It was the uniform. It's always been an object of my lust. Army, Navy, state police, if it had a vertical button line, I was in need of fresh panties.
But the U.S. Marine dress uniform brings my clit to attention.
So, I was helpless against it's power when it's host brought out his camera for some show-and-tell. I smile, with no intention of the photos being taken. Then a glass of white.
I really enjoy wine.
Two, three, and soon the second bottle is uncorked.
We're listening to Tool and having a very deep conversation about the apartheid and anal stimulation. I'm feeling a little silly and I grab his dress jacket off of the recliner and slip into it.
I pose on the ottoman, kicking my bare feet up.
"Stay right there," he fumbles for his camera.
I sit up and grab for the camera. "I want to take a picture of your nuts wearing a hat."
"OK. But then you."
"I don't have nuts," I laugh as I flash him my left breast. It was on.
There was so much heavy petting going on, his dog was getting jealous.
I had no resistance. I would be forever captured on film in campaign destroying glory. There were photos of positions that the Kama Sutra is trying to buy rights to. Shit, I was in my early 20's, flexible, and had no scruples.
We used props for some of our photo shoots. Toys, a small, leather cat-o-nine, and a variety of vibrators make special guest appearances. Handcuffs were a favorite of his, and he enjoyed restraining me and snapping away. Eventually, there were dozens of pictures, as proof of the sultry deeds we shared.
A year later he was out of the Marines, and we were both working as Correctional Officers for state penitentiaries. Still with the uniform, I could handle the jump to fucking a civilian.
We worked at two different facilities, but we each were members of the Correctional Emergency Response Team (CERT) at our own prison and occasionally our two teams would meet for joint weapons or restraints training.
The men in CERT are extremely tough on the women that join, so I enjoyed fucking with them. Big, muscle bound, morons getting off to shot gun blasts and OC bursts to the face. But I was stuck with them, and after all we were a team.
Restraint training generally consisted of drills that showed your skill at shackling an "inmate". We would take turns playing the inmate, offer a bit of resistance for a true to life feel. My turn to be the convict. I go down easily (that's what she said) wiggling a little, but eventually I am subdued by the officer. As soon as his hands leave the cuffs, I slip one wrist through the grips and then the second. I dangle the empty shackles above my head.
The guys gathered in a circle and laugh at my former captor. He turns around, grabs my arm and swings me around. I pitch forward as his knee quickly jabs the back of my leg. He takes me to the ground in a practically effortless movement, and cuffs my ankle. Before I could fight back, he has the second clasp around my wrist, hogtied, so to speak.
Breathing heavily, the winner leans down and puts his lips to my ear.
"I know how much you like cuffs, Kodak."