and glasses on the coffee table in the lounge area. It was a Krug. He uncorked the champagne in an elegant flurry of action, and then served the bubbly.

Soph loved strawberries. She remarked that the champagne would pair nicely with the strawberries from the complimentary fruit basket of the day that was in our room. On hearing this, Joao insisted that he would bring a fresh serve of strawberries to complement the champagne. He asked that we give him 10 minutes to bring the strawberries.

As he turned to leave, he inadvertently saw the picture of Soph on the TV screen. We had totally forgotten about the slideshow! This was the picture of Soph in full frontal on her high heels, with her legs closed, betraying a hint of cleft. Soph looked mortified.

Joao acted nonchalantly as if the picture hadn't been there. A perfect gentleman. He almost had me convinced that he had seen nothing. As I tipped him at the door, he gave me a knowing smile, "I apologize for interrupting you and your lovely wife. I will be back shortly with the strawberries."

Soph: I'm so embarrassed! It's all your fault, this pictures obsession.

Me: Soph, chill! I don't think he saw anything. If he did, it was fleeting. A blip. In any case, it is a tasteful artistic picture. Nothing to be embarrassed about.

Soph: But, he saw my breasts. And horror of horrors, my lady part.

Me: As you have witnessed yourself at the hotel beach, many guests sunbathe au naturel. Nudity is not a big deal in this culture. Hey! We are on holiday faraway from home in an enlightened liberated culture. And nobody knows us here. Blissful anonymity.

Perversely, as we bantered, the picture was still on the TV monitor in its epic cinematic glory. We revisited it intently. I felt a tingle knowing that a strapping young man had admired this vision of loveliness just a moment ago, if only for a second.

Me: Look, Soph! The picture is artistically rendered. Your slit is barely visible beneath your plump mound. Your barely legal pubescence lends a pristine aura to the image.

Soph calmed down somewhat.

Soph (curiously): I saw Joao talking with you at the door. What did he say?

Me (jocularly): Boys talk! He said he saw the loveliest woman ever, and he came in his pants. Twice over. Just kidding, he he!

Soph (lightening up): Very funny!

Me: Joao apologized for interrupting "me and my lovely wife".

Soph: Hmmm... so he saw my picture...

Me: Give him a break! You are reading way too much into this fleeting episode.

Soph: Hmmm... I guess so. He is a gentleman. And a handsome strapping young lad to boot. I guess I am over-reacting. To be honest, I did get a surge from his glimpse of my picture.

I walked over to Soph. I slithered by hand beneath her bathrobe and caressed her muff. She was devilishly dewy moist.

Soph: So, now you know...

As I bent over my PC to close the slideshow, my penis peeked through my gaping bathrobe quivering.

Soph (patting my tumescence): Hmmm... looks like the feeling is mutual.

Me: Remember the intimate photos that I would like to take of us? What do you think if we get Joao to take them for us when he returns with the strawberries?

Soph: What? Are you out of your feverish mind?

Me: The conditions here are just right. We have absolute anonymity here. We are halfway across the world. Joao appears to be a discreet fellow. We have the remote control to control the room illumination. We could dim the lights. Arrange ourselves into intimate poses. We pose in such a way that we conceal your lady charms, and your nipples. And when we are ready, we will illuminate the room momentarily. Joao can take a shot. We dim the lights again. Re-pose. Repeat the cycle. Say, ten pictures. Joao will have fleeting glimpses of us only. Your feminine bits will be concealed. We will give Joao a generous tip for his valiant effort above and beyond the call of hospitality duty.

Soph: Are you serious?

I caressed her vagina again. It had since gone from moist to sopping wet. As was my glistening penis head.

Me: Just a little harmless tingling fun, as we capture our intimate moments for posterity, on this very special night. We are fifty only once in our lifetime.

Soph (warming up to the idea): What does 'intimate' mean? Are we having heaving, caterwauling sex in front of a stranger? Is that what you want? A carnal fest of exhibitionism, voyeurism and sex?

Me: It doesn't make a difference whether we do, or we don't. Our privates will be concealed from view. In any case, like the rest of the pictures we have taken tonight, there will be no lewd and lusty shots. We stay faithful to our script.

Soph (apparently softening up to my persuasive powers): Hmmm... living up your latent exhibitionist fantasies, are we? I'll be embarrassed facing off Joao.

Me: Let's do this. You don your bathrobe and go into the washroom after this to freshen your makeup. When Joao returns, I will request his help to take some pictures for us since I don't have a tripod. This being our special night, the pictures will mean alot to us. I will explain to Joao that you are camera shy. Thus, we will pose in dim light, and when we are ready, we will brighten the lights, and he can take the shot. We then repeat the cycle.