Kendra was restless. She had a show coming up and she didn't have enough new photographs. Her favourite models, her friend Jan and her k**s, were out of town on holiday and her s****r Beth was always too busy these days to pose.
Kendra had hit on her speciality only after a few years of searching. She had always been a technically gifted photographer, but she knew that her work lacked some essential personal quality. More than anything else she liked photographing people, but she was unable to find her own approach. It was only after she took a course with the notorious Karl Millburg that she had got it. Millburg was world-famous for his semi-pornographic views of women, and Kendra, who was a committed feminist, was initially suspicious of him. But he had been a generous and eloquent teacher, keen not to impose his views on his students. He had looked at Kendra's portfolio and simply said "I can't teach you anything about technique, but your morality is getting in the way of your development."
Kendra had gone home, set up her camera, then she'd stripped naked and taken six rolls of film of herself, letting herself be sloppy and untidy and not caring if the marks from her underwear showed, or if her hair were in her eyes, or if her breasts were sagging slightly. She developed the film herself and took it in to Millburg the following week. He looked over the pictures and simply said, "That's it."
After that, her only problem was getting models. Kendra photographed, not nudes, but naked people. She was not interested in the beauty of the unclothed human body as such, but in how people revealed themselves when they were naked. She found something sacred in it - perhaps deep down her Baptist upbringing had survived through the d**gs she'd taken during the late Sixties and her grateful embrace of Women's Liberation. Of course, it was an anti-Puritan sacredness. Kendra was a c***d of the Sixties and proud of it. As was, in another way, her son, Chris.
Chris was eighteen. He'd been born in 1967 after Kendra had got pregnant from a guy she'd met at art school. She had taken him from squat to ashram to commune and he had imbibed the values of the new decade with his mother's milk. Kendra was determined that Chris not be the image of his father, who underneath that flower-c***d exterior had been an unreconstructed male chauvinist pig. She had seen that the values of that particular kind of man were formed by an outdated code of repressive, macho sexual morality. Chris was going to have none of that.
He was one of Kendra's first models, when he was just four. She often went for days without wearing any clothes, and there had never been anything sexual about it; she just believed that to be naked was to be your essential self, and she'd encouraged him to think so too. So for much of his early c***dhood, he hadn't known any shame in being naked around his mother. And she'd photographed him growing up, responding to his beauty as he played in the garden or swam in the sea the way she would respond to the beauty of a flower or a sky. It was innocent, it was wonderful.
Then as he'd got older, as puberty had kicked in, he'd been more and more unwilling to pose. He'd wanted to wear clothes more often. Kendra knew that it was in part his hormones, but it was also the patriarchal society in which they lived, encouraging him to feel ashamed of himself and to regard his masculinity as something that had to be armoured and protected. She'd managed to persuade him to do a few last pictures, but at thirteen, he had just stopped saying yes, and begun the long sullen silence that was going on still.
That morning, she stood naked in the bathroom before the mirror and brushed her teeth. She ran every day and did yoga and ate healthily, and at thirty-seven, she was still lean and strong. Her breasts, with the heavy dark brown aureoles, had started to sag, and there was nothing to be done about the stretch marks on her thighs, but she was pretty pleased with her reflection in the full-length mirror. She turned her head and inspected the newly cropped hair at the back and sides. Her hair had always been long, straight and brown, hanging almost down to the base of her spine. Then the other day she had decided that the 80s were to be a new start, and she'd had it cut short, in a soft, feathery style that was the closest she got to being fashionable. She liked her new look. It made her a little androgynous.
She threw a white linen robe over her nakedness and went into the kitchen. Chris was eating muesli at the table. It was a warm day and Kendra would rather not have worn anything, but these days Chris always got into a foul temper whenever she was naked around the house. So sad, she thought; the patriarchy will get you in the end. But then she consoled herself with the knowledge that it was just a phase, it was hormonal, and one day he would truly start to build on the groundwork she had laid.
She made herself a cup of camomile tea and sat opposite him.
"Hey, soldier," she joked. He went on eating muesli.
"What are you doing today?" she asked.
"Uh-huh." She eyed him over the rim of the mug. He didn't look eighteen. He was still a boy, slightly built and his face was smooth, but his voice was deep, something she had always liked in men. And she had found too many gummed-up Kleenexes under his bed to be under any illusions as to how mature he was.
"You could do me a huge favour, you know," she said.
"I've got this show coming up and..."
"Forget it." Flat. Final. No argument.
"Oh Chris, come on. Pleease? I only need a dozen more shots."
"Why don't you do 'em."
"There's already half a dozen of me on my own. I don't want any more, it'll look like I'm showing off."
"I'm not getting my cock out for you anymore, so just forget it," he said, coldly. Kendra recoiled inwardly at the v******e of the phrase.
"Is that what you think of my work?" she said softly.
"Pictures of ugly naked people," he muttered. "Not even babes, most of 'em. Mrs. Chambers and Aunt Beth, I mean they're like, forty. I don't wanna look at them. What do you even do it for."
"I don't take pictures for you to jack off to," Kendra said, feeling the anger rising inside her. "And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't keep pictures like that under my roof."
"Oh yeah, Mrs Liberated," Chris sneered. "Whatever happened to free speech?"
"Pornography is not free speech," Kendra said, and even while she was saying it she was doubting it. "It's v******e against women."
"It's not violent!" Chris said hotly. "It's mostly just chicks fucking each other."
Chicks, she thought. Where does he get the language. He didn't learn that from me.
"Oh yeah?" she said. "You've seen a lot of it, then?"
"Yeah," he said, subsiding a little.
"Have you got any in the house?"
"Some," he muttered.
"Can I look at it, please?" she demanded.
He sat for a moment. Then he got up and left the room. Kendra sat in her linen robe, and rested her forehead on her palm for a moment. She hated fighting with Chris, but it seemed to happen more and more often lately.
He came in and slapped a glossy magazine on the table, then went back to eating his muesli. Kendra turned the pages with distaste. It was the usual stuff, siliconed-up girls with strap-ons doing this and that to each other. All made by and for men, naturally.
"Chris," she said to him, "this is the kind of thing I've always hoped you wouldn't be interested in. I have to say I'm disappointed."
"Why? Cause I'm into sex?"
"This isn't real sex," she said despairingly, "this is...fast food sex. It's not what really happens between people who are intimate. You can't say I've ever told you that sex was bad, can you? I've always been honest with you. Real sex is wonderful, but this isn't real sex."
Chris sat in silence. Poor k**, she thought. He's at the mercy of his body. I guess it was wrong to ask him to pose.
"Can I ask you a question?" he said, staring at the table.
"Sure you can," she said, pleased by the new, uncertain tone in his voice.
"Did you ever make out with a girl?"
Kendra was slightly startled. But she was glad that he had opened a window that might admit some of their old intimacy.
"Yes, I did, Chris," she said quietly.
"Do I know her?"
"Sure you do. With Jan - Mrs Chambers. It was before you were born. Everybody was experimenting in those days."
"Did you like it?"
"Sure, I guess."
"Did you like..." He swallowed, then had a gulp of orange juice, then it came out in a whisper. "Did you like...have sex and stuff?"
"Yes, we did," Kendra said calmly. How great it was to be able to say this to your son! She felt incredibly mature and grown-up. "We were a couple for a while."
"So those things you told me that women do together, you've done them with Mrs Chambers."
"Yeah, I have."
He sat at the table, his fingers fumbling with each other. Kendra felt a great wave of love for him. Then he looked up at her.
"If I do photos for you, it's the last time ever, okay?" he said. Her heart leapt. She grinned at him.
"It's a deal," she said.
"Okay then," he said. He still looked downcast, but there was a slightly faraway look in his eyes. Kendra jumped up and went into the studio.
It was white, with a sofa and a carpet that were d****d in white sheets. Her camera was already on the tripod. She turned on studio lights and loaded up some film.
Chris came in, not quite looking at her. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and sneakers. He slouched onto the set and looked up at her.
"If I'm gonna get naked, you have to as well," he said in a bored voice. Kendra laughed and pulled her robe over her head in a single motion. Chris blushed at the sight of his mother's naked body, and he sat on the sofa and began to take off his shoes.
Kendra watched through the viewfinder as Chris took off his sneakers, socks, then his t-shirt and his jeans. He tossed the clothes into a corner and, lastly, turned his back on his mother and slid his shorts down over his hips. His body was pale and a bit on the skinny side. Kendra's love for him was so acute, it almost hurt.
He turned around, his face pink, with his hands over his groin.
"Just sit anyhow on the sofa," she said in her usual calm way. He sat on the sofa in the same pose as Manet's Olympia, one hand still covering his genitals.
"You want to take your hand away there?" she asked with a smile. "It looks awkward."
He took his hand away and linked his fingers together. Kendra's eyes widened; Chris's cock was more than half-erect. No wonder he hadn't wanted her to see. He looked off into a corner of the room, embarrassed, trying to avert his eyes from his mother's breasts and stomach and wide brown pubic bush.
Kendra made a decision. She took the cable release and screwed it into the socket, then taking the other end in her hand she walked over to the sofa and sat next to her son, smiling at him.
"It's okay, Chris," she said. "Nothing shameful about it. Just think of whatever you want to think about." She swung her legs up, imitating his pose, and gazed at him, trying to catch his eye. He glanced at her for a fraction of a second and flushed pink again. He stared into the lens of the camera, and so Kendra did too, then she took the picture. Click.
She probably wouldn't be able to use it, because he was still too obviously aroused, but she knew he would relax and they would get into it.
She took more. Click. She d****d his bare legs over hers and smiled into the camera. Click. Chris sat inertly at the other end, not moving but allowing her to pose him as she wanted. Click. She took his hand and pulled him, so that he lay between her legs, his head between her breasts, his lower back against her bare pubis. He seemed to relax, then, and she knew it was a good one. Click. Click. Click. Her left arm lay negligently on his torso, the fingers stroking his belly. She accidentally touched the tip of his cock, and she felt his breathing quicken. Click.
"Sorry," she murmured.
"It's okay," he whispered.
Hmmm, she thought. That wasn't something she had expected. She looked down at the crown of his head, and kissed him there, burying her face for a moment in his tousled hair. Click.
He reached back behind his head and began to stroke her nipple.
Oh my, she thought.
"Chris," she said softly, "you don't have to do that. It's okay."
"Do you like it," he said hoarsely.
She did. Warm tingles of pleasure made her tremble a little. The nipple grew hard under Chris's awkward, loving fingers. She made a small sigh. How weird, she mused, that she had never made this connection. All those times she had been naked with her son and never made the leap from thinking of him as her c***d, to thinking of him as her lover.
Because it's wrong, she told herself. He's your son, the fruit of your womb.
But I can teach him, said another part of her mind. Who better to initiate him than his own mother? I could show him real love.
Chris reached his other arm back and felt for her left nipple. She stroked his cock with her fingers, unambiguously, wanting to arouse him. The cock swelled. Chris made a faint choking noise.
She took the picture. Click.
"You don't mind if I take pictures?" she breathed into his ear, as he rolled her nipples in his fingertips.
"No," he muttered. "It makes me hot." Kendra took her son's cock in her hand and pulled on it, gently. Chris moaned. His slight naked body shivered next to hers. Click.
Abruptly he twisted over onto his belly and crawled up her, then he gazed into her eyes for a moment, still with that intense, faraway look - then he kissed her. Kendra had kissed her son many times, but never like this. She pushed her tongue into his mouth and his own amazed tongue responded, twisting around hers, as she ran a hand over his bare ass. His cock was fully erect now, poking and lunging between her legs. Kendra kissed Chris, clicking the shutter, photographing herself in the act of making love to her son, naked, on a daybed - and nothing had felt so dangerous, so daring, in years.
Chris was eager to get inside her. Kendra took his cock in her hand and directed him up against the lips of her pussy. She was panting hard and kissing him fiercely, her long brown nude body hauling up against his slender white form, and he was running his hands over her breasts, stroking her nipples with surprising confidence. Kendra felt the tip of his cock grow slick with pre-cum, and she knew she was wet enough to receive him. She closed her eyes and raised her hips a little, guiding the tip of him against her labia. With his eyes tight shut he manoeuvred his hips and then pushed, entering her. "Oh fuck!" he gasped as he sank his cock into her pussy up to the hilt. He drew out of her, almost all the way, before pushing into her again. Kendra moaned "Oh Jesus..." as her son slid his cock deep into her eager cunt. They had done it. They had broken the last taboo, the son finally finding love in his mother, the mother giving herself to her son.
Click. The naked boy on top of the naked woman. Click. The son fucking his mother. Click. Kendra and Chris, making love. Click. The pale, slender ass and thighs of the boy between the lean brown legs of the woman, she receiving him as he pumped into her, kissing his face frantically and moaning as he fucked her, her hands gripping his bare buttocks.
"Oh god, yes, oh my god, oh, that feels so fucking good...oh, Chris, my darling, you're so beautiful..." Kendra hardly knew how it was looking anymore as she clicked away. Chris was intent, his eyes tight shut as he slid in and out of her. Kendra had always been able to come from penetrative sex, and Chris seemed to be able to go on forever. What was certain was that no lover had brought her to the same degree of risk and extremity as her own son.
She came, in fast high cries, and he kept going, and she came again, seeing stars. She was feeling out of breath and thirsty when she realised that he had slid out of her, and was trying to roll her onto her stomach.
She was so dazed with pleasure that she let him, chuckling softly as she flopped over and sprawled on her face on the daybed, but when he got astride her hips and she felt him parting the cheeks of her ass, she suddenly went cold, realising what he wanted to do.
"No, Chris, no," she said with a faint tremor in her voice. "I don't do that."
"Have you ever been fucked in your ass, Kendra," said Chris thickly. He never called her by her name. Kendra tried to get up from underneath him, but his legs were clamped on hers.
Fully awake now, she said, "No, I haven't." It was true. Plenty of men had wanted to, but she was adamant that it was degrading to women to treat them like that.
"Well, you're gonna be now," her son said. "You fucking lesbian bitch."
"No!" Kendra cried, terrified, but then a hand clamped over her eyes and another over her mouth, and he pulled himself onto her, pulling her head back and his hips up against hers. Kendra made a muffled scream. He took a hand off her face and grabbed his slippery cock with it, directing it down against her ass, while the other hand covered her mouth, with the thumb and forefinger pressing onto her closed eyelids. "MMMFFF!" Kendra screamed, as she felt her son's cock press up against the tightly-shut bud of her anal muscle. She put her palms flat on the sofa and tried to raise herself up, but he urged his cock downwards, forcing her hips down and pressing the swollen tip into her opening, splitting her, filling up her anus like a policeman's baton. She moaned with pain, the sound muffled by the palm of his hand. Her arms collapsed and she sprawled on her face. She felt him enter her, his cock filling her rectum, and she shuddered with the fierce indignity of it. He wants to fuck my ass, she thought. That's how he sees me. As a slut. As someone to be degraded. How did I let him become like this? What did I do wrong?
The f***e of his cock pushing back and forth in her arse made Kendra's body shudder and she gasped for air. Then she thought of the camera, and the cable release, which she had dropped on the ground. She fumbled for it and grabbed it.
Click. The son fucking his mother from behind. Click. The slim pale boy brutally r****g the dark, older woman in her arse. Click. Chris buggering Kendra, his hand over her face, pushing his cock up her, she beneath him with her arse raised and her head pulled back, her breasts squashed against the white sheet. Click.
Kendra was choking back her sobs. She wasn't the confident professional woman she'd been half an hour ago, or even the bold sexual adventurer of ten minutes ago. She was something that wanted to be used. She had thought that she could never bear such humiliation, and yet her arousal was still coming at her in waves.
"Are you my bitch?" Chris hissed in her ear. He uncovered her mouth and clamped his fingers over her eyes, still pumping his cock hard into her ass.
"Yes I am," she sobbed.
"Say it," he urged her. "Tell me you're my little slut, Kendra."
"Oh Chris..." she gasped. "I'm your slut. I'm your bitch. Oh God...." She grimaced as he thrashed faster into her. He made a kind of strangled grunt, and his grip over her eyes made stars boil behind her eyelids - and the pain and the humiliation and the deep sense of dirtiness and forbiddenness and sheer a****l lust converged inside her, and she went "AAAUHH!" as she felt him starting to come in her.
He covered her mouth with his other hand, so that Kendra was blinded and gagged once more, stifling her screams as he thrashed his orgasm deep into her rectum. She milked his cock as hard as she could with her anal muscles, trying to get the last of it out of him, trying to help her son get his resentment and shame and hate out of his system by letting him use her as the filthy slut that she had spent a lifetime never allowing herself to be. He cursed as he came in her, and she sobbed with relief as he pulled out of her arse. She lay on the sofa, her ribcage rising and falling, her face buried in the sheet, and she wept with humiliation. Chris sat up and sat next to her for a moment, breathing heavily, then he got up and left the room. After a moment, she heard the shower running.
Kendra was exhausted. She turned her head. She could barely see the camera through the film of tears.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
It was those last ones that she used in the show. Herself, lying naked and prone on the sofa, her face red and wet and creased with emotion and experience, her body glistening with perspiration. On one or two of them, she turned away from the camera a little, hiding her face in her folded arms, and you could clearly see the pearly smears of semen around the cleft of her buttocks.
Afterwards #1-6 were widely reviewed as Kendra's best, most personal, most affecting pictures so far. Critics recognised that they appeared to depict the photographer in the immediate aftermath of having been sodomised. Many of them declared that the photos were obviously staged, but nonetheless very powerful. None of them realised that they were simply true, or who had been her assailant.