Written to the prompt of the subtitle below – 345 words.
Flannel, Farms, and Photographs
“Let me make sure I got this right. You want me to meet you on the edge of the farm, near the barn, at midnight, so you can take some naked photographs of me by moonlight. Is that right?”
“In a nutshell. And don’t be late.” Jet kissed my hand and left me sitting in the pub nursing the rest on my lager.
I’d only known him for a few weeks and liked what I saw. He was a photographer, adventurous, hot and available. To say I wanted to get in his boxes was an understatement. I wanted him in me. Filling my cunt and gripping my throat. But for the moment it seemed like I’d have to make do with some fun under the light of the moon. And who knew where that may lead?
My family owned the farm on the edge of the village. Everyone was in bed by ten. Which meant it was easy to nip out at the stroke of midnight in my flannel PJs and wellie boots. Jet was waiting, all smiles and tripod.
I quickly disposed of my nightwear, thankful it was a warm night, and posed against the grubby steel outside the barn and then inside, laying on the scratchy hay.
Jet busily snapped away with his camera until I decided to add a bit of fun to the proceedings. I opened my legs slightly. Sure that the moonlight, peeping through the open barn door, would highlight my shaved mons and slit, which I could tell would be glistening with the product of my arousal at the thought of Jet being able to see the most intimate part of me.
“Oh, perfect.” he murmured, putting his camera down.
Within moments, he was naked, his cock proudly leading the way as without any messing he knelt astride and greedily took what I was offering. Hand around my neck as he pounded me into the bale beneath us.
That was last week. Tomorrow we are meeting for some nude photos in the graveyard – yeah you got it, at midnight, the bewitching hour. Can’t wait.
Check out a naughty story of mine about a taboo kink here…
Header Image by Ralf Seemann from Pixabay
