Sliding up to the door, I press my ear against the wood and listen, almost expecting to hear the heavy breathing of Kylie and her ex. Instead, all I hear is the hum of the building’s air conditioner.
I wish I knew what was immediately behind the door. If the studio is right there, I'm fucked. If the layout is as simple and straightforward as the gallery, then there will be nowhere to hide.
Then again, what do I have to lose? If she's fucking him, then I'm going to have to confront her anyway. Might as well make this all as dramatic as possible.
Shutting my eyes, I place my hand on the handle, take a deep breath, and push it open. Quietly. Slowly.
It's darker on the opposite side. Kylie’s laugh comes from somewhere deeper in the building, followed by the unintelligible murmur of Ashton. I listen, hear the rapid flutter of a camera, followed by another of Kylie’s laughs. It's the laugh that I fell in love with when we first met, loud, unapologetic, and feminine in a way that's neither girlish or sultry. It's Kylie, and I love her for it. Now, she's sharing it with another man.
I move through the door, silently shutting it as I scan my location. I'm in a sitting room, complete with a sofa, a desk, and a powered off television. Aside from the one that I just came through, there are two exits—neither of which have doors—and both seem to lead into a second, larger room. Light spills through them, artificial and bright, punctuated by the pop of even brighter flashes.
“Okay, I believe you now,” Ashton says as the flashes roll.
“What’s that?” Kylie asks, her question playful.
“That you’ve had kids. You definitely weren’t packing an ass like that back in school.”
If the crude observation—albeit very true—offends Kylie, I don’t hear it in her voice. “I forgot what a smooth talker you were.”
“Oh, you love it.” More clicks. “And you know how good it looks. I doubt you would have worn that thong if you didn’t.”
“Well, my yoga pants were pretty tight.”
Were. I mean, I know she must have taken them off already if he is commenting on her thong, but somehow the past tense gets to me more.
“Everything about you has just—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—gotten better with age.”
“You know a girl doesn’t like to be reminded about that, right?”
“What I see is a woman, not a girl,” he says. “That’s kind of the point, right?”
“Then and now, shifting beauty over time.” It has the quality of something being recited. “I still can't believe you talked me into this.”
I cross the sitting room, my heart in my throat. The exit to my right is brighter, like it leads directly out into the studio beyond. To my left is darker. I go that way, getting low as I peek through. An accordion partition divides this space from the main. A makeup stand sits against the wall, and another partition marks a space to change. Kylie's bag sits open in front of that partition, and the clothes that she wore coming into her hang over the top.
“Shift a little away from me, and arch your back. Just like that. Perfect.” Click. “You're such a natural. You should have taken this up professionally.”
Kylie laughs. “My parents would have had a thing or two to say about that.”
“Never stopped you from doing what you wanted before… Hold that pose. Right…” Pop. “...there. Yes.”
“We all need to grow up.”
“You grew up nicely. Want to show me more?”
“I bet you can't wait to see more,” she teases.
“You were always a little exhibitionist. I bet you and your husband get up to all kinds of naughty things.”
Actually, no, although now I wonder if that's because of me. Have I held her back?
“We have our fun,” she says instead of the truth.
I hear a rustling. Then, “Wow. Those are even nicer now, too. I think I'm only going to shoot fit moms from now on.”
I have to look. I creep forward, low. There's a space in the accordion partition where I can glimpse into the room, and what I see tightens my chest.
Against a white backdrop sits a settee, draped in white cloth. Kylie sits in the center of it, her legs crossed, wearing nothing but a black thong. Her loose sweater—which I recognize from the photos she's shared with me before—is cast to the side, forgotten.
“Going to have to check the levels.” Ashton approaches her with a light meter. I watch her watch him, her eyes on his face, hunger and just-checked excitement turning her smile feral. Her nipples are hard.
“Don't want anything to blow out,” she says, her eyes drifting down between her legs before she flicks back up to his.
Ashton chuckles, scanning her bare chest with the meter before nodding. “Checks out.”
They stare at one another, long enough that my stomach has time to lurch and flutter. He backs up, camera hoisted, snapping off a few test shots.
“I saw you've got one of me hanging out front. I thought we had an agreement. Nothing public.”
“We agreed on keeping them anonymous. Just like these. That's the whole point.”
“I thought the point was to get me naked again.” The way she speaks to him...it's been so long since she's been like this with me.
“Maybe that, too. Why don't you turn away from me again?” Kylie does so, laying on her side, her back to the both of us. “Don't tell me you haven't thought about it.”
Her ass looks phenomenal, bisected with the black thong. I stare at her and all her bare skin as I wait with baited breath for her answer. I want to know, too.
“You give yourself too much credit.”
“Probably, but I'm not wrong about this.”
Kylie twists her body to look over her shoulder, emphasizing the sinuous lines of her body. She’s a modernized Renaissance painting. This is the juncture of art and pornography.
“Hold that,” Ashton says, firing away at the camera. “Let your head fall forward, so your hair—yes, perfect.”
She does as instructed, her hair falling across her face, giving her the anonymity Kylie wants and Ashton needs.
“Now tuck your thumb into your thong,” he says. “Tease me. I know you want to.”
“I'm married, remember,” Kylie says, even as she does it.
She is, and that she's reminding him of it forces me to reconsider this situation. She really is here just to pose? Is it as innocent as that?
“I remember. I asked you to keep the ring on. But that has nothing to do with teasing me or not.”
She breaks the pose, her face disappearing behind her shoulder once again as she tugs her panties along her hip, Ashton’s camera catching every moment.
“So tell, Kylie, are you turned on?”
He doesn’t stop taking photos, and Kylie doesn't stop her tease. She lifts her thigh, peeling her visibly wet thong away from her pussy.
“Posing always turned you on,” he continued. “I still remember how worked up you got after that nude figure class.” He moved closer. “The last student was barely out of the room when you ripped off my pants.”
He adjusts the flash on his camera, walking the lens across her bare body.
“You remember that, Kylie?”
“Mmm hmm.” It’s so subtle that I almost miss it, but after looking, I can see the shortness of her breathing in her back and shoulders.
“Remember the time we did your first erotic nudes?”
Ashton’s camera is at his side, forgotten, as he settles on the edge of the settee. She twists again, her upper body on her back, her hips—her sex—still pointing away.
“I still remember all the fuck breaks we needed to take to get through that.” They stare at each other. I stop breathing, hair rising along my neck, blood fueling my erection. The lust these two have for one another is as palpable as the heat off the lamps. “You need a fuck break now?”
I'm not sure if he actually asked it, or I just imagined it. She doesn't answer immediately. She just st
ares at him, holding his eyes, as he reaches down and caresses her cheek. Their intimacy tears through me, good and bad and jealous and erotic. The past meets the present, and in that moment, I really don't know which will win. I don't know which I want to win.
“I'm…” Kylie glances away, blushing hard, and diffuses the moment with a breezy laugh. “I'm good right now. Could use some water, though.”
She rolls off the backside of the settee, kicking her thong off her ankle as she circles around. She doesn't appear self-conscious being nude in front of this man, even as he gawks at her. I don't blame him, I’m doing the same.
The photo shoot has transformed her, infused her with a confidence that is other worldly. Just as Ashton pointed out, her body has matured from the coed he once knew, grown more womanly. Even the clipped landing strip of dark hair suggests a new one from the girl with the wilder bush out front.
I'm so busy gawking, in fact, that I fail to process that she's headed right for my little hiding spot.
She grabs a robe and pulls it around her, saying over her shoulder, “How long before you can process the photos?”
I realize too late that I need to move. There isn't enough time to sneak back into the waiting room before she rounds the partition. I freeze, like I’ve had molten glass poured over me.
“...I’d like to give them to my husband sooner rather than later. All this sneaking around’s been hard. He may start thinking that I’m having an—” She turns. She sees me, crouched in the crook of the accordion partition. Her eyes grow large. “—affair,” she completes.
“What?!” she mouths at me.
I put my finger to my lips, although I don’t think she’s going to give me away. Instead, she looks past me, at the crack in the folding screen where I’d been spying.
Interestingly, when she looks back at me, her expression is unwavering. No guilty shifting, no bashful sense of shame. More bald surprise than anything else.
Ashton, oblivious to my discovery, continues the banter. “Well, if he already thinks that you're having an affair…”
With her eyes on me, she says, “That’s an interesting point. Does he?”
I shake my head, more reflex than truth. She sees right through it, pursing her lips.
“I don't know,” Ashton says. “You're the one who said it.”
This time, she looks in his direction as she answers, unable to resist a flirty reply. “Just trying to get your hopes up.”
I stand and close the distance between us with a single step, sliding my hand inside her robe. She doesn’t shy away, but doesn’t move into my embrace, either.
“It’s working,” Ashton says. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not just me who’s interested.”
His words, and the way Kylie quickly takes a breath—something I would have missed had my hand not been pressed against her ribs—triggers an epiphany. I lean close before I can second guess myself—before my rational self seizes back control—and whisper, “He’s right. We’re all interested.”
I brush my fingers down her stomach, my light touch causing her to gasp quietly. I kiss her neck as my fingers skate across her pussy. She’s so wet, and I easily slide a digit inside of her.
Seriously? she mouths to me.
With my lips against her ear, I whisper, “I’ll be watching.”
She holds my gaze, giving me time to come to my senses and back out. Instead, I nod, ever so slightly, hoping it conveys all the raw excitement that I’ve unearthed. This close, I can see her pupils dilate, her green irises yielding to unfocused black.
Her hand slides across my pants, tracing my erection. She nods in confirmation before leaning close, her lips brushing mine. I can smell the waxiness of her lipstick. “Call if you want me to stop. I’ll turn my ringer on.”
She doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t want to mess up her makeup. Not yet, anyway, and not with me. Grabbing a bottle of water—the thing she came back here to get—she twists the top off, shoots me a final, lingering glance, and struts back out into the studio.
I know her well enough that I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “Are you done trying to get into my pants?”
Ashton let's go a cocky chuckle. “Last I checked, you weren't wearing any.”
I hear the swish of her robe. “Oh, that's right.”
~~~
Kylie doesn't do anything differently. She doesn't flirt with Ashton any more than she had before. She doesn't throw herself at him, or make it obvious that she's had a change of heart. She doesn't need to. Ashton does all the work for her.
His tactic isn't so subtle, but no one’s giving points out for subtlety anymore. Since he controls her poses, and since he knows that it turns her on, he gradually turns up the heat, making sure to touch and adjust her, even when she doesn't need it.
“That's it, lie back, just like that, let your hair fall around you—perfect. Now cover your breast, just over your nipple… uh huh, there.”
The pop of the flash fires throughout his instructions, a strobe of the scene I watch through the crack of the partition. Kylie is stretched out like a Playboy model, her back arched, her head tilted toward the camera, her legs strategically bent to keep her modesty. She's all limbs, all lean, pale flesh. A living piece of art.
He moves to her, ostensibly to arrange her bangs around her face. His attention, though, wanders the length of her.
“I want you to put your other hand down between your legs,” he says, pulling the camera back to his eyes. “Cover yourself.”
I watch as she obeys, her right hand still on her breast, her left drifting between her thighs and out of my sight. He fires off a couple shots, checks the viewfinder, and takes a few more. “That’s very pretty,” he says, looking at where her hand is. “The ring, I mean.”
She blushes despite the clarification.
“You can touch yourself if you want,” he says. He settles onto the upholstered bench, his hip resting against her head. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”
Kylie’s voice is thick, husky. “But you’ll photograph it.”
“Don’t worry. For my private collection only.” He smiles down at her, brushing her hair idly. “Nothing I don’t already have, right?”
My breath catches at the implication. Makes sense, though, the treasure trove of sexy photos he must be sitting on. I wonder if Kylie has any of them that she’s just not shared. I make a note to ask her after this is over, then promptly forget it.
“I shouldn’t,” Kylie says, but she doesn’t look away as they share a moment.
“Never stopped you in the past,” Ashton says, his look intense.
“Things are different now.”
“Let’s pretend, for this afternoon, that they’re not.”
Kylie nibbles on her lower lip, appearing coy. I see right through her act. Ashton does not. “I need you to promise me that no one will see those photos. Ever.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not the first to ask, and I’ve never shared before.”
“And don’t capture my face.”
“How about I only shoot your lips. You’ve got great lips.”
“Okay.”
“Go ahead, touch that pussy. Did you groom it just for this, or do you normally keep it so neat?”
Kylie doesn’t answer. Instead, I watch as her nostrils flare and her lips part. She rocks her head back, ever so slightly pressing it against Ashton’s thigh. He lifts the camera again, adjusts the lens, and fires off a few shots of the action between her thighs.
“That’s it, Kylie. Push two fingers deep.” Click. Click. “You’re so wet, baby.”
Kylie moans as she shifts her right hand to capture her nipple between her fingers. She rolls the hard nub and parts her thighs. I catch a glimpse of her engagement ring sparkling in a photo flash, and see two fingers delve into her pussy as Ashton snaps away.
“That's so hot, Kylie. Let go. Let go. Let it all go.”
He rises, takes a couple steps back, shifting the angle of his sho
ts wider. She drapes one leg off the settee, the other is propped up, bent. Dropping her right hand down between her legs, she attacks her clit as her other hand continues to finger herself.
Ashton shoots it all. Whether Kylie notices, or cares, or is turned on even more by his presence, I cannot tell. Her orgasm, though, is real—and fierce—starting deep and tight before exploding outward, a kinetic blast of sound and fury.
Ashton dances the camera along her body, shifting back and forth to capture details I ache to see. He crouches, catching her profile as it coils into a tight S. He zooms in on her lips, parted and moaning. He tightens even further into the cleavage created by her arms on their way down to her pussy.
The rapid sound of the shutter seems to drive her on, the attention and exhibition fueling the fire of her need. At last, though, it burns out, leaving her panting hard and heavy, her body covered in a sheen of sweat as she lies back on the settee.
“Stunning,” Ashton says, checking the viewfinder again. “Fuck, you’re hot.”
Lazily, Kylie turns to regard him. Her eyes flicker over to me, though, so quick that I almost miss it before they’re back on her one-time lover. “You know, if you put that thing down, you can enjoy the real thing right here.”
She traces a hand across her breast, as if the offer isn’t crystal clear.
I see his gasp more than hear it. It warms me, easing the doubt and insecurity that riddles me at the thought of what is about to happen. For all his swagger and confidence, Ashton is just as uncertain as I am.
Unlike me, who continues to swoon in my hiding place, Ashton recovers quickly. He sets the camera down and slides onto the bench beside Kylie as she rises to a sitting position.
They move together like the lovers they once were. She puts her hands around his neck, biting her lower lip as she pretends to be uncertain. I’m right there with her, even as she turns her head to accept this other man’s kiss. Her eyes close and the shyness falls away, replaced by hungry acceptance.
Best Hotwife Erotica Vol.3: Caught! Page 8
