The Photoshoot

**Author's note: **

This is the second in the Tasha and Ben series (after The Dirty Weekend).

Tasha thought it would be just another shoot. Sexy, yes - provocative, maybe - but nothing she couldn't handle. With Ben by her side she felt completely in control.

But when the camera starts clicking and the heat builds under the studio lights, the lines between posing and performing begin to blur. What starts as art becomes exhibition. Teasing becomes touching. Watching becomes joining.

if you enjoy tales of a vixen wife and her stag having fun this might be for you. if not? no problem, keep on moving.

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Ben zipped up his jeans with a smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hair was tousled from where Tasha had dragged her fingers through it, and his jaw still carried the marks of her teeth. Across the room, she was bent at the waist, packing the last of her outfits into the large faux-croc holdall. The sound of leather and buckles jostling filled the air like the prelude to sin.

"You done with me already?" he asked, voice gravelly.

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes heavy with satisfaction. Her lips, still slick from the quick, needy blowjob she'd given him minutes earlier, curled into a smirk. "Hardly," she said. "That was just to take the edge off. You're no good to me in the studio if you're twitching like a teenager."

Ben laughed and reached for his clothes, but his eyes lingered on her instead.

Tasha might have been pushing forty, but she'd never looked better. Her curvy, natural body demanded attention - men stared with hunger, women with envy. Thick brunette hair spilled over her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled with mischief. The tattoos added a layer of danger; sleeves inked down both arms, a bold back piece, and one curling around her thigh.

Today she wore white cowboy boots that hugged her calves like trouble, a tiny distressed denim mini skirt that barely covered the curve of her arse, and a white zip-up top so tight her nipples pressed proudly through the fabric. Over it all, a black leather biker jacket - unzipped, strained at the shoulders thanks to her glorious, unapologetically large natural tits.

"That photographer isn't going to know what's hit him," he muttered.

"That's the idea," she said, zipping the holdall closed. "He wanted fire. I'm giving him the full fucking inferno."

Tasha had been doing a bit of amateur modelling for a while now - a nudge from a friend, a few bold photos, and suddenly she was in demand. Her looks, natural confidence, and effortless sexuality made her a quiet favourite - the kind of woman who turned up, turned heads, and made the camera ache for more

Her bag for today contained carefully chosen outfits: strappy heels, fishnet hold-ups, a sheer body with a PVC skirt and cropped furry jacket. Another was pure fetish femme fatale - black lingerie with matching stockings and suspenders, a 3/4-length burgundy leather trench coat with matching gloves. The third leaned into vintage kink: a black leather corset, elbow length opera style gloves in black leather, thigh-high boots, and attitude for days.

"You sure about this guy?" Ben asked, his tone casual, but not without weight.

Tasha nodded. "Jay's been around. Fetish work. Nude, glamour. Some real artsy shit too. Got a decent rep. Found me through my portfolio page. Wants me for a private shoot - something raunchy, moody lighting, contrast. That sort of stuff. His studio's legit. And you're coming, remember? You'll be there the whole time."

"Chaperone," Ben teased, pulling on a fitted black tee over his strong shoulders and chest. "Watching you strut around in those outfits, trying not to drag you into the nearest dark corner."

She stalked over to him, standing close enough to feel her breath. "If you behave," she said, "I might let you drag me into one after."

Ben grinned. "And if I don't behave?"

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, "Then I'll make you behave."

They left the apartment just after six. The sun was low, smearing gold across the skyline. The city buzzed with a lazy Friday tension - the kind that hinted at drinks, decisions, and poor impulse control.

Jay's studio was a loft space on the edge of the creative district - exposed brick, high ceilings, and massive industrial windows that diffused the dying sunlight into something soft and cinematic. The lights were low when they arrived. Ambient music played from hidden speakers. Mood, curated.

Jay himself greeted them at the door. Early-thirties, tousled dark hair, lean build, vintage tee and jeans. Tasha thought to herself that we was handsome in a slightly awkward, preppy way.

His eyes flicked over Tasha with the controlled appreciation of a man who knew what to do with beauty - and when to step back and let it speak.

"Wine? Beer?" he offered, gesturing to the low table set with a bottle of Rioja, two IPAs, and a jug of water.

"Wine," Tasha said, shrugging off her jacket, revealing the full shape of her heavy breasts as she did. Jay didn't blink, but Ben caught the slight tensing in his throat as he swallowed.

"I'll just be in the corner," Ben said, nodding toward the small leather chair in the shadows. "Watching. Quietly." There was no menace in his voice, more a hint of amusement.

Jay poured the drinks, handed hers to Tasha, and gestured toward the light pool spilling across the floor from his keylight setup. "Whenever you're ready, we'll start with what you're wearing. It's got bite."

Tasha stepped into the glow like it was her natural habitat.

"I always do."

***

Jay adjusted the lighting, nodding to himself as the softbox settled into position.

"Okay," he said, glancing back at Tasha. "Let's start with how you came in. The skirt, the boots. Lose the top, though keep the jacket."

Tasha didn't blink. She peeled off the zip-up top, slow and deliberate. Her bare tits spilled free - full, natural, with just the faintest sway - and she turned casually to the mirror, pretending to check her hair as both men took her in.

Then came the leather jacket. It was tight. She tugged it on and wriggled into place, the sleeves creaking softly as she zipped it up. The zipper stopped just beneath her chest. The jacket wasn't built for tits like hers - not unrestrained - and the leather strained at the seams, pushed to its

She turned, posed. Leaned against the wall with one boot propped up, then shifted to kneeling on the fur rug, head tilted back, the jacket pulling deliciously tight across her breasts.

Click. Click-click.

"Beautiful," Jay said. "That contrast - leather, skin, ink. Strong, raw."

Tasha smiled to herself. She knew.

Then she looked down, unzipped the jacket - slowly - and let it hang open. Her tits spilled into view, the curves gleaming under the soft studio light. Jay didn't say a word. He just kept shooting.

Ben sat to the side, arms folded, watching every moment. His jaw was tight. His jeans tighter.

***

Jay lowered the camera and exhaled slowly. "That was good," he said, voice calm but tight at the edges. "Let's change the mood."

Tasha grinned. "You ready for a dirtier look?"

She walked past him without waiting for an answer, heading for the bag of outfits. The sway of her hips in that denim mini was weaponised. Jay tracked her with his eyes but didn't speak.

Ben, seated nearby, adjusted his position - whether out of interest or pressure against his jeans, was hard to tell.

Tasha pulled out the next outfit and laid it out across the low leather couch - deliberate, almost like a performance. First came the Fishnet holdups, then the strappy high heels.

She sat on the edge of the couch and bent forward to do them up, one at a time, giving both men a perfect view of her arse.

Next came the PVC skirt - short, tight, glossy, with a high waist that hugged her hips like it had been vacuum-sealed on. She peeled off the denim mini and stepped into it, wriggling the material into place. It hugged the swell of her arse, the curve of her thighs, every inch begging to be touched.

Then the top.

It was sheer. Practically see-through. Black mesh with no give, stretched across her chest like it was painted on. Her nipples darkened the fabric instantly - bold, hard, impossible to ignore.

Over it, she slipped on the cropped furry jacket - short sleeves cut off at the elbow, black faux-fur like something from a Berlin club basement.

She turned, arms outstretched as she walked back into the studio space. "Well?"

Ben gave a low whistle.

Jay blinked once. Twice. Then raised the camera. "That's perfect," he said. "Hold that pose."

Tasha smiled like the devil in heels.

"Thought you'd like it," she said, turning to Ben and gave him a knowing wink.

Jay didn't say a word at first. He just lifted the camera and started shooting.

Tasha moved like she belonged to the lens. One hand on her hip, the other sliding through her hair. The PVC skirt creaked softly as she shifted, thighs pressed together, arse arched, every inch of her screaming to be stared at.

"Good," Jay murmured. "Fuck, that's good. Chin up. Eyes right here."

She stared down the barrel of the lens - green eyes full of mischief and heat.

Then she turned and bent forward slightly, both hands against the wall, arse jutting out. The fishnets framed her curves perfectly. The jacket slipped back on her shoulders, revealing the sheer stretch of mesh over her back, and the dark outlines of her nipples through the fabric.

Jay adjusted his grip on the camera. His breathing changed.

She smiled over her shoulder. "Getting warm in here?"

Click. Click.

"More than warm," Ben smiled.

She shifted again, stepping away from the wall. Her heels clicked softly on the concrete floor as she crossed to the old wooden stool in the centre of the space.

"Mind if I change it up?" she asked, voice light but loaded.

Jay didn't answer - just nodded and lifted the camera again.

Tasha straddled the stool facing backwards, one leg high, the other cocked slightly. She leaned forward over the top of it, arching her back, her arse tilted up, the hem of the PVC skirt riding scandalously high. The gloss caught the studio lights, reflecting just enough to hint at the dampness hidden beneath.

"Push it higher," Jay said quietly.

Tasha obliged - inching the skirt higher, slowly, until the tops of her thighs were fully exposed. The fishnet holdups framed her perfectly, the thick black diamonds drawing the eye straight to the slick, bare skin above.

No panties.

She turned her head toward Ben. Held his gaze. Then shifted her stance - spreading her thighs just enough to hint at the glistening pussy between the tops of the fishnet holdups.

Click.

The shutter cracked through the silence like a whip.

Jay made a noise. Half breath, half groan.

Tasha smiled.

"Still artistic, yeah?"

The shutter sounded too loud.

Jay swallowed.

Tasha spread her knees wider, leaning forward until her tits pressed against the top of the stool, sheer mesh dragging across bare skin, nipples tight against the cold wood.

Another pose: one knee up on the couch, bent forward slightly, her arse bare now, the PVC bunched at her waist, her slit parted and glistening between the fishnets.

Click. Click.

Then she sat on the couch - legs wide, feet planted, skirt pulled up, lips parted. One hand on her thigh. The other draped loose behind her head.

Click.

Jay lowered the camera, slowly.

His mouth opened, then closed again. He cleared his throat. Adjusted the strap on his shoulder like it might anchor him.

"Want to change outfits?" he asked, voice low. Tighter. The words came out flat, almost too quickly - like he'd practiced them in his head just to get them out.

Tasha didn't move.

Ben was watching him now, smirking.

Jay looked down at his camera, fiddled with a setting that didn't need adjusting.

Professional. Composed. Still playing the role. Or at least trying to give that impression.

But his knuckles were white on the grip.

Tasha stood slowly, her PVC skirt still rucked high on her hips, fishnets tight against her thighs. She took her time crossing to the couch, her heels clicking against the floor like a metronome counting down to something inevitable.

She looked over her shoulder. "Yeah," she said. "Let's change it up."

***

Tasha changed slowly into the next outfit: black stilettos, thigh-length sheer black stockings clipped to suspenders, matching black lingerie and the showstopper - a deep burgundy three-quarter-length leather trench coat. The finish was glossy, almost wet-look. She slipped her arms into it like armour, then added the final detail - matching leather gloves, wrist-tight and decadently rich.

When she turned back toward the camera, Jay literally paused.

"Holy shit," he muttered. "That's... yes."

Tasha stood tall, head high, one hip cocked. The coat was belted at the waist but parted slightly below, giving teasing glimpses of stockinged thigh. Her gloved hands slid into the coat pockets like it was second nature - like this version of her had always existed.

Jay adjusted his angle, stepping back, then closer. The camera kept clicking. Low shots. Side angles. A full-length capture of her walking slowly toward him, jacket open to reveal her body below, tits swaying nonchalantly.

She leaned forward onto the white block he'd set out earlier. One knee up, back arched, breasts partially obscured by the coat. Jay shot from behind, catching the curve of her arse beneath the hem, the strap of the suspenders cutting diagonally across bare skin.

"You're a natural," Jay said quietly. "You know that, right?"

Tasha looked directly into the lens. "I know what I like," she said. "And I'm not afraid of being seen."

Jay clicked again. Then lowered the camera.

Tasha tilted her head. "You got enough shots of me solo?"

Jay hesitated. "I mean... I could shoot you all day."

She glanced toward Ben.

"So why not try something... different?" she said. "Let's see how it looks with him."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

She smiled. "Don't worry. You won't have to do much. Just stand there looking all handsome and let me climb all over you."

Jay swallowed hard, looked like someone whose Christmas' had all come at one.

"Yeah," he said. "Fuck it. Let's shoot that."

She looked back at Ben and beckoned him forward with one gloved finger. "C'mon, baby."

Ben chuckled from the corner. "You sure this isn't a setup?" he said, but already stepping forward.

Tasha told him to take his shirt off and he stood in just his jeans. Bare chest inked, lean and powerful. He moved in behind her, placed one hand on her hip and kissed her exposed shoulder, just as Jay lifted the camera again.

***

The light in the studio had shifted again.

Jay moved deftly between angles, adjusting his lens, giving soft instructions. "Chin up, Ben. Eyes on her. Now hands... there - perfect."

Ben stood behind Tasha, his jeans slung low on his hips, bare chest taut with tension. His hands hovered over her waist, fingers splayed wide. He was still holding it together, mostly -- flaccid but heavy, his cock resting in shadow just below the frame of Jay's shots.

Tasha, meanwhile, was eating it up.

She changed into the leather corset which clung to her curves like sin. Thigh-high boots hugging her legs. Long black leather gloves that looked elegant but hinted at something far darker. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders, and her eyes - green, hungry - sparkled with something electric.

She bent slightly forward, her arse rounding back into Ben's groin, teasing him through the shots.

Tasha straightened slowly, the corset cinching her waist, pushing her tits high and proud. She looked back at Ben, then down - eyes settling on the bulge in his jeans.

"Still soft?" she asked again, louder this time, with a wicked smirk.

"Barely," Ben whispered.

She turned to Jay. "You okay with us pushing it a little?"

Jay didn't blink. "Define 'a little.'"

"Ben," she said, ignoring him, "lose the jeans."

Ben hesitated. Just for a second.

Then undid the button.

The denim dropped to the floor.

Jay lowered the camera slightly - just slightly - as Ben stepped out of them. His cock hung thick and heavy between his legs, still soft, but impressive even in its resting state.

"Jesus," Jay muttered. "That's..."

Tasha grinned. "I know. That deserves to be caught on camera, doesn't it?" she said wickedly.

Ben scratched the back of his neck, suddenly aware of both eyes and lenses on him.

Jay lifted the camera again, his voice a little more cautious now. "These are... okay to keep PG. I can shoot waist up."

"No need," Tasha said. "Let's see what we can do with all of him."

She walked a slow circle around Ben, heels clicking against the concrete. Then she crouched in front of him, head tilted, hand resting lightly on his thigh.

Ben's cock moved slightly.

Jay kept clicking.

Tasha brushed the back of her glove against his shaft - soft, teasing.

"Focus," she murmured to him, loud enough for Jay to hear. "Or don't."

Ben groaned low. His cock pulsed, thickening slightly in her hand.

Jay's camera didn't stop. But his breath had changed, shallower now.

Tasha stood again, turned her back, and pressed herself into Ben's front. One hand reached behind her, guiding his cock along the crease of her arse, the leather of her corset gleaming under the lights.

He was getting harder. Visibly.

Tasha smiled at Jay over her shoulder. "You're still shooting?"

"I... yeah. If you're okay with it."

"Then maybe take a few for us," she said. "Private ones."

Jay adjusted the lens again, voice rougher now. "You got it."

***

Tasha pushed back into Ben, feeling the full weight of his cock now pressing between her cheeks - long, thick, hard, pulsing. Her gloved hand reached behind to guide it, running him along the seam of her corset, then lower, dragging him down between her thighs.

She looked at Jay. Straight into the lens.

"This still for us?" she asked.

Jay didn't answer right away. Just kept clicking. The camera trembled slightly in his hands.

Tasha reached down, parted her thighs, and angled Ben's cock against her entrance.

"I think we're well past PG," she said.

And then she pushed back onto him.

Ben groaned, grabbing her hips as his cock slid deep inside her. The corset held her tight, forcing her tits up and forward as she leaned onto the white block, taking him fully.

The sound of it - wet, rhythmic, obscene - filled the studio, echoing off the walls in time with Jay's shutter.

Click. Click. Click.

Ben started to move. Long, deep thrusts. His hips clapping against her arse, the soft slap of skin on skin growing louder with every second.

Tasha looked over her shoulder, eyes blazing. "You getting this?"

Jay nodded - but didn't speak. His mouth was slightly open. The bulge in his jeans was now unmistakable.

Tasha turned her head, breathless. "You hard for us, Jay?"

He nodded, sheepish. "I... sorry. This isn't what I normally--"

"Don't apologise," she said. "I'd be insulted if you weren't hard."

Ben laughed through clenched teeth. "She's got that effect."

Ben pulled out, and Tasha turned, climbed up onto the block and spread her knees wide. She reached for Ben and pulled him in, guiding him back inside her with one gloved hand, the other stroking up his chest, gripping his shoulder as he started to thrust again - harder this time, the slap of his balls against her soaking pussy like thunder.

Jay adjusted his angle, sweat now beading at his temple. He moved closer. The lens was shaking.

Tasha locked eyes with him again. Smiling. Daring.

"Wanna get in real close?" she panted. "Get the shot of me coming on his cock?"

Jay swallowed hard. The camera clicked. Again. Again.

Ben growled behind her, grabbing her throat from behind as he fucked her faster. She was moaning now, uninhibited, echoing around the studio. Her body was bouncing against Ben's hips, tits straining against the corset, her pussy stretched wide and slick around his huge cock.

Jay stepped closer. Almost trembling.

"You okay there, Jay?" Tasha panted between thrusts. "You gonna be able to keep it together?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I think I need to... fuck...."

She came then - hard, sudden, shaking against Ben's cock as he held her steady and kept thrusting.

"Get that," Ben barked, as Tasha let go and squirted - just a little at first, and then a lot.

Jay did.

Right until Ben came too, groaning as he emptied inside her, their bodies locked together.

The room fell silent except for their breath.

Jay lowered the camera slowly. His hand went to the front of his jeans - instinctive, almost apologetic.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered.

Tasha laughed, breathless.

She was still bent forward, breathing hard, thighs trembling. Ben slowly pulled out, and she gasped - a long, guttural sound of satisfaction as his cock slipped free, slick and glistening.

A thick string of cum clung to her inner thigh. More was already oozing from her pussy, creamy and obscene.

She looked over at Jay.

"Camera up," she said.

Jay didn't hesitate. The shutter started again, stuttering under his trembling hands.

Tasha reached between her legs, spreading herself open with two gloved fingers.

Ben's spunk was leaking from her in impossible amounts - a slow, messy spill that coated the inside of her thighs, dripping down over her boots.

"Fuck, she said. He needed that. Get it all on camera," she murmured. "Don't waste a single drop."

Jay moved in closer.

Click. Click.

Tasha scooped up a long strand on the tip of her finger, held it up between them. It hung thick and sticky from her glove, glistening under the studio lights.

She let it fall into her mouth.

Licked her lips slowly. Eyes locked on Jay.

He let out a sound - something between a groan and a breathless fuck - but kept shooting.

Then she turned, dropped to her knees in front of Ben, and took his cock into her mouth without a word.

He was still wet with cum and slick from her and she cleaned him off like it was a ritual. Slow licks from base to tip. Soft kisses. Then full suction, drawing him deep, her lips stretched wide.

Ben groaned. His head rolled back.

Jay lowered the camera. Just for a second.

Tasha looked up at him, mouth still full, and gave the slightest smile.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Tasha smirked, licking the last of Ben's taste from her lips.

"Poor Jay," she said, rising to her feet, her boots clicking as she stepped toward him. "We've both cum so hard... and you've been so good."

Jay swallowed, hands awkward at his sides.

"It's not fair, is it?" she murmured, circling him. "All that shooting. All that control. And now you're left standing there, hard as fuck, aching."

Ben had sat down on the nearby couch, watching her move -- still naked, still slick, still massaging his cock gently.

Tasha faced Jay. Her gloved fingers reached down and stroked the outline of his erection through his jeans.

"I think you've earned some relief."

Jay didn't speak.

She unbuttoned his jeans, slow and teasing, eyes locked on his. Then pulled the zip down.

His cock sprang free - flushed, pre-cum already present at the tip.

"Fuck," she whispered. "You have been suffering, haven't you?"

She wrapped one gloved hand around the base, stroking slowly, deliberately, her other hand curling around his hip.

Ben let out a low groan from the couch, watching his wife jerk another man off, his own cock already beginning to harden in his hand.

Tasha leaned in, tongue flicking out to taste the slick bead at Jay's tip. Then she swallowed him, inch by inch, until her lips pressed against his base.

Jay gasped, one hand flying to her hair.

She bobbed her head, slow and filthy, her lipstick smeared, saliva running down his shaft.

She pulled back, stood, and bent forward slowly, glancing at Ben as she guided Jay behind her.

"You okay?" she asked her husband, voice low and dangerous.

Ben nodded. "I want to watch you fuck him."

Jay hesitated.

Tasha reached between her legs, spread her slick folds, and pulled Jay's cock inside her with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips.

She rode him like it was an encore.

Bent over. One hand braced on the block, the other playing with her tits. Jay grunted behind her, hips slapping against her arse, the sound echoing across the studio again.

When Jay was close - his breath catching, body jerking - Tasha pulled off him and turned.

"Over my tits," she said. "Give it to me."

He barely groaned before he erupted - thick stripes of cum across her chest, dripping between her tits.

She massaged it in with one gloved hand, a satisfied smile on her face.

Ben groaned from the couch.

Tasha was still kneeling, her chest streaked with Jay's cum, her breath coming fast and shallow. Her eyes flicked to Ben - still seated, still watching, cock still hard in his fist.

"Still with me?" she asked, voice husky.

Ben stood.

Silent.

He walked toward her slowly, stroking himself, gaze locked on her tits - still slick, still shining.

Tasha smiled, then sat back on her heels, pushing her chest forward, gloved hands cupping her breasts to present them fully.

"Come on, then," she whispered. "Make your mark."

Ben stepped in close. One more stroke.

Then he came.

Thick, hot ropes flew over her again, blending with Jay's, dripping down between her fingers, across the soft swell of her tits and down onto the leather corset.

***

The studio was quiet now, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp and the pulsing city lights beyond the window.

Jay lay sprawled across the leather couch. His chest rose and fell slowly, asleep, a man utterly spent.

Tasha moved through the room in silence, her skin still flushed, her body marked by every moment. Her thigh ached. Her mouth tingled. Her pussy still throbbed with aftershocks.

She found her cowboy boots by the door, tugging them on with a grin.

The short denim skirt hugged her hips as she zipped it back into place. Her leather biker jacket followed - but the top she'd worn earlier was nowhere to be found. She shrugged. No bra. No top. Just her, buttoning the jacket as best she could, tits spilling gloriously from the plunging V.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Smiled.

Then she leaned in, planting a slow, deliberate kiss in the centre of the glass. Her lipstick left a bold, red imprint. A final fuck-you. A keepsake.

Ben stepped beside her still slick with sweat. He kissed her neck.

"Lost your top?"

She smirked. "Guess it couldn't keep up."

He ran a hand down her side, possessive. "There was a nice pub just down the street when we arrived."

She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Ben grinned. "Thought I might take you for a pint. Show you off. Then drag you home and fuck you in this outfit until we both forget our names."

Tasha laughed, full and filthy. "You better buy me crisps with that pint."

He held the door open for her. "Only if you let the landlord stare at your tits."

She stepped out into the hallway, her boots echoing like a promise. "It'd be rude not to."

And just like that, they were gone.

The camera still sat silent on the table, full of sins it hadn't yet confessed.