FotoFun: Angle of View Ch. 01

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.

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FotoFun: Angle of View 01

Hands-on involvement in the shoots

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"Say, 'please'."

"Please."

SNAP!

"Say, 'limburger'."

"Limburger."

SNAP-SNAP!

"Now, with emphasis, say, 'motherfucker'."

"Motherfucker!" (almost shouted)

SNAP-SNAP-SNAP-SNAP!.

Photographing my fellow troops was easy. Yes, it was a snap, heh heh. Say a few choice words; capture a few choice expressions; reload. Process and print and get paid. No problem.

I was in a strange, workable situation. Officially, I was a communications technician at DivArty (Division Artillery) HQ at Fort Riley in the middle of Kansas. The reality in this gloomy post-VietNam era was that I couldn't get a security clearance to work commo - something about an old pot bust.

Fort Riley was home to the First Infantry Division, the Big Red One. Our chanted motto: "If ya gotta HAVE one, have a big RED one!"

The DivArty commander decided he needed a staff photographer more than a useless commo guy. I was visible and available. I had been shooting, processing and printing since I was a kid, working in my father's studio and darkroom. I had the skills and the tools. The colonel issued orders and I had a new assignment. I was given a mop closet as a darkroom, about 6 by 15 feet. I bought my own gear and chemicals and film and paper. I owned everything I shot. It was a dream job.

I shot events and actions of DivArty's units: parades, promotions, wargames and aerial surveys; stateside and overseas, wherever and whatever DivArty was active. I shot many, many official and unofficial portraits. Some flag-draped official pictures went to hometown newspapers with captions like "Captain David Rice Joins Brigade Staff". Very few of those carried my Spec-5 Ron Carson byline.

The 'unofficials' were my gravy. I made enough on them to cover my costs of official shots and a bit more. Not that I got rich. But I could afford an apartment just off-post - much better than living in barracks, for sure. With judicious lighting and backdrops it served as a mini-studio space.

Except for printmaking after-hours in my cramped on-post darkroom, I took care to keep my 'official' and 'unofficial' work separate.

I was the troops' favorite portraitist. Guys liked me to emphasize their warrior-ness, so I shot their manly faces in high-contrast, high-detail, every pore and scar and rivulet of sweat showing, dramatic shadows, yada yada. Shooting black-and-white with grainy fast Tri-X or moody infrared (IR) film boosted the drama. Guys who were not too animalistic to keep girls had me shoot them with their wives and girlfriends in soft misty romantic moods.

And often more than merely 'romantic'.

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--- Mackie's session

Specialist 4th Jim Mackie was a compact black gun-bunny (artilleryman) with a sweet personality and an IQ around 82. (The Army's cutoff was 80. If he didn't fuck up he could stay a Spec-4 forever.) He survived two tours in 'Nam with the usual concussions and some odd martial-arts moves. I think he had watched too many kung-fu films. He loved being photographed in "action shots", leaping about with hands and feet flying and gi swirling.

Mackie brought back a pretty Hmong girlfriend. Dia Thao was about Mackie's age and size with B-plus tits and a fierce determination. She definitely managed their relationship. She also loved being photographed - in sexual action.

My apartment bedroom was decorated and lit for 'boudoir' shots. I could quickly and easily change backdrops and coverings in a variety of materials, colors, and patterns. Pale redheads and blondes worked best set on darkness while darker subjects contrasted best against brighter backings. I chose neutral creamy cloth to set off Mackie and Dia's taut twilight bodies.

We started this session with Dia posing beside the bed. Garments slowly disappeared until she was quite nude. Poses: standing; sitting; lying; tempting. Body parts were concealed and revealed at Mackie and Dia's whims.

"Hey Carson, get her with with her legs spread out more, huh?"

"Is that okay with you, Dia?"

"Just fine," she nodded, and opened her thighs.

"Okay then, move your left knee out just slightly, yeah, like that. Tense your left leg, make the muscle stand out." SNAP-SNAP-SNAP!

Lights and filters and precise body angles adjusted. Intrusive lens work, again as demanded, posed from erotica (sensuous poses) - to pornography (her fingers inside her orifices) - to gynecology (straight up her trimmed wazoo).

"You get in closer now, Mister Ron. Get my fingernail against my clit, yes?"

Her bronze fingers were tipped with champagne nails each spun with eggplant spirals. I was shooting smooth black-and-white; only the contrast mattered.

"Just a minute. Hold like that while I reset the key light. Uh huh, there, that's best. Okay, slide your finger, just a little..." SNAP-SNAP! "Now, a finger on each side, yeah..." SNAP-SNAP-SNAP! "And open up just a little, wow, that's hot..." SNAP-SNAP-SNAP!

Dia rose. The emotional temperature rose. More garments were discarded more quickly. Mackie stood beside her in his naked glory. His hands stroked her body. Her hands stroked his long cock. SNAP-SNAP-SNAP-SNAP!

They took more active poses on and around the bed. Poses with them stroking genitals and going down on each other individually and mutually, shifting top-bottom-sides, dynamic. Poses with Mackie between Dia's firm thighs, his muscular buttocks straining, and their legs at various angles. SNAP-SNAP-SNAP! And then doggy-style, diagonal across the king bed, Mackie fucking her from behind. SNAP-SNAP! A nice show.

I walked my old Nikon F around them with a few lens-changes and light-adjustments. I was hot myself; I was down to sandals, shorts, and a sweaty STICKY FINGERS tee.

Dia looked over her shoulder at Mackie as he slowly pistoned into her.

"You know what I want, don't you, Jimi-Jimi?" she purred.

"Huh, yeah, sure," he grunted, "anything you want; you know that."

Dia looked at me. Her breasts wiggled as Mackie swung against her butt.

"What I want, Mister Ron, is two cocks, y'know, double-ending. You can put camera on tripod and shoot us all together, yes? You get photos of your cock in my mouth while Jimi-Jimi fucks me. Can you do that quick?"

Well, it just so happened that my newer Nikon F2 had the motor drive and a 100-foot (750 shot) film canister already loaded with Plus-X and was sitting on a sturdy tripod. I placed it in a good position to capture a front angle, hooked up the power cable, and set the timer for one-second intervals, giving twelve and a half minutes of shooting time.

I peeled off my tee and dropped my shorts. Was I already stiff as a flagpole? What do you think? These 'romantic' shoots always aroused me.

"Oh yeah, Mister Ron, bring that thing over here." Dia licked her lips.

I looked at Mackie. "You sure this is what you want, man?"

He was still slow-pumping Dia's hungry pussy. "Yeah, man," he panted, "she wants it, so I want it, fuck yeah."

Permission granted! I strode to Dia's face. My enlarged circumcised dickhead and blue-veined pink shaft hung just before her. Her tongue reached to lick lasciviously, agonizingly, around my aching glans. Her ruby lips extended and sucked me in. I was very aware of the lens angle and the once-a-second SNAPs! I moved for maximum visual effect.

I tried to maintain a professional attitude even as I was being gloriously sucked-off. Discipline! I mentally timed four minutes and pulled away from Dia's deadly mouth.

"Hang on just a moment. Time to re-frame the shots."

I shifted the camera to capture a rear angle, with Mackie's dark dick obviously splitting Dia's wet pussy, and my pale cock just as obviously dividing her shining lips. I restarted the timer and resumed.

We set a rhythm. Mackie pushed forward at one stroke; I pushed at the next; Dia swayed between us - all an immaculate machine of Neapolitan ice cream flesh-tones rendered in stately monochrome, in vanilla and caramel and chocolate together; and faster, deeper, more powerful, fading in-and-out of synchronization with the metronomic motorized SNAP!-pause-SNAP!-pause-SNAP shutter soundtrack.

I felt my orgasm rising. "Soon, soon," I murmured.

"Fuck yeah, yeah," Mackie grunted, eyes closed, jaw clenched, sweat pouring down his soot-black face.

"Mmmph mmmph," Dia moaned. Her mouth fed desperately on my dick. Oh fuck...

One climax triggered the next, and the next. Mackie yelled "Fuck!" and rammed into Dia. Dia screamed "Oh! Oh! Ohhhh..." on my cock and spasmed. I grunted and seemingly unloaded quarts of cum into Dia's marvelous mouth.

SNAP!-pause-SNAP!-pause-SNAP! The motorized Nikon captured almost everything - everything of importance, anyway. Our flesh and sweat and secretions; two gleaming cocks moving in and out of Dia; sperm dripping from both of her soggy ends; raptures, contortions, and shadings of flesh. Yes, everything.

And more. Nobody knew about the secret cameras hidden in corners: electric Bolex 16mm cine cams with 400-foot film canisters in jury-rigged soundproof blimps, timer-driven to fire silently every quarter-second for over an hour of recorded truth. I also taped audio with a few well-placed microphones and a multitrack recorder. Nobody could dispute who wanted what, when. Lots of private material for my safely-stashed archives, yes indeed.

We all collapsed on the bed. Mackie and I snuggled on opposite sides of Dia and stroked her shoulders. Dia leaned into me and gave me a deep kiss tinged with my slightly sour cum and rolled over to Mackie for more of the same.

"I bet you men want more of that, yes? I know I do," Dia whispered. Her face glowed. "You can go on for longer now, yes? And both of you in my wet holes," her voice rasped, "yes, that's just what I want."

Dia twisted to position her head between our sticky groins. She sucked my slackened cock deep into her mouth. She turned to Mackie's dick, and then back to me for more, alternating slurps till we were both rock-hard again.

I glanced at the wall clock.

"Time to change film. Don't go anywhere."

I hopped up to slap a fresh canister on the tripod-mounted F2. I adjusted lights and angle to best capture a double penetration - low, to the side. I punched buttons to surreptitiously shift two Bolex cine cams to lower spots.

I looked at my client. "You sure you want this, Mackie?"

He nodded vigorously. "Whatever Dia wants is what I want, Carson. Let's do it." He nuzzled and licked Dia's damp pussy, so convenient to his face.

Dia pushed Mackie away. She retrieved a tube of K-Y lubricant jelly from her purse and handed it to him, then looked at me.

"You got a nice grand bitê, a big cock there, Mister Ron," Dia said. "Too big for my ass, I think. Jimi-Jimi's fits me real good." She turned to him. "You just lube me good, baby. Then lay down, let me do everything. I take care of you, real fine."

Dia presented her anus to Mackie. He thumbed gobs of goo inside her, laid back on the bed, and smeared more K-Y onto his cock. He pulled her cheeks apart as she squatted over him and slowly, firmly, lowered herself.

The cameras and I watched his sliff slinky cock disappear inside her little brown rosebud. She moaned, and raised and lowered herself again until he was totally embedded.

"Oh fuck me," Dia whispered.

She reclined on her elbows, leaning against Mackie's chest, and stretched and spread her legs in front. She looked straight at me. "C'mon, fuck me."

I had not been a virgin for a long time. I had not bothered with protection in my early no-longer-virginal days. I had not always been fussy about whom I fucked. Not all girls had been disease-free. I had learned to use condoms.

I fitted a Trojan onto myself and fitted myself into Dia's dark, dank pussy. Ahhh... The thin latex layer only slightly muffled the sensation of Mackie's cock moving past the thin skin separating Dia's anus and vagina. He stayed in place while Dia and I set a bumping rhythm, pushing the cocks together.

The Nikon sang SNAP!-pause-SNAP!-pause-SNAP! I subtly shifted our positions for better camera views. Dia ratcheted-up her pace and moaned, cumming continuously. Mackie and I were desensitized enough to stay stiff almost forever.

Well, not quite forever - only a few minutes, really. The sensation of my cock and her pussy sliding over his dick was magical, nearly infinite.

Many minutes of this brought Mackie to the brink and over - I felt him shiver, and pound up into her, and spew his hot fountain into her womb. That was just the trigger I needed to unleash my own sloshy second cumming.

Dia had drained me not too long before, no? Maybe so, but I surely revived well, and voluminously. How expandable are XL condoms? When I pulled out of Dia, I saw that I had overflowed. I held my position to ensure the lens saw this. I was somewhat surprised I did not blow the end off the Trojan.

I rolled away from the couple, away from the lens. Dia sat up with Mackie's dick still buried in her ass and her wild pussy wet and puffy-red from my fucking. SNAP!-pause-SNAP!-pause-SNAP! Everything was recorded.

The Nikon's film canister reached its end; the snapping stopped. Hidden Bolex eyes continued to monitor us. Yes, much more material for my archives.

My shower could barely contain two, and I did not expect to be invited in, so I washed at the sink while the couple cooled down and cleaned up. I dressed in fresh shorts.

Dia and Mackie made the usual noises while showering - fuck-in-the-flow-type noises. I straightened the bedroom / studio, changing bedding, coiling power cables, putting gear back in place, loading a fresh can of Plus-X on the F2 for next time. Be Prepared - the Boy Scouts got that right!

Dia left the bathroom first. She came to me naked, wrapped her arms around my neck, and rubbed her cool damp flesh against me, tight. The top of her head reached chin-high on my six-foot-four frame; her firm breasts tipped with diamond nipples prodded my bare upper abdomen.

"Oh yes Mister Ron, that was great fun, but only for the camera, yes? We do not invite you for fucking with us anywhere else." She pulled my head down and softly kissed me. "But maybe we come back for more photos soon, yes?"

I bent deeply to kiss her nipples. Yes, indeed.

.

--- reputation and expectation

Mackie and Dia returned occasionally for more 'romantic' photo sessions. Dia quietly told some friends, who quietly told other friends; more Army couples came to me for sexy shoots. No, not all sessions went nude. And no, I was not invited into all the sessions - just enough for run.

Let us talk about reputation.

One definition is, "the general estimation the public has for a person." Here, "the public" is the key. My 'public' was limited to a small private circle. I did not promote myself as a fuck-fotog. I certainly did not hang a shingle as such. The only "general estimation" I wanted was near-anonymity to the wider public and confidentiality inside my circle.

Ambrose Bierce's DEVIL'S DICTIONARY did not define 'reputation' but he was close. RENOWN, n. A degree of distinction between notoriety and fame — a little more supportable than the one and a little more intolerable than the other. I preferred to skip all of those, thank you.

I never ever talked to anyone about the private photo shoots. Wouldn't be prudent. Still, word got around. Satisfied customers. Word-of-mouth promotion. Chats over coffee, or brags over beer. Discreet mentions. "You want hot pics, go see Ron Carson, he's cool, quiet, nobody will know."

I had a well-earned reputation of being circumspect.

Customers had various expectations. I tried to address them all.

There were guys with whores, guys who desperately wanted evidence that they had indeed been laid at least once. What soldier wants the reputation as a virgin?.

There were nice guys and their current sweethearts seeking evocative, romantic pictures with a bit of skin.

There were nice guys like Mackie with strong partners who got what they wanted, how and when they wanted. These partners differed little from the not-so-nice guys, animals flaunting control and dominance.

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--- Mule's session (1)

Staff Sergeant Lamar 'Mule' Mueller was a hunky blond diesel mechanic and a not-so-nice guy with an ever-changing flow of girlfriends, often in groups. Mule was not exactly an asshole but more of a super-controller who loved flaunting power. Women were soft property to be acquired, directed, used, and disposed of at his whim. I happily consumed his leftovers.

"So I hear you shoot skin and more and you don't talk, that right?"

Mule cornered me in the main DivArty mess hall at lunch. I finished chewing a mouthful of my club sandwich and sipped my cooling coffee.

"I shoot all sorts of stuff. Where did you maybe hear about me?"

He mentioned a couple names. I smiled discreetly and asked what he wanted. He mentioned some possibilities. I smiled again and explained my prices. He tried to bargain me down.

"It doesn't work that way, Mule. Stuff costs, and my time and efforts and skills aren't free." I was calm but firm.

"How about if you get some pussy out of it?"

"I don't pay for pussy and that's what you're offering, pussy for cash value. I'll shoot and do just about whatever you want, within limits of course, but I do professional work and I get paid for it."

"Whaddya mean, you don't pay for pussy? Everybody pays, one way or another. What, you don't buy drinks and dinner and shit for women?"

"Sure, on a date, I buy goods and services for us," I admitted, "but the pussy is... well, I don't just lay cash on the bed. So here, I do the shoot and processing for a price, and any pussy thrown my way is a bonus. That's how it works."

We reached an agreement. Our first shoot came that evening.

"Hey Carson." Mule dragged a sleek, calm, long-haired young Latina wrapped in faded coveralls behind him into my apartment. "This here's Camilla. Say hi to Carson, Cammy."

"Hello, Carson." Camilla's soft shy voice tingled melodically. "Nice place here." She eyeballed the living-room decor, as bland as a sofa showroom.

I eyeballed Camilla in return. Smooth olive face, high cheekbones, piercing coal-black eyes, full red lips, narrow silver crucifix choker, no rings on her fingers, doeskin moccasins - and from the way the thin denim moved and caressed her, no bra restrained her tits. She was not a usual corn-fed Kansas farm girl.

Mule looped through the kitchen to liberate three tall Colt 45 malts from my fridge. He passed cans to Camilla and me and popped his own for a swig. He plopped on my faux-leather couch and pulled Camilla into his lap. One hand transferred beer to his mouth; the other reached inside her coveralls and massaged one breast, then the other. Yes, he flaunted his ownership.

"So you know what we're doing, right?" Mule nuzzled her neck. "Some regular shots, some skin shots, some fuck shots. yeah?" He nibbled her throat.

"Yes, Lamar."

Camilla's voice rang softly. Her wide, dilated black pupils locked on my eyes. I saw no fear in her face. Mule's fingers blatantly nipped a nipple. She groaned and squinted. Her own beer was untouched. He finished his can and slugged from hers.

I noticed. "Don't care for beer, Camilla? Like a glass of white wine?"