Collector of firm buttocks

My name is Semyon, I'm an ordinary young guy, 22 years old. And I want to share a small success story with you. Or rather, it's a success by my perverted standards, but maybe someone else will find it interesting and meaningful too.

For several years now, I've been collecting photos of women whose butts are tightly clad in leggings. Black, blue, with colorful prints — I've accumulated quite a few in my collection. My difference from other collectors of such content is that all the photos were taken by me personally and with the consent of the photographed members of the opposite sex.

It all started with my aunt Natasha, who, in fact

speaking, gave birth to this fetish in me. At one of our family celebrations, each of us prepared a little performance. Grandpa played a song about Odessa on the accordion, holding it behind his back. I prepared a couple of magic tricks with coins and a handkerchief. It was great, but there was also an event that dealt the final and irreparable blow to my sexual psyche. Namely, the performance that Aunt Natasha prepared for us.

Some Latin American music started playing, and my aunt came out to the middle of the room. She was dressed precisely in black leggings, which snugly hugged her wonderful, sexy legs, and a little top that revealed her firm tummy. She danced lightly and effortlessly, her movements were fast and passionate, as they should be in Latin American dances. But there was one moment when the music sped up, and my aunt turned her back to us, thrusting out her meaty butt. She started making circular movements with it, somewhat reminiscent of the corresponding element from the lambada.

She did it all quite professionally — to my non-professional eye. But it so happened that Aunt Natasha's leggings turned out to be — well, too tight for her — and after another passionate butt movement, the pants ripped right between her large buttocks. The hole went along the seam, and you could see how the green thong dug into her soft, defenseless white butt. The hole kept getting bigger, and Aunt Natasha, apparently, didn't feel a thing — she kept dancing, exposing her fifth point of support more and more. Her small feet with toes painted in turquoise polish glided across the floor like a cat's, her breasts bounced under her t-shirt, her arms made incredible and very beautiful passes, and her large, now almost completely bare butt made my head spin and I couldn't swallow and couldn't move. I felt so uneasy then.

Later, of course, she noticed. She laughed along with everyone else. And I couldn't even force myself to smile. I wanted to fuck and my shorts were wet from copious precum. It was from that moment that I became so obsessed with butts in leggings. No, I am capable of appreciating intelligent women, and communication, courtship, and flirting. I like the little breasts hidden in bra cups and agile, meaty legs. But what is, is — I'm a fan of butts that are stretched tight like sausages, ready to burst at the slightest touch of a fork.

As I already said — my collection is not small. And not a single peeping shot — everything was done with the consent of the female sex. I find a special thrill in this. In asking a woman and getting an affirmative answer from her. There were often refusals, but strangely enough — perhaps I know how to choose the right one who won't refuse — strangely enough, most gave the go-ahead.

The first few photos are, of course, photos of my aunt Natasha. For some period, she was my only sexual idol, and her direct behavior gave me more and more reasons to seclude myself in my room and only emerge by morning with huge dark circles under my eyes. Either she would hug me, pressing my face to her chest — and she doesn't wear a bra at home. Or she would kiss me out of joy when something lifted her spirits. Once, when the whole family was watching old video recordings, she, sprawling on the sofa on her tummy, put her bare feet on my lap, and my only thought throughout that hour was — please don't get hard, please don't let it get hard. But I went to my room with pants already wet from precum, covering myself with a "Popular Mechanics" magazine. All my nighttime fantasies were about her.

She didn't wear leggings that often, actually. But when she did, I tried to spend as much time as possible, under any pretext, in the same room with her. She'd go to the kitchen — I'd follow her to put on the kettle. She's cleaning — I'm, naturally, in the same room reading a book. It's hard to even say how much I liked it, and how I regret that we live separately now. Sometimes it seemed to me that she wasn't wearing panties, as the tight spandex didn't reveal a single seam on her divine buns.

And getting a photo turned out to be surprisingly simple. Here, I remember, I had to muster incredible courage — and I suggested she do a small photoshoot for her profile on Odnoklassniki. I just had a new DSLR, and Aunt Natasha had bought some new clothes with her salary and wanted to show off to her girlfriends.

— And the main thing, — all this for pennies, Syoma, — she says to me. — Look at these royal pants. And the quality isn't cheap. The style, huh?

— Quite the style, — I say. And Aunt Natasha started striking typical female photo poses, exaggerating everything to the extreme. We had a good laugh. Either she'd squeeze her breasts with her palms and pout her lips like a duck. Or she'd roll her eyes, open her mouth, and passionately thrust back her sweet butt.

— Maybe take some photos? — I suggested in a voice trembling with excitement, hiding my fear behind a forced smile. I hope she didn't notice. But back then, it was like stepping into an abyss.

— Let's do it, — everyone will be jealous. — she says. — bring the camera, we'll shake this world now. With my fat ass — Aunt Natasha rolls with laughter. — Just let me pretty up a bit, in ten minutes.

I had to wait a little longer, but the wait was worth it. I got full access to all angles of my beloved Natashenka. But I, unfortunately, couldn't fully realize this potential. Because after three or four photos, I started getting hard, and mercilessly so. That feminine chest under the blue top, those voluptuous hips, that immense little butt I had dreamed about for so long. Taking photos from behind, I tried to think about something else to tame my boner, but I couldn't.

— Let's go take some photos of grandpa, — was all I could come up with — and I ran at full speed, slightly hunched over, to the balcony for the old man. It was very awkward, but I didn't want to reveal my clearly protruding, like an oak branch, tool in front of Aunt Natasha. What if she tells my parents — and all that.

— No, let's do more of me, — what about the photoshoot, — she said after me, and my dick stood at attention at those words. Somehow covering myself, I started calling our old man. The photos of Aunt Natasha with grandpa, by the way, turned out not so bad. One of them is now in a frame in the hallway.

These were my first photos of dear derrieres. I keep them carefully and often review them, hardening in a matter of seconds.

When I want a woman, I get so worked up that I can overcome myself and do something out of the ordinary. By the way — I'm still a virgin, so don't believe in my extraordinary courage. In that second case, I had a little to drink after a concert by a certain band — it's a famous one, so I don't want to name it. We parted ways with the company and I was walking along the evening embankment. It wasn't cold at all and I was wearing light shorts, it smelled like summer all around.

On a small area near the beach, a young girl, about 20 years old, stopped to catch her breath after a run. I noticed her running from afar, admired her cute little butt, tightly clad in gray leggings, to myself, and thought that the theme for erotic fantasies for the evening was guaranteed for me. But then she stopped by a bench, took out a bottle of mineral water and started greedily gulping water — never do that after running. The camera was around my neck and I thought — well, what's the big deal, really. After all, I'll never see her again, just as she'll never see me. Asking doesn't get you punched in the nose.

The girl threw away the mineral water bottle and started walking in circles, recovering her breath. Beautiful light hair, a face with a turned-up nose, big blue eyes. Her breasts weren't very big, but her butt was beyond all praise. I crossed the Rubicon:

— Miss, — I say. — Sorry, you can easily refuse…

— One more time? — she said, taking an earbud out of her ear. Turns out — she was listening to music. Repeating it wasn't very pleasant, there was an unkind thought to give up and just ask for the time.

— I wanted to apologize for my question. It might be a little awkward.

— Ask, — she says. — Right now, after five kilometers, believe me? — all clever.

— I would like to photograph you. Just a couple of photos, I'm not going to post them anywhere, just for myself. — and I swallowed such a huge lump in my throat, the likes of which I hadn't had before or since. My heart started pounding wildly in my chest.

— Well… — she seemed to drag out that 'well' for an eternity.

— Well, what's the big deal. Take the pics. What's this for anyway? — and here was the second stage of the struggle with myself for honesty.

— For myself. I just really like girls in leggings. What's the big deal — everyone likes that, — I say. Right?

— I like men in leggings more, — she answers with a smile. Well, okay. — Should I pose somehow?

I was overjoyed.

— Not necessarily, I say. Your butt is awesome.

— Aaaa. Everything's clear with you, she says, rolling her eyes. And then I think the fish has slipped off the hook — after all, I made a catastrophically careless move, transitioning from the category of amateur photographer to pervert.

But then she gathers her hair into a bun, turns her back to me, thrusting back that sweet, honeyed vein, that luxurious butt in the gray leggings. My finger, as if convulsing, pressed the camera button. I got thirty shots — and you have no idea how hard I got, and how I thanked her afterwards.

— I owe you a beer, — I say, — without thinking much.

— I'm all about sports and a healthy lifestyle, — she answers. Already, of course, she's turned to face me.

— Let's go somewhere, — here I really went too far.

— Thanks, but I have a boyfriend, — she answers, hiding a laugh. — Do you always pick up girls like this?

— I'm not picking up. And it's the first time, honestly.

— Well, it's okay, — she answers. Next time you'll get lucky. Just don't post the photos, if it's not too much trouble.

— Of course, — this is for a private collection. — Thank you very much, — I say. We said goodbye nicely and I went home — to quickly transfer the photos to my laptop. How many evenings those photos delighted me afterwards — countless. However, all my exhibits are equal in how much I love them. This was the first. And I'm still grateful to that sweet girl for not brushing me off. Maybe then I wouldn't have continued my experiments.

Now you won't believe it, but I have about a thousand photos of juicy, plump little butts in my collection. And each butt is worth its weight in gold to me. There have been many more funny cases, but I'll tell you about them a little later.