The Way of the Camera

Another photo shoot with a model he had known for years. Except this time the girl was married and her husband was in the next room. Not exactly a real wall between them. It was a studio wall designed for sets and shooting but not for stopping large Scotchman who may or may not be the jealous type. The wall was not finished all the way up. You could hear everything going on in either room. The sound included the slapping of flesh and sloshing sounds hot juicy pussy makes when you are pleasing them. He didn't know how to proceed. He was flying blind.

He was working to get shots that were artsy enough not to be porn but hot enough to warm the sex organs of high brow collectors and still stiffen the cocks of spankers all over the world

He was sweating. He was 5 years older now than the last time he shot her. She had got even hotter than ever. He on the other hand had a minor stroke, gained 30 pounds, and the bloom of whatever youth he had five years previously had worn off.

His mind kept flashing back to the last epic shoot. He had given her a massage and recorded it on video and with three of four still cameras all firing independent of each other. He was trying not to look at that hot pussy, that beautiful little biscuit that kept coming into view.

Her's was bare, hairless, and glistening. He could smell it now. This was really tasking his mind and his energy. Taking good photos requires focus. He was focused on the memory and what he would like to be doing. Like pushing his tongue into her tight little asshole. It was like torture.

He was thinking "OK, zoom out, frame, stop up, focus, focus, focus, focus".

Her lines and shapes were so fine, so wicked. It was like 24 hours at Le Mans . It went on and on. Shot after shot. He wondered what this was going to look like. The photos were meant to look disinterested, would they reflect his angst.

More flashing back, he remembered running his hands up her long legs to her cheeks. They spread wide open in a light and easy way exposing her holes. He could always tell how a woman felt by this, women who clenched their cheeks shut are not relaxed. Back to reality. Then he was done. Mission accomplished.

The model was languidly getting up and pulling her clothes on. Her lovely blonde body disappearing piece by piece. He shut down lights.

Finally she is paid, good-byes are said and he is alone.

He looked at his camera. He was drained. He was going to do this again.

He had no choice. He needed the money.