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 some in-laws - 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!