Satin Silk Saree 42

Suddenly I was stepping out of my last item of clothing. Too bloody late. I was completely naked now. Another glance in the mirror. He was still behind the bush, his eyes transfixed on me. I was the star of the show. I turned him on all by myself. I was a woman. I’d got all the bits. I walked towards the window. Look at this. Bet you’d like to fuck this, wouldn’t you, my brain wanted to say. But, still having a little sense, I made sure I was looking into my garden, so as not to let him thing he’d been caught. No, sir, this was going to happen again and again. I stretched up and closed the curtains.I got on the bed and, legs apart, I set about inspecting my pussy. God, I was so wet. Before I knew it, my fingers were in, splashing away. My other hand was on my tits, each one in turn, tweaking my nipples. I don’t know why, but I rolled over. It must have been pure instinct. Both hands now between my legs. Lifting my lower half up on my knees, fingering myself stupid, moving my upper. They were double prints of two rolls I’d shot on the trip. Two color rolls. There were no black-and-white pictures anywhere in the entire order. I flipped through them for the thirty-ninth time, but it was clear that the illicit sets were not here. At the end of one series, there were four photos of Heather sitting on the rocks by the Montauk lighthouse, still clad in her bikini. Those were the ones I’d taken right before changing to the black-and-white film. Right before she’d peeled her top off.Had they been mixed in with the cooking shots? No. I’d flipped through them carefully. There was no way I missed forty-eight black-and-whites. They either hadn’t been developed, or... Murph is keeping them! The man looked like a pervert. Would he turn them in, or retain them for himself? How many nude photographs had the man had collected over the years? No one would question him; they’d be stupid to do so. I wondered how long my anxiety would last, knowing that Murph was sitting on.
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