Ellen fluttered around the studio like a butterfly trying to keep some semblance of sanity amidst the tides of chaos. Our small studio catered to the University crowd, and their egos were often greater than anyone should put up with, but Ellen somehow kept them in line. Maybe it was her stunning red hair, her 34C-22-34 figure, or the lingerie photos of her blown up to poster size and framed on each of the walls. Besides the class pictures, passport photos, and low cost photofinishing, we had two other areas to our business. The first was the most lucrative, boudoir photography, where the young women made enticing reminders for their mates, and the older women tried to breath some heat back into their cold relationships. The other side of the business didn't make any money at all, but I loved it. I was the professor in the arts department of our local liberal arts college, and we did all the art classes, nudes and erotica.
We also had several computers. We had given up the color darkroom, and the hideous rituals of the temperature monitoring and fickle processes for the Fuji professional color photofinishing machine. The other parts of the business gave us enough volume to keep the machine. The computers allowed us all of our old darkroom tricks, and more. I often spent hours working on a set of lingerie photos for a client, making her look utterly irresistible. Ellen said I was just turned on by looking at everyone's wives and girlfriends nearly naked and horny as a moose in season. She was right. I didn't spend much time with the nudes, but lavished hours on the erotica. Four years before, I never could have guessed that my hobby would become my profession, or what it would lead to in my life.
I had gone to college, met the woman of my dreams, and sadly taken over the old farmhouse after my parents died in a plane crash. The plant I worked for was closed, and I was left with a beautiful young wife to provide for and no way to do it. The entire industry I worked in had dried up, and I had no desire to become a high stakes gambler like my father; farming was too hard a life for me. Ellen found me the job at the college, teaching part time, and with her slinging donuts in the local coffee shop, it was enough. Ellen started asking me about what I really wanted to do. I couldn't tell her "look at naked and nearly naked women all day", even though she would have understood. My passion for photography became hers, and the hot picture of her in a red lingerie outfit caught the eye of one of the older women on the board of trustees. She begged me to do a set of pictures of her, for her husband, and I quickly agreed. Shaken and under terrible pressure to perform, I nearly had a breakdown. Ellen stepped in, renting an old warehouse for a month, setting up the backdrops, borrowing lighting and reflective umbrellas with promises I didn't want to know the details of, and didn't ask about. she pronounced herself office manager and head makeup artist for "Magical Creations, Inc."
Within a week, women were pouring through the front door. Our five hundred dollar per session fee for five eight by ten glossies and one poster picture didn't even slow them down. Apparently the ability to present these women in the best light really
was
a magical creation. All the deals fell into place as Ellen expanded into one business after the other. On Christmas Day, she unwrapped a full computer system for me, with scanners for prints AND film, color laser printer, and the latest photo enhancement software. she even bought an expensive film printer, so that we could turn whatever we did on the computer back into pictures we could have printed everywhere. Everything I could have ever asked for was given to me by my wife. Sometimes she would have a model, for a hot lingerie session, or for an erotica session, that had the jitters. She would take out her trusty pocket vibrator, they would disappear into the dressing room, and minutes later they would emerge, the model rock steady, with a glaze of lust all over her face. Sometimes it was a glaze of pussy juice on Ellen's face. For the very hottest ones, she would take over the camera, filming her own erotic views of my making love to the incandescently hot model.
One day Ellen surprised me with a series of e-mail messages between her and a couple from Finland. They were looking for some sponsors so that they could come study in the U.S., right in our area. Ellen hadn't promised them anything yet, but she strongly hinted that I would be easy to talk into it. Summer was coming, the house was going to hell, and I knew business was going to be slow over the summer.
"Just get them to agree to take care of the housework and it's a deal. "
"Great! Oh,Rick, you can't IMAGINE how happy this makes me!"
Helga and Manfred started in on making all the details match up, and Ellen did all the paperwork on our end. The day they arrived, we met them at the airport. I was amazed that Manfred looked so tall, strong, and athletic. You don't usually think of biologists as being built like football players. Helga could easily have been his cheerleader if they had grown up in the States, her 38D-25-35 figure made
both
Ellen and I do a double take. They both had sandy blond hair. Except for their melodic accent, their English was flawless. The drive out to the farm was simply a joy. They were so polite, so happy to be here, and we were just having the time of our lives showing them everything we could. The first week passed quietly.
Ellen and
I
stood, watching Manfred, in just a pair of jeans and boots, clearing out the brush and doing all the yard work. Helga came to him in just a sun dress, with two glasses of lemonade, and he kissed her. He caressed her all over, as she held the glasses out on either side, and he laughed. He pulled up her sun dress with one hand, rubbing the curves of her firm ass, as if he knew we were watching. Ellen just couldn't take watching that anymore, and frantically pulled down my jeans and briefs, wrapping her lips around my already hard shaft. Manfred pulled off Helga's dress, laying it on the ground, pulling her on top of him, as he lovingly licked her between her legs. I pulled away from Ellen, pulling her up to see, as I knelt and ate her out too.
It went on like that for weeks. One day Helga would blow him, one day he would eat her, another day they would fuck in various positions. Our conversations became hotter, and Ellen one day let it slip out that we watched them and copied them. Manfred laughed.
Helga said "Good. This is Good. You
must
be open to each other. What turns
one
on is good for both. Enjoy."
Late one night, I came downstairs for a midnight raid on the cookie jar. As I got to the dining room, I could hear moaning. Looking around the corner,
I
saw Helga, one of our chairs propped up against the wall at an angle, her legs spread on the tabled, stroking Ellen's vibrator in and out of her pussy while she fingered herself.
"Oh, Rick.
Fuck
me, Rick. No, Rick, don't make me do that.
Don't
make me
eat
Ellen out, please, Rick, just fuck me. Oh...
Make
me cum. Oh, Rick,
do_
I
_
have
to? Oh, please! Just fuck me some more and I will eat out her cunt all you want... Oh!Oh!Oh. She
tastes
_so good!
Fuck
me some more while I eat her delicious pussy
.
FUCK ME RICK! oh! Oh! " In between her legs was one of my wife's personal photo albums, open between her legs, with rubber bands holding it open to the right pair of photos. Seeing her big breasts and furry beaver up close for the first time, I had a raging boner. Just because I was the object of her fantasy didn't give me the right to invade her space, so I went upstairs, licking Ellen into an orgasm before she was fully awake, and sliding my bone into her slick slot. I came quickly, and fell asleep.
In the fall, Manfred turned to his studies, and Helga was feeling at loose ends. Ellen offered her a job at the studio, where she took care of the film finishing orders. I swear film processing doubled. Helga took to wearing short halter tops, and hot pants or bikini bottoms, and orders doubled again. She really enjoyed all the attention, especially from all the young college men.
Helga and Ellen were trading off kitchen duties, sharing dishes and recipes, and Manfred or I had never eaten as well. Around dinner, we asked them of their impressions.
"What do you like about the US? What are the worst things here?"
Helga said "Oh, the best things are clearly the people and the economy."
Manfred said "Yes, you're right about the people, but I think the amount and scope of science done in your country is amazing."
Helga said "I really
hate
the violence. There is so much,
everywhere.
It is hard to feel safe. The _other thing I hate so badly is the sexual repression."
Ellen was clearly curious "What sexual repression?"
"Well, back home, it is common for people who
like each other to make love in front of each other. We have open sex clubs, and it is widely accepted. People who really enjoy each other have sex together, and no one thinks it will destroy their lives or rot their moral fiber. Americans are as afraid of sex as they are of snakes."
Manfred burst in "Actually, there are several poisonous snakes here in North America. It really is somewhat prudent to be careful my dear."
"But you mean to tell me you don't miss the Kit-Kat club? Or the friends from school we used to share ourselves back home? Are you becoming so
American?
You haven't even touched me
this
week!" Helga said as she stormed out and Manfred left to comfort her.
Later that night in bed, Ellen and I were talking over the dispute between Manfred and Helga. I told her that Helga had been so frustrated that she was going downstairs and rubbing herself off to Ellen's personal photo albums. "Show me, Rick! This
instant!
How
DARE YOU
not tell me about this! We could have prevented all this! This is all
your
fault!"
I had never seen Ellen so enraged. I meekly brought up the album from the credenza downstairs where we kept it. It still had the rubber bands on it. The left picture was of me and a buxom blond, Debbie Hastings if I remember right, as seen after I
had made love to her during a three week period of increasingly hotter photo sessions. Ellen had caught us at the moment of climax, and Debbie's mouth was open, tongue outstretched, _looking like she was yearning to lick someone just off camera. On the right side was a picture I'd never seen before, of Ellen, very dramatically lit, pulling the hair of a young blond with her hands, arms tight with tension, as she forced the young blonde's face between her legs. They were both naked, and I wondered who had taken the shot, who the other blond was, and all the other things you wonder about your wife doing something sexual that you don't know about. I reminded myself to take a good long look at these photo albums when my wife's furor had calmed down.
Three tense days ensued. Manfred and I were clearly in the doghouse, and we shared our confusion over several dark beers. "You have such a
beautiful
wife!" he said to me.
"Helga is so hot she melts
butter
at thirty paces!" I said.
"But Ellen, she brings you
lovers,
turns them on and then takes pictures of the two of you making love! That is joy, my friend. When a woman cares more about
your
pleasure than her
own, she is a gift from the gods." We had nothing more to say after that, and quietly drank our beers.
