Exposure by Charles Davenant, spanking
After arranging a very unique photo session...one thing
leads to another for this inventive couple
Copyright 2007 by Charles Devenant, all rights reserved, Not For Sale
Out there are legions of amateur
photographers who dream of turning professional and making money from their
hobby, especially if attractive young ladies can be worked into the formula. The
reality of earning a living is rather different, especially for the free-lance,
and generating work, especially regular work is a pressing need most of the
time. Again, the amateur’s fantasy is setting up that glamorous calendar shoot:
the pro is happy with a couple of decent wedding.
Even decent weddings seemed to
be eluding me, and the matter needed to be taken in hand. I’d never really
thought of teaching photography, even though I was qualified, but now seemed to
be the time to start looking for a post. So it was back to the text books and
the histories of photography.
It doesn’t matter how much
technology marches on, I am always amazed at the quality of photographs form the
end of the 19th century. The velvety texture that can only be achieved with
large formats, sometimes 11x14 inches. It was this texture that drew me
towards the few nudes that appeared in the history books. They looked totally
unlike anything that you’d see today. The combination of uncorrected lenses,
pencil retouching on the large negatives to make the skin flawless, and a taste
in models that can best be described as voluptuous made them irresistible to me.
I tracked down a large book
of postcards, and became fascinated by what could be achieved with natural light
in studios set up for formal portraits. How did the same men who produced those
stiff family pictures manage to create such loose erotic images? A little
research on the internet yielded a few more distinctly interesting volumes, with
specialisms ranging from oriental fantasies, through very unofficial ballet
shots (Degas, it appears took photographs as studies for his paintings) and a
huge collection of flagellation and spanking material called the Games Ladies
Play of Cruel Ladies. I have never seen so many flawless bottoms, many of them
looming out of the frame in inviting stereoscopy.
As you can tell we are well
outside the realms of teaching material, but it was me doing the learning. The
collection I had amassed was almost all the work of Frenchmen, and almost all
based in Paris, and it gradually became clear that it was the work of a
relatively small group of photographers: the same backgrounds would keep
appearing; the same faintly oriental furniture; the same models. Gradually they
became like old friends, and I could marry up many of the codes on the postcards
and, where they had addresses, work out the areas where they had studios.
Even from my modest collection,
with no original photographs, it became clear that the market for these
photographs must have been enormous, and there must have been a ready supply of
models on hand.
It wasn’t until I acquired a
book called Cartes des Maisons Specialisées that the source of these
girls became clear, for these were the calling cards of specialist
establishments that offered many unusual services, and again some of the same
girls appeared. So, it turns out many of them were prostitutes, and the rest
were actresses and dancers, many of whom also supplemented their acting income
with work as horizontales.
I suppose I had become rather obsessed with
all this, but it was my girlfriend who pulled me up short, complaining that I
was stuck upstairs with these books all the time. She had a significant
birthday coming up and wanted a special photograph, and began to pester me for
ideas. We’d been together for a while, and basically I had taken every picture
of her that was possible, both for tests and publication. Yes, I do mean
every picture. In fact she had a distinctly exhibitionist streak that
inclined her towards the sort of explicit shots that really do nothing for me.
Well, not artistically anyway.
To go back to the amateur’s
fantasy again: she was it. There was no part of her that had not been
photographed in loving detail, and we used the sessions as extravagant foreplay.
She loved it: it really turned her on. It tended to turn me on too much.
Have you ever had an erection for about an hour, and then tried fucking someone.
It can be done, but it certainly concentrates the mind.
It was rather a large
imaginative leap from what the Americans so charmingly call beaver shots the
softly erotic pictures that I had been studying, but it occurred to me that I
might be able to kill two birds with one stone, by using her as a model to see
how well I could duplicate the look of these old pictures. She would then have
one as her special present.
She was keener on the idea than
I had expected, and especially when I showed her some of the more explicit
material that those Victorian and Edwardian gents kept in their wardrobes under
the stiff collars.
I was aiming for something
fairly simple: I had a half-plate field camera, not an antique, but a fully
functioning brass and mahogany folding job, so I could duplicate the film format
fairly well. Furniture I could borrow from a local shop that dealt in a superior
class of junk; he’d let me use stuff before and knew now that he’d get a hand
finished print of the result as part of the deal.
I scoured the professional
photographic press for somewhere that might hire me a background. Some sent me a
catalogue, and I even went to see some in at a specialist suppliers near
Shepherd’s Bush, but none of them looked right. Most were too fussy and lacked
the right period feel. In the end I thought I might have to resort to digital
trickery, though this went against the idea of trying to recreate the authentic
look of the original pictures. By now I had narrowed my collection down to
several favourites, and on closer inspection I realized that a couple had
almost neutral settings, so I opted for a plain velvet backdrop.
I chose the furniture by how
authentic it looked, and ended up with a dressing table and matching chair, and
a free-standing mirror to stand on the table. The further I got on with the
project the clearer it became that any attempt to copy one example slavishly was
doomed. Anyway there was a good selection of dressing table poses to show her,
so it should be possible to make it work.
I put post-it notes in the pages
of a book called Venus Revealed which had the most promising selection
of poses, and gave it to Carla to have a look at and see what she thought, and
we planned a session for a couple of days later.
By the time I had set up the
studio on that Friday morning, I was really pleased with the way it looked.
Carla swanned in half-an-hour later than we’d agreed in the most outrageous fake
fur coat: I suppose it was leopard skin.
“I’ve never seen that before,”
I offered .
“You’ve never seen any of this!”
she said twirling extravagantly and letting the coat slip off her shoulders. “Ta
da!”
Underneath was an amazingly
authentic boned corset, which pulled her waist into an impossibly tiny cinch,
created an impressive cleavage where previously there had been none, and as she
turned round left her bottom swelling beneath it.
“Where did you...?”
“Secret, and don’t ask how much.
I can guarantee we’ll get value for money out of it.”
In truth the outfit was a
terrific turn on. The word stirring doesn’t begin to describe what was going on
in my pants, and when she sidled over and opened her legs to let me caress her
bum, when I slid my hand between her thighs she was already slick with her own
juices, and her initial sigh turned to a gasp as my thumb slipped straight into
her pussy.
“Now then,” I said, “We’ve got
work to do,” and guided her away from me, placing her near the set I’d created.
“And hang on a minute, these were supposed to be nudes.”
“I can take all this off.”
“That’s not the point. You’ll be covered in marks from the bones in
the corset. They’ll take ages to fade.”
“Let’s do the corset first
then.” She sashayed provocatively. As I tried to study her with detachment, I
became aware that authentic though the corset looked, the suspenders despite
their sturdiness, and the nylon stockings just weren’t right at all.
“Take off the stockings, and
then we’ll see what we can do”
“Oh come on: I bought these
specially.”
“Well I didn’t ask you to buy
any of this stuff. Just do as you’re told.”
“And if I don’t?” She walked
over to the dressing table, moved the mirror to one side, bent over and spread
her arms across the width of it. Her right hand was just in the right place to
pick up the largest of the pair of hairbrushes, offering it to me.
“These weren’t going to be
colour pictures,” I answered, taking the brush out of her hand, “but why not.
Let’s throw authenticity right out of the window.” I gave her a gentle smack
with the back of the brush, and she raised her bum expecting more. “No, no: not
yet. We need a before and after. Just stay there while I load this beast of a
camera”
The field camera was totally
un-foolproof, and required serious concentration, especially as the materials
were rather expensive and not to be squandered, and for this reason it didn’t
get used very often, and very rarely for portraits. As it happened, I knew that
leaving Carla there while I fiddled with the camera would only turn her on the
more.
Finally I had several double
dark-slides loaded, and had adjusted the lights for a suitably moody look. As I
approached her to take a meter reading she squirmed slightly in anticipation of
my touch.
“Just a meter reading...”
“You can’t leave me like this,”
she said as I moved away from her.
“Come to think of it, I do need
to adjust your position a little.” I moved her thighs slightly apart, and could
feel the heat from her pussy. What little sense of detachment I had finally left
me and slid my hands up the inside of her thighs. She was so aroused that all
the fingers of my right hand entered her with ease, and she bucked and pushed
herself on to them.
“Oh, yes...” she murmured. I
with drew my hand and wiped the moisture on her bum, palm on one buttock and
back of my hand on the other.
“That should make you glisten a
bit! O.K. stick your bum right up. Do you want an apprehensive look on your
face, or ecstasy or what?” She turned her head and assumed a slack-jawed
expression of serious longing.”
“Right. I’ll count you down:
three, two, one.” The flashes fired, I turned the dark-slide round and took
another for safety. “Now, for the specialized bit. So what does this naughty
girl want?”
She waved the brush again: “Just
make it look really good.”
I loaded more film, and went
over and took the brush out of her hand.
“Medium rare?” I joked.
“Just get on with it!” came the
impatient reply. I wanted a photograph: she wanted a shattering orgasm. I pushed
her back flat onto the dressing table, and smoothed her buttocks with my hand. I
then teased her with the stiff bristles of the big Mason Pearson brush, ending
between her legs.
I then stood to one side and
gave her the first strong blow with the back of the hairbrush. She gasped, and a
pink mark rapidly appeared. The second blow on the other buttock was harder, and
I withdrew the brush straight away, enjoying the way the flesh jiggled. From a
photographic point of view the effect couldn’t have been better, and a minute of
serious spanking produced a blush red enough to register on the photo.
“Let’s try and spread the effect
a bit.” I put down the brush and finished with my hand over the full area of her
bottom, leaving a beautiful pink glow with an angry centre to each cheek. By now
she was biting her lip, and I knew she had had almost as much as she could take.
I took another pair of shots,
and then came in so my handiwork filled the frame. As I came towards her, still
spread to on the dressing table she said: “Come on then. Fuck me you bastard.
Don’t keep me waiting any longer!” I took the brush off the table and pushed the
handle gently into her pussy from behind.
“Wha...What’s that? Christ!” the
bristles reached her outer lips. “Yes, Yes!” I twisted the brush and continued
to push gently. “How much is in there?”
“Can’t you feel the bristles?”
By this time most of the brush had disappeared. I had never known her so wet. I
withdrew the slick brush and eased the end of the handle in to her back passage.
“Hey, you know I don’t like...Jesus...”
The bulbous end slipped in and she writhed unable to control herself. I moved
the mirror and swept everything else off the surface, lifted her, turned her
around and lay her on her back. She raised her legs and I hooked them around my
arms. The table was at exactly the right height for me to enter her, and even
the first touch of my prick caused her to shudder. She came long before I could,
and had orgasmed several times before I finally flooded into her. As I withdrew
there was a copious flow of my semen and her cream and, pulling her legs higher,
I massaged it into her extremely hot bottom.
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