Year Ten Pt. 01

Note: This is a re-write of Framed Desire, which was my attempt at a minimalist erotic story, leaving much to the reader's imagination. Like a 1930's detective story, I has very short lines and short paragraphs, something I wanted to try. I would love feedback on which of the two stories/styles you like better. Thank you.

Francine stood in front of the full-length mirror, fingertips grazing the lace trim of the lingerie Nate had helped her pick out the week before. A sheer black chemise with delicate floral embroidery clung to her body, skimming her curves and revealing just enough of her breasts and hips to make her blush at her own reflection. The matching thong felt daringly small, the thin straps resting high on her hips, leaving her feeling... exposed.

Her body was still familiar yet foreign to her, reflected back with an uncertain strength.

The idea had been his.

"For our anniversary," Nate had said one night in bed, his lips curling into that half-smile that always made her knees unsteady. "A boudoir session. I think it'd be sexy. But more than that..." His eyes had softened, and his thumb brushed over her cheek. "I want you to see what I see when I look at you."

She'd laughed at first. "Me? In front of a camera?"

His gaze had stayed steady, warm. "Yes. You. In all your beauty. For once, let yourself see it too."

The memory of that look stayed with her all the way to the softly lit studio with its velvet backdrops and golden mirrors. Sioban, the photographer, was a woman in her forties with a confident calm and kind, sharp eyes.

"It's not about seducing the camera," she said as she adjusted the lights. "It's about owning your image. Let's start simple. You'll see."

Francine's first few poses felt stiff and awkward. She tugged at the thin strap of her chemise, trying to appear relaxed even though her thoughts screamed: What am I doing? This is insane. I can feel my nipples through this fabric... and she's going to take a picture?

But Sioban was patient. "Chin up. Don't think--feel. Where do you feel powerful right now?"

Powerful? She didn't. Not yet. But when her hand slid slowly down her thigh, the click of the shutter was soft, rhythmic... almost soothing.

Her hips shifted into a subtle arch, letting one strap fall loosely over her shoulder. She caught her own gaze in the mirror and froze. Is that me? Looking like that?

By the third outfit--a dark red mesh bra and panties with matching thigh-highs and black heels--she was breathing heavier. Her skin flushed, her body moving almost instinctively. Her thighs parted slightly in one pose, and she felt a blush rise hot and fast when she realized the camera would capture the curve of her most private self.

God... is that too much? Can she... see everything? Do I care?

Something deep inside thrilled at the thought.

She leaned forward on the tufted chaise, arching her back until the thin mesh barely hid her most intimate folds. Her internal voice wavered: This is... filthy. But... thrilling.

Sioban raised an eyebrow approvingly. "That's it. You're glowing now."

When she got home, Nate was waiting on the couch with wine poured and soft music playing. He stood as she walked in and stopped when he saw her. Something in her posture had changed--head high, hips swaying, eyes glinting.

He took the envelope of proofs from her trembling hands, flipping through them in silence. Her heart pounded as his eyes darkened, his breath quickened.

"Francine..." His voice was low and reverent. "You look... like a goddess."

She stepped closer, smiling shyly. "I felt like one."

He set the photos down, pulling her into his arms. His lips found her ear as his hands ran down her back, fingers lingering on her hips. "You let her see everything?"

Her breath hitched.

"Yes," she whispered.

He pressed harder against her, and she felt him already hard beneath his jeans. "I want to see everything you're discovering... every part."

Her thighs squeezed together at his words.

Maybe this was just the beginning.

The next morning, Francine woke with her body still humming, a faint ache in her thighs from holding the more daring poses, and a blush rising every time she remembered how it felt to stand there in nothing but heels, spreading herself for Sioban's camera.

Nate lay beside her, already awake, propped on one elbow. His gaze roamed her bare back, a faint smile playing at his lips.

"You were incredible yesterday," he murmured, his fingers trailing down her spine.

Francine felt herself grin--slow, sly, and utterly unlike her old self. "I didn't know I could... do that," she admitted softly.

Nate leaned down, his breath warm at her ear. "You've always been able to. You just didn't know how much you loved being... seen."

Her pulse quickened. A thrill rippled through her belly at the way he said it--like being seen was as wicked as it was beautiful.

That evening, when Nate came home from work, Francine was already waiting.

She'd transformed the bedroom--cleared a space, draped a scarf over the lamp so everything glowed amber and soft, and laid her lingerie on the bed: black lace crotchless panties, a matching bra that barely cupped her nipples, and thigh-highs with garters. She stood by the window in nothing but a silk robe when he walked in.

Nate stopped in the doorway, his breath catching audibly.

"I couldn't stop thinking about yesterday," she told him, her voice low but steady. "How it felt to... let her see me." She met his eyes boldly. "I want you to see even more."

"How did it feel?" he asked, stepping closer, already loosening his tie, his eyes devouring her.

Her lips curled into a faint smile as she let the robe slide to the floor. "Like I was alive. Like I was yours... and theirs. Like I didn't care who was watching."

Nate's hands were already at his belt, but he paused to pick up his phone. "Show me again," he murmured, voice rough now.

She climbed onto the bed, letting her knees fall wide apart as she reclined on the pillows. The lace between her legs framed the slick pinkness already visible there. "Start taking pictures," she said.

His phone camera clicked softly as she posed just for him now. She ran her hands slowly down her belly, slipping a finger along her slit through the open crotch as she arched her hips.

Click.

"Lower," he said hoarsely.

She hooked two fingers into the panties, pulling them aside completely to reveal herself fully, the glistening folds and the way she clenched at nothing.

Click. Click.

"God, Francine," he groaned. "You're fucking perfect."

She reached up to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples to peaks as she stared at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "You like watching me like this?" she whispered.

"You know I do. I want to... keep you just like this forever," he said, snapping another photo as she spread her legs wider still. "But sometimes I..." He hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. "... Sometimes I imagine showing someone else. Just one. Just to show them what a goddess you are."

Her breath caught, but her pulse spiked hot. "You want someone else to see me like this?"

He groaned low, gripping himself through his pants. "Not because you're theirs. Because you're mine. And I want them to fucking ache knowing they can't have you."

The heat that coursed through her at his confession was instant and blinding. "Then do it," she whispered, her fingers sliding between her legs now, working herself shamelessly as she stared into the lens. "Show them what they can't have."

Nate set the phone down, his control finally snapping as he moved over her, pulling her panties down her thighs and burying his face between her legs.

Francine cried out as his tongue worked her mercilessly, the feeling of the sheets against her naked skin, the faint scent of wine in the air, the faint heat of the camera light... all of it mixing into a heady, electric arousal that left her shaking.

Later, as they lay tangled together in the aftermath, slick with sweat and breathless, Nate held her close and murmured:

"I'll never stop watching you. Never stop wanting you. And someday... if you want... I'll let them see what you look like when you come for me."

She shivered deliciously at the thought, smiling faintly as she drifted off against his chest.

And she knew she'd say yes.

The idea came to her late one night as she scrolled through the proofs from her first session, sprawled across their bed, still naked from another round of Nate's photos.

Each picture sent a different kind of jolt through her--sometimes embarrassment, sometimes a dark, deep rush of heat. One shot in particular made her squeeze her thighs together: her back arched on Sioban's chaise, her knees wide, her panties pulled aside to expose the most intimate part of her body to the camera.

Nate was reading beside her, his hand idly stroking her thigh. But when she turned the photo toward him, his book slid forgotten to the floor.

"You keep looking at that one," he said, his voice low.

She nodded, swallowing hard. "I keep thinking about how much further I could have gone. How much more I wanted to show her. To show you."

Nate set the book aside, cupping her jaw and kissing her hard before whispering against her lips: "Then go further."

Her eyes widened. "You mean..."

His gaze darkened, his hands already sliding down her hips. "Book another session. Tell Sioban what you really want. Show us both everything. I want to watch you... open yourself completely."

Her pulse thudded at his words.

A week later, Francine stood once again in Sioban's studio, this time with Nate seated in a low armchair in the corner. His eyes were already heated, his phone resting in his palm.

She'd called Sioban days before and said the words she'd been terrified to say: "I... want to be more daring. Explicit, even. And... my husband wants to watch."

Sioban's response had been calm, almost amused. "If that's what you want, darling, I'll help you find it."

Now, under the studio lights, she felt her hands shake as she stepped behind the folding screen to change into her first look: a deep emerald green silk and lace set that barely clung to her skin, with a thin g-string and a bra that left the tops of her nipples peeking out.

When she stepped out, Nate's sharp intake of breath met her ears. She felt his eyes rake over her, hot and possessive.

Sioban's camera clicked immediately. "Good," she murmured. "You already know what to do this time."

Francine let herself be guided into poses: at first standing, then reclining on the chaise, arching her back, letting her knees drift apart just enough to tease.

"Knees wider," Sioban said softly. "Don't cover yourself. Let him see how wet you already are."

Francine gasped quietly at the words, but obeyed, feeling the thin strip of green disappear between her slick folds as she spread herself.

Click.

Nate's breath hitched audibly from his chair, and she saw him shift, his trousers straining at his erection.

With each pose, she felt herself teetering between shame and a raw, wicked thrill. I shouldn't... this is everything. They can see everything. And I love it.

Sioban's voice stayed calm and steady, but the instructions became more intimate.

"Pull the g-string aside now, Francine. Good. Show him."

Her heart hammered as she hooked a finger into the silk and tugged it to the side, fully baring herself to the camera--and to Nate.

His phone was up now, snapping his own pictures in sync with Sioban's, his eyes locked on her flushed, dripping body.

"You're fucking stunning," he said hoarsely. "Open a little more. Let me see you."

And she did.

She knelt on the chaise, resting back on her heels, her thighs wide, her hands spreading herself open until even her most private folds gleamed in the light.

Sioban murmured, "That's it. You're radiant. Let yourself feel it. You're magnificent."

Francine's breath came fast, her nipples hard, her core throbbing. Her shame melted into pure arousal as she stared into Nate's eyes and saw how desperately he wanted her like this.

When the final shots were done, she wrapped herself in a robe and walked straight to him, straddling his lap, her breath hot against his neck.

"You..." he growled, gripping her hips hard. "You just about ruined me."

She nipped his earlobe and whispered: "Did you like seeing me like that?"

"More than I should," he admitted. "And part of me... part of me wants to show someone else. Just one. To make them see what I have."

Her breath caught--but instead of pulling away, she pressed herself against him harder.

"Then show them," she whispered, biting his jaw. "Show them what's yours."

That night, after the photos arrived, they laid them all out on the bed. Shot after shot of Francine, fully revealed, fully alive. Nate's hand trembled as he traced a finger over one, then picked up his phone, as if already thinking about who to send it to.

She watched him quietly, her body still buzzing with arousal, and whispered:

"I want to know when you do it. And I want to know how they react."

His gaze snapped to hers, dark and hungry.

"You're more dangerous than I ever imagined," he murmured.

She only smiled, leaning in to kiss him slow and deep.

Because she was.

The leather portfolio sat on her nightstand now, a quiet little secret she liked to open on lazy afternoons, just to remind herself what she was capable of.

Every time she flipped through it, she felt her nipples tighten and heat bloom low in her belly. It was more than the pictures themselves -- it was remembering how it had felt, knowing she was giving herself to the camera, to Nate, to the gaze that devoured her.

Nate never stopped reminding her. Every time his hand slid up her thigh under the dinner table, every time his lips pressed hot and possessive against her neck while she stirred a pot on the stove, she could feel what she'd become to him -- a constant source of hunger, pride... and temptation.

But Francine... wanted more.

One evening she sat beside him on the couch, her legs curled under her, the portfolio open in her lap.

She was idly stroking the edge of one of the more daring shots -- her completely bare, fingers spreading herself wide, her head thrown back, her eyes blazing at the camera.

"I keep thinking," she murmured, so softly Nate barely heard her at first, "about how it felt. Not just being looked at by you. Not just by Sioban. But the chance..."

She hesitated.

He turned to her, his eyes already darkening. "The chance someone else might see you," he finished for her.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting just slightly.

"Yes," she breathed. "That thrill. That heat when I... imagine someone else seeing me like this. Knowing I'm yours, but still... craving me."

Nate let out a quiet groan, leaning forward, closing the book and setting it firmly on the coffee table. His hand cupped her face, his thumb dragging across her bottom lip.

"Still just for me," he said, his voice a growl. "But we let the world watch. A little."

Her thighs pressed together at his words.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear.

"I already did," he whispered.

Francine froze, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes flew to his.

"You... what?" she asked, her voice quiet but sharp with a strange, hot mix of shock and curiosity.

Nate's gaze didn't waver.

"One of the photos," he said evenly. "Just one. From the second session. The one where you're on your knees, pulling yourself open for me."

Her heart pounded in her chest, her skin flushing, her body already reacting. "Who?" she demanded, her voice trembling.

Nate's thumb stroked her cheek, but his eyes stayed dark.

"David," he murmured.

Her breath hitched.

David.

Their oldest friend. Best man at their wedding. Her husband's college roommate. The man who had sat at their kitchen table a hundred times over the years, laughing with them, teasing her gently, hugging her warmly at holidays.

Her mind reeled -- trying to picture David seeing her like that.

"What... did he say?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Nate's lips quirked into a faint, wicked smile.

"He stared at his phone for a long time," Nate said, his voice low and rough now. "Didn't even bother pretending. His hand was shaking when he finally looked at me. And all he said was..." Nate's smile widened just slightly, "...'Christ, Nate. She's perfect.'"

Francine's breath came faster, her chest rising and falling as a dizzying, electric thrill shot through her.

"And you let him... keep it?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

Nate leaned in close, his breath hot at her ear now.

"No," he said. "I told him it was mine. Just mine. But I made sure he saw what he couldn't have."

Francine's thighs squeezed together almost painfully as a gush of heat flooded her core.

Her hand shot out, grabbing the back of Nate's neck, pulling him into a hard kiss. She could taste her own need in the way she bit his lip, the way she moaned softly into his mouth.

When they finally broke apart, she pressed her forehead to his and whispered:

"Next time... tell me before you show him. I want to hear what he says."

Nate growled low in his throat, his hands gripping her hips.

"You really are mine," he murmured. "You like knowing he saw. You like knowing he wanted you."

"Yes," she admitted, almost desperately. "God help me, I do."

That night they fucked harder than they had in months, and as he took her from behind on the couch, he leaned down to whisper in her ear:

"I'm going to let him see more of you someday. If you're brave enough to let him."

And the way her body tightened around him at those words told him everything he needed.

The email from Nate arrived late one afternoon.

She opened it at her desk, her fingers trembling as she read:

I've spoken with Sioban. She says she's happy to arrange the kind of session we discussed. She suggests her private loft -- more space, more freedom. She'll have one assistant present to help with lighting and props, but says it can be as daring as you're ready for. The date is set.

Yours, always -- Nate.

She reread it twice, her thighs squeezing together under the desk as her mind flashed with hot, dangerous possibilities.

That night, over dinner, she leaned in close to him, her voice low. "So... her assistant will actually be in the room?"

Nate met her gaze evenly, a faint smile on his lips. "Just one. Discreet. Professional. She'll do her job. But she'll see you. Watch you. And so will I."

Francine's cheeks burned as a rush of heat flooded her. She swallowed hard, the words catching in her throat before they finally tumbled out: "Good."

The loft was everything Sioban had promised -- spacious and private, with floor-to-ceiling windows and heavy velvet curtains that softened the golden light.

When they arrived, Sioban greeted them warmly. Her assistant was already there -- a young woman with sleek dark hair pulled into a bun, dressed in black jeans and a fitted tee, her face impassive but her eyes alert and sharp.

Francine felt the weight of that gaze the moment their eyes met -- quiet, professional... but not indifferent.

And she liked it.

She stepped behind the folding screen to change into her first look: a sheer white chemise that fell mid-thigh, leaving nothing to the imagination under the studio lights.

When she stepped out barefoot, Nate's breath caught, and the assistant's gaze flicked up and down her body before turning politely back to her work. But Francine felt it -- the silent hunger buried under her neutral expression.

And it made her wet instantly.

Sioban's voice cut through the electric quiet. "Let's begin."

The first few poses were soft and sensual -- leaning against the sunlit wall, one strap slipping from her shoulder, the fabric clinging to her nipples and just barely skimming her mound.

Then Sioban began to guide her into more daring positions.

"Let it fall now, Francine. That's it. Bare yourself."

She slipped the chemise off her shoulders and let it puddle around her ankles.

Click.

"Knees up on the chaise. Wider. Good. Don't cover yourself."

Francine obeyed, her breath catching as she spread her thighs fully on the chaise, exposing the slick pinkness of her folds to the camera... and to the quiet assistant standing just out of frame.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the assistant's gaze dart to her center -- just for a second -- before turning back to the light stand.

Her stomach flipped. Her nipples throbbed.

And her mind betrayed her, replacing the assistant's cool expression with David's.

What would David do if he were here? If he saw me like this -- legs open, pussy dripping, all for Nate? Would he stare like she does? Would he... touch himself? Would Nate let him?

Her breath hitched audibly as the thought sent a sharp spike of heat through her belly.

Nate noticed instantly, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes glinting. He knew.

He knew.

By the time she knelt naked in the center of the loft, her thighs wide, her back arched, her hands on her knees as she held herself open, she felt completely owned by the room -- by Nate, by the camera, by the silent witness in black.

Sioban circled her slowly, snapping photos.

"You're magnificent," she murmured softly. "Stay just like that. Let her see you."

Francine's eyes fluttered shut, but she could still feel the weight of the assistant's gaze, hot and quiet on her glistening folds.

When Sioban finally lowered her camera, she added softly, "You've never looked more powerful."

Francine smiled faintly through her labored breathing. "I've never felt it more."

Later, when they were alone, Nate came up behind her as she stood in front of the mirror, still naked, still flushed.

His hands slid around her waist, his lips grazing her ear. "You liked her watching you."

Francine met his gaze in the mirror, her own eyes dark and wild.

"I kept... imagining it was David," she admitted, her voice breaking slightly with the confession.

Nate froze for a half-second -- then groaned low, pressing his hardness against her bare ass as his hands gripped her hips tighter.

"That's my girl," he murmured. "You want him to see you like that? Legs spread, pussy wet, just for me -- but let him ache for what he can't have?"

"Yes," she breathed, her whole body shuddering. "Oh God, yes."

Nate turned her to face him fully, his hands framing her flushed, radiant face.

"And someday," he growled, "he will."

Her knees nearly buckled as he kissed her hard, her heart pounding with the dizzying realization: there was no going back now.

And she didn't want to.

It was Francine who suggested it, one quiet night in bed, her head resting on Nate's chest, her fingers lazily teasing him under the sheet.

"I keep thinking about that assistant," she murmured.

Nate's fingers stilled in her hair.

"What about her?" he asked, his voice already rough.

"The way she watched me. Like she couldn't look away. Like she..." Francine's cheeks burned even as she forced the words out, "... wanted me. Even though she couldn't have me. It made me feel..."

Nate tilted her chin up, his eyes sharp, his erection twitching against her thigh. "Powerful?"

She nodded, her thighs squeezing together at the memory.

"I want to feel that again," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "But more. Someone who really wants me. Someone who can't have me, but craves me anyway. Someone you can watch... watching me."

Nate's thumb brushed her lip, his own breathing deepening.

"Then we'll arrange it," he said simply, his cock already hard against her.

It was Sioban who helped.

When Francine delicately broached the idea -- another witness, a man this time -- Sioban only smiled knowingly.

"Darling," she said, "you're not the first to want that. I know just the person. Discreet. Professional. And very... appreciative of beauty."

Two weeks later, Francine stood behind the folding screen in Sioban's loft, her heart hammering wildly.

She could already hear them -- Sioban, Nate, and the stranger -- speaking in low tones on the other side.

When she stepped out, she felt every eye in the room snap to her.

Her robe was cinched loosely at the waist, her legs bare, her feet already in black patent heels.

Nate sat in the low chair, as he always did -- but she noticed immediately that his hand already rested on his thigh, fingers flexing toward the bulge straining his trousers.

And then there was the stranger.

He stood to the side, hands clasped behind his back, his suit perfectly cut, his frame broad and imposing. Older than she'd expected, with flecks of gray at his temples and dark, hungry eyes that fastened on her instantly and didn't waver.

Francine froze under the weight of his stare -- heavy, carnal, unashamed.

Her nipples pebbled instantly. Her thighs pressed together, slick already pooling between them.

And she liked it.

The session began as usual, with Sioban coaxing her into familiar poses -- at first modest, then teasing, then bolder.

But she felt it now -- the difference. The stranger's gaze on her was not professional. It was raw, hot, filled with unmistakable lust.

And Nate -- she glanced over at him between shots and saw his hand moving slowly, openly, over his erection as he watched her pose.

Something inside her tightened almost painfully.

She let the robe slide from her shoulders, standing there in nothing but a sheer black teddy that left little to the imagination.

Click.

Her hands slipped the straps down, baring her breasts. The stranger's breath hitched, almost imperceptibly -- but she heard it, and it sent a bolt of heat through her belly.

She glanced at Nate again -- and caught him palming himself now, his other hand gripping the chair arm.

He didn't even try to hide it.

They're both hard for me, she thought, dizzy with power and desire. I make them ache just by standing here. I make them want.

Sioban murmured, "Kneel on the chaise. Yes. Legs apart. Show him what's his."

Francine obeyed, baring herself fully, spreading her slick folds open with two fingers as the camera clicked.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the stranger's jaw tighten, his knuckles whitening where his hands clasped behind his back. His nostrils flared faintly, his eyes fixed entirely on her glistening sex, his hunger naked now.

Nate groaned quietly from his chair, his fist working his cock through his trousers as his gaze raked over her.

Her breath came fast, her body trembling as she realized what she'd become -- a sexual being, desired and lusted after by both men at once. A beautiful, carnal object of want.

And she craved it.

When the final shots were done, Sioban lowered her camera and murmured, "You've never looked more irresistible."

Francine only smiled faintly, her whole body flushed, her core still throbbing.

Later, as she dressed, Nate came up behind her and pressed his erection against her ass, his voice low and dark in her ear.

"You saw him," he whispered.

She nodded, breathless.

"You saw how hard he got for you. How much he wanted you."

"Yes," she breathed, her thighs clenching.

"And you loved it," he growled.

"Yes," she admitted. "God, yes."

Nate's hand slid between her legs, finding her soaked and swollen.

"Good," he murmured. "Because next time... I might let him touch."

Her knees nearly gave out as her breath hitched and heat swept through her like wildfire.

And she whispered the words she hadn't dared say before:

"I want you to."