The Photographer I

The
Photographer



Dillon was learning to speak Russian a little better after a week in Kiev, Ukraine. He found the people friendly and helpful, and a larger percentage of them spoke a bit of English than he had expected. Dillon took every opportunity to practice his Russian, freely starting conversations with the accommodating Ukrainians. He focused his efforts on the beautiful young women of the city when possible. They seemed to find the tall and lean American with a camera slung over his shoulder interesting.
He found the large city to be beautiful with its century’s old architecture and plentiful parks. He spent most of his first week photographing cathedrals, statues and fountains of the remarkably clean city. He had rented a small furnished apartment overlooking the scenic Vostok River, and leased a spacious office in a modern industrial park. He spent several hours a day fashioning the large two room office into a photography studio and darkroom.
He was growing accustomed to the local food, and was pleased to find he could actually drink the water, something previous romps to Mexico from his hometown of La Jolla, California had caused him to be concerned about. The city’s nightlife thrived seven nights a week, and Dillon was slowly making friends he met in some of the local pubs and clubs. He took his camera everywhere he went, often using a dozen rolls of film a day.
The day before his friend Sergei arrived, Dillon managed to hire a young man for some part time work he would need done at his new studio. Kiril was twenty two years old and had three years experience as an assistant stage-set technician. Hauling furniture and bags of supplies to the studio, Dillon and Kiril began to set up the furniture and supplies, and with Kiril’s expertise, managed to create the illusion of a young teenage girl’s dream bedroom. Happy with his progress, Dillon let Kiril have the rest of the day off, and began to set up his photography lights and reflectors. That evening, as Dillon was finishing up his darkroom, Sergei called him from the airport.
“Hey Dillon,” Sergei said. “It’s nice to be home my friend! Let’s meet for a drink.”
“You got it buddy,” Dillon said. “Let’s try to speak Russian this evening. I need the practice.”
“As you wish,” Sergei said, switching to Russian.
“My Russian isn’t nearly as good as your English, but I am trying.” Dillon admitted.
“That’s ok, my friend. We are meeting my brother tonight, and he speaks no English at all. And I doubt either of the girls he has with him speak any either.” Sergei gave Dillon directions to upscale nightclub on the edge of the city.
“My brother owns a large chunk of the club,” Sergei added.

Dillon’s taxi left him in front of the brightly lit nightclub, but the bouncer at the front door refused to let him in with his camera. As Dillon tried in vain to argue in his limited Russian, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.
“It’s ok, comrade,” Sergei said to the bouncer, and giving Dillon a quick wink. “We are here to meet my brother. This is his new photographer.” The bouncer didn’t apologize, but stood aside and let both men into the crowded nightclub. When Dillon saw how the women in the club were dressed, he understood the bouncer’s policy on no cameras. Scantily clad women and stylishly dressed men made Dillon feel very under-dressed. He followed Sergei through the dancing crowd to a locked door. Sergei quickly produced a key from his pocket and opened the door, which led to a carpeted staircase. Another bouncer stood at the top of the stairs.
“Sergei,” the large man said. “Your brother is here and expecting you.” He opened the door at the top of the steps, and the two men entered a large office, which overlooked the entire club through a large one way window.
“Brother!” said a man of about forty years old.
“Mikhail!” Sergei said, opening his arms and hugging his brother, kissing him quickly on both cheeks. “It is good to see you again!” Dillon looked quickly around the office. It was expensively decorated. Two young women sat on a comfortable looking sofa in the back of the office. And two very young looking women, girls actually, both blonde, approached Dillon from behind. One, who couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen, took his camera, while the other girl, Dillon thought she was about the same age, took him by the hand and led him to the sofa where the two other women sat. Dillon was admiring how the four women were dressed. None of them wore much, but what they did wear looked nicely enticing. As Sergei and his brother Mikhail warmly talked and caught up with one another, Dillon sat comfortably on the sofa and glanced quickly at the women on either side of him. They seemed a bit younger than Dillon’s twenty-seven years. One was blonde with bright blue eyes, a slender dancer’s body with small breasts. The other, a brunette, had dark mischievous eyes and a fuller, rounder figure than the blond on his left. Both girls smiled at him.
“This is Dillon, Mikhail,” Said Sergei, finally, introducing the two men. Dillon stood to shake Mikhail’s hand. “My American friend I made in Prague.” Dillon had met Sergei in Czechoslovakia. Sergei had financed and produced more than a dozen high quality pornographic feature films. He had hired Dillon to photograph the scenes, selling the results to several porno-web sites. The two had become quick and close friends. When the production had ended, Sergei had suggested that Dillon and he spend some time in Kiev, Sergei’s hometown, working on an idea that Sergei and his brother had come up with.
“Welcome Dillon,” Mikhail said warmly in Russian. The three men gathered around Mikhail’s desk and talked for nearly two hours. Dillon was pleased with his command of the Russian language, only rarely losing his way in the conversation taking place. Dillon, Sergei, and Mikhail discussed their new business venture. The youngest girls often brought drinks for the men up from the bar downstairs. Finally, Mikhail rose from his desk and stood, as the two youngest girls helped him put on his expensive jacket. He gave the ass of one of the little blonde girls a squeeze, making her giggle and brush her hand across Mikhail’s crotch. As Dillon watched, he found himself mesmerized by the little blond girl. He had never seen this behavior from a girl her age before. He took her in with his keen photographer’s eye. She was probably only five feet tall, and weighed less than ninety pounds. She wore a short skirt that showed off her young firm, tan and strong legs. As Mikhail groped her ass, Dillon noticed she wore little white thong underwear. The snug fitting top she wore exposed her tight tummy and hid small breasts. She had bright and smiling blues eyes, perfect white teeth, and full pink lips. She wore no makeup at all. She wore her golden blonde hair and twin pony tails.
The other girl, a blond also, was even shorter and thinner than her counterpart. She had a perky little ass also. Dillon watched her as she wrapped a thin arm around one of Mikhail’s legs, very near his crotch.
“Come Anastasia, come little Masha. Pappa will take you home now,” Mikhail said. The two little blonde girls wiggled in excitement as Mikhail led them from the office. The bouncer stood at the open office door, looking in at Sergei, Dillon and the two remaining women.
“Let’s go party, my friends,” Sergei suggested. Standing, the two men left the office followed by the sexy blonde and brunette. The four danced and drank for another hour, while Dillon paid the blonde close attention, before Sergei led them across the street to a small restaurant. The four found an open booth on the corner and dined on an excellent meal of lamb and vegetables, before Sergei said good night, leading the brunette out of the restaurant and hailed a cab.
“Well, handsome American man, what shall we do with ourselves for the rest of the evening?” the young blonde woman asked him in a quiet and husky voice, moving over very close to him in the booth.
“You can call me Dillon,” He said. She had beautiful blue eyes and soft red lips.
“Then you should call me Tanya, please. Are you a famous photographer?”
“Hardly, more like infamous,” he said hoping his poor Russian vocabulary made his point. He noticed her erect nipples pressing against her tight white cotton top. He felt himself becoming aroused. Each time he had looked at her, through out the night, the more he had admired her looks and behavior.
“Have you photographed any famous people, Dillon?” she asked, placing her small hand on his leg, not far from his crotch. He shook his head, looking down at her hand. She squeezed his leg lightly.
“Have you been photographing my beautiful city, Dillon?” She asked. He nodded, watching her hand travel further up his leg. “How long have you been speaking Russian, Dillon?”
“Seven days,” he croaked as she softly grasped his erection.
“I can teach you some dirty words, if you like, Dillon,” She said quietly into his ear as she began to unzip his fly. “Would you like that, Dillon?” Dillon nodded, yes he would. She brushed her breasts against his shoulder. He had grown very hard now, in his excitement. She leaned closer and kissed him on his ear, as she worked her small hand into his pants. He felt her wrap her thin fingers around the base of his erection.
“You have a nice thick cock, Dillon,” She said, lightly thrusting her tongue into his ear, causing him to shiver. “And you have nice big hairy balls.” Dillon was thoroughly enjoying Russian lessons in dirty words.
“I would like to suck on your thick cock, Dillon. I’ll massage your big balls for you,” Tanya said. He looked into her blue eyes, which were half closed. With her free hand, she led his hand to her chest and held it firmly against one of her breasts. She lightly bit her lower lip and smiled sexily at him as she massaged his balls.
“Would you like that Dillon?”
“Yes.” He would like that a lot, he thought, as he watched her tongue travel around her soft lips. She released his hand, but he kept fondling her small firm breast, pinching her stiff nipple through her soft top. She grabbed his other hand and placed it between her legs. He noticed immediately how warm it was between her firm thighs.
“I have a very tight pussy, Dillon. Would you like to feel it?” Dillon did, in fact, want to feel her tight pussy. He fingered her through a pair of silky, wet panties. She twirled her tongue around his ear, arousing him more. “Feel my pussy Dillon.”
Dillon slid a finger under her thongs and gently rubbed her very wet pussy lips. Slowly, he inserted his finger into her. She indeed had a very tight and snug pussy. It felt wet and warm as it clinched his finger tightly. His other fingers explored her pussy. It was completely shaved, and was very soft and smooth. She sighed heavily and began to massage his rock hard cock, rubbing her small thumb over the top of it, smearing some pre-cum fluid over the head of his dick. He moaned.
“I am a married woman, Dillon.” She admitted. “My husband is old man and he has a small, tiny dick. He is rarely home to fuck me with it. So when he leaves town, I often work for Mikhail.”
Dillon looked into her beautiful face. So she was a part time prostitute, he surmised. It figures, Dillon thought. It would explain why a young woman of her exceptional looks would be holding onto his cock on a restaurant.
“Would you like to fuck my tight wet pussy with your thick cock, Dillon?” He nodded. Yes he would. He would like that very much.
“Pay for our dinner, Dillon and I’ll get us a taxi,” Tanya said, pulling her hand from his pants and licking her thumb. “Mm.”
Soon, Dillon and Tanya were back at his dark apartment. She led him to his bed and took off his shirt and helped him out of his pants and shoes. She gently pushed him down on the bed, naked. She stood at the end of his bed, and turned to look out his large window, taking in the lovely view of the river below. Moonlight shown on her as she turned to him and began to slowly remove her clothes. She slipped off her shoes, and unzipped her short skirt, allowing it to drop to the floor. She slipped her thumbs under the straps of her thong underwear and smoothly slipped them off too. She slowly ran her hands over her firm tummy before lifting her small white top over her head, and shaking her hair.
As the moonlight illuminated the half of her body closest to the window, Dillon watched her hands roam over her lithe curves. He wondered how she stayed in such marvelous shape. He thought perhaps it must be some sort of dancing, perhaps aerobics.