Mareen

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This is the third story in the series that started with the story “Cassie” (https://www..com/s/cassie-12, 9/21/2024) and continued with the story “Sage” (https://www..com/s/sage-3, 9/27/2024). Those stories detailed James’ pursuit of his obsessions with both photography and women’s bodies that included his sister, the local bar maid and his mother. Mareen is a married neighbor drafted by his sister to be James’ next “model.”

I woke early the next morning, the memory of the previous day deliciously in my mind. In spite of the intense activity, I felt quite good. Until I moved. Several muscles that I rarely used had been abused and they were complaining.

I stretched as best I could while in bed and then hobbled to my bathroom because I had to pee more than I hurt. I turned on the shower and stretched more as I waited. Curious, I slowly opened the bathroom leading to my sister’s bedroom. She was sleeping on her side facing me with a sheet draped over her waist and covering nothing important. Her breasts were magnificent as usual and her pussy shined from the obvious dampness surrounding it. My erection reminded me of our time together yesterday.

I closed the door and stepped into the overly hot shower. I moderated the temperature slightly and reveled in the heat on my tired muscles. Refreshed by the steaming shower, I brushed my teeth, combed my hair and headed back into my bedroom to dress in my usual shorts and t-shirt.

It was barely seven in the morning but mom and dad were already in the kitchen dressed for work. Mom was glowing after twenty-four hours with me, Cassie, dad and Cassie again. Dad was alert and confident after an unexpected sexual romp with his wife the evening before.

Dad left for work first. Mom and I sat across from each other at the kitchen table. “How do you feel this morning?” mom asked.

“Better after a hot shower,” I revealed.

Mom smiled knowingly. “Busy day today?”

“Nothing planned,” I admitted. “I’ll probably collage some pictures, read and watch sports on the television,” I related.

“Porno?” asked mom.

“No need,” I said with a knowing smile.

“Will Cassie be home?” she asked.

“I have no idea. She hasn’t shared her social calendar with me,” I smiled hopefully.

Mom’s smile matched mine. Better than anyone else, she knew why watching pornography was no longer a part of my day and why Cassie might. She stood up, prepared to leave for work. She leaned over me and kissed me. Not a simple peck on the cheek. A lover’s kiss. She grabbed my cock through my shorts. I pushed my hand up under her skirt and rubbed the gusset of her panties. “Naughty boy,” she said. “Tomorrow I may forget to wear panties.”

Cassie showed up wearing a terry robe about fifteen minutes after mom left. “Morning, James. Reloaded?” she wisecracked.

She was referring to my begging off when she showed up in my bedroom last night by suggesting that I was “out of bullets.” It was true but it cost me a threesome with her and mom. “Feeling good,” I told her.

“Horny?” she asked hopefully.

“Maybe after breakfast,” I said. “What’s your plan?”

“After breakfast, I want to spend some time talking to Mareen.”

Mareen is a neighbor. She’s black, married and a mother. Cassie thinks she’d be an excellent addition to my project to compare women’s genitalia with flowers and she’s been discussing the possibility of her “modeling” for me. “Interesting,” I commented. “Any progress?”

“It’s time to share some of my pictures with her,” Cassie revealed.

“Be careful. You don’t want to frighten her,” I offered.

“Only the ones from our first session with my clothes on and maybe one of the best nudes that aren’t overly revealing,” Cassie related.

“The one with your skirt flaring high in front of you?” I asked.

“Absolutely. That one will encourage or end the conversation.”

“Well, good luck,” I cheered her on. “I’m pulling for you.”

“I’ll bet since you’re the one who benefits the most,” she laughed.” She paused for a moment. “Is breakfast over?”

“Anxious?”

“You know how much I want you inside me. It’s the best way I know to start and end each day,” Cassie confessed.

I finished my coffee, sipping slowly. Then I cleaned up the dishes on the table and put them in the dishwasher. Finally, I wiped the kitchen table. Cassie was wiggling in her seat as I worked.

I sat down again. Cassie jumped in my lap facing me. “Fuck you,” she exclaimed as she ground her naked sex against my groin. She struggled to pull my shorts down underneath me. I helped her and my shorts ended up on the floor around my feet. She wiggled around until my erection found a home inside her.

“Ahhh,” hissed Cassie.

I pushed up inside her. “Cassie,” I whispered. “Why this way? We have comfortable beds where we can fuck with abandon in as many positions as we can, for as long as we can.”

“James, I just want to feel you inside me, wherever we can even for just a few seconds at a time,” Cassie explained.

“Tell me more,” gemlik escort I requested.

“James, this, connected like this, is what I want whenever were together. If we meet in the hallway and we might hug or kiss, I’d rather we fucked, even for only ten or twenty seconds. If we have a minute in the bathroom or the kitchen, I want to feel you inside me. I don’t want to miss any opportunity to experience the wonder of you inside me. We don’t have to have orgasms, and, if we have the time and the opportunity I want to climb in a bed together and fuck until our orgasms make the lights go out.”

“Sounds like a free use agreement,” I suggested.

“Call it whatever you want,” Cassie concluded. “If you end up inside me, then I’m all for it.”

Cassie ground around on me until I couldn’t take any more. I came inside her for the first time that day. Then we moved to her bedroom and we did it again until she had an orgasm.

I lay in her bed listening to her shower in the adjacent bathroom and watched her dress. She wore a full set of underwear, bra and bikini panties, a white Oxford shirt and a short, flared skirt. She completed her outfit with black flats on her feet.

“Heading for Mareen’s?” I asked.

“Wish me luck,” she suggested and bent to kiss me. I put my hand under her skirt. “Great idea,” she said. “But this isn’t one of those times.”

I showered, put on my shorts and t-shirt and went into the basement to sort out my collection of pictures of Cassie, Sage and mom.

Cassie returned about ninety minutes later. She found me in the basement. “How did it go?” I asked as I watched her remove her panties.

“Extremely well,” she commented as she pulled off my shorts and sat on my lap. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Did you show her the pictures?” I asked as she wiggled on my lap for position and my cock grew to meet her.

“She was stunned by the photos. She couldn’t get over the way the camera revealed my joy in being free, especially the one with my skirt flaring and my panties on display,” she told me as she found her favorite position while sitting on my lap. “She couldn’t get over the look of joy on my face.”

“Then she understood the deeper meaning of the photo?” I asked.

“She did” confirmed Cassie as she happily ground down on my cock.

“So, when should I go talk to her?” I asked.

“As soon as you can after I’m finished with you,” a smiling Cassie said.

I showered again and dressed in a nice shirt, trousers and moccasins. On the way out the door, Cassie wished me luck. “Keep it warm for me,” I told her.

I rang Mareen’s doorbell. She answered the door dressed in a fashionable blouse and a calf length full skirt. It was obvious she was wearing a bra and probably panties as well. Her hair was up, her makeup light and her feet barely encased in sandals. Her black skin shone in the sunlight coming through the door.

“James,” she said, the timber of her voice clear as a dinner bell. “Come in. I’ve been expecting you.”

She led me into her living room. I sat on the sofa. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

“Only water, thanks,” I responded.

Mareen returned a moment later with two glasses of water. She put a coaster on the table in front of me and set one glass on it. The other glass ended up on another coaster on a small table next to the chair opposite me that she sat in.

“Cassie told me something about your photography skills and showed me some of the photos you’ve taken of her,” Mareen opened the conversation. “Needless to say, I was impressed.”

“Cassie told me you wanted to know more,” I responded.

“I do,” she said. “In the photos Cassie showed me, she was obviously enjoying herself. I envy the joy she was experiencing. Do you think you could do the same for me?”

“The camera doesn’t lie,” I said. “If you can open yourself completely and expose your real self, not the person you are every day, then the camera will capture it.”

“In one photo, Cassie’s dress was high in front of her and her panties were on display. Not only did she seem comfortable with it, she seemed even joyful,” Mareen described. “I can’t imagine that I could be that casual with my panties on review.”

“Cassie revealed her real self in that photo. It had nothing to do with her panties on display. It was all about her joy at being alive in that moment,” I further explained.

“Amazing,” Mareen said.

“She showed you the nude photo?” I asked.

“She did and it was nothing like I would have thought it would be,” Mareen. “More like art.”

“Mareen, there was another photo between the panties photo and the nude photo that set the stage for a series of nude photos that Cassie is quite proud of,” I told her.

“Another photo?”

“It is identical to the panties photo with one significant difference,” I revealed.

Mareen seemed to consider my statement for a moment. “She wasn’t wearing panties,” she guessed.

“Mareen, it was art,” I explained. “For Cassie, altıparmak escort it was a transition photo that made the subsequent photos a joyful experience. I see a woman’s body as art and I use the camera to capture that art. Some people don’t see nudes, the see naked women. That’s not me and I don’t want it to be my models either. They’re live art. They have to feel as if they’re live art and my camera captures the moment so it’s not lost forever.”

“I’ve always felt that way but I’ve never met anyone who I believed. Carrie tells me you’re different. She also told me that the photography can be very erotic at times and it’s possible to get caught up in the moment,” Mareen said.

“Did she explain what she meant by that?” I asked.

“Not really, but I assume she meant it sometimes leads to sex,” Mareen explained.

“You’re not wrong,” I confirmed. “Sex is sometimes the result of one of my photography sessions but it’s not the same as the sex you’re probably familiar with. Sex can be an art form. The freedom the photo sessions encourage can have an effect on other freedoms and sex is one of them.”

“Then, you admit that sometimes you have sex with your models?” Mareen asked.

I won’t deny it,” I confessed. But I never initiate sex. That’s not my intention when we start the photo session. There have been times when the models are striving to be their absolute best and they feel that sex is the way they’ll get there. I’m the only guy in the room, so, they turn to me and I usually accommodate them. Afterward, there’s generally a mutual feeling of accomplishing something important.”

“If you were to photograph me, do you think we’d have sex?” she asked.

“Only you can answer that question,” I told her. “And the answer won’t be possible until you’re actually involved in a photography session.”

“So, I have to get naked before I can understand why I got naked,” she summarized.

“It’s not quite like that,” I argued. “Can you tell me if you’ve ever considered getting naked for the camera?”

Mareen blushed. “I have,” she confessed.

“And did you think having your picture taken while naked would lead to sex?”

Mareen’s blush deepened. “With Clayton it does.”

I laughed. “Sorry,” I apologized. “Having sex with your husband is nothing like what I’m describing. Sex as part of a nude photo session is more like using blue pigment for the sky in an oil painting or red pigment for a rose.”

“You make it sound like an out of body experience,” Mareen mused.

“That’s one way to describe it,” I agreed. “The woman in front of the camera isn’t the same person who walked through the door and the man behind the camera isn’t the same person who greeted her.”

Mareen was in deep thought.

“So, what do you think?” I asked.

“Honestly, I’m tempted,” she whispered.

“Mareen, could you stand up for me?” I asked.

She looked confused but she stood up.

“Turn around slowly, please,” I requested.

She turned around slowly. I watched the tension in her body relax as she turned. “You’re checking me out,” she stated.

“I’m looking at a canvas,” I replied.

“So, what do you think?”

“I think I’d like to paint you with my camera,” I told her.

She nodded almost imperceptibly. “Let me think about it.”

Back home, Cassie asked, “Well, will she pose for you?”

“She’ll call,” I told her.

Mareen didn’t call. She rang the doorbell the next morning. Cassie answered the door. “Hey, Mareen. Can I help you?”

“Can I come in? I was hoping I could follow up with James,” Mareen said.

“Have a seat,” Cassie said. “I’ll get James.”

Cassie called down into the basement. “Mareen’s here to talk to you.”

I came upstairs and met Mareen in the living room. I brought my camera. She was sitting on the sofa and stood up to greet me, a very respectful handshake. She was wearing a starched white button-down shirt and a skirt that flared from her waist. Her long hair was loose around her head. The expression on her face was somewhere between hope and apprehension. She looked at Cassie. I took a picture while she was distracted. Cassie sensed the nervousness in the room and excused herself.

I began to sit in a chair opposite her. She patted the sofa next to her. “You can sit here, … please.”

I sat next to her. “Can I assume why you’re here?” I asked.

“James,” she began. “I woke up this morning having made up my mind. I dressed myself determined to spend the day with you and your camera. I felt good about my decision. Then as I walked down the block toward your house, I began to have doubts. Every step became more difficult than the previous step. Thoughts about how my family, my friends and especially Clayton might react when they found out invaded my head. Before I could turn around, I was standing on your porch. I rang the doorbell in defiance of the thoughts in my head.”

I put my hand on top of hers on her thigh. The first time we had physically touched each osmangazi escort other. “Mareen, I understand your conflict. It’s not an uncommon condition when modeling for the first time. If it helps, I have two more thoughts for you. First, the pictures will tell a story to your family, friends and husband and, second, you’re in control of the pictures. They’ll see only what you want them to see.”

Mareen took a deep breath. She pulled her hand from under my hand and placed it on top of mine, leaving my hand on her thigh. “Am I dressed appropriately?” she asked.

“Stand up and let me see,” I suggested.

Mareen stood in front of me. I used my fingers to indicate she should turn around. She spun around rapidly, her skirt flaring high in front of her. I couldn’t tell if she was wearing black panties or none at all. You’re dressed perfectly,” I told her.

“Where do we take the pictures?” she asked.

I led her downstairs and showed her my studio. I don’t know what she expected but she took a few minutes to look around and inspect the environment. “It’s not very fancy,” she commented.

“It doesn’t have to be,” I said. “I’m going to photograph you, not the studio.” I’d used the line before. It worked then and it seemed to work now.

“Okay. What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“You’re already doing it,” I told her. “Just keep walking around. Look at everything, touch whatever interests you, until you feel completely comfortable while I set up the lights and get my camera.”

I watched her as I set up the lights. I took my time. I didn’t want to rush her in any way. I made unnecessary adjustments just to kill time. She looked at everything, even behind the curtain that allowed privacy for models to change outfits. She briefly sat on the chair and sofa. She lay back on the Roman style lounger with one foot on the floor for a moment and closed her eyes.

I got my camera and took two photos.

“Did you just take my picture?” Mareen asked.

“I did,” I admitted.

“I wasn’t ready,” she insisted.

“I don’t want you ready,” I told her. “I want you natural. The pictures have to be spontaneous, the real you. The you even you didn’t know you were. If you pose, or even look at the camera, the photos won’t be real.”

“Okay,” Mareen said. She continued to examine the items on the set.

“Mareen,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Try not to think,” I suggested. “Let the feelings in and set them free. Mark Twain said it better than me. ‘Dance like no one is watching. Sing like no one is listening.'”

I watched her slowly unwind. I knew she was moving in the right direction when she waved her arms in the air. I took several photos.

“Oh, I can feel the air on my arms,” she said as if she was alone in the room.

She waved her arms again. She shook her head until her hair fell into her face. She turned her head quickly to clear her hair. “Oh,” she repeated.

She began to dance in small steps, gradually increasing in tempo. When she spun around, I was ready. My camera clicked repeatedly. She spun rapidly her eyes closed, her skirt rising high. I took more pictures.

“Mareen,” I said.

“She slowed her spin. “Yes.”

“Do you want to see the pictures?”

“You’ve been taking pictures?” she asked.

“I have.”

“Then I want to see them,” she said.

We sat at the desk while I downloaded the pictures to my computer. I brought up the second picture and began to move through them slowly. She stopped me at one picture of her lying on the lounger. “Is that me?” asked.

“It is,” I told her.

“I seem so casual, so uncaring,” she said.

“Explain,” I suggested.

“I don’t lay like that, ever. I’m so exposed. You can see under my skirt almost up to my thighs. That’s not me,” she insisted.

“That’s the real you,” I said. “The you that you never let escape every day.”

“The real me?” she asked.

“Yes. Let’s keep moving.”

I paused at a photo where she was looking at her arms. “That’s when I felt the air on my arms. Somehow, it got my attention as if I’d never actually felt the air before,” Mareen commented.

“You hadn’t,” I agreed. “Not like that.”

I paused again at the picture where she started to spin. “I don’t remember dancing like that.”

“That’s because you’ve never danced like that before,” I told her.

I moved the pictures slowly until I had the picture with her facing me and her skirt flared waist high. “Oh,” Mareen said with her hand in front of her face. “You can see everything.”

“You’re not wearing panties,” I mentioned.

“I thought that was what you wanted,” she defended her lack of underwear.

“Really?” I stated. “I think it was what you wanted.”

“Really?”

“I think that when you woke up this morning, this photo was exactly where you wanted to be and you prepared for it unconsciously. Everything since, every hesitation, every thought, has been nothing but drama, constructed to support the guilt you felt by wanting to expose yourself.”

“Fuck,” Mareen said. “Sorry,” she apologized immediately. “I never talk like that.”

“Sometimes discovering the freedom of who you are expands into other areas, like vocabulary. Don’t apologize. Speak freely. Tell me exactly what you feel, what you want and when you want it. I want to show you one more picture.”

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