(This analysis concerns yesterday's story.)
In a certain sense, this photo and its story continue the theme of last week's entry: the way that lingerie makes me feel more naked rather than less. Add in a mirror and I have one of those moments when I suddenly seem to be unable to keep my hands off myself, just because I caught a glimpse of a photo (in which a girl is of course catching a glimpse of herself).
At some point perhaps I'll start waxing loquacious about things like mise-en-scène and composition in the photos I choose to elaborate in this series. As of now, though, I still want to stick just with the essential hotnesses. She's over a table; she's looking in a mirror; what the mirror reveals is a piece of lingerie that has haunted my fantasies for years and years--the special panties that can only mean one thing: anal sex--anal sex that is somehow made all the dirtier by being performed not just with a girl's panties still on, but by means of panties specially designed to permit the act, and bestowed on the girl to remind her that the act lies inevitably in her future.
"Jennifer" (you know, really, Emily) has been told not to take her eyes off the way those panties make her available for the ultimate submission. Her gaze and mine sympathize, and I see myself in the panties, waiting for Charles, knowing that he has made me spend this time over the table because he takes pleasure in knowing that I know that my ass belongs to him, now and forever, and that whatever underwear I actually happen to be wearing, I am always, in my erotic heart, wearing the seatless ones.