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From: spoonbender@hotmail.com (Theodore Spoonbender)
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Subject: {ASSM} ** New Spoonbender Story - Something Old, Something New (nc, Blackmail, humil)
Date: Mon, 23 Apr 2001 10:10:04 -0400
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Something old, something new (nc, blackmail, humil)

******************************************************************** 
(c)2001 Spoonbender. A short story of an adult nature. Not to be read
by minors. If you don't like stories where young ladies are taken
advantage of or you are underage then don't read it. Contains
descriptions of non consensual sex and blackmail. Can be freely
distributed as long as it is not changed, including this heading, and
you tell me the URL if it is put on a website. If it is to be archived
on a fee paying archive then please email me first for permission. 
 
Please email me with comments, constructive criticism, fantasies you
want put into words etc. Don't flame me if you don't like the content
or you don't like my style. Spoonbender@hotmail.com if you wanna
correspond. Ladies especially welcome.

This story is fantasy. In other words it ain't true. None of it. Ok.

This story was conceived (no pun intended) by a very special lady who
provided me with the concept and a significant chunk of the plot. As
all I did was put it all together so this story is dedicated to her.
LL you are great, thanks.

STOP PRESS: I deliberately didn't make the heroine blond because
they've had enough bad press about being dumb. HOWEVER if you prefer a
blond then before you read the story do a search and replace and
replace 'dark' with 'blond' (or 'red' if you prefer.) I did write it
this way so you, my esteemed readers, could exercise your freedom of
choice.
 
********************************************************************* 

She hefted her bag onto her other hand, took a deep breath and stifled
a sudden surge of panic. The little sign on the photography studio
said closed but she was sure she had made the appointment for ten a.m
and it was now exactly ten. She'd be the first to admit that she
wasn't the brightest stitch in the quilt, she had a memory like a
storm drain cover and some of the things she said and did were as odd
as a sock drawer, but one thing she did do right was turn up on time.
Her dad was an old school army man and when he said ten, then by golly
he meant ten, so it was as ingrained into her as deep as dirty oil in
the cuts on a mechanic's hands. She was, in short, never late. Never
ever.

Especially on a day like today.

Today was the day she was having her pre-wedding photographs taken, so
they could be sent to her rather far flung family who were scattered
like sheep with a loose dog across the farthest  reaches of the globe.
There wasn't a Steppe, Plain or Tundra anywhere on which one of her
family hadn't walked, worked or committed acts of love or war. They
may not be able to attend the wedding but they would be able to see
her in her beautiful gown. The one with the 40,000 hand made stitches,
that her female relatives had worked so assiduously on as they posted
it around the family.

It was a moment of supreme indecision for her. This was the sort of
thing that she was ill prepared for. Her father, apart from being an
overbearing tyrant, had lavished her with a sort of gruff, shoulder
punching type of love that mainly manifested itself in her never
having to make a decision. In fact decision making for her was
positively discouraged, men proposed, women disposed according to his
rather warped beliefs. Which was all so well and good except for when
she came to strike out on her own. So she was barely equipped to deal
with the vagarities and vicissitudes that life threw at her.

Such as somewhere being closed when she most definitely had an
appointment.

Just as she tried to work out what to do, the blind inside the door
suddenly rattled upwards and she caught her breath as an old man
peered out at her. He blinked owlishly, looked her up and down then
smiled. His teeth looked to her like a row of tombstones set in a
fetchingly bluey-purple set of thin lips, with a large bulbous nose, a
pair of watery eyes and a sparse thatch of graying hair completing the
ensemble. To her he looked the epitome  of how a rather cheap
photographer should look. A frayed shirt, ragged cardigan and brown
corduroy trousers flopping over a pair of tattered bedroom slippers
added just that little extra piquancy to the stereotype she'd had in
her mind and which was now made manifest before her behind the glass.

He reached up, drew the bolts and flung open the door.

"Miss Hendricks?" he enquired.

She nodded.

"Please come in, everything is ready for you."

She followed his beck and found herself standing in a small shop
strewn with the paraphernalia associated with the photographic art.
She heard the door bolts being thrown and turned in apprehension.

"To make sure the shop doesn't get robbed whilst we are taking the
photographs," he smiled in what he considered to be a reassuring way.
"Please come through."

He pushed aside a curtain and ushered her through to his studio. She
gazed around the room, taking in the tattered red velvet backcloth and
the big, white umbrellas on stands. Cameras with improbable names like
Hasselblad and Zeiss perched delicately on spindly tripods and, for
some unfathomable reason, a large fern in a big brass pot brashly
proclaimed its existence in the far corner.

"Please sit," he said indicating a rather plain wooden chair set on a
raised dais. "Now I expect you are little nervous, so I'd like you to
relax." He disappeared through another curtained doorway and
reappeared a few moments later with a tall glass filled with a
bubbling amber liquid. "Here drink this, this will settle your
nerves."

As it happens she wasn't nervous but it felt a bit churlish to refuse,
especially when he added, "its champagne, my small way of saying
congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials."

"Nuptials?"

"Yes, oh sorry your wedding."

'So why didn't he just say that?' she pondered as she sipped the drink
and he bustled around the room setting up equipment and popping
packets of film.

Finally he was done and he turned to her, "ready?"

She nodded and looked around for somewhere to put her half finished
drink. "Here drink up and I will wash the glass while you get changed.
You can change in my darkroom," he indicated yet another curtained
door.

She gulped the drink, the bubbles tickling her nose then handed him
the glass.

His smile took on another altogether harder edge as she disappeared
through the doorway. The fumes inside the windowless room were pungent
and sharp and made her head reel slightly. She had a difficult time
dressing herself in her bridal finery as fast as she could before the
smell overwhelmed her.

When she reappeared she looked an absolute picture. Her wedding gown
was primarily of watered cream silk, with tiny pearl buttons and a
huge sweeping snow white train. She was going to need an army of
bridesmaids to keep it from sweeping through the dirt.

"You look absolutely ravishable," he smiled, "one of the most
beautiful brides I've ever had the pleasure of photographing."

She blushed fetchingly, the champagne, the fumes and her empty stomach
making her feel a little light headed.

"Ok lets get started," he said in a businesslike fashion and for the
next half hour he got her to pose for him as he snapped off rolls of
film. He may have looked unprepossessing but he appeared to know his
job. Finally he was done. He bade her to keep sitting as he again
disappeared into the back room and reappeared with two glasses of
champagne.

"Oh I shouldn't," she giggled, "its too early for me."

"Nonsense," he reassured her, "a toast to a long and happy marriage."
He handed her the glass and raised his.

"A long and happy marriage," she repeated then sipped at the drink.

"No, no that won't do at all," he chided, "it's a toast, drink it all
up."

Mentally she shrugged and gulped it down.

"Excellent," he smirked as he took away her glass.

She had to grab hold of the back of the chair as the wine hit her like
a freight train.

"Are you not feeling well?" he enquired solicitously, "sit down while
you get your bearings."

She slumped on the hard seat and he regarded her for a few seconds
before he spoke. His voice was thick and husky as he said, "now would
you like some boudoir photographs taken?"

"Bood Wa photosh?" she slurred, wondering if they were some kind of
Chinese good luck thing.

"Oh yes, they are quite the fashion amongst the younger people these
days."

"Fashion? What fashion?" she tried to ask seriously but a hiccup and a
subsequent giggle ruined the effect. If there was one thing she loved
above all, except Bobby of course, it was fashion.

"Its all the rage these days. You see I take some photographs that are
meant to be seen only by your new husband to be. Photographs that you
can give to him over the next....er... your wedding is the week after
next isn't it?"

She nodded trying hard to follow the chain of his monologue.

"In that case over the next two weeks. Photos that will keep him
interested and stop him getting cold feet. Now is the dangerous time.
Young men are like that you know, they go along with the wedding plans
and then when the time gets near they'd suddenly realize the
responsibilities they are assuming and before you know it, its all
off."

"But Bobby would never do anything like that to me," she exclaimed,
suddenly getting the gist of what he was saying. "He loves me. I know
he does."

"Ah but do you want to take that risk? On the other hand these will
keep him very interested and not being able to think about anything
else beyond your wedding night."

She thought he was being a bit crude but she ignored it. Was he
offering her something that would keep Bobby happy and wanting her?

"So what er sort of photos?"

"You know," he winked conspiratorially, "frank ones."

She knew a Frank, she didn't know if he took photos or what of if he
did.

He saw her puzzlement and sighed, "Erotic ones."

Erotic photos! "You mean naked and stuff? I can't do that," she
exclaimed.

"Ok listen I know you're nervous, it'll be fine once you get started
and they won't be that erotic. Not like Playboy. Not nude." 

"Not straightaway at least," he said sotto voce.

She stood there thinking about it and so he dropped his clincher.

"Tell me how many weddings have fallen through at the last minute in
this town in the last few years?"

She couldn't recall any and told him so.

"There you are," he said triumphantly, "they work."

"You mean they all....?" She let the question hang.

"Every last one," he affirmed.

"Even Elizabeth Sands?" The society Queen's eldest daughter, the ice
princess.

He nodded. He couldn't bring himself to lie openly to her. For some
reason it didn't seem right, she looked so pure and innocent. Long
dark hair, setting off her veil perfectly. A slim figure and a face
that could have launched a thousand erections. Perfection incarnate.
She looked so ravishing, yes and ravishable, as she stood there taking
in the import of what he'd said.

He could see her struggling with her indecision and decided to help
her out.

"Look let me show you the sort of thing I mean. Stand up for a
minute."

He waited until she struggled to her feet, swaying slightly. "Ok now
put your foot up on the chair."

She looked puzzled, then shrugged and put her foot daintily on the
chair struggling slightly with the mass of her bridal dress. He
clicked off a shot.

"Ok good, now pull your dress up slightly. That's great, " the camera
clicked and whirred, " ok now show me your garter. Excellent, you are
a natural at this you know"

She blushed prettily in response.

"Ok now pull the dress back to show your panties."

She baulked a little so he said "don't worry only your husband to be
will see these."

Hesitantly she pulled the dress back affording a teasing glimpse of
her white lace bridal panties. "Perfect, perfect" he exclaimed as he
fired off shot after shot, "Now pull it up so he can see both legs.
Wonderful, he's going to love these."

"He will?"

"I think he'll think he's the luckiest man in the world having such a
perfect bride. He won't be able to resist you."

"He won't?"

Inwardly he sighed, 'Lord she has made dumb into an art form.'

"No he won't. Ok you've done great so far, well done. You are one of
the best models I've ever worked with."

"I am?" 

His smile was beginning to hurt him.

"Ok why don't you take that pretty dress off so you don't spoil it.
And while you are doing that I'll fix us another drink."

His drink was 7 up with vanilla coloring, hers was full blown 26%
proof, lying in the gutter rocket fuel. With a punch like Tyson and an
afterburn that could sear granite. With a soupcon of vodka, alright a
lot of vodka, to enliven it a pinch.

He returned from the kitchen to find her hesitating and biting her
lip.

"What do I wear?"

"Whatever you have on underneath of course. You are wearing something
underneath aren't you?"

She nodded.

"Good, take the dress off while I hold your drink for you."

"But..."

"Don't worry," he reassured her, "no-one will see, except your husband
to be."

It took her a little while to struggle out of her finery to reveal a
pure white lace push up bra with matching bustier that ended just
above her panties. It took every ounce of his willpower to stop
staring at her and act professional.

"Here," he husked handing her the drink.

"Ok drink up and then we'll carry on. We are nearly done."

"We are?"

Its difficult to smile through gritted teeth.

"Come on drink up, we wouldn't want you to spill it on your dress now
would we? Its probably bad luck."

"Is it?"

He prized the empty glass out of her fingers as her eyes started to
glaze over. "Excellent, excellent," he muttered.

Now he started photographing her in earnest, getting her to pose in
more and more provocative positions. Then the bra came off. More
photographs with her perfectly round little breasts and perky little
nipples peeking shyly at him.

She looked absolutely stunning in just her bustier and veil. Her dark
hair and dark pubes setting off the gleaming white of her clothes
exotically.

She was swaying badly by now and holding onto the chair as if her life
depended on it.

What a nice old man he was, to offer her a bed to lie down on for a
few minutes..........

(********************* (c) 2001 Spoonbender@hotmail.com
*******************)

She awoke as the sun was starting to go down with a head like a tribal
marching band, complete with bugler, and a mouth like the sole of a
zookeeper's left boot. She was dressed in her street clothes which
left her mystified. But then again most things did so she didn't
ponder on it too long.

She swayed upright and clumped  her feet down onto the floorboards.
Her sudden movement caused waves of dizziness to overcome her for a
few seconds. She was just beginning to get her bearings when the door
opened and the photographer came in.

"Did you sleep ok?" he enquired.

She nodded faintly, well she'd slept but if the state of her head was
anything to go by it was far from ok.

"Good. I am just closing up he shop would you like some coffee?"

"Please."

They went down to the kitchen and he poured her a strong coffee.

After she'd nursed the cup for a while the caffeine kicked in and she
started to feel semi human again.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Oh a few hours, did you have anything planned for today?"

She shook her head, she'd kept the day free because she wasn't sure
how long the photography session would last and she could always go
window shopping afterwards.

"I think the photographs will turn out just fine. I've already
developed them and they look wonderful on the viewer."

"When can you have them ready?"

" I could have the proofs by, say Friday lunchtime. Leave plenty of
time because I'd like to go through them carefully with you while you
decide which ones you want me to reproduce. Ok?"

She nodded and asked, "What time exactly?"

He looked at her for an instant then said, "Say ten am again. I lunch
early," he laughed briefly before seeing her querying stare. So he
returned to business.

"And if you can bring your wedding clothes again just in case we need
to reshoot one."

She shrugged ok.

"Oh yes and don't forget that you can't bring your fianc , its bad
luck."

"It is?"

He virtually snatched the cup out of her hand before leading her out
of the shop.

(********************* (c) 2001 Spoonbender@hotmail.com
*******************)

Friday lunchtime found her in his back room studying the photographs
of herself in her bridal gown. She looked so pretty she had to admit
to herself, her stomach doing cartwheels with happiness.

Of course he hadn't shown her the 'other' shots yet.

The more candid shots.

The ones she knew about, of her cavorting semi naked before the
camera, they made her blush.

 It was the ones she didn't know about that caused her to first start
to cry.

As she looked at herself naked on a bed. Wide. Knees bent, feet tucked
into her buttocks, wantonly spread.

She cried harder when she saw the photographs where he had positioned
her fingers on her pussy as if she was masturbating herself.

And she became almost hysterical when he showed her the ones with her
fingers wrapped around a vibrator resting on her clit, one hand on her
breast..............and what was unmistakably a stiff penis rammed
into her mouth. The shot wasn't as precise as he would have liked as
the self timer tended to jerk the camera a little. But it sufficed.

The last shot showed her face, close up, with her mouth wide open
clearly showing the sperm swilling around her gums.

"I hope you like them," he smirked.

"No, they're horrible and you're even more horrible because you did
that to me."

"You wanted it."

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment, "me?"

"Yes you were so drunk you begged me, while you fingered yourself off.
Don't you remember?"

"I wouldn't. I'd never do that. I've never done that before so I
certainly wouldn't do it with you."

He shrugged, "have it your own way. I say you did and you say you
didn't. Your word against mine and I know I'm right. And so would you
if you hadn't been so drunk."

"I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been drunk."

"So you admit to it now do you? Good that's settled then. Right, I've
made the bill up you'll see it all there."

He caught her wrong footed by his change of tack and so she took the
bill from his hand without a word in rebuttal. She studied the bill
and held her hand to her mouth when she saw what was on the bottom.

"What's this $5,000 for?" she stabbed the paper with her finger.

"Those special photographs of course. They're expensive because they
could be classified as pornography. I could lose my license if they
found out I'd taken those."

He was betting on her not knowing that he didn't need a license and
this caliber of stuff was legal anyway.

He didn't bet wrong. 

"Pornography? Me?" she started crying again.

"Hardcore. So can you pay me?"

She shook her head.

"Ok no problem. I'll make up some copies and start selling them via
the internet. I'll soon make my money back."

"You can't do that?" she exclaimed in horror.

"Oh don't worry I won't print your name or address. But obviously I'll
have to use mine so I'm sure they'll work out who you are by hanging
around town. Not to worry it'll be ages before that happens."

"Please don't. I'll find a way to pay you," she sobbed.

"I need it today. I must get these off my premises as soon as
possible. So either you pay me today, before you leave this shop or
they'll be on the internet tonight." It was no more Mister Niceguy.

"Please, I can't I haven't got that sort of money. It will take time
to get it together, can you give me the photographs if I promise to
pay you, when I can?"

He appeared to ponder the ceiling for a second, finger on his lip,
before looking at her again. "No that won't work. I can't trust you to
do that you might sell them yourself and never give me the money.
Anyway I have had an idea that give us both what we want and cost you
nothing."

Her sobbing intensified as he outlined his thoughts to her. By the end
she had her face buried in her hands, her body wracked with piteous
sobs.

But she agreed. With extreme and tearful reluctance she gave her
consent.

(********************* (c) 2001 Spoonbender@hotmail.com
*******************)

AND NOW A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS : VISIT SPOONBENDER'S FORTHCOMING
WEBSITE, WATCH ASSM OR ASSMSTR.ORG FOR DETAILS CONTAINED IN A
FORTHCOMING SPOONBENDER STORY. AND NOW BACK TO OUR REGULAR PROGRAM.

(********************* (c) 2001 Spoonbender@hotmail.com
*******************)

I  had her. 

Completely. 

Its always so sweet as they sit considering their options and finding
each avenue of choice closed before she even got there. All of them
disgustingly unpalatable, totally unthinkable, so much so that there
was only one meaningful choice. 

Mine.

I'd seen it so many times and yet it never failed to make my cock
lurch in my pants.

The submission, the sweet surrender, the acknowledgement to the
conqueror by the vanquished. The head bowed, looking at the floor, the
nod of acquiescence.

Some tried to act defiant, others sobbed their way into my plan. Like
her, oh yes I liked her alright. Its been a while since I'd buried
myself in a girl as good looking as this one. Oh yes, yes, yes I was
really going to enjoy his. I've always had a soft spot for dark haired
girls. I was really going to enjoy her.

I made her take her clothes off, while I took photographs.

And my hidden, studio quality video camera whirred. I knew where to
stand, I was never in full view. I was a top fashion photographer
once. Until that fucking model accused me of rape. I got off
eventually, but by that time the damage was done. No-one would work
with me.

I got her back. Oh yes I got her. The bitch that had falsely accused
me.

I couldn't do it myself, it would have been too obvious.

I knew some people. Set hands mainly, with a sprinkling of
photographers. The beefcake type.

She'd pissed them off big time. If she could do that to me she could
do that to them. With a little urging from me they decided to get in
first. I just made sure that I was going to be with an ostentatious
alibi on her special night. 

Somewhere public and far from where she had her little adventure.

Nine burly guys caught her in an underground parking garage. They
dragged her into a panel truck and raped the bitch silly. 

For seven hours straight.

After they finished they drugged her, took her home, cleaned her up
and douched her. Finally knocking her out with a serious dose of
sleeping pills.

Coma pills more like, she was out for 4 days.

When she came to she tried to cry rape but no-one believed her. See
women's lib has aways to go yet eh gals? She fucked off all the major
fashion houses, they simply did not believe her. Crying rape once was
bad enough especially when it was false accusation, but as for the
second time. It was the thin end of the wedge.

And anyway who'd want to employ her to model family products when
she'd admitted to sleeping with nine guys in one night? It was round
the industry like a shot and she was finished in a matter of weeks.
Even her agent dumped her. I bought out her contract. It was cheap and
I collected in the money owing to her on previous contracts and
repeats.

And it came to a substantial sum.

And I kept it. Expenses as it were.

A few months later I broke into her walk up apartment, close to the
diner where she served tables.

She was tired after pulling a 12 hour shift and didn't put up much of
a fight. 

I fucked her hard and I fucked her long.

And I came in her.

Hard.

I didn't bother to douche her, she could do it herself, or leave it
there.

It was up to her. I didn't care.

As long as it got there in the first place that's all that mattered to
me.

The look in her eyes as I pumped it into her told me she was well
aware of what I was doing.

Sweet!

I bought an RUV and hit the road. Doing weddings, Bar Mitzvahs,
whatever. Using my skill and the portable darkroom I'd built into the
back of the truck.

Meanwhile I thought about the bitch. It was so sweet seeing the look
in her eyes as I ejaculated inside her. Especially as I pulled my mask
off just before I started spurting.

Poetic justice. The biter bit.

She falsely accuses me of rape. I get off with it. And here she was
now getting raped for real. By the very same guy. And all in glorious
Technicolor.

And the best part?

She couldn't report it.

Because no-one would believe her.

After that?

I fell in love with the dark side. I couldn't just fuck anymore. I
wanted to FUCK!

Forcing her open for the first time.

The look in her eyes as I rammed inside.

The little moans and gasps of pain as I plundered her. Opening her up
for my seed.

The cry of anguish when I finally came inside her.

I loved it all.

In fact I craved it.

So I planned how to get it.

It took a long time, nearly twenty years, but it paid off in spades.

It took time because I had to make it absolutely foolproof. So I could
always get away with it, she wouldn't say a word and she'd submit
without a fight, I was getting too old to hold them down as I did the
dirty deed. I needed them submissive and forced into humiliating
consensuality. In order to make the plan foolproof, I needed to get
'that' type of girl from 'that' sort of background.

It took awhile.

I scouted the country until I settled on this town, a god fearing
place where the girls are probably virgins on their wedding night and
the merest whiff of scandal can kill a girl's marriage prospects dead.

And the girls were so pretty. It must have been that good fresh
country air and clean living.

A perfect town to play out my little obsession.

The first was over 6 years ago. A bubbly blond. My hands were shaking
like a jelly as I poured the wine for her. But it turned out good in
the end. She walked down the aisle with my baby growing inside her and
a compromising sets of prints and negatives stored in a bank vault far
from here.

Others came and went through my studio. Arriving virgo intacto and
usually leaving with a little memento of our time together.

I do believe I am the most prolific father around here. And I'm not
even a Catholic. Seventeen, yes you heard me, seventeen children I've
got. All being brought up by unsuspecting cuckolds, because I'd told
their darling brides that they had to have it or out go the
photographs and the videos.

This studio of mine has seen more action than the set of a Cecille B
Demille classic. And my score card looks pretty impressive.

Twenty two virgins.

Two none virgins (the town sluts apparently and not going into good
marriages).

Eighteen successful impregnations.

One temination (and subsequent divorce).

Seven got away. Strangely enough two of them were the non virgins. You
see how a little knowledge can help you on in life?

Generously I let these pass. I had so many beauties to choose from.
And what's best is that they fall for it at all. Ok I had some that
refused wine or my blandishments, but for the most part a hint that
her erstwhile husband would even consider calling the whole thing off
and she agreed with alacrity. Alright maybe not with alacrity but at
least they consented.

Ok consented, nodded, whatever.

Fuck I don't care. Where am I going to get the chance to get between a
pretty pair of legs, such as those belonging to my latest victim,
consensually?

Oops there she goes. Sobbing again, I like that, cute and appealing.
Yes, very nice. As I was saying which young woman is going to let me
fuck her without some encouragement? 

So I encouraged, so what if it was cruel and inhuman? It served its
purpose.

That bitch that lost me my career had turned me from a much sought
after photographer with an ocean of wide open legs waving before me,
to a virtual derelict with a serious misogyny problem. Why should I
care about bitches?

I had needs that needed fulfilling. And they were there to fulfill
them.

Total submission. I got that.

And savoring her humiliation. I got that.

The need to conquer her body with my manhood. I got that too.

I got everything.

The promise not to tell.

The shame, if the hint of those photographs got out then she would be
lost

And more often than not the baby. It was a custom around these parts
that they time the wedding close to her fertile period. It was
considered a blessing to fall for a kid first time out. Well I guess
that makes me the benefactor, although my victims probably don't see
it like that.

I got her to put her bridal gown on. Then made her take it off again
slowly as I took rolls of indecent photographs. She really was a
blushing bride.

Finally she was naked again.

I played with her and got her wet much to her obvious shame.

Oh my god it was sweet. What bliss beyond imagining as I popped my
cockhead inside her. I looked down into her eyes as I grabbed her
hips. 

That little heartfelt squeal, as I tore away her innocence with one
thrust. Delicious.

I may be getting on but I can still pack a reasonable punch in the
bedroom department. Especially when my blood was up and boiling.

Sod Viagra. Try Rape!

I punished her, I admit it. It was that cute innocent face, covered in
a fine sheen of tears. Those big bambi eyes misting with pain. It
turned me on like crazy destroying her innocence.

I pounded, she mewled.

My orgasm was one of the best ever, if not THE best. Let me tell you
it felt like I was pouring my very soul into her. It was her fault.
Those begging pleas and the frantic twisting of her hips, that's what
did it. 

It was the fact that she so obviously didn't want it, that's what
pushed me over the edge.

It was a good five minutes before I had enough energy to roll off her.

That was goooood.

I sent her home panty-less. I knew this meant that she'd have to keep
her pussy lips tightly closed unless she wanted my spunk sliding down
her thighs. It would keep her aware.

To help her remember the video tape I'd shown her. That I planned to
add to my internet offerings if she didn't cooperate.

Getting her to wail pitifully when I told her what I had planned for
her to work off the rest of the debt.

I split the debt up evenly which made sure she paid it back in daily
installments over the next two weeks.

The fucks I had with her over those two weeks were usually fairly
perfunctory. It was just me marking my territory more than anything.
Setting place-markers as it were.

I'd call her on her mobile and she had to drop everything and come on
over. If she was more than an hour late it didn't count so she usually
arrived perspiring and tousle haired.

She came in, I locked the door and drew the blinds. I pushed her over
a table, tore off her panties, kicked open her legs and fucked her.
Just like that. I did spit on my hand and smear it over my cock, which
proves I'm a gentleman, even if a bit eclectic.

And of course I came in her.

And if she came in panties then she went home without them. Keeping
her aware.

She knew better than to wear pants or jeans.

Skirts. Period.

She did as she was told. Awareness is everything.

Then, one day she had a request. She wanted the rest of the week off.
It was the Tuesday before her big day. She had to do stuff with her
family every day and she wouldn't be left alone long enough to come
over.

She looked so appealing, with that newly fucked blush about her, that
I relented.

But I did want my money, paid in full.

I handed her a quid pro quo.

If she wanted everything to appear normal she had to go with it. 

As distressing as it was.

It was the only way of paying me off forever.

She consented.

Even though I did tell her about the baby. 

(******* (c) 2001 spoonbender@hotmail.com **************)

There is an odd tradition in this town and that is that they use the
'wedding palace' for all their weddings. An ugly old place I think but
a few coats of whitewash and a thicket of bougainvillea  and it looked
almost wholesome.

Anyway the thing is that the Bride has a changing room where she is
gotten ready by the women of the family. And where, sometimes, the
photographer takes pictures of her as she is getting dressed. Not the
naughty bits of course, just the top layers as it were.

If she requests it.

Of course she did. I said I'd take them for no charge other than the
pleasure.

What a wonderfully expressive language English can be, especially when
it come to double entendres.

The tricky bit was after they finished and she was full dressed up.
She had to shoo her relatives away in order to leave us alone for a
few minutes. She was pretty good too despite her dearth of
interconnected brain cells.

They hurried off to get to their seats before she appeared.

Talking of hurry.

I had something to give her.

Lots of something to give her.

I've been told I have a strange physiology. That I have a very large
Vas Deferens so if I go without sex for a few days then the seed is
stored rather than leaked out in a wet dream.

I hadn't touched myself since my last time with her.

Boy, did I have something to give her.

The last of the female relatives were ushered out leaving her to have
a final few photographs of her, alone for the last time.

I locked the door as she pulled her voluminous skirts up.

I nearly thought we weren't going to make it there seemed so much
material, but the cock found its pussy as they say.

I was horny. Very horny.

I have a rather over extended sex life. Even though I get to fuck
these bitches on occasion it hardly satisfies me. So I use my hand,
rubber vagina, whatever. It isn't as satisfying as being your girl's
first lover but I do have at least 4 good orgasms a day. My shop isn't
that busy and I've got a library of photos to help me along. 

And I'd been missing it. So bad.

I was so hard I thought it would split.

I pushed into her and the sensations that went down my spine were
breathtakingly delicious.

I pumped twice. That's all it took before I was gushing.

And boy did I gush.

The orgasm took longer than the fuck to complete. Now that must be a
first.

I pulled out and shot a quick photo of her perched on the edge of her
dressing table, her dress hiked up and her legs spread wide. Oops some
of my sperm had spilled out and had smeared her bottom crack.

Not to worry it soon dried leaving no trace except a little
stickiness. I remember hoping that her new husband ate her ass  that
night, or her pussy come to that.

Just one more little chore to do before it was all over.

I scooped up her little lace bridal panties with the hearts
embroidered into them.

She was well aware what that meant.

I unlocked the door, less than five minutes had passed. I'd even found
time to snap off a couple of shots of the blushing bride just before I
opened the door. Our alibi was safe.

I  was at the bottom of the stairs as her father led her down proudly.
Her blushing at his side, her walk a little stiff and jilted like she
was mashing her thighs together. 

Very pretty, Especially as she had to look normal.

It was her wedding day after all, the one and only and these
photographs were forever. Never to be repeated.

I would have thought that a little sperm trickling down her legs as
she walked down the aisle would be a small price to pay for the
semblance of normality.

She paid.

I saw the spots on the deep red carpet as she walked slowly towards
her new husband.

(************** (c) 2001 Spoonbender ********************************)

How was it for you? Email me at spoonbender@hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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