In only a few short weeks after I'd first photographed Summer naked in her student corridor, she became bolder in front of the camera. We hung out more and she'd find ways to flash me glimpses of skin at socially inappropriate moments.

We didn't date, per se. It was an odd relationship in some respects. The more I got to know her, the more I wanted to fuck her. But the more I respected her choice not to push our times together into uncomfortable territory. It's like she was precious about our friendship, and didn't want to ruin anything through intimacy. At least, initially.

Honestly, I got it. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. So I was content with documenting her burgeoning playfulness. Teasing and encouraging her to try different poses. She gave me some amazing pictures for my live subject portfolio at uni. The tasteful shots, at least.

As time progressed, many other pics went into the private collection, and they’re probably gathering dust at my lockup on a distant corner of a hard drive that likely won't connect to a PC these days without a fight.

But when she was finding her stride, she’d pull daring stunts like sitting across from me in a campus coffee shop, stirring a drink, my camera within reach on the Formica tabletop. She'd look at me and issue some coy grin, glance around and over her shoulder, then casually pull the neck of her top down to expose one large breast.

I'd grab the Canon, frame, shoot, and the moment would be gone with a giggle. If I wasn't quick enough, I'd have to rely on my memory instead of the camera's SD card. She would rarely repeat the act. Just smile and tell me: the early worm catches the bird.

She loved wordplay. And we both loved naughty games like that. Stolen beats that would arouse and amuse us, and relied on me being on my toes if I was to capture it before the moment vanished.

I adored that she was exploring limits. A small handful of weeks before, she was an introverted blonde with self-image issues; now gradually discovering that size was no barrier to allure. Owning her body. Her space.

The English language she studied is full of incredible words to describe her figure. Voluptuous. Curvaceous. Rounded. Buxom. Zaftig. But the most important word was Confidence. With her determination, her spirit, the spark I'd seen in her at the bar that night had ignited, and I'd been witness to the flame catching and beginning to roar.

To say I was instrumental in her development probably borders arrogance. She always had it in her, I just happened to be the medium through which she felt comfortable enough to express herself.

In my bedroom here, some eight years later, the naked photo I took in her corridor that started everything sits beside me on the bed. Like some bizarre reverse punishment, my wife kneels between my splayed thighs, having just sucked me off while interrogating me over my relationship with Summer, even though it was way before Kerry and I met. I stroke her cheek and reassure her, once again, that I never fucked her. And I can answer the question truthfully, because it's the truth. We never fucked. No idea why.

She seems happy with the statement, and I know I've passed the test. Female intuition is tantamount to Voodoo and she'd have known, somehow, if I'd lied.

I help Kerry to her feet and she bustles off, reminding me to take the compost out on her way from the bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

While it's true that Summer and I never fucked, I'm pleased Kerry never asked, did she suck your cock? Because that would have required a very different response.

We had spent one particularly notable Friday at uni, attending our respective lectures and, for me, arranging shots in my portfolio, writing up the accompanying notes.

The night approached. She messaged me:

Karaoke at the Union tonight. Fancy it?

I had to smile:

You've changed your tune. Last month, I had to wrestle you on stage.

The on-screen dots bounced. If you're chicken, just say so.

I stroked my stubble. Den and Pauly had both cried off because they were behind on their projects. I was on track.

You're on.

When I got there, she, Lauren and Tracy were already on the shots interspersed with pints. Summer was wearing a loose fitting T-shirt and jeans. Lauren shouldn't have bothered with clothes: her tits could probably be seen from space. Tracy was more conservatively dressed, and fit her T-shirt and leggings snugly.

By way of catching up, I offered to get a round in. The bar was lightly subsidised, thank goodness, and when I returned, we raised glasses and sank them.

Over the din of some lass approximating Mariah Carey (had she fallen down a well and broken her mouth) I asked: “You ladies got assignments due?”

Lauren, predictably as the gobbiest of the bunch, replied. “Yeah but the deadline's next week. So that's next week's problem.”

I nodded. “Nice philosophy.”

“Besides,” she added, “at least we stand a chance. Unlike,” she struck a superhero pose, “Cuthbert.”

The other two roared with laughter. I raised an eyebrow and Summer filled me in. “Thinks he's God's gift. But he’s so dim. Like he's cosplaying someone intelligent.”

Tracy added, “Mummy and Daddy pay for it all, don't you know?”

The three girls cackled. Drank.

We got drunker, shots and beer flowing. By the time it came for our turn on stage, I was more than a little squiffy. Summer put down her shot with a flourish, swallowed and grabbed my wrist. “Come on, this is us. I picked a good ‘un.”

She dragged me on stage. The compere handed us the mic and I grinned at the screen on the back wall. “Summer Nights? For real?”

She nodded and winked. “Show me what you got, Danny boy.”

In my best-worst American accent: “Well if I'd known, I’da worn my leather jacket, Sandy.”

The tune began, I picked up the rhythm and sang my line, holding the mic out for hers. We muddled through the first verse and put our cheeks together for the joint chorus. I could feel her smile against my stubble.

Lauren and Tracy projected the doo-waps and incidental lines, swaying drunkenly, while Summer and I probably showed ourselves up. But I think we were mostly in tune, even belting out that long last line.

She high-fived me, I tossed the mic back to the compere, and we stepped off the stage back to her friends for hugs.

By the end of the evening, Lauren was steaming drunk and it took all three of us to steer her in the direction of her flat, bundle her upstairs, and wrestle the keys from her. I stood outside while the other two got her undressed and into bed.

Tracy made her excuses, and Summer and I wandered back along the deserted street, the cooling night air making itself known via her nipples.

“Can I walk you home?”

“I'm a big girl.”

“I thought you were getting over the body image thing?”

She shoved me into the hedge bordering a neat property. “Oy!”

I giggled, hauling myself free and brushing twigs off.

She side-eyed me and put on a regal accent. “Doth the wealthy scoundrel wish to take terrible advantage of me?”

“Perish the thought, fair maiden!”

“So be it. Then I shall bow to your questionable chivalry, fine sir.”

We turned onto the main road where the traffic was heavier. Past the Co-Op.

“Do you think Lauren will be okay?”

“Oh yeah, she does this all the time. Doesn't know when to stop. Total party animal.”

“To be fair, her David Bowie impression was hilarious.”

“You should hear her Nicholas Cage.”

“I can only imagine.”

We carried on past a few takeaways leaching grease into the atmosphere. Down a side street, then left onto her grove.

“Well, this is me.”

“Yeah. So this is where I take terrible advantage of you, right?”

She scooped a lock of hair behind her ear. “I wouldn't want to put you in that awful situation. Besides, you haven't seen me naked or ever photographed me without my clothes on. I’m rather shy.”

“I've noticed. If only you'd come out of your shell, we could perhaps be friends.”

“Imagine that!”

Summer eyed me, feet to head. Cast a pair of long glances up and down the leafy cul-de-sac. Chewed her lip and landed her gaze directly on mine. Reaching down, she grasped the hem of her top, lifting it clean off, shaking her blonde mane in its wake. Her tits bounced and settled. I swallowed. Just stared as she reached behind and unclipped her bra too.

The cups fell away and she shimmied free, chucking both garments at me to catch. Scooped her orbs up and let them bounce back to rest.

“How about now? Terrible advantage?”

I regarded her chest, rising and falling with her elevated breaths, their stiffening caps nestled in biteable caramel pools. “Terrible, yes. But not yet diabolical advantage.”

“Ohh, diabolical now is it? Well, Captain Thesaurus, what would it take to take diabolical advantage of me?” She nodded at my crotch. “Seems something approves so far."

I rearranged the bulge so it pointed up in my jeans. “Maybe a glimpse of your knickers?”

“A glimpse? You mean,” she slid her hands down her hourglass and in towards the jeans button. Snapped it open. Then the next. Paused when a bunch of lairy students crossed the end of the road, without paying us any attention. Her eyes sought mine again, but I kept flitting my gaze south as each button popped open. “Like this?”

She peeled the denim apart and the sequin set into the centre of the tiny bow of her simple cotton undies caught the sole streetlight behind me. I gulped. “Yes.”

“Or this?”

She turned, a little unsteady, and slithered the jeans down at the back, the cheeks of her full rump peeking from the twin upward arcs of the fabric.

“Truly diabolical.”

Wiggling her hips and bending, she peeled the jeans to her ankles. Kicked off her flats, held the handrail alongside the two stone steps that led to the front door and removed her jeans.

When she spun back to face me, even the streetlight showed she was flushed.

“Summer, you'll,” I cast my gaze up the street and flicked it to the handful of dark windows overlooking us. Only one was illuminated, two doors down. “You'll get us arrested.”

Her smile spread. “You better start being diabolical then.” She stepped in, close enough that the heat from her body made my arm hairs rise. Her breath occupied my ear when she whispered, “How much advantage would you take of me for seeing my cunt?”

I was aching to touch her. To march her up the steps, forge through the door and start to fuck her before it had even clicked shut. But I stood there rooted to the spot. “That would be,” I cleared my throat, “Uhh, diabolical-ical.”

She giggled in my ear. Reached for my hand. Placed it on her hot hip, just above the waistband. “Then get diabolical-ical. Right here.”

I shivered. “How about inside?”

“Naughty boy.” She tugged my wrist between us until my hand rested on the centre of her panties. Slithered it down over the fabric. between her legs. “Feel that? I'm fucking soaked.”

She wasn’t wrong. A slick film had breached the material, tacky against my fingertips. I took a sharp breath. “Inside the house.”

“Oh, Michael Green. Such a square.”

With a firm grip, she rubbed my palm over her mound. “Summer…”

“Shh. I've got a surprise for you.” She nipped my ear, her whisper tickling. “I shaved completely this morning. Because I want you,” slithering my hand up, she tucked it into the waistband and guided it along the silkiest slit I'd ever encountered. “To photograph my wet cunt.”

I exhaled. “Fuck. I don't have my camera.”

“Use your phone.” She rocked my palm against her wetness. Moaned by my earlobe.

“Not as good in low light.”

“Oh no. Then we'll have to do it again another time.”

I pulled away a tiny bit. “You sure this isn't the booze talking?”

She giggled. “Course not. I shaved sober.”

Taking a step back, my hand slid from her underwear and I stared down at my shiny fingertips. Then at her wide-eyed excitement. Slowly, I lifted my fingers to my face. Made a show of breathing her scent from them, before slipping them into my mouth.

She gasped. “Fuck, that's sexy.”

Her juices were divine and she must have seen the hunger rise in my eyes because she turned and strode up the two steps, bottom jiggling in the tight underwear, taunting me to follow. She paused. “Uhh, keys are in my jeans.”

“Oh. Right.” I rummaged in the still warm denim pockets. Took the steps and leaned past her to unlock the door, our bodies pressed together.

She scampered inside, ignoring the lounge to our left and immediately started up the stairs ahead of us. I chased, the door swinging shut behind me and caught her a few steps up. “Not so fast.”

I slid my hands up her fleshy thighs, over her bottom, tucked my hands into the waistband of her undies and yanked them to the floor. She emitted a gasp. “Michael Green, you absolute devian—’

Her protestation was cut off by me grabbing her bum, shoving her forward to half kneel against the next step, and burying my tongue in her snatch. My nose landed in her arse crease and I snarled against her as she gasped, reached back and held my head against her body. “Fuck yes. Eat me.”

It was awkward, even a little uncomfortable against the stair risers, but possibly the rawest, most depraved act I'd ever performed. Her scent enveloped my senses, her pussy lips slick either side of my probing tongue.

Breaking free of her grip, I peeled her arse apart and swabbed my tongue up over the tight ring, then swooped down and plunged it back into her cunt. She moaned loudly, echoing up the stairs. “God yes. More. Fuck. More.”

She leant forward, thrusting her bum back and up so my tongue could reach more of her. I rocked my face between her legs, fingertips digging into her rump, extended my tongue and grazed her clit. She liked that. “Fuck yeah.”

“Hey!”

We both froze. Looked up in the gloom at the figure in panties and oversized SpongeBob nightie.

“Get a room, yeah?”

Summer giggled. “Sorry, Hannah. Didn't know you were in.”

“Yeah yeah. Just… keep it down okay? Some of us have 9am lectures.”

She trudged back to her room, the door slamming. We both giggled and I playfully slapped her bum. “Come on. Your room.”

It was another flight and a half of watching her glorious arse undulate ahead of me before we were safely in her attic room and my cock was raging behind the jeans. I dumped her clothes on the chair beneath the Red Hot Chili Peppers poster on the far wall. Turned to see her appraising me. Striking a few poses on the laminate. “How do you want me?”

I looked her up and down. “Yes.”

She laughed and I slipped my phone out. Aimed. “Back a bit, so the light catches your… perfect.” I hit the button and captured her. Again. “Turn your head. Yep.”

We larked about taking photos of her in various positions around the room, with an array of improvised props. My favourite—the last—was when I lay on the bed and she stood over me, straddling my head. The picture up her legs captured the droplets of arousal clinging to her bare pussy lips, with her belly and tits in soft focus like rolling hillsides beyond. 

I stared up at her mouthwatering pussy. “I think me and you have some unfinished business from the stairs.”

Tossing the phone aside, I slid my hands up her calves, tugged her down to the bed. She chuckled and flopped onto her knees, shuffling until the tantalising vista of her hairless snatch was inches above my face.

I grappled her thighs and pulled her onto my mouth, peppering the wetness with kisses. She let out a sigh and moaned when I lapped each lip and swept my tongue between them, collecting sweet juices that drizzled across my taste buds. I swallowed hungrily. Went back for more, again and again, each lick making her groan and hiss.

My hands snaked over her thighs and I urged her to cover me more. To apply more weight. To smother me. Every harder grind I rewarded with a stronger lick, a deeper thrust of my tongue, a longer moan into her drooling snatch, until she accepted I wasn't going to break. That I wanted it hard.

She gradually began rocking, crushing her cunt against my nose and mouth. Between rides, when she let me momentarily snort in fresh air, I caught sight of her palms cupped beneath her weighty tits, squeezing, the flesh spilling over her hands as she groaned. When her slit landed on my face again and ground me into the bed, I tightened my grip on her thighs and devoured her until she froze.

Her thighs clamped the sides of my head, muffling her orgasm, but the injection of extra wetness was hard to miss, her flavour changing, strengthening and slithering down my throat. I groaned with her, cock straining hard against my clothes.

When she relaxed her muscles and slumped forward, I idly lapped her messy folds until she squirmed away and flopped face up beside me, smiling. “Holy crap, that was intense.” Her hand found mine across the bed. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

We lay there, catching our breath, every one of mine laced with her latent scent. When she hauled herself upright, chest wobbling, she giggled. “Oh dear.” Following her gaze to my crotch, the prominent bulge formed a ridge behind the buttons. “We should do something about that.”

She broke contact and slid her hand up my thigh, across the denim, rubbing and squeezing my shaft once. It responded, swelling in her grip, and she inhaled. “Mmm, can I see it?” Her cobalt blue eyes flicked to mine, sparkling with mischief. “Please?”

Until this point, everything had been about her in front of the lens. Her nakedness. Her growing exhibitionist streak. Her transformation. I don't know why her request took me off guard, but it did.

“Please, Mike.” She traced the throbbing outline. “Let me make you feel as good as you did me.”

Her fingertips trailed to the waistband and she brought her second hand in to pop the top button. Then the next. And the next, each successive pop relieving the pressure, yet allowing my cock the freedom to expand in my underwear and fill the space.

She scratched a nail over the bulb and a dot of wet bloomed on the cotton that she rubbed and smeared. “Somebody's excited. Just imagine,” she worked her finger pad over the encased crown and circled my frenulum, “how good it'll feel in my warm, wet mouth.” Her palm rolled across the head that swelled and relaxed, then swelled again, depositing another bead of pre-cum to seep through the material. “Mmm, I want this. Want to hear you lose control.”

I swallowed. “You're going the right way about it.”

“Good. Come on.” She slid her hand and tugged at the hem of my T-shirt. “You're overdressed for this party.”

Sitting up, then standing, I removed my top. Wriggled my jeans down and awkwardly pulled them off, along with my socks. Summer clambered from the bed and knelt in front of me, gazing up, splitting her attention between me and the bulge in my undies.

I reached for the waistband and she shook her head. “Allow me.”

Dusting fingertips up my shins, then thighs, I shivered when she carried on up over the straining cotton. She leaned in slightly, made eye contact and peeled them down. Her gasp was involuntary as my stiff rod bobbed in the cool bedroom air. Back then I wasn't circumcised, so she reached in and stroked the foreskin a little way down. “Mmm, so hard.”

I took a breath when her dainty hand slithered, coaxing another bead of pre-cum to the tip that she massaged with her thumb. A moan formed in my throat, and she stroked faster.

“Yeah, you want to put this in my mouth? Want me to suck you off?” I nodded. “Mmm, are you gonna photograph me behaving so badly?”

Twisting my torso, I reached back for the phone and double tapped to activate the camera. Framed a shot of her holding my shaft perpendicular to my groin, gazing up at me.

“Can I take a pic of just you?”

She released my cock and placed her hands on her knees. Parted them, the floorboard grain running between her thighs. “Like this?” I took the picture. “Or like this?” She slid her hands behind her back, tits jutting forward, eyes up at mine, the epitome of dirty innocence.

I was stunned. “God that's perfect.” Firing off a volley of photographs before she changed her mind or moved, I checked them over. So good. My dick twitched and she reached for it, jacking my length.

“You like looking at dirty pictures of me?”

“Yeah.”

"Want me to send you photos when I'm playing alone? All wet and sticky."

"Yes."

“Do you get this hard with all your models?”

I hissed as she swirled her hand, smearing pre-cum. “There's only you.”

“Oh come on now. There have to be a stack of pretty girls lining up to get a piece of this monster.” She brought her lips to it, kissed once and flicked the tip with her tongue. “And there is no way you got that good at eating pussy without practice.”

Circling her tongue around the flared bell, she sucked the very end until I gasped. “Fine, okay. There have been other girls.”

“Models?”

“No. Just girls.”

She bared her teeth and scraped them tenderly over the swelling, wet crown.

“Okay okay. One.”

“Your memory is terrible.” She giggled. “What was her name?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Is she as pretty as me?”

“No.”

She wrapped her lips around the entire head, slurped and popped off it. “Good answer. Describe her.”

“Uhhh, shorter than you. Long, wavy, red hair. Freckles.”

Summer let go of my cock, leaving it swaying while she reached between her legs and brought her fingers back glistening. Grasping my girth, she slithered juices my entire length then encased it with her lips and swallowed half. Fluttered her tongue along the underside and pulled clear, a few strings joining us before snapping.

“Does her cunt taste as sweet as mine?”

She descended deeper, reversed and wanked me.

“N… no.”

Her crooked smile was loaded with mischief, and she plunged onto my cock again, sucked and yanked clear.

“Does she suck cock better than me?”

The heat of her mouth descended once more, enveloping me. “Fuck no.”

The suction continued until she withdrew and followed it up with long, deliberate strokes. “Mmm, so fucking hard, all for me.”

Keeping her fist at the base, she swallowed the rest to meet it. Used both her mouth and hand to suck, slurp and jack my dick, humming around me and making it swell until she yanked clear.

“Do you wanna cum on my big tits?”

I nodded enthusiastically as her wanking sped up.

“Or all over my face?”

I groaned.

“Or in my slutty mouth?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “Greedy chops.” Sucked and jerked me some more until my breathing picked up. “Ohh, you gonna cum for me? Yeah, gimme that cum. I want all of it.”

My teeth ground together. “Fuck, Summer. You're so naughty.”

“Mmm, I know. Make sure you get some good photos.”

Her lips met her fist again and again, and the vibrations threatened to finish me off. In the end, it was the filthy slurping that did it.

My groans rose. Cock pulsed, and she hummed as the first spurt fired into her throat across her tongue. In a flurry, she pulled away and jacked the remaining arcs across her lips and cheeks. Some splashed off her face and splattered her doughy tits as I hauled in oxygen through my teeth. The camera shutter blinked over and over as I tried as best as I could manage to keep the phone steady while groaning.

When the pulses waned, the last dribbles peppering her tongue, I let the phone land on the bed and breathed hard as Summer set about cleaning my cock with her tongue and lips, humming and smiling. We spent a good few minutes after, with me scooping cum from her skin and feeding it to her. I even got a few stunning photographs of her lost in ecstasy, my wet, splotched digits buried in her mouth.

We crawled into bed and snuggled up naked together to sleep. Somehow we never had sex. Neither then, nor the morning, nor in a few future sporadic play sessions when our photographic antics spilled over into something more. Graduation was soon after, so the pressures of finals and coursework probably played a part. She did send me some images of her masturbating, as promised.

But that was all in the past. Eight long years ago, before I started my boudoir photography business. I wonder what Summer's up to now. Maybe a professor of English, an editor, or a teacher. Who knows.

Curiosity overtakes, and I reach over the bed edge to my laptop bag, open it and search the web. After a few false hits and some refinement to my search terms, I find her via socials.

It shouldn't surprise me, but it does, that she's a model. Or, at least, that's part of her profession. My heart beats a little faster at the realisation my actions almost certainly influenced her career decision. The elevated pulse also seems to stir my recently deflated cock, as I skim some of the sample images.

Tasteful and arty, they show her natural affinity in front of the lens, but a few are more risqué, along with a handful of topless and nude shots. Still artistic, and it's clear she's having fun posing. I wonder who the photographers are. They're good.

I hover the cursor over the message icon. Pause. Click. Pause. Type.

Hey Summer, it's been a while. Hope you're well. Found our first photo and wondered how you're doing. x

I hit Send before I chicken out, then panic and hover over the delete button. Consider it. Close the browser instead and snap the lid shut.

My hands shake on the laptop. All that's left now is to wonder whether she'll reply.