Through The Lens Chapter One


WARNING:

  The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and 
contains descriptions of explicit sex.  If you are not an adult, or 
reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual 
nature - do not read any further! 

This story is for entertainment only.  It contains adult oriented 
material. This is a work of fiction.  The acts and characters contained 
within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact.  I do not 
practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here.  The 
characters in the story are entirely fictional.  You need to believe that 
all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the 
written permission of the author.  This story may be freely distributed 
with this notice attached.


* * * * * * * * * * 


Sorry to have taken so long in delivering this prose, but I had to juggle 
significant complexities.  In many ways, this chapter documents a key 
moment in my sexual timeline.  I won't spoil your reading by telling you 
any of the juicy details in advance.  Suffice it to say, Mr. Marcus tries 
to improve his photographer skills.

However, there appears a new character who will show up periodically in 
many of my forthcoming tales.  Too many times, my experiences are 
"slippery slopes" where I go from "Hell no, there won't be any sex" to "Oh 
God, I'm cumming in her pussy" in the span of two paragraphs.  This new 
character developed a longer, more gradual, relationship with me, 
incrementally over time.

As you read this story, try to figure out how many subsequent stories 
branch off of this one.  Big hint:  you'll need to take off your socks.


* * * * * * * * * 

I had a deep craving for pizza when I got back from Nebraska.  As a 
resident of the Chicago area, I should have been loyal to deep-dish style.  
But over time, I've found that the extra bread fills me, and I'd prefer 
more cheese and sausage toppings than sweet cornmeal crust.  A glossy 
flyer on the kitchen table stack of mail reminded me of a new pizza joint, 
A Hot Piece, just a few blocks away.  It occupied a narrow storefront, 
with a thin counter along one side.  With no stools, the place was not 
designed for eat-in.  If the store was going to survive, it would have to 
depend on carryout and delivery.  

Some of the up-tight residents of my community had circulated a petition, 
asking them to change their name, claiming A Hot Piece was provocative and 
fostered lewd thoughts.  The freedom of speech-ers supported by the ACLU 
won, of course, when they used another local eatery, Snappy's Taco, as a 
precedent.  Funny, I'd never thought of Snappy's Taco as suggestive, but 
after I read about the lawsuit, the image of Juli the flight attendant's 
pussy decorated with lettuce jumped into my brain.

After deciding I would treat myself to delivery, I called the number.  
"This is Louie, you want a hot piece?"  The owner wasn't the most suave 
businessman I'd ever spoken to on the phone.  Not even close.  After I 
ordered a medium cheese, sausage and mushroom, thin crust, I provided my 
name, address and phone without being prompted.  However, when I offered 
him my credit card number, he barked, "Pay the driver" and hung up.

I put my feet up to relax and consider what beverage should accompany my 
feast.  A beer?  Maybe a cold cream soda, but the local generic in the 
fridge would pale compared to the fancy stuff on Webb's private plane.  
Maybe an original Coke, but all we had in the house was Diet Coke with 
Vanilla.

The ash-colored wall phone rang.  Even though the bundle of calling 
features on my landline phone included caller ID, all of the instruments 
in the house were old style Western Electric models, designed to last over 
one hundred years in normal use.  Since ours were only about forty years 
old, it was way too soon to replace them.  So, every phone call coming 
into the Marcus residence was an anonymous gift until I lifted the 
receiver and spoke that one provocative question.  "Hello?"

"Oh, thank goodness, I've been trying to reach you for days!"

The voice was familiar, but my brain was too tired to make the connection.  
"Who is this?"

"Vonna.  You remember taking pictures of me, don't you?  Annie and I went 
to school together."

Ah yes, Annie's friend who wanted photos for her boyfriend.  They'd shared 
a common birthday, he dumped her over the phone in the middle of the 
shoot, and she subsequently shared her body with me.  That Vonna.  "Who 
could forget?"  The sex had been ball-draining spectacular.  [AUTHOR:  See 
story DOUBLE BIRTHDAY]

"I haven't forgotten either."  Her breathing was heavy.  Was this her 
version of phone sex?  "I've been leaving you messages."

Sure enough, the red light blinked on the answering machine, the kind that 
used two cassette tapes.  I explained that I'd been out of town.  "What 
can I do for you?"  Or to you?

"I've got a chance to submit my portfolio of photos for a spokes-model 
position.  They liked the pictures you did, but now they want specific 
outfits and poses.  This could be my big break, and I'll only trust you to 
do the layout.  But we have to meet a deadline."

So Vonna had used my pictures to get a shot at a real modeling gig?  Maybe 
I was better behind the lens than I thought.  "Of course, I'd be happy to.  
But wouldn't you'd be better off with a professional photographer who 
knows lighting and such?  I'm still quite an amateur."

"Don't be silly.  You know plenty.  Your photos got me through the 
preliminary round.  And I trust you.  Isn't that important, the 
relationship between the photographer and the subject?"

Ours was more sexual relations than a relationship.  "If you insist.  How 
soon are these pictures due?"

"This week, at the latest."

"I'll need to check my calendar at work, since I just got back in town."  
I took her number on a scrap of paper and told her I'd call her back.

If I was going to take photos of Vonna for a professional gig, then I 
needed lessons to shoot more like a pro.  I checked the local adult 
education catalog but there were no photography classes offered.  I didn't 
know any professional portrait photographers who could give me a quick 
lesson.  

A quick review of the phone messages was in order, before the pizza 
arrived.  Just like she'd said, Vonna had called twice, more anxious with 
each call.  The next message was from Smith, one of my bowling buddies, 
wanting to know if I was available. [AUTHOR:  See story DITZ THE 
BABYSITTER]  I called his number from memory.

"Hey, Marcus, welcome back.  We miss you, man.  Bowling with just Jone-sie 
was boring so we stopped."

Boring, like no one to tease.  Jones doesn't react to Smith's barbs, but I 
do.  "You must miss the competition."  I wasn't that much better than him.

"You really go to Goat's funeral?"

I told him bits and pieces of the trip, the private jet, the funeral 
service, and the Webb family, leaving out the sex parts.  It was bad 
enough he knew I'd fucked Ditz, the babysitter he'd recommended.  "Say, do 
you know any professional photographers?"

"Why?  You got some event coming up?"

"No, I just want a few tips."

"I didn't know you'd become some kind of shutterfly." Smith hummed a 
moment.  "Hey, I know someone who knows a great camera jockey."  He 
chuckled his sex-joke laugh.  "I've got this friend whose wife gave him a 
bound portfolio of pix.  Really nice.  It was private, but he showed it to 
me anyway.  She looked kind of plain in person, but a real doll face in 
those outfits.   Whoowee."

"What kind of outfits?"

"You know, nightgowns.  Sexy ones that showed everything.  Boy, she'd kill 
him if she knew I'd seen her undressed like that."

"That might work."  Perfect!

"I'll send him an email and get the photographer's name.  And you, Mister 
Picture, keep next Saturday free for me and Jones. My ball is getting 
cobwebs, for cripe's sake."

My balls weren't dusty at all, after lots of exercise with the Webb women.  
"You're on."

I wondered how much the racy photographer would charge for lessons, or if 
he'd be willing at all.

There were more messages but the doorbell rang, just about thirty minutes 
after my call for food.  Standing at the door was a young woman, in a 
puffed up bright yellow nylon jacket and jeans.  Her dark hair, except for 
one dyed blonde streak, curved to frame one side of her face, covering the 
other side.  "A Hot Piece," she said.  The dialect was Russian or 
Romanian, somewhere in that neighborhood.  She read my order from a slip 
of paper with grease marks, probably Louie's fingerprints.  "Twelve six 
five, with tax."

"Any delivery charge?"

"No. You within half a mile.  Free."

"Great."  I reached in my wallet.  Only twenties.  So I decided to be a 
big tipper and handed her one.  "Keep the change."

She stood there, looking at the bill.  Was she in shock?  I was suddenly 
embarrassed that I'd tipped so large.  It should have been a buck or two.  
I was prepared to close the door, but she still hadn't moved an inch.  
"Are you okay?"

"You want?" She took a tiny step forward.  

Did I want what?  Change?  I'd already told her to keep the balance.  

Still she stood there.  "You want I come in?"

Having the company of a pretty young woman was always better than being 
alone, but there probably were pizzas in the trunk of her car.  "Don't you 
have other deliveries?"

She nodded.  "Sorry.  I go."  She stepped backwards, losing her balance by 
missing the concrete step behind her. She flailed her arms and recovered, 
then ran to her subcompact as if she'd robbed a bank.  She almost jumped 
into her coupe, which was decorated with a flashing neon-lit sign attached 
to the roof with straps.  It blinked "A HOT PIECE."

God, what was that all about?  While I chewed on a slice of pizza and 
sipped generic cola from a can, I played the remaining recorded messages.  

The next one was a generic "call me back" message from Clara across the 
street.  I appreciated her discretion, since something more explicit like 
"One of my nieces is visiting and she needs to be fucked" would have been 
a disaster if Harriett had heard it.  I'd procrastinated long enough and 
dialed her number.

"Harvey, are you avoiding me?  After all I've done for you?"

By making her female family members available to me?  "No, I've just been 
very busy.  Traveling and working-"

"Your way between the thighs of young women?"

Yes, out in Nebraska, and not that young.  "No.  And now I'm looking for 
how to get some training as a photographer."  It was none of her business, 
but it was on my mind, and I was too tired to apply a filter to my speech.

"Really?  Then let me help you.  In return for your future assistance, 
naturally.  Uncle Viktor opened a photography studio in town.  He'd be 
glad to give you some pointers.  After I call him."

"You will?  Thanks."

"If.  If you promise to give my visiting niece some attention next 
weekend.  Agreed?"

Before or after bowling with Smith and Jones?  "Sure.  Fine."

"Marvelous!  I'll call Viktor and tell him you need his help.  The studio 
is on Second Street, in the old yellow brick building."

I thanked her and hung up.  It no longer mattered if Smith came through - 
I had a teacher.

Before I could listen to the next message, the phone rang.  "Hello?"

"Hi, honey."  It was Harriett.  She was chipper.  "How was the funeral?  
How is Leonard's family holding up?"

I swallowed hard.  "I think I brought them some comfort."  At a minimum, 
all the females had orgasms.  "How's London?"

"Terrific!  Besides the business meetings, we were allowed a bit of time 
for sightseeing.  The museums and historical sites are fascinating.  Such 
history!  You should have come with me."

"You know I don't like traveling."  Except when the flight attendant sits 
naked on my lap.  I was wary of chatty Harriett. She didn't act this nice 
without a hidden agenda.

"Harvey, I have great news. They assigned me a larger territory and an 
assistant."

First it was the leased Lexus. Now a helper. Harriett was moving up in the 
world. Her salary approached mine and her bonuses took it over. With a 
solid financial footing she might not take it too hard when I left her 
sorry ass. Hell, she might not even notice.  But not before I had my own 
financial house in order.  "Congratulations.  A new hire or an existing 
employee?"

"She's a new hire.  Just graduated from college in Boston.  This is her 
first job."

My dick twinged at the mention of 'she' and 'her.'  A college grad no 
less.  My recent experience with undergrads promised great potential.  
Oops, almost forgot my "don't fuck with coworkers" rule.  That applied to 
Harriet's coworkers as well.  Although, as a result of my recent exploits, 
that "rule" had degenerated to a "guideline."  [AUTHOR:  See story SERVICE 
WITH A SMILE CH. 7 PART 1]

Harriett prattled on.  "She has a dual major of business administration 
and information technology. You two have so much in common."

Yeah, you boss us both around. "I look forward to meeting her some time."

"That's terrific to hear, because I'm bringing her home with me."

That was a surprise. "Really?  Not on my account, I hope."

Harriett paused way too long. There was something going on and I wasn't 
going to like it.  "Winifred will be staying with us. For a while."

What?  "Like the weekend while her apartment gets painted?  Or like a week 
while she looks for a place to stay?"

"Did I tell you she's a princess?  Her parents are a duke and duchess in 
England. She's the family breadwinner.  I met them last night.  A real 
duke and duchess, can you believe it?  And we had dinner in their formal 
dining room, with servants, just like in the movies."

I pictured the Disney cartoon of Beauty and the Beast.  Was Winifred a 
beauty?  I'm so easily distracted.

Harriett kept talking while my mind wandered.  "So it's going to be a 
while before she can pay off her family debts. Like the back taxes on 
their castle. She's invited us to visit, at a discounted rate of course."

Harriett's answer of indefinite duration morphed my daydreams into total 
shock. "So this is long term?  You've taken on a boarder without my 
permission?  And a non-paying boarder at that. Don't I have a say in 
anything anymore?"

Harriett's tone turned from sweet and chipper to normal, strident.  
"Listen, you have no idea the responsibilities they're putting on me. 
Winifred is totally efficient. Not only has she optimized my time, I'm 
sure I could handle additional accounts if they dumped them on me.  And 
given recent history that's very likely. Without her I'll fall flat on my 
face."

Harriett's job took her away from home often enough that I could indulge 
my sexual samplings.  A significant side benefit.  "Doesn't she have 
anyone else to stay with?  Former classmates, maybe?  Or other employees?"

"She went to school in Boston and doesn't know anyone in our area.  Her 
only family is her aunt and uncle in England. She'll be sending the bulk 
of her check overseas. All she has is one trunk of clothes and a few 
personal possessions. The Boston branch interviewed her and sent her here 
straight from campus. Lord knows, she's so broke she can't afford a hotel 
room.  Besides, she can be the big sister that Anna never had. You wanted 
two children, right?"

Yeah, one boy and one girl.  Back then.  Not now.  "Anna is off at school 
with lots of friends."  Who were great at sexual games.  "At this point in 
our lives, we should be converting to empty nesters, not adding needy 
young-adults to our household."

"She'll be no trouble. She'll travel with me. Please don't make me beg. 
And for God's sake don't scare her away. I'll never find anyone as 
efficient. Make friends with her. Like you did with Anna's high school 
buddies."

Harriet didn't know what she was suggesting. I was a bosom- and cunt- 
buddy with most of them.  "So I have no choice?"

"I guess not.  We'll see you in two days."

Saturday.  Of course.

Clara must have called Viktor immediately after we spoke, because he 
called back that very evening.  "I'd be happy, you sit in, get some 
pointers.  No cost to you, Mr. Marcus, a favor to Bella Clara."  I was 
surprised Viktor was so willing to give away his trade secrets.  "I don't 
view you as competition.   Maybe you can help advance the art of personal 
portfolios.  There are plenty of customers to go around.  Is tomorrow 
convenient?"

I told him it was.

"Good.  Come by the studio and we'll let you observe."  I didn't ask who 
"we" was.  A partner?  It didn't matter.  I was getting free lessons.

*****

The next morning I wolfed down a bowl of cereal, not Groatz, which would 
have taken an hour just to chew, and drove to Viktor's studio.  There were 
empty spaces in a free lot one half block from the three-story brick 
warehouse that had been converted to commercial use.  When I got to the 
main entrance, a Lincoln Town Car was waiting at the curb, engine running.

The foyer was wide, with offices on both sides of the main floor sporting 
signs for Underwuud Photography.  The door on the right also had a sign 
"Office."  On the other side of that door, a young man sat at a desk, the 
official greeter.  Behind him was a photo of an older man and a younger 
woman.  Before I could get my full name spoken to the greeter, Viktor 
himself, the man in the photo, came out to greet me.  "Mr. Marcus?  Clara 
said to take good care of you.  So, how long have you been taking photos?  
What kind of a camera do you use?  What do you shoot?  Portraits?  
Events?"

I gave him an out-of-sequence answer.  "I have a nice digital camera 
that's served me well so far.  I don't do weddings or bar mitzvahs or that 
kind of thing.  Portraits, usually private."  I hoped that euphemism would 
be meaningful.

His eyebrows went up.  "Perfect!  You will accompany me on a shoot this 
morning, for basic skills.  Then you'll assist my daughter Angelina for a 
private shoot across the hall."

With Viktor's comment, it was an easy assumption that the younger female 
in the portrait was his daughter, not a trophy wife.  I followed Viktor 
deeper into his domain, past several shooting areas with professional 
lighting, multiple colored backgrounds that rolled down from the ceiling, 
and cameras on tripods.  "This is so professional."

Viktor shot me a "no duh" look.  Of course it was professional.  He made 
his living doing this.

The official greeter came back and told us Viktor's next customer was 
here.  A mother and her son came into our shooting area, which was 
carpeted in a neutral beige with a carpeted cube in the center.

Viktor led the boy to the carpeted pedestal, but he bolted for his mother 
as soon as Viktor removed a gentle touch from his shoulder.  After pleas 
from his mother and a lollypop from Viktor, the boy remained seated, but 
fidgeting.  In the meantime, I stood behind Viktor's camera.  Never one to 
keep my hands to myself, I fiddled with the controls.  Viktor joined me 
behind the tripod.  "Leave the professional equipment alone."

He set up another tripod with what looked to be the same style of camera 
and zoom lens.  "I still shoot film.  This one is digital."  It had lots 
more buttons than my simpler digital camera.  I squinted at the labels, 
wondering how many alternative terms there were for "menu."  "Play all you 
want, or listen to me and learn."  So I listened.  I adjusted the lights 
and straightened the background curtains and fetched a replacement 
lollipop when the kid dropped his on the carpet.

I learned how to give direction as the photographer and convince the 
subject to cooperate. Sometimes Viktor and I were bad cop and good cop. 
Sometimes it required a distraction. When the kid got bored with sitting, 
Viktor flipped a switch at a console next to him.  Brightly colored 
balloons appeared over our heads, just out of camera view.  The boy 
startled at their arrival, as if by magic.  Viktor snapped a few more 
shots of the boy, eyes wide open, his expression one of blended awe and 
delight.  Viktor had no problem using various tactics, some subtle, some 
devious, to get the end result. With little Johnny, he captured a set of 
angelic poses despite the boy's devilish nature.

The half hour sitting seemed like three as Viktor posed the uncooperative 
child, all the time explaining to his mother and me what he was doing with 
lights and positions and props.  When the shoot was finished, the mother 
smiled at us as she dragged her son from the raised platform. "He really 
enjoyed it."

Viktor escorted the mother and son out.  I examined the control panel.  
Balloons from the ceiling were just one of Viktor's weapons.  From the 
labels, Viktor could have produced a complete circus with animals and 
clowns from his magical ceiling.

The mom was entirely pleased with Viktor's efforts and signed up for an 
expensive package of wallets, multiple five by sevens and as many eight by 
tens.  Oh yes, and a two foot by three foot poster.  

After they departed, Viktor asked, "Did you learn anything?"

"Lots." Mostly about how to manage the object of the shoot.  If you lose 
control, the session fails.

"I hope so.  There's a client on Angelina's list for this afternoon. A 
bigger challenge than little Johnny."

Viktor walked me to the door.  I pushed it open and bumped into something 
or someone.  Whoever it was pulled the door fully open.  It was that same 
pizza girl from A Hot Piece.  We both startled.  Viktor handed her some 
money he'd had stowed in his pocket, evidently prepared for the 
transaction.  He had to physically put the bills in her hand and fold her 
fingers around it because her eyes were on me, just as mine were on her.  
Only when he said, "Thank you very much.  See you next week" did she 
change her focus.  She walked backwards a few steps, still looking at me, 
then ran the length of the foyer and through the door.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"Her?  That's Nashta.  We order in once a week, as a treat for the staff."

I imagined my staff, being treated by Nashta's pussy.  What fairy tales I 
come up with!

"Beautiful bone structure, hmm?"  Viktor handed the flat box to the 
greeter, who took it back for employee consumption.  "I've offered to 
shoot her, at no charge.  She could be a model - I have contacts - but she 
refuses.  Young women today!  Ha!"

I'd offer to shoot in her, if she'd pose with her legs apart.  Sheesh, why 
was I so taken by this waifish foreign beauty?  I thought about Vonna.  
"Yeah, no telling what they'll do."  Especially if their boyfriend dumps 
them while they're posing.

"My daughter Angelina will be handling the next customer for an intimate 
portfolio, like you'll be doing.  Listen to her, too.  She's a pro.  I've 
convinced her to let you observe.  Just keep your mouth shut.  Okay?  
Okay!"

I left Viktor's side after a vigorous handshake.  As I approached the door 
on the other side of the foyer, two women walked through, arms around each 
others' waists.  One was Angelina, Viktor's daughter.  The other woman was 
breathtaking.  Literally.  Not cute.  Not sexy, like a Playboy playmate.  
Soul-grabbing beautiful, and she looked familiar somehow.  I resumed 
breathing with a gasp as they kissed, mouths open, tongues visibly 
probing.  They gradually pulled away from each other, both dreamy eyed.

"I don't know what to say," said the beauty.

"I have another client scheduled," said Angelina.  "I'll send your proofs 
in twenty-four hours."

Although Angelina had her own earthy charm, I couldn't take my eyes off 
her client.  I was not merely seeing her physically; I was witnessing her 
humanity, her soul.  Was this what love at first sight meant?  The 
customer's expression went from relaxed grin to a piercing stare when our 
eyes met, and then immediately back to euphoria as she turned away. 
Swinging her shoulder bag, she strutted to the front door.  The town car 
driver held it open and then scrambled to get the rear door for her as 
well.

"You must be Mr. Marcus.  Call me Angie."

Her voice startled me back to the task at hand.  "Yes, call me Harvey.  
Can I ask, was she a friend of yours?"  It sure seemed that way, from the 
kiss and all.

"No, just a client.  A wealthy client, for sure.  She just required some 
hands on."  Angie smiled.  "And a bit of gentle persuasion.  Daddy told me 
you'd be assisting me.  Have you done intimate portraits?" 

I nodded.  "A few times, and I have a big shoot coming up."

Angie jammed her hands in the front pockets of her jeans.  "Then the next 
client will be a perfect learning opportunity.  You saw daddy at work, 
right?"

"Yes, with a young boy.  Your father charmed both Johnny and his mother.  
Made the little tyke look like a saint."

"Our challenge in this case will be to charm the inner woman out of the 
client.  Follow me."  I glanced over my shoulder. The black town car had 
left.

In jeans and a short sleeve polo that matched her father's with their 
company logo on the breast, Angie walked like a guy.  Her brown hair was 
close cropped, a masculine style.  There was no sway of hips.  Given her 
public display of affection with her last client, I was tempted to 
conclude that Angie liked girls, not guys.  But that was a hasty 
conclusion based on scant evidence.  With a client in the studio, there'd 
be no opportunity for me to test Angie's sexuality.  And to be honest, no 
need.  I was there for knowledge, and not the carnal type.

Angie's studio was smaller and open, with no dividing partitions.  On my 
left, a raised platform, carpeted in black with matching backdrop, with 
dozens of lights overhead.  One lone black stool occupied the flat space.  
On the right, another raised platform, this one for Angie and her camera 
equipment.  The aisle in between led to a curtained area at the far end of 
the room.

Angie took her position, on a matching stool behind the camera on a 
tripod.  "Ms. Prim called Daddy last week.  She claimed her husband 
ignores her.  Sexually, that is.  A friend of the studio told her about 
success she had after we shot an intimate portfolio that she shared with 
her hubby.  Ms. Prim requested a sitting for some pictures to rejuvenate 
her relationship.  But she demanded a female photographer."  Angie 
curtsied.  "So I canceled another client and quoted a premium price for my 
services."

Photos of Harriett in sexual poses wouldn't do a thing for me.  "So she 
believes that-"

Angie cut me off.  "You saw my father use surprise and distraction to get 
subjects to give natural expressions?"

I thought about Viktor's techniques.  "Yeah, he used balloons from the 
ceiling-"

Again she interrupted.  "And a bunch of other tricks. Good for children, 
but not for adults.  I have my own ways of relaxing the subject and making 
them comply with my directions."

'Comply' sounded harsh. Angie bosses the clients around?  "Sounds 
intriguing.  So, what precisely do you do?"

"Watch how I work and learn.  Just don't interfere."  She directed me to 
hide behind the changing screen at the far end of the room. "After our 
preliminary conversation, I'll bring you out as my assistant. Eliminates 
the up front reluctance against a male helper in situations like this."  

I wondered how uncooperative a grown woman could be. After all, these 
photos were voluntary. No one was holding a gun to her head.  On the other 
hand, if the client wanted intimate portraits and had a female 
photographer, it was obvious why my presence might be objectionable.  
Angie's more than friendly demeanor with her last client still bugged me.  
Would Angie attempt woman on woman sex with me in the room?  That might be 
an extra lesson I hadn't planned on.

As I walked to the far end of the room to hide, I passed a card table 
holding a crystal punch bowl, filled with a pinkish beverage, and some 
matching cups.  "Leave it alone.  That's for the clients."  Angie adjusted 
her camera from behind the tripod.  She was a lot bossier than her father.

The changing area was filled with clothing items I expected Angie's 
clients wore while being photographed.  Playing out fantasies in front of 
a camera might loosen some clients' inhibitions.  Long formal dresses, 
negligees and costumes of all varieties.  A bunny suit, not the Playboy 
kind. Oh, and a Playboy bunny costume complete with fuzzy tail. Cop 
uniform. Nurse whites. A few super hero outfits, in colorful spandex.  
Damn, a Wonder Woman costume. Plastic bracelets and tiara in place of 
forged metal.  Gold drapery cord for the lasso of truth.  Subtle 
discrepancies in the chest logo that only a devoted follower would notice.  
And I did.  But the outfit was close enough. Oh boy, the opportunity to 
see someone in that costume would be a dream cum true, given how many 
times I'd masturbated to Lynda Carter on TV. How the network censors let 
her expose herself, breasts and crotch, in that skimpy costume had always 
been a mystery to me. 

Castanet heels clicked on the wood floor. I stayed hidden as directed. The 
flapping of Angie's sandals told me she was on the move.  

The client's voice was quite formal and proper, with the touch of a 
British accent. I've always found British birds to be quite exciting.  
"Thank you for seeing me on relatively short notice. And for accommodating 
my request. Your father has a marvelous reputation. However I knew I'd 
feel more comfortable with a female photographer.   How convenient that 
you had a cancellation."

"Perhaps just the beginning of your newfound luck."  Was Angie planning on 
getting lucky with Prim?  If she didn't want a male photographer, how 
would Prim react to Angie's attention?  "Please, step up on the platform 
and have a seat on the stool.  Now, if you'd briefly recap what you'd like 
to get out of your session."

The click of heels dulled on the carpeted platform.  Without peeking, I 
knew exactly where Prim was.  "It's quite embarrassing, actually.  My 
husband has become quite distant over the last few months. Perhaps our 
intimacy has gotten too predictable."  Prim rambled on about no hugs or 
kisses, and no interest from her husband in bed. Oh, and that she'd found 
adult picture magazines under their mattress. Stupid guy, that's the first 
place a wife will look. And it makes the bed lumpy.  I contemplated her 
husband's taste in porn. Mayfair perhaps?  British publication with well 
built ladies. I was anxious to see how Prim the client stacked up. "After 
speaking with a few of your satisfied clients, I thought that a set of 
slightly revealing photographs might spark his interest and allow him to 
look at me in a different way."

What if Angie tried to satisfy Prim's need for sexual gratification 
herself?  Would the Brit run from the studio, or play along like the last 
client did?

"We have many customers in the same situation," said Angie.  "After their 
sittings, their sex lives improve dramatically.  To be honest, your 
husband is a very lucky man to have such a voluptuous woman in his bed."

"How you talk!  I must be turning red."

"We'll have you out of that suit and on film before you know it."

"Oh, I hope nothing too daring."  Daphne sat on a stool with perfect 
posture.  Her breasts were large but not unwieldy - not that I'd ever get 
the chance to wield them - and the skirt remained demurely covering her 
crossed knee.

How was Angie going to get this up tight client to strip, especially with 
me present?

There was the sound of some movement but neither of them spoke.  I moved 
to the edge of the changing area.  Angie was at her camera, making 
adjustments.  The room got brighter as Angie fiddled with some slider 
controls.  This was probably her equivalent of her father's distractions 
panel.  The bright lights were making the room warmer.  Even I could feel 
the temperature rise, and the costumes were shielding me from the direct 
impact of the ceiling and directional lamps.

Prim spoke up.  "It's quite warm in here."

"I need the lights to take high quality photos.  Would you like a cup of 
my special punch?  It might cool you off?"

"Yes, quite, thank you very much."

"She'd like something cool to drink," shouted Angela.

I didn't know that was my cue to appear.

"Mr. Marcus, would you please get Ms. Prim some punch?"

"Mister?" asked Prim.

I stepped out from behind be curtain, letting my hand drag across the 
Wonder Woman costume one last time.

Prim was perched on the plain black stool on the raised platform in three-
quarter profile.  When she saw me, she stood up and faced both of us, 
pulling the lapels of her suit jacket tight.  "Who is he?"

My eyes focused on our client. I swallowed hard.  Ms. Prim looked like a 
middle-fortyish version Lynda Carter, the actress who played Wonder Woman 
on TV.  I couldn't believe it.  I'd had a crush on her ever since the TV 
show aired.  Crush?  No, more like a lusty fantasy.  I even went out and 
bought Wonder Woman comic books, but the in-the-flesh version was so much 
hotter.  Being in the same room gave me sweaty palms despite the cool 
temperature of the studio. Prim stood on the edge of the platform in a 
skirted suit, her hair done up in a Diana Prince-style bun. She could pass 
for the actress herself, only at a younger age. My dick began a familiar 
inflation. Her bust was large. Not huge and awkward but maybe even bigger 
than Lynda's. Her waist was in proper proportion to her hips, broad and 
inviting.  Except I hadn't been invited to do anything except help Angie.

"I thought my requirements were clear."  Prim's voice was sharp.  "Why do 
you think I refused an appointment with your father?"

"We have students assist with client posing and wardrobing.  It allows us 
to be much more efficient, which means we can charge less."

Prim's face softened, but she kept her jacket pulled tight.  There wasn't 
enough material to cover her blouse, and the pressure was actually lifting 
her bosom up.

Angie's voice had the same authoritarian tone as she'd taken with me.  "I 
can't be running back and forth every time I wanted you to lift your chin 
or straighten your shoulders.  Posing you, adjusting your hair or 
clothing-"

I was going to arrange this woman's clothes?  As in, take them off?

Angie continued, "The session would take twice as long. And time is money.  
He's not a man, he's my assistant."

"But I'll be exposed in front of a complete stranger-"

"You and I just met for the first time.  I'm a stranger, too.  Consider 
Mr. Marcus an extension of my hands. He won't do anything I wouldn't do 
myself."

I'd already seen what Angie would do with a client.  Hug.  French kiss. 
Just about anything, I expected. So this customer was in no more jeopardy 
with me than her.

Prim wasn't buying the argument.  "I can't possibly pose with him here."

Angie changed tactics.  "Why not?  Your husband will see you in the same 
outfits."

"But he's my husband.  The point of the photos is to get him - excited."

"And you don't think he won't show your photos to his buddies?"

Prim turned towards Angie, her back to me.  Nice ass.  "Of course not.  He 
wouldn't dare."

"If you get what you want, your hubby will be so excited, he'll show off 
your pix to his buddies.  Out of pride. To make them jealous."  Angie 
pointed at Prim.  "That's what you said you wanted. Renewed interest."  
Angie's hands flew up.  "This is a good thing.  So you see, other men will 
see you."

"Really?"

Angie nodded. So did I, although she hadn't directed me to.

"I want to improve Carlton's interest, that's all."  Prim stood and 
smoothed her skirt.  "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"You'll be fine.  We are discreet.  Let's start slow, with some nice 
portraits.  Remember, you'll have complete control over what photos he 
sees.  Did you bring any other outfits?"

Prim sat back down and shook her head.

"That's all right.  We'll start out with what you have on and proceed from 
there.  I have a large selection we can choose from.  Why don't you have a 
seat?"

I took my first steps since appearing from behind the changing curtains, 
directly to the crystal bowl, where I filled a glass with the cool liquid.  
I made sure I didn't trip, stepping up on the platform.  Prim took the cup 
from my hand without making skin-to-skin contact.  She eyed me 
suspiciously as she chugged the contents.  Her eyebrows relaxed and she 
licked her lips.  "Mmmm.  That is quite refreshing."  Her grip on the suit 
jacket loosened.  The lapels spread from the volume of her chest.  "May I 
have some more?"

"One more, and then we really need to get started."

I got Prim a refill.  She almost inhaled the punch, or whatever it was.  
She burped, and then smiled as if embarrassed.  "Excuse me."

Angie was behind the camera, pacing.  "Let's get started, shall we?  Why 
don't you take your seat?"

Prim parked her round ass on the stool. She raised an arm to shield her 
eyes.

"Arm down please so I can measure the proper exposure.  Mr. Marcus, please 
step clear and adjust the lights for portrait levels."

I came off the platform but then stood frozen. What did that mean?  
Without lifting a finger, the lights came down in intensity and the color 
balance changed to make skin tones natural despite bring indoors.  I'd 
seen Viktor do this with his child client.

"Thank you," said Angie.

For nothing. She'd made the changes herself. Was she setting me up as an 
authority figure?  I yearned to be in control of Prim. Horizontal on the 
carpeted platform, legs spread. No way that would ever happen.  I 
sauntered towards Angie and the cameras, for a better view.

"Lean forward, please."

Prim's breasts pushed the lapels aside. What a rack!

"Great. We're making progress, in small steps.  Now chin up."

Prim tilted her head.

"No, no. Mr. Marcus, could you please assist?"

I made my way back to the platform. The lights above were unbearably hot 
as I reached out and gently nudged Ms. Prim's head up a smidgen.  She 
glanced at me and smiled.  I stepped back, out of the frame.

"Perfect. Now a wicked smile."

Prim grimaced. 

"Not exactly what I'd call wicked.  Dial it back a bit."

"Excuse me?"

"A bit more allure and a little less evil."

Now Prim looked bored or maybe impatient.  "It's still awfully warm. Can't 
you turn down the heat?"

"The heat is a byproduct of the process.  I can't do quality work in dim 
light, and I can't shoot you in the dark."  I could have shot, right then, 
in light or dark, if Prim showed even a bit more flesh.  "How about if we 
take off your jacket?"

"Oh, yes, that's a good idea."

Huh?  This was the same woman who'd clutched her jacket like a life vest 
in a storm just minutes previous.  Why was Prim suddenly so cooperative? 

"Mr. Marcus, please give her a hand."

I stepped up and walked behind Prim. That close, she smelled like Wonder 
Woman, despite the fact that I had no idea what the TV show heroine 
smelled like.  But it was fresh, like she'd brought the outdoors and 
justice into the studio.

She pulled one arm out of a sleeve. I dipped the jacket so she'd have no 
trouble with the second. I folded the jacket over my arm and stepped down 
but not before checking out Prim's chest. Big ones filling out her 
embroidered beige blouse.

Angie took body shots, bust shots and headshots, moving closer each time.  
I stayed out of view, on the side.

"Back straight, chest out."  Angie fiddled with her camera.  "You still 
seem too posed. Too stiff."

Prim and I shared that condition.

"Mr. Marcus, could you take Ms. Prim's hand and massage it?"

Prim held out her right hand.  "Daphne.  My first name is Daphne."

It seemed only appropriate to drop the formal name-calling if we were 
touching, even if only our hands.  Wait!  Daphne Prim?  Her initials were 
the same as Wonder Woman's civilian identity, Diana Prince.  There must be 
a God, or an Intelligent Design with a sense of irony.  Too bad Daphne was 
so up tight.  Come to think of it, Diana was pretty cool to her Major 
Steve Trevor.

"Harvey."  I ran my fingers up and down each of Daphne's digits.  Her 
breathing slowed, raising and lowering her chest in slow motion.  Maybe 
she was relaxing, but this simple contact was pumping me up as much as if 
I was touching her breasts or thighs.

"Good.  Very nice.  Keep your back straight.  Mr. Marcus, step back just a 
little.  Ms. Prim, eyes open."  Angie took pictures as I continued the 
gentle physical contact.  I hoped they were close ups, keeping me out of 
the picture.  I tried hard to make myself invisible, just like Wonder 
Woman's airplane. 

I changed to a full hand massage, even though Angie hadn't asked me to.  
Daphne was fondling my hand at the same time, a kind of digital foreplay.  
I wondered how her hand would feel on my cock.

"Undo her hair, please."  Daphne had no complaint.  I stood behind and 
took out the hairpins that had held Daphne's hair up in a bun.  Not as 
dramatic as Diana Prince spinning around, dropping her hair and changing 
into her Wonder Woman costume.  I fluffed the volume of hair out, covering 
her ears.

"Beautiful.  Now, Mr. Marcus, before you step off, a little shoulder 
massage."

I placed my hands near Daphne's neck, her hair covering the contact.  I 
wanted desperately to let my hands drift down, onto her breasts.  I hoped 
she'd appreciate the attention, the caresses she wasn't getting at home.  
Damn, that wasn't happening.  Still, fondling Daphne's neck was contact.  
I needed to be grateful for the small pleasures.

I stepped off the platform.  Angie's voice was gentle.  "Think of your 
favorite meal. Something delicious."

A hint of desire blossomed on Prim's face. We shared a love of food.

"Good. Now, imagine you haven't eaten for days."

Prim's eyes and mouth told the story. She may have eaten recently but 
she'd been without the physical love of a man for too long. I could fix 
that.  Like I'd get the chance.  Angie had Prim in her sights as a 
conquest.  Best I would be was a witness.

Angie's camera clicked like Morse code.  "Perfect!"

"I'm still warm.  Can you get me a refill?  Quite refreshing. What's in 
it?"

"A special fruit blend for clients.  Hydrates but doesn't increase 
perspiration. Go ahead, Mr. Marcus, pour her another glass. And a straw so 
she doesn't ruin her make up."

The glass bowl was sweating, perhaps so the clients wouldn't have to. I 
refilled Prim's cup and brought it to her. I held the beverage while she 
sipped at the straw.  I couldn't help but stare at her chest.

The last drops disappeared with a raspy suck.  "Thank you."

"We need to pick up the pace a bit.  Now that you and the camera are 
friends, time to get a bit more intimate.  Mr. Marcus, if you'd unbutton 
Ms. Prim's blouse."

My fingers flexed and my cock jumped.  Did she really ask me to do what I 
thought I heard?

Daphne's hands flew up, crossed, to cover the fasteners. "He certainly may 
not."

Angie crossed her arms over her petite chest.  "If I came down from here 
and pushed your hair back would you stop me?"

"No."  Prim's arms stayed in a defiant pose.

"And if I undid your buttons to make the pose sexier, as you asked, would 
you object?"

Prim paused. Her arms slid down.  "I guess not."

Angie's tone was sharp.  "We've already been through this.  I can't 
deliver the portfolio of photos you want, to save your marriage, if you 
don't cooperate.  Our time together is limited."

I glanced at my watch. Angie was right. Time was flying.  Angie had her 
hands on her hips, a super heroine pose.  "Please, can we proceed?"

Prim cast a doubtful look at me. "I suppose I have no choice."

"Now that's settled. Three buttons, for now."

Which meant there'd be more later. I kept my fingers close together and 
did my best not to fondle as I followed Angie's instructions.  The backs 
of my fingers had no place to go except against her breasts as I plucked 
the first button.  "I'm sorry if this embarrasses you," I whispered.

'It's your job.  I'm the one who's sorry, with these oversized mammaries."  
The second button was open.  

There was a deep cleavage coming into view.  "I think they're - well - 
they're beautiful."

Daphne leaned into my hands, pressing her tits against my knuckles.  I 
fumbled for a while, because the pressure made it more difficult to get 
the third button undone.  Also, because Daphne seemed to enjoy my hands in 
contact with her breasts.  With the third button open, I stepped back to 
witness my handiwork.  Prim was staring at me, as I blocked Angie and her 
camera. 

"Mr. Marcus, I can't shoot through you," shouted Angie.

I was prepared to shoot into Prim, except that her skirt and panties were 
still on.  So were my pants, with a big lump in front.  I stepped aside.

"Face front, please. Turn your shoulders a bit.  Mr. Marcus?"

I got behind Prim, nudged her, and then stepped off the platform.  Angie 
was going for a subtle peek-a-boo shot.  I had a better view from the side 
than from behind the viewfinder.  The shutter clicked several times.

"Good.  Now the rest."

Prim didn't object when I finished the remaining buttons, at least all the 
visible ones.  She leaned forward as I undid the buttons under her 
breasts.  The backs of my fingers felt their weight.  I didn't pull her 
blouse out of her skirt because Angie hadn't said to.

With the edges of her blouse loose, I had a front row seat to Wonder 
Woman's bra.  A Wonder Bra?

Ms. Prim toyed with the edge of her brassiere.  "Is this enough?"

"Not if you want to get your hubby excited," said Angie.  "Isn't that 
right?"

I nodded.  I hoped the lights prevented Ms. Prim from seeing the lump in 
my pants that said otherwise.  Her husband only saw the woman he married.  
I had a fantasy.  

"May I have another sip of punch?"

I ran over and refilled the cup without asking Angie's permission.  When I 
got back to Prim, I held the glass, looking down in prime flesh valley. 
There was moisture. From my drooling?

"Thanks."  She smiled. Where did her objections go?

"Sure any time."  Our eyes locked for the first time, and she didn't avert 
them.  Her pupils were dilated.  With all these lights?  Something else 
was affecting her physiology.

"That's enough for now," said Angie.  "There are large perspiration stains 
at your armpits.  Hardly sexy, am I right?"

Prim nodded.

"So let's lose the blouse."

Prim stood and pulled the blouse from her skirt.  

"As long as you're at it, why don't you remove your skirt?  A few shots in 
your underwear are appropriate."

Her blouse flapped open and I saw both cups of her bra straining to 
contain two voluminous breasts.  She tossed her head to free her hair. Her 
chest swung with her movement.  Prim stood and unzipped her skirt.  It 
puddled on the floor. I almost puddled in my jockeys.  She was a wet dream 
in only bra, pantyhose and panties, as voluptuous as her TV star look-
alike.

"Fix her hair," Angie commanded. 

I approached from behind. The bra was tight across her shoulders and back. 
I fluffed her hair balancing it on her shoulders.

"And her bangs."

I moved cautiously to the front. It was difficult to concentrate on 
sweeping Prim's bangs to the side with her cleavage in front of me. Her 
tits beckoned me. Her whole damn body called to me.  I pretended not to 
answer.  While Prim returned to her stool, I poured her another glass, in 
anticipation.  Prim liked the liquid, and I wanted Prim to like me too.
She motioned for it, so I brought it to her.  She sucked through the straw 
like she was suffering from dehydration.  Just the opposite, she was 
perspiring even more.  Without asking, I dabbed at the trickle between her 
breasts with my handkerchief.  The lights were intense. A drop of my sweat 
fell on Prim's naked knee her legs crossed. I swiped it off, tempted to 
leave my hand there.

Prim's eyes caught mine. "You're hot aren't you?  Ms. Underwuud, can Mr. 
Marcus have a drink?"

"Call me Angie.  And, no.  For clients only. Mr. Marcus can have cold 
bottled water if he'd like.  That would remove him from the shot, an added 
bonus."

I scooted out from under the lights and took my place at Angie's side.  
"Here."  She fished a cold bottle of water from a cooler at her side.  
After a series of Prim poses in her underwear, Angie dimmed the lights. 

Prim sighed and pushed her damp bangs off her forehead.

"Time for a costume change.  How about some bedtime attire?  Something 
sexy?  Mr. Marcus, fetch an outfit.  I have a wide selection of lingerie.  
Some of them will be a tad tight, for a full-figured woman like yourself."

There was nothing about Ms. Prim's body I didn't want to fill.  Her mouth, 
her cleavage, her pussy.  I shook my head to regain control.  I went to 
the costume rack and flipped past dozens until I came to a peach colored 
and translucent ensemble. Bra, panties and gown so sheer it wouldn't be 
useful in hiding anything.  Perfect.  The crotch of the panties was 
stiff, unlike the rest of the material. A previous client had gotten them 
juicy, perhaps with stimulation by Angie.  I brought the set out to Prim.  
"Try these."

Angie ran her hand through her short hair.  "Perfect.  I'm not sure if 
it's exactly your size, but Mr. Marcus has a pretty good eye.  I'm sure it 
will fit.

Prim stroked the material.  "I can't wear this."

"Why, too small?"

"No, it should fit but -"

"But what?"  Angie was getting peeved.  Maybe there was another customer 
after Ms. Prim.  Or maybe, Angie wanted Prim undressed so she could enjoy 
the feeling of her hands on Prim's smooth flesh.

"It shows too much.  And there's a man in the room."

"Mr. Marcus is here as a student of mine.  I promise you he'll follow my 
direction.  To the letter."

Prim touched the material again.  "Oh my. I've never worn anything like 
that before."  She looked at me.  "Do you think it'll be all right?"

"Better than all right.  You'll look beautiful, I promise."

She blushed.  "I really can't.  Let me find something."  She took the 
outfit from me and stepped off the platform.  

"There's dozens of sleepwear items, behind the curtains."  I watched her 
ass wiggle as she strutted towards the dressing area.  "Boy, you're lucky. 
"

She turned, her tits in profile.  "Why?"

"Because you can take off clothes and have cold drinks.  I'm sweating up a 
storm."

Prim's hips swung as she approached the wardrobe and changing area, and 
then disappeared behind the curtains.  I was tempted to join her and help 
her change.  

Angie called me over.  "When you find something, put it on," she hollered 
at her client."  While Prim sorted through the wardrobe collection, Angie 
grabbed my arm.  "Take it easy with the drinks."

"Why?  What's in that stuff?  I pointed to the punchbowl.  

"Like I said, a secret formula.  A special blend of fruit juices and 
herbs."

"That makes it sound like a liquid version of Colonel Sander's recipe."

Angie chuckled. "Plus one special ingredient that relaxes my clients and 
makes them, let's say, more receptive to suggestions.  I call it Gentle 
Persuasion.  Sometimes, all it takes is a word."

Aha!  Not cajoling or distractions, but a drugged potion.  Maybe I 
witnessed the lingering effects of the concoction in the hallway, between 
Angie and her last client.  And now, Angie was targeting Ms. Prim for some 
woman-to-woman play.  

Prim came out wearing a long yellow sleep shirt that covered her from neck 
to ankle.  Hardly sexy, although the thought of her body beneath that 
plain nightshirt was titillating.  

The cotton material clung, her waist a bit thicker than when she was on TV 
- no, this isn't her - and swelled around her hips.  Although Lynda Carter 
was quite busty, it was her thick hips and flat belly with an articulated 
crotch that drove me crazy.  Not that I'd ignored her chest, mind you.  As 
soon as Prim returned to the platform, Angie switched the lights back on.  
Prim shielded her eyes from the sudden change.  "I know Mr. Marcus can't 
have any punch.  But can he take some clothes off?"

Angie was visibly startled.  "Did you suggest that to her?" she whispered.

I shook my head.  Although, on second thought, I'd said she was lucky to 
be able to strip.  Maybe I could play Angie's game and save Prim from a 
lesbian fate.

Angie returned her focus to the digital viewfinder.  "Uh, sure, I guess.  
Why not?"

While Prim got herself a refill of Gentle Persuasion, I took off my shirt 
and pants.  Leaving my jockeys on seemed to be the wisest course.

Angie fumbled around the table behind her.  She snatched a bottle.  "Here, 
get next to her, but out of the shot.  Use this when I tell you."

A simple hand-held spray bottle.  With water, I assumed.  Wet t-shirt?  
Terrific!

Prim stood tall on the platform.  "It is quite warm under these lights, 
even in this outfit."

"Which is why you'll love this series.  Hands behind your head, chest 
out."

"Must I?  I'm so self conscious about, well, my bosom."

"Oh, don't be.  They are one of your best features. Aren't they, Mr. 
Marcus?"

I'd already told Prim her breasts, what I'd seen of them, were beautiful.  
What else could I say?  'Thems are fabulous tits'?

Angie nodded.  On cue, I spritzed a round patch, at her cleavage.  The 
inner edges of her breasts came into view.  "A little more.  Turn."  I hit 
the top edge.  The shirt plastered against the gentle slope.  "More 
please."

Bull's eye.  One large patch on one breasts hinted at an erect nipple.

"Okay, now the other."

I pumped a few times, soaking the front of her shirt.  Now her bra and two 
nips were visible under the thin cloth.  

"Great shots.  Your husband will love the suggestive nature of these.  Are 
you cooler?"

"Oh yes, quite."  She pulled the shirt from her body but it slapped back 
against her skin when she let go.  I wanted to slap my hands on those 
tits, or suck the hard nipples.  Calm yourself, I thought.  "But now my 
underwear is wet."

"That's all right.  You won't need underwear for the next outfit.  They 
would make lumps under the material.  Hardly sexy."

This time, Angie went behind the curtain and fetched the outfit.  While 
she was out of sight, Prim snuck over and gulped down another glass of 
punch.  Drugged punch.

Angie returned with a little black dress on a hanger, with the emphasis on 
little.  Unless it was made of some kind of super-fabric, it was too short 
and too narrow for voluptuous Prim.  Oh wait!  Oh goodie!  "Change into 
this, please."

Prim ambled the length of the room and disappeared.  Angie checked the 
display on her camera, reviewing previous shots.  I peeked over her 
shoulder.  Angie was good.  Prim looked sexy and desirable in most of the 
shots.  Hell, if Angie wasn't there, I'd have tried to convince Prim that 
all she needed was a good man like me to demonstrate how sexy she was.

At long last, Prim came out from behind the curtain. "Is this the proper 
size?"

The dress neckline swooped deep, exposing deep cleavage and hints of 
areola.  The hemline rode high on her thighs, and as she walked, the hem 
kept scooting up.  We all knew that there were no panties to block the 
view if the hem went any higher.  Prim fought the good fight but kept 
losing ground.  Even worse, when she stepped up on the platform, the dress 
advanced up to her crotch, exposing her ass.  One yank brought it down, 
but only to mid-thigh.

"Take your position on the stool, please," said Angie.

Prim sat down, but continued to yank at the bottom and then adjust the 
top.  It was a seesaw battle.  Every time she tugged at one part, I got to 
see more bare skin.

"Please cross your legs.  And for goodness sake, sit still."

The bottom of the dress slid to her crotch.  Only her crossed legs hid the 
gift of her pussy.

Angie clicked away as she gave orders.  "Stand up, hands on your hips.  
You're holding your head too high.  I've got glare from your face.  Drop 
your head a bit.  Concentrate on Mr. Marcus."

"I can't see him."

"Mr. Marcus, move up, next to the camera.  Better?"

"Yes."

I stared at Prim's face, but my attention kept slipping lower, to her 
chest and crotch.  The dress was tightening, exposing even more of her 
naked flesh.  The aisle between the platforms was a chasm.  I thought 
about leaping over to Prim, kissing her with one hand hefting a breast and 
the other dipped between her thighs.

"Lower, please," ordered Angie.

Ms. Prim looked at my chest.  My prick throbbed.  Could she see it move, 
engorged by the mere sight of her?

"Concentrate on his belt buckle.  A little bit lower.  Perfect position.  
Hold it right there."

Prim followed the directions precisely.  Without the permission to tug at 
the hemline, the dress hovered provocatively just below her pussy.  We 
were mutually checking out each other's pubic areas.

"Good, Now lean forward, just a bit."  Prim drooped her shoulders.  The 
neckline was giving way to the heft of her tit flesh.
That's good.  A little more."  Prim wavered, trying to maintain her 
balance. That's all it took.  The top collapsed and her breasts burst 
forward.  Angie's camera snapped a series of shots.  Prim stood erect and 
threw her hands up to cover her nipples.  Too late.  I'd seen oval brown 
areola with small nubbins.  Prim turned her back and tucked her breasts 
back into the dress.  The pressure raised the hemline, exposing Prim's ass 
cheeks.  Shadows blocked a clear view of anything else.

"Back on the stool."  Angie handed me a vibrator.  "Give this to her."

If she wanted Prim to stick something into her vagina, my cock was a 
willing volunteer.  Prim wouldn't be too enthusiastic, I expected.  I ran 
the errand, as requested.  Standing next to the seated Prim, It wouldn't 
have taken much to pull the top down past her tits or tug the dress up to 
expose Prim's vaginal treasure.  Instead, I just handed her the device.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"  Daphne held it aloft by two 
fingers.  "Ms. Underwuud?" 

"Turn it on and stroke yourself.  I suggest your shoulders, your legs.  
It'll relax you, like Mr. Marcus's massage."

"Can't he massage me?"

Whoa, that was a surprise.  Was Prim open to the idea of me touching her 
some more?  I paused next to her, just in case Angie agreed.

"He could," said Angie, "but would you want his hands on your thighs? 
Perhaps even higher?"

I prayed for a yes.

Prim paused, for more than a moment.  "I'll try this, just a little."

I returned to Angie's side.  Prim rubbed her neck with the artificial 
penis.  She tilted her head.  Her expression warmed, her lips pouted.  
"This feels nice."

"Try your legs."

Prim ran the vibrator up along her calf.  "Much nicer."

"Go a little higher.  These photos will be marvelous."

Prim uncrossed her legs but kept them together.  She rubbed the vibrator 
along her legs, which were very exposed with the short dress.  Without 
being prompted, she slid the vibrator between her thighs.  They separated 
a bit, and then a bit more.  Shit, she was advancing the vibrator deeper.  
Angie's face was plastered to the camera.  Prim slumped on the stool, an 
expression of relief mixed with pleasure washed over her face.  Her 
expression changed as the tip of the vibrator reached the juncture of her 
thighs.  The shadows were too dark to tell how close she was to her 
vagina.  Prim pumped the vibrator deeper under the short skirt.  Her legs 
went even wider.  Prim wasn't shaved.  Angie clicked the shutter at a 
furious pace.  Now, two hands on the vibrator, Prim poked it in and out.  
She leaned her head back, mouth open.  Angie kept snapping.  Prim's 
forearms squeezed her breasts together.  The top of the dress slid down, 
to the very edge of her areola.  Prim was gurgling.  Her eyes went wide.  
She withdrew the vibrator and slammed her thighs shut.  "What was I 
doing?" she asked.

"Giving yourself pleasure.  Quite erotic.  Your husband will see a side of 
you he's never seen."

"I don't want him to see that!  How horrid!"

"No, not at all.  There's a woman with sexual needs and desires inside 
you.  That foreplay was just a sample.  If you want a better sex life, 
than you need to feel sexy.  And you just did.  The pictures will prove 
it.  Why, Mr. Marcus here just about stained his shorts at your 
performance.  See, there is an advantage to having a man at your shoot.  
He can give you an honest reaction.  Right?"

I nodded.  Prim probably couldn't see past the lights.  "Yes, it was very 
arousing."

"Well, I could use something to drink."

I got Prim a refill.  

"What did you think?" she asked.  "Am I sexy?"

I glanced at my boner in my jockeys.  "Oh yes."

She finally took notice of my condition.  "Did I do that?"

I nodded.  "The minute you came into the studio."

She slurped the glass empty.

"Mr. Marcus, a moment please.  Ms. Prim, Daphne, go pick some lingerie 
now," said Angie.

I approached Angie, fiddling with her camera.  She stopped, grabbed a 
ziplocked bag with two ice cubes inside and handed it to me.  "Have Ms. 
Prim drink more punch, with these in the glass.  That'll be your last 
duty.  Your lesson is over."

It was easy to figure out.  This was the lethal dose of the drugs that 
would put Ms. Prim in Angie's waiting arms.  Angie didn't want any 
witnesses or mÃ(c)nage à trois.  I had no choice but to say "Okay."

I dropped the two ice cubes into a fresh glass and added some of the 
punch.  I joined Prim behind the curtain and handed her the drink.  Still 
in the little black dress and no longer tugging at it, she almost inhaled 
the contents.  "Refill?"  

She batted her eyelashes.  The drugs were doing their job.  She nodded, so 
I stepped out from behind the curtains, added more liquid and gave Angie 
the "thumbs up."

Behind the curtain, I stepped close to Daphne at the costume rack.  I 
selected a translucent nightgown with matching undies and held it up. Prim 
shook her head. It looked like it was going to unscrew at the neck.  When 
I finished with this task, I was gone.  And I didn't want to be gone.  And 
I didn't want to leave Daphne to Angie's wiles.  I whispered, "You don't 
want me to leave, do you?"

She shook her head.  Her boobs joined in.

"I have a great idea.  This photo shoot has been too boring.  Wet t-shirts 
and tight dresses, and now Angie wants you in some skimpy lingerie.  
Instead, how would you like to have some fun? Dress up and pretend?"

She smiled.  "That sounds much better than a negligee, where I'd be 
completely exposed."  She leaned forward, her breasts threatening to pop 
from behind the elastic neckline.

"Right!  So let's pick something else."  I pretended to paw through the 
outfits until I came to the one I'd fondled earlier.  "You'd look terrific 
in this."  I held up the Wonder Woman outfit.

"Oh no.  It would show too much."

Her black dress was still fighting her.  Her large tits swayed 
provocatively, but not enough to expose her nipples.  Would she even fit?  
"You'd look terrific.  Powerful.  In control."  I held eye contact.  

She wasn't focusing.  It was the drugged beverage.  "Really?"

Angie's voice came over the curtain.  "What are you two doing back there?  
We don't have all day."

"Yes," I said.  "This is your shoot.  You should take control.  After all, 
you're the one who's paying the bill."

Daphne giggled and grabbed the Wonder Woman outfit from my grasp.  "I'll 
show her!  Turn around."

I heard her struggle with the black dress, material rubbing against her 
bare skin, her dress being removed.  Prim grunted as she put on the 
costume.  "I'm too big."

I turned around.  Her breasts were half covered by the bodice of the 
costume.

"Let me help.  Inhale."

She sucked her stomach in.  I inched the zipper upwards, stalling a few 
inches from the top.  The pressure squeezed her breasts upward, 
overflowing the cups.  The dark areolas were playing peek-a-boo with the 
upper edges of the front piece.  "There.  Don't forget the tiara, lasso 
and boots."

I joined Angie behind the camera.  "She'll be right out.  She's just 
adding some accessories."

"To a nightgown?" 

Ms. Prim strutted out from behind the curtain. The effect was perfect. The 
tiara held back her hair. Her breasts bulged above the neckline. The 
shorts seemed to fit perfect until she turned and I saw the rear crotch 
flap was Velcroed shut.  One size fits all.  

Angie's jaw dropped, and then she laughed.  Out loud.

Prim stood, hands on hips, the classic Wonder Woman pose.  "What's so 
funny?"

Angie gathered herself.  "Okay, Mr. Marcus, you've had your fantasy 
fulfilled.  A buxom female dressed as Wonder Woman.  A vision of lust for 
every TV-watching male in the 70's.  Very good.  Now, if we could get back 
to business-"

"But I want to wear this," said Daphne.  "It makes me feel powerful."

I chimed in.  "And that would be sexy, right?  For her husband, I mean?"  
It also meant that Prim was not going to be easily cajoled into female-to-
female sex with Angie, maybe not at all.

Angie's face turned red in the dim lighting where she sat. 'I thought my 
directions were explicit.  Lingerie for the last shoot, and then you 
leave."

Prim stepped to the edge of the platform.  "But I want Mr. Marcus to 
stay."

Angie burst from her stool.  "What's going on here?  Whose shoot is this 
anyway?"

"It's Daphne's," I said.  "I was just adding a little creativity.  Your 
choices so far have been uninspired.  Really."

Angie poked my chest with her finger.  "So now you're the expert?"

"Like you said, time is money.  Go ahead and shoot."  I stood my ground.  
No way was I leaving, not yet.  Not while Daphne was wearing that costume.

Angie stood so close, if she'd had Prim's tits, they would have been 
smashed against my chest. "What are you doing?" she whispered.  "Trying to 
suggest your way into her panties?"

I startled at the explicit accusation. Not that it wasn't true.  "You have 
to understand.  I've had this fantasy about Wonder Woman since I was -"

She cut me off. "No explanation required. You've been drooling ever since 
she arrived.  It's just that I usually don't condone that sort of thing in 
my shoots. I'll have to adjust the lights."

What sort of thing?  Full front-on nudity?  Sex?  Angie hadn't been 
explicit.  Then again, neither had I.  Angie backed off.  I stepped to the 
side, out of the way of the camera and tripod to have a clear view of 
Prim.  Angie glanced down for a choice of lenses. Her eyes detoured to my 
crotch.   "Let's try a few poses. How about the classic hands on hips, 
hmmm?"

Ms. Prim was already in that pose, just too close for the lighting.

"Step back.  Legs a little wider."

Ms. Prim took a baby step to the side with one foot. It was enough to 
separate her thighs and show the runway of material covering her pussy. My 
dick throbbed with anticipation at a destination it would never 
experience.  Angie put Daphne through a series of poses, in profile, bent 
over, each one more provocative than the previous.

As the shoot continued, I snuck behind the curtain, threw off my underwear 
and put on a spandex Riddler outfit, green with question marks all over, 
and a mask to hide my face.  After drinking Gentle Persuasion with the ice 
cube kickers, Prim was in prime mode for suggestions.  I stepped out and 
joined her on the platform, the only way I knew to get closer to the 
object of my lust.

"What are you doing now?" asked Angie.

"How about some shots of Wonder Woman and a bad guy, in addition to the 
posed ones?" I asked.

"Not a bad suggestion, but you're mixing genres. You should be a Nazi or 
she should be Batwoman."

"Go ahead and revoke my creative license."

"Are you going to shoot Mr. Marcus and me together?" asked Daphne.

"I guess I am.  Seems like the inmates are in charge of the asylum.  How 
about some role play?"

Daphne scooted closer.  "Perfect!"

I was delighted that Prim was up for this.  I certainly was.

"Mr. Marcus, or should I call you Riddler," Angie was still giggling, 
interrupting her speech, "could you please stand next to Wonder Woman.  
Ms. Prim, use your golden lasso around his arms and torso."

Daphne let me position the golden cord around my body, keeping my arms 
inside. She tugged to tighten the slipknot, but not so much that I 
couldn't slide out if I wanted to.

"Mr. Marcus, scowl at bring caught and Ms. Prim, you need to be proud at 
bringing a bad man to justice. Head up. Shoulders back."

The cord was short, bringing me close to Daphne.  Angie's instructions 
gave me a front row seat to the best tits I'd seen in a long time. Wonder 
Woman's tits!  It was difficult to scowl from behind the mask as I glanced 
at her full chest and promising cleavage.

Prim glanced over to me.  I couldn't reposition my eyes fast enough.  
"What are you looking at?" she asked.

I'd been caught.  "Admiring you."

"You're a liar. I'm not attractive."

Angie's voice pulled my attention from Prim.  "Riddler has to tell the 
truth. That's one of the powers of the golden lasso."  In the show and 
comics, sure, but I was being held by a piece of golden drapery cord.  I 
could say whatever I wanted.  On the other hand, I was a pretty honest guy 
at heart.  "Mr. Marcus, look at Ms. Prim.  Do you find her sexy and 
desirable?"

I gulped. How could I answer that without scaring Prim away?  'The truth 
is your greatest weapon but also your worst enemy.' Thanks Gramps, for the 
advice. "Yes, very much." I could have left off 'very."

"You really do?"  Prim dropped the lasso.

"See, these pictures will do wonders for your relationship."  Angie was 
almost overjoyed.  It wasn't her choice of costumes that had done it, but 
she seemed to be taking credit.  "You've gotten a man excited. Can't you 
see it?"

Wonder Woman didn't wait to answer.  She’d seen it earlier, the lump in 
my tights.  "I see Mr. Marcus has achieved an erection, but I wasn't sure 
I was the cause."

Angie seemed proud to have gotten revenge against me for taking over the 
shoot.  I'd wrestled control away from her, breaking her first rule, as 
well as the opportunity to fondle Prim.  This was her way of 
reestablishing dominance.  "Let's move on shall we?  Mr. Marcus, get 
Daphne a last refill."

Angie made it sound like we were wrapping up.  I stepped out of the limp 
lasso on the floor and poured one serving into Daphne's glass.  The punch 
agitated the drug remnants at the bottom of the cup, left over from the 
melted ice cubes.  This serving would deliver the last of the drug 
booster.  "Freshen her makeup please."

I had no powder or blush, and no lipstick for such a task.  Instead, I 
dabbed perspiration from Prim's forehead. It was impossible not to sneak a 
peek at her ballooning breasts and down her cleavage.

"I am so sorry," she said.

Why was she apologizing?  For getting me hard?  Isn't that what she wanted 
from her husband, from these pictures?

"One last series, and then we're done, if you're ready," said Angie.

Ms. Prim was unresponsive, staring off into space.  The drugs must have 
hit her hard.

"I said, it's time for a costume change.  Some lingerie should do the job 
nicely. Your husband will be quite pleased.  And Mr. Marcus, thank you for 
this bit of fun.  You can go now."  Angie had moved in front of her 
camera, closer to our position.

So Angie's temporary co-operation, getting me close to Prim, was a tease, 
to frustrate me.  Male helper goes home with blue balls.  What fun!  

Prim's head jerked towards Angie.  "I don't want to put on lingerie.  And 
I want Mr. Marcus to stay.  She put her arm around my shoulder, the first 
time she'd touched me, other than my hand.  In that position, side by 
side, her boob pressed against my chest.

Angie's face got red, and her hands were clenched fists.  "All right.  
Stay in that costume.  But I need to get those sensual expressions, the 
ones I got when you used the vibrator.  Perhaps Mr. Marcus can assist."  
Daphne and I waited, side by side, for the punch line.  "As long as you 
want to be in the frame, Mr. Marcus, let's have Ms. Prim use you as a 
prop."  Angie unscrewed the camera from her tripod.  "Drop your spandex."

My erection was obvious to Angie.  Prim had noticed before, but might have 
been too drugged to understand what was about to happen.  Was this more 
teasing?  I slid the green tights to my ankles and stood up, my proud 
penis at full extension.

"Impressive.  Ms. Prim, on your knees."

She complied.  When she turned her head, her eyes bugged out.  "Oh my!  
You're all excited and big and -"

"Don't touch it," said Angie.  "Just pose with his penis near your face."  
Prim shuffled closer on her knees.  "That's it.  A bit closer.  Good.  
Open your mouth.  Pretend you're going to suck it."

So, the modified replay kept my cock from contact, which was a damn shame.  
My hips wanted to surge forward, just a bit.  The idea of Wonder Woman 
sucking my dick was both too much and too little.

"Wider.  A little closer.  Excellent."  Angie took a flurry of shots.  Ms. 
Prim snapped her mouth shut.  Her lips glanced against the tip of my cock. 
I startled. It bounced off her nose and then her cheek.

"We need to get that prop under control. Grab it, would you?"

Huh?  Ms. Prim wrapped her fingers around my dick.  A few strokes by 
Wonder Woman were all I wanted before I died.  I'd stroked her ego and now 
she was positioned to stroke my cock. A fair trade.  Except she kept her 
hand still, doing precisely what Angie requested.  Prim's hand on my cock 
reminded me of when she handled the vibrator earlier.  Could I convince 
Prim to rub my prick around her pussy?  Oh God, that would be awesome, and 
piss Angie off something fierce.  With the drugs in the fruit punch, I had 
better than even odds.  I kept my voice low, as if we were keeping a 
secret from Angie.  Which we were.  "You know what gets a man really 
excited?"

She leaned forward, breasts hanging in anticipation. "No. What?"

"A woman masturbating."

"Really?  I'd expect a husband would be upset, if he saw his wife playing 
with one of those.  Why would you find it exciting?"

I wouldn't find Harriett exciting under any circumstance, but Prim was a 
wet dream.  "Because it drives a man's fantasy that the object of a 
woman's desire -" I pulled the dildo from behind my back "- is their 
penis."

"You do?  I mean, he will?"

"Absolutely."  I looked over to Angie.  "May I reposition Daphne for a few 
self-gratification poses?"

She threw us a confused expression.  "By all means."

I had to unwrap Prim's fingers from my erection.  She knelt there, like a 
statue, admiring my manhood.  I shimmied the tights back up, but left my 
cock exposed.  It would have been painful, packing it back into the 
spandex.  Putting my hands on her shoulders, I directed Prim to lay on the 
carpet.  Her arms were spread, one leg bent.

Angie stood above Prim, shooting straight down.

"Now we'll use the tool."  I knelt between her legs and ran the vibrator 
over the flap of crotch material.

Prim looked up at Angie with a plaintiff expression.  "I'm so sorry, I 
can't feel anything."

The crotch flap was too thick  "Hold on."  I reached under Daphne's ass 
for the end of Velcroed flap and ripped it free.  The flap flipped up on 
her stomach, exposing Prim's prim pussy.  I wanted to leap forward and 
tongue her to orgasm.  I'd probably have cum in my pants.  "Are you 
lubricated enough?" I asked.

"How do I tell?"

I ran two fingers through her vaginal lips.  They were thick and spongy, 
and quite wet.  "You're ready."

"You shouldn't be touching me down there.  You're so naughty!"   Prim took 
the pretend phallus in her hand.  "I didn't put it inside last time.  This 
is kind of large, isn't it?"

Angie and I suddenly knew too much about her husband's physiology.  "It'll 
fit fine."  I leaned close, distracted by those gorgeous tits almost 
escaping from the bodice.  "Let me help.   I'll be careful."   I took the 
vibrator from her.  "Those devices can be awfully cold.  Even frozen!"  I 
sat back and ran the tip against her labia.  "How does this one feel?"  

Prim jerked her head up, eyes wide. "God, you're right. Its like a 
popsicle."

"That's too bad.  Using the vibrator would have generated the sensual 
expressions and body language for those pictures you want so bad."

"It would, wouldn't it?  Is there another way?  Please, tell me what to 
do!"  

I thought I saw her labia pucker and blow me a kiss.  "Well, there is an 
alternative."

"Yes?"

My cock, still exposed, stretched towards her.  "I have a substitute 
that's much warmer.  Close your eyes and feel this."  I put my cock in her 
open hand.  "How's this?"

"Mr. Marcus!  What are you doing?" asked Angie.

"You want those lusty expressions, right?"

Prim kept her eyes shut.  "Hmm, much warmer, and softer too, yet stiff."  

"You'll have to change her position."  Angie stood over me.  "I can't 
shoot through you."

I was prepared to shoot my load into Prim; I just needed to keep Angie 
satisfied, in a photographer-like way.  I rolled Prim over and guided her 
so she was posed on her hands and knees.  

"Look this way, head up," said Angie.  "And open your eyes."

Prim turned and raised her head in Angie's direction.

For Angie, Prim's face was visible.  For me, Prim's pussy was available.  
I'd already positioned my cock at the entrance, gently waving it around, 
teasing.  Prim reached back, her fingers finding my erection.

"Can I help with that?" I asked.

"Oh no.  You might accidentally touch me, in my private areas.  We can't 
have that, now, can we?"

"Of course not."

She ruffled the hair surrounding her cunt lips as she guided my cock into 
position. Prim wiggled her hips to align our bodies.  "Does it have an on 
switch?"

I was already turned on.  "It doesn't buzz, if that's what you mean.  It 
pulses instead.  What did you do last time?"

"Mr. Marcus, I don't shoot porn or x-rated material!" Angie cried.  Her 
complain didn't stop her from clicking the shutter.

"I rubbed it around a bit," Prim demonstrated, "and then I pressed it 
against me," I leaned forward to give her the opportunity to turn words 
into deeds.

My cock was at the threshold, Prim's damp patch.  The hair tickled.  "And 
then?"  Oh, please tell me you put it in.

"That's all.  I just rubbed it around a little.  It felt like sparks.  I 
wanted to do more, but I got scared.  This one is even thicker, so I might 
have to push -"

She wanted this, or she wouldn't have agreed.  She'd already done it. The 
head of my prick was wedged between her labia, just past the opening.  
"Oh, it is warmer.  

Angie spoke up, with a catch in her throat.  She must have been in partial 
shock, seeing a man do to her client what she'd wanted to do.  "Daphne, 
that's perfect.  Give me more of that look.  Hunger, passion, lust."

Prim tried to pull more of my cock into her.  The next penetration was 
about two inches.  Her hand bumped my stomach. "Mr. Marcus, is this your 
penis inside me?"

"Yes."  I stood perfectly still but my cock throbbed.

"We're not having intercourse, are we?" Prim asked.

The magic lasso no longer bound me.  "Does intercourse with your husband 
feel like this?"  I flexed my groin muscles, making my cock inflate.

"No, not at all."

"Then we can't be having intercourse."

"Of course.  How logical of you."  She relaxed, and I slid in deeper.  
"Because I won't cheat on my husband.  I only want him to get excited."  
She arched her back and I slid another inch.  "Just like you are."

"Can we get rid of the tiara?" asked Angie.

I plucked the plastic headband from Prim's head and tossed it aside.  

"Daphne, shake your head.  And can we get a bit more chest?"

The headshake also shook her hips.  I advanced a bit deeper.  At Angie's 
request for more chest, my hands went to work unzipping Prim's bodice.  It 
fell onto the floor.  Prim pulled it out from under her.  I took the 
opportunity to replace the bodice's support with my hands.  My hands on 
Wonder Woman's tits.  I rubbed them and mashed them and pinched the 
nipples.

"Oh, Mr. Marcus, this is so much more intimate than unbuttoning."  But she 
didn't ask me to stop.  

Angie danced around us, taking shots from all angles.  "I need more, 
Daphne, give me more."

In response to Angie's plea, I drove forward.  There was no deeper, my 
dick was buried to the hilt.

Prim moaned and clenched her groin muscles.  She looked at me over her 
shoulder  "Oh, Mr. Marcus, you have such energy.  Can you help me get the 
expressions Miss Underwuud needs?" 

"For you?  Of course.  But I'll have to move a bit, in and out of your 
body.  Is that okay?"

"Yes, but just for the expressions.  Not for sex.  I could never have sex 
with anyone but Carlton."

Sounded like a cigarette, not a stud.  Maybe he's hung like a cigarette, 
short and thin.  "Of course not.  This is just to get you in the right 
mood.  Okay?"  I pulled my cock almost all of the way out.

She hunched her back.  I couldn't tell if she was yearning for my prick or 
just getting comfortable.  I played with those first two inches of pussy.  
"Are you getting this?" I asked Angie.

"Awesome!  Keep going."

"Okay with you?" I asked Prim.

Her reply was a hissed, "Yesssss."

I gave her another couple of inches.  I'd shared about half of my 
erection.  

"You were right.  I'm having feelings I've never had before."

Perhaps because I was exploring virgin territory.  "I'm going to move 
now."  I didn't want to shock her when my fucking started.

I held her hips and rocked back and forth.  With every thrust her head 
would come up and she'd bellow from deep in her stomach.  My cock felt the 
vibrations, which urged me on, deepening my probing.

"These are fantastic!" said Angie.  "Raw, sexual emotion.  Don't stop."

Prim panted.  "Will these pictures urge my husband to action?"

"If they don't, then nothing will."  I'd just gotten started.  "Now we're 
going to go for the big finish, so Angie can capture your expression when 
you've reached a climax."

"A what?"

"An orgasm."

Prim bucked back against every thrust.  "What's that?"

I was stunned.  This voluptuous woman had never gotten off?  What did she 
think happened with the vibrator rubbing her vagina?  She deserved better 
than an inattentive husband or a hunk of plastic.  She deserved me.  Well, 
deserve or not, she was going to have me, all of me.  I laid across her 
back and cupped her hanging breasts in my hands.  "It'll start as a 
tingling in your groin, or maybe a cramp.  But it will be a good cramp."

"I already feel something," she said.

I lunged forward, burying myself completely but slowly, several times in a 
row.  "And now?"

"Oh shit!"

A cuss word, from proper Ms. Prim?  Why did I notice stuff like that?  
"Feel good?"

"Don't talk.  Show me what an orgasm feels like."

That was my cue to begin a serious fucking.  In and out, pulling at her 
nipples, breathing on the nape of her neck, nibbling her ears, massaging 
her breasts, and humping her from behind.

"Oh God, I feel something.  I'm tightening up."

"Go with it.  Squeeze down."

She did.  The pressure made me jab even harder.  Her cunt provided 
precisely the resistance I needed.  She had pussy skills and didn't know 
it.

"I think its, oh God, something is, -"  Her breathing was short gasps.  

I executed a series of short thrusts as I reached around to find her 
clitoris.  I didn't want to torture the woman, just give her an earned 
pleasure.  My fingertips must have found the spot.  She froze, every 
muscle taut.  I pushed forward.   "I'm not stopping."  I thrust over and 
over, pounding Prim's pussy.  She wasn't prim and proper any more, just 
well fucked.  She lifted her head and screamed.  On my next penetration, 
all the way in, I spurted and held my ground.  Prim wailed, and then 
collapsed flat on the rug, her legs apart.  My dick popped free, juicy and 
spent.  Remnant cum dripped onto her buttocks.  Large well-shaped 
buttocks.  Prim had passed out, from either the drugs or exhaustion or a 
combination.

I looked at Angie, whose expression was a mix of excitement and shock.  
She probably wanted to do the honors, with the vibrator, or a dual-sided 
dildo, or maybe just her fingers and mouth.  She folded her arms and 
furrowed her eyebrows.

I left her there, in fetal position, on the platform, Angie standing over 
her taking shots that would give any man, including her husband, an 
instant erection.  

I remembered Daphne Prim's purpose in this shoot. Photos to get her 
husband interested again. He'd have to be blind if this woman didn't turn 
him on.  The buxom, proper Ms. Prim, naked and freshly fucked.  I wanted a 
set of the shots for myself but didn't have the courage to ask Angie for 
them.

"I think we're done here, Mr. Marcus.  Thank you for your creativity.  
Never let it be said the teacher can't learn from the student."  Angie 
killed the photo lights.  The overhead bare bulbs made the room seem 
almost dark in comparison.

I got dressed after collecting my clothes, scattered around the studio.  
Prim was in fetal position, still asleep.  "She seems to be resting 
comfortably."

"She deserves a rest after the ride you gave her."

"Will she remember what we did?"

"If not, there's always the photos.  Too bad I swing the other way."  
Angie patted my groin.  "You've got quite a talent there."

Yes, and I expected Vonna would make use of it soon.  And there was Clara, 
waiting for me to use it with her niece.

I had my hand on the door when Angie shuffled over, sandals scuffing the 
floor.  "Do you want my box?"

First she tells me she likes women, and then asks if I want to fuck her?

She pointed to a large travel case along the wall.  "My travel box, with 
lights, tripods, so you can do your intimate portraits.  You can borrow 
it."

"Thanks."  Fortunately, the travel case had wheels.  I never could have 
lifted it.  "I'll bring it back after the shoot."

"Take your time.  I don't do remotes anymore."  Angie hung her head and 
drew random lines on the floor with her sandal.  "If I have need for your 
services again, can I call you?"

"Sure."  I stuck out my hand for a shake.  "Your father has my number."  
And I had Angie's.

###  An Original H M Tale  ###


I'm always interested in reader feedback.  
If you had a choice, whose story would you be most interested in reading:
Vonna's?  Clara's niece?  Nashta, the pizza girl?  Winifred, Harriett's 
helper?  Angie's mystery client?  Someone else?
Send me an email and tell me what you think 
at harveymarcus9@comcast.net.
Copyright (c) 2010, HarveyMarcus.  All Rights Reserved.