I hate working on Saturday. I especially hate shooting pictures of weddings. Worst of all I hate shooting pictures of wedding for my father. He pays me a flat $500 dollar for the work. It is as much as I make working a full day on the road, but I would have prefer to be out and about. I know for a fact that my dad makes a much heavier hit than I do.

Logically I know that he earns it, but I still don't like it. It seems that being family only goes so far. Daddy isn't above making more money for doing less work, but then I don't usually make $500 on a Saturday, even if I am doing a festival.

The wedding had been a bore, and the group shots after were a pain. Not only did I have to contend with the camera and the light juggling, I also had to fend off one of the ushers. When were guys going to figure out that a woman is programmed from birth to say no. At least when a guy asks, "Hey baby do you wanna fuck?"

I felt the familiar knife twist in my gut several times during the reception. Fortunately I was able to fight off most of the blackouts. Not all but most of them. The few times I drifted off, it was for no more than a moment or two.

I had been slipping in and out of consciousness all afternoon. I wasn't exactly sure what was going on but it happened now and then. When the best man gave the toast at the reception, I knew he was my kind of guy. He was confident and serious, while still being charming. He managed to avoid me and I couldn't seem to stay awake. When ever I did manage to stay long enough to get a look his wife was monopolized his time.

Even photographers have to use the bathroom. I had washed up, picked up my camera and opened the ladies room door when I saw him in the hallway. He stepped forward and I stepped back. He in effect followed me back into the bathroom.

"I've seen you staring at me you are quite the little slut aren't you."

The knife twisted in my gut again and I was gone. My eyes went to the floor without even thinking. It was the reaction sexually charged people, with presence had on me. I'm sure there is some shrink reading this that can tell you why that happens. I don't have a clue. I just tend to get all squishy inside.

"Well aren't you?"

"Yes," I replied quietly.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"Yes Sir," I said slightly louder.

"It's good that a woman knows her place." Without another word he unzipped his fly. He didn't have to speak I knew what I was supposed to do. I slipped to my knees on the dirty floor of the bathroom. The Nikon hung from a strap around my neck. It struck him below the knees. He and I both ignored it as I licked his cock. I licked it like and ice cream cone. I licked from his testicles up to the head of his cock. I avoided the thin liquid seeping from the hole. I repeated it until the liquid covered the complete head of his cock.

When next I reached the head, I sucked on just the head to clean the thin cum from it. While I was cleaning the head of his cock he put his hands in my hair and forced me down onto his cock. I felt it move across my tongue. I tried to prepare myself for the assault of his cock on my throat. I still gagged a little as he forced it past the opening in my throad and farther down my neck.