by M1ke Hunt

Copyright© 1999 by M1ke Hunt

Sex Story: (#04) a sequel to "The Photographer"

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Oral Sex   .

This is a sequel. If you haven't read "The Photographer" then don't read this one.

If you're not 18, then you shouldn't read this, ever. Close this file, sign out of this website, and go find a chat room somewhere where there are probably pedophiles LIVE ON LINE waiting to seduce you and then torture and kill you and bury you in the hills of Kentucky. Yeah, that's a much better idea.

It had only been a couple days since my wild photo session with Bob and his beautiful wife Krystal. It had started out as a glamour photo session (even though I've mostly only done nature stuff as a hobby) and ended up with a three-way. Krystal, shy as I've always known her, really let loose when she had her husband in front of her and me behind, servicing her at both ends, so to speak. Anyway, my phone rang, and I went to answer it. I was surprised to hear her voice on the line since she rarely called me; it was Bob and I who hung around together mostly.

"So about those pictures..." she started. "Bob is out of town until Thursday, and I thought it would be really cool if I had a set of them to show him when he gets back. Do you have them developed yet?"

"Unfortunately not," I replied. "My developer broke, but I'm getting it fixed." I didn't tell her that I had ruined one of the rolls before discovering the problem with the developer. Luckily that roll was the first one I shot, and didn't have anything important on it anyway.

"Oh, too bad. Well, how long do you think? A couple of weeks, or what?" she asked.

"No no, just a day or two. I should have the developer back by tomorrow, and then give me an evening to get it all done. If you want to come over on Wednesday night..." I offered. I knew that would be tight, but I could blow off work a little early tomorrow and get started. By Wednesday night I'd have all the film developed and the contact sheets printed. I just wouldn't have time to do any enlargements. She was thrilled, and said she'd see me Wednesday.

I immediately got in the car and went to the liquor store. I was out of wine, having finished it off when she and Bob were at the house, and I wanted to make sure I'd have plenty. You never know, you know? Then I stopped at the photo shop which was repairing my little developer. Bad news. The guy said it would take a couple more days to repair; one of the little gears on the crank had busted, and it was such an old model they didn't have a replacement in stock.

I told him to forget it, and I bought a new one. I came home with my purchases and got to work. All in all I had shot 12 rolls of film with Bob and Krystal. Forget the one ruined one, and I still had nearly 400 shots of her (and a couple of him) to wade through. I got started.

My darkroom is tiny. It's just a converted closet, really, in my basement. And because it's a closet, the ventilation is terrible. The smell of the chemicals is bad enough, but because the door has to be sealed shut to keep out the light, it gets muggy and humid and uncomfortable as hell, especially from late spring to early fall.I was used to doing my business in there standing just in my slippers and jockey shorts. Even then the sweat would pour off my body. I kept a towel hanging on the back wall just to wipe myself off from time to time.

As each roll came out of the developer I inspected it. I liked what I saw. Even though I was looking at the negatives before printing a contact sheet, there was no mistaking my subject in the pictures. Krystal was some gorgeous babe, and here I had shot after shot down her low-cut top, up her skirt, under her panties. Whew, as I reviewed the pictures I remembered how the evening had ended, with me fucking her from behind while she blew her husband. I got hard and stayed hard.

Finally I had all the rolls developed and the contact sheets printed. Well, almost all the rolls. When the action in my kitchen had started getting hot and heavy I had taken one old camera, loaded it with super-fast film, and set it on automatic on the other side of the kitchen. It took a picture every 20 seconds or so, without flash. I hadn't told either Bob or Krystal that I was doing it, but what the hell, I had the camera and the film, and I just did it. Because I was sneaking it, I hadn't gotten behind the camera and aimed it or anything, I just set it on a counter and pointed it in the general direction. I figured I'd get some hidden-camera private shots, if you know what I mean.

The next night Krystal showed up promptly at 7:00, and knocked on the door. I had hoped she'd be dressed all sexy, maybe even ready for a rematch. Instead she was (as she usually was) dressed in a plain blouse and a baggy brown skirt the hung to her knees. The outfit did its best to conceal her figure. I tried to conceal my disappointment. I wasn't exactly going to win a fashion award either, though. I had on soft blue gym shorts and a T-shirt. Then again, I knew how hot the darkroom got.

"What, no wine?", I asked.

"Oh no. I shouldn't have had so much the last time," she blushed. "Wine makes me loose. Horny. Always has. I guess Bob thought it would help relax me. Well, it certainly did... but... no, I didn't bring any wine."

"Oops," I said. I motioned over to the kitchen counter, where two empty wine glasses stood, ready to receive their nectar. "I went out and got a couple of bottles, in case, you know, in case, ah..." My voice trailed off while I thought. I recovered. "I didn't realize it had that effect on you. I just thought it would be nice, you know, and I, ah..." I was stumbling around like a high school kid.

"Yeah, definitely horny. I mean, it's not like some aphrodisiac for heaven's sake... I'm not out of control or anything... it just loosens me up." She paused. "Listen, Mike. I'm a little uncomfortable with this. Because what happened on Saturday was out of the ordinary for me. I mean, waayyy out of the ordinary. And I don't want to... I mean, it was great, and a real memory, for sure, but I don't want you to think... Ah, why am I having so much trouble with this? You know what I'm trying to say, don't you?" It was her turn to fumble.

"Yes. We got wild on Saturday, and now you're feeling guilty. Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. Is Bob OK with what happened?"

"Oh sure," she replied. "He thought it was the greatest turn-on on earth. Actually, so did I. I just wouldn't want you to get the idea..."

"... that you're a horny bitch," I interrupted.

"Well, that's sort of a coarse way to put it. But now that you mention it, I am horny by nature." She giggled. "Most people don't think so because I'm so naturally shy. I just don't like to meet people, mostly..."

"Well, do you mind if I pour a little for myself?" I tilted the bottle of wine and let some dribble into the glass. "I bought it yesterday and the guy in the store highly recommended it. In fact if I remember correctly he said it was from de-hornified grapes."

She laughed at my pathetic attempt at humor. "Don't be silly. Go right ahead." Then I heard, "In fact, if you're pouring, pour a half-glass for me. I'll just watch myself."

I thought, "I'll watch you too!" I poured a full glass for myself, and the biggest half-glass you ever saw. Her glass was about 80% full. We chatted while we sipped the wine. Within 10 minutes both glasses were empty and I suggested a refill. She chided me, but agreed, but insisted this time that I REALLY only fill her glass half-way. I filled mine about 80% and hers about 60%. It was a reasonable compromise.

While we were still nursing our glasses, she suddenly piped up, "So when do I get to see the pictures? Are they any good? Do you think Bob will like them?"

I said "He'd have to be dead not to like them. I modestly would have to say they're some of my finest work."

"Oooo. Let's go see," she exclaimed.

"OK," I said. "But I have to warn you, my so-called darkroom is downstairs, and it's small and stuffy. It might be a little uncomfortable."

"Fine, fine," she answered politely. If she only knew. Well, we'd just have to see what developed.

We headed for the stairs. As I walked past the kitchen counter, I grabbed the bottle of wine. It was still about half-full. With my other hand I flipped on the stair light and opened the door. At the bottom of the stairs was the darkroom door. I announced our arrival:

"Ladies and Gentlemen on today's tour... This is the darkroom. It began life as a really big closet. It was converted 4 years ago to a really small darkroom. Please file in single-file." I got a smile for my efforts.

Knowing that she was coming over, I had done some modest rearranging. I had rebottled or tossed the chemicals, and cleared off a good portion of the short counter which I had built on one side of the 8 foot deep closet. On the left side was about 2 feet of countertop, then my enlarger, then a small light-table, and another 3 feet of counter top. At the far end was a 2 drawer file cabinet and a wooden stool. There was just room for two, maybe two-and-a-half people to stand.

Now to be perfectly honest, there was no reason for us to be in the darkroom. All of the processing had already been done. We could have just as easily taken the contact sheets to the kitchen table to look at them, but hey, photographer... darkroom... I had planned my strategy, and wanted to have every advantage. Kind of like the coach on game day, you know?

I flipped on the overhead light. It was only a 40-watt bulb, but she was still surprised that there was any light at all. I explained that the only time a darkroom needs to be dark is when film is being transferred or developed, and at certain times when prints are being made. I made a big production of showing her the little developer canister. I showed her how the film comes out of the little cartridge and goes into the canister, and showed her the little handle on the side, and all. She seemed interested, or if she wasn't she was putting on a good show. Then I pulled out the contact sheets. All 20 of them. They were 8 1/2 by 11 inches, and the images on them were the actual size of the film images, less than an inch square each. A contact sheet is nothing more than an index sheet of all of the 35mm film shots.

She was disappointed. "I thought you would have pictures..." she whined.

"Well, we will. But you have to decide which ones you want. I couldn't print all 400 of these. It would cost a fortune!" I told her. "Now you look through the contact sheets and decide which ones you want. Then I can blow them up to 4 by 6 or 8 by 10 or whatever you want."

"Oh," she said. "I just thought..."

"Yeah," I interrupted. "You thought this was FotoMat, and you'd get double prints and everything."

"Sorry," she replied. "Guess I'm just a dumb broad."

"Ah don't worry about it. Most people never think about it. They just pay their $10 and get ripped off at the corner drug store. The good pictures, the shitty pictures, they all come back the same. This is where you throw away the crappy ones and make the good ones great."

"OK," she brightened. "I get it."

"Just a sec," I answered. "I'm dying in here." I whipped off my T-shirt. I stood there in my gym shorts. I could tell she was hot as well. Her blouse had started to get wet and stick to her body, and the outline of her bra became more visible through the damp material. She didn't move.

I handed her the viewer, a sort of upside down shot-glass. You put it over the individual frames on the contact sheet to get a larger view. "This usually helps," I said, taking a tug on the bottle of wine. I handed it to her. She took a gulp, too.

She wasn't really comfortable using the viewer; most people aren't at first. But after a minute or two she got the hang of it. "Oh, here we go back at the beginning," she exclaimed. Of course, I was giving her the sheets in chronological order. I knew them by heart. She was sitting at the kitchen table, fully, but sexily dressed in her low cut halter top and short skirt. You couldn't really see anything, yet.

I said "Let me see." I moved in next to her, until our arms were brushing against each other. I took the viewer and bent down. "Yep, here's a good one." I pointed to #6. She agreed, and I marked it with a wax pencil for later enlargement. I took a swig from the wine bottle and handed it to her. She took a small mouthful.

"Careful with that stuff," she said. "You know it makes me horny." She giggled. "Doesn't it have the same effect on you?"

"Don't know," I replied. "Everything makes me horny." She laughed. "Here, how about this one?" I pointed to a picture later in the series, one of my first down-the-blouse shots. You could see some really nice cleavage, and her face had come out real pretty, as well. Our fingers touched as I handed her the viewer. She leaned in to see and the sides of our arms became pressed together, again.

"I guess," she said.

"Oh it's really nice," I protested. "First, your face looks so pretty in that shot." She sat back, and I could tell she liked being complimented. "And it's a tasteful, ah, cleavage shot that I think Bob will like."

"OK. Probably. I think he'll want something a little more revealing, tho." Then she stood up and said, "Whew, it really is hot in here! I'm dying." Her fingers went to the buttons on her blouse. She opened up the top three, which didn't give much relief, since when she started it had been buttoned right up to the neck. She tugged the shirt-tail out of her skirt.

"Hey, don't stop on my account," I offered. "It's only going to get worse." She thought it over for a minute, and then continued unbuttoning. There was a sexual tension in the air, but I pretended to pay scant attention as she unbuttoned the rest of the buttons in the front except. two at the bottom. The blouse hung nearly open as she bent back over to look at the pictures. But in just a couple minutes she was still sweating profusely, and she flapped the opening to try to cool herself. The material was sopping wet. She had her bra on, and it was wet too, clinging like a second skin to her tits. She undid the last buttons and let the blouse hang open.

"Ah, that is so much better," she said to no one in particular. She moved back over next to me. I brought out the next contact sheet. This was the one where we had some major down-the-blouse shots. In the photos she was leaning forward, the top hanging away from her rounded breasts.

I said "Check out #3 and #12." I had them memorized, even though I had only developed them yesterday. It was apparent she didn't know where to look for the numbers, so I pointed to them.

"Oh my god, you can see right down my blouse," she blushed. She was standing next to me, but back a little. As she leaned over to look at the photo sheet I could feel her bra cup brushing against my arm. I could hear her breathing. "And this one! Look, it's practically 'Tits on Parade'". I laughed. "Bob will love these, but I can't ever let anyone else see them." She seemed to forget that I was looking at them, too.

She grabbed for the wine. She took a gulp and passed it to me.

We went for the next sheet. It was more of the same; we found a couple where she was smiling sweetly into the camera while the lecherous photographer had found ways to expose her beautiful chest. It got hotter and hotter in the little room.

She was engrossed looking at the next contact sheet. I pulled the stool over to sit on. Even though I was only half-erect, I wanted to disguise my condition, at least for the moment. As I pulled the chair up next to her and sat down, she said "I'm dying. It's just nasty in here." I thought it was an interesting choice of words.

She fanned the hem of her skirt to move some cooler air up her legs, and came back next to me. I was sitting on my stool in my shorts; she stood in her dripping shirt, bra, skirt and panties. I brought out another contact sheet.

This was the one where I started crawling around under the table, getting an upskirt shot that Bob had wanted. I found a couple that were particularly good, one was a real Sharon Stone shot with Krystal's pubic hair clearly visible. I told her to look.

"Oh my god," she exclaimed. "Oh, promise you won't ever show these to anyone. This is so embarrassing!"

"Don't worry about it," I assured her. "These are just for you and Bob, and maybe for me once in a while," I smiled. She straightened up, then took the viewer and leaned forward to look. But this time, she put her free hand on my thigh, as if for support. As she leaned in she seemed to concentrate on the picture. My dick began to grow. She stared and stared, and then her hand moved up my leg a little, closer to my crotch.

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