The Models Outside

This is the second part of 'A Village Exposed'. I recommend that you read part one, 'The Models Next Door', first.

It is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, businesses, or events is coincidental.

Everybody involved in sexual activity is 18 or older.

© 2026, Writer61

~~~

It had been just over a year since I left my high-flying career at a merchant bank and returned to Compton Denis, the Oxfordshire village where I grew up. Financially secure, I set about building a new, more relaxed life. This included taking up photography, my father's hobby. Two genres interested me: nature and glamour. People in the village knew about the former, but only a few knew about the latter, and I wanted to keep it that way.

One of my subjects had been Heather, whom I knew from primary school, where she was my first crush. I had also photographed her 19-year-old twin daughters, also naked. During the shoots, I had fucked all three of them, as I had done with most of the professional models whom I hired, posting those photos to Kinkbox, an adult-content sharing website.

My doorbell rang on New Year's Day. I found Heather on the doorstep, tears running down her face.

"What's wrong?" I asked, pulling her in for a hug. Then I made tea for us both and waited until she was ready to tell me what had upset her.

"It's Hugh; the bastard has been having an affair with his secretary. I thought something was wrong for a while, but last night I finally found the courage to confront him." She sniffed. "At least he didn't deny it."

"I'm so sorry, Heather. He's a fool to cheat on you."

Heather sobbed again. "My suspicion is why I let you photograph me before Christmas. And why I fucked you, after many years of wanting to."

"Many years?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Me too," I said. "You were my first love, and I have never forgotten that."

"You were mine, too. How different our lives might have been."

I nodded. "Yeah, but at least you have the twins; Lily and Rose are great kids. And remember, if you need to escape, come round any time. Hot and cold running hugs & wine always available."

We cuddled up on the couch in companionable silence, and eventually we both fell asleep.

My first professional shoot of the year was with a redhead named Angel. She was tall and slim with large breasts. I wasn't keen on her tattoos, but many models I saw on agency sites had them, and I wasn't going to be fussy. It was January and too cold to be outside, so in the morning I shot in the studio I had set up in the old stable block.

Angel started by kneeling on the divan, wearing white lingerie. She had a killer smile, which she used to maximum effect as she twisted and turned through different poses before removing her bra with exquisite slowness. After more twisting and turning, she slid her panties down a little, revealing her shaven pussy. Then she extended her repertoire by playing with herself, and occasionally licking her fingers. Once she was completely nude, she lay back on the bed and resumed playing with herself, apparently reaching orgasm.

After lunch, I took her upstairs to the bedroom studio, where the lights and tripods were already set up. Angel put on a black lingerie set, this time including a pair of hold-up stockings. I positioned her on the couch against one wall. Instead of kneeling, she lay back on the couch, still contorting her body. She was a natural; I kept my finger on the shutter button, sometimes swapping my usual 90mm portrait lens for a short zoom to frame the shot more flexibly. Gradually, the bra, and then the panties came off, but I asked her to leave the stockings on. After more touching and finger-licking, I sensed her mood shift.

"You know, these sessions get me very excited. I like touching myself, but my fingers aren't really enough to properly satisfy me; if you know what I mean. Is there anything that you could do to help me?" She said.

Just grabbing my cock would have been more blatant, but not by much. Still, I was happy to oblige. I didn't bother undressing, just undid my trousers, pushed down my boxers, and allowed my cock to spring free, ready for action. Angel slid off the couch and took it in her mouth, swallowing it whole without difficulty.

"I think we should move to the bed," I told her.

She spread her legs to allow my mouth to access her pussy. After her self-pleasuring, it was already well lubricated, but I enjoy licking and sucking on a cunt too much to forgo the pleasure.

It was Angel's turn to move us on to the main event; she told me to lie back on the bed. When I was in position, she mounted me, cowgirl style. It was an enthusiastic fuck, and soon we were dripping with sweat. Midway through, I rolled her over so that I was on top, and hammered away until we were both satisfied.

Afterwards, we cleaned each other up in the ensuite bathroom, which had built-in lights, video cameras, and an oversized shower designed for moments like this. The resulting stills and video were very hot. After editing them into three sets, I posted them to Kinkbox, where they sold well.

A week later, Lily and Rose came to see me. "Hi Jack, can we talk to you?"

"Sure," I said. "Come in, and I'll make some coffee."

Sitting at my kitchen table, Lily, normally the quiet one, asked, "Have you heard about Mum and Dad?"

I nodded. "Your Mum told me things were difficult, but she said they were trying to work it out."

"It seems like he's been a shit, but, well, he's still our Dad," Rose said.

"He's always been a bit jealous because he knows Mum has a soft spot for you, but that's no excuse!" added Lily emphatically.

I laughed, "That's funny because I have always been a bit jealous of him. But we are where we are. What happens next is up to them; I'm not going to get involved except as a supplier of tea, wine, and sympathy. And that offer extends to you too."

"Thanks," they said in unison.

After exchanging a glance, the silent communication method that they excelled at, Rose spoke. "We want to make some money from those photos you took."

I wasn't expecting that. "Are you sure?"

They nodded, and Rose answered, "Money's tight at Uni."

I thought for a moment. "You know, it's not a good idea. I don't know what you hope to do after graduation, but in a lot of jobs, if those photos ever came to light, they would create lots of problems."

They both sat up at that. They obviously hadn't thought about it. Looking crestfallen, they said in unison, "Oh."

I wanted to help them, but I was really worried about the possible impact on their future lives. Then I had a thought. "How about if we did another shoot, but this time with you wearing some sort of mask, and maybe you could dye your hair too, in which case, I would be happy to help you publish them."

When they agreed, I was deeply relieved because Heather would have killed me if recognisable photographs of her daughters appeared on the internet.

A few days later, the twins returned. With their hair now chestnut, I hardly recognised them. Over coffee at the kitchen table, they signed the model release forms, then we headed to the studio, where the twins changed into lingerie while I made last-minute checks on the cameras and lighting. They entered, Lily in lacy black lingerie with hold-up stockings, Rose wearing the same, but in white. Each wore one of the masks that I had purchased online.

I started them on the divan in mirrored poses: on their knees and elbows, looking at the camera; then facing each other; lying on their backs; and so on. They took off their bras and repeated the previous poses. Then their panties came off, and the sequence resumed.

Now, things got hotter. Without me asking, the twins began to touch each other, chastely at first, then with increasing intimacy. Going beyond what would be normal for sisters, they touched breasts and pussies, then they kissed. Then they went even further, eating each other in a 69 position. I wondered whether they had done this before, or whether they were doing it to appeal to the punters. Probably the latter, I thought.

I made them break off, and asked them to use some sex toys, beginning with a vibrator, then moving on to a double-ended dildo, and finally a strap-on. The twins clearly enjoyed it, and I knew the photographs would be amazing.

After lunch, we moved upstairs to the bedroom that I used as a second studio. The twins started in negligees, but otherwise the set was like the morning one. That is, until they turned their attention to me. On a signal that I did not notice, they bounced off the bed together and began to strip off my clothes; I kept shooting.

They practically threw me onto the bed, lying on my back, my cock pointing at the ceiling. Kneeling on either side

, they enthusiastically set about blowing and tea-bagging me. When Rose settled herself on my dick, her sister moved around to sit on my face. I tried to adjust the screen on the back of my camera so I could see what it was pointing at, but Lily's arse obscured most of my view, so now I had to shoot blind and rely on the video cameras.

Inevitably, with two attractive young women hell-bent on their own sexual pleasure, and mine, I came sooner than I would have liked. I think Rose came too, but I focused my efforts on Lily, who definitely came from my oral. We cleaned up in the shower together, under the watchful video cameras that were mounted on the walls.

For my next Kinkbox shoot, I booked a young model who called herself MJ. Petite with chestnut-coloured hair, she arrived in a black knee-length dress, and she looked really good in it.

"Could I photograph you wearing that?" I asked.

"Sure, why not?" she answered.

MJ sat on the studio sofa, striking a series of demure poses, then pulled the dress up a little, revealing enough to make it clear she wasn't wearing panties. Gradually her poses became more explicit, revealing her pussy, first from the front and then peeking out between her thighs when she turned away, showing her naked arse.

Rolling back, she lifted her dress further, uncovering her perfect, perky breasts, which she cupped and squeezed, then slid one hand down to her pussy. Spreading the prominent lips apart, giving a clear view of the pink inside. She slipped a finger in, slowly working it back and forth, occasionally bringing it to her mouth and licking it extravagantly.

I was getting very aroused.

MJ changed into a black mesh bra with a matching short skirt, and I asked her to pose on the divan. Once again, she needed no direction, seamlessly moving through a sequence of poses, revealing more as she went on, then spreading her legs to show her pussy, playing with it, then pulling her lips apart. She was obviously excited. I kept shooting until she collapsed back onto the bed, sated.

After lunch, we moved to the upstairs studio.

Finally, MJ was completely naked and again showed that she was a natural model, not needing any input from me. On her back, on her front, kneeling, on all fours, arse to the camera, legs together, legs apart, one leg raised. She kept returning to exposing her pussy, as if that was what she was most comfortable doing. I was happy to keep it in the centre of my photographs. She was getting excited again, a series of small orgasms evident.

I was tempted to undo my trousers, but that would be breaking my rule of only interacting sexually with models if they initiate it. Luckily for me, MJ did, hoarsely asking, "Will you have sex with me?"

Immediately, I put down my still camera, checked that the video cameras were running, stripped off my clothes, and jumped onto the bed with her. My mouth homing in on her beautiful pussy with its luscious lips, I was in heaven until MJ made it clear that she wanted my cock there more than my lips and tongue. I was happy to oblige, and soon it slid in and out faster and faster until we both came.

Since her revelation about Hugh, Heather had become a frequent visitor. Over tea or wine, she poured out her anger and frustration; my role was to listen and offer occasional words of comfort. I suppose that I might have exploited the situation by taking her to bed, but I did not want to. She was my friend first and foremost, and I wanted to support her as much as I could, like she had helped me when my mother died the previous year.

Hugh had moved out of Rose Cottage a few weeks earlier. During a particularly emotional visit, she reached for me, her hand sliding behind my neck, pulling me toward her and bringing our mouths together. Her other hand tugged at my clothes; it was clear what she wanted.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked.

"Yeah, Hugh's been having fun; why shouldn't I?"

I couldn't say no, not to her. Before long, we were in my bed, fucking enthusiastically. We repeated it several times over the next few weeks. Often, I wondered where it might lead.

In bed one evening, Heather said, "I know you sometimes have sex with your models, and with Chantal too..."

She hesitated. "Would you give that up for me? I don't like the idea of just being another of your conquests."

I had expected her to bring this up at some point, so I already knew my answer. "Yes, I can. Sales on Kinkbox won't be so good, but that doesn't matter, and I am sure that Chantal will understand."

Heather thanked me, then showed her gratitude physically.

I had been thinking about my photography; I enjoyed glamour and nature, and I was getting better at both, but I wanted to broaden my range. Heather suggested I photograph villagers with iconic roles.

"That's a great idea," I said, and began imagining an exhibition, perhaps even selling some of the photos.

I started with people that I knew, beginning with Colin, the village GP and my best friend. One weekend, I set up some lights in his surgery and photographed him apparently consulting a patient, actually his wife Anna, from several angles. Next was Phil, landlord of The Spinners Arms. I photographed him behind the bar, halfway through pulling a pint of Old Cropredy bitter. Jenny Pike, who ran the village shop, was my next subject. I got some great shots of her serving customers.

Of course, since I lived in a rural area, I included several farmers. Ben Field worked a dairy farm outside the village. I ended up with a classic shot of a taciturn man smoking a pipe and resting against a five-bar gate. Helen Saunders, another dairy farmer, was next. As a woman in a traditionally male occupation, she made for an interesting subject. I also photographed her son, Tom, a tousle-haired man who worked alongside her on the family farm, which he would inherit in time. The vicar of St Denis's, David Trent, was at the centre of village life; I shot him standing by the church font, looking beatific. The village boasted a vet, Erica Cooper, whose business depended on the area's dairy farms. I photographed her attending to a pregnant cow, including a couple with her arm buried deep in its vagina. Cee Wood, a teacher at the local primary school, allowed me to photograph her standing before a class of children. Next was Beth Carter, the local postwoman and our blacksmith's wife. I got some great shots of her delivering mail to various villagers. Sam Harper was the shepherd on the area's only sheep farm. I photographed him feeding a newborn lamb with a baby's bottle. I finished the series with Charles Archer, a retired gamekeeper, who posed a bit of a problem. Where to shoot him? We settled on a misty evening in Manor Wood, with Charles half-lit by the torch he carried.

I chose the best three photographs from each set, had them framed, and displayed them, along with some of my landscape shots, in the Village Hall one weekend. The printing and framing weren't cheap, but I wasn't doing it for the money. The response was very positive; I sold quite a few pictures, received a couple of commissions, and I talked to many villagers I hadn't met before.

A couple of days later, I was in the pub, sipping a pint of Old Cropredy, when Heather and Debra Ainsworth, who worked at the Banbury library, came over.

"Hi Jack, can we disturb you?" Debra asked.

I nodded, and we found a quiet table.

"I'm glad that we ran into you. We've just come from a meeting in the village hall where we've been discussing how to raise money for the church roof restoration fund. You've heard about the dry rot?"

I nodded. The news had been the talk of the village for weeks.

"And you'd like a donation?" I asked.

She smiled. "Sort of, but we'd like your time and skills more than money, although we wouldn't say no to some cash, too."

Intrigued, I waited for her to explain.

Heather spoke, "One of our ideas is to make a calendar featuring villagers, like the photos that you took earlier this year."

Debra hesitated, and I sensed something more. She blushed, then said, "The thing is, we want you to photograph us naked, but with our private parts hidden by objects, you know, like that film with Helen Mirren."

"' Calendar Girls', yes, I remember it, and I would be happy to help." My parents raised me in the Church of England, so I had attended services at St Denis's many times, but as I grew older, I couldn't find any faith in me. Still, I understood how important the church was to village life and wanted to contribute.

Two days later, I attended another meeting in the village hall, where Debra and Heather had gathered people considering taking part in the calendar shoot. I knew most of them, and several had been subjects of my previous project.

Debra asked me to explain what we'd need for such a shoot. I had anticipated the question. "As the calendar will be sold, anybody appearing will need to sign a model release form; that's the only formality. If any of the shoots are outside, we'll have to be careful not to break any laws, but I am sure that Lia can give more detailed advice than I can."

Lia Savage, the local police officer, nodded her agreement, and I continued. "Of course, we'll need to plan the shoots: who, when, where, and, of course, how to maintain the modesty of the models, but that will have to wait until we are on set."

We spent the rest of the evening working on 'who' and 'where'.

The first scene featured Phil Glass, the publican, his modesty preserved by the crate he carried. We spent some time setting up a version of the shot inside The Spinners Arms, and outside in the car park. We had been in the same class at secondary school, so we had shared showers after sport. Then he undressed, and I took the photographs as quickly as I could.

Next on the schedule was Heather herself, whom I was going to photograph sitting by a window. As an occasional lover, and somebody that I had photographed naked before, there was no awkwardness between us when she undressed. Crossing one leg over the other hid her pussy, but finding a position that looked natural, where her arms or the book hid her nipples, proved tricky. At last, we found one that worked; immediately I took multiple shots. After declaring that I was happy with the results, Heather helped me strip off my clothes, and we fucked on the carpet in her lounge.

Afterwards, over the now-obligatory bottle of wine, she told me she and Hugh were going to try to make things work. "He's moving home at the weekend. I'm not sure about it, but when we married, I made a commitment, and I don't like to give up on those."

"Thank you for telling me. I hope it works out for you."

"Do you?" she asked. "Don't you want me?"

I smiled ruefully. "I want you to be happy. If that means you being with Hugh, then so be it. I am not going to make it difficult. It's your decision. I will revert to my former role as the supplier of tea and sympathy."

She laughed. "What about wine? I might need that too."

"Whatever the lady wants," I replied.

Later, lying together in her bed, I felt devastated. For the last few months, I had spent many nights with the woman of my dreams, getting closer than ever, and I'd begun to wonder whether we had a future as a couple.

Colin's wife, Anna, and Olivia, the district nurse, agreed to pose for photos in the former's kitchen over coffee. They would be the first subjects whom I had never seen naked before, but one of them being my best friend's wife made it awkward.

Consequently, we probably spent more time blocking their positions, with me trying to visualise how they might be exposed, before I was happy. The women left the room to undress, and I tried to compose myself, to adopt a strictly professional demeanour.

They returned in bathrobes. I turned away as they shed them and adopted the positions that we had agreed on. Olivia sat on one of the chairs; an arm on the table concealed her breasts. The same didn't apply to Anna, who stood as if about to pour coffee from the cafetière into her friend's cup. It took several minutes, making minor adjustments so that her nipples and bush were hidden. Finally, I had some shots that I thought were good enough. I also had several where nothing was hidden. After reviewing them at home, I wanked myself to a climax. And felt guilty for the rest of the day.

Tom Saunders, a worker on his family's dairy farm, was next. We had decided to shoot him while he was feeding some of the cows. It was cold, but he was happy to strip off outside. His cock was hidden by a bucket, its handle in the crook of his arm. Whatever was inside was catnip to the herd, and soon I could see only his torso above the animals clustering around him.

The next shoot was with Sam Harper, who kept sheep at Willow Farm. The basic setup was the same as with Tom Saunders. Because the sheep were shorter than cows, they revealed more of his body, but the bucket did its job.

David Trent, the vicar of St Denis's, and Colin, my best friend and the local GP, were next. Both were on the cricket team, so we decided to photograph them on the pitch on the village green, as if they were in the middle of a match. Although it was June, it was still cold enough that being outside naked felt like something only a crazy person would do.

Colin was the team's wicketkeeper. Crouched down, with his hands in substantial gloves, his cock was hidden. Positioning David was harder, but with care, he maintained his modesty as he appeared to play a forward defensive stroke.

Next were Ella, Lana, and Erica. I knew the latter, the local vet, but the other two women were unfamiliar to me. The plan was to photograph them at a table in the village shop. With the three of them sitting, it was fairly easy to keep their breasts and pussies out of view.

To minimise disruption, I arranged another shoot in the village shop on the same day. Helen, a local farmer, was to buy something from Jenny, the shopkeeper. We decided that a pastry from the display cabinet would be the best pose.

Jenny was easily hidden; Helen required more care. With her left leg slightly forward and her left arm reaching for the bag, she was completely concealed.

Debra, the head of the fundraising committee, was my next subject. We had decided to photograph her at home in her conservatory. A bushy fern hid her pussy, and an arm, watering can in hand, masked her tits. But beyond the shoot's modesty, she made no effort to conceal herself. Although I wasn't particularly attracted to her, I liked her openness.

Next was Beth Carter, the blacksmith's wife and the village postman. The plan was for me to photograph her arranging flowers, but when I arrived, she had clearly been crying, and I saw the beginning of a black eye. It was obvious that her husband did not approve. I did my best to comfort her, then left.

PC Lia Savage was my first stop, then I sought out Debra Ainsworth. She was primarily worried about Beth, but understood the need to find a replacement.

"I'll get back to you," she said.

Beth's replacement was Belle Finch, a young dentist who worked at a practice in nearby Banbury. We met in The Spinners Arms to discuss the shoot, specifically where and when. After throwing around some ideas, we settled on my garden.

Belle was clearly nervous when she arrived, so I offered her a glass of wine, which was gratefully accepted and quickly finished. I talked her through the process, then left her to get ready. Out in the garden, still in her dressing gown, we experimented with poses, settling on one with her lying on a rug and another with her watering flowers.

She shrugged off her gown and, now naked, lay down on the rug. Belle rested on her elbows, back arched, gazing at the camera. I had a fantastic view over her head and shoulders to the twin rounded peaks of her arse. I moved around, getting shots from different angles, then asked her to lie down and took even more from every direction.

When I declared that we should move on to the second set, Belle asked for another glass of wine. Her shyness gone, she sat cross-legged on the rug as I rearranged my tripods. She leaned forward, a watering can in hand; one leg cocked forward concealing her pussy, and her nipples hidden by an arm.

Belle straightened up when I said, "I think we're done. Would you like some more wine?"

"Oh, yes, please," she replied. "And can we use your hot tub?"

"Of course," I said, and went to fetch the open bottle and another for luck.

"Will you join me?" she asked, as I refilled her glass.

I undressed and climbed in. "Did you enjoy it?"

She beamed. "You bet. I wonder why I was so reluctant to take part. I might never get dressed again!"

I laughed. "Let's see what happens on a freezing day in December."

Belle reached for the wine bottle, then paused when she saw my face.

"Go ahead," I said.

"No, you're right," she replied. "Maybe afterwards."

'After what?' I wondered, though I had a fair idea of what she meant. When Belle moved across the tub to sit next to me, I knew that my guess was right.

She leaned in to kiss me and placed a hand on my knee, although it didn't stay there for long, sliding further up my thigh, coming to rest briefly on my cock before beginning to stroke it up and down. I reached over to cup one of her breasts, caressing it and tweaking the nipple that surmounted it. Belle had a magnificent body. Awkwardly, I managed to slip my other hand between her legs, playing with her clit and labia. This could only go on so long. We clambered out of the tub, and she lay back on the rug, her legs spread invitingly.

"Fuck me!" she commanded.

I knelt between her legs and positioned my cock at the entrance to her vagina. Belle grabbed my hips and pulled me into her hot, wet tunnel. I started to thrust in and out; her hips rose to meet me, our bellies slapping together at the perigee of each stroke. With such exertion in the summer sun, sweat was pouring from our bodies. At last, we both came, and it lasted much longer than I expected.

We recovered under a cool shower in the studio.

"Thank you," Belle said. "That was exactly what I needed."

"Any time," I replied, wondering if I was becoming the village bike.

By now, I was in the home stretch, with just two more shoots to go. First were Cee, who taught at the village primary school, and Kat, a reporter for the Banbury Guardian. Both were about 30, and they shared a house. Whether as friends or lovers, I did not know, nor care.

Like Debra, they did not try to conceal themselves. We decided on a pose in which Cee, an amateur artist, sketched Kat reclining on the couch in their living room. It was relatively easy to pose them discreetly. The next set was them sitting side by side, using their legs and arms to conceal their private parts.

I told them that I had the photographs that I wanted. Instead of standing and bidding me farewell, they started kissing and touching each other. They were clearly more than friends. I kept shooting for a while, then left them to it. I would share the extra photos with them later.

Colin's receptionist, Annie, was the last model. I photographed her sitting on a couch at her home, reading a magazine. The pages hid her breasts; crossed legs hid her cunt.

The last shot, the calendar cover, was the most difficult. Not for me, but the subjects. The plan was for all eighteen of them to be naked together, standing behind one of the signs that said: "Welcome to Compton Denis".

It was a pleasant morning towards the end of July, when we all gathered at the sign on the road from Banbury. Previously, I had been able to visualise poses with subjects dressed, but this time there were too many of them; now, I needed them naked. To my surprise, they were less reluctant than I expected.

I started by positioning the women, the shortest at the front, their breasts hidden by the sign, slightly crossed legs obscuring their pussies. The second row, also all women, was hidden by those in front, and the women in the third and last row hid the men in the fourth row behind them.

They were all excited by the experience and retired to the pub. Astonishingly, none bothered to get dressed. I glanced across at PC Savage, who had attended the shoot to make sure that there was no trouble. She shrugged, and we followed the subjects as they walked towards the pub.

"I would have loved to join in," Lia said. "But regulations don't allow it. Which is a pity, because it looks like a lot of fun."

I hesitated for a moment, then said, "I have a studio at home where I do glamour shoots; I could do one with you, privately, if that is allowed."

Lia glanced at me. "I'll think about it."

Natasha Fossett was behind the bar when eighteen naked adults, including her boss, entered The Spinners Arms. Phil went to help her deal with the rush of customers. I told him that I would pay for the first round of drinks; then, in solidarity with my subjects, I stripped off too, earning a cheer from them. The people already in the lounge looked on silently, stunned to see friends and neighbours behaving as they normally would in the pub, but without clothes. New arrivals were equally shocked.

Debra stood on a chair and called for quiet. When everybody was silent, she began to speak. "I want to thank all of you who posed for your bravery in taking part in this fundraising effort, and also Jack for generously providing his time and skills."

After a couple more drinks, Heather slipped an arm through mine as we staggered up Manor Lane. Without a word, we entered Manor House, which had been my home throughout my childhood and was again now.

"Hugh promised that he'd fire his secretary, but now he says he can't without telling HR that they have been fucking. And he'd be in a lot more trouble than she would. He's afraid that he would be sacked, not her." She sighed, "I don't trust him."

I wondered if 'revenge fuck' was my role; better not to ask, I decided.

Upstairs we showered together, kissing hungrily, tasting beer and wine, our hands stroking and caressing each other. After drying off, we threw ourselves on the bed, and I pushed her legs apart, eagerly falling upon her trim pussy with my mouth and fingers, licking, sucking, and touching.

"Fuck me!" Heather demanded.

I repositioned myself and thrust my cock deep into her vagina, resting there for a moment before pulling back and then forward again repeatedly. Heather wrapped her legs around me and pulled me close. We kissed enthusiastically, tongues exploring and entwining. Our excitement built until she came, then I did, depositing my load inside her.

A week later, I was back at the village hall to show the models the best photographs from each set. Together, they chose which images would go in the calendar, including the group shot for the cover. With the selection done, I sent the files to the printer Debra had arranged.

One day, while buying bread at the village shop, Jenny, the shopkeeper, asked me for a quiet word. "Jack, I loved posing for the calendar, and it got me thinking. Would you photograph me looking sexy, maybe in lingerie, maybe less? Just for me. I'd pay you, of course."

I smiled at her. "I'd be happy to. As it happens, glamour photography is one of my specialities. Why don't you come round, and we can discuss the details?"

Later, over tea at my kitchen table, we talked about what she wanted.

"I'm 52, and I'm not getting any younger," she said. "Being photographed naked, albeit with my bits hidden, was a real thrill. I felt young and crazy again. I want to feel that more; I want to be really daring, to do something really memorable which I can revisit when I am even older than I am now."

I nodded. "OK, I can help with that. It's what is known as boudoir photography, and I have some experience with it."

A few days later, Jenny came over with a small holdall.

"Ready?" I asked.

She sighed deeply, then grinned, and said, "Lead on, Macduff."

"Normally, we start with the model in lingerie, two or three different sets, before moving on to 'implied nudity', which means you will be naked, but your genitals and nipples will be hidden. How does that sound?"

"All good, but do we stop there? When I said that I wanted to be daring, I meant it."

That surprised me. "Er, what are you thinking of?"

"Well, showing everything, maybe even playing with my toys." Her voice trailed off, and she blushed.

I kept my expression professional. "No problem."

Jenny went to the changing room to dress and do her makeup, returning in white lingerie, complete with stockings and a suspender belt. I started posing her standing in front of a pearl-grey backdrop, then on the divan, where, unbidden, she removed her bra, making no effort to conceal her breasts. She was obviously comfortable, so I didn't object; I just kept shooting. Her panties followed her bra, and I wasn't surprised when she spread her legs a little, affording a view of her sparse bush.

I sent Jenny to change into a different lingerie set. Reluctantly, she did, and I wondered how much further she wanted to go. She replaced her white lingerie with black, and we repeated the sequence from the previous set. Unsurprisingly, she was as uninhibited as before. Reluctantly, clearly frustrated, she changed into a red set.

Over lunch, I asked, "Are you sure that you want to be photographed doing anything more explicit?"

Jenny finished her mouthful and replied, "I am. I meant it when I said I wanted to be daring. Push me. I will tell you if it is too much."

That afternoon, we moved upstairs to the bedroom studio. "If you are serious, then let's start with you naked."

Jenny grinned and settled on the bed, legs spread. Soon, she was playing with herself, then a finger penetrated her cunt, then two. As they plunged in and out, her head lolled back in pleasure. I kept shooting. An obvious orgasm later, she looked directly at me as she reached down to spread her labia; I leaned in for a close-up.

She was looking at me hungrily, and I knew what she wanted. I asked, "Are you sure?"

"Oh yes, but can you keep shooting?"

I nodded. "I can, but it's best to rely on the video cameras."

Setting my still camera aside, I pulled off my shirt, undid my trousers, and removed them, along with my boxers. I bent to bury my face in her crotch, but Jenny interrupted. "No need for that; just fuck me!"

I just fucked her.

We launched the calendar in the first week of September. The Village Hall was decorated with thirteen enlarged pictures: the cover shot and one for each month. The calendar sold briskly, and following an article in the Banbury Guardian, a local web developer volunteered to set up a site to handle online sales. The Oxford Times picked up the story, followed by local radio, then regional TV, and finally the national press. As a result, journalists inundated the village, much to everybody's annoyance.

I selected a hot blonde model named Carrie for my next professional shoot. She arrived looking very sexy in a sparkly black jumper and blue jeans. She signed the model release form, and I led her to the studio in the old stable, but I sensed she was reluctant.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Well, it's such a lovely day, I thought we might shoot outside. It will probably be the last chance this year," she replied.

She was right about that. "OK, we can shoot in the garden, if you like."

"I was thinking of something more daring, in the countryside maybe?" She said coquettishly.

I looked at her, considering the idea. "OK, I know somewhere, but we will have to load up some gear."

Less than an hour later, I was ready to start shooting. My car was parked on a farm track a couple of miles away from Compton Denis. On one side, a grassy meadow ran down to Compton Brook; on the other was Compton Wood.

We started with Carrie stripping off in the meadow, and I got some great shots of her with the local countryside behind her. Then she dressed again, and I led her along a path through the wood to a clearing, where I shot her undressing again. Once dressed again, we returned to the car.

"How about a dogging set?" Carrie asked.

"That's an interesting idea," I said. And it was; the question was how to shoot it. "OK, let's start with you dressed, leaning on the car, beckoning me over."

"Flash your boobs," I told her.

After a couple more poses of Carrie outside the car, I set my still camera on a tripod facing the driver's seat and rigged a GoPro to the doorframe with a Gorilla Grip.

I settled into the driver's seat, and Carrie sat beside me. She leaned over and started undoing my jeans. I used a remote control to trigger the still camera. She released my cock, then began to fellate me. I kept shooting, always careful to keep the remote control out of sight.

Awkwardly, she removed her clothes and then my trousers. Now, she sat in my lap, impaled upon my cock. She bounced up and down, and I thrust upwards against her, trying to match her rhythm. Fucking in a car was physically uncomfortable, but mentally a real turn-on, and I released a big load inside her.

We packed up and returned to the house for a late lunch.

I let Carrie go without another set, then wandered around to the pub for a couple of pints of Old Cropredy.

One evening, as I stood at the bar of The Spinner's Arms, waiting for Phil to pull my pint, Lia Savage spoke to me. "I've been thinking about your suggestion. Would you photograph me? Not for publication, just for me?"

"Of course. I would be happy to."

We took our drinks to a quiet corner table and discussed what it would involve. Lia hesitated, then said yes.

Her appearance contrasted sharply with how she looked on duty. A tight white T-shirt strained to contain her chest instead of a bulky jacket festooned with pockets and equipment; her long black hair was loose rather than tied back, but her small frame and piercing blue eyes were unchanged.

When Lia stood on my doorstep a few days later, I was determined to behave. More than with any previous model, amateur or professional, I wanted to take it slow with Lia. Of all my fellow villagers, I least wanted to upset the local police officer, so I started by photographing her in the clothes she arrived in. Cautiously, I asked her to take off the outer layer.

Lia laughed, "Are you going slowly, Jack?"

I blushed and nodded. "Yeah, I am a bit nervous about photographing you."

Without being asked, she pulled off her shirt and trousers, revealing a pale lavender lingerie set. "We talked about this; I told you that I wanted to be photographed naked. So, don't be such a wuss."

After several shots of her in her lingerie, I asked her to remove her bra. Her breasts were as magnificent as I had imagined. She lay back on the bed, caressing them. I moved around, photographing her from different positions. Then she slid her panties off, exposing a pretty, hairless pussy. I continued moving, continued shooting. Lia slipped a finger into her cunt, then two, moving them in and out with increasing speed, until she cried out in delight, then flopped back on the divan. After a couple more shots, I left her to recover.

"Wow," she said. "That was such a turn-on! Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said. "Would you like a shower before lunch?"

Lia thought for a moment, then pulled on a robe and said, "No, I'm hungry."

I produced cold meats, cheese, and a bowl of salad from the fridge. Then asked, "Would you like wine?"

Lia said, "Not now, but I'm sure I will need some later."

After a couple of mouthfuls, she asked, "Do you have sex with your models?"

The question surprised me, and I hesitated for a moment before answering. Should I be truthful? She might be off-duty, very much off-duty, but honesty felt like the best policy.

"Some of them, but only if they make it clear that they want to. It surprises me how many do, but I'm not going to complain."

"Is that the professionals, or the amateurs as well?" she asked.

"Both. With the professionals, it is mostly because they want an extra payment, whereas the amateurs get turned on. Either way suits me," I said, grinning.

"Lucky man," Lia said, also grinning.

I nodded.

"Will you have sex with me?" she asked.

"I would be happy to, but only if you want," I replied.

"We'll see," she said.

I nodded again.

After lunch, we moved upstairs to the bedroom studio. Lia put on a semi-transparent pink lingerie set with matching stockings. She posed on the couch in the complete ensemble at first, then she removed her bra, and finally her panties. Her pussy looked swollen, perhaps still from the morning shoot. As before, she started playing with herself. Her boobs, her clit, her labia, and then fingers slipping inside her cunt.

Lia was getting more and more excited. She gasped. "Have you got a vibrator?"

I took a slim, silver-plated model from the toy drawer and passed it to her. She switched it on and touched her clit; almost immediately, she arched her back and cried out as a massive orgasm hit her. After coming, she collapsed on the bed. I reached over and turned the vibrator off.

When she recovered, I asked if she wanted a shower.

"Yes, please," she answered.

"Can I film you?" I asked, gesturing at the two video cameras mounted on the bathroom's walls.

"Only if you agree to join me," she offered.

"Thank you on both counts," I said.

A bit of cleaning may have happened, but under the stream of water it was more like extended foreplay, until I lifted her, and she guided my cock into her cunt. Careful not to slip on the wet floor, I pushed in and out of her. Excited by the whole experience, she came again quickly; I lasted a bit longer.

Ginger was a risk; I knew that when I booked her. She didn't have much experience, and something about her description and the few reviews gave me cause for concern. Still, something about her long dark hair, lightly coloured skin, and brown doe eyes was irresistible.

In person, she was as attractive as I'd imagined, and as shy as I suspected. So, I started with her fully dressed to help her get comfortable with me and the situation. Her white spaghetti-strap dress contrasted beautifully with her hair and skin.

I wanted to vary the shots, so we began with her standing partly side-on against an open door, first from the front, and then from behind. I asked her to raise the hem of her dress to show the shapely cheeks of her arse. Then we switched to her in an open white shirt, at first revealing nothing, then a bit of boob, then a nipple, then both breasts and finally, a tease of her pussy.

She moved to the divan, now wearing only flimsy red knickers. At first, she covered her breasts with an arm, then revealed them. They were not large; they were definitely saggy, but her prominent nipples were dark brown. After multiple shots, she removed her underwear, allowing me to get some shots of her trimmed bush. And that was it. It was an OK set; I knew she wouldn't go further, and I didn't want to force her to.

I booked Carmen, a full-breasted woman with hazel eyes and brown hair streaked with blonde, as my last professional model of the year. She started wearing a red basque and black high-heeled shoes. I posed her in the studio against a newly acquired sofa, by chance upholstered in the same colour as her lingerie.

After various poses, looking seductively at the camera, she slipped one strap off her shoulder, followed by the other, pushed the basque down to reveal one breast, and then both. She continued moving around, gazing into my lens. Then, her pussy was revealed. Carmen played with herself for a while before completely removing the garment.

She resumed playing with herself, spreading her legs, and then her pussy lips to give me a series of very intimate views. I didn't hesitate to get close to photograph her in detail.

"Have you got a dildo?" she asked.

I found a semi-translucent red one in my toy drawer and handed it to her. Carmen penetrated herself with it, slowly sliding it in and out, giving me every opportunity to catch the action without blurring. She rolled over, giving me a view from the back. Finally, she moved the dildo to her mouth, slowly swallowing it.

I suggested lunch, followed by another set, but Carmen declined, beckoning me with a crooked finger. When I was close enough, she undid my belt and trousers, pushed down my boxers, and released my prick, which she eagerly took in her mouth. She bobbed her head back and forth faster and faster, increasing the stimulation with her fingers. At last, I came.

Calendar sales had far exceeded expectations, and the news coverage had also led to several generous donations to the St Denis's Roof Fund. Everybody involved was understandably delighted, me included, so I decided to organise a party.

Early in the New Year, Manor House buzzed with laughter and conversation, fuelled by alcohol and elation at how much money we had raised thanks to their boldness.

To acknowledge the villagers' daring in stripping for the calendar, I decided to undress for the party; it felt like the least that I could do. Several of the guests joined me in the buff. It was amazing to think that a year earlier, this would have raised questions about our sanity. As the drinks flowed, several others joined in too. Something fundamental had happened to this group.

Along with the calendar models, I had invited a few other guests, including the twins from next door, Chantal from Manor Farm, and Beth, the postwoman who had chickened out of the calendar shoot.

She sought me out and said, "Jack, I am so sorry for dropping out at the last minute. I feel like I let you and everybody else down."

I frowned. "No, you shouldn't feel like that. Being photographed naked is a big deal, especially when people you know will see the results. I don't feel let down, and I doubt that anybody else does."

"Still, if there's another calendar, I would like to take part," she said.

"OK, I'll bear that in mind," I said.

I moved around, making sure everyone had a drink.

"Oh, relax, Jack." Debra chided me. "You have contributed more to this calendar than anybody else. Come and sit down."

We settled on a couch in the garden room. "We are very lucky to have you here in the village; not just for the calendar, your photographs are a great record of local life."

"Thanks," I said. "As a way of dealing with my grief, Colin Thorne encouraged me to pay attention to what was happening around me; photography was a way of making me do that, and I am still learning. Photographing the villagers has been a great help."

I was conscious that we were sitting very close. Debra half-turned towards me and placed a hand on my right knee. She was in her fifties, probably 10 years older than me, but she was in good shape; I wasn't going to say 'no'.

Debra leaned in, her mouth seeking mine. I parted my lips and teeth, allowing her tongue entry. Meanwhile, I slid a hand between her legs, and she spread them further, letting me cup her pussy. At the same time, she found my cock, slowly pumping it back and forth. Somehow, my left hand connected with her left breast. We were like a human pretzel, or a game of Twister.

She stood, turning away, then backed towards me, bent forward, making her cunt available to my cock. Working together, we made the connection, then she settled back, taking my entire length inside her, before starting to bounce up and down. I reached around, taking a breast in one hand, while the other returned to her pussy, stimulating her clit.

While we were away from the main group, any of them could have walked in and seen us. Heather did, and I saw her smile. She stayed, watching, as Debra and I fucked harder and faster until we both came.

"Fuck!" Debra said, breathing heavily. "Heather, having you there was a total turn-on."

"Glad to be of service," my neighbour said, grinning.

The lounge was a revelation. Several couples were fucking openly. Anna and Colin Thorne were not as much of a shock as seeing the vicar, David Trent, busy licking the cunt of Jenny Pike, the shopkeeper. Lana was doing the same for Olivia. Tom was ploughing into Kat. Several others were missing, perhaps fucking elsewhere. Rose and Lily were watching, smiling.

It was a great end to a good year.

~~~

Author's notes

Thanks for reading this far. Please leave a rating and some constructive criticism.

If you enjoyed this story, please read the next part, 'The Models Outside'.

Thanks to my beta-reader: WannabeBecca.