Modelling for Camera Club When First Married
Copyright© 2026 by AnnaTartyWife
Chapter 2
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 2 - How I had fun modelling for a camera club when I was married and in my 20s.
Caution: This True Story Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual True Story Cheating Slut Wife Rough Spanking Gang Bang Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism Facial Fisting Lactation Oral Sex Petting Sex Toys Squirting Tit-Fucking Water Sports
The flashbulbs popped like fireworks as I struck the final pose in my Bavarian barmaid outfit, the low-cut bodice straining against my full breasts, the short skirt riding up to tease the edge of my thighs.
The five guys from the camera club—eager amateurs with lenses pointed like hungry predators—groaned their approval, their voices thick with lust. ‘God, you’re a fucking vision,’ Graham muttered, adjusting his tripod.
But the session wasn’t over. Mark, the tall one with the perpetual smirk and the bulge already straining his jeans, caught my eye. ‘Time to switch it up, you sexy slut. Go get changed. We want to see you in that slutty secretary look—make it filthy. And take your sweet time coming back out; build the suspense.’
I sauntered to the changing screen in the corner of the dimly lit room, my heart pounding with anticipation.
Stripping off the barmaid getup, I slid into the new ensemble piece by piece, lingering on each sensation to heighten my own arousal.
First, the sheer black seamed pantyhose, rolling them up my legs slowly until they hugged my skin like a second layer, the see-through fabric whispering against my bare pussy—no knickers to hide the growing wetness between my thighs. I traced my fingers along the seams, imagining their eyes on me later.
The grey striped mini skirt came next, so short and split high on both sides that every step threatened to flash everything; I twirled in front of the mirror, practising how I’d sway my hips to make it ride up just right. I fastened the white blouse over my push-up bra, the buttons straining to contain my swollen tits, already heavy with milk, and left the top two undone for an extra peek. Slipping my feet into the high black heels, I twisted the delicate anklet around my left heel, the cool metal a naughty accent that jingled with promise. A quick glance in the mirror: I looked like every boss’s wet dream, ready to be bent over the desk and used.
I paused behind the screen, hearing their impatient murmurs—’Where’s she at? I need to see that gorgeous fucking arse in something tighter’—and let a sly smile creep across my lips.
Teasing them was half the fun.
Finally, I stepped out slowly, one heel clicking after the other, letting the door creak open just enough to give them a shadowed glimpse of my silhouette before revealing the full view. Emerging fully, I felt their eyes devour me.
The room went dead silent for a beat, then erupted in crude whistles and curses.
‘Fuck me, look at that skirt—it’s begging to be flipped up,’ Graham snarled, his camera already clicking away. His free hand adjusted the front of his pants, where a thick ridge was forming fast. ‘Bend over that table, you cock-teasing secretary. Show us what you’re hiding under there. And do it slow—make us beg for it.’
I obliged with deliberate slowness, leaning forward inch by inch with my ass thrust out, the split skirt parting wide to reveal the sheer pantyhose clinging to my curves.
The fabric was so thin, they could make out the outline of my utterly soaked lips, the damp patch blooming at my crotch like a slut’s confession.
I glanced over my shoulder, batting my lashes. ‘You boys like the view? Bet you’re dying to zoom in closer to see my wet fucking cunt!”’
Flashbulbs erupted as they circled me like wolves again, lenses dipping low for those upskirt shots that captured every inch of my exposed thighs and the glistening slit beneath the nylon. I shifted my weight from one heel to the other, making the anklet chime softly, drawing their gazes down to my legs.
‘Spread your legs wider, you dirty bitch,’ Mark commanded, his voice rough and commanding as he knelt for a closer angle.
His cock was tenting his jeans obscenely now, the outline of its length pressing hard against the denim. ‘Let us see that wet cunt through those hose. Yeah, just like that—fuck, you’re already dripping for us. Wiggle a little; show off how that pussy’s begging.’
I parted my thighs further, the heels clicking sharply on the floor, and hiked the skirt just enough to give them the full view they craved, then dropped it teasingly back down before lifting it again.
The cool air hit my exposed skin, making my pussy throb with need. Juices trickled down, soaking the sheer material until it clung transparently to my silky folds.
‘Like what you see, boys?’ I purred, wiggling my hips side to side, the anklet tinkling softly. ‘Bet you’d love to rip these pantyhose open and shove your cocks in me right here. My pussy’s aching for it—wanna feel how wet I am? Or should I make you wait a bit longer?’
Their responses were a barrage of filthy encouragement, voices overlapping in a haze of lust. ‘Holy shit, that juicy slit is swallowing the nylon—look at it pulsing,’ Dan growled, snapping rapid-fire shots from below, his own erection straining so hard against his zipper that he winced as he rubbed himself.
‘You’re a soaking mess, aren’t you? Tease us more, slut—grind on that table edge. Make that clit rub through the fabric, but nice and slow.’ Kevin the one with the telephoto lens, zoomed in tight on my crotch, his breathing ragged. ‘Fuck, I can see your hole clenching. Rub it for the camera—show us how bad you want dick, but don’t you dare cum yet. Build it up for us.’
James circled to my side, capturing the way my ass cheeks flexed under the skirt splits. ‘Lift that skirt higher, bitch. Let everyone see your bare pussy lips outlined like that. Goddamn, my cock’s throbbing just watching you leak—keep teasing, make it worse.’
And Mark, fumbling with his settings, muttered, ‘You’re turning us all into animals—look at these hard-ons you’re causing. Shake that ass a little more; pretend you’re filing papers or something slutty Anna.’
The teasing had me on fire; my clit swelled against the sheer nylon, and I couldn’t resist—I ground my hips forward teasingly at first, pressing my soaked crotch against the rough wooden table edge with light circles, building the friction gradually. The friction sent sparks through me, my first climax building fast.
‘You want these too boys?’ I taunted, my voice breathy as I unbuttoned the blouse slowly, one button at a time, revealing the lacy push-up bra beneath, pausing midway to let them plead.
The guys leaned in, cameras whirring, their bulges now massive and obvious—cocks rock-hard, pre-cum probably staining their underwear from the sight.
‘Oh yeah, strip those tits out,’ Mark demanded, standing now with his hand palming his erection through his jeans. ‘We know they’re full—milk ‘em for us, you lactating whore. But start gentle; drip it out slow, make us watch every drop.’
My fingers trembled as I unhooked the bra, letting it drop to the floor with a flourish. My titties spilled free, heavy and veined, nipples erect and already beading with milk. The moment they hit the air, droplets leaked from the tips, trailing down my curves in lazy rivulets.
I cupped them lightly at first, just enough to coax more beads to form, holding them up like an offering.