Year Ten Pt. 02

The idea, of course, was Nate's.

It came to him late one night as Francine dozed against his chest, her body soft and sated from yet another night of photographing her bare, flushed, and stretched wide. He'd watched her glow under another man's gaze before. He'd seen her drip as the stranger's eyes devoured her.

But he wanted more.

He wanted to see her touched.

The next morning, he made a quiet phone call to Sioban. She listened without judgment -- and, he swore, with a faint hint of amusement in her voice -- as he described what he wanted for their next session.

"A male model," he murmured. "Professional. Someone who knows how to pose. But someone who'll make her feel it. Someone who can put his hands on her and make her squirm... without ever actually fucking her."

Sioban's laugh was low and throaty.

"Oh, darling," she said, "you two just keep getting more fun."

And so, two weeks later, Francine found herself once again behind the folding screen in Sioban's loft -- her heart hammering, her body already betraying her as she slipped into the first outfit: a barely-there ivory lace bra and panty set with a garter belt and stockings, and nothing else.

When she stepped out, she froze.

Because this time, she wasn't alone with Nate in the corner.

The man waiting for her stood tall, lean but strong, with a sculpted jaw and dark hair. His black slacks and open white shirt framed his tanned skin and powerful frame perfectly. He glanced up at her, and his expression was professional... but there was unmistakable heat in his eyes.

He extended a hand.

"I'm Lucas," he said simply, his voice smooth and low.

Francine swallowed hard as she placed her trembling hand in his. His palm was warm. Firm. Confident.

Behind her, Nate's voice cut through the charged air.

"You'll do everything Sioban tells you," he murmured. "Let him handle you. Let him touch you. But you'll still look at me when you come close to breaking."

Francine's thighs clenched. Her breath quickened.

"Yes," she whispered.

Sioban smiled faintly behind her camera.

"Let's begin."

The first few poses were easy -- Francine perched on the edge of the chaise, Lucas standing behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

Click.

Then his hands slid lower. Around her waist. Across her belly. Down to her hips, his fingers grazing the edge of her panties as she arched slightly into his touch.

Click.

"Good," Sioban murmured. "Francine, tilt your head back. Lucas, bring your hand to her throat. Yes -- just like that. Perfect."

His fingers wrapped loosely around her neck, tilting her face up to his as she stared wide-eyed into the camera, her lips parted, her chest heaving.

Click.

She couldn't help it -- she glanced toward Nate.

He was watching intently, his erection straining against his trousers, his hand already cupping himself through the fabric, rubbing slowly as his jaw worked.

Her pussy clenched at the sight.

Lucas's hands grew bolder as the session continued -- running over her bare thighs, gripping her hips, pressing her back against his chest as he nuzzled into her neck for the shot.

At Sioban's direction, he knelt behind her on the chaise, spreading her knees wide as she balanced on her heels, his hands gripping the tops of her thighs, his mouth hovering near her ear.

"You're gorgeous," he murmured, quiet enough only she could hear.

Her breath hitched. Her nipples ached, pebbled and sensitive through the lace.

Sioban's voice cut through her haze:

"Francine -- lean back against him. Good. Let your legs fall open. Lucas -- pull the panties aside. Yes -- perfect."

Her cheeks flamed as Lucas's fingers hooked the delicate lace to the side, baring her slick, flushed folds to the camera. His knuckles brushed against her clit as he held the fabric away.

She gasped softly, her hips jerking instinctively -- and she heard Nate groan low in his throat from the corner.

When she dared to glance at him, his cock was fully out now, his hand wrapped around it as he stroked himself, his eyes dark and fixed on where the other man's hands gripped her, spread her, handled her.

Lucas leaned down, his breath hot at her ear.

"You're dripping," he murmured. "You like this. Being touched. Being posed. Being someone else's while he watches."

"Yes," she gasped, unable to deny it.

"Yes," she said louder, her head tilting back onto his shoulder.

Click.

The final pose left her trembling: on her knees, Lucas behind her, his chest pressed to her back as he gripped her hips, her panties discarded somewhere on the floor, his cock hard and straining visibly against his slacks as it pressed against the small of her back. His fingers held her wide open, her glistening pussy fully exposed to the camera, to Nate, to the room.

Click.

And again.

And again.

When Sioban finally lowered her camera, her smile was knowing.

"You," she said simply, "are extraordinary."

As the men stepped back, Francine stayed on her knees, her whole body flushed, her heart still hammering.

Nate crossed the room slowly, his cock still in his hand, his free hand tangling in her hair as he pulled her gaze up to his.

"You did everything I asked," he murmured. "You let him touch you. Pose you. Make you his prop. But every time you came close to breaking... you still looked at me."

"Yes," she whispered, her lips curling into a faint, wicked smile.

"Good," he growled, his thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip.

"Because you're still mine."

And she nodded, smiling through her ragged breath, knowing it was true -- but also knowing she couldn't wait to find out what Nate might make her do next.

The loft was quiet now, the lights dimmed, Sioban and Lucas long gone.

Francine lay sprawled across the cool sheets of their bed, still naked, her body humming with the aftershocks of what they'd done. Her thighs were sticky, her skin flushed and sensitive, and every time she shifted, she could still feel where Lucas's hands had gripped her, spread her, claimed her for the camera while Nate watched.

Nate sat at the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, though his shirt was untucked and the top buttons undone. His hair was mussed, his knuckles still faintly red from how tightly he'd gripped himself watching her be handled.

He was staring at her.

She could feel it -- the weight of his gaze.

"You were..." His voice was low, rough. "... more than I could've imagined."

She smiled faintly, turning her head to meet his eyes.

"I was yours," she whispered.

He climbed onto the bed beside her, resting his hand on her stomach, fingers idly stroking the damp sheen of sweat and arousal there.

"You always are," he murmured. Then, after a beat, his thumb traced slow circles just below her navel as he added: "But I keep thinking about him. David."

Her breath hitched.

She hadn't said his name out loud, not since the night Nate had confessed showing him one of her pictures. But she'd thought of him. God, she'd thought of him.

Of David's hands. David's mouth. David's eyes.

She swallowed hard, staring up at the ceiling as heat coiled low in her belly again.

"I saw it," Nate continued, his voice almost reverent now. "The way you looked at Lucas tonight. The way your legs shook when he touched you. You want David to do that to you."

Francine bit her lip, her cheeks burning as she whispered:

"Yes."

Nate's hand stilled. Then he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

"Say it."

Her thighs pressed together.

"I want David to see me like this," she breathed. "I want him to watch me. Touch me. Pose me like I'm his. But still know... I'm yours."

Nate's groan was low, primal. His hand slid between her legs, finding her slick all over again.

"You'd let him touch you here?" he murmured, his fingers circling her clit.

"Yes," she gasped, arching into his touch.

"You'd let him spread you open for me? For the camera?"

"Yes."

"And if I wanted... if I wanted others -- men we've known for years, men who've shaken my hand and hugged you at Christmas -- if I wanted them to see you like this... to touch you, even just a little..."

Her breath caught, her entire body shuddering as his words lit her nerves on fire.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice breaking. "God help me... yes."

Nate's mouth crashed down on hers, his kiss hard and claiming as he pushed her thighs apart and filled her in one deep, hungry thrust.

As he moved inside her, his lips found her ear, and he growled:

"Then we'll make it happen. You'll let David touch you next. And maybe not just him."

The thought sent a sharp, dark thrill through her chest. She clung to him, gasping his name as her climax built fast and hot.

Because the truth was, she wanted it now -- all of it.

She wanted to be his. She wanted to be theirs.

She wanted to see how far she could go.

And as her body shuddered and she cried out his name, she already knew:

This was only the beginning.

Francine didn't ask who arranged it this time -- she just let Nate tell her when to be ready.

When they arrived at Sioban's loft, the lights were already low and warm, the set arranged in gold and cream fabrics that glowed against the dark velvet curtains.

David was there.

He turned when she entered, his broad frame backlit by the sconces, his dark eyes devouring her without shame. He looked just as he had the last time she'd seen him -- at their kitchen table at Thanksgiving -- except now there was no polite smile, no pretense. Just a raw, hungry heat.

Francine swallowed hard, feeling her nipples pebble even under the thin silk robe she wore.

Nate leaned down as he guided her past David, his hand resting on her lower back.

"You asked for this," he murmured in her ear. "You're going to let him touch you tonight. Use you for the camera. Show him everything you've given me."

Her breath hitched.

"Yes," she whispered.

Sioban was already adjusting her lens, giving only the faintest smirk at the tension in the air.

"This will be beautiful," she said simply.

Francine stepped behind the folding screen and slipped into the outfit Nate had chosen for her: a sheer black bodysuit with a plunging neckline that left her breasts barely contained, and a high cut that exposed her hips and the curve of her ass. No panties. No bra.

When she stepped out, David's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking over her with open lust.

"Christ," he murmured under his breath.

Nate caught the sound and chuckled low.

"She's even better up close, isn't she?"

David just nodded, his hands clenching at his sides.

Sioban's voice cut through the heat in the room.

"On the chaise, Francine. David -- behind her to start. Hands on her hips."

The first few shots were almost tame -- her kneeling on the chaise, David behind her, his palms resting firmly on her hips, his chest pressing into her back.

But then Sioban's instructions grew bolder.

"David -- spread her knees wider. Good. Pull the fabric aside. Yes. Perfect."

Francine gasped as David's fingers hooked into the delicate mesh and tugged it aside, baring her slick folds completely to the room.

Click.

Her breath came faster as she felt the thick head of his cock -- already hard and straining in his slacks -- press against the bare, wet seam of her sex through the thin fabric of his trousers.

He leaned down, his mouth grazing her ear as he murmured:

"You're soaked. You want me to push inside you, don't you?"

She whimpered but shook her head faintly, remembering Nate's only rule.

"No," she breathed. "Not yet."

David groaned softly, grinding just slightly against her spread pussy as he held her open for the camera.

Click.

From his chair, Nate's breath was ragged now, his hand openly stroking himself, his eyes locked on where David's cock rubbed against his wife's dripping pussy.

"On your back," Sioban called. "David -- straddle her chest. Good. Hold yourself just at her lips."

Francine let herself be guided down, her hair fanning out over the chaise, her lips parting as David knelt over her, his cock thick and flushed in his hand as he pressed it to her waiting mouth.

She looked up at him, then over at Nate, and opened wide.

Click.

David groaned low as she took him in, her tongue swirling around the head, her lips closing over him as her hands cupped his thighs.

She could feel his hips jerk as he fucked her mouth slowly, her own arousal dripping down her thighs at the sound of Nate's groan from across the room.

"You're perfect," Nate rasped. "So fucking perfect. Look at her. Look at what you're doing to her."

David's breath grew faster, his hand gripping her hair as she bobbed her head, her lips and chin slick with him now.

"Where do you want it?" he gasped, his voice breaking.

Francine pulled back just enough to pant against the tip of his cock.

"On me," she whispered, her voice thick with lust. "On my tits. My nipples."

That sent David over the edge.

With a strangled groan, he jerked himself, the hot ropes of his cum splashing across her bare breasts, streaking over her nipples, leaving them glistening and hard as she arched into it with a soft cry.

Click.

Nate's breath hitched and then broke into a low, guttural moan as he came too, his hand stroking himself through the final shudders of release as he watched his wife's chest gleam with David's seed.

The room went quiet except for their ragged breathing.

David finally stepped back, his cock still twitching as he zipped himself up, his eyes still fixed on Francine's flushed, marked body.

And she just lay there, her nipples stiff and wet, her lips curled into a faint, wicked smile as she caught Nate's gaze.

"You still want more," he said hoarsely, almost in awe.

Her smile widened, her eyes glinting.

"Yes," she whispered.

And she already knew: this wasn't the end. Not even close.

The loft was quiet now.

David had dressed quickly and slipped out with only a faint, knowing nod to Nate -- his eyes lingering one last time on Francine's still-bare, glistening chest before the door closed behind him.

Sioban packed her camera silently, her professional detachment intact even as she offered Francine a warm, approving smile.

"You're remarkable," she said softly. "Both of you."

And then she, too, was gone, leaving only the faint scent of warm light and musk in her wake.

Francine was still on the chaise, her robe draped loosely around her shoulders, the ties hanging useless at her sides. She hadn't bothered covering her breasts -- the cooling streaks of David's release still gleamed faintly over her nipples, sticky and stiff now as her chest rose and fell with each breath.

Nate stood nearby, his shirt unbuttoned, his hair a little wild, his cock finally soft but his eyes still dark and full of hunger as he watched her.

For a long moment neither of them moved.

Then he finally came to her, kneeling on the edge of the chaise and cupping her cheek with one hand as though she might break.

"You..." he murmured, his voice low and rough. "... are more than I deserve."

Francine smiled faintly at that, her hand coming up to cover his.

"I'm yours," she whispered.

He kissed her slowly then, deeply, reverently, as though all the frantic hunger of the evening had settled into something hotter and heavier.

When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers, his hand drifting down to cup her breast, his thumb grazing her stiff, sticky nipple.

"I have to tell you something," he said, his voice breaking faintly.

She turned her face up to his, waiting.

"I..." He swallowed, his thumb circling her nipple again, smearing what David had left there. "... I've never been more turned on in my life than when I saw you in his arms. When I saw his hands on you. His cock at your pussy, rubbing against you like he was about to claim you."

Francine's breath hitched, a deep ache curling low in her belly.

"I know," she whispered. "I saw you. I saw how hard you got. How you couldn't stop touching yourself."

Nate groaned softly, his hand sliding down to her hip, gripping it as though to anchor himself.

"It made me want you even more," he confessed, his lips grazing her ear. "Made me want to take you back and fuck you even harder because he couldn't. Because you were still mine."

She shivered at his words, her thighs pressing together instinctively.

And then she let her own truth slip out.

"And me," she whispered.

He stilled.

"What about you?"

Her cheeks flushed hot, but she didn't look away.

"I wanted it," she said softly. "I wanted him to... finish what he started. I wanted to feel him inside me while you watched. To have his cock drive into me, to fill me. I wanted to feel both of you -- everyone in this room -- knowing I was yours but still... taking me."

Nate's eyes burned into hers, his hand tightening on her hip.

"And?" he rasped.

Francine bit her lip, then finally said it.

"And I want more. I want David. I want... anyone you choose. As long as you're here. As long as you're watching. As long as the camera is catching everything. I want them to see how much I can take. And still be yours."

The sound that tore from Nate's throat then was half-growl, half-groan as he surged forward, laying her back on the chaise and covering her body with his.

This time he was slow.

No cameras. No audience.

Just his hands sliding over her as though memorizing every curve again, his lips worshipping her neck, her breasts, her belly, his tongue circling each stiff, sticky nipple before suckling it clean and making her moan softly under him.

He took his time, letting his fingers trace between her legs, sucking her clit into his mouth and pulling her to the edge feeling how wet she still was, how ready she still was for him.

"Mine," he murmured against her mouth as he pushed inside her, slow and deep.

"Yes," she whispered, wrapping her legs around his hips. "Yours."

And as he moved within her -- steady, possessive, adoring -- she clung to his shoulders and whispered all the things she'd never said before:

How she loved the way they looked at her.

How she craved the weight of another man's cock opening her and touching her deeply.

How she wanted them to see her break, to grip them in her feminine embrace as she reached her peak and they emptied their seed in her and on her.

How it made her feel alive knowing she was the center of their hunger.

And through it all, she kept whispering:

"But always yours. Always, always yours."

And when they finally came together, shuddering and gasping and tangled in each other's arms, he kissed her long and deep and whispered back:

"Then let's give them a show they'll never forget."

She smiled against his mouth, her heart still pounding.

Because she already knew: the next time would be even darker. Even bolder. Even better.

And she would still be his.

Always.