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FotoFun: Angle of View Ch. 01

By: Hypoxia



Author's note: The following incidents are probably mostly fictional, even just plain fantasy. All sex involves living humans aged 18+, even the civilians. The story contains multiracial, bisexual, and anal elements; if you object, stop reading. Views expressed are not necessarily the author's. Information may not be totally accurate. It's just a story, folks.



FotoFun: Angle of View Ch. 01



She nodded at me, lips pursed, breathing heavily. "Yes, please." Her sweet voice was little more than a whisper. Her eyes were unreadable.

Mule's fingers pinched her other nipple. She squinted again and sighed.

I filled a tumbler with cold Almaden Chablis, probably the best wine to be found in the Midwest in that benighted era, and handed it to the shivering girl. Why shiver? Probably because Mule had emptied the can and ran his now-free hand past her coverall's side snaps to stroke her thighs. I sat in the ladder-back rocker across from the couch, watching, looking, planning setups.

Mule called the shots. Literally.

We started with Camilla in simple poses, from stiffly uptight to warily relaxed, around the living room, with unobtrusive furniture props. One coverall shoulder strap fell, revealing her luscious left breast, then the other strap, then both, then the waist and side snaps.

Camilla stood naked but for the moccasins and choker. Her dense muff was a neatly trimmed delta, the first razor-edged thatch I had seen. Her figure was a stretched full hourglass with fine firm breasts topped with wide dark areolae and hazelnut nipples; a narrow waist, flat belly, wide hips, bubbly butt; taut thighs, toned calves; nimble sexy feet, once she kicked off the moccasins.

Very nicely put together, yes.

SNAP! Shift. SNAP! Reposition. SNAP! Adjust lights. SNAP! Spread legs. SNAP! Mule moved in, also naked now. SNAP! Camilla swallowed Mule's adequate cock. SNAP! Uh, oh, that 36-shot cart was done. I needed to either change cameras or rewind and reload that Nikon F.

Rewinding and reloading means stopping the action or missing shots, alas. Yes, I had a backup Nikon F body as well as the F2. But unless I used the bulky 750-shot canister, unsuitable for agile handheld work, my shoots were limited. So I also kept two little Olympus Pen-FT half-frame SLR bodies on hand. All the cameras together allowed 360 shots without changing film.

I needed that capacity. I explored many angles of Camilla blowing Mule and Mule tit-fucking and cunt-licking and dick-poking the girl.

Photo amateurs think of wide-angle lenses as best for expansive town- or land- or sky-scapes. Wrong. Wides and ultrawides exaggerate distances and make deep-field close-ups possible with both the near and far in focus. See Camilla's mouth on Mule's member, her tongue near, his pleasure clear on his visage. See Mule's bull-cock plowing Camilla's fertile pasture with every single pubic hair distinct and her diamond-hard nipples and ecstatic face evident. See them 69ing on their sides, their foreshortened intertwined bodies stretching away into the optical distance like receding landscapes.

Use a short telephoto lens as a scalpel to isolate picture elements like lips at pubes or fingers inserted somewhere. Use wide-angles as whisk brooms to sweep-in everything relevant.

"Drop your shorts and get in here, Carson," Mule growled.

Camilla was lying on her back across the couch with her head on one thickly padded arm. Mule lay across the other arm, his head between her thighs. Her mouth was at a good position to take my standing cock. I leaned down for the right image angle. The ultrawide lens saw her dick-slurping lips close-by and Mule slurping far-off beyond her rising breasts.

Mule flipped Camilla onto elbows and knees for the next sequence. He knelt on the couch and smoothly entered her pussy from behind; she groaned. I shot, and moved closer, and slid my cock between her greedy lips, and shot. Her eyes, blacker than night, peered into my questing lens.

Mule held Camilla's hips and pounded into her. She moaned her pleasure on my cock several times before he jerked and unloaded into her, driving her to a louder orgasm. I was rock-hard but she did not expend much effort on me.

"Hey Carson! It's your turn now, if you want," Mule invited.

He pulled his bum-banger from Camilla with an audible 'squish' and stood by her.

"You want to tap this sweet ass?" He patted her flushed cheeks. "Take all you want. All of it, fuck yeah."

Camilla squirmed and opened her mouth as if to object. Mule slapped her ass, a sharp smack. "All of it, got that?" His fingers rubbed her pussy.

"Yes, Lamar," she whispered.

"What was that? I can't hear you?"

"Yes, Lamar, YES!"

Her voice rasped like bells brushed with sandpaper.

Mule and I switched places after I grabbed a camera with a not-so-wide lens. I shot his dick splitting her uper lips and mine, condom-wrapped, docking in her labia. I will admit neglecting the camera-work while I puppy-fucked Camilla. I watched her energetically suck Mule. He and I came nearly simultaneously; our fuck-toy squeaked constantly. I do think she enjoyed it.

Mule slumped into a chair. "You want more, Carson? Take her; she's yours." He waved negligently.

Camilla sat up on the couch. Her smiling lips at both ends were puffy and wet; her sweet breasts showed impending bruises. Her face and body exhibited a loose-limbed well-fucked glow.

"Yes, Carson, I'll be yours for as long as Sarge says." Her smile opened.

I was in my mid-twenties. I did not rejuvenate nearly as fast as I would a decade earlier. Camilla sucked me for some minutes before I was hard again. She reclined on the couch and spread her thighs. "You ready now?"

Indeed I was. I rolled a fresh condom and crawled onto her and into her. I did not kiss her mouth but her excited, abused tits aroused my taste buds. Yum.

Judging from her reactions, I did well. Long legs wrapped around my thighs; her heels pounded my legs as I pistoned into her; she moaned and wheezed a constant "oh fuck oh fuck oh...", and a satisfied scream when I came with her.

Some rest. More beers. More fucks.

And that was only the first session with Mule Mueller and his girls.

.

--- Mule's session (2)

Corn-fed Kansas farm girls? They abound in Aggieville on the far corner of Fort Riley. KSU, Kansas State University, in the town of Manhattan, used to be Kansas State Agricultural College; thus the names Aggies and Aggieville.

A DivArty howitzer was mistakenly fired at KSU dorms at least once to my knowledge. Oops. The 155mm shells fortunately landed in a parking lot. Pow. Got a Chevy and a couple of Hondas. Hooray for insurance.

Corn-bright corn-fed girls, yes. Platinum Scandinavian ice princesses; lanky Bohemian towheads; hearty Saxon blondes; the light-haired granddaughters of immigrant farmers. Dark-haired girls of more southern heritage. A lively mix of nubile lovelies. Mule Mueller harvested these girls like fallow summer wheat.

Mule, in fatigues and a gear-laden web belt, pulled two sorority girls to my door late one warm afternoon for his next session. Bouncy buxom Lavinia's blonde tresses swung freely, as did she. Sly slender Thalia's black Aegean hair curled tightly against her head. The rest of her was also tight.

Both wore only thin KSU tees and short-shorts. No apparent underwear. Nice.

I knew Thalia slightly from a roadside encounter the previous winter. Her VW Golf ate a snowy ditch one cold, nasty afternoon. I roped her to my Chevy van and worked my snow tires to drag her free. She rewarded nme with a big hug, a quick blowjob, quarts of java at an Aggieville café, and enough of her life story. Daddy sold airplanes in boring Wichita. Happy to get away. Going to be a business tycoon. Uh huh.

"Ronny!" Thalia squealed. She launched herself at me.

Mule gazed at me, appraising. "You got something going on with the T-Girl?"

I kissed Thalia's forehead and disentangled myself. "Not a hope."

"Hey, how about me?" The blonde pushed Thalia aside, flaunting her breasts with visible squeezes. "I'm Lavinia," she turned and fluted, jamming those bounteous boobs into my tensioned torso. "And you're the Ronny I've heard about? Cool." She kissed my lips, fast, hard, then leaned back and cackled. "If you're okay with T-Girl then you're okay with me. Let's be okay, okay?"

She heard of me? I hope my reputation was intact. "Okay," I said.

"Yeah, he's the Ronny who saved my ass after the big blizzard."

Thalia bore on my other side, smiling. Alas, I was bookended flat by thinly-clad smoking-hot collegiate beauties. Did I complain? Yeah, sure...

My arms sank; my hands squeezed soft delightful buttocks. The girls passed conspiratorial giggles. This could be fun.

Mule discarded his fatigue shirt. He fetched several of MY beers from MY kitchen and generously passed them around, the asshole, er I mean client. He nodded at me - a signal. I caught the message and grabbed a camera.

"So now that we're all old buddies, how about we get down to it? Let's start with wet t-shirt time." Thumb covering the can's hole, he shook the aluminum cylinder and sprayed both girls with my precious Colt 45. They shrieked, of course, and quickly reeked of malt liquor.

"Oh darn, you're all wet now! You girls had better get out of those soggy tees before you catch your death of cold, y'hear?" Mule leered. He sloshed down a swig from another of MY beer cans.

SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP captured smirking Lavinia skinning her shirt over her head; her big tanned breasts quivered invitingly. She swung the wet tee like a showgirl and slung it across the living room.

"That's much better, oh yeah," Lavinia cooed.

She hugged herself and rubbed her pneumatic mammaries with crossed arms concealing nothing. SNAP! Hands behind neck, the Pointer Sisters aimed south-southwest. SNAP!-wind-SNAP! Another sweet quiver. SNAP!

Thalia snorted. "Ha! No imagination there, blondie!"

SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP filmed Thalia reaching to Mule and slipping the bayonet from his web-belt sheath. She grinned, bunched the thin cotton in her fist, and pulled her soggy tee away from her torso. A slash of the bayonet opened her covering down the front. An upward slash, and the tee became a ragged wet vest. Thalia's baby pillows were somewhat smaller than Lavinia's but just as succulent.

"Better put this away and get your bazooka out, Sarge," Thalia teased Mule, passing the bayonet to him handle-first.

Mule slammed the blade into its scabbard and peeled off his uniform tee and spit-shined black boots. His loaded web-belt, fatigue trousers, and military fatigue boxers hit the carpeted floor. He stepped free; his blue-veined piccolo stood tall.

"I don't suppose I need to tell ya what to do, girls."

Lavinia knelt in front of him with focused interest and a soft bandanna.

"Lemme get this hog wiped down, Sarge." She polished his knob first with the cloth, then with her tongue, and then full insertion. "Tastes pretty clean now. Hey T-Girl, get your skinny lips over here!" Lavinia resumed slurping.

"Just a second; I'm overdressed."

Thalia's short-shorts followed Lavinia's wet tee across the room. Her warm naked Mediterranean beauty glowed like sandalwood incense as she dropped to her knees beside Lavinia. She ostentatiously licked and kissed the blonde's nearest puffy nipple and finger-tweaked the happy other before turning her long tongue to Mule's tubesteak.

SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP! I shot from all angles. Two faces, two mouths, two tongues, one happy honker, all mixed and moving.

Mule pushed their heads away. "Hey, enough of that for now. I don't wanna cum too quick. Let's have some more fun in bed."

Lavinia stood to scoot short-shorts off her bubbly butt. Thalia merely rose, fisted Mule's cock, and led him through the bedroom door. Who controlled whom? Lavinia trotted after them.

I was in front of this little parade, moving backwards by instinct, snapping away at the procession. The motorized F2 and big film canister gazed down from a high tripod to witness action on the bed. I triggered its timer and set the hidden Bolex cine eyes to their stealthy work.

Mule squeezed the girls together in an obscenely inevitable naked group hug. His tongue speared through female lips and down both sultry throats. He lowered his mouth to Lavinia's left breast - and Thalia suckled the other.

Mule and Thalia's fingers rubbed and prodded Lavinia's pussy together, eliciting groans and shakes and a bit of moisture.

Mule shoved the girls down onto the king bed and crawled between Lavinia's thighs. "Time for fuckin' hors d'oeuvres," he grunted, before munching at her furburger with an avid appetite.

Lavinia was mumbling, "oh god oh god oh fuck oh..." She moaned louder when Thalia resumed slurping her breasts. Her moans faded, muffled; Thalia had scooted around and dropped her own breast into Lavinia's gaping mouth. The girls mutually nursed while Mule feasted and prodded and I merrily photographed.

Mule's mouth and fingers played at Lavinia's pussy. Lavinia's fingers slid inside Thalia's wet treasury. My fat hard-on was painfully confined. Damn.

Mule raised his head. "C'mon babes, it's lunchtime."

He pushed Lavinia's butt up and tongue-fucked her velvety vagina. Lavinia moaned. Thalia straddled the blonde's head and lowered her dark curly muff to an extended eager tongue. Thalia groaned. Lavinia reached to fondle Thalia's peppy breasts and pinch her glowing nipples; Mule's hands worked similarly on Lavinia's big Bobsey Twins.

I had to keep both hands on my camera, dammit. Maintaining a professional attitude was difficult. I chanted my Nichiren Shoshu mantra, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, and strove for equanimity, serenity, and objectivity. Right.

Mule rolled away from his feast. "Second course, girls. Serve it up!"

SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP! I shot them rearranging themselves into a triad daisy-chain, Mule eating Thalia eating Lavinia eating Mule. I shot Lavinia cumming with muffled screams and spasming thighs and Thalia's climax yelled onto Lavinia's blonde muff. Mule just kept going - till he moved again.

"Hey T-Girl, down on your back, fuck yeah, just like that," Mule growled.

A brief break as the troika re-formed. I changed film canisters on the F2 and adjusted lights and angles slightly. I picked up a Pen-FT with a short telephoto lens tweaked with a thin extension tube for close-range work and took my position.

SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP! Thalia reclined. Lavinia settled her pussy onto Thalia's face; the blonde gasped at the fresh tongue work. Mule settled his hips between Thalia's raised knees and slid his meaty member into her wide-open cunt. Thalia's desperate hands clutched at Mule's taut thighs. Mule's lips joined with Lavinia's. SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP! All on film...

Mule pistoned into Thalia, faster, harder, ratcheting up to cruising speed, his hips a blur, his hands clutching Lavinia's melons. Lavinia rocked on Thalia's face and swallowed Mule's tongue, groaning and grinding.

Thalia writhed under the two bodies. Mule stiffened and growled and shot obvious living loads into Thalia's bottomless pit. He embraced Lavinia a minute longer and then pulled out of Thalia and slumped to the side. He looked up at me as I circled the hot, sweaty group for more shots.

"You want some of this, Carson? Sure ya do. So it's your fucking turn now. And blondie, it's your turn to get on your back. Your turn to do some pussy cleanup, too. Go on, get into place. Now!" He slapped Lavinia's sweet ass.

"Hey," Lavinia protested, "you don't own me!"

"Possession is nine-tenths, babe." He stroked her pussy. "Who's got ya now?"

Thalia pushed Lavinia down and climbed over to straddle her head.

"Let's do this right, huh? Yeah, while you're cleaning me."

Thalia dropped into a noisy, twitchy 69 atop Lavinia. Tongues lashed; Lavinia slurped mixed juices from Thalia's dripping pussy; Thalia moaned, thighs rocking and flexing, tits everywhere, cumming again, collapsing. She sat up looking tired but happy.

"C'mon Ronny, don't miss out. Here, let me get you ready."

I stood nearby, shooting. Thalia reached out and unsnapped my shorts. I pushed my coverings off; and down she pulled my elated cock to her mouth and nicely licked me, then gave me the full-suction routine while massaging my scrotum. I was fully inflated when she released me. SNAP!-wind-SNAP! I kept shooting.

"Looks like you're about ready for action now, Carson. Get your California cock over here and stick that thing into her," Thalia ordered.

I quick-changed the F2's film canister, donned a condom, snatched a wider-angle camera, and kept snapping the shutter as I knee-walked inside Lavinia's thighs. My cock split her pale pubes; SNAP! The viewfinder showed a faceless 'me' entering her; and her luscious torso, truncated, jammed; and Thalia in the distance, smothering her, pinching her head between firm, strong thighs, leaning forward, tits swaying. SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP!

I discarded by professional attitude at this point. I put my camera aside and concentrated on fucking the supine Lavinia and sucking Thalia's hard little nipples floating on wide pink areolae. Not that these events would go unrecorded; the tripodded F2 and the Bolex spies continued to fire.

Lavinia's fingers dug into my hips as I frantically pumped into her. Thalia, one tit or another in my mouth, pinched my nipples in return. I gasped and filled the condom. Damn, that felt like a quart of cum!

(No, I did not spew that much semen. The average human ejaculation is one or two teaspoons at most. That "lovin' spoonful" (10cc) only feels like gallons as it ejects.)

I slid from Lavinia and collapsed to the side; Mule had already vacated that position and sat naked on a chair, watching, smirking, slugging another of my beers, his cock and pubes soggy, matted with scum and Thalia's pussy juice.

I heard the F2's motor drive stop. Time to change the film canister again and tweak the field of view.

"Last call," Thalia sang, and dropped to 69 Lavinia again. They rolled over, Lavinia on top. Her lips busily slurped Thalia's essence while her fingers fiddled and stroked. Thalia's thirsty tongue probed into her lively friend. I held a camera again. SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP!.

Ah, those Mu Delta sorority girls! They seemed to have had a lot of practice. I wondered if I could wangle invitations to sorority-house parties?

Mule finished his beer and returned to the bed. His bedraggled cock hung just inches from Lavinia's busy red lips. Mule tapped her shoulder and flapped his cock against her cheek. She looked up with a dazed smile.

"Yeah babe, last call, come and get it," he grunted.

Lavinia propped up on her near elbow and used her hand to direct Mule's soft cock into her mouth and massage his slowly stiffening shaft. Her other hand played at Thalia's pussy, gently stroking, prodding, and pinching. Lavinia sucked and fisted Mule with increasing intensity. I hopped around naked, shooting the details, enjoying the sights and sounds.

Thalia pulled her mouth off Lavinia's pale, reddened pussy and looked at me.

"You want one more time, Ronny? Now's your last shot." She licked her lips.

I switched back to a Pen-FT with an ultrawide lens, dropped a condom packet on the mattress, and knelt behind Thalia's head. One firm hand held my cock in her mouth while her other fingers pleasured her 69 partner's pussy. I kept shooting. SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP!

I was rock-solid again after not many minutes of this. I emerged from Thalia's mouth, rolled the condom on, set the camera aside, knee-walked a little closer, and slid smoothly into Lavinia's wet, waiting portal. Ahhh...

I moved steadily in-n-out, in-n-out; Thalia licked and fingered Lavinia's clitoris and massaged my testicles.

In-n-out, in-n-out; Thalia's crystalline dark eyes peered up at me through a sultry miasma of sex and sweat.

In-n-out, in-n-out; my decisive fingers clawed into Lavinia's wide hips.

In-n-out, in-n-out; my balls slapped on Lavinia's amazing ass and sometimes Thalia's forehead.

In-n-out, in-n-out; I was fairly spent; this fun could last a while.




FotoFun: Angle of View Ch. 01



It did. Last a while, I mean. But eventually...

Mule stiffened and shot more than one long load into Lavinia's mouth. Her pussy muscles clenched my stick. She came, groaning past a mouthful of Mule meat, her pussy spasming on my cock, triggering my own last long, tight eruption, almost painful, but worth every ounce of anguish as I filled the condom inside her.

I managed to pick up the camera again. I shot Mule's used cock flop from Lavinia's mouth, which she lowered again to Thalia's pussy. I shot my own wrapped dick emerge from its orgasmic trap and bounce on Thalia's forehead. I shot Thalia's face, fallen away from Lavinia's pussy; Thalia's face in the throes of ecstasy of her final orgasm; Thalia's enraptured face with my covered cock resting on her cheek. SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP!

We were played out and the film was gone. Time to clean up and go. Well, I rewound and reloaded one Nikon F and got another three dozen shots of the showering process's stroking and slurping moments. I tried to miss nothing.

We cleaned and dressed ourselves, and drank more of MY beer, and chatted briefly. Mule glanced at my wall clock and crushed his tall Colt 45 can.

"Time to go, babes. I've got a date. You girls want a ride? I'm heading back to Greek Row."

Lavinia nodded. "Yeah, I've got a date too. I just have time to get ready."

"Nope, don't think so; I'll talk with Ronny awhile, okay?" Thalia looked at me. I shrugged. Maybe she would help me straighten up. Maybe she would stay the night. Not that I needed a regular girlfriend, but I sure welcomed no-strings-attached casual overnighters.

.

--- Thalia's night

Thalia helped change the bedding and furniture covers, re-arrange items knocked askew, generally put things in order; and she broiled a nice Greek-style chicken with pilaf in between inconclusive but pleasant blowjobs.

My bathroom doubled as a mini-darkroom as well as boudoir-shoot studio. Thalia scrunched her hip against mine and watched me develop film from the session while we sipped cheap white wine. My various mixtures of chemicals piqued her curiosity.

"I'm only a business major and I don't know jack shit about chemistry but it looks like you process the same kind of film different depending on what camera it was in. What's up with that?"

I blended my custom Dektol-plus-Acufine-plus-Kodalith brew, poured it into a film tank loaded with Plus-X from an Olympus, sloshed it around for thorough coating, set the timer, and gave her a basic briefing.

"The Nikons are full-frame 35mm cameras. The Olympus Pen-FT's are half-frame so I get twice as many shots per roll but a half-frame only sees half the detail of a full-frame. To handle that, I use a plain developer for full-frame film, and my own special soup, that's my developer mix, for half-frame stuff or any special effects I want. My soups let me control sensitivity, what we call film speed, and graininess and contrast and tonal range, that's the spread from lightest to darkest."

I gave the film tank another shake. Regular agitation is best.

"Half-frame detail is still really, really good when done right. The frame size is one inch by three-quarter inch. It's what movie makers mostly use. That teeny-tiny frame gets blown up to maybe thirty by forty feet or larger on a cinema screen. View that from the right distance and you don't notice grain, do you? And movie makers usually don't use the best film or lenses, only what works on their budget. Commercial cinema is all about budget. And marketing."

Another shake of the tank and a squeeze of Thalia's sweet ass.

"Now, if I wanted or needed TONS of detail, I'd use a larger-format camera, like for some landscape or studio portrait work. Everything has its place. I shoot everything from tiny 110-Instamatic-size all the way up to 8x10 inch view cameras, those big guys with bellows. I don't own any; got to borrow or rent those."

I shook and sloshed the tank again. Thalia squeezed my cock through my light shorts. I grinned. She smelled good, like rosemary. The chemicals stank.

"Do you develop and print all your own stuff?" She squeezed my cock harder.

I reached over her shoulder to knead an unleashed breast through her thin tee. MY tee, actually; she wore only a well-worn pale extra while her own dried overnight, wrung-out and hanging in my shower next to her panties and socks.

"All the black-and-white stuff, yes I do. I can process some color films but they're mostly a pain, and quality color printing takes gear and time I don't have. I send most of my color work to a lab. Lab techs see everything that passes through there and I sure don't need to entertain them with sex shots. So, all these 'intimate' pics are strictly my own product."

I continued developing film. We continued stroking each other, with random deep kisses and gropes. I finished the last roll and shoved all my darkroom gear into the cabinets. Always keep it fresh and tidy, yes.

Photographic chemicals stink. We drank more wine and headed back into the shower to remove the stench, and for Thalia to douche, and for mutual taste-tests. We both passed.

We passed out on my bed after a final intoxicated 69 extravaganza. I woke in the morning with my head beside Thalia's crotch. Well, it was her mouth on my cock that woke me. I pulled her back atop me to tongue her sweet puffy labia and nip her distended clit.

"Hey, stop that now! I've gotta pee!" Her pussy was a mite tangy.

"Yeah, me too. Let go of my morning wood and let's drain."

Thalia headed for the toilet. I intercepted and dragged her into the shower.

"We need to wash off anyway and it's nothing we haven't seen." I shot a spray of steaming piss across her flat belly and into her dark muff.

"Sure, why not?" She hugged me, my leg caught between hers, and cut loose.

Warm golden streams flowed down our thighs and across our feet. We sudsed-off thoroughly, taste-tested carefully, rolled a condom on me, and fucked a final standup fuck, her legs wrapped around my waist, pounding against the wall, yelling happily.

We breakfasted naked on reheated day-old donuts, fresh scrambled eggs laced with bacon bits and cheddar shreds, and the strongest coffee I could brew. Thalia donned yesterday's clothes; I slid into my uniform. I drove her to the main post transit terminal to catch the shuttle bus to KSU and then sped on to DivArty on Custer Hill for morning formation and my groovy military job.

That session was fun.

The next time Mule arrived at my door, he brought THREE girls, none of whom I had seen before. I sure saw them a lot that evening. Fun fun fun, indeed. I'll have to tell that story sometime.

.

--- Ben's connection

The US Army is a vast institution but it is still a small world.

First Lieutenant Benjamin Beahr worked in S3 (Operations / Planning) in one of DivArty's gun battalions. I knew Ben from our pre-Army days when we hung with alternative musicians and artists in San Francisco. We were students then, he at SF State University and me at two-year City College. Now, when he was not plotting which guns should hit which targets and how, he was writing a biography of a mutual acquaintance, a notorious underground cartoonist who died playing sexual auto-asphyxiation games.

Ben was commissioned; I was enlisted. Any socialization technically violated the Army's non-fraternization policy. But he was not in my chain of command and we did not see how our friendship threatened the good order of the unit. So, after-hours and out of the public eye, we shared beers and stories.

"If you didn't get so much pussy, I'd call it sublimation," Ben announced after quaffing his dark brew. He insisted on having spicy Anchor Steam shipped cross-country. What a guy!

"Sublimation? Psychological repression? Huh?" I sipped from my own bottle. We sat on a picnic bench on the lawn behind my apartment unit, watching the setting sun singe the Flint Hills, the mighty mountain range of central Kansas. Hah.

"I've seen it in my squads. Guys devote themselves to something, get totally absorbed, pour every off-duty minute to it, like you do with photography. They do that 'cause they aren't getting laid, 'cause there's ten thousand extra guys here on base and not nearly enough willing women. So all their wasted sexual energy goes into weightlifting or martial arts or car-building or some other obsession. It's classic sublimation. And you - you spend all your extra hours in the darkroom. Except, not all your extra hours, not just processing and printing stuff, right? You get lots of 'studio' time. Your dick gets into a lot of unofficial shoots, right?"

I sipped again. "Only when I'm invited, and not that many. But enough, sure." I gestured at the hillscape. "Fucking Kansas. I never would have believed it. I got laid a lot in Hollywood and around the Bay Area but, shit, fucking Kansas! And I don't even have to go looking. It finds me."

Ben popped the cap off another Anchor Steam. "Comes in from out of state for you too, I hear. Wasn't there something about Keri...?"

I had lived with Keri off-and-on in Hollywood and San Francisco. Tall, very thin and tangy; a button nose and edgy features under her long black hair; very acerbic, independent, and Anglophile - and for some insane reason, she wanted me. We more-or-less broke up because she wanted a wedding but I had not bothered to divorce my absentee wife MariLyn. I did not know it then but Keri and I enlisted in the Army the same month and in similar electronics specialties. With her security clearance, she got better postings; her TDY (temporary duty) assignments took her to numerous bases, including this one.

I signed. "Yeah, Keri spent a week here a couple months ago. I don't think she ever touched her bunk in the TDY barracks. I know her naked butt touched about every surface in my apartment. But when we weren't fucking, we were fighting. Nothing violent, all verbal."

"Fighting? Not going well with you two?"

"Just the usual. Keri still wants marriage and I'm still not available. And I'm in no rush. MariLyn will file divorce papers on me eventually; I know that. Keri will be happier then. But go permanent with Keri? I don't know. I feel this desperation in her, and... I don't know what else."

Desperation, or a premonition? A heart attack two years later killed Keri at age twenty-eight. We could never have been. But that is another story.

"Anyway, if and when Keri rolls through, we'll be together again. Till then, and afterwards, I'll just keep on keepin' on." I drained my bottle and stared at the horizon. Ah, Keri. We were never soulmates.

"Think you can keep your dick in your pants if I bring a girl over for a shoot? Even a girl you know?"

"Like I said, I've got to be invited. By the client. That's you, right?"

"Yeah, I'm paying. I can afford color, too, and I know your lab limitations. You can shoot nice tame prints and more private slides, right?"

"That's my practice, yeah. So who is she, this girl I know?"

"That's a surprise."

"Cute. You were always cute, Ben."

"Yeah, fuck you too, Ron. And that's why we're both spending quality time here at Fort Bumfuck, Kansas." He pushed his bottle aside and stood. "Tomorrow after evening chow, then?"

"Yeah, bring her on."

.

--- Darcy's reunion

How small a world is the US Army? I was gobsmacked at Ben's companion.

"Darcy!"

"Ronny!"

A slender black juggernaut slammed into me. We bounced off the nearest wall; I managed to stay upright. I tried to disentangle us amid umpteen sloppy face-kisses.

Short, pale, round-faced, wheat-straw eyes, chestnut brush-cut Ben stood behind us smirking.

"Told ya it would be a surprise."

Sleek dark Darcy, her Afro quivering, finally slid off me but did not release her hold on my waist.

"You really are a turd, Ben. You could have said it was Ronny." She squeezed me and then spun away. "How the fuck did you end up here in the Big Red One? I thought you were a pacifist or something?"

"That's a long, weird story, and it would ruin the evening. But what about you? You shacking up with Ben-boy in his bachelor pad?"

A blush was evident on her ebony skin. "Well, just a little, ummm... I haven't seen my BOQ" (bachelor officer's quarters) "room in a few weeks."

"BOQ? You're Army too?" I was gobsmacked again. We had been to anti-war demos together.

"Yeah, well, after I got my RN, the recruiter made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Army's gonna put me through med school! Full ride! I just have to stick out the years, that's all."

Medical school! Doctor Darcy! The girl has really come up in the world, I thought. And nobody deserves it more.

Darcy T'oussaint's family left Haiti in time for her to be born in New Orleans. They were poor, hard-working, and relentless. Her folks worked shit jobs - garbage-man, house-cleaner, farm work - anywhere a green card was not demanded. They taught Darcy to work hard, too. She busted her ass for a scholarship and managed to survive hard years at San Francisco State. She also survived hanging with the same freaky crowd as me and Ben.

"And now I have a good gig at the base hospital. Surgical rotation, ER and trauma, nothing but blood'n'guts."

"Okay then, next time I break a leg, I'll ask for you."

Darcy slapped my shoulder. "I've got an enema bag with your name on it."

"Promises, promises. Getting kinky now, are we? Gone beyond golden showers?"

She blushed again. "Hey, it was only that one time..."

Ben feigned outrage. "What? You two did WHAT?!"

"Well, it was after that love-in, and we were nude and covered in mud, and we hit the communal shower at the same time, and we both really had to piss, and it just happened..." Darcy's voice trailed away. "Only that one time. I swear it."

Another famous Ben-smirk. We deserved it.

We shook off our reminiscences and talked about the shoot. Our goal was a 'glamour' session. We set to it.

Accent lights, vague backdrops. Languid poses, increasing skin. Off with the red sundress. Slip out of the lingerie. Darcy interacting with Ben, innocent at first, then progressively hot. Nothing hard-core. Not quite. Not tonight.

I shot Darcy with the Nikons and with my medium-format twin-lens Rolleicord 6x6 in both black-and-white and color. I shot monochrome in my Zeiss Ikonta 6x9 also; with a frame over five times larger than a 35mm Nikon, and shooting slow, grainless film, it grabbed detail like no other portable cam. The little folding Zeiss with bellows was like a back-pocket view camera.

The Zeiss offered another benefit. Its 6 x 9 cm (2-1/4 x 3-1/4 in) frame did well for contact prints: press a negative tight against photo print paper, no enlarger needed. Good thing, since I had no room for an enlarger setup in my tiny bathroom lab. I did have a stabilization processor smaller than a wide typewriter. It delivered finished prints in thirty seconds, almost as good as Polaroid, except that stabilization prints faded after six months. Still, it allowed for fast turnaround of gotta-see-it-now product.

I gave Ben and Darcy such 'instant' prints of the Zeiss shots.

"Hey, I look pretty good there," Darcy said, hugging my waist again. She and Ben were still naked; I was not. "Ben-boy doesn't look too bad, either." His cock remained thick with hope. "Nobody else sees these, right? Just us?"

"It's all under lock and key babe, er I mean Lieutenant, ma'am."

She punched my shoulder. "Cut the shit, boy. We don't use ranks after we've pissed on each other and, y'know, everything."

I palmed her dark breast softly. "Yes, ma'am. Nope, nobody but a client sees their shots. I only print to order. All negatives and slides go into a safe unless the client wants to buy them, which ain't cheap. Whatever I shoot is secret. I guarantee it." I kissed her jet forehead. "Just like our history."

Ben and Darcy dressed and left. I settled in for a night of film processing. Since I had not been laid, I guess this was sexual sublimation after all.

*****

Next: FOTOFUN: ANGLE OF VIEW 02 - Ben's Appointment. Outdoor sessions. Ron's ailment and recovery. Darcy disrupts. Stay tuned!

Author's note: This story by Hypoxia is copyright (c) 2015 and was expanded from Ron's Journal 06. Your constructive comments are welcome. If you like this, join the 1%ers and VOTE!



FotoFun: Angle of View Ch. 02



Author's note: The following incidents are probably mostly fictional, even just plain fantasy. All sex involves living humans aged 18+, even the civilians. The story contains multiracial, bisexual, and anal elements; if you object, stop reading. Views expressed are not necessarily the author's. Information may not be totally accurate. It is just a story, folks. 

The first chapter, FotoFun: Angle of View 01, contains necessary background info. Read it first.





FotoFun: Angle of View Ch. 02



I shifted my angle slightly. Judi responded, her body shaking, her groans louder at each stroke. "Ohhh... ahh... ohhh... fuuuck... AHHH! AIIIIEE!!"

And she came with a scream.

I slowed my pace. I slipped from Judi when she grunted, "enough, enough..."

Judi fell over. Ben stroked her shoulder; she turned, rotated actually, and moved her hips toward his head.

I moved back to Darcy. She looked over her shoulder and said, "Finish me."

I finished her, and me. I found Darcy's sweet spot of angle and depth and pace. It was my sweet spot too; an ever-shifting sweet spot that rewarded slight adjustments with gasps and groans from both of us.

I closed my eyes for an unknown time. I felt Darcy's body twist; her gasps turned to raspy, throaty whining. My eyes opened; I saw Darcy furiously slurp Ben while Judy lay beside her dark body, sucking one sweet nipple while firmly fingering the other - and Ben's head was between Judi's thighs. I moved faster. Darcy's sputterings were louder, more urgent.

I heard Ben groan; his cock popped, filling Darcy's mouth with his last shot of jiz that night. Ben did something fine to Judi; she voiced another orgasm. Judi may have bitten Darcy's nipple, or maybe it was just my superb cocksmanship, uh-huh, but Darcy dropped Ben's cum-covered cock and wailed a soaring contralto scream.

All this was too much for me.

I exploded. I jetted hot streams into my old friend Darcy, hot streams of blanks swallowed by the encompassing condom.

I roared. I yelled out my climax, my release, my love of my old friend. I yelled for us, for our deeper connection, our mutual satisfaction.

I collapsed. I fell across my old friend's back and gaped. I saw that Ben had pulled Judi atop him to 69 - a bit of mutual cleanup and final fun.

Darcy pushed against me; I sweatily slid off her back. She reached for a nearby wine bottle and took a gargling swig. She passed me the bottle; I chugged. I unrolled the full condom and tied it off before tossing it aside.

"No littering, boy," she teased.

Darcy rolled over. She opened her arms and legs and pulled me to her, wrapping me in her limbs like a spider taking her hapless prey. We nestled like futile missionaries - futile, because my drained dick would not revive anytime soon. We murmured.

"You don't know how long I've wanted this, Ron. A long, long time..."

She pulled my mouth to hers and kissed me. I tasted Darcy and wine, not Ben's cum. I tasted years of friendship. I tasted frustration because no matter how much we loved, we could not stay together - our paths aimed in different directions, and deep inside, we knew it. Our paths would cross from time to time but would never run in parallel.

A bell dinged from my van. I had set an alarm to signal our deadline.

"The fuck," Darcy moaned. "I've got an early shift at the hospital. I've got to go. Oh fuck Ron, this is too soon." She held me like death. She called, "Ben, I've got to go now. I hate it but..." She squeezed me and cried.

We all disentangled. I had installed an external shower on the van; we took turns hosing down and drying in various combinations.

"You coming back to base with us, Judi? Or you'd maybe like to hang with Ron for the night? Party some?" Ben belted his shorts.

Judi buttoned her sundress and seemed to consider. She had enjoyed my cockwork. She started to speak. I cut her off.

"Bad idea. Us drinking together and even fucking around out here, that's one thing. But a lieutenant, seen sneaking from an enlisted guy's rooms? That's fraternization, pure and simple; no hiding, no excuses. It fucks over Judi's career, gets me busted down and probably assigned to motor pool shitwork. I think we all need to be really, really discreet. You with me on that?"

Nods and muttered agreement and sighs. Yeah, yeah, better safe than sorry.

"But maybe a little more," Judi said. "Can Ben drive your van? Ronny, we could, umm, sort of consort a little on the drive back? That was as great fuck from behind. I'd kind of like to try you face-to-face."

I packed all the gear into its proper crates and cases; we reloaded the van. I folded the bench seat aside and arranged a stack of blankets on the floor.

Ben drove. Darcy rode shotgun and watched while Judi sat in my lap, sundress on the floor next to my clothes, arms around my neck, legs around my waist, pussy bouncing on my reinvigorated condomed cock, her breath wheezing, face and body shiny with perspiration and pleasure, nipples caressing my tongue.

I felt damn good too. Good enough to deliver a load.

Ben pulled the van into a dark alleyway a few blocks from my place.

"Okay kids, better straighten up now. You don't want to be dressing in Ron's parking lot. That's just too visible; too many lights."

Judi's mouth delivered an infinite kiss before she lifted off me. I passed her a towel and then another; we carefully wiped down and quickly dressed. I stood bent under the low roof. Darcy climbed back and hugged me. I contorted to kiss her, and Judi when she hugged us.

The three lieutenants disembarked in my apartment parking lot. No hugs there, but modest handshakes and big smiles were acceptable.

"This isn't the last time," Judi told me. I smiled.

.

--- Ron's ailment

It was not the last time with Darcy, either, but our paths next crossed in a very different way.

I joined the Army at age twenty-four. I had already lived an adult life. [See the RON'S JOURNAL and A TASTE OF INCEST stories for more.] Married young; a daughter, soon given up to adoption; a vasectomy because I thought one child was enough. (I was very ZPG [zero population growth] back then.)

Something like one percent of guys with vasectomies later suffer a plumbing inflammation, and about one percent of such guys also experience a nasty urethral stricture - the dick clogs up, and little or no semen or urine can emerge. This leads to great pain and, if not treated, a ruptured bladder and possible death. And I was one of those unlucky one-one-hundredth of one-per-centers. Ouch.

I collapsed crying in the mess hall during morning chow. An ambulance dumped me at the post hospital. They wheeled me through various clinical settings. My treatment involved endoscopy: urethrostomy and a catheter. My penis was roto-rootered. Yow.

I remember few details; pain and painkillers swamped my perceptions. I do remember Darcy's smiling face peering at me.

"So your dick finally got you into trouble, hey boy?"

"Oh jeez Darcy, it's not my fault, not lately, anyway."

"Yeah, just your wasted youth catching up with you."

"No escape, huh? And I guess a handjob is out of the question."

She looked around to make sure nobody was paying attention before she slapped my arm.

"None of that crap here. Play nice, Specialist Carson, and you'll get to play again. As long as your dick don't fall off, anyway."

Darcy chuckled.

"That would be a real pickle, wouldn't it? Ron minus his pickle. You know what Ben would say, right? He'd say, 'Pull all your teeth and grow a beard and maybe I'll date you.' A real generous guy."

Her grin was pure evil.

Darcy was not my duty nurse but she kept an eye on me and my caregivers. Did I receive special treatment? Hopefully, all patients here did. I survived.

I had few visitors. Nobody left flowers or stayed long.

I did not stay long, either. Four days in hospital, a week of bed rest in barracks, two weeks of light duty, and then I officially returned to fully-active status.

The mandated bed rest was boring as dried dogshit. I read many books (mostly science fiction); I sketched plans for a houseboat I would never build; I wrote really bad poetry and many whiny letters; I played mandolin till my roommates insisted I shut up; and I dreamed of my post-Army life.

My light duty was much better although I did miss the morning runs; it's too easy to get fat on Army chow. I spent the two weeks in my darkroom printing mostly official photos and assembling a slideshow of DivArty operations.

Full duty was the usual. Shoot artillery operations from the ground and air. Shoot portraits of troops transferring into or out of DivArty units. Shoot awards ceremonies, parades, marksman matches, whatever. Send photos to target publications worldwide; gain DivArty as much publicity as possible at minimal damage to the colonel's budget.

I had to pull the usual details: CQ (Charge of Quarters), acting as barracks and offices door guard, night watchman, and message taker. Guard detail in the motor pool. Guard detail at the ammo bunkers - and THAT was always fun!

The Custer Hill area of Fort Riley contains a half-mile-diameter Buffalo Paddock ringed by a tall, sturdy chain-link fence housing a bison herd. That fence also enclosed a number of big concrete ammunition bunkers patrolled by Army guards, guys in jeeps with shotguns - guards such as me when I pulled that duty.

The massive bison were drafted as sentries. Anyone trying to sneak into the paddock's bunkers would be chased and run down by bison. Shit, even we jeep-mounted guards were targets! A major thrill of that duty was dodging the thirty-mile-per-hour lunges of a ton-and-a-half of angry meat called Big Mac. That bad boy was always pissed-off by the sight and sound of humans.

My dick did not go back on active duty for a few weeks. Bummer.

Ultra-bummer. Damn, those were dry weeks! Ben, Judi and Darcy came for another outdoors shoot, this one set in a canvas-on-framework half-tent as a neutral backdrop. (I stole that idea from portraitist Irving Penn.) My dick was sucked but it was only for show; I did not dare ejaculate. Cumming hurt. Oh fuck.

Mackie and Dia returned for a similar shoot, with similar results. Dia was sympathetic. I was not quite humiliated.

Mediterranean goddess Thalia and blonde bombshell Lavinia came by with cute-as-a-bunny brunette Kathy Logan for a 'private' shoot. (Mule was absent; he had long ago moved on to fresh targets.) I was DAMN frustrated at not being involved. The most I got from them were their stories - Thalia and Kathy's families were both big in agribiz, yawn - and their tantalizing tongues performing for-the-camera licks and deep slurps. Oh fuck, this is awful!

I chanced to run into Camilla, the Latina beauty from Mule's first intimate shoot, in a Junction City market. She shyly asked if I would take her out that night. I made a plausible excuse and hugged her. And yes, I got her home phone number. We would get together in the future, I was sure of it. But not right now. Damn.

I postponed 'intimate' shoots with Mule (FOUR girls that time!) and a couple other clients. Extended blue-balls really killed my appetite for such work.

My off-duty time was a virtual extension of my light-duty period. I spent many hours in the darkroom, printing photos, listening to bluegrass and blues tapes, and dreaming of pussy.

Darcy semi-officially monitored my recovery. Oh, the blessed day when she gave the go-ahead for sex!

I was at the main post hospital for a post-op checkup and review. The urologist said I was good to go. Darcy called me into the tiny office she shared with three other RNs. The room was empty then but for the two of us.

"Doctor says the stricture was successfully reduced and you're healed. You're one of the lucky twenty-five percent who had a urethrostomy. You should be fine as long as you avoid any more infections. You always use a condom for intercourse, right? Just like you taught me, back when." She spoke quietly.

Darcy leaned back in her chair, arms behind head, perky breasts tenting her pale green smock, and then leaned forward. Her dark eyes locked on mine.

"Congratulations. Your blood tests have been coming up clean for all varieties of clap. You haven't stuck that thing anywhere since this happened, right? Except Judi and my mouths, that last time?"

"Ain't been stuck in nowhere, Darcy, I mean Lieutenant T'oussaint. Ain't even been in my palm. Been a long, lonely season, I tell ya." I grimaced.

"Well Ron, I mean Specialist Carson, I'll officially tell you that Judi and I, we're both clean too, and on The Pill. You and us, now, we're going to have us a little celebration. Bareback. No condoms required, and no cameras."

"A bareback celebration? What does Ben say about this?"

"Ben's on TDY at Fort Lewis for a few weeks. What, he didn't tell you? This is just our gift to you. We're in Ben's apartment," (across Junction City from my place) "all by our lonesome selves. Come by after you get off-duty today. Park your van around the corner, okay? Don't need to draw attention or anything."

I stood and saluted. "Yes, MA'AM! I'll be there without fail."

Darcy stood and grabbed my arm. "C'mere, Ron." She dragged me to the office door, shut it, leaned against it, and pulled me close to her. "Bring your appetite; we're fixing dinner. And bring a few scrotum-loads of cum. You ARE going to be drained dry before the night is over, I guarantee it."

She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me, hard, fast.

She pushed me away and opened the door.

"Back to work, soldier. Your vacation is over."

I saluted sharply again. "Yes, MA'AM! As you command!"

Darcy's returned salute was almost as lazy as Ben's usual. Her voice was just above a whisper.

"Get your disrespectful ass out of here. See you tonight."

I suppressed my grin as I marched away.

.

--- Ron's recovery

Our clothing-optional dinner was a wonderful spicy jambalaya washed down with sangria (cheap red wine mixed with fruit juice and a splash of Everclear pure grain alcohol), a puff of hashish, and sexual juices.

I directed a juicy forkful of food to Judi's leering mouth.

"How did you get together with Ben and Darcy?"

"Like I said, Ben and I sort of grew up in similar orbits." Judi chased her mouthful with a slug of sangria. "But I hadn't seen him in a long time. I really only re-connected with him through Darcy."

"Truth," Darcy said. "Judi and I posted here at the same time. We shared some orientation sessions. Then we had martial-arts classes, and we were teamed-up pretty often, and we just became friends. Your buddy Mackie is in our classes sometimes. He's sweet, isn't he? But not too bright. Anyway, I ran into Ben when he came into the clinic for a checkup - I was so glad to see him! I moved in here a week later. And I brought Judi home one day and found she knew him. We all just bonded." Darcy fed me as she talked.

"And the sex..." A half-smile crossed Judi's lips. "It just sort of happened." She pinched Darcy's nearest nipple. "Didn't it, babe?"

Darcy gently slapped Judi's cheek. "Oh yeah sure, it just happened. All it took was drinking and teasing and grab-assing and strip poker; and the next I knew, this slut's tongue and fingers were torturing my cunt while Ben slid his cock in my mouth. Just a whirl of fate, right." She tapped the redhead's lip. "Who's fooling who, huh?"

"No fooling, babe." Judi leaned to kiss Darcy. "Just living the best we can." She turned her eyes back on me. "And you, Ron, you're an interesting case. There's more to you than what's in the files."

"I'm a case? That's all?" I pouted.

"Everybody's a case of some type or another. Now, you... you're a lucky fluke. You're only in the Army because of times and events, a window of opportunity. When 'Nam was hot, the Army would take any warm body that could walk, even if there were old legal problems like your pot bust. You joined after the war was over but before the Pentagon decided that is WAS over. So you're just barely VietNam-era. After the cutoff, the Army got much more selective. You'd have been refused enlistment. As is, you can't get a Secret clearance, so you can't work commo, so you lucked-out with the photography assignment. You are just one lucky bastard. Napoleon said he'd rather have lucky generals than smart ones. You'll do well, Ron."

Was I actually luckier than I was smart? Probably.

Did this sexy intel puke know everything about me? Too much, yeah.

Was I going to worry about this? Not fucking likely.

We continued feeding each other. Sometimes food was dropped onto naked flesh, or sangria was so splashed. Oops. It had to be licked up. Yummy.

I helped with the easy cleanup and was dragged into Ben's bachelor-pad master bedroom, complete with mirrors. It was not the cheezy 1970's decor you may envisage; it was pretty tasty. But still, wall-to-wall mirrors, and on the ceiling, too. Talk about visual overload!

The naked women bookended me in the bedroom doorway.

Judi's freckled torso and luscious boobs pressed on my left; Darcy's ebony breasts bubbled on my right. Two hands annoyed my enlarging cock, one dark, one pale, both gently rubbing. Hungry wet lips brushed my neck on both sides.

What could I possibly do? I fingered two trim muffs and sighed happily.

"It's your party, Ronny," Darcy whispered, pulling my head down and licking my ear. "Whatever you want."

Judi pulled my head in her direction and mouthed my face. "Whatever. Anything. As long as it doesn't hurt too much."

"Way-ehlll..." I drawled, "I think I'd like to watch you two play."

"Hah!" Darcy laughed. "I knew you were a perv! You like to watch a lot, don't you? Sure, with the cameras all the time - you're just a natural-born voyeur! C'mon, admit it!" She squeezed my cock, almost too hard.

Judi freed my cock. She shoved me into a stuffed chair in a corner.

"You want a show? You've got it!"

And Judi and Darcy did lie together. And they did kiss faces and necks and breasts, and did move their hands wondrously. And Judi did slide between Darcy's dark legs, and nuzzle her dark, curly pubes, and slurp her Haitian nethers most nicely, until Darcy moaned and writhed.

And Darcy did pull Judi by her strawberry hair and force her to embrace and kiss. And they did whisper, and plot, and shift so I had a good view. And Judi did straddle Darcy's head, and lower hungry labial lips to waiting oral lips, and was eaten to a groaning, shaking climax by Darcy's dancing tongue.

And I did watch the clit-licking and nipple-tweaking and rhythmic wriggling. And my dick did get hard, very, very hard.

And Judi did climb down from Darcy's mouth. And Darcy did look at me with a wet, shining, smiling black face, and say, "Show's over, boy. Get over here and fuck me. Now."

And I did climb atop Darcy's inviting body, and insert my naked cock into her open pussy, and feel her arms and legs wrap around me and her mouth take mine. And I did fuck Darcy, our first real fuck, with no impediments, no barriers, no separation, only total immersion. And Judi's tender hands smoothed our bodies and pinched our nipples and stroked our joining, and her mouth followed in as many ways as possible. And we did move steadily and lovingly.

And Darcy did seem to experience several mild orgasms. And then magic happened - Darcy and I did cum together. Quietly, moaning into mouths. Raptly, with taut muscles, and fingernails digging into flesh, and tender mercies. Endlessly.

How long did we cum? Forever.

Darcy eventually rolled me off her quaking, sweating body. We lay side-by-side and gasped. Judi crawled between Darcy's thighs and licked her clean; Darcy's groans continued. Judi leaned her head over and quick-slurped my cock. She looked into my eyes.

"Move your butt down this way a couple feet, Ron." She tugged my cock to emphasize her desire. I complied.

"You are going to like this, I promise," Judi cackled. She swung around and moved atop me with her tasty Celtic pussy in my face and her strong Celtic lips on my cock. My tongue reached for her engorged sex. We feasted, fiercely 69ing.

I know Judi felt jolts of joy as my tongue wrote mystic alphabets on her clit. Her relentless slurping eventually brought me back to full erection.




FotoFun: Angle of View Ch. 02



"Stay right there," Judi said. She straddled my hips and raised herself on straining legs. "It's all about trust, isn't it? Ben and Darcy trust you. I trust them. I think I can trust you." She looked at Darcy. "Right?"

"Damn straight," Darcy said. She held my cock and guided me into Judi's descending portal. I smoothly speared her. "Oh fuck," we moaned together.

I was hard but I was no longer a kid. Rejuvenation is not the same as reloading. My testicles had not refilled and would not be ready to donate anytime soon. I stayed hard for a long time, long enough for Judi to ride me to several groaning ecstasies.

I leaned up to suck her nipples; Darcy pushed pillows behind my back for support. Judi swirled atop me in rolling, sensuous, fluid motions. I pounded my hips desperately into hers. Darcy's mouth and fingers washed over us.

Enough was finally enough. I felt my semen surge forth and burn through my no-longer-agonized urethra, spewing into the condom inside Judi in a hot tide. My groans sang a baritone counterpoint to Judi's alto scream. Darcy quickly covered Judi's mouth with hers to muffle the sound. Let us not alarm the neighbors, eh?

Judi fell off me. Darcy licked juice from Judi's pussy and then peeled off my condom and took my soggy cock into her mouth. Oh fuck, again?!

Yes, again. Darcy worked long and hard to rouse me to hardness once more. She slipped on another condom and took her turn cowgirl-riding me. It was a long, exhausting gallop. She drained me; I did not cum again. Darcy suffered no such limitation. She came and came and came...

We snuggled together in a warm puppy-pile, and slept. I half-woke around oh-dark-thirty hours to free myself from tangled blankets - I have got to drain my bladder! I crawled back into bed; I felt the mattress shift as other bodies did likewise. I slept again. I awoke with a friendly, wet, warm mouth on my cock. I stiffened and thrust into that mouth to show I was conscious. The mouth's owner responded by swinging around, crawling on me, and shoving her pussy on my tongue. Darcy! I would recognize that texture anywhere!

Darcy came on me. I came in Darcy. It was fun.

I woke again in the pre-dawn. Another wet mouth - Judi's, this time. I remembered Ben's advice that she was a bit submissive. I slapped her ass.

"That's a good start. You should wake Darcy up, too."

"But I want to get you-"

I slapped her ass again. "I said, you should wake-up Darcy. Do it right."

Light through my window blinds faintly illuminated her frown.

"Well? You're waiting for something?" Another ass-slap.

Judi sulked but rolled between Darcy's legs and deployed her mouth. Before long, Darcy softly wailed a small orgasm. Damn, watching her cum on Judi's tongue was so beautiful!

I slapped Judi's beautiful butt once more. "Okay, now it's my turn!"

Judi's mouth returned to worshiping my cock. I pulled her around into a 69 on me. Damn, I loved licking pussy while being slurped! Judi came at least once. I filled her mouth with my joy. She swallowed every drop. Fun fun fun.

I was in a contradictory state: energized by the spectacular non-stop sex, and totally sexually drained. I felt like a human speedball. Good thing we all had duty that day. If we had not crawled out of bed, I am sure the two lieutenants would have fucked me to death.

I expressed that worry. Darcy addressed my concern.

"Oh no honey, we would never fuck you to death! If you were dead, we wouldn't have your nice tongue and prick to play with. No, no, you won't be allowed to die. We won't permit it!"

I was completely reassured. Right. 

The alarm rang. Time to roust up and get ready for the day. I donned jeans and sweatshirt, kissed the girls goodbye, snuck outside to my van, dashed back to my place to shave and get in uniform, dashed up to Custer Hill for chow and the morning formation, and dreamed of upcoming nights with the lieutenants. Ben is on TDY! I am the meatball sandwich! Fun fun fun!

I was well-fucked for several weeks until Ben returned. Alas, our groupings were not repeated. Judi got extended TDY at a NATO post in Germany; I would see her there during autumn war games. Darcy was assigned to medical school, her dream. Ben found new girls but was reluctant to share. The magic died.

I had to get by with more intimate photo shoots and some college girls.

*****

Next: FOTOFUN: ANGLE OF VIEW 03 - The girls of Aggieville? Hutton the asshole. Close-ups of rattlesnakes from safe distances. Darcy disturbs. Keri visits. Tornadoes and helicopters. The Command Sergeant Major's daughter's wedding orgy. Stay tuned!

Author's note: This story by Hypoxia is copyright (c) 2015 and was expanded from Ron's Journal 06. Your constructive comments are welcome. If you like this, join the 1%ers and VOTE!



FotoFun: Angle of View Ch. 03: Final



Author's note: The following incidents are probably mostly fictional, even just plain fantasy. All sex involves living humans aged 18+, even the civilians. The story contains multiracial, bisexual, and anal elements; if you object, stop reading. Views expressed are not necessarily the author's. Information may not be totally accurate. 

The first two chapters, FotoFun: Angle of View 01 and 02, contain necessary background info. Read them first.





FotoFun: Angle of View Ch. 03: Final



"Fuck yeah," Cindy breathed. She pushed Thalia on her back and swung herself around on top. First, mouth to mouth; then, mouths to breasts; then, mouths to vulvas, tongues flying, bodies writhing, throats groaning. Two matched sets, blondes on top, brunettes underneath, legs thrashing, juices dripping.

Their juices, not mine. I was fucked out. Even this splendid display could not arouse me further. I sat and watched with ineffectual interest; the cock in my hand refused to grow. Damn.

.

--- more intrusion

The doorbell buzzed again, followed by loud pounding. Oh fuck, what now?

A male voice bellowing "CARSON! CARSON! GET YOUR GOAT-SMELLING HONKY ASS OUT HERE! CARSON!" accompanied the frame-rattling door-pounding. 

I sighed. I recognized the voice belonging to prime asshole Sergeant Tim Hutton, my nominal section leader and an exemplar of delusions of adequacy.

(There's an old joke about that. Think of Sergeant Hutton as an army ant with a hard-on, floating downstream on a leaf, lying on his back and yelling, "Bridge up! Bridge up!")

Hutton was an "Acting Jack" sergeant - he wore the three stripes of an E5 but did not hold (or get paid for) the NCO rank. The previous section honcho shipped out to Korea and Specialist 4th Hutton 'somehow' got the brevet bump and the section slot. Happenstance, or blackmail, or bribery? His predecessor knew I answered to DivArty command and happily left me alone. Hutton did not like me, did not like my assignment, and did not care for white people in general. He made it his mission to trash my ass.

I pulled my less-than-sanitary uniform boxers back on and staggered to the shaking apartment door. I closed the bedroom door behind me; no need to give the asshole a free show.

"CARSON!" Wham-wham. "CARSON! OPEN UP!" Whomp-whomp. "HONKY COCKSUCKER! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! OPEN THE MOTHERFUCKING DOOR!" Thud-thud-thud.

I was no longer groggy. I latched the heavy security chain before opening the front door.

"What are you pissing about-"

"Carson! Don't you ever answer the fucking phone?"

Well, not when it is unplugged, no; but I was not about to mention that.

"Get your pale skanky ass dressed and up to Custer Hill NOW! Brigade called a snap drill, everyone in assembly, NOW!" Hutton pushed with futility at the door, restrained by the chain. 

"You're fucking late already and so am I, fuckface. Shit, I shoulda just left you here to get counted AWOL - but that would be points against ME and I ain't gonna let YOU fuck ME over, got that? Now GET DRESSED and GET IN THE FUCKING JEEP!" His wide black nose almost snorted steam.

"Right, right," I said, "gimmee three minutes and I'll be ready."

I pushed the door shut and returned to my bedroom, muttering curses. Damn, just as this was getting fun!

The 69ers had traded places; Keri squirmed atop Cindy while Thalia fed her puss to Sandi's mouth and vice-versa. I watched the wet female oral passion and regretfully scooped-up clean underwear and fatigues from my closet. I threw on enough clothes to leave decently; I could adjust closures and shoelaces on the ride to base.

I casually bumped buttons to activate the other two hidden Bolex stop-action cine cameras. The next couple hours here would be captured on fresh film.

"Hey Keri, close up for me when you go out, okay?"

Keri's wet face rose from Cindy's soggy blonde muff. Her eyes were glazed.

"Uh, yeah, sure thing Ron, I'll lock down, yeah..."

She licked her lips, smiled thinly at me, and returned to her cunt-slurping. Lucky girl! Would she air my place out later? Or would I return (eventually) to a miasma of sweat and sex? I shook my head and left.

Hutton and his toady driver Leon Johnson, a tall, lean corporal, blacker and slicker than the Acting Jack, made acid comments from the motor-pool jeep's front seats. I arranged my fatigue uniform in the back. A final boot-buff, and I was set. We stopped at another apartment to fetch yet another laggard. His leggy, bathrobe-wrapped Okinawan girlfriend waved a tearful goodbye.

Hey, calm down, girl. We're only going to Custer Hill, not Pork Chop Hill.

.

--- circumstances intrude

The "snap drill" was no big thing. We made formation, sounded off, and were dismissed to our stations. I made a perfunctory appearance at the commo section office, shuffled negatives in my mop-closet darkroom, and headed for my quarters upstairs. Forget going home; this drill would last all night.

Beside my apartment, I also had a bunk in the DivArty (Division Artillery) HQ barracks. I slept there as rarely as possible. But just think - a rent-free pied-à-terre right at the office!

I dozed on my bunk in full fatigue uniform, stretched on my back, size 16 combat boots hanging off the end. RATTman (radioteletype tech) Hernandez from the commo section roused me a couple times to make an appearance for inspecting brass. That's all these drills were really about - look busy, so the readiness checklist could be ticked off and brownie points awarded.

The overnight drill dribbled to an end. Non-essential personnel were released. I got the day off and returned to an empty, smelly, disheveled apartment. Keri had not pulled any maintenance. What the hell; I never cleaned her place, either. At least nothing important was missing.

I pulled all the exposed film reels off my Bolex spy cameras and sloshed them in the developing soup. I would review yesterday's captured orgy later.

I met Keri for lunch at the Division HQ mess hall. This was our last get-together; she would head to her next TDY post in a few hours. She was calm.

"You heard what I said, Ron? I'll pay for filing divorce papers."

"What, you still want me? You looked completely satisfied with the girls."

She blushed. "Yeah, well, sometimes I get... hey, forget that. I like sex, even with women, but I love you, and don't forget that."

She said the words. For the very first time. She said she loved me. Oh shit.

I needed to think. I stalled. We were side-by-side at the mess table; nobody else was within earshot. I held Keri's hand.

"Look, I don't know... I don't know where I'm going, what I'm doing. My enlistment is over next autumn. So's yours, right? Unless you re-up. Till then, the Army owns us, or me, anyway, and we're not going to be posted together, not with our specialties. You're on these constant TDYs - where will you be next week, Puerto Rico, right?" She nodded. "And then Arizona, and Panama, and all over, and I'll be right here till they cut me loose."

"Ron, I know all this." Keri's eyes were not totally dry. "I know there's nothing immediate. It's off in the future. But we can go there. You only have to get free. That's the first step. Dump your phony marriage. Do it."

We left it unresolved. Her goodbye kiss was brief and wistful.

Remember how this chapter began? "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." This was the worst of times. I loved my job. I hated my location. Fucking Kansas! I hated having no control over my life. Fucking Army! 

And I hated being alone. Yeah, all those girls... it was only sex. I had only really been close to Keri and Darcy, and they were both gone.

I did not bother crying in my 3.2% Kansas beer.

I was busy the next week. I had a new assignment: besides all the usual, I was now a member of the DivArty .45 ACP pistol marksmanship team! I had hardly ever fired a rifle, let alone a pistol, before joining the Army. But the XO, Major Kelly, sensed from my photography that I had good, steady hand-eye coordination. He was right. I easily got into the Zen of target-shooting.

The team coach was an older Sergeant First Class. Les Barclay was DivArty 'armorer', in charge of individual weapons. His first lesson was succinct.

"This is how you don't hold a pistol." SFC Barclay gripped the big black M1911A1 Colt automatic in his left hand, finger on the trigger, thumb up behind the slide.

"This is why you don't hold it that way." He switched the pistol to his right hand, finger on the trigger - and no thumb. No thumb at all.

"How I had it before? That's how I held my .45 the first time I fired it. The slide moves at a velocity of about a thousand feet per second. Fucker took my thumb clean off. I learned. Y'all don't have to learn the same way. Keep your fucking thumbs down, troops!"

I kept my thumbs down. They are still attached to my hands.

I started good. I got better. How good? I bragged that I could do dental work at 50 yards. Need a tooth removed? Just smile.

I learned a great deal about myself, too, about how to hold myself in any situation, how to see and think and breathe, and what could affect my performance. Guess what? Serious pistoleros did not smoke anything, avoided all but the most vital painkillers and other drugs, did not drink alcohol or caffeine, and did not even drink milk the day before a match - the lactic acid in cow's milk disrupts vision just enough.

The wide Kansas sky was overcast the late summer day the First Infantry Division .45 pistol championship match was scheduled. The Main Post target range had the usual side-by-side firing positions. I was next to the left end of the row.

I fired my first clip from the prone position. I lay comfortably in the packed sand and carefully squeezed-off shots at the little bullseye. I felt confident. I knew my rounds made a nice tight group at twenty-five meters.

Firing halted. Weapons were cleared. We two dozen shooters walked forward to inspect our targets. I was shocked - mine was perfectly intact! No bullet holes at all! I looked at the next target to my right. Ten holes were scattered around it; another ten were dead-on in the center. I had fired perfectly - but into the wrong target. Oh shit.

My XO stood behind me. He growled. Oh shit, I was in for it!

And then, salvation from above.

A warning klaxon sounded. A voice shouted on the loudspeaker: "TORNADO! TAKE COVER IMMEDIATELY! TORNADO!"

Everyone dove for the nearby sheltering trenches. The sky blackened; the wind howled; debris flew past.

And all the targets blew away. The evidence of my fuckup vanished. Whew.

The championship match was re-shot the following week. No tornadoes and no fuckups, either; I won second prize. I have the plaque stowed somewhere.

My next close encounter of the tornado kind was only a week later - another overcast day, the middle of a Kansas summer afternoon. My olive-drab uniform was freshly starched but wilting in the swampy humidity. I drove a motor pool jeep on the expressway angling past the base. Low green wooded hills rose on my right, across from brushy fields stretching forever to the prairies. 

Like the pistol match, it was deja vu all over again. The sky blackened. The wind howled. Debris flew past. No cows blew by, but a big fucking oak tree crossed the freeway a couple hundred feet ahead. I felt it prudent to stop and await clarity. The landscape churned before me. I dived into a roadside ditch. I survived. Damn, my uniform needed pressing and starching again!

Tornadoes are the worst possible blowjobs.

.

--- back to the action

I was busy. The usual official and unofficial shoots or portraits, events, and whatever, and the few 'intimate' shoots, and then processing, printing and presenting all those, and collecting payment - all this occupied and monopolized me. I unofficially ran a small business from DivArty HQ.

The intimates were the most fun, of course, Sarge Mackie and Dia replayed, and Loots (lieutenants) MacGuire and MacKay, and Mule Mueller with a few new girls, shared.

An aside: I originally intended to write a section here on The Girls Of Aggieville. (Why Aggieville? Because KSU was originally an agricultural college. Students at such are often called Aggies. Q.E.D.) 

Ah, the lovelies strolling around the uni district of Manhattan, Kansas! Especially on hot, muggy, clothing-hostile autumn prairie days. Free-spirited girls deigned to wear brassieres or knickers. (Did I mention that Keri was educated in the U.K? She taught me various British terms like cunny and knickers.) Country girls dressed (or undressed) to look urban. Urban girls dressed down to look country. And out-of-state girls wondered at the hidden loose campus culture in this uptight, fundamentalist, blue-law, booze-dry Kansas county.

Yes, I could write about The Girls Of Aggieville. Another time, maybe. Yes, this is a tease for another episode, heh heh. But I digress.

---

Other work absorbed my time. Colonel Hayes, the DivArty commander, wanted a state-of-the-art data acquisition system for post-mission analysis. He especially wanted to SEE mission results NOW, not just read damage reports some hours after-the-fact. Remember, this was back before digital printers.

How to speed the turnaround? The simple, cheap way was to send me up in a chopper to shoot images of targets and shell impacts, then drop me at my field lab to work my magic. I set up a tent with a dark section for my most portable enlarger and a table for my Spiratone stabilization processor, an inexpensive device that produced damp but usable black-and-white prints in thirty seconds, rather than the ten minutes each (and more space and gear) needed in regular photo printing.

A typical job: 

Howitzers fired. A Huey flew me to where the tactical officers said would have been a fairly safe distance if this had been for real. I burned off a roll of Tri-X film in my motor-drive Nikon F1 and 500mm telephoto lens. As the chopper flew back to the command cluster, I loaded the film into its little developing tank inside a changing bag and squirted in shots of chemical soups, keeping a close eye on my Timex wrist watch's sweep second hand. I was ready to run into my tent and hit the developed film with a portable hair dryer as soon as we landed. Enlarge and print the images, run each sheet of paper through the stabilization processor, hit those with the hair dryer, and run them to the operations APC for the G3 ops staff to evaluate.

Time from the big guns' firing to my delivering action images: ten minutes. That was the fucking speed of light for the mid-1970's. And I set it up!

That was the exciting part. Most of my official work was more mundane: shoot new-troops photos for hometown newspapers; shoot assemblies and ceremonies, flags waving; shoot parades in towns where DivArty units were parading. Anything for publicity. Colonel Hayes was a hound for publicity.

Some was grittier: shoot the troops playing wargames in the field in simulated combat. This allowed me some creativity. With the right techniques, gear, glass, film, and processing, I could make pictures look like almost any time frame from the US Civil War to the next century. One brigade commander here on Custer Hill took to dressing like General Custer. What a ham!

But the most challenging project lay ahead: the DivArty CSM's (Command Sergeant-Major) daughter's wedding.

I will get to that in a moment. First, rattlesnakes.

I loved playing with photo gear. I loved shooting macro - that means real close-up, getting 1:1 or at least 1:2-size images on film. Shooting through a microscope for 10:1 or larger images is a different can of spiders.

There are several ways to shoot macro. One could buy a special lens. One could reverse an ordinary lens. Or one could put an ordinary or reversed lens on extension rings or bellows - moving the lens away from the film increases magnification.

My favorite outdoors macro rig employed the last technique, and more. I had a 2x telextender that effectively doubled a lens' focal length - put it behind a 400mm lens and it thinks it is 800mm. I put those on extension tubes AND a bellows for maximum extension of 400mm. That gave me 1:2 magnification, the edge of macrophotography.

Even with fast film pushed even faster, such a rig needed stabilization. A tripod is fine for studio work. Outdoors is something else. I just happened (heh heh) to have a shoulder-mount for the rig. Assembled, it looked rather like a bazooka launcher. I had to be careful where I used the thing - don't want to worry gun-toting cops and citizens, eh?

But it let me shoot close-ups of rattlesnakes from a safe distance like ten feet.

Maybe I should have used the rig at the CSM's daughter's wedding. Yes, keeping a safe distance would have been smart. Avoiding that clusterfuck completely would have been even smarter. But one does not say no to a CSM.

---

The top DivArty NCO was Command Sergeant-Major David Davison. He stood sky-high, rail-thin, with bright blue eyes under a shaved scalp tanned like leather, and was usually cheerful and easy-going - but tough as steel nails. As a battalion Sergeant-Major in VietNam, his unit was overrun by Viet Cong. He and those in his mobile command post were the only survivors and only because of his wiles and determination. He made a very good friend and a very bad enemy.

"Relax, Specialist Carson. I have a personal request. Nothing to worry about. Nothing too dangerous."

Uh-oh. I moved from at-ease to fall-out but stayed wary.

"What kind of personal request, Top?" Surely he did not want sex shots!

"It's my daughter Danya. She's going to marry a civilian," - his mouth turned down with those words - "and we need a wedding photographer. Are you up to that? You'll be paid fairly, of course."

I had never shot a wedding. I knew fuck-all about shooting weddings. Those are a niche specialty, like cute animals and stroboscopic shots of exploding balloons. Real wedding toggers knew all the stock poses. I knew diddly.

But one does not refuse a CSM. I sucked in my gut and soldiered on.

"No problem, Top. How big a wedding?"

"There shouldn't be more than four or five hundred attending. The wedding will be down at the Main Post chapel and the reception is at the auditorium next door. My wife is handling arrangements. Check with her for everything, okay? Here is her phone number." He handed me a handwritten note.

Four or five hundred? Military and civilian, sober and drunk, all in uncontrollable space? Oh fuck. "Sure thing, Top. I'm right on it. Anything else?" I tried not to sweat too obviously.

"Just an enticement, Specialist. With your scores and schooling, you're a shoe-in for OCS (Officer Candidate School). How would you like to ditch those stripes and wear some metal bars? Do this right and I'll push the Colonel to recommend you."

Leave my sweet setup here? Hang with barely-educated state-college guys? Make a six-year commitment to uniformed service? Be a commissioned tool of the insane state? Why not merely roast my testicles over open flames?

"I always do my best, Top. I appreciate anything you can do for me." Too bad he could not get me an early discharge. I love my job but I hate the Army.

"Well, then. Contact the missus. Carry on, Specialist."

I snapped to attention and turned to leave his office. No, I did not salute. An enlistee like me only salutes officers and ranking civilians. We do not treat an NCO such as a sergeant as if they were commissioned. "Don't call me 'sir'; I work for a living," is their mantra.

I sweated profusely when I reached the HQ hallway. A fucking wedding! 

I knew a couple of wedding toggers in the area. I would have to hire them, act like a general contractor. I did not know the CSM's wife's budget here; I might even lose money on the deal. But if I did not pull this off I could expect to spend the rest of my enlistment in the motor pool scrubbing mud and cow shit off half-tracks. I knew how the CSM operated. Do NOT cross him!

I called the missus.

"Hello Missus Davison, this is Specialist Ron Carson. Your husband told me to call you about arranging wedding photography and-"




FotoFun: Angle of View Ch. 03: Final



"Oh yes, Carbon, I've been expecting your call. A little late, aren't you? I hope you'll do better at the wedding." 

Uh oh, one of those. Hey, Top only talked to me five minutes ago! 

"I'm making up my lists of everybody and everything right now. I'll pay for your film and the cost of printing pictures, and for your time, of course. The whole wedding and reception shouldn't take more than six or eight hours so I'll pay you for your costs plus one hundred dollars, Carbon."

There was no "Okay?" or other request for approval. Take it or leave it. No, there was not even a "leave it" option. Take it or enjoy the motor pool.

"Ma'am, I'll have to hire some experienced help to do this right. They will charge-"

"You are a photographer." The sneer in her voice was palpable. "You should be able to handle this. I said one hundred dollars plus the cost of film and printing. Is that clear, Carbon?"

"Yes, ma'am." Yes, a money-loser, indeed.

"That's settled, then. Be sure to be there on time for a change." Click.

Even the Colonel's wife did not treat lower ranks like this! What a... no, do not go there. I would do my best. And stay out of any line of fire.

I called Stones and Bones, my buddies who shot weddings, and set up a meet for beers and talk. After a few laughs at my expense they agreed on a couple hundred bucks each plus film and more beer later. They agreed to divvy-up the formal ceremony and staged shots of the happy couple. I would wander the crowd shooting informals and candids.

That was my fantasy, anyway. How long do fantasies last?

My home phone rang that evening while I was 69ing with some hot chick. This was before answering machines; I dried my face and picked up the headset.

"Yeah?" She was blowing me while I tried to talk. Maybe it was Linda.

"Uh, Ron Carson. This is Cy Miller. I'm going to marry Danya Davison and I hear you're the photographer. I also hear you do, uh, like, intimate shoots, right? And parties?"

Linda - or maybe it was Lucy, I forget now - softly worked her tongue on my sensitive frenum. Oh fuck. I tried to concentrate on the phone voice.

"So anyway, the guys are giving me a bachelor party with a stripper and everything, and I'd kind of like to have some pictures, y'know, like a private collection. And I also want some sexy shots of me with Danya, yeah?"

Lucy - or was it Luisa? - stroked my shaft gently while massaging my balls. Oh fuck.

"Sure thing, Cy. Hey, I'm sort of occupied right now-" - I was about to blow a load; talking to guys under such conditions never really turned me on - "so how about we meet tomorrow and talk about it, okay? You'll find me at DivArty headquarters. Just ask anyone. Hey, I've really gotta go now."

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow." Click.

Splort. Ahhh...

It was a pretty good cum. Luisa - or was it Lara? - drained me dry. I showed my appreciation by swinging her back on top of me and resuming the 69, my long tongue making mincemeat of her tasty snatch.

The phone rang again. 

I know I got some pussy juice on the mouthpiece this time. Call it fate.

"Ron Carson, right? I'm Danya Davison. You probably heard about me. I sure heard about you. You're going to shoot my wedding, right? You do sex shoots and party shoots and shit like that, right? Real sexy fucking shit, right?"

Lara's - or was it LaVerne's? - finger poked at my anus. I slapped her hand away. Not too hard, of course. I would need that finger later.

"Let me guess. You're having a bachelorette party with male strippers and you want a private picture collection of that so you'll never forget, and you want some sexy before-and-after shots with what's-his-name, Cy, yes?"

"Wow, Ron, you are positively fucking psychic! That's exactly right!"

My balls were being nicely sucked at the moment. Time to end the call.

"Look, Danya, I'm out of time right now-" - that finger was poking ass-ward again - "so come by DivArty HQ tomorrow and we'll talk, okay? Gotta run now. Bye." Click.

LaVerne - or was it Linda? - massaged my prostate expertly. I pulled her back on top of me so I could cum in her mouth again and then finished her off with some lively lipwork and my own fingered anus-poking. 69 is my favorite position. What is yours?

---

I expected Cy to be some frat boy from Kansas State. Surprise - he attended a local Methodist seminary. At least he was not a holy roller, although they can be pretty surprising. Going to be a mainstream preacher, huh? I wondered what his bachelor party would be like, or his idea of 'intimate' pictures.

Danya was a completely different bird. A wild bird. She belonged to the most notorious skank sorority at KSU, dressed like a street slut, swore like a syphilitic sailor, and made sure I had lots of bra-less down-blouse peeks. 

"So it's going to be at the Mu Delta house, down in the basement, and it's going to be lots of fun, for sure." Danya waved her deep cleavage at me again. "Won't be a lot of light so bring sensitive film, right?"

"Right," I said. I was glad I had closed my darkroom door. I did not want any passers-by to see or hear this. "Yes, I know the place. I've been-"

"You've been there and the girls all speak well of you," she smiled. She wriggled and jiggled. Big aerolas threatened to escape. I looked up again.

"I know how to shoot in low light, no problem," I gulped.

"Good. I know you'll be just fucking perfect." Her blue eyes burned into me. She stood quickly. Her bounteous breasts bounced enticingly. "And don't forget our 'intimate' shoots," she purred. Her fastidiously quivering buttocks reluctantly followed her out the door.

The happy couple had luckily scheduled things rationally. Private shoot on Wednesday. Her party on Thursday. His party on Friday. Wedding and reception on Saturday. Easy-peasy.

Right.

The deadly week approached. Stones and Bones and I organized our gear and stocked up on films. They were masters of event lighting; their flash power packs were bulky and heavy. I excelled at agile available-light shooting and prepared accordingly. 

The happy couple and I worked the first private 'intimate' shoot in my bedroom studio. Cy was stiff and shy. Danya was surprisingly demure. They were never completely naked and his cock never whipped around in the open air, unlike her pneumatic boobs. He held bare breasts; she rubbed his cock through his navy boxers. Nothing hot-ish.

I will tell of his Friday party first because there is little to tell. His seminary buddies rented a medium suite at a local Holiday Inn. The booze was street-legal 3.2% beer spiked with Everclear pure spirits, the usual Kansas cocktail. The stripper was a blonde Mu Delta girl I knew; she kept her G-string on, waved her tits around, lap-danced Cy a little, and left with a purse-full of tips. No big deal. Hey, it was Friday night - she probably had a hot date or three lined up.

One of Cy's buddies made a circumspect pass at me. I was quietly polite.

Danya's Thursday party was a different matter. I had set up my slo-mo cine cameras with high-speed infrared film in suitable locations in the Mu Delta basement. My half-frame extended-range cameras were stuffed with fast film. I was loaded for bear.

I got it. Bear, I mean.

Invitees filled the basement; the doors were locked. All clothes quickly disappeared, mine too. The "male strippers" were hunky KSU football jocks - the whole team, I think. Danya fucked all of them in an endless train. Her sorority sisters got the leftovers, including me. 

Oh sure, Danya fucked me too, a slow, sloppy fuck by then - she had been well-used. She rode me like a tired little cowgirl, her cantaloupe breasts swaying hypnotically before my stunned eyes. The wide-angle lens in the camera in my free hand captured everything.

There she was, lifting high, almost off my shaft, my dickhead only barely enveloped by her puffy labia. CLICK! There she was again, halfway down, my cock's veins standing out like thick pipelines in aerial photos, her eyes scrunched closed, her nipples looking in opposite directions. CLICK! And again, all the way down now, fully penetrated, her eyes and mouth wide open, head back, nipples aimed upward. The look of love. CLICK!

I wondered about contraception, about safety. I wore condoms during this organic microbe-swapping fest, of course. I think I was the only one. Was Danya on the pill? Whose child would Cy christen in a few months? How many diseases were exchanged? Should I care?

Danya blew me after she finished herself on my ramrod. She peeled my rubber away and applied her tight lips and troubled tongue. She was quite good. One of the jock 'strippers' nailed her from behind in the process. She jerked. CLICK! 

I have photos of this double penetration. She went for airtight triples later. I have photos of those, too. I am not in them. I was spent by then.

The tame 'intimate' shoot and both parties paid better than Danya's mother's offer for the wedding. I did not lose money after all. Whew. I hate going insolvent. And it is only business.

I will not say the wedding day was an anticlimax after Danya's party. It was a grand clusterfuck. I am so glad I did not try to shoot it myself.

The wedding was fairly subdued. Only so many could fit into the Main Post chapel, a non-denominational gem. Stones and Bones did a great job shooting everything. But the reception was a near-riot.

The division commander and a few other generals and their families were there. Many of the CSM's old war buddies and their families were there. Large numbers of the bride's and groom's relatives were hungry and/or bored that Saturday and showed up. The groom's seminary mates appeared. So did the bride's sorority sisters and their dates, apparently the same KSU football team as at her party, in various degrees of sobriety and coverage. I think an outlaw biker gang was there too - I could not keep track of everyone. 

Everyone moved in their own circles. Military brass over here; enlistees / NCOs in a different space; seminarians over there; KSU jocks and sisters drunk and wild almost everywhere; and those maybe-bikers infiltrating the crowd, likely picking pockets and snatching unfinished drinks.

What went into the punch? Even the generals were wobbly. Everyone else seemed pretty wasted. The jocks and sorority sisters were not shy about dragging people off to secluded spaces and fucking them.

An erotica trope says a lonely bride's father should be 'comforted' by all the bridesmaids the night or hour before the wedding ceremony. Alas, the CSM was not lonely and his attentive wife politely drove off any human female approaching within an arms' length. He was denied traditional comfort, the poor bugger. He and the missus were likely the only celibates there.

I later learned about the punch. Yes, a little something had been added, powder from some Amazonian plants, something with yojimbe (yo-HIM-bee) and toloache (toh-loh-ah-CHAY) and the gods only know what else. Something subtly motivational. Hilarity ensued.

I saw at least one erect general being blown by a co-ed on her knees, and one by a guy in uniform. I saw a daisy-chain of bridesmaids. I saw skanky sorority sisters offering their pussies and mouths to passing pricks. I saw the football jocks deflowering the cream of Methodist womanhood.

I saw doggies, great husky Alsatians, and... no, wait. 

Could all that have actually happened?

Nope.

What actually happened was: Everybody behaved, pretty much. The vibrant wedding ceremony was glorious. The overflowing reception party was festive. People danced and sang and drank and danced again. The wedding pros captured formal images of all the expected people and actions. I wandered around shooting everybody. MPs made sure nobody got too rowdy.

Boring, huh? That's life.

But wait! You expected a grand clusterfuck! I promised you that!

I lied. Would you have read this far if I had not?

But there was more. Danya had persuaded (or blackmailed) Cy to shoot complete before-and-after photo sessions. They left the reception in a rented Cadillac limousine trailing rattling tin cans and clanging bells - and made straight for my place. They got quite naked. They consummated their marriage in my bedroom studio. I have film to prove it.

Danya put Cy's hand on her exposed breast and then forced his mouth down to her expectant nipple. She stroked him to an extravagant erection; she squatted down and sucked him thoroughly. She pushed him onto his back, and straddled him with her naked thighs, and lowered herself onto him.

He reacted. He impaled her. His loins moved up, hers moved down, then both moved together. His throbbing cock slid in and out of her dripping pussy. Her rosy lips formed a small oh. All on film for their scrap-book. CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

They left for their honeymoon in Jamaica. (I would have chosen Puerto Rico; it is safer.) I wondered how their married life would go. Woould Danya calm down to be a sedate preacher's wife? Uh-huh.

And then the fun began.

More post-reception players rolled in - KSU jocks and sorority girls and whomever was swept-up in their tide. And they all wanted 'hot' pictures. It was almost a replay of the bachelorette party but without the bride, or me getting fucked.

Remember Camilla Sanchez from the start of this episode? She was still my sort-of girlfriend and she answered my desperate call. I enlisted her as record-keeper. She took names and checks while I ran the cameras and shot everybody screwing everybody else. She was half-amused by the antics.

"Do all your wedding shoots end up like this?" Camilla stood beside me as I photographed four footballers (I think) doggy-fucking a row of females from somewhere. Strobe lights captured the action. Look at those swinging tits and scrotums!

"I don't know - this is my first," I said, changing film cannisters in two of my motorized Nikons. "Not too bad. I wonder if anyone will write this up for Penthouse Letters?"

Camilla gave me a bemused look. "Hey, I wonder if they really take outside submissions? Or do they just make that shit up? I could write about this."

Reloaded, I re-focused and shot more action. Hey, those were somes - I recognized them! Somebody had some wild-side relatives...

I did not get the place cleared out until four in the morning. Then another hour to clean up and de-stink-ify while I souped and dried the film. Then an hour to play with Camilla before the sun rose. Good thing it was Sunday.

She lowered her sweet, dependable pussy onto my insatiable mouth. My anxious tongue wrote mystic alphabets around her extended clitoris. She sang her sweet screaming song. We surely had a good hour.

The rest of the day went well, too.

*****

NEXT: ANGLE OF VIEW - ARTISTIC LICENSE. Wargames in Europe. German moonshine schnapps. Ron catches bugs. More of Hutton the asshole. Return to the girls of Aggieville. How to shoot old-time photo sex. Hot biker girls. The truth.

Author's note: This story by Hypoxia is copyright (c) 2015 and was expanded from Ron's Journal 06. Your constructive comments are welcome. If you like this, join the 1%ers and VOTE!