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Day 10: "Taboo: The First Photograph," Original
Title: Taboo: The First Photograph
Self-Lover: Nick "Nicole" Bronwyn (OFC)
Fandom: Original
Words: 1238
Date: May 10
Note: This is the first in what I hope to be a series of stories during the month. I don't know how many entries there will be, but there will be at least two or three more, I promise. :) Nick first appeared in my original short story, Baked Goods, which is available on my website. She also appears in the story "In Every Port" which is... somewhere. Don't worry, I'll find it... :D
Summary: Nick discovers an idea for a new coffee table book.
The horizon was a hazy swirl of brown and black, a maelstrom of wind and sand, and it was coming right toward Nick Bronwyn.
She stood on the edge of a dune, her boots buried ankle deep in the sand, and squinted through the viewfinder of her camera. She snapped the picture and wound the film with her thumb, muscle memory giving her the ability to do it all without a second thought. She knew how many people were making the switch to digital. Even professional photographers were making the technological leap. But there was no magic or finesse to the digital doodads. Take a picture, crop it, change colors, erase this, cut that, and print it at the store. Where was the art? Where was the talent in that? Any rube with a hundred bucks and opposable thumbs could do that.
She looked down to see how many exposures she had left, and the wind tossed her hair into her face. She tossed her head and unhooked a few loose strands that were caught in her black sunglasses. Her baggy brown T-shirt was plastered against her stomach, making her feel like she was wearing a cape. Super Photog, that's me, she thought. If she really had super powers, she would use them to get the hell out of this sand pit as soon as possible.
Instead, she turned and waded through the thick sand, head bowed against the sand kicked up by the storm, and pushed through the flap of the tent she shared with her local guide, Samira. She closed the flap and said, "Are there hatches we can batten down? That's a thing, right?" She turned and realized she had chosen an inopportune time to seek shelter.
Samira was lying on her cot, her knees bent and her white dress pulled down to expose her dark thighs. Her blouse was still buttoned, but Nick could see wrinkles where she had gripped her breast through the material. Samira opened her eyes and turned her head toward Nick, but made no move to stop.
"Oh. Uh..." Nick knew she should offer to leave, but where would she go? "I should..."
"You don't have to leave," Samira said. "Please, stay."
Nick raised an eyebrow. "Samira, you're..."
"Doing something I am sure you do from time to time." She smiled, her teeth blinding white against her dark skin and from the fact the sunlight was rapidly being leeched from the inside of their tent. The storm was going to be upon them soon. Nick said, "I should..."
"Go out into the storm? Please, Nicole."
Nick felt a tug. She hated being called Nicole, but something in Samira's voice made it okay. She walked to her own cot and sat down, forced to face Samira's bed. Samira smiled, closed her eyes and settled against the blankets again. Nick cleared her throat and tried to find something else to focus on. "It's not, uh... distracting with me here?"
"Oh, of course not," Samira said. Her voice was quieter now. "In fact, it's helping."
Nick grinned and leaned back on one elbow. "Oh, yeah? You like it when people watch?" God, what am I saying? I should apologize before she thinks...
"Yes, very much," Samira said.
Nick swallowed hard. She was still holding her camera in one hand. She licked her lips and said, "Samira, may I...?"
Samira opened her eyes and looked at Nick, focusing on the camera. She smiled again and said, "I would like that very much, Nicole."
Nick brought the camera up and held it with one hand, watching Samira through the viewfinder. Her lips were dry, her heart pounding. She snapped a photograph, the flash filling the tent like lightning, and then she rearranged herself on the cot. She was leaning at an akward angle, but she moved her hand to her own crotch and rubbed it through her trousers. She held the camera on Samira, advancing the film with quick strokes from the pad of her thumb, watching as Samira's breath grew shorter. She arched her back, the material of her blouse stretching across her breasts.
Nick could see Samira's nipples against the fabric and unzipped her trousers, sliding her hand inside. Another photograph, the flash again freezing everything in the tent for the blink of an eye. Nick circled her clit with one finger, then two, lifting her hips to get a better position.
"Nicole," Samira gasped.
Nick snapped another picture, and then stood up. She undid her pants and let them fall, dropping to her knees next to Samira's cot. She captured Samira's lips in a passionate kiss, one hand still holding the camera while the other moved between her legs. She pulled back, breathing heavily, and looked down at the muscles in Samira's arm as she masturbated. She kissed Samira's cheek and whispered, "Let me know when you're about to come."
"I'm close, Nick."
Nick kept one hand between her legs and brought her camera up. She slipped two fingers inside of herself, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering, and snapped a picture just as Samira came.
Nick dumped the camera on her cot, stood up so she could kick her pants the rest of the way off, and dropped down onto Samira. They kissed passionately, and Nick took Samira's fingers into her mouth. She snaked her tongue around the digits, tasting Samira, moaning when she thought of what those fingers had just been doing. She whimpered as Samira's other hand cupped her between her legs.
"This storm could last hours," Samira said.
"You have no idea," Nick said, kissing the palm of Samira's hand before bowing for another kiss.
#
After the storm, during the night, Nick slipped free of Samira's arms and picked up her camera. She thought about just throwing away Samira's photograph, an act that would have been much easier on a digital camera. Just press one button and it was gone. Having it on film, being forced to consider it in a darkroom, made her doubt whether she would have the moral fortitude to destroy something. When she was back in Chicago, when Samira was a few weeks in her past, would she have the guts to delete such a beautiful moment?
"You should use it."
Nick turned and saw Samira watching her. She was sitting up in bed, nipples black against caramel skin. "I shouldn't... it was a private... thing."
"It's a beautiful thing. It shouldn't be so taboo. You can show that it's beautiful. I would be honored to be a part of that."
Nick looked down at the camera and raised an eyebrow. A book of photographs devoted to masturbation? She could hear the protests now. Still... it was an interesting idea. She put the camera back down on the cot and returned to Samira's embrace. She would make a decision on the book in the morning.
The First Photograph:
The room is too dark to see many details; just a shaft of light along one corner of the frame. A woman with dark skin sits on a cot in a web of tangled sheets, her clothing in disarray, her nipples prominent against a white blouse as she arches her back. Her dress is pulled up around her thighs, her hand invisible in the shadows beneath. Her shoulders are back, her head thrown back to expose her throat as she brings herself to orgasm.
Self-Lover: Nick "Nicole" Bronwyn (OFC)
Fandom: Original
Words: 1238
Date: May 10
Note: This is the first in what I hope to be a series of stories during the month. I don't know how many entries there will be, but there will be at least two or three more, I promise. :) Nick first appeared in my original short story, Baked Goods, which is available on my website. She also appears in the story "In Every Port" which is... somewhere. Don't worry, I'll find it... :D
Summary: Nick discovers an idea for a new coffee table book.
The horizon was a hazy swirl of brown and black, a maelstrom of wind and sand, and it was coming right toward Nick Bronwyn.
She stood on the edge of a dune, her boots buried ankle deep in the sand, and squinted through the viewfinder of her camera. She snapped the picture and wound the film with her thumb, muscle memory giving her the ability to do it all without a second thought. She knew how many people were making the switch to digital. Even professional photographers were making the technological leap. But there was no magic or finesse to the digital doodads. Take a picture, crop it, change colors, erase this, cut that, and print it at the store. Where was the art? Where was the talent in that? Any rube with a hundred bucks and opposable thumbs could do that.
She looked down to see how many exposures she had left, and the wind tossed her hair into her face. She tossed her head and unhooked a few loose strands that were caught in her black sunglasses. Her baggy brown T-shirt was plastered against her stomach, making her feel like she was wearing a cape. Super Photog, that's me, she thought. If she really had super powers, she would use them to get the hell out of this sand pit as soon as possible.
Instead, she turned and waded through the thick sand, head bowed against the sand kicked up by the storm, and pushed through the flap of the tent she shared with her local guide, Samira. She closed the flap and said, "Are there hatches we can batten down? That's a thing, right?" She turned and realized she had chosen an inopportune time to seek shelter.
Samira was lying on her cot, her knees bent and her white dress pulled down to expose her dark thighs. Her blouse was still buttoned, but Nick could see wrinkles where she had gripped her breast through the material. Samira opened her eyes and turned her head toward Nick, but made no move to stop.
"Oh. Uh..." Nick knew she should offer to leave, but where would she go? "I should..."
"You don't have to leave," Samira said. "Please, stay."
Nick raised an eyebrow. "Samira, you're..."
"Doing something I am sure you do from time to time." She smiled, her teeth blinding white against her dark skin and from the fact the sunlight was rapidly being leeched from the inside of their tent. The storm was going to be upon them soon. Nick said, "I should..."
"Go out into the storm? Please, Nicole."
Nick felt a tug. She hated being called Nicole, but something in Samira's voice made it okay. She walked to her own cot and sat down, forced to face Samira's bed. Samira smiled, closed her eyes and settled against the blankets again. Nick cleared her throat and tried to find something else to focus on. "It's not, uh... distracting with me here?"
"Oh, of course not," Samira said. Her voice was quieter now. "In fact, it's helping."
Nick grinned and leaned back on one elbow. "Oh, yeah? You like it when people watch?" God, what am I saying? I should apologize before she thinks...
"Yes, very much," Samira said.
Nick swallowed hard. She was still holding her camera in one hand. She licked her lips and said, "Samira, may I...?"
Samira opened her eyes and looked at Nick, focusing on the camera. She smiled again and said, "I would like that very much, Nicole."
Nick brought the camera up and held it with one hand, watching Samira through the viewfinder. Her lips were dry, her heart pounding. She snapped a photograph, the flash filling the tent like lightning, and then she rearranged herself on the cot. She was leaning at an akward angle, but she moved her hand to her own crotch and rubbed it through her trousers. She held the camera on Samira, advancing the film with quick strokes from the pad of her thumb, watching as Samira's breath grew shorter. She arched her back, the material of her blouse stretching across her breasts.
Nick could see Samira's nipples against the fabric and unzipped her trousers, sliding her hand inside. Another photograph, the flash again freezing everything in the tent for the blink of an eye. Nick circled her clit with one finger, then two, lifting her hips to get a better position.
"Nicole," Samira gasped.
Nick snapped another picture, and then stood up. She undid her pants and let them fall, dropping to her knees next to Samira's cot. She captured Samira's lips in a passionate kiss, one hand still holding the camera while the other moved between her legs. She pulled back, breathing heavily, and looked down at the muscles in Samira's arm as she masturbated. She kissed Samira's cheek and whispered, "Let me know when you're about to come."
"I'm close, Nick."
Nick kept one hand between her legs and brought her camera up. She slipped two fingers inside of herself, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering, and snapped a picture just as Samira came.
Nick dumped the camera on her cot, stood up so she could kick her pants the rest of the way off, and dropped down onto Samira. They kissed passionately, and Nick took Samira's fingers into her mouth. She snaked her tongue around the digits, tasting Samira, moaning when she thought of what those fingers had just been doing. She whimpered as Samira's other hand cupped her between her legs.
"This storm could last hours," Samira said.
"You have no idea," Nick said, kissing the palm of Samira's hand before bowing for another kiss.
#
After the storm, during the night, Nick slipped free of Samira's arms and picked up her camera. She thought about just throwing away Samira's photograph, an act that would have been much easier on a digital camera. Just press one button and it was gone. Having it on film, being forced to consider it in a darkroom, made her doubt whether she would have the moral fortitude to destroy something. When she was back in Chicago, when Samira was a few weeks in her past, would she have the guts to delete such a beautiful moment?
"You should use it."
Nick turned and saw Samira watching her. She was sitting up in bed, nipples black against caramel skin. "I shouldn't... it was a private... thing."
"It's a beautiful thing. It shouldn't be so taboo. You can show that it's beautiful. I would be honored to be a part of that."
Nick looked down at the camera and raised an eyebrow. A book of photographs devoted to masturbation? She could hear the protests now. Still... it was an interesting idea. She put the camera back down on the cot and returned to Samira's embrace. She would make a decision on the book in the morning.
The First Photograph:
The room is too dark to see many details; just a shaft of light along one corner of the frame. A woman with dark skin sits on a cot in a web of tangled sheets, her clothing in disarray, her nipples prominent against a white blouse as she arches her back. Her dress is pulled up around her thighs, her hand invisible in the shadows beneath. Her shoulders are back, her head thrown back to expose her throat as she brings herself to orgasm.