Circle of Light

The town we live in has an old, respected amateur photo club with the pompous name 'Circle of Light'. Every year, they hold an exhibition of their members' best work. Every year, the soup becomes thinner as the majority of the members reach their sixties or seventies. The club never made the transition to the cyber-world where young photographers can be found nowadays.

Rick's father used to be a member, and we got a phone call from the president of the club, an old friend of the family. The question was if we couldn't lend a few pictures for the exhibition and call it a retrospective. Of course Rick accepted. He was even a bit moved by the invitation.

The president came to our flat, and they selected several pictures over a few strong beers. It was then that Rick asked if he could add some of his photos to the exhibition. This was highly irregular. Rick wasn't a member, and the club committee had to formally decide if they were going to accept the exception or not. Well, added Rick maliciously, if you really want my father's pictures, you'll have to add some of mine as well.

The

vernissage

was a big social event. The alderman of arts and culture gave a speech praising the quality of the pictures. The mayor was there, the opposition was there. Local television and the press were there. It occurred to us that Rick's pictures had quite an attraction. He had chosen three nudes, baptised the

Déesse

triptych.

People would come up to him and congratulate him on his work. Then their eyes would fall on me, realising I was the model. I gladly accepted the many compliments. The president told us that Rick's pictures were the best that year. He didn't win first prize for the simple reason that he wasn't a member, so he received a member card for next year's exhibition. The alderman told us that the local museum bought the triptych for its collection. We had a lot of cheap champagne.

Back at our flat, we were out of our clothes before we reached the living room. Rick grabbed his camera and took pictures that the respectable photo club would never allow. We made love three times before entering the bedroom. Then some more. Just one of those crazy nights.

A couple of weeks later, we were contacted again by the Circle of Light. This had been the best exhibition in years and several new people had signed in. Rick's

Déesse

- mildly censored - was shown on local TV, and it was in the newspapers. The city museum didn't move the triptych to the cellar as usual, but put it on its walls, at least for a while. Rick sold a few to patrons from the neighbourhood.

The president of the photo club didn't have a question for Rick, but one for me. Would I, uhm, consider modelling for the members of the club? Obviously, I was flattered until he more or less revealed that it had to be nude or at least topless. It would give the club the extra boost it needed so much. Getting nude models was really, really hard. Especially unpaid ones.

I have no problems being naked. I've been to a nude beach a couple of times, and a sauna, but this was on another level. Rick and I thought it over. He had no objections, but I suspect he really kicks on that kind of thing. After a while, I gave in as well. Art for art's sake, isn't it?

That Saturday afternoon, the club had fifteen people who all wanted to shoot me. It was actually a bit too crowded, with people almost fighting to get me at a good angle. The camera clicks, the lights, the hissed profanities between members; it all added to an atmosphere that made me feel wanted.

I took off my bra and the room suddenly got hotter. Rick was taking pictures as well, not of me, but of the other photographers who all wanted to create "art".

"Thirty minutes." said the president, pointing at the clock on the wall. "We have to respect the lady's wishes."

I tried giving them the best of me, and yes, I was getting hornier by the second.

"Five minutes!" shouted the president. The bar will open soon. Don't forget to pass by the secretary if you haven't paid the entrance."

Now or never, I thought. I slid down my undies and exposed the naked me to them. It was fun to see how these amateur photographers tried to uphold some kind of professionalism. It was like a bunch of drunks pretending to be sober. I just stood there motionless, my arms behind the back of my head, and I enjoyed every second of it.

I was relieved when the five minutes were over, so I could put on some clothes. I was in heat, but I didn't want them to know. I was thanked with a roaring applause.

Rick and I left after a couple of drinks. The president gave me a 50 euro 'volunteer fee' and some sponsor coupons. Yeah, a free sandwich at Billy's Snack-bar!

"I'm pretty sure you are wet." Rick said to me when we were back at home.

He soon found out my undies were all sticky. Ricky is a good man who isn't afraid to eat me out. I had a long, extended orgasm, and I thanked him afterwards with a blow-job that he deserved well.

We ordered pizza, using another voucher from the photo-session. We ate while I was sitting on Rick's erection. It felt nice. It always feels nice. It wasn't easy getting the tomato sauce out of my hair.

Soon after, someone contacted Rick asking for a private shoot. The money was good, almost too good to be true. We made up a contract by mail, and I instinctively knew this was going to be a little more... private.

We met at one of the better hotels. Three men, one of them a local politician. Two of them had expensive photo equipment; the third only had an iPhone with him. I thought he must be an avid art photographer.

We had champagne, the expensive real one this time, and I undressed. They weren't interested in lingerie shots. They were, as such, not interested in artistry at all. They wanted centrefold pictures without the staples.

I was on the bed on all fours, showing them my arse and everything in between. Could I perhaps place a finger? I could. Could I lie on the bed, legs wide open? I could.

One man touched my leg to bring it into a better position, so he told.

"Be careful!" warned Rick.

They negotiated a new deal and the price was tripled without complaints. We opened another bottle of champagne.

I showed them I was having a good time. They surprisingly took few photos. I unbuttoned the politician's trousers and took his tiny penis in my hand. He was so surprised by it all, he almost came instantly. Rick watched this, sitting on a couch in the corner. I knew he liked this, although we never discussed the subject.

Meanwhile, I had an ethical problem. I couldn't leave the two other guys like that, could I? I calmly told them if they wanted a hand-job that they had to give me access to their genitals, but furthermore, no hanky-panky. Man number two was eager to follow my proposal. He had a nice rod and came after a few minutes. His seed dripped on the floor. A perfect landing.

I had some difficulties containing my laughter. The room had two naked middle-aged men with an expensive camera on their belly, pouring champagne in their guts. A comatose dick swinging beneath their bloated bellies.

The third man, the youngest, wasn't eager to remove his clothes, but he was peer-pressured by the others, bullied into stripping. What he showed was a pretty big dick that would be even more impressive when erect. I took him in my hands, but nothing happened. I could have held an earthworm.

"I have a girlfriend." he apologetically stuttered.

"No problem," I replied."I've got a boyfriend over there."

I whispered in his ear that he could touch me, placing his hand on my belly. He started fumbling my breasts, and I felt a little twitch in his manhood, but not enough to call it a boner. I moved his hand between my legs and suggested some fingering. His dick slowly grew. I decided to help him a bit by putting little kisses on his shaft. This was not a part of the deal, but I felt I had to help the poor guy. If he didn't react like a man, the others, who were already drunk, would laugh at him for the rest of his life.

"I know you don't want to be here," I whispered in his ear. "Just pretend you're having an orgasm."

I sat on the bed and took his glans in my mouth. I convinced myself that this was not a blow-job, but a good deed. The lad started to give a Shakespearean performance that was much appreciated by the older gents, who encouraged him loudly.

"I'm going to come. I'm going to come. I'm coming."

I put as much of him in my mouth as possible, mainly to hide that he was not aroused at all. Did a single drop of pre-cum escape or did I pretend it happened? I swallowed my own spit and praised him for his fictitious load.

"Thank you," the polite boy said, with a grateful look in his eyes. He still had a fantastic cock. What a pity.

The politician belched and said that this was what he had come for. I couldn't hide that the hairy area between my legs was very wet, and the second man asked if he could lick me.

"No way." interrupted Mr. Politician. "Who do you think has paid for this crap?"

He kneeled in front of me and placed his hand where he shouldn't have placed it.

Rick stood up, but I signalled that it was all right. The champagne had been flowing. I was tipsy and very horny. I closed my eyes and let him finger me. The man knew what he was doing. His tongue found my clit, and he made me come hard.

"That's it!" Rick said visibly annoyed. "Party's over."

We went home.

A few months later, Rick received a community assignment from the city council. It brought in good money.