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Shard 8316.2: Viewfinder

Something about it being an actual camera rather than a phone made it much sexier.

They tried filming their fucking a few times with a cell phone, with predictably hot results, but the result was still a cellphone recording, with the graininess and haphazard focus and extreme horizontal aspect ratio. Overriding all those concerns was the worry that someone would accidentally find the footage on the phone.

He bought an actual video camera as a Christmas present for the both of them. Nothing fancy, a small brick of electronics with a lens and a fold out screen and a fabric strap handle. All that mattered was that it wasn’t a phone; its only job was to be a camera. Something abut it being an actual camera rather than a phone made it much sexier. He didn’t give it to her on Christmas morning, when everyone could see. He presented it to her on Christmas night, in the bedroom, when they were alone.

Still, the house was too crowded with relatives and the sugar-fueled insomnia of children.

The night after Christmas, when the relatives had piled into cars and left, the leftovers had been organized into Tupperware, and the wrapping and boxes had been broken down and stuffed into the recycling bin, they had time alone to play.

She dressed.

She dressed for him, for herself, for the camera. She wore his favorite things (or some of them, he had so many favorite things, he was so easily enthused, so easily turned on; she loved that about him): the kitty ears, the collar that said BAD KITTY in big chrome letters, the leash that attached to the collar, the mesh top, the nipple clamps, the thigh high stockings.

She knelt before his nakedness. She held her neck differently when she was collared, her head extended, the pale white skin of her lovely neck exposed, her eyes low, imploring. He stood over her, taking in this immaculate vision, admiring the effortless way she had of capturing his every fantasy.

He fired up the camera and regarded her anew from the viewfinder. The world shifted on its axis. She looked the same, her attire hadn’t changed, she was still the same woman.

Except that she wasn’t. She had those heavy lidded lashes, the hot lax hole of her mouth, the mass of unruly hair, but they were now features seen through a small screen. It rendered her into a stranger. Or, if not a stranger exactly, then an alternate version of herself.

His cock throbbed and hardened in response. Her eyes widened at his reaction, though she did not otherwise move, knowing her job was to kneel, mouth open, tongue out, awaiting further instruction.

Good girl.

He unbuttoned the fly of his jeans and his semi-erect cock tumbled into the frame. The context of being seen through the lens of the camera transformed the sight into something else, something new, just as it had to his lover. An alternative version of his own cock.

The idea aroused him. He rubbed his hardness against her lips, smearing her lipstick, as he watched himself do so from the remove of the viewfinder.

“Do you like being filmed?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she purred.

“Do you imagine other people watching you?”


“Other men? Watching you?”

“If you desire them to watch me.”

“I do. Do you want them to watch you suck my cock?”

“Yes. I want it.”

He slid his cock onto her tongue, his knees almost buckling at the feel of the warm texture underneath his cockhead. “Do you want me to post it on some porn site so men can watch you suck cock?”

He knew that she did, he knew the idea excited her. He was somewhat surprised to find that the idea excited him as well.

In response, she took his cock into her mouth. He growled, “Do you want them to jerk off watching you suck cock? Do you want them to cum, watching you?”

She nodded, and took his shaft deeper into her throat. He took the leash in his hand, doubled it in his fist, and pulled her down further onto his length, watching from behind the camera. They had purchased the leash and collar around her neck from a sex toy shop downtown, but in the viewfinder they became something exotic, never before seen, rather than objects he knew were kept in the bottom of the dresser drawer in their bedroom.

He fucked her mouth until she started to gag. He let the tension go from the leash. She pulled off of his length, breathing heavily, her watering eyes round and fully open, saliva dribbling down the sides of her mouth in two hypnotically perfect rivulets.

She looked up to him. He moved the camera aside, meeting her gaze directly, no intermediary between the two of them.

The camera lost its magic all at once as her face, her true face, shown before him.

He hit the pause button with his thumb. They posed, him standing, her kneeling, regarding each other. Stealing a private moment, away from the camera, they insulated themselves from the world, from the theoretical strangers watching her, watching him, watching them. The long bliss-filled silence contained only he and her. They acknowledged the enormity of the charged hunger between them. They required no one else.

He was tempted to say “I love you,” but felt the silence more eloquent.

After a timeless while, her eyes flicked back to the camera. He nodded his head nearly imperceptibly.

He turned the camera on.

He jerked the chain taut.

“Suck my cock,” he commanded, slapping her lightly with it, watching his actions and her response with both eyes at once now, one behind the safe remove of the viewfinder, the other regarding her directly, with depth and desire and simple childlike awe.


The Shard series is a collection of flash fiction pieces that focus on short scenes from the experiences, memories, fantasies and dreams of the narrator. Think of them as shards of a broken mirror.



This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © 2018 Verbal P. Incandenza | Yeah, not my real name, but I still wrote this. Be cool. Please don't steal it.

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