His Acquisition by Ava Lore

shown on my face, and though there was a
camera between us, I knew he saw it. From the corner of my eye, I watched his
shoulders grow tense and tight as I threw everything I had into seducing him.
    His breath was coming hard and fast by the time he knelt beside
me, aiming the lens of his camera upward, and I lifted an arm and turned my
face from his, letting the fabric slip from my grip to reveal one pert breast
with a nipple as hard as a pebble.
    He hissed between his teeth as he snapped the picture. The sound
made my knees go weak, and I sank to the floor, letting my limbs go limp as I
lay down, swathed carelessly in white satin against black, my hair fanning out
around me, my breasts freed at last.
    “Yes,” he said, and his voice was harsh with want. “Yes, like
that.”
    I tossed my head, writhing in the throes of some imagined
ecstasy, and through it the camera clicked on, capturing me with complete
honesty. Malcolm stood again and straddled my hips so he could get a good view
of me from above, and I thrashed beneath him, like a pinned butterfly.
    I wished I'd taken my panties off, but now that he was above me
I really had no way of removing them discreetly, so I threw caution, and my
satiny shroud, to the wind. His sharp inhalation as I bared myself almost
completely to him was all I needed. Reaching down, I worked my panties over my
hips, grateful that the black cotton would stand out against the white. Malcolm
took a thousand and one pictures as I slid them down my legs, twisting and
turning so he could get the maximum number of angles. Sliding one foot out, I
cocked my hip and slowly stretched the cotton out, pulling at it as though it
were inextricably hooked on my other foot. When at last the elastic snapped
over my toes and rebounded into my hand I was almost moaning. One of my fingers
had found its way into my mouth and I bit down on it as I tossed the panties
away.
    Malcolm sank to his knees, still straddling my legs. The camera
clicked, a rapid staccato beat as I arched my back, completely bared to him.
“My god,” he whispered, rough and low, and then my hands found his thighs,
burning hot through the thin flannel pajama bottoms.
    The barrier of the camera broke, and his hand found my stomach,
rough and wide, skating down the skin of my belly to the soft mound of my
pussy, still trapped between my thighs. Without parting my legs, he slipped a
rough fingertip between the lips of my pussy and found my creamy slit and aching
clitoris.
    His touch was electrifying, sending sparks dancing across my
skin, and I thought at any moment they might catch, fan into flames and consume
me, but as his hand picked up a slow, rough rhythm, fucking me with the pad of
his finger, I failed to combust. Instead I gasped as he dragged his fingertip
against my clit, drawing a moan from my mouth as my legs tensed and my toes
curled. My hands ran over my skin, up into my hair where they curled and
pulled, then down over my breasts, pinching and pulling them into taut peaks.
Above the sound of my gasps, I heard the camera clicking madly, but I didn't
even care.
    Let him take pictures, I thought fiercely. I wanted him
to see me in all my abandoned glory. If I was alive like no one else, then I
wanted everyone to know it. Then he dipped his finger inside me and I forgot
all about the whirring camera as the world condensed to my quivering cunt and
his strong, insistent finger. Deeper and deeper he went, then curled his finger
inside me.
    “Ah!” The sound ripped from my lips, a noise of pure surprise
and shock, as though I had never been touched before. My hands clawed their way
up my throat, spreading over my face as I tried to stifle my cries at the slow,
inexorable fuck he was giving me with only his hand.
    Something cold touched my wrist, and I opened my eyes—when had I
closed them?—to see the camera resting against my arm. He was holding it out to
me.
    I took it.
    His hands freed, he moved down my body, his other hand