Cumming All Over The World Pt 01

(This is the first part of a longer story. Anyone after pure sex will be disappointed due to the amount of plot and world-building, but hopefully you enjoy reading!)

Standing around at the back of the hall during a wedding reception, Tim sighed unhappily as yet another boring Uncle or whoever stood up to give a speech. He was sure it was very sweet and well-meaning, but he was a stranger standing at the back of some posh country club watching other people's 'happiest day of their life', so he didn't particularly give a damn.

As the wedding photographer, it was his obligation to snap a photo of the moment, but he had no emotional attachment to these people, nor did he see much potential for a classic wedding photo, or at least, one that the Bride and Groom would choose to keep for the rest of their lives. Or a couple of years anyway, if Tim was any judge.

The only good thing about this wedding, the best thing about any wedding if he were being honest, having done a few over the years, was that the bridesmaids were particularly smoking hot. He'd already got chatting to one bridesmaid, a petite French girl called Amelie. Curly brown hair, olive skin, and an incredibly smutty sense of humour, even if she hadn't been poured into that form-fitting dress which showed off her amazing hourglass figure, he'd have found her attractive. He also hoped that through some less-than-subtle hints she'd given him that, after the wedding, he was onto a sure thing.

An hour later, when the dancing had begun and the alcohol was starting to dull everyone's senses, Tim had got all the necessary photos and had about thirty minutes until some bride and groom games like Mr and Mrs, etc, so was been looking forward to having some food and drink. However, when Amelie took him by the hand and led him, camera still in hand, to the disabled toilets he realised he wasn't hungry any more.

Still stunned, Tim just stood there when Amelie, without any words, undid his pants and pulled out his cock. Not having expected anything, he was flaccid and, even Tim would admit, didn't look very impressive, but after a minute of sucking, Amelie's full lips, having previously been able to take the whole thing easily, were now only halfway down his fat, seven-inch cock. He'd always been a grower, not a show-er, and Amelie was enjoying every inch.

Amelie, however, wasn't going to give up on reaching halfway. With Tim pushed up against the wall, he had nothing else to do but watch as this stunning beauty sucked on his cock. Finally realising he still had his camera, when Amelie was giving her mouth a quick break by wanking him off with her delicate hands, he asked her what, with the benefit of hindsight, would turn out to be the most important question he'd ever asked.

"Mind if I take a picture?"

He said it with a grin, implying that he was okay with yes or no, but he wasn't quite ready for Amelie's response.

"Only if you cover my face with cum and I get a copy." She replied nonchalantly before going on to lick his cock from tip to balls.

Tim wasn't going to argue against an offer like that. If anything, her brusque acceptance had quite turned him on, and, as she began to suck on his cock once more while he took a quick picture, he could feel his balls begin to tighten.

"Oh, I'm gonna..."

Like a flash, Amelie removed him from her mouth, instead holding his cock head next to her cheek as she continued to jerk him off.

"Oh..."

It felt like his balls took this opportunity to release everything he had stored, the intensity of his orgasm and release too much for him to both enjoy it and take a picture, but Amelie seemed quite happy as his load immediately shot over her cheek, a line of cum going from ear to ear. A second shot ended up on her nose, while a third dribble ended on her luscious lips, her tongue darting out to taste it.

Coming down from one of the most intense feelings of his life, Amelie knelt there before him, looking quite happy despite the few drops of cum that had landed on her bridesmaid's dress.

"Tim," she spoke huskily, the deepness of her voice a surprise from her petite frame, "are you not forgetting something?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Tim gulped, before, still in a happy post-orgasm daze, raising his camera and taking a photo. Amelie however had other ideas and kept moving into different poses as the cum began to trickle down her face and chin, giving only a shrug when even more began to dribble onto her dress.

About twenty pictures later, Amelie seemed happy and, after she'd washed her face, seemingly not bothered by the quite obvious cum stains on her dress, gave Tim a peck on the cheek and, as they planned to leave their hiding spot, shared phone numbers. Tim, feeling guilty that it had been a very one-sided arrangement, offered his services but was rebuffed.

"I enjoy what I do," she spoke in her sultry accent, "if I want, I can get. I just want the pictures, the memories of my night. Even should I return to France, I will always be able to remember this night."

Having checked there was no one outside, they left the disabled toilets before, and with another kiss on the cheek, Amelie left him as she strolled in the direction of the smoking area.

The rest of the evening went smoothly, with plenty of pictures of the bride and groom playing games and messing about, as well as of the wider family and friends dancing to Queen and Abba when normal service resumed. Amelie quickly returned to her place with the other bridesmaids, and Tim did his best not to focus his camera lens on anyone particularly, other than the bride and groom of course, yet he couldn't help but think of her, covered in his cum, thinking about what she'd said about memories.

As he left that evening, having said goodbye to the Groom, the Bride apparently chucking up in the same disableds he'd had a nice time in, an idea was formulating that would change his life forever.

The Next Day

Sat in a beer garden with his two best mates, pints in hand as they watched the Rugby World Cup on the 'Jumbotron', neither Sam nor Frank were paying attention, instead focused upon their friend.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Sam, not known for being subtle, asked in a whisper.

"Well," Tim stalled, "I just thought it would be interesting..."

"It's certainly interesting," Frank interrupted, mulling over his cider, "but what would you get out of it?"

"I'm thinking I could do an exhibition, move on up from bloody wedding photographer," Tim answered defensively.

"You're talking about porn," Sam declared, "you won't get a gallery to do it, and the only visitors you get will be creepy old men in anoraks."

"Maybe," Frank spoke calmly, "you could run us through the idea again."

"Okay," Tim took a deep breath, " I want to host an exhibition of photos." This received a nod. "I want it to be pictures of women from every country in the world," Further nods. "And I want to show a before and after," He paused, feeling a glare from Sam and Frank's more relaxed gaze, "before and after I..." He gulped, "cum on their face."

"Porn!" Sam declared very loudly, causing him to recieve a death stare from rugby fans at the next table.

"Sam!" Frank snapped, causing Sam to look admonished, taking a gup of his lager.

"Look," Tim tried to explain, "in the 'art world', there's a difference between artistic nudity and pornography. This would be about my journey trying to find a woman, from every nationality in the world, approximately two hundred and three people, who would agree to have their photo taken after I'd... finished on them. They wouldn't have to do anything," Tim insisted, "they wouldn't have to even strip naked."

Rolling his eyes, Sam looked at his friend with a mixture of amusement and pity. "This all because you got a blowjob from a Frenchy."

"Okay," Frank nodded along, "but what would you achieve?"

Shrugging, Tim knew this was where it was a bit shaky. "Women are sexualised the world over. Cumming on their face would be an incredibly sexualised, and perhaps even controlling action. But what if, with the photos, we had these people's stories? The image is sexualised, but it's what's underneath that truly matters. Take those photos of the women having an orgasm, their faces before, during stimulation, during orgasm, and post-orgasm. It was about normalising female sexuality, about women taking back control, with people from all over the world, including traditionally conservative countries. This is just taking it that step further."

To Tim's relief, both Frank and Sam looked thoughtful. He knew it could be considered seedy, dirty even, but he didn't intend it to be. The spark of an idea had infiltrated his soul, staring down at Amelie's face as she knelt there incredibly happy through the eyes of the camera lens. Why not make an exhibition about it? Why not aim for something different?

"Okay," Frank spoke with interest, "but you've got a few problems. Ignore the whole 'is this ethical argument' and aim for volunteers only, to reduce any accusations of prostitution or coercion. Maybe, if you make money from it, they can be given a percentage of any profits so you can show that they benefit, but ethically?"

"More importantly," Sam waved at the screen as England and Scotland battled for possession, "are you doing nationality? Ethnicity? Countries or Nations? As in, are you finding one woman from the UK, or a Welsh, Scottish, English and Irish birds? Or, one Spanish, or are you going to need Catalonian, Basque etc? Because that would up your numbers."

Looking surprised that Sam would be the one considering deeper questions, Tim hunkered down with his friends and came up with some rules. To prevent arguments, he'd use countries as defined by the United Nations. Volunteers would be given a percentage of any profit, but anyone who wanted a payment upfront forwent any further fee. He had to have a story first, then the facial, otherwise it was porn. No one would be forced into participating. There would be no nudity either in the final picture, no bodies, clothed or not, just faces shown.

Another problem was how he was going to find enough participants, especially those of countries more distant from the United Kingdom. They agreed he would need to travel to London often, but living close to Birmingham they felt Tim would have a good base to start from. For those countries that were unrepresented in the UK, Tim knew he'd have to travel further afield.

"The Pacific nations will probably be the most difficult," he mused, "but travel, accommodation, it's all going to cost a pretty penny. How am I going to afford it?"

"Sponsorship," Frank answered immediately, "loads of art exhibitions are sponsored by big companies trying to get a bit of good PR, like BP or Shell. That's your aim, but you'll have to show them more than a simple idea. They'll need evidence as well as examples."

Sam nodded in agreement, but Tim wasn't so sure.

"It's a bit different if it's nature, horses or something nice, but women with cum on their faces? Who'll sponsor that?"

"The O project had a sex toy company pay for it," Sam replied as he scoured the internet, "what about a company that sells face wipes?"

"Face wipes," Tim monotoned, "fucking great mate. I'm sure there's loads of sponsorship in that."

"Alright," Sam said, still on his phone, "what about condoms? Lube? The Catholic Church?"

Both Tim and Frank looked at him in disbelief.

"The Catholic Church?" They spoke as one.

"Yeah," Sam said, looking sagely and wise as he finally looked up, "facials aren't quite abstinence but they're not birth control either. It could be their new strategy."

The rest of their time sat in the beer garden, apart from filling up on beer, was spent poking holes in the idea, before moving on to finding a solution. Tim only had a small circle of friends, but they were his friends for a reason. They weren't arseholes, and they were happy to take any point or joke to its breaking point.

As they were finishing up, planning on heading back to Sams for video games, takeaway and more beer Frank asked a question Tim hadn't considered.

"Is your French girl going to be number one on the list?"

Tim stopped, the last of his pint halfway to his lips.

"I hadn't considered it," he admitted, "I don't have a story from her."

"You've got her number though."

"I suppose I could ask," Tim considered thoughtfully, "I've got to send her those pictures anyway, so I could always ask if she's willing to meet up."

"Meet up?" Sam laughed. "She could send you her life story over email. You just want the opportunity to shag her again."

"Technically," Tim answered defensively, "I haven't shagged her once."

"Fuck off Tim," Sam laughed again, "you didn't just shoot a load on her face, she sucked you off. You've shagged her, even if she hasn't shagged you."

Finishing the pint and walking the two streets to Sam's flat, Tim considered everything his friend had said. In reality, he did have feelings for Amelie. He thought she was funny and attractive, and yes, he did want to see her again for sexual reasons, he couldn't lie. But it also made him think, if he met up with Amelie, and they liked each other, and a relationship was begun, how would she feel about him going around and cumming on other people's faces?

The evening ended as it usually did when the three of them met for drinks, with Sam needing to be helped to bed before Frank fell to sleep on the sofa. Tim debated walking home, not being too far despite the late hour, but instead he sat on the sole armchair, stretched his legs onto the other sofa, his feet almost touching Franks head, and dozed off, considering how, or even if, he would end up going through with his crazy idea.

"It's for an art exhibition you say?" The plummy voice asked down the phone, Tim talking as he worked on editing some of his wedding photoshoots concurrently.

"That's what I'm hoping for," Tim admitted as he removed the groom's hand from a bridesmaid's bottom, successfully saving a new marriage, "but while I have the idea and the plan, I've only just started looking for models."

"Do you have any backing?" The voice on the phone was a potential model. Having seen one of Tim's adverts, she'd sent through a headshot and a 'biography' of sorts, somewhere between a CV and her life story, which had been interesting enough for Tim to call back. He'd decided to begin by aiming for the upper-crust agencies and high-society, who he hoped were more likely to accept the concept as art rather than outright porn.

"No," he admitted, "everyone I've approached seems very interested," he embellished, "but they all want to see samples. They're," he paused, "understandably, concerned this is some seedy idea, but I assure you that I consider this anything but. I see it as a way of highlighting the over-sexualisation of women around the world, whereas they're real people with real lives," taking a breath, he didn't know whether to be happy or worried by the silence on the other end of the phone, "on my end, I was impressed by your biography. You've lived an interesting life."

"Are you not going to flatter me with how pretty I am?" She asked incredulously.

"You're incredibly attractive Jessica," Tim admitted, staring at the photo of the tall, buxom blonde astride a horse, long hair flowing in the wind, matching well with her pale skin, "but this project isn't about finding the countries most attractive women, but those who feel they have been overlooked or passed over because they've been sexualised by society. As I said, you're certainly beautiful, but it's enhanced by your story. Overlooked by a father who concentrated on your two younger brothers, dismissed as a nepo baby when you successfully applied for both Oxford and Cambridge, then once again overlooked by law firms when you left with a first, causing you to look to modelling for a temporary career while you worked internships to gain experience." Finishing one photo, Tim squirmed as he saw the poor quality of the next, a terrible photo of a granny dancing, instantly deleting it. "Despite your beauty, this is about you as a person, a visual representation of how you've been fucked over constantly."

When Tim finished, there was an extended silence. Would she answer? Would she slam the phone down in disgust?

"That," Jessica finally responded, "sounds like the sort of project I can get behind."

Silently, Tim pumped a fist. His first hurdle was overcome.

"Now, did you want me to come to you," she drawled, "or would you like to visit the pad?"

"I'm not fully set up here," Tim admitted, staring around the two-bed house he rented, the second room ostensibly an office, but was more accurately at this current moment, a dumping ground.

"Then you must come here," she declared, and gave Tim an address in Suffolk, "when do you think you can visit?"

"How about tomorrow?" Tim asked, "Otherwise I'm okay during the week, that's mainly my admin time."

"Tomorrow sounds wonderful darling," Jessica agreed cheerfully, "about nine in the morning? Smashing. Now, I must be off, the horses need tending."

The call ended, Tim checked the address and was unsurprised to see it was a mansion on an estate. Jessica came from money after all, but he still gawped at the pictures. The place was massive. Was he making a mistake by thinking too grand? Only time would tell...

Pulling up the drive leading to the mansion, with Tim's cameras and assorted equipment filling up the back seat and boot of his car he couldn't quite believe where he was. The pictures on Google didn't come close to how stunning this place was. It didn't hurt it was a beautiful day, which certainly helped that he'd had to wake up at five, not a time of the morning he usually recognised as existing, but now he was here, he was both scared and elated.

Pulling up to the front of the main building, he parked next to the vehicles present, mainly Jags and Mercedes, his little Nissan looking rather out of place. Deciding to introduce himself before lugging his equipment, he noted he was fifteen minutes early. Hopefully not a problem.

Ringing the doorbell, the resulting noise an event in itself, it was swiftly opened by a vision in jodhpurs.

"Timothy!" The vision declared loudly and, more surprisingly, happily. "Wonderful of you to come. Jessica Falsworthy, we spoke on the phone."

"Nice to finally meet you, Jessica," Tim stuttered, surprised at the greeting as well as, like the estate and mansion, Jessica who appeared stunning in her photos was immediately much more breathtaking in person, "I'm Timothy Smith. I wanted to thank you for agreeing to this, I am most grateful."

"Nonsense," Jessica dismissed him, "it's exactly the sort of project I can get behind, and if today goes well I plan on suggesting it to a lot of my friends and associates. They come from all over the world, so don't worry," she laughed, full-throated and loud, "you won't be inundated by English roses."

"Sounds great," Tim felt overwhelmed, but he pushed through, "Now, sorry to get practical, but shall I set up my equipment before we have the interview? Just so we can dive straight between the two."

Agreeing, Jessica showed him the room she had chosen, a study within her quarters which were adjacent to her bedroom, the first time Tim had ever seen a real four-poster bed. As she gave him the tour, it was apparent that Jessica wasn't in this for money or exposure, with Jessica commanding 'the staff' to move his equipment up to the room where one wall was taken up by certificates, diplomas and awards. The only thing Tim didn't let them touch were his cameras. With those, he didn't trust anyone else to hold them. Jessica could probably afford to buy him ten replacements without batting an eyelid, but for Tim, they cost a good few months profit.