Kyran Hamilton was a busy young woman. The tall, curvaceous redhead with the lovely face was involved with two separate tasks at the same time, although the first was the only one requiring any active thought. The second was, however, delightfully making concentrating on the first hard to do. She was making a valiant effort and, judging from audible and tactile responses, her effort was being appreciated.
Kyran was performing these tasks, on her knees, in front of the desk chair of her employer, John Thomas. He was not the one occupying the chair at present. No, that honor fell to the delightful Sally Fielding, a cute buxom brunette who was a fellow employee of Kyran. Sally, naked save for her stockings and garter belt, had one foot up on the large oak desk beside her, the other leg and foot draped over the right arm of the chair. Her head was against the back of the chair, her face a mask of orgasmic delight, as she played with the nipples of both her lush breasts. Kyran, attired in the same fashion as Sally, had her tongue and finger engaged in a frenzied dual assault on her coworker's hairless cunt.
The second task that was trying to divide Kyran's attention involved pushing her hips back toward the cock of John Thomas when he would take a deep, rapid plunge into her. The large muscular man with the shaved head was behind her, pounding his long, thick cock into her delightfully aroused pussy. The three of them had been at this for a very good while today, although Kyran and Sally had changed places in the process. The two of them had also put on a bit of a show for their employer beforehand, engaging in some naughty foreplay. The women were not at all hesitant about such things. They knew each other's body just as well as that of their employer, having kissed, licked, nibbled, and touched nearly every inch of each other over the last few months. The mutual delight and sexual abandon the three were currently enjoying at this particular moment might not have been as intense had they been aware of one simple fact. Their little experiment in workplace togetherness was not only being observed by a fourth party, it was being preserved for posterity.
Through the glass window of an empty office across the street, a man was engaged in capturing the activities of the three through a tripod mounted camera with a large telephoto lens.
"They're going at it right in front of floor to ceiling office windows." He spat with contempt, "They might as well be fucking in a storefront on Main Street."
The photographer was a slim, but muscular young man with dark brown hair and a well trimmed beard. His piercing blue eyes that were peering through the viewfinder were troubled. There was pain and hurt there. This was for good reason. This man was Willis Hamilton. The lovely red head in the middle of the sexual sandwich across the way was his bride of nearly three years.
I had known Kyran Hillis for a good many years. We had attended the same high school, though I was two grades ahead of her. I admired the pretty red head, despite the age difference, but we travelled in different circles and had never met as such. She was athletic, playing basketball and softball. I was a fan of various sports, but was content to be a spectator. I did run and do calisthenics, but that was more for health and appearance benefits.
I was more the artistic type. I enjoyed paintings and sculpture, but photography was my medium. I had taken up the craft at a young age. An aunt had a photography bug as well, and she had encouraged me with the gift of a well worn but serviceable 35mm camera. She had soon taught me the process of developing my own film and I had gone from there, like a duck to water. Before I was out of high school, I was already working for pay, doing family portraits, pictures of kids, and the usual baby's first photo shoots in a spare room of the family home. I poured all my profit back into the business, as well as any other money coming my way, and soon I was the proprietor of a studio. I had a nicely furnished apartment upstairs with a darkroom attached.
I enrolled at the community college after two years of hard work getting established. I wanted to master the new digital photography techniques that were the wave of the future and felt that I needed to be capable. Digital had much going for it to be sure, and I was soon conquering the intricacies of the new technology. Two things had conspired together in this new setting to radically change my life.
First, there was an old, familiar face at the college that semester. Kyran Hillis was taking business courses to aid in her employment at her dad's store. I noticed that she had become even lovelier than before, tall and lush, with those delicious long shapely legs. Her fiery red hair, green eyes, and smooth creamy skin gave her the look of a modern day Celtic goddess. I wanted desperately to ask her out, but though the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak. I knew she had no steady boyfriend, through casual inquiry, but couldn't find some way to summon the intestinal fortitude to ask her out. Then an assignment in class gave me the impetus.
I was required to do an old staple of all visual media, a nude. The photo actually formed in my mind in moments. All I needed was the ideal model, and that model was Kyran Hillis. A black and white, with subtle lighting and an additional light source would form a basis. The young woman's smooth cream colored skin was the feature I would highlight. With the lighting planned and the right camera and Photoshop magic, I would have her smooth alabaster skin glowing like a new moon. Between that aspect and the contrast of light and shadow accentuating her classic beauty, it would be a work of art that could not fail to get me the highest possible grade. The act of setting up the photo shoot would, of course, have the secondary benefit of letting me get close to the model and perhaps lead to a possible romance. There were, of course, two obvious problems. First, I had to convince her to model the shot, without her thinking I was some perverted stalker. And second, I had to summon the courage to even talk to her in the first place.
All had gone well, although I was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. She had later confessed to being both flattered by my interest, and amused by my discomfort. So much amused, in fact, that she had faked outrage and verbally attacked me just to see me further twist in the wind. When I confessed that the request for the photo pose was legit, but that I was quite attracted to her, she had nearly melted. As is so often the case in these matters, it turned out that she was actually interested in me and was just waiting for me to ask her out. The following Friday night was the photo shoot and our first date all rolled into one. The evening culminated in some very mutually satisfying lovemaking, and our romance was set in motion.
In a little over a year, we had taken our relationship to the ultimate level, marrying in a small ceremony with our respective friends and family attending. I was deliriously happy with Kyran. She returned my passion with the same force. We both loved the other's parents, we were careful not to spend too much time at work, thus neglecting one another, and we were loving and romantic with each other. We made wise choices with our finances and we made sure the sex was both plentiful and mutually satisfying.
It was in the area of sex, oddly enough that trouble reared its ugly head. I am, admittedly, old fashioned. I'm a hopeless romantic, and my sexual appetites are based on that aspect of my personality. I believe in treating any woman, especially my wife, as a valuable jewel. To demean her, or disrespect her in any fashion was not my way. Kyran was a bit more adventurous than me, which was somewhat amusing, since this was a kind of reversal of roles I suppose.
I tried to be open to her suggestions. The racy lingerie was a big hit with me. I loved to lick her pussy, so I was definitely down with her decision to shave it. Her little strawberry colored pussy was very lovely and needed no framing if you get my meaning. Kyran, as befitted a woman with those legs, loved to wear skirts and dresses. She wore her hemlines long enough to be proper mind you, but the secret knowledge we shared was very hot. Kyran wore garter belts and stockings nearly exclusively. The few pairs of pantyhose she had were scandalously crotchless, which drove me wild. We would go out to eat and see a movie, and the knowledge that she was wearing nothing under her dress but those things would have me in a lather by the time we came home. When she came home with a book of exotic sex positions I raced her to the bedroom to begin the experiment. I even tied her up on occasion which she loved no end. I liked tickling her, which turned her on, but she couldn't take much of it, as she was basically one big ticklish spot. This was especially true of the soles of her feet.
She just kept pushing the envelope which disturbed me. When she wanted us to watch porn together, I sincerely tried to get into it, but it's just not me. What a husband and wife shared was, to me, something that was an expression of love. I'm not excited by the reduction of that to animalistic rutting. Not that I'm a prude by any means. What Kyran and I shared together, as long as it was mutually agreed on and pleasurable to both, was fine with me. With this new interest, it was as if an outside party was trying to elbow itself into our partnership.
.... There is more of this story ...