Cumming All Over the World Pt. 02

(This is the second part of a longer story. If you haven't read Part One, you're going to be very lost. I hope you read Part One and I'll see you back here!)

A year had passed for Tim, a year that had been unexpectedly lucrative, in which a corporate project which took up only a few weeks of his time ended up earning him more than he would in the average year. This allowed him to move forward with the project in ways he'd never considered, including being able to rent an apartment on a short lease in London due to a contact that he'd never have once considered possible.

Participants from over one hundred countries had now taken part, and Tim was beginning to struggle to find nationalities locally that he hadn't already crossed off his list.

He'd had success with finding many different nationalities in Birmingham and the surrounding area, with Europe and most of Asia fairly well represented, with a good smattering of the African nations thrown in for good measure, but there were holdouts that census data showed him he would have to move to them, rather than hoping they'd all come to him, especially as some of the possible candidates that he'd spoken to via phone or internet were willing to take part, they just lacked the money, means or, in some cases, the effort with which to make the journey.

Thankfully, Jessica, having called for an update, had helped him organise an apartment for peanuts, and he was making the most of it. He'd spent two weeks of his four shooting eighteen participants, six of whom had brought their own 'supply' of cum to Tim's relief. He enjoyed cumming, or sometimes even being lucky enough to get sucked off to completion, but there were days when he just needed a fucking rest.

In the year he'd been doing this, it had made the possibility of finding a long-term partner fairly non-existent, whereas he didn't necessarily have the energy to want anything short-term, doing so much of it for 'work'.

Being in London, Tim was doing his best to make the most of the nightlife and spent most of the evenings he wasn't working discovering the different bars that were only a short walk from the tube, and where he spent most of his time drinking as he wasn't interested in chatting up any of the many attractive people present.

The downside of this extra drinking was that most mornings Tim was waking up with a blinding hangover or slept through multiple alarms, such as the one he'd set before he went out last night. This meant he woke up to the doorbell skewering his delicate brain.

"The fuck..." he moaned, rolling over onto a glass bottle, "is that?"

It was only when it rang again that Tim awoke, finally realising what and who that noise was.

"Oh fuck!" He hissed, quickly putting yesterday's Jeans back on and picking up the first shirt he found on the floor, "I'm coming!" He shouted as he ran towards the door, the bell ringing a third time, this one held down for longer, signifying their discontent at waiting.

"Hello!" He declared violently cheerfully, pulling open the front door with enough force to open a bank vault, "I'm so sorry for the delay. I'm Tim Smith, please, come in."

The woman he greeted seemed stunned, but be that from the greeting or his appearance it was difficult to tell, her eyes looking him up and down as if he were a commodity to be bought or sold. Tim, doing the same thing, noted the elegant black dress, an oddity at this time of day, but also the red circles around her eyes. These circles and his still drunken state made him brave enough to announce;

"Sorry for the delay, I got absolutely bladdered last night and slept through my alarm."

To his relief, the girl at the door sighed with relief.

"Oh thank fuck," she spoke in a tone that sounded pained, "I went out last night too and I am proper hanging out of my arse. Got any paracetamol?"

Inviting her in, Tim was able to assess her more thoroughly as she took her ridiculously high-heeled shoes off. She'd looked tall, hitting six foot, but it was apparent she was barely scraping average height. Her dark skin marked her out as a 'foreigner', but her accent screamed boarding schools and the Queen. Stocky in appearance, her face had a broken nose and cauliflower ears that spoke 'rugby', but a delicate curl to the lip that screamed 'aristocracy.' Her colour was somewhere between a dark white or a light brown, yet her eyes were sparkingly green.

For Tim, as he made his intial assessment, he considered that a lot of the other participants in his project had been more beautiful, had been more classically pretty, but out of them all she was inarguably one of the most stunning creatures he had ever seen. She was perfectly imperfect, and Tim immediately found himself drawn to her, but rather than declaring his immediate, undying love for her, he boiled the kettle and fished around in his in-often used apothecary, mostly made up pain relief and anti-histamines, it did contain the odd bandage and plaster thrown in for good measure. Also a bottle of Zinc, but he didn't have a fucking clue how that got there.

"Good night then?" Tim asked politely, dropping the paracetamol on the table before her while simultaneously closing the curtains in his temporary lounge due to the sun causing his head major problems.

"Fucking amazing, popped into the worlds end," she replied, before sighing in relief as the natural light was defeated, "oh thank fuck for that. I couldn't take much more of that nonsense. Is that the kettle I can hear? Great, coffee, black, three sugars."

With a grin, Tim returned to the kitchen and made two black coffees, plonking one indelicately in front of his guest.

"I am making the assumption," he spoke with a groan, his headache returning as he pressed it against the sofa, "that you are Princess Amal Al-Ahmad of Kuwait?"

"That's me love!" She raised her coffee as if in a toast, "the disappointment herself."

"I'll be honest," Tim replied politely, "I'd never heard of you until I got your PA's message. I had to do some digging and I don't think I'd read about you being called the disappointment."

"That, my dear, is because that's saved only for my parents. My Dad's second son of the emir, but he acts as if I'm the line of succession, so family dinners are always fun. What daughter doesn't like being called a disappointment in front of all their siblings and extended family?"

Nursing his coffee, Tim let Amal rant for some time, going on about how many cousins and whatever were ahead of her, then moving on to how her education was supposed to have made her a businesswoman when all she really wanted to do was see the world. As she moved on to how she'd been bullied at school for her ethnicity Tim checked his phone as it buzzed. His mum was wondering when she was going to get a phone call.

"Oh, I'm sorry photographer," Amal's words dripped with sarcasm, "I appear to be boring you."

"You are actually," Tim spoke honestly, "the vast majority of those involved in my project have had actual problems in their lives, while you just seem upset that you don't get to do exactly what you fucking want. You sound spoiled, and whereas you might photograph well, this isn't about taking pictures of attractive people. This is about taking pictures of people who've had a struggle in their life."

It will come as no surprise that Amal took offence at his words, once more looking him up and down.

"Who the fuck are you to judge me?" She demanded angrily, "You who couldn't even be fucked to shower or dress properly before you met an honest to god Princess? What makes you so special?"

"Over the past year," Tim replied calmly, "I have met people who come from dirt, who have nothing to their name, but who have still been more grateful for what they have than you, you who have everything. So you tell me? What makes you so special?"

Amal looked as if she were about to respond with real venom before deflating completely and utterly. She looked completely flat as she sipped at her coffee.

"I am lucky to be where I am," she admitted, "but you cannot tell me that being considered the disappointment, merely for being a daughter and not a son, as a negative? My cousin, second in line, has lived a life almost identical to mine, but does he receive negative comments about practically the same behaviour? Does he fuck. He's praised for doing his best to expand his worldview. I am no angel, I do not claim my life is harder than anyone else's, but I have not had everything. I've never had encouragement or positive reinforcement. I've never had anyone tell me they're proud of me, even despite the fact I have invested wisely. I may have used Daddy's money, but Daddy's money is twice what it was due to me. I don't just drink, I don't just party, I work hard and do everything I can for my family, but receive nothing in return."

Picking up his pen and paper, Tim began making notes.

"This," he spoke softly, "is what I can use. When you're being honest, not when you're feeling sorry for yourself, I can see the real you." Standing up, Tim took Amal's empty mug and refilled her coffee. "Now," he said as he placed it before her, "tell me about your life."

Over an hour later Tim still wasn't sure that Amal had finished her life story, but he didn't know what else he was going to fit into the brief paragraph that was available.

Both of their headaches had faded and, having finished their second coffee's, they'd moved on to the hard stuff. With two glasses of water now being drunk, there was no way that either of them wanted the interview to end, but no way that Tim could fit anything else in.

"I'm sorry," Amal spoke, her queen's English accent doing something peculiar to Tim's body, "I didn't mean to ramble on again..."

"You didn't" Tim interrupted, "there has been no rambling, everything has been, well, I understand you now where I didn't before."

"Then," Amal continued, "maybe I can treat you to lunch before we move onto the nitty gritty?"

"The cumshot you mean?"

Blushing, for the first time Amal looked embarrassed.

"I don't think we need to give it a name. I just want to thank you for what you're trying to do. I really, desperately, hope that it makes a mark, that it shows those who can make a difference that things aren't as they seem."

Unable to articulate a response, Tim realised that, for the first time in his life, he was tongue-tied. He took his time, a few deep breaths before finally, eventually, he was able to respond.

"I don't want to take advantage of you. I don't want this to be you feeling that you must spend money to repay me. What you are doing is payment enough."

Unable to meet his eye, Amal chugged her water.

"I insist, I would like you to have lunch with me as, as a friend."

It was only then that they made eye contact, that they both finally started speaking on the same wavelength, both now trying to talk at the same time, they laughed together, recognising that things had changed.

Moving slowly, Tim moved from his sofa until he was knelt before Amal who herself had sat up straight, whose breathing was coming in shorter and shorter breaths, until it was almost like panting.

Slowly, carefully, but no less passionately, Tims lips pressed gently against Amal's, who responded with the same passion and need that flowed through him. Their hands held each others face's as their lips were locked in a desperate need for each other.

Their kiss finally ended, their bodily contact no longer a desperate need, Tim offered Amal his hand, which she accepted immediately before he led her to what had been his bedroom for the past few weeks. But in those past few weeks, his eyes had been the only ones who had seen the interior, up until now, as Amal gazed at the mess, the unkempt bed and the ruffled pillows.

"I know it's messy..." Tim began, to be interrupted by Amal kissing him passionately.

"It's perfect," she responded, before they once more began to kiss, passionately, gently, carefully, roughly, all at once. It was intense and light, neither of the two had ever felt anything like it, but they also knew they would never experience it again.

Tim's shirt went first, revealing a body that had started hitting the gym over the past year. With that off, Amal began removing her own dress, revealing a thick but smooth body.

Tim used the time to shake his trousers off, before remembering that he hadn't had the time for underwear, so as Amal stood there looking perfect in high-priced lingerie, Tim was completely and utterly starkers.

"Keen to meet me at the door were you?" Amal asked jokingly, before undoing her bra with a single flick, revealing a large but perky pair of breasts, her areola's taking up at least a third of her breasts. Her pants followed quickly, revealing a shaved and bright-pink vagina, her budding clit engorged.

Admittedly, Tim didn't have a lot of time to admire Amal's body, as she pushed him down onto his bed.

"Just," she spoke quietly, "just, let me do this."

Tim had no time to consider what this was before, kneeling on the bed, she took his cock into her mouth, taking him down only a short way, although after five minutes she had about three-quarters of it down her throat.

"Hold on," she spoke seriously, jumping across to her handbag, from which she removed a condom, "if this is a deal breaker, tell me now."

"Put it on," Tim gasped, "I want to fuck you."

Without further encouragement, Amal did just that, rolling it fully down his erect cock although, when she had done so and his cock waved about wearing a see-through coat, she seemed unsure what to do next, forcing Tim to lead.

Sitting up, he pushed her onto her back with no formality or ceremony, just because he wanted her.

Moving down her body, he kissed her neck and breasts before moving back up her body, to kiss her with every ounce of passion that filled them both.

Without any announcement, Tim penetrated Amal, their mouths still pressed together, their need for each obvious as Tim slowly began to fuck her...

No, that wasn't true. He made love to her, with every part of his being he filled her completely and utterly, every gasp and moan, every quiver and reaction, his body was pressed next to hers.

As Amal finally came, the intensity spread across her body, her entire being, while Tim followed suit, filling her, or more accurately, the condom that he wore, with everything that he had. It was quick, intense and passionate, but Tim couldn't imagine wanting else. He'd only just met this woman, but she was everything he'd ever wanted. She was rough, she was arrogant, but she was also kind, tender and honest. He had an immediate attraction to her and, he would put money on it being vice versa. They were the person of each other's dreams, even though their dreams had been of other people, but in reality, they'd been leading up to each other.

As Tim rolled off her, Amal sighed in disappointment as she now fell empty. She missed his cock desperately and wanted more. Tim however, remembered why they were there.

"Not to ruin the mood," he spoke in gasps, "but think we could move to the studio so I could take photos?"

Grinning from their fuck, Amal couldn't help but tease him.

"Am I not missing the cum?"

Pulling off the condom, which was close to overflowing, Tim kissed her gently as they both sat up.

"I don't think that's going to be a problem."

Despite both of their bodies urging close attachment, including a lot of cuddling and kissing the duo eventually moved to Tim's studio, where all of his equipment was ready and prepared, a cushion ready for Amal to kneel as Tim took photos. There was merely the matter of the cum facial.

"Stay still," Tim whispered as Amal knelt before him, before tipping the condom over her face, causing her to gasp, the flood of cum hitting her face, her tongue, covering her completely and utterly.

"Is this not cheating?" She asked after her face was artificially flooded by his sperm.

"You're the one who caused me to shoot this load," Tim answered, "so I definitely consider this your fault. It's only fair you get it back."

Photos completed and done, neither Tim nor Amal made any rush for their time to be over and done. Instead, they went out for dinner, arm in arm, and sat in the Ivy restaurant as if there was no one but just the two of them. Tim's next appointment wasn't until the next afternoon, so it was only that which made him consider asking her to stay the night. It was only madness that made Amal say yes.

They made love once more, but this time a condom was not used for the exhibition, but to allow for their lust, love and necessity. Tim held Amal in his arms as she slept, and had no interest in anyone else as he finally slipped to sleep.

As they woke early the following morning, Amal stared at him as if he were from another planet.

"Before I met you," Amal whispered with her head on Tim's chest, "I had no qualms over this project. I thought it was a bit of fun to do something naughty and positive. It was something to do to fill up time. But now, now, I don't want you to continue. I won't stop you from doing this but I hope that, when this is all over, you can find me again."

Lying there, with this wonderful woman in his arms, Tim couldn't help but smile, a smile of pure and unadulterated bliss.

"I have never just met someone and wanted, no, needed to fall into bed with them," he admitted, "I've met people I've liked, but nothing like this."

They stayed like that for some time until a singularly irritating noise began somewhere in the vicinity of the pile of clothes the two of them had thrown onto the floor.

"Oh, bollocks," Amal frowned, although Tim had little time to see how cute she looked doing so as she immediately threw herself towards the source of the noise, so fast that the heat from her head remained for a fraction of a moment where her head had been at rest.

Digging through the clothes, she found the phone quickly. She looked keen to answer the phone, having immediately sat on the bedroom carpet by the clothes pile, but took a moment to hold a finger up to her lips, directed at Tim.

"Hello Daddy," Amal answered breathlessly, leading to Tim recognising why she seemed so desperate to answer. A lot of Amal's story had been dedicated to the way he didn't approve of her life and how she consciously rebelled against him, "sorry for the delay, I was in the bathroom." Rolling his eyes, Tim did feel sorry for Amal, it was just difficult to be erased from her life. "No, I wasn't asleep actually Daddy, yes, I know it's a surprise." She paused, undoubtedly listening, "Of course, I'm still coming tonight. The Ivy wasn't it, seven PM?" Pause. "Outfit? I was planning to wear the blue one from Balenciaga..." Pause. "No Daddy, not that one," She sighed, this apparently being a regular conversation, "no Daddy, I'm aware that you don't want to see parts of your daughter that are designed for a husband. No Daddy, please don't bring anyone. I know you know a lot of nice men Daddy, but I don't..." Pause. "I know you're trying to help, but I want someone I love, not because of how good a businessman they are. Do you not remember Javier, Daddy? His business was booming, and then he had all that trouble with the police..." Pause. "Actually..." Glancing up at Tim, she seemed unsure of what to say next, but whatever her Father said seemed to convince her, "Yes Daddy, possibly. He's a photographer, but I've only just met him. I don't want you to get too protective. No Daddy, a security guard would be over the top. Maybe I can tell you about him tonight? Sounds fabulous Daddy. Love you, have a good day."

The conversation ended, and Amal looked across at Tim with a thoughtful expression.

"What have you signed me up for?" He asked with a groan.

"Nothing," Amal spoke nonchalantly, folding when she saw Tim's expression, "yet." She admitted. "Daddy has been pushing me to find a husband, and I didn't mean to mention you, I'm sorry, he was just pressing up setting me up with one of his scummy business friends and I got defensive."