PART 2
Here SHE WAS, posing blindfolded and bra-less (even if you can’t see that) for a perfect stranger. An improvised photographer that she asked to shoot some photos, as a Birthday Present to me (her beloved hubby), who she was missing as he had been away from home, far away, sailing the seas. From her expression it is evident that again she didn’t know where the photographer was in the room, what he was actually messing up with his gear, and what was next. But she could imagine what would have been his next task.
Right! Next task to her was removing her panties. The following is the caption of this photo, that I received from Linda through e-mail:
He needn’t ask me to remove my panties. I already knew that, and almost did it automatically. Nonetheless, he invited me to do so, very calmly, very gently. Still talking very slowly, nearly whispering, he also offered me not to accomplish to his request, if I felt uncomfortable. But I did not feel uncomfortable - Jesse - not at all (I’m so sorry for that). It was as if you were there, and that gave me confidence. And his voice was so smooth and warm that I could do anything he asked.
WTF! What was she feeling sorry for? For removing her panties? Or for something else she did later, and that I still didn’t know? I couldn’t wait for next day’s e-mail.
I don’t know why this photo is so powerful to me, perhaps it is the magic of the seen-and-unseen that leaves you space for imagination… What was she thinking in that moment? What were her feelings? How was her pussy? Getting warm? Or any wetter? Or getting swollen? Or just nothing…
Surrounded by silence, my senses were enhanced by the blindfold that I was wearing. I could hear nothing but the electronic noise of the clicks of his camera. He was probably standing in front of me, to have a better view of me, bra-less and panty-less. So, instinctively, I slowly opened my legs apart, feelig that that was my duty, and showing him… showing him what you can see here.
You wouldn’t believe it, but I’m pretty sure that I was the only one who had seen Linda like this before. Can you believe it? I’m not kidding…
From this shot, you can see that the improvised photographer moved towards his model (my wife, ugh). She was at his mercy, legs spread, panty-less, waiting in despair… But I know her and I believe (and she confirmed) that in spite of her provocative pose, she was not thinking of the photographer. Actually, she was thinking of me, and at the effect that these photos would have caused on me… and showing her ring to the photographer to say - “Hey ! I’m a happily married woman!!! This pussy of mine is not for you…” But at the thought of my arousement, some moisture must have been produced in her inner parts, don’t you think?
I received this via e-mail the following day.
Still there is no evidence that I was right when I said that some moisture was produced by her inner parts. But you can probably notice that her pussy is swollen, perhaps… and her crack is now slightly open, perhaps… And the photographer must have spotted something, and made a close up on purpose (which I will soon show you). If moisture was there, what do you think could be the effect of that view on the photographer? I know what was the effect on me!
In this photo the moisture from her vagina starts to be evident. By the way, you can also enjoy the quality of the stockings that I had given her as a gift a few weeks before my departure. Who could think, at that time, that she would’ve ended up wearing those stockings for a stranger … In the end, what is your verdict? GUILTY – i.e.: she was getting wet before a perfect stranger, or NOT GUILTY – i.e.: that story of getting wet is all fruit of my depraved imagination?
The verdict is : GUILTY! Not only cheekily wet, but even insolently spread open! If I was the photographer I would’ve impaled here without questioning, right there, on the spot – caring nothing of her, of her husband (that’s me, ugh!) and sending to hell the shots still to be taken. But evidently, I was not the photographer, the photographer was not me, and apparently things went to an different direction.
The photographer was getting closer and closer, clicking feverishly. But he got so close that I felt unsafe, and had the instinct to move my legs, which I had been keeping so outrageously open that far, to the side. “Bad for him, I thought… the show is over!
