A Photographic Memory

I love Dartmoor, I always have. I love its bleak, rugged splendour, its harshness, its bright, clear days, its loneliness, and, oh, everything about it. I'd first fallen in love with the moor when, as a young girl, I spent time there with my grandmother whilst my parents went through their break up. She had a tiny cottage beside one of the narrow little lanes that lead up onto the moor, and I thought it was wonderful.

I think she saw how much I cared for the place because, when she died, she left it to me, skipping a generation and bypassing her own children to pass it on to me, someone -- in her words -- who would cherish it and not sell it on for a sordid profit. That made me unpopular with my family, but I didn't care, I had my dream.

It suited my work too; I'm an illustrator, doing the drawings and paintings for children's books. Nothing spectacular yet, nothing as famous as Jemima Puddleduck or Flopsy Bunny, but maybe one day. That kind of independent work suits me too. One day I'll work from dawn till dusk, and then another I'll go out on the moor and relax, just soaking up its solitude. I know just where to find that peace, even in the height of summer when all the tourists stomp around in hiking boots and anoraks, pretending to be a part of my world.

It's probably just as well that I live in such an isolated spot, because then I can indulge my other little pleasure, sunbathing naked. I use the word naked rather than nude, because nudity tends to be semi respectable. No one bats an eyelid if you say you go in for nude sunbathing, but tell them that you like to lie around naked, and for some incomprehensible reason that's a different matter altogether. Naked has this connotation of mild wickedness, of lasciviousness, even perhaps some sort of gentle debauchery, and it's that implied rebelliousness that I enjoy. So I often relax on the moor naked, not nude. I just enjoy the freedom, and I know where I'm not likely to be disturbed.

I now it'll sound weird, but I like to lie with my legs open so that I can feel the heat of the sun and the cool of the breeze on my pussy. I like it too when the breeze makes my nipples harden and I can run my hands over myself and feel sexy, and yes, sometimes I'll even masturbate out there in the open air. But I can only let myself do all that because I'm confidant that being right out on the moor I have a silly kind of public privacy.

I'm not shy about my body, I'm in my twenties and about as good as I'm going to get, and that's not bad at all, though I say it myself. I'm tall for a girl, about five nine, slim, with pert but smallish breasts and a washboard stomach, a blonde mane that I'm very proud of and an all over golden tan. Yeah, I like the way I look, and why not? But that doesn't mean I want all and sundry to see me.

So you'll understand why, on one Friday nearly three years ago, I was a bit annoyed when I saw an empty car parked by the side of the lane just where I normally leave it to strike out across the moor. Somebody was on what I thought of as 'my' part of the moor, and if I stripped off it would be just my luck for them to turn up and spot me. I didn't want to risk that, and so I took a wander round first to see if I could find whoever it was and see if they were likely to disturb me. That's what I want to tell you about.

It took me a while, but eventually I remembered a bowl shaped depression among the granite rocks that was pretty much out of sight. It's a very well hidden spot and the only reason I don't use it is that it's shielded from the breeze and on a hot day can get just a bit too hot for comfort. I went to take a look and as soon as I got within twenty yards or so I knew I'd found the right place. The unmistakable sounds of sex came to me before I'd even looked over the lip of the bowl.

I don't consider myself to be a natural voyeur, but the sounds of passion were so strong that I couldn't help but creep up to the edge and peer over. There, just below me and only about twenty feet away, were a naked couple making love.

It must be said that I found it a beautiful but startling sight, the paleness of the man's rump contrasting with the dark brown of his partner's legs as he thrust in and out of her. It was the first time I'd ever seen a mixed race couple making love, in fact it was only the second time I'd ever seen any couple making love, but that's beside the point.

It was difficult to tell from my perspective, but the man appeared to be around thirty or so, tall, blond haired and muscular, while his younger partner was slim and gorgeously black. She was clearly in the throes of orgasm, clawing at his back while her feet wrapped around his waist to hold him in, and he was not far behind her, his movements jerky and uncoordinated as his climax drew near. They were both calling out, she in high pitched unintelligible tones and he repeating a gruff, gasping 'yes' as he got near.

I lay behind the lip, peering over at them, half ashamed at my behaviour but totally fascinated and not a little aroused by what I was witnessing. Part of me wished I had found them sooner so that I might have seen more, but I tried hard to put such thoughts aside, remembering how I had been anxious at the prospect of being discovered just sunbathing without clothes.

Then, as I watched, he drew back to gather himself before plunging into her with a deep roaring groan as his orgasm finally hit him. I could see him pushing into her as far as he could, ramming himself at her with each pulse of his climax, until, finally spent, he lay limply on top of her, his back rising and falling as he attempted to regain his breath. She too was used up, her legs slid from his back to lie starfish-like beside his, her arms still around him but her hands now just gently caressing his shoulders.

For a minute or two they lay like that, unspeaking and unmoving, but then she, no doubt uncomfortable under his weight, moved to wriggle free. At that point, fearing that I might be discovered, I shuffled back from the rim and then, as quietly as I could, made my way back to the path home, leaving them in unknowing peace but with the vision of what I had seen replaying itself inside my head.

I will readily admit that seeing them making love had turned me on, and I'll also admit that I couldn't get it out of my mind for the rest of the day, even to the point where I masturbated to the memory that night before I went to sleep. But then, in the cold light of the following day I just counted myself lucky to have come across them and allowed them to recede into the back of my mind.

I try, not always successfully, to discipline myself to do my work for the week before I take time out, and so Friday tends to be the day that, weather permitting, I can get out onto the moor. So it was also the Friday of the next week, the day being beautiful and my work well ahead of my deadline, that I decided to head out onto the moor once again, the intruders of the previous week having completely faded from my mind. I won't say that I had forgotten them, but thoughts of the couple were far from my thoughts as I picked up my book and set out. I was quite surprised then, as I came closer to my destination, to see that same car parked up in nearly the same spot.

I came to an abrupt and rather childish halt, with a sharp intake of breath and a hand flying to my mouth, as I realised the implications. I couldn't help it, my heart began to race and my pussy responded immediately at the thought that I might see them making love once again. Of course, I told myself, I shouldn't spy on them and that what they did was none of my concern, but all the time I was thinking my feet were taking me hastily towards the hollow in which I had found them the previous week.

I must, this time, have been early in comparison with the previous occasion, for as I reached the lip of the bowl and peeked over, they were there in the middle of the depression taking off their clothes. With a silent sigh of relief and a pounding heart I settled myself down where I could peer between two tufts of grass and waited for them to begin.

This time I was able to see them properly as they disrobed, seeing the contrast between the two skin colours as striking and beautiful. He was, as I'd thought, in his early thirties, tall, probably a little over six feet, and strikingly built, strong and toned without being over muscled. He was very blond, fairer than me, right down to his eyebrows, and I was close enough to see the sunlight shining through the sprinkling of blond hairs that covered his body in a kind of misty halo. He was gorgeous, and I almost felt jealous of the black girl who had enjoyed his body, and, I hoped, would again.

She was younger than I had thought, maybe not even quite out of her teens, as dark as he was fair, her dark brown skin smooth and gleaming in the sunlight. She was of an average height, slim but with a figure that I would die for, wide hips and stunning breasts, high and firm, large but not so that they sagged, and tipped with fabulous long black nipples. She finished undressing before he, bending to place her clothing in a neat pile beside a boulder and presenting me with a perfect view of her tight round bottom, and a little flash of pink flesh that sent my pulse racing once more.

I ought to make it clear that I'm not gay; I've never had, nor wished for, a lesbian experience in my life. The reason that the fleeting glimpse of her pussy got to me was simply that I was dying to see them making love again, and that sight was the first hint of sexual action to come, his limp penis not really counting in the it's current flaccid state.

I wasn't really sure what I expected when they'd both taken their clothes off, I suppose I expected them to find a spot, lie down, and begin fucking, but it didn't happen that way. She made her way across the dip, leaned on a boulder and turned to face him. He nodded and bent to open a large black leather box like container by his feet. For a moment I was perplexed, but then, as he rummaged inside it I understood. Sure enough, he pulled his camera from the case and lined up to take a shot.

For the next half or three quarters of an hour I lay there transfixed by what I saw before me. He took shot after shot of her in all manner of poses, some demurely innocent, but some, especially towards the end of the shoot, that were openly sexual. I must say that the artist in me appreciated the quality of his photography, for never once did he direct her to do anything crudely obscene and yet the whole session steamed hot and sexy, and that cannot have been easy to do, even with a model as beautiful as she was. I could see from my hiding place that the results would be of a high standard, his posing of her was provocative and very professional, but never cheap. She never quite touched herself, never leered at the camera, and never took up a pose that was overtly pornographic, but there was that undertone of implied arousal through the entire time and it was all exceedingly erotic. It was also very explicit, and not a square centimetre of her skin escaped his lens as she posed for him - and I watched it all with an unexpected throbbing in my pussy.

I have no idea why I was so turned on by their work, but by the time he lay down his camera I was almost wishing I had been his subject instead. He had turned skin pics into an art form. I would, I knew, need a little finger play when I got home. And I was not the only one to have been affected by his work, for the photographer himself now sported a very large and rigid erection, his long circumcised cock standing proud and as hard as a rock.

The model smiled at him, and, finding the same spot as the last time, lay herself down with her legs wide and waited for him. Just as before, my position wasn't quite right for me to be able to see her pussy, something I promised myself to change for any next time, but judging from the ease with which he slid into her, she too was turned on and ready.

Their union was short and fierce, purely a release of the sexual tension that had obviously built up during their picture session, and I wondered if they took pictures to turn themselves on, or fucked because the photography made them horny. Whichever it was it worked for me, and by the time they had finished I was unconsciously delving into my panties. God, I was so wet.

But I had no time to attend to my own needs before the couple were stirring and I had to slip away and make my way back home to avoid being discovered. You can probably guess that the first thing I did then was to undress and sink a big black vibe deep into my pussy while my fingers strummed hurriedly at my clit. I think I subconsciously chose my black vibe because of the colour contrast in the couple I'd been watching, but I don't think it would have mattered too much though, for within minutes I had given myself two massive orgasms, watching the images of the photographer and his model on the inside of my eyelids.

I had no idea, of course, if they were likely to be back, or if they would choose a different day, but I made myself a promise that I'd be on the moor the following Friday. I knew I shouldn't, but there was no way I was going to pass up any chance of watching them again, they were just too damn sexy. That week the images certainly didn't fade from my mind, in fact they fuelled several more moments of my own before Friday came around again.

Friday was a beautiful day, the weather was just right, clear and cloudless but not with the heavy heat that sometimes accompanies really sunny days, and with just a light breeze blowing across the moor. I was ready to go out long before the time I expected them to be there, and for some reason that I can't explain, I was dressed much more sexily than normal.

Usually, when I'm off sunbathing I just slip a summer dress, or jeans and tee-shirt, over bra and panties, without taking too much notice of which ones -- after all, I would only be taking them off again. But this time, I suppose in deference to the glamour of my intended targets, I deliberately wore only a tiny pair of pure white panties under shorts and a white shirt tied at the waist to expose my midriff. Don't ask me, I've no idea why, it just seemed right to make a little effort. Perhaps it's a good job that I did.

I was out on the moor early, determined not to miss a thing, always depending on them turning up again, of course, and so, when I got to where they had parked before, I had beaten them to it and the place was empty. I stood there wondering for a moment and then decided to make my way up to the hollow they used, find myself a good vantage point and wait for them to arrive, as I was certain in my own mind that they would.

That's not quite the way it turned out. I'd only just made my decision when I heard a car approaching behind along the narrow road. There was nowhere I could go, so I just stood to one side to let it go past, only to realise that it was in fact the very car I'd been looking for, complete with both people. When it pulled in and parked I was left with no option but to brazen it out, pretend I was just out walking along the lane and then let them set off before following them. I drew level with them just as the car doors swung open.

"Hello." The blond man said as he climbed from the car.

"Hello." I replied, my heart thumping as I tried to paste an innocent smile on my face.

"We're going out onto the moor." The girl explained.

"You'll enjoy it." I told her, congratulating myself on a double entendre that they wouldn't understand, then adding. "The weather's just right for it."

"Are you going up there?" The man indicated vaguely in the direction of his love nest from the week before.

"Not today." I assured him, lying through my teeth.

"Shame. I thought you enjoyed it last week."

My knees wobbled, my heart kicked me in the chest, and my tongue promptly glued itself to the roof of my mouth. I just stood and looked at him with the colour draining from my face.

"I didn't see you." He told me with a wry smile. "But Corrine here did." He nodded to the girl. "She saw you while she was posing."

"I'm... I'm... I'm sorry." I stammered when I finally had control of my tongue. "I didn't mean to spy on you..." The lie sounded false and petered out even as I said it.

"Don't worry." He smiled. "She isn't shy, and an awful lot of people will see the photographs anyway." He hadn't mentioned the sex, perhaps he thought I'd gone by then.

"Oh." I said, not sure of what else I could say.

"Have you ever done a nude shoot?" He asked me.

"Never." My face coloured up at the audacity of the question. What sort of girl did he think I was?

"Would you like to?"

I stood while a fight went on between my brain and my body. My mind was screaming 'no absolutely not', but my body was remembering the stimulation it felt watching them and was yelling 'why not' equally loudly. He could see my hesitation.

"Don't worry. They're only published the other side of the Atlantic, so nobody you know would ever see them."

In this age of the internet I didn't believe a word of it, but that wasn't the reason for my hesitancy. The battle between common sense and arousal was finally coming to a head, and common sense lost.

"All right."

I stood there in amazement, shocked to hear my own voice agreeing to let myself be photographed naked by two strangers. To this day I have absolutely no idea what tipped the scales to make me agree.

"Good girl." His face cracked in a broad smile. "You've got just the right sort of build too. Don't worry, you'll enjoy it, honestly. I'm Brett and this is Corrine."

"Lisa." I mumbled, petrified at what I let myself in for. My pussy was agreeing with his prediction, but my mind was still in shock.

"Come on then, we'll go to the same place as last Friday."

He reached into the car and hung his camera bag over his shoulder before setting off up the slope without another word, Corrine and I trailing along behind.

After the first twenty yards or so spent in silence, Corrine reached out and took my hand.

"Hey, lighten up." She giggled as she spoke, amused by my frightened face. "It'll be okay. He's a good photographer, really. And he won't ask you to do anything you're not happy with."

I nodded without speaking, vaguely wondering if she thought I'd be as happy as she was to get myself shagged.

"Is he a real photographer?" I asked her, concerned that I might have found myself a pervert masquerading with a camera.

"Oh yes." She giggled again. "He's real, and he's good. But you know he is, you saw him working with me."

I remembered then just how erotic I had found his work. "That's true enough." I admitted.

"I've worked with him for more than a year, and he's always produced fantastic results." She gave my hand a little squeeze.

"Does he usually pick up strange girls to model for him?" I asked Corrine, still a little fazed by what had happened.

"Not often." She looked at me and smiled guiltily. "I put him up to it when I saw you before. I could only see your face, but you have that sort of quality about you that a camera would love, and I just hoped you'd have a good figure."

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't live up to your expectations in that department." I told her, glancing down my rather flat frame.

"Oh, but you do." She squeezed my hand again. "You are beautiful."

Inside my head a little voice warned me that maybe this girl might prefer her own sex, and that wasn't my bag at all.

"Thank you." I forced a smile in return. "So are you." That much was very true, she truly was gorgeous.

We reached the hollow, Brett's outdoor studio he called it when we mounted the rim, and then he gave me the best reassurance I could have had as to his bona-fides.