Sunday, August 01, 2004

 

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Saturday, July 31, 2004

 

Xxx Porn Film Sex story

EXTREME WARNING. This is intended for persons of 18 years of age or
above. If you are not 18 then go away.

EXTREME WARNING. This story contains descriptions of violence, snuff,
eroto-cannibalism and sexual acts. Do not read if these subjects are
likely to offend.

EXTREME WARNING. In no way do I condone any of the anti-social behavior
described in the story. This is an erotic fantasy, not to be confused
with reality.




Please reply by preference to the newsgroup, or failing that to
grimwilliamsmy-deja




The Feast of Purim
By Grim Williams

Series One, Part Four


Guy watched the sun descend behind the Castle, perched precariously on
the steep, imposing hill in front of him. It had turned golden,
shedding a deep reddish hue over the entire city. The whitewashed
buildings of old Shushan were now rich in color, a sepia montage of
assorted styles, built piecemeal over nearly two hundred years.

He sighed.

A black crow sat perched on the lip of a tall chimney just inside the
city wall, swiveling its watchful head through several full turns. Guy
admired it for a while, silent, thinking.

Ruth would be here a little later. She would help him sell the dams for
a good price, a very good price. Then there would be enough money...
for a while. He was in no doubt that it wouldn't last, that he would
soon spend it: he always did.

He wondered how it felt to be rich, not to have to worry about the next
meal, to have a real home rather than just the motor.

Maybe if he were rich, he might even buy Ruth. His cock stirred. What a
fine meal she would make!

Or Esther...

His mind blurred.

Indeed. Esther.

What was he going to do about Esther? His thoughts there were in some
disarray. Could he really sell her to a Butchery and abandon her to be
eaten? What kind of person was he? Of course he wouldn't abandon her
literally, he told himself. He would be there until the very end. He
would hold her hand. He would be a shoulder for her to cry on during
any moments of regret. After all, she was his sister.

But God. How his conscience bothered him! How could he actually sell
his own sister to a Butchery! What kind of man was he?

But it was what she wanted, came the immediate answer. How could it be
any other way? After all, when all said and done, under those newfound
clothes and fancy manners she was still an Aquarian. She could never be
anything else. How can any of us ever escape our destiny?

We may fight it; or we may take flight; but it will catch us in the
end.

Esther might fight; oh yes, Esther might flee; but sooner or later she
would resume her naked, greased acquaintance with the spit, her legs
would part, welcoming its final embrace. It was inevitable.

So what was the point in running?

Esther wanted it.

So where was the point in fighting?

Esther lusted for it.

He stared up at the crow, as it gazed silently back at him.

Perhaps, if they'd not been born Aquarian, then things would have been
different.

Perhaps. If...

Maybe.

Such are the words of dreamers.

They had both been damned from the moment of their birth, from the
instant of their conception, to struggle, to fight against their
destiny.

"I don't understand," Guy had asked his mother just a few days after
his sixth birthday. He'd been puzzled. Why did they have to live hidden
in the caves of the desert, forever in fear of these mythical strange
men with their guns? For although his mother often spoke of men, he'd
never actually seen one. He'd sat down, naked in the hot sand; his sun
parched body as blistered and burnt as wood charred by the fire.

"How is it that the Zodiac knows I'm going to be bad?" he'd asked
irritably. "How can it know before I've even been born?"

His mother had corrected him. She wasn't his real mother, of course. He
knew that. His real mother had been Capricorn and had abandoned him at
birth. "The Zodiac didn't know before you were born, Guy," she'd said
kindly. He still remembered the tired sigh in her voice, her long red
hair, and those huge pendulous breasts. "It only knows when you come
into the world, at the moment of your birth. From that instant nothing
can be changed. It's all there, written in the stars."

The next few nights he'd spent outside, looking up at the sky, looking
for all these things that were written in the stars.

"But how, mamma?" he'd asked a little later. "How does it get up there
in the stars? Who puts it there?"

Of course, his mother hadn't known about that. It was the first of many
questions she hadn't been able to answer.

He remembered another one. "Why am I so different?" he'd asked, holding
his cock. "Why is it that I'm the only one with a penis?"

"Because you're special," his mother had told him solemnly. "Very
special. As you grow older you'll be taller and stronger than any of
the girls. The source of that power is down here," she'd gently pushed
his hand away from his soft naked dick, caressing it herself. Even then
it had been big. "Remember, Guy. This is your power. Be careful with
it. Don't damage it. Never do that."

And so he'd been careful. He'd looked after it well, for another ten
years. But at the age of sixteen, he'd been out hunting for wild snakes
in the early morning gloom. At that time of day, the snakes are still
half-asleep. He'd gone with Esther, as was his custom. She was four
years younger than he was, but she was already a genius when it came to
catching breakfast. That day, she'd snared them a monster.

She'd called for him to come and see it.

"Look, Guy! Come look what I've caught!"

He'd come running, and when he'd arrived, he'd discovered that she had
a constrictor: green, black and brown, and the colors all mixed up.

He'd stared incredulously, because she'd let the thing wrap itself
around her body.

She knew what she was doing, of course. It was a game to her. It was
still early morning and so playing with snakes wasn't so very
dangerous.

He still remembered her face, that sly smile, her lanky arms and legs,
her short black spiky hair sticking out in a thousand different
directions.

Of course, she'd been nude. Like him, she hadn't any clothes. The snake
had slid around her bare flat chest. She'd let it, wriggling from side
to side because it tickled. And then it had hooped her again, this time
hugging her boyish stomach, caressing her. Her face had been a picture;
so much excitement, so much unadulterated joy, And then the snake had
done it again. It had made its final coil, looping round her sun
scorched back for a third final time. It had gently hugged her ass,
cupping her sand-covered buttocks, its head appearing from around her
narrow little hips, suddenly attracted by something musky. What was it?
Ah yes! It had found and was sniffing her cute little pussy.

It had shown quaint interest; watching, waiting, and then its tongue
had darted out towards her smooth, bare slit, slithering across it. It
had touched her one, two, even three times. She'd let it,
unselfconsciously opening her legs to let it feel her, allowing it to
dart inside.

"Look what it's doing," she'd said excitedly, staring at him with a sly
contented expression filling her face. "Isn't it rude, Guy! Isn't it
bad! Look where it's going! Ooh, it tickles! It tickles, Guy!"

He'd watched, transfixed, and suddenly he'd felt very strange. His cock
had begun to harden and swell. Of course, she'd noticed that. She'd
noticed it at once, and that had made his young cock grow even more.

"It's as large as this shitty snake", she'd laughed in that old
familiar way, touching the twin lumps on her chest with her hands,
pinching them, while the snake continued to tickle between her open
legs with its darting tongue. He'd felt funny, awkward. His face had
flushed red. And his embarrent had made her laugh even more.

And so he'd turned tail and come running home, unable to escape the
haunting image of her teasing face and the snake amusing itself between
her naked cunt lips. "She isn't my sister," he'd announced to his
mother, hiding in a crevice at the back of their cave. "She can't be!
How can she be my sister? She's taking my strength. She wants my power.
And not only that, how can she be my sister when she doesn't look like
me at all?"

All his doubts, all his concerns had come flooding out at once.

"Well of course she isn't your real sister," his mother had said,
noticing the hardness of his cock. She pushed her lank, dusty hair out
of her eyes and had sat beside him. Those breasts. He still remembered
the freckles on her big sagging breasts as she'd cuddled him. "Esther
is an Aquarian," his mother had gently explained, stroking his balls to
make him feel better. "She's an Aquarian just as you're an Aquarian.
And so her mother abandoned her, just as yours abandoned you. But
she'll always be your sister. Don't you see? You've been reared
together. Whatever else happens, she'll always be there for you. And
you must be there for her. And you must never, ever waste your power on
your sister. You must save it for when you need it. You're Aquarian.
You must think ahead. One day this thing will save your life. It will.
But until that day, you must look after it. You must save its power."

Guy had swallowed hard. He'd loved his mother. And so he'd tried to
listen carefully to her words. It hadn't been easy. Sometimes, it
seemed as though his cock had a mind of its own. It seemed that just
being with a girl, looking at her pert young breasts as she reached up
for something high; or her cute pretty ass as she bent over for
something low; or her sweet shy pussy whatever the provocation, would
make it grow large and thick and angry.

But he'd done it. Yes, he had. He'd controlled himself, until the day
the Librans had come in their big, fancy motor. That was the day. That
was the big red-letter day for Destiny.

They'd come when he'd been out scavenging for food. He was always
scavenging for food, because food was scarce and had to be found.

There had been many women they could have picked, but for one reason or
another the Librans had chosen his mother from the rest. Maybe they
liked her red hair; maybe they liked her huge pendulous breasts. Hmmm.
Yes. That was probably it.

Destiny.

They'd climbed into their expensive motor and then had chased her
across the desert for nearly five miles. Five miles. It had been a one
sided contest from the very beginning. Esther had run too. The Librans
hadn't been after her, of course, but how could she desert the one that
had raised her?

That's what she'd said afterwards. That's what she had told him.

They'd both been naked, of course. His mother and Esther. Scared and
naked. His mother's big floppy breasts would have bounced painfully as
she'd run. Up and down, up and down, jerking into the air, slapping
against her stomach. Up and down: hurting, painful. They would have
been the butt of so many Libran jokes and ridicule. Because for them it
was just a game: fun, entertainment.

They'd fired little barbed darts from an air pistol to slow and weaken
her. Esther had tried to get in the way, to prevent the darts from
reaching their target, but they'd easily been able to avoid her,
driving around in their motor to the side or to the front where they
would get a perfect view of their real target.

Each hit was met with a huge cheer from the Librans, and a gasp of
agony from his mother. She would yelp, and skip and cry out in pain,
feeling desperately with her fingers for the little sliver of twisted
steel, sometimes able to tease out the hook, sometimes not so lucky,
tearing chunks of flesh in the process.

On and on they'd chased them. On and on until his mother had been
broken and exhausted, until she'd fallen beaten and bleeding to the
earth.

She'd only had Esther to protect her, to help her. Esther had stood
there, firm, between them and her mother, defending, defying.

"Let's eat them," they'd said, forming a circle around them both. "What
about the young one? I like her. She's cute."

"Let's fuck them," they'd said, steadily closing in, closer and closer.
"Let's rape them both. Dick's real hard and hurting."

"Let's kill them," they'd said, grabbing Esther and throwing her to the
ground beside her mother. "Painfully. Let's cook them slowly and make
them watch as we eat their choicest cuts."

By the time Guy had finally tracked them down it was after dark and the
fire had already been lit. The scaffolds had been erected. His mother
was fastened to an A-Frame. She hung by her feet, with her long red
hair almost trailing in the hard dusty dirt, her hands bound helplessly
behind her back.

Esther was standing a little distance away, her hands and arms also
bound tightly behind her back, from her wrists to her elbows. One of
the Librans held a large iron spit, while another opened a tub of
marinade.

Guy watched in horror from the darkness, from the safety of a large
granite boulder.

He counted them. There were four of them. Four against one.

His sister stood still, trembling, the dark black nubs of her small
inadequate breasts quite visible in the flickering orange light of the
fire.

They'd already shaved her mound. Guy could see that. The light fluff
that had so recently started to grow there was now quite gone. Her
pussy was as bare and slippery as the day that big constrictor had made
love to it.

Now they were greasing her hair. They used their hands, grabbing great
handfuls of the heavy grease from the tub, then massaging it into her
short, untidy spikes; kneading it in, making sure it went down to the
roots. Her hair, normally so bristly and alive, now lay heavy and
plastered to her head.

And she'd let them. Her feet hadn't been tied. She could have run if
she'd wanted. She could have struggled and fought. But she hadn't done
any of those things. She'd stood perfectly still, allowing them to
prepare her for the roast.

Because she was an Aquarian. It was what she wanted. It's the way she
was made.

Next came the marinade. Again they used their bare hands to apply the
prepared spicy barbecue, rubbing it into her skin, into every inch and
pore of her, between her toes, her fingers, inside her ears, into every
secret place. There were hands touching her breasts, her nipples,
fingers massaging the sauce into the inner sanctum of her shaved pussy,
spreading her ass and rubbing it there, working it deep into her anus.

Guy had watched, enthralled, aggressively rubbing his cock.

God. He couldn't help it.

His sister had stood so tall, so proud, allowing them to touch her,
accepting her fate without a murmur. She had wanted to die, to be
cooked and eaten by these men. She had yearned for the spit. To feel a
hunting knife ripping open her stomach.

He knew that now.

But why? God, why? He didn't understand.

And there was his mother, broad-assed, naked, swinging slowly on the
light breeze by the ropes binding her ankles.

The Librans had pushed Esther onto her back. She'd been lying on a
large platter. One of them approached, greasing the huge iron spit.
He'd told Esther what he wanted her to do, and very submissively, very
obediently, she'd lifted her legs and had held them open, her knees
pulled right back to her shoulders. She'd muttered something, and two
of them had stepped forward to help her, each of them taking an ankle
and holding it still.

Guy hadn't heard, but he knew what she'd said. However willing, she
would find it impossible to hold that pose once the spit began to
puncture her insides. And he'd felt the pressure building at the base
of his penis. He held it firmly, rubbing it hard.

And here it came. The man with the spit had pressed gently, pushing the
sharp point against her flesh, half way between her two holes.

They were talking to her, asking her the question. This was it, the one
they always asked. Did she want it up the ass, or in the cunt?

They were going to spit her; they were going to spit his young sister.

Any moment. Any moment.

He was about to come. His penis was shaking and about to explode.

How would she answer?

And suddenly he could hear his mother talking, talking in his head.
Only it wasn't his mother, it was his conscience speaking with his
Mother's voice.

"She'll always be there for you," she'd said. "And you must always be
there for her."

But he'd wanted to come. He'd wanted to shoot his load over this big
ugly boulder and be done with it.

"You must never waste it," his mother had said, stroking his cock. "Not
on your sister. Never on your sister."

He'd leaned back. It was building inside him. There was so much jism
inside him he was gong to burst.

"How can you stand there and let them do that to your sister?" his
mother called out to him. "Shame on you, Guy. Shame on you."

Screaming, he'd launched himself from behind the boulder, hurling
himself upon them like a mad spirit from another world, trying to shut
out that persistent, droning voice. He'd hurdled the fire and thrown
himself upon the two men holding Esther's legs. What happened next was
a blur. He remembered being hit, lashing out, Esther screaming abuse.
What had happened?

He didn't know.

But suddenly he had the spit in his hand and he was driving it into
some man's stomach. There was a gasp, a gurgle of death, and the man
sank weakly to his knees.

Guy had pulled out the spit, swirling it round. Did it hit someone
else? He rather thought it did.

God. He'd been hit too. Never mind, it was only a scratch. He'd yelled
out again. He felt fury, rage, lust: it was all in that cry. He'd cried
like one possessed, and perhaps he was.

For when he had finished, Esther was on the ground sobbing, shaking
with emotion and rage. Her skin was bright orange, her hair lacquered
to her head.

She'd been angry. "Don't you understand?" she'd screamed, furiously
rubbing her barbecue-covered slit, trying to come, trying to make
happen what the flames would have accomplished. It was slimy and wet.
"I wanted them to do it. I wanted it. I wanted them to roast me. Look
what you've done. Oh, God, how could you!"

Right then he should have known that there was only one way to truly
please her. At that moment he should have done it. He should have done
it himself. She'd already been prepared; her wrists were bound behind
her back. It would have been so easy to finish the job. He should have
listened to her and roasted her as she wanted.

He knew that there was no one else in the world that she'd rather have
eat her meat than him.

But he hadn't done it. He'd been a coward. He'd ignored her, walking
instead to where their mother hung. He'd turned his mother around so
that he could see her face, and had lifted her head fondly, caressing
it in his lap.

She'd been dead. She'd been dead for some time. They'd severed off her
breasts with a portable guillotine, and where her big sagging tits
should have been, there was just a bloody mess. The blood ran slowly
across her chest and dripped off her shoulders.

And all over her body were the places where the darts had shredded her
flesh.

The Librans had left her hanging upside down while they'd sat in a
circle surrounding Esther, chewing upon freckled tit flesh, making her
watch, offering her the raw meat, all the time talking about what they
were going to do to her.

He'd cried then. His body had heaved with those tears. He'd cried as
he'd never cried, either before or since. But when the tears had been
shed, he'd gone back to the fire and had icily collected more wood,
stoking it up.

He was the head of this family now. He had to think ahead.

The Librans were still lying where they'd fallen in the dirt; their
large motor parked a short distance away.

He'd checked that they were dead, and when he'd discovered that one
wasn't, he'd completed the task.

Then, he'd cut down his mother from the A-frame and prepared her in the
way he'd seen Esther being prepared.

He'd shaved her tenderly, greased her, tended her wounds, and then had
coated her with marinade.

Esther had kept sobbing. All the time she'd cried. She was still bound
and clothed in that ghastly marinade herself. Guy had not spoken to
her, neither had he comforted her. He'd just got on with what he'd
needed to do.

He couldn't speak. He was too frightened of what she might persuade him
to do.

He'd taken the spit, cleaned it of the Libran's blood, greased it, and
then held it between his mother's parted legs.

"I'm sorry, mamma," he'd cried. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you the
choice, the one you said they always give you..."



Guy Nyrian looked up at the black ugly crow, sitting on the chimney. It
was still there, awaiting its moment, swiveling its head, waiting,
watching.

He sighed. Even now, despite the fact that she was dead, he somehow
felt that his mother was with him.

He looked up to the heavens, to the stars and the almighty Zodiac.
"Help me, mamma," he moaned. "Help me do what's right by Esther." He
took hold of his long, fat penis and began to stroke it with slow
regular strokes. "Help me to be strong. I need my power. I need it all.
Help me give Esther what she needs."

End of Series One, Part Four

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Thursday, July 29, 2004

 

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Tuesday, July 27, 2004

 

Xxx Porn Film Sex story

Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Lara
Universe: Mike Logan
Summary: Mike agrees to shoot Lara's wedding, but he's less than
enthusiastic. Wedding photography has its own set of
problems, but society weddings are the worst. But Lara
seems to have more on her mind than just photography.
Keywords: MF, oral
Revision: 1.0
Web Site: /~scipio/
Site: ://./pub/Authors/scipio/
Discussion Forum: groups./group/ScipioForum/


STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It
contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you
are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO
NOT read any further.

All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to
any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely
coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse
any of the activities described in this story.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without
the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio
(nickscipio). This story may be freely distributed
with this disclaimer attached.

2003-2004 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.



Lara
by Nick Scipio

It had been a long day, and I was glad it was over. Since seven
in the morning, I'd had a studio full of people for a photo shoot.
It was for a popular and irreverent men's magazine, and all the
models had been scantily clad. I suppose the readership of the
magazine liked their women beautiful and dumb, because that's
certainly what I'd dealt with all day. Working with fashion
models may sound glamorous, but it's usually not. Most of them
are either vapid or vacuously chatty.

My assistants Theresa and Steve were shutting down the studio
lights and moving props out of the way while I hustled the last
of the models and various other people out of the building. I
couldn't wait to pour myself a cold drink and relax, although I
knew I wouldn't have long before the magazine's art director
called. We'd talk about the shoot, when he could see the proofs,
and a host of other details.

I had just shut the outer door on the last of the crowd when the
office phone rang. With a sigh, I resigned myself to dealing with
the call.

"Mike Logan," I said, catching the phone on the fourth ring.

"Mike, old buddy, old pal. How the hell are ya?"

I furrowed my brow in concentration, trying to place the voice.
It sure wasn't the men's magazine art director.

"You don't know who this is, do you?" the caller asked when my
brain refused to cooperate.

"No," I said, rubbing my weary eyes. "Enlighten me."

"It's Terry."

Terry. I searched my memory, but drew a blank.

"C'mon, buddy."

"I'm sorry, Terry. It's been a long day."

"Terry Duggins, from NYU."

Finally, recognition blossomed in my overworked brain. "Terry! Of
course. Sorry, man. It's been one of those days. Besides," I said,
shaking my head, "it's been what... eight years?"

"Yeah, at least."

Terry was my roommate the first year I was at NYU. I was studying
photography at the Tisch School of the Arts, and he wanted to be
the next Stanley Kubrick. Terry's father was some big-shot
financial type and had finally convinced him to transfer to
Columbia to "pursue a real career." We'd kept in touch after
Terry changed schools, but drifted apart a year or two after
graduation.

I sat down in the office chair and swiveled to put my feet on the
desk. "How ya been, man?"

We chatted for a few minutes, catching up. He was married and
still living in the City. I was surprised to hear that he hadn't
joined his father's firm after graduation. My respect for his old
man grew when Terry told me his dad wouldn't give him a job until
he'd proven himself at another firm. The Duggins name carried
enough weight that he had no trouble finding a position. In the
eight years since I'd talked to him, he'd swiftly moved up the
corporate ladder, and had just accepted a position--based solely
on his own accomplishments, he said proudly--with his father's
firm.

I told him about my life during the intervening years. I was
still single and doing what I enjoyed most, taking pictures of
beautiful women. Terry told me he'd even seen my photos in last
year's Swimsuit Issue. Yes, the models really were that beautiful.
No, I didn't date the models. Yes, I did get to travel a lot. I
didn't mention that most of the models were not the type of
women I'd consider dating. Nor did I mention the hundreds of
pounds of cameras and equipment I usually schlepped around on
those "glamorous" trips. He had his little fantasy of what a
fashion photographer's life was like, and I didn't want to break
the spell with a cold dose of reality.

"Listen, buddy," he said. "Let me cut to the chase. I was having
lunch with Dad and one of his clients yesterday, and the subject
of this guy's youngest daughter came up. She's getting married in
June, and the photographer got deported. I told them I was old
college buds with you, and that you shot weddings all the time.
So, I told 'em..."

"Terry," I said, interrupting him. "I haven't shot weddings in a
long time." I didn't like shooting weddings, and I'd done it
early in my career simply to pay the bills.

"It's like riding a bike, though. Right?"

No, I thought to myself, it's not. Working with fashion models
may be trying at times, but if I didn't like the lighting or the
angle was bad, I simply stopped for a moment and fixed things.
Brides walking down the aisle were like silk-clad juggernauts.
They didn't care if the lighting was bad or the angle was wrong.

"Terry, I'd love to help, but... I don't do weddings anymore."

"C'mon, buddy. Help me out here. How much would you charge this
guy to shoot his daughter's wedding."

"Terry, I'm telling you, I don't do weddings."

"When I mentioned you, Reuben said he knew your name, and he
wanted the best for his little girl. So... how much?"

I quickly realized I wasn't going to beg off, so I decided to try
another tack. Back when I was shooting weddings, I usually
charged a thousand dollars for a complete package. But that was
when I was new to the business and hadn't established a name for
myself. These days, the going rate for a good wedding
photographer was probably somewhere between three and five
thousand. I added a little to the top-end fee and then doubled it,
hoping to put Terry's friend off with the price alone.

"Look, Terry, my time's really booked. But if you've got to tell
this guy something, tell him I'll do it for fifteen grand." I
expected Terry to sputter, maybe even gasp. I was hoping he'd
simply tell me I was crazy and gracefully, or not so gracefully--
I didn't care which--drop the idea.

"Sounds great!"

"Did you hear what I said, Terry?"

"Sure. Fifteen thousand. No problem. I'll tell Reuben."

"Terry, I don't even know when the wedding is. If I'm booked
that week, then there's nothing I can do. Like I said, I don't
do weddings."

"I dunno when it is, exactly. Sometime in early June. I'll tell
ya what, let me give you Reuben's daughter's number. You got a
pen?"

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I couldn't believe this
was happening to me. The last thing I wanted to do was to shoot a
wedding. He gave me the number and I reluctantly wrote it on a
Post-it note.

"Her name's Lara. Lara Talbot."

"Right," I said, writing her name under the number. Something
about the girl's name tickled the back of my brain, but I
couldn't figure out what it was. I drew two lines under her last
name and then it hit me. "What did you say her father's name
was?"

"Reuben. Why?"

"Reuben Talbot?!" I asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"The Reuben Talbot? The guy who owns more of Manhattan than
Donald Trump?"

"Well," Terry said. "The Donald doesn't own that much anymore."

"Terry!"

"Yeah, he's that Reuben Talbot."

"Christ, Terry! Why didn't you tell me it was Reuben Talbot's
daughter?!"

"Would it have made a difference?"

"Hell yes, it would have."

"Why?" he asked.

I couldn't begin to explain to him the problems involved.
Weddings are bad enough--if you screw up even the smallest thing,
families get really bent out of shape. You usually only get one
chance to get a shot, maybe two or three for the posed shots of
the wedding party. But during my thankfully short career as a
wedding photographer, I'd learned that rich weddings were the
worst. Demanding parents, haughty participants, and spoiled
children could quickly turn things into a fiasco.

"Trust me, Terry," I said. "It would've made a difference."

"Oh, well," he said, sounding indifferent. "I know you'll enjoy
it. And it'll certainly be good for your business."

"I'm not in the business of shooting weddings, Terry."

"You'll have a blast, buddy. I think you'll like Lara. She's a
real firecracker. Hey, buddy, I gotta go." I could hear another
phone ringing in the background. "I'll tell Reuben to tell Lara
to expect your call. It was great catching up with you. I'll see
ya at the wedding."

Without even waiting for me to say goodbye, he hung up.

Super, I thought. Even fifteen thousand dollars couldn't make me
enjoy the hell I was going to endure to shoot Lara Talbot's
wedding. Of that, I was positive.

-----

For three days, I debated whether or not to call her.
Unfortunately, I'd told Terry I would, and my professional ethics
wouldn't let me avoid it. Finally, I sat down in my office and
dialed her number. After the fourth ring, the answering machine
picked up. I listened to the greeting--she actually had a
pleasant voice--and was preparing to leave a noncommittal message
when I heard a click.

"Hello? I'm here! Don't hang up."

I heard a beep as she turned off the machine. "I'd like to speak
to Lara Talbot, please."

"This is Lara," she said, panting slightly.

"Ms. Talbot, this is Mike Logan. I'm a..."

"Oh, yeah," she said. "The photographer. Daddy said you'd call. I
thought it was pretty cool when he told me he'd hired you. I mean,
I didn't know you did weddings."

"I don't," I said simply. "And I don't even know if I can do
yours. I've got a shoot scheduled in St. Maarten for the last
week in June."

"Oh, that's no problem. The wedding's the 8th of June."

My heart sank. I still had one chance to get out of it. "Well,
you see, I haven't shot a wedding in a long time. I only agreed,
tentatively, as a favor for a friend." Some friend, I thought
ruefully. "I'm a fashion photographer. Wouldn't a professional
wedding photographer be more suited to your needs?" I fervently
hoped she'd see the wisdom of getting someone else, and let me
off the hook.

"This close to the wedding, all the best wedding photographers
are already booked," she said.

Reluctantly, I had to agree with her.

"Besides," she said cheerfully, "My friend Ginny is a photography
nut. She says you'd be perfect, that your composition and framing,
whatever that means, are fantastic." Warming up to her flattery,
she continued. "And she said your lighting and texture are
exquisite."

"You'll have to thank your friend for me," I said, feeling my
stomach knot up as I realized I wasn't going to get out of
shooting the wedding.

"So, where do I send the check?"

"Hold on a second," I said. "We need to meet first and get some
details ironed out. And you need to sign a contract."

"Sure. No problem. When?"

With a sigh, I flipped open my PDA and brought up my schedule.

-----

Theresa and Steve were on a local shoot, doing some background
work for a layout, and I had the studio to myself. When we were
doing a shoot, the place was always bustling with people and
activity. On days when things were quiet, they were really quiet.
My studio was one big converted warehouse, with ceilings high
enough to hang lights and backdrops from, and enough space for
three separate galleries. It wasn't as posh as some of the big
studios in Midtown, but it was mine and mine alone.

Lara Talbot and her wedding planner were supposed to be in my
office at three o'clock, and I was dreading the appointment.

Since I last talked to her, I'd had a chance to call one of my
college clates--one I kept up with better than Terry and I
had--and asked her for some advice. She shot weddings
professionally, and I wanted to ask her about the language for my
contract, package and album prices, and a laundry list of other
things.

Grace laughed richly when I told her about my predicament, but
quickly sobered when she found out it was the Talbot-Rosenbaum
wedding. She was both amazed and amused when she learned how much
I was getting paid. It seems I might have overdone it a bit when
I tried to shock Terry with the cost. She e-mailed me a copy of
her contract, which I quickly modified to suit my own needs. She
also sent me her current price list, but suggested I include a
hefty number of things for free, since I was getting paid so
handsomely.

When I asked Grace if she'd like to simply do the wedding in my
stead, and pocket the entire fee, she told me she was booked that
entire weekend with two weddings. She actually managed to sound
sad about it. She did offer to do the albums for me at her
wholesale cost, which would be a lifesaver. I took her out for
dinner and drinks a few days later to show my appreciation. After
meeting with her, I went home armed with a good overview of the
current wedding photography business.

I'd even done some digging on Reuben Talbot, hoping to find out
more about him, and anything about his daughter. Because of who
he was, a quick search of the periodicals archive at the public
library yielded a slew of information, most of it financial or
business-related. I also managed to find photos of his first two
daughters' weddings. They were published in, of course, The Post.
They were mostly what I expected, lavish affairs attended by the
City's upper crust. Not for the first time, I wondered what I'd
gotten myself into.

Theresa and Steve had both snickered at all of my due diligence,
but once again, my professional ethics wouldn't let me do a half-
assed job. I might not want to shoot the wedding, but I was
going to do a good job.

My reverie was interrupted when the door buzzer sounded. Ms.
Talbot and her planner were right on time, and I went to admit
them. When I opened the door, I was confronted by a completely
unexpected sight: a popinjay. That's the only word that described
the man standing in my studio doorway. He couldn't have been an
inch taller than five and a half feet, with a dark complexion,
bleached hair with orange tips, and a million-dollar smile. I
don't shoot men's fashion, but I recognized one of this year's
Jean-Paul Gaultier pret a porter outfits. The problem I have
with Gaultier as a designer is that he doesn't just break the
rules, he smashes them to pieces and then grinds them underfoot
until they're powder. I haven't met anyone who looks good in a
Gaultier outfit, and I work with a lot of good-looking people.

I quickly recovered my wits and stepped aside, motioning for the
popinjay to enter. He was followed by a slightly pudgy young
woman whom I assumed to be Lara Talbot. The resemblance to her
father was clear, if unflattering. I was just shutting the heavy
security door when the two of them... squeaked... and the door
stopped moving.

"Hey! Back that thing up."

The voice came from around the door. I jerked it open and a
figure darted around it. At first, I thought it was some street
person and started to tell them to get out. When she pulled off
her hat and sunglasses, then stared at me defiantly, I had to
suppress the urge to laugh.

"Were you trying to kill me with that thing?" she asked
petulantly. "It must weigh a ton!" She put her hands on her hips
and scowled at me. She looked like a little girl trying to
convince me she was angry.

"Can I help you?" I asked, working to regain my composure.

"We have an appointment," said the popinjay.

I turned to look at him, and then regarded the Talbot woman. "I
know you two do." Still smirking, I gazed coolly at the new girl.
"But who are you?"

Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared.

"She's Ms. Talbot," the popinjay said, sounding scandalized.

I turned to regard the pudgy woman, confusion slowly replacing my
amusement. "Then who are you?"

"My sister," the slim brunette said acerbically.

Finally, my self-control failed and I laughed out loud.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"You're Lara Talbot?" I asked, still chuckling.

She huffed and nodded.

"I thought she," I said, pointing to the other woman, "was you.
And I thought you were a street person."

"A street person?!"

"We're here to see Mr. Logan, the photographer," the popinjay
said, trying to salvage the situation.

"Right this way," I said, leading them toward my office and
trying to reign in my chuckling. Unfortunately, I was having too
much fun and decided to throw decorum to the wind. What could
they do, fire me? "You should have made your appointment for noon.
Mr. Logan's hardly ever drunk by noon." I snickered silently at
their scandalized whispers. "But you're in luck."

"And why is that?" the popinjay asked sardonically.

"Because he actually took a bath two..." I ticked off numbers on my
fingers. "No, three days ago."

I was still laughing when I led them into my office.

-----

The popinjay, as it turned out, was the very flustered Silvio
DePasquale, professional wedding planner. Aside from being badly
but expensively dressed, he was gay. And I mean over-the-top gay.
I work with a lot of gay guys, and they've never bothered me. I
was sure Silvio was harmless as well, but I was having fun
tweaking him.

The other woman was only a little overweight, but probably headed
for another twenty pounds in the next few years. She was Mrs.
Cohen, nee Judy Talbot, and she strongly resembled her father,
including his dour expression.

The grouchy brunette was, of course, Lara Talbot. She was an
attractive young woman with long brunette hair and a slim,
athletic build. It took an effort of will to keep my eyes away
from her high, firm breasts. But her most striking features were
captivating ice-blue eyes, and she speared me with a penetrating
gaze.

I tore my eyes away from her, and when I seated them in my office,
they seemed to calm down a little.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I asked, trying to smooth
some of the ruffled feathers. "We have bottled water, still or
sparkling, and soft drinks. Or, if you prefer, I can get you
something with a bit more kick."

They all asked for water. When I returned, they were whispering
among themselves. I passed around the bottles and took a seat
behind my desk.

"We're here to see Mike Logan," Silvio said.

I'd fully intended to become serious at this point, but at his
effete arrogance, something inside me snapped. "You don't wanna
see him," I said. "He's a drunk."

"He's a very talented photographer," Judy Cohen said testily.

I shook my head. "He's overrated. Most days, he can't tell one
end of the camera from the other."

"Please tell your boss we're here to see him," Silvio demanded.

"You guys would be better off just dealing with me. I'm the only
one around here who knows what's going on." I leaned back and put
my feet on the desk.

Lara Talbot regarded me shrewdly and the beginning of a grin
flashed across her face. She quickly suppressed it.

"Where is Mr. Logan?" Silvio asked forcefully.

"I really have no idea." I shrugged indifferently. "He likes to
hang out at a massage parlor a couple of blocks from here. You
should just deal with me." I held Lara's gaze and her expression
softened a little as she realized how flustered I'd made Silvio
and her sister.

"We're here to see Mr. Logan," Judy said.

I grinned at Lara and she finally smiled in reply.

"You're looking at him, Judy," Lara said calmly. "Isn't that
right, Mr. Logan."

"Call me Mike," I said.

While Silvio and Judy grumbled about my little ruse, Lara's grin
actually widened.

-----

One of the reasons I've always been a good photographer is that I
set people at ease and make them feel comfortable. It's a talent
I inherited from my grandfather, who never met a stranger.

I turned on the charm once everyone seemed to accept that I was
indeed Mike Logan. Lara took no convincing at all. She quickly
warmed to me, in spite of the misunderstanding at the door. I
think she was enjoying watching me pique Silvio and her sister.

Eventually, Silvio became very friendly as well--once he finally
decided I was who I said I was, that is. I could tell he was
attracted to me, and I knew he must have been wondering if I were
gay. A lot of guys in my line of work are gay. Not all of them,
to be sure, but enough to make him wonder about me. I guess I'm
an attractive guy, in my own way, to both men and women.

Judy Cohen was as dour as ever. Nothing I said or did seemed to
satisfy her. I didn't worry about it much, since Lara seemed to
be calling the shots.

I had put together a portfolio that included the best of the
pictures from my early wedding photographer days, as well as some
of the more artistic fashion photos I'd taken. I'd also typed up
a basic "package" for the wedding, which included a number of
albums and additional prints.

I showed them my portfolio, and while Lara and Judy looked
through it, Silvio read over the contract. Grace had explained to
me that it was fairly standard, but Silvio read through it with
an attention to detail that made me rethink his level of
experience. He was all business as he asked a few pointed
questions, but seemed satisfied with my answers.

When Silvio wasn't asking me questions, I studied Lara Talbot.
Unlike her sister, I couldn't see a trace of her father in her
features. She looked like an everyday twenty-something from a
wealthy family: very pretty, tanned, stylish make-up and hair,
and a well-toned body.

During my early days in the fashion industry, I'd done "glamour"
shots of a lot of young women like her. Not quite attractive
enough, tall enough, thin enough, or whatever enough to be
models, but they wanted to feel like one for the day. At the time,
I hadn't enjoyed it all that much, but it paid the bills. And it
got me out of shooting weddings full-time.

Finally, a fashion director at a major women's magazine saw my
work and hired me to do a shoot for a Vivienne Tam layout. Both
the director and the designer were happy with the results and I
started getting regular jobs with the magazine. As my reputation
grew, design houses and other magazines wanted me to shoot
layouts for them as well, so I stopped doing weddings and glamour
shoots altogether.

Unlike the women I'd done glamour shots for, Lara Talbot was
attractive enough to be a model. Unfortunately, at 5'6", she
wasn't tall enough. With her striking eyes she could have easily
done head shots or cosmetic work. And her body... well, her body
was superb.

As I was gazing at her, she looked up suddenly and made eye
contact with me. With a smile, I tried to downplay the fact that
I was staring at her. But she was a smart girl and realized I'd
been admiring her. She surprised me by sitting up a bit
straighter, taking a deep breath, and then holding it. Doing so
pushed her shapely breasts up and out. I arched an inquisitive
eyebrow at her, but she merely smiled and returned her eyes to my
portfolio.

Silvio looked up a few moments later and we made eye contact. I
smiled in what I hoped was a friendly but non-inviting manner. He
gave me an interested look, but I shook my head minutely. With
his expression, he asked, "Are you sure?" I nodded firmly and he
sighed theatrically, then rolled his eyes and grinned at me. I
merely tilted my head to the side and shrugged by way of
apologizing.

After they looked at the portfolio and Silvio pronounced the
contract satisfactory, we started talking about schedules. From
her purse, Lara withdrew a PDA and Silvio produced one from
somewhere within the Gaultier travesty he wore. I took out the
stylus for my own PDA, and we discussed the details for dates,
times, and locations: formal bride's photos (at my studio),
informal couple photos (outdoors, at the Talbot's lake house in
Cold Spring Harbor), wedding party photos (at the wedding site,
Huntington Country Club), the reception (also at the Country
Club), and then dates for viewing the proofs. It took us more
than thirty minutes just to work everything out, but by the time
we'd finished, we were all satisfied. Except for Judy Cohen, that
is, and I don't think anything was going to satisfy her.

All we had left was for them to sign the contract and write me a
check for the deposit. My friend Grace had suggested I ask for
five thousand up front and bill them for the rest once they'd
viewed the proofs. I was just about to have Lara sign the
contract when she suggested I give them a tour of the studio. I
could hardly say no, so we stood and walked out of my office.

I gave them the nickel tour, showing them all three galleries,
both darkrooms, the dressing rooms, the whole nine yards. Finally,
I showed them the "I love me" room, which had blow-ups of cover
shots I'd done, photographs of me with famous designers and
models, and some of the best examples of my work. I also had a
big light table in there, as well as a couple of comfortable
couches. I'd found it was a good place to highlight my work for
prospective clients.

As soon as we walked into the room, I could tell they were
impressed, even Judy. They all looked at the photos of me with
famous people and I stepped forward to point out my favorites. I
was standing between Silvio and Lara, just a little behind them,
pointing to a photo of me and Stefano Gabbana, when I felt a hand
on my crotch. The hand cupped my dick and squeezed gently. Silvio
turned to me and smiled, and I diplomatically took a step back.

Once we'd looked at most of the pictures, I steered the three of
them back to my office. Silvio hung back with me. I discretely
leaned down and politely but firmly told him I was straight. He
looked confused for a moment.

"I got the message in your office," he said, sotto voce.

"Just making sure," I said quietly.

"Whatever."

After that, Lara signed the contract and wrote me a check. We
went over our list of dates and locations one final time, and
they left. I still wasn't looking forward to shooting the wedding,
but at least Silvio and Lara had their act together.

-----

With a few exceptions, wedding photography uses the same cameras
that fashion photography does. I'm mostly a traditionalist, and
use a variety of medium-format cameras. They're all manual focus,
so they're mostly for posed shots. In addition to them, I use
several professional 35mm auto-focus cameras for "quick work."

I had been looking at a new Canon SLR digital camera, and decided
that now was the time to buy. Since it was an 11-megapixel
professional-grade camera, it cost considerably more than I'd
gotten from Lara Talbot for her deposit, but it was something I
needed to buy anyway. I picked up several extra CompactFlash
cards for the Canon, and ordered all the film I'd need for the
wedding.

The first photo session with Lara was in two weeks, and then the
countdown to the wedding began. Theresa and Steve teased me for
being so serious about the wedding shoot, but it was my
professional reputation on the line, so I treated it like I'd
treat any other shoot. You don't get to be a sought-after
photographer by doing sloppy work, I reminded them.

-----

I was going over the final details for Lara Talbot's bridal gown
shoot when the door buzzer sounded. Since I'd only be dealing
with one "model," I let Steve have the day off. Theresa finished
setting the light diffusers while I went to answer the door.

When I opened the security door, Silvio fairly rushed through,
holding a cup carrier full of coffee and leading two other people.
Without pausing, he handed me a cup--it smelled like cappuccino--
and stood aside to allow the others inside. I showed the make-up
artist and hair stylist to the larger of the two dressing rooms.

"Thanks for the coffee," I said to Silvio as we watched the two
women open their cases and set up.

"No problem, sweetie," he said. He looked at his watch and then
took the lid off his coffee. "The dress should be here in about
fifteen minutes." He took a sip and licked the foam from his
upper lip. "And Lara is coming from the hair salon in about half
an hour."

The dress arrived a little late, but close enough to Silvio's
prediction that I was impressed by his organizational skills. Not
surprisingly, the gown was a Vera Wang. I was a little
surprised that not one, but three assistants came with it. When I
saw the dress itself, I understood why. When you buy a one-of-a-
kind $80,000 handmade Vera Wang wedding dress, they send a small
army of people to make sure it fits perfectly.

Silvio explained that today's shoot was essentially a dry run for
the actual wedding day. The florist was even sending over a
duplicate of the bridal bouquet. If anything was unsatisfactory--
hair, make-up, dress, or flowers--Silvio would have two weeks to
remedy the problem.

Lara herself arrived a few minutes earlier than predicted,
carrying a small overnight bag. I was duly impressed by her hair.
It was done up in an elegant style that accentuated her face and
graceful neck.

She came through the door followed by her mother, and I quickly
realized where Lara got her good looks. After being introduced to
Mrs. Miriam Talbot, I also realized where Judy had gotten her
personality--Mrs. Talbot was the stereotypical discontented
Jewish mother. Fortunately for me, she immediately headed for
Silvio and the dressmakers.

Lara smiled at me warmly as I showed her to the dressing room.
The assistant from the hair salon was simply there to fix any
last minute problems, so she sat quietly on the couch on the
other side of the room. Lara settled into one of the chairs and
let the make-up artist get to work. I chatted with Lara for a few
minutes, giving her a quick overview of how the session would go.
Mrs. Talbot came into the dressing room a few minutes later and
practically glared me out of the room. Good riddance, I thought
to myself as I closed the door on the way out.

In the smaller dressing room, Silvio and the three dressmakers
were fussing over the dress. I took a good look at it, thought
about Lara's complexion and hair color, and went to choose a
backdrop for the shoot. Theresa and I agreed that a mottled dark
blue-grey would work best. The blue in the backdrop would make
the white dress "pop," but it was muted enough by the grey that
it wouldn't make Lara's skin look jaundiced.

When Mrs. Talbot emerged from the dressing room, she immediately
came over to me and objected to the backdrop. Silvio joined in
and took my side. She didn't like the dull color, she said. I
patiently explained that the blue would make Lara's dress whiter.
She wanted something more "alive," like a green backdrop. Green
would make Lara's skin look red and blotchy, I explained. How
about a nice dark red, she countered. Theresa tittered quietly
behind me, and Mrs. Talbot silenced her with an icy stare. While
I had several red backgrounds, I didn't recommend them. Red would
give Lara's skin a greenish cast.

I tried to explain colors and color opposites to Mrs. Talbot, but
I think she would have found fault with any of my backdrops.
The matter was finally settled by Lara, who came out of the
dressing room when she heard us arguing. She told her mother that
I was the skilled and highly paid professional and that she
liked the blue-grey. Mrs. Talbot closed her mouth abruptly and I
tried to hide my astonishment. It would seem that Lara had
inherited her father's personality, as well as his way of dealing
with her mother. I was impressed.

After the row over the backdrop, the rest of the shoot went well.
Once Lara had intervened, Mrs. Talbot seemed content to let me do
my job. Silvio muttered about the "queen bitch" but was otherwise
extremely helpful. He organized things with Lara, but let me run
the shoot my way. To my surprise, I found that I liked working
with him, and I once again revised my opinion of him up a few
notches.

When we neared the end of the shoot, Silvio's cell phone started
ringing. Before he had a chance to answer it, Lara's began to
ring as well. Once she and Silvio were on the phone, Mrs.
Talbot's phone rang, too. Theresa and I looked at each other
helplessly as they all pressed cell phones to their ears.

After they all hung up, they had a hurried discussion. There was
a problem with the caterers, and Silvio needed to take care of it.
Mrs. Talbot wanted to go with him, and I could tell he wasn't
very happy about it, but couldn't really tell her no. With Silvio
and Mrs. Talbot gone, the shoot wrapped up quickly.

I wanted to give the new digital camera a try, so I asked Lara if
she minded a few more shots. She didn't, so while Theresa was
packaging the exposed film to send to the processing lab, I took
out the Canon and hooked it up to my slaved flash system. I
wanted to get some informal shots of Lara, so I had the
dressmakers come in and adjust her bridal gown. While they did, I
filled up two CompactFlash cards with pictures.

I told the make-up and hair people they could go, then the
assistants from Vera Wang took Lara into the dressing room to
remove the dress. Theresa wanted to leave early to pick up her
kids from school, so I asked her to take the film to the lab on
her way. As she was leaving, the dressmakers emerged with the
bagged gown, and I showed them out.

When I returned to the dressing room, I found a weary but happy
Lara Talbot. She was dressed in a silk robe that showed off her
lithe figure, and I had a hard time keeping my eyes off her.

"So... did everyone else leave?" she asked.

I nodded and took the seat to her left. "That went surprisingly
well," I said.

"Yeah. Sorry about Mom," she said. She turned toward me and
crossed her legs. As she did, the hem of her robe rode up,
showing me a healthy expanse of tanned thighs.

"It's no problem," I said.

"You handled her well," she said. "Most people would've backed
down."

"I deal with a lot of people like her in the fashion world."

Lara arched an eyebrow.

"People who are used to being in control, and don't like it when
someone doesn't immediately do their bidding."

"That's Mom all right," Lara said, and then laughed. When she did,
her breasts brushed against the thin fabric of her robe, and my
eyes were drawn to her stiff nipples.

It was hard to drag my thoughts back to the topic at hand, but I
reluctantly did. "I like Silvio," I said. "Although I didn't at
first."

She cocked her head to the side.

"When I first met him, he came across as a lightweight," I
explained.

Lara grinned at me.

"Yeah, he is light in the loafers," I said with an answering grin.
"But he really knows his business."

"I wouldn't be able to do all this without him," she said
sincerely. She regarded me shrewdly and then her eyes flicked to
my unadorned left ring finger. "You're not gay, are you?"

I shook my head firmly. "Not in the least bit."

"Does it bother you that Silvio is?"

"Not really. He got a little frisky at first, but once I set him
straight, he's been all business."

"Frisky?"

I nodded, somewhat embarrassed that I'd mentioned it. "He was a
little touchy-feely when we first met."

She looked at me curiously.

"He grabbed my crotch," I explained.

Lara laughed musically and leaned forward. "That wasn't him," she
said. Then she gave me a hungry look. "That was me."

"You?"

She nodded. "I wanted to check out your package."

"And?" I shifted slightly as my dick began to swell.

"Very nice." She licked her lips, her eyes shining with lust.

"But what about your fiance?"

"What about him?" she asked indifferently. "He's got this stupid
idea in his head that he's not going to have sex with me until
we're married."

"You mean you haven't...?"

"Of course I have. Just not since he proposed."

"Oh."

"Besides," she said, "Howie's not all that interested in sex. Not
like I am." She practically purred.

"Then why're you marrying him?"

"Because he's a doctor, he's from the right family, and he's
Jewish." She stood up and walked toward me, the robe parting as
her legs moved, giving me delightful glimpses of her upper thighs.
"But let's not talk about him."

"So... What would you like to talk about?" Like I didn't know.

She was standing close enough that I could smell her perfume and
feel her body heat. I didn't know if this was a weird game or not,
so I let her make the first move. She had no reservations about
doing so, and put her hands on my thighs. When she started
running them toward my crotch, I pulled her closer. As her hands
closed over the growing bulge in my lap, I reached for the belt
holding her robe closed.

"Oh, my," she said, pursing her lips. "What have we here?"

"Would you like to see?"

She gave me a sultry nod.

"Me first," I said.

I pulled the silk belt and the robe fell open, revealing her
perfect body. Her stomach was flat from hours in the gym, and her
breasts were soft, round swells--about a B-cup, I decided. Her
long nipples were so hard that the reddish areolas had completely
puckered, and I reached up to tweak them. She shimmied, and the
robe slipped from her shoulders, leaving her clad only in white
lace panties.

"My turn," she said, her hands returning to knead my growing
erection.

I stood up, pushing the chair back as I did. Lara reached for my
belt, and I let her open it for me. After she unfastened it, she
quickly lowered my zipper. I was only semi-erect, but she gasped
when she reached inside my shorts.

"Oh, my God. How big is this thing?" Far from being scared, she
looked even more turned on.

"Why don't you take it out and see?"

She dropped to her knees and dragged my jeans and shorts down
over my ass. When my cock bounced free, she actually gasped. She
gripped me softly, lovingly, and began to stroke.

"How big does it get?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I've never measured it." In truth, I hadn't. But
virtually every woman I'd been with since the tenth grade had.
I began to get harder as Lara continued to stroke me. She seemed
mesmerized by the sight of my growing cock.

"It's got to be nine inches," she said reverently.

"A little less," I admitted.

"Not much less."

I began to unbutton my shirt as she closed her lips around my
glans. Then she opened wide and swallowed about half my length,
caressing the underside with her tongue. When I reached full
erection, she had to pull back a little because her mouth was too
small. That didn't stop her from lavishing attention on me.

She wrapped her left hand around the base of my shaft and started
pumping me as she sucked the first few inches. I pushed my pants
down as far as I could, and then reached for her nipples. She
moaned when I began tugging on them.

I straightened and removed my shirt, tossing it behind me blindly.
When I pulled her off my dick, she actually groaned. I smiled to
myself and helped her to her feet. I kicked off my shoes and then
pushed my jeans and shorts the rest of the way down. Her hands
automatically went to my dick as I stood back up, and I chuckled
softly.

I pushed her toward the couch and quickly stripped off my socks
as I followed behind her. I sat down and pulled her to me,
putting my hands on her hips. I gently kissed the junction of her
thighs and inhaled the scent of her arousal. When I leaned
forward and softly kissed her lace-covered crotch, I discovered
that her panties were practically drenched.

She moaned softly as I pulled the elastic of her waistband out
and slowly lowered her panties. I kissed her again when I
revealed her smooth-shaven pussy. Her labia were already puffy
and turning pink, and I smiled to myself when she shuddered as
the cool air bathed her sex.

I wanted to bury my face in her moist pussy, but she had other
ideas. She pushed my head back and sank to her knees between my
legs. I leaned back, scooted my hips forward, and simply enjoyed
her rapt expression. A lot of women have been a little
intimidated by my size, but Lara seemed to be excited by it. With
wide, lust-glazed eyes, she hungrily studied my cock.

At last, she leaned forward, wrapped both hands around my girth,
and kissed the tip. She could only take about half my length in
her mouth, but she sucked and licked what she could get her lips
around. Her fist pumped up and down, and she soon had me on the
brink of orgasm.

I warned her that I was close to coming and she redoubled her
pace. She locked her lips around the glans as the first spurt
coated her tongue. She kept pumping me and swallowing, moaning as
she did.

She caressed the head with soft licks and then began kissing down
my shaft. For a few minutes, I let her smother my cock with
kisses and soft nips. Finally, I pulled her up and had her lie on
the couch.

I spread her legs and lowered my lips to her smooth pussy,
licking and sucking her inner labia. She bucked her hips against
me, and my cheeks were soon covered with her juices. I wrapped my
lips around her clit and flicked it with my tongue, making her
shudder.

"Oh, God," she gasped. "Fuck me."

I grinned and sucked gently on the little bundle of nerves under
my tongue.

She quivered and put her hands on my head. "I want to come with
your cock inside me."

I looked up her smooth stomach and teased her with my lower lip.

"Please fuck me," she begged. "Please."

I kissed her clit one final time and began to stand up. "Let me
get a condom. I've got some in my office."

She quickly shook her head and looked at me with a wild
expression. "I'm on the pill. Just fuck me." Her eyes dropped to
my resurgent cock and she licked her lips.

I knelt between her spread legs and grasped my shaft, aiming it
at her opening. She groaned when I moved the head over her
slippery lips, teasing her. She humped her hips against me,
trying to force my cock into her pussy. As I slid forward, she
gasped and shut her eyes tightly. Her pussy was incredibly tight,
so I started to pull back.

"Keep going," she said urgently. "I want to feel you inside me."

Her nostrils flared as I pushed forward again. I worked my cock
back and forth in her channel, and soon had almost half my length
inside her. She started pinching and rolling her nipples, and
urged me on by bucking her hips against me. I pressed forward and
sank another inch into her steamy depths.

It took a while, but I finally buried my entire cock in her pussy.
I started thrusting slowly, my glans bumping against her cervix
each time I bottomed out. Her breathing was rapid and shallow,
and her skin was flushed, but she begged me to fuck her faster. I
put my hands on her thighs and obliged her.

When I ground my hips against her pubic bone, she started coming.
Her belly heaved and her pussy gripped me almost painfully. I
pulled out once, then buried my cock to the root and stopped
moving.

"Keep fucking me!" she screamed, raking her nails along my
forearms. "Fuck me hard."

I pulled my hips back and slammed into her. She writhed against
me as I pounded into her, her stomach rippling and quivering as
she came. I felt my own orgasm building, and quickened my pace.
Her smooth pussy lips pulled at me each time I withdrew, and then
gripped me snugly as I thrust back into her. With a final grunt,
I drove into her one last time and my cock swelled further. When
she felt my come bathing her insides, Lara screamed and thrashed
her head. She came again, wildly, and locked her legs around my
back, holding me close.

"Oh, my God," she hoarsely whispered over and over, her eyes
clamped shut.

I swallowed hard and licked my lips, enjoying the aftershocks as
her pussy spasmed around my cock. We were panting from our
exertions and covered with a sheen of sweat, but she smiled
languidly as I idly rubbed her thighs.

-----

Afterward, we showered together in the dressing room bathroom.
Her phone was ringing as we got out of the stall, and she rushed
to answer it. It was Silvio, reporting on the catering problem.
While she talked, I slowly stroked my cock, teasing her with it.
She dropped to her knees, held the phone away from her mouth, and
began licking and sucking the head.

She talked on the phone for about five minutes, taking her lips
off my cock only long enough to answer Silvio's questions. When
she was done, she flipped the phone closed and took as much of me
in her mouth as she could. She bobbed her head back and forth for
a few minutes and then pulled off me.

"I don't want to get all sweaty again," she said. "Just jerk off
and I'll swallow when you come."

Despite what she said, she started playing with herself a few
minutes later. While I stroked myself, she jammed her fingers in
her pussy and frantically rubbed her clit. When I told her my
climax was approaching, she locked her lips around the head of my
cock. She came almost as soon as the first spurts of my semen
washed over her tongue.

After we both recovered a little, I helped her to her feet and
she grinned at me tiredly. I keep a small toiletries kit in my
office and went to get it. When I returned, I was still tumescent,
and Lara looked at my dick with undisguised lust.

"Can you get hard again?" she asked incredulously.

"Probably," I said, stroking myself with my free hand. "But I
don't think I'll come again very quickly."

She whimpered softly and reached for me. She started stroking me,
but as soon as I reached complete hardness, her phone rang. As
she talked--to Judy--she leaned against the counter and pulled me
between her legs. She rubbed the tip of my cock against her slit,
spreading her moisture.

Lara kept right on talking as she hooked one leg around my ass
and pulled me against her. I slid into her pussy a little easier,
but she was still fairly tight. Her voice faltered when I sank
into her, but she quickly made an excuse and kept talking. I
started slowly thrusting into her, careful not to jar her lest
she cry out.

"Oh, God," she said, after she hung up the phone. "You're so
fucking big."

I grinned salaciously and nodded.

She merely closed her eyes and concentrated on the feeling of
fullness in her pussy. I lifted her onto the counter and began
thrusting a little quicker. When her phone rang again, she rolled
her eyes, but I merely grinned and slowed my pace.

She flipped open her phone and put it to her ear. It was her
fiance. I sank into her completely and stopped moving, but she
hastily gestured for me to continue. A flush spread over her
chest and neck, and I could tell by the way her pussy gripped me
that she was close to her release. But she patiently explained to
"Howard" that she was still at the photographer's, and that
"something had come up." She grinned at me and then explained to
him that we were going over some last-minute details for the
informal photo session.

When she got off the phone with him, she pulled me close and told
me to fuck her hard and fast. She climaxed quickly and clutched
at me as her orgasm washed over her. I was pumping away when her
phone rang again. It was her mother, and I felt myself soften a
little when I thought about the perpetually dissatisfied Mrs.
Talbot. Instead of letting myself go soft, I concentrated on
gently teasing Lara's pointed nipples.

The phone conversation was thankfully short. Lara spent most of
it telling her mother that Silvio knew what he was doing, and she
should let him do his job. She had barely closed the phone when
she locked her ankles around my hips and started humping against
me. I resumed thrusting, and felt my own orgasm welling up.
Finally, I buried myself in her pussy and felt the first spurts
of semen coursing up my shaft. I closed my eyes, gripped her hips,
and held my cock inside her until my orgasm subsided.

"Howie probably won't even notice," Lara said, still panting,
"when I don't try to get him to fuck me tonight."

I made a noncommittal noise and clenched my buttocks, enjoying
the feel of her tight channel.

"I need to rinse off," she said. "I've got to meet Howie for
dinner."

I pulled back and grinned at her.

She slapped my chest playfully. "I'm going to walk funny all day
tomorrow," she said. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
"But it was worth it."

She looked completely sated, and I nodded happily.

We stepped into the shower to rinse off, and while Lara dried her
hair and applied fresh make-up, I picked up our clothes from the
dressing room. We dressed quickly and I escorted her to the door.
Her phone was ringing again as she got in her car. I turned off
the last of the studio lights and tidied up the dressing room and
my office. Afterward, I picked up Chinese takeout on the way to
my apartment.

-----

The informal couple's photo session was scheduled for five days
later. Howard had to be at the hospital by nine in the morning,
and Lara wanted the photos taken right after sunrise, so I had a
very early morning ahead of me.

I didn't know what to expect from Lara, and I really didn't know
what I hoped for. She seemed to enjoy my dick, and I certainly
enjoyed her tight and well-toned body, but she was practically
a married woman. Also, it's hard to respect a guy when his
fiancee is fucking you. It was a dangerous attitude for me to
have, so I tightly controlled it.

Instead of worrying about what might happen with Lara, I
concentrated on doing my job. I was still getting paid a lot of
money to take pictures, and I wanted to do my best. I wasn't very
enthusiastic about shooting the wedding itself, but I was
gradually warming to the idea.

Silvio called the night before the early morning shoot. He wanted
to make sure I had directions to the Talbot house. I finished
packing my gear and loaded the Tahoe before I went home for the
night. Since it would be a simple shoot, I hadn't asked either of
my assistants to accompany me. I wouldn't really need them,
because I planned to use 35mm and the Canon digital. With both
types of camera, I could rapidly load new film myself.

By five in the morning, I was driving up the LIE toward Cold
Spring Harbor. The drive took about an hour, since most of the
traffic was headed into the City. The "lake house" was actually a
three-thousand square-foot guest house, set about a half-mile
from the main Talbot house. The lake was more of a large duck
pond, but I could see why Lara wanted the pictures taken here--it
was very picturesque.

When I pulled up to the house, I parked next to a black Mercedes
with MD plates. Lara and Howie--Howard, I mentally admonished
myself--came out of the house. He was my age, and dressed in a
stylish shirt and jeans. Lara wore an attractive sleeveless dress
and looked fantastic. She introduced me to Howard and I shook his
hand, mentally sizing him up. He seemed like a nice enough guy,
basically an average Jewish urologist from a wealthy Long Island
family.

While we were talking about places to shoot, I opened the back of
the Tahoe and took out one of my cameras. I wanted to take a look
around the property before we got started, and it helped if I had
a viewfinder to frame things. I knew I'd have good natural
lighting, but I wanted to scout locations before the sun got too
high. Lara offered to show me around while Howard waited for
Silvio to arrive.

She was perfectly proper as she gave me a tour of the house and
verdant grounds, and I suspected that the encounter at my studio
was a one-shot deal. I was fine with that. After all, I had a job
to do. Once I'd gotten a good look at the lake and surrounding
area, Lara and I walked back toward the driveway.

When we returned, Silvio was just driving up. He got out of his
car holding a cup carrier full of what I suspected were
cappuccinos. He was also dressed in what I jokingly refer to as
the Gay Man's Dating Uniform: black leather pants and a tight
black short-sleeved shirt. He passed around coffee and then
rolled his eyes at me tiredly.

We started shooting about fifteen minutes later, and things went
smoothly. I had Lara and Howard pose together at five or six
different spots around the lake. In an hour, I took sixty color
and another forty-eight black and white photos.

By seven thirty, Howard was looking at his watch. I finished the
last roll of color and he announced he had to leave. We walked
back around to the driveway, where I shook his hand and Lara
kissed him goodbye. Silvio was parked behind the Mercedes, and
hastily said his goodbyes before getting into his car. He yawned,
waved, and then headed back toward the main road. Howard didn't
even wave as he backed out and followed Silvio's Acura.

Lara and I were left standing there, so I took out the Canon.
"You want to get some digital shots of just you?" I asked her.

She shook her head and her eyes dropped to my crotch.

I arched an eyebrow at her.

When she licked her lips and started walking toward me, I put the
cameras back in their travel bag and closed the back of the Tahoe.
I turned around and Lara pressed herself against me, her hand
automatically going to my crotch.

I quickly grew hard and she practically dragged me into the house.
Once inside, we immediately headed for her bedroom, shedding
clothes as we went. In the landing at the bottom of the stairs,
she put her arms around my neck, held herself up, and wrapped her
legs around my waist. She ground her pussy against my stomach,
and I simply carried her the rest of the way up the stairs.

In her bedroom, I set her on the bed and spread her legs. I took
a moment to admire her baby-smooth pussy, but she squirmed
impatiently, so I lowered my mouth to her sex. Her labia were
already plump and moist with lubrication, but I took my time,
teasing her with my lips and tongue. She ran her fingers through
my hair and impatiently pulled me against her. I smiled to myself
and started licking the folds between her inner and outer lips.

She bucked her hips against my face when I circled her clit with
my tongue, but I didn't touch it directly. I teased up under the
hood for a moment, and she writhed beneath me. When I finally put
my lips around the pearl of nerves, she hissed and clutched my
head, firmly holding me in place.

I continued to tease and lick her clit, never touching it
directly. She whimpered and began to tremble when I thrust two
fingers into her pussy. When I started sucking her clit, she had
a gasping, shuddering orgasm and then begged me to fuck her.

I knelt between her hips and slowly lubricated the head of my
dick with her juices. She closed her eyes when I pushed forward
and spread her open with my glans. I eased forward some more, and
she moaned softly, arching her back in pleasure. As with the
first time, it took some work to get my cock all the way inside
her, but she finally took every last inch. When my pubic hair was
pressed against her smooth pussy, she wrapped her legs around me
and started rocking her hips.

I moved slowly at first, but as she grew accustomed to my girth,
she urged me to fuck her harder and faster. She pulled her knees
back and spread herself wide open for me. I eagerly obliged her,
pounding into her smooth channel. Her flush deepened and I could
tell she was close to her release. When she climaxed, I buried my
cock inside her and felt my own floodgates burst.

Afterward, I was still very hard inside her, so I rolled onto my
back, pulling her on top of me. She collapsed against my chest,
and I ran my fingers along her spine. When she recovered enough
to sit up, she was amazed that I was still hard. She took
advantage of my erection and started slowly grinding her hips
against my cock.

I knew I wasn't going to come again soon, so I played with her
nipples, gently twisting and pulling them. I ran my hands down
her flanks and felt her belly flutter with the first spasms of
her climax. She arched her back and cried out as orgasmic
pleasure suffused her senses. Her pussy gripped me firmly, and I
felt a rush of moisture at the base of my cock.

She looked at me with hooded eyes and smiled drunkenly. I put my
hands on her hips and started gently thrusting inside her, but
she quickly put her hand on my stomach and stopped me.

"I can't," she said, panting. "I'm too sensitive down there."

I nodded and helped ease her off my erection. She closed her eyes
and shuddered as my length slowly emerged from within her.
Instead of lying down next to me, she curled up between my legs
and reverently grasped my rigid manhood. She wrapped one hand
around my shaft, and gently kneaded my balls with the other.

As Lara slowly cleaned our combined juices from my cock, she
pumped her fist up and down, bringing me closer to orgasm. When
she took the crown into her mouth, I felt the impending rush of
my release. My muscles tensed, and then the first blast of semen
shot from my cock. She sucked and swallowed as my seed gushed
over her tongue. When my orgasm finally subsided, she crawled up
my body and collapsed next to me.

-----

I must have dozed off, because when I opened my eyes, Lara was
gone. I looked at the unfamiliar surroundings, and realized I
hadn't been dreaming. When I sat up, I looked into beautiful ice-
blue eyes as she walked into the room. She sat on the edge of the
bed and then scooted toward me. From within a white paper deli
bag, she pulled two cream cheese and lox bagels. When I saw them,
I realized how famished I was.

Lara grinned at my hungry expression and handed me one of the
bagels.

"Howie brought these," she said. "But we didn't get a chance to
eat before you got here."

I stretched out on her rumpled bed and took a bite. She stretched
out as well, and I took the opportunity to once again admire her
graceful lines.

"So this is where you live?" I asked, looking at the nicely
furnished room for the first time. Through a set of large French
doors, I had a great view of the lake, but my eyes were drawn
back to Lara's nude figure.

She nodded. "Yeah. Daddy didn't want me to get an apartment in
the City, so I'm living here until after the wedding. Then I'm
going to move into Howie's apartment."

"Where's that?"

"In the City. His family owns an apartment on the Upper East
Side."

"Very posh," I said.

"Yeah."

"You mind if I ask what's going on between us?"

She cocked her head to the side.

"I mean, I enjoy this, don't get me wrong," I said, gesturing at
her body. "But what's going on?"

She shrugged. "Howie doesn't really like sex. Even before he
proposed to me, I was lucky to get it once every couple of
weeks."

I sensed there was something else. "And?"

She actually blushed. "Well... Howie's just average."

"Average?"

She looked pointedly at my dick.

"Oh."

"He's a nice enough guy in most other ways. Like, he's rich, and
pretty good looking, and he's a doctor. But he just doesn't get
me hot. Not like you do, at least."

"Then why marry him?"

She looked a little shocked.

"I mean, I'm not asking you to run away with me or anything," I
said hastily.

"I didn't think you were," she said. "'Why marry him?' Because
he's rich, and pretty good looking, and he's a doctor."

It seemed obvious enough to her, but I wasn't convinced.

"I guess he'll make a good father too," she said.

"I guess."

"He will," she said with certainty.

"So what happens with me?"

"I was hoping you'd fuck me again, before I have to meet the
florist. Maybe a couple of times."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah. I'm not just gonna settle down with Howie, if that's what
you're asking. I mean, I'm not marrying him because I love him."

"So you want to marry him and keep fucking me? Is that it?"

She reached for my flaccid penis and stroked it suggestively.
"Something like that."

"I'm not looking to be a kept man."

"Who wants to keep you?" she said quickly. "I just want to fuck
you."

"So I'm a boy toy?"

She squeezed my growing erection. "Hardly a boy."

"You know what I mean. I'm just gonna be a booty call?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, if that's okay with you."

"I'll think about it," I said with a smile.

"Let me give you a little incentive," she said, sliding down the
bed and capturing the tip of my dick with her tongue.

We spent the rest of the morning licking, fucking, and sucking
ourselves silly. We showered together, but had to rush because
Lara had an appointment with the florist. I spent most of the
drive back to the City trying to decide if I wanted to play fuck-
toy for a poor little rich girl (who just happened to like big
dicks, and could take all of mine).

-----

Due in large part to Silvio's organizational genius, the wedding
went off without a hitch. Steve was with me for the wedding party
shots, loading the camera and handling the off-camera flash,
while Theresa circulated and captured more candid scenes with a
35mm camera. For the reception itself, we all used 35mm cameras
and circulated among the guests. In all, we shot more than three
thousand pictures during the wedding and reception.

The day after the wedding, Dr. and Mrs. Howard Rosenbaum went on
a three-week honeymoon to Tahiti and Bora Bora. I went on my
fashion shoot to St. Maarten and returned a week later, tanned
but exhausted. When I got back to the studio, I learned that the
Talbot and Rosenbaum families had ordered more than ten thousand
dollars in additional picture packages and albums.

I also had three messages from Silvio, each one a request to
shoot a different wedding. When I talked to him, he told me no
one balked at my fifteen-thousand-dollar price-tag. I wanted to
keep up my fashion work, but at nearly twenty-five thousand
dollars per wedding, the temptation was tremendous. Even with the
costs of my time, my assistants, film, processing, and everything
else, the profit would be substantial.

I might have to hire another assistant to handle the workload,
but I figured I could easily do eight to ten weddings a year and
still do layouts for the magazines and design houses.

After a quick check of my schedule, I called Silvio and agreed to
do the three weddings. He said that if I wanted the work, he knew
of at least two more he could book for me. With Silvio's
organizational skills, I didn't anticipate any problems.

A few days later, I received a nice handwritten card from Howard
and Lara Rosenbaum, thanking me for helping make their wedding
special. In addition to the card, there was a personal note from
Lara with her cell phone number.

I decided to give her a call.

End

-----

Edited by Ruthie

-----

2003-2004 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

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