Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Reluctant, Drunk/Drugged, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Humor, Cheating, Niece, Aunt, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, Size, Big Breasts, .

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Mr. Marcus gets an insistent call from Vonna, who needs new pictures for her application as a spokesmodel. A mysterious young woman delivers a pizza. Smith wants to go bowling. Wife Harriett will be bringing home a female assistant from England. And Clara has another niece visiting soon.

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 in the stack of mail on the kitchen table introduced me to a new pizza joint, A Hot Piece, just a few blocks away. It occupied a narrow storefront, with kitchen in the rear and a thin counter along one side in front. 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?"

"By the end of 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 couldn't live with myself if my lack of skills screwed things up. 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.

Vonna's comment about leaving messages prompted a quick review of the phone messages before the pizza arrived. Just like Vonna had said said, she'd 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. He might view me as competition.

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 cover one side of her face. "A Hot Piece," she said. The dialect was Russian or Romanian, somewhere in that neighborhood. Fully clothed, I couldn't tell if she was announcing her employer or bragging. She read my order balance 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. 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 retreated, 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 the cola and vanilla mixture 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 some training. 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 Boston?"

"Terrific! Besides the business meetings, we had guest speakers from Halstrom Higgins."

"Who are they?"

Harriett used her indignant voice. "Just the biggest multinational consulting company in the world."

Harriett's employer, Chattanooga Consulting, was a bit player in comparison. Why would a big outfit provide guest speakers? Odd. "Did you get time for playing tourist?" Maybe she'd come back more pleasant.

"Oh yes, there was plenty 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 here in town. 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 stories SERVICE WITH A SMILE CH. 7 AND 8]

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

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

There was a long pause before Harriett responded. "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 again, 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 for a weekend while her apartment gets painted? Or like a week while she looks for a place to stay?"

"Did I tell you she's some kind of princess? Her parents are royalty in England. They came in for her graduation. 'Crossing the pond' is what they called it. Isn't that funny?"

"Yeah, a side-splitter." Harriett only rattled on like that when she was nervous.

"I met them last night. Real blue bloods, can you believe it? They told me she's the family breadwinner."

I wondered what they did for income before their daughter got gainful employment. It's probably expensive to be royalty.

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. We'll have 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'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 and I have worked together for just one week and I can see the difference she's made. She's 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?" Maybe one of the random women I'd fucked needed a roommate.

"She went to school in Boston and doesn't know anyone in our area. Her only family is her aunt and uncle, and they'll be returning to England in a couple of days. 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 Annie's friends. "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. "You're okay with this?"

"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 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 thirty-minute sitting seemed like three hours 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. Where would she hang that?

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 them 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 and a slap on the back. 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 bigger than the shooting area Viktor had used with Johnny 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 how successful an intimate portfolio we shot worked 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 a situation 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 and some matching cups. The bowl was filled with a pinkish beverage. "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? A British publication with well built ladies. I was anxious to see how Prim the client stacked up. "After speaking with a satisfied client, 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."

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. Ms. Prim sat on a stool with perfect posture. 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.

Prim stood and moved to 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 breasts were large but not unwieldy - not that I'd ever get the chance to wield them. 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."


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 stood and 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." 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.

Prim shot me a glance. "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 might 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 past me 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.

"When you find something, put it on," she hollered at her client." While Prim sorted through the wardrobe collection, Angie called me over and 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! Gentle persuasion wasn't a process, it was a beverage. 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 fabulous tits'? I nodded.

Angie nodded back. 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?"


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 mé 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 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 crotch flap was Velcroed shut at the rear. 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? Gramps always told me 'The truth is your greatest weapon but also your worst enemy.' Thanks 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? "I'm only sorry we can't be more intimate."

Prim turned red. "Of course not."

"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. Oh joy!

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 you generated with 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 herself. 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 got really excited when you played with this before. And now, just thinking about it-" 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."


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, like Johnny and the lollypop. 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 it's, 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 Prim 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 ass. "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 and 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.

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