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CLICK! the shutter goes, eternalizing a brief glimpse of time burnt into the photodetector of my Nikon.Any other day, I’d be afraid that the prominent clattering of the mirror making way for the light and homing in on its idle position would spoil the moment. In this case, though, I as well am too absorbed by the action I am capturing—by the buzzing of your Hitachi, driving you to blissful heights voiced in a wailing aria—to perceive any of my surroundings.Just as it is your first time exposing yourself in this way, it is my first time forgetting all professionalism face to someone’s acting—despite having more years of experience in the field than you’re old. And yet, your show drives my most primal urges mad with the need to do your acting justice. No, not acting, as you so jaw-droppingly prove; you truly are just casually displaying your self-indulgent gratification and not wasting any thought on the viewer. Or the salacious pervert you make me feel like.There’s enough tension to make my colleague, who’s maneuvering the video camera, gulp audibly in recognition of your sheer talent. Just like I am squirming in the little constricted misery emerging in my trousers, her face tells volumes about a dampness descending into her undergarments.Never have I doubted my ability to separate work from emotion; not even when I chatted you up on the street, impressed by the confident aura İstanbul Escort you wore with such ease, knowing you would make a perfect model for the agency I work for. Upon your remark, albeit a joyful one, that you were, at that time, only seventeen, I politely and soberly apologized for my indecent request but still slipped you my card, should you be interested once you’d come of age.Against all expectations, I saw your eyes light up in a flash rivaling my camera’s despite the protest of your same-aged friends that showered me with insults—not an uncommon risk while scouting. I knew from immeasurable time spent hardening my skin against foul comments that your smile was earnest, flooding my heart with comforting warmth.Still, great was the surprise when you called me only a few months later, asking me if I had received your application letter and if it would be possible to arrange a shoot on the day you’d turn eighteen. Talking to you over the phone, I was, in fact, holding the letter in my hand, along with the chaste and demure yet intriguing selfie that radiated a mysterious kindness, begging the viewer to scratch open the surface and find the person—the proud slut—hidden underneath.It’s the only time I ever saw you look directly into the camera—no, the spectator’s eyes. Unlike most models, you’re not trying to flirt with either of the İstanbul Escort Bayan lenses, you’re not even seeking eye contact—just one of the details that make your show so uniquely genuine. Instinctively, you know that establishing visual contact would break the sensual bliss I’m watching you revel in, that it would make you snap out of the moment by adding an unsolicited participant to it.You understand that it’s the true, natural you I want to capture, not a projection of you that the watcher might want to see, just the distilled essence of your lust—far more than just vulgar wank fodder. I see it in the way you sensuously lick the vibrating bulb clean like a melting ice cream cone after you’ve driven it into your depths. I hear it in the ache for release your love-cries drip with every time you hit the spot but refuse yourself the culmination of your craving.Entranced, I follow and try to preserve your every move, every vocal emanation. From merely watching you, I know the silent stills will scream your lust just as loudly as unmuted revelatory speakers in a full college lecture hall.It is in how you present yourself to both cameras with your air of innate elegance, lost in your moment, seeking nothing but your own apogee as if you were in the intimacy of your own blankets, sheltered from the outside world. Even if you’re aware of Escort İstanbul the feelings you’re evoking, you’re not showing it. I know that what I’m witnessing is the unaltered quest for pure bliss, a fleeting moment of cataclysmic unleashing that threatens to crash down on you before you’re willing to yield.So many times, I see you tense up at your own caress, hear your starved moans crying for relief, and yet you torture yourself through this ordeal of deprivation to reward yourself with a mind-smelting climax—or maybe me too? Regardless of your intentions, it cannot leave any observer unmoved; it gives watching you the taboo thrill of voyeurism.The way your hands enticingly slide over your body, emphasizing the rocking of your hips, slowly saturating the thin fabric that only partly covers you with the mixture of your own lubricant, the bottled one and your sweat… It’s not that it could protect any of your modesty anymore—not even if it were covering your more intimate places. It clings to your skin in a far-too-revelatory way, despite its total opacity. I see it in the way it prints the topology of your one still-clad nipple and how it digs into your jiggling belly button, stretching and collapsing with every labored breath you draw, orgasm approaching at a painfully creeping pace.You take me with you, make me suffer with you through the delirious self-inflicted agony, making me wince every time you procrasturbate your high anew with your dexterously probing fingers. I wince in commiseration as, with every renewed self-refusal, it feels more and more like you are drawing me into the sweet torture of your delayed pleasure, imposing your growing need on me too.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32