Celine was a little nervous about having spent so much on her new dress. “I don’t mind—it looks great on you,” I told her.

“You’re always so sweet,” she said, kissing me lightly.

I took advantage of her good mood to get her to agree to sit for a photoshoot.

“By sit you mean...?” she asked.

“I guess we could start out in that chair,” I said.

“No sooner had she sat down than her cat jumped into her lap.”

“You’d better behave yourself, Puss,” she said, stroking the purring cat. “You’d better not shed on my new dress.”

“Maybe you should take the dress off, just in case,” I suggested.

I couldn’t have been more surprised when Celine stood up and slipped out of her new dress. For a moment the garment lay puddled at her feet, and then she kicked it across the floor. Standing at Celine’s feet, her cat looked perplexed. “Oh, Puss, did you lose your comfy lap?” Celine asked. Sitting back down in the chair, she asked, “So how should I pose?”

The cat was rubbing against her ankle. “Ha!” Celine snorted. “You’re more interested in my Puss than in me.” She lifted her leg and perched her heel on the seat of the chair, for an instant allowing me a clear view of her sex. Then her hand got in the way.

Celine left her hand blocking my camera’s view of her sex and grinned at me. “See?” she said.

“No, that’s great,” I said to Celine of her provocative pose, “but, um, could you move your hand just a touch?”

“Just a touch?” Celine repeated. “Like this?” And just like that two fingers disappeared completely into her sex.

For the next dozen minutes or more, I watched Celine masturbate. Again and again she’d bring herself to the edge of orgasm only to back away. Then, with soft gasp and a hard shudder, she came. Once begun, the climax continued for some time, and when Celine finally withdrew her glistening fingers from her slippery cunt, fresh contractions expulsed a surge of sex juice.

She sighed. “Satisfied?” she asked.

When I didn’t answer right away, she said, “Aw, honey, come here and let’s see if we can fix that.”

Sadly, there is no photograph of what happened next, for there was no one to take the picture. The cat, curled up on Celine’s discarded dress, was fast asleep.