kagablog

Miles says he wants to take some photographs of me, erotic photographs like Richard Kern’s. “You mean porn pictures?” I’m terrified, Miles sees me naked every night when we fuck, but the thought of posing for him terrifies me.
“Well, yes, but not like that.”
“Well, like what?”
“For starters, you have nice legs.”

The next day I go to the library and look at pictures by Richard Kern. I look at a series entitled “Submit to me, submit to me now” from 1996. In the photographs Kern has asked people to act out their fantasies for him while he acts as audience and provocateur. In one, a woman stands seductively under a shower, but something about her expression belies her total availability. In another a smirking brunette is tied with thongs to a home gym. All the girls in the photographs look tough yet beautiful; self assured and mildly amused. According to the book it is Kern’s personalised treatment of his female subjects that transcends the pornographic.

I’m posed in front of the mirror wearing the white lace panties Miles bought me for my birthday. I stare at my reflection, sliding one hand down the front elastic, my other hand resting against a cocked hip. Sexy yet blasé like the girls in the Kern shoot.

Miles tells me I look great but a little stiff. “Baby, you need to relax, stop thinking about it and just, you know, let it happen. You’re worrying too much about the camera, forget about it, just do something that turns you on, act out a fantasy or something.”

In my fantasies Miles has me tied to the bed. My hands are tied with cords to my right leg, which is folded in under me. My left leg is free, bent at the knee and my eyes are blindfolded. He has a knife in his hand, I can’t see it, but I can feel the cold of the metal against my skin, the blade just nicking the surface. In my fantasies Miles pushes my face down on the bed, his left hand slapping against my raised ass while he forces his right hand up my cunt. The heel of a boot strikes. Now both heels. In my fantasies Miles throws me against the wall, biting at my neck, spitting and chewing on bruised nipples, yanks me by the hair, shoving cheeks and lips up against his glistening cock, making me suck, suck all the while, suck, pounding on my skull with both fists, suck, while he pulls at my hair and slaps my pink, teary face.

“You ready?” says Miles.
“Sure,” I say and I smile and cock my hips, because actually I’m nowhere near ready.

first published on litnet