30-06-2019, 12:49 PM
He studied her body dispassionately, took light readings, adjusted his arcs and spots, wound the camera up on its tripod.
"Ready when you are," he said.
"I'm ready. Give me the props."
He stepped around the camera and handed her a box of dildoes and vibrators. Kavita selected two and lay back. Avinash returned behind the cameras, making the final adjustments.
"Okay, on my count of three. One. Two. Three, rolling!"
For the next fifteen or twenty minutes, Avinash shot extensive footage of Kavita masturbating with the dildo and vibrator. He ran a quality video film and several rolls of colour transparencies.
He took close-ups of her cunt and anus, of her face and breasts, lingering on shots of her moving a vibrator in and out of her wet slit, another in and out of her anus. She used different positions, moving naturally and without thinking.
He didn't interrupt, continuing to shoot till she orgasmed. When she was done, he straightened and, without another glance at her, began to dismantle the equipment. Kavita packed the dildoes and vibrators away and left the room.
Karan walked in without knocking. "Hey, stud. Done?"
"Just. Twenty minutes of non-stop frigging. Including cunt and ass."
"Good stuff?"
"Good enough. What's next?"
"Room two. Tanu. Then Room four, Nimisha."
"Who's that?"
"The new one. The hot number from Peddar Road."
"Oh, her."
Nimisha was a dusky, attractive woman in her mid-twenties, caught in a ridiculous marriage to an overweight, sexually incompetent businessman with inherited money and no brains.
They discovered her recently, when one of Kavita's clients, a handsome young chauffeur, mentioned that he was balling his *memsahib*, too. Karan moved in immediately, getting the chauffeur to drug her and get her to the hotel where Avinash shot some particularly raw footage of her with the chauffeur and then with two strangers.
The ensuing blackmail worked like a charm. Nimisha had become a regular.
He carted his gear to the second room, where, Tanu, a reasonably attractive young girl with big breasts and a lovely smile, was preparing to service a good-looking middle-aged client.
The man was trim and well-built and he had a satisfyingly thick penis. Tanu loved her work; at twenty-two, she was a natural, and her enthusiasm for sex was boundless.
Avinash smiled at her, nodded to the client and quickly set up his tackle.
Fifteen minutes later, he was roving around the bed, his shutter clicking rapidly as Tanu moaned and gasped, rocking back and forth on the bed, her heavy breasts bouncing, while the client fucked her slowly from behind.
A little later, he was filming Nimisha and he grinned his approval as he watched her moan and gasp, her body heaving and writhing, her hips bucking up and down as a swarthy man with a hairy chest ran his cock in and out of her cunt.
Six months had passed since Karan and his gang burst into their hotel room. Avinash was now very much a member of the team, the mainstay of the photo unit. His work was astounding, erotic, sensual, steamy.
The blackmail never failed. At his instance, they began to lend the tapes, too, often to the subjects themselves, and to local video parlours in slums and shanties. The income was
substantial and the demand high.
While Karan continued to head the gang, Avinash was now indubitably the second in command.
The camera mesmerized him. He no longer felt the need to copulate. The few times he got into bed, with Sheela or Shilpa or Tanu, the experiences were unsatisfactory and he lost interest within minutes, preferring to return to the camera without orgasming.
There, he shot footage and this invariably excited him, and he came hard and copiously, filming the woman he had tried to fuck copulate with another man. Karan said he was a basket-case.
Sheela said he was a pathetic waste of male flesh. Avinash grinned and ignored them. He didn't mind. It was true. The women no longer aroused him themselves. Nothing they did truly moved him.
It was only when he was filming them, sweating and moaning and thrashing and writhing, or studying the results in his films and colour blow-ups, that he felt aroused and came.
At home, he was a handsome, intelligent, dutiful son, the pride of the family. He did well at his college examinations, scoring high and placing in the honour rolls.
He applied to a prominent engineering college, sat the admission test and did even better.
The college welcomed him eagerly and gave him a choice of specializations. He selected electronics.
The college was in the suburbs of Bombay, not far from the hotel they used as a brothel. Avinash was relieved to be out of the cloying atmosphere at home, free of his mother's syrupy fussing and his father's quiet, but equally stifling, puffed-chest macho conceit in Avinash's achievements.
In college, he was widely regarded with admiration. Quiet, studious and meticulous, his work was held up as exemplary. He said little, but when he spoke, people listened with respect.
Invariably, his ideas were supported by closely reasoned arguments that reflected a deep understanding of the science and technology. Soon, he was seen a brilliant innovator with a fine grasp of theory, tipped as the student most likely to succeed in his career.
He had few hobbies; reading, music and, of course, photography. He became the secretary of the college photography club and, under his stewardship, it hosted the first ever public exhibition of the students' work.
The show received wide publicity and his own work was praised in the daily press. His parents almost burst with pride.
He divided his time between the college and the hotel. His pornographic films became even more sophisticated and slick. He had a number of new and exciting ideas about the business.
Gradually, Karan began to look to him for guidance and their positions reversed. Now the team operated under his instructions and Karan was his chief lieutenant.
He generated more money by raising the girls' rates and putting on specials where the girls performed live, realising that there were people who enjoyed watching sex as much as having it.
Copies of his films were circulated discreetly on video tape among select clientele at high cost; they were much in demand. He put together several pornographic magazines of the stills shot by himself, Santosh and Mukesh.
With the rising income, he bought better and more sophisticated equipment and trained the other two in its use. The products got better and better.
"Ready when you are," he said.
"I'm ready. Give me the props."
He stepped around the camera and handed her a box of dildoes and vibrators. Kavita selected two and lay back. Avinash returned behind the cameras, making the final adjustments.
"Okay, on my count of three. One. Two. Three, rolling!"
For the next fifteen or twenty minutes, Avinash shot extensive footage of Kavita masturbating with the dildo and vibrator. He ran a quality video film and several rolls of colour transparencies.
He took close-ups of her cunt and anus, of her face and breasts, lingering on shots of her moving a vibrator in and out of her wet slit, another in and out of her anus. She used different positions, moving naturally and without thinking.
He didn't interrupt, continuing to shoot till she orgasmed. When she was done, he straightened and, without another glance at her, began to dismantle the equipment. Kavita packed the dildoes and vibrators away and left the room.
Karan walked in without knocking. "Hey, stud. Done?"
"Just. Twenty minutes of non-stop frigging. Including cunt and ass."
"Good stuff?"
"Good enough. What's next?"
"Room two. Tanu. Then Room four, Nimisha."
"Who's that?"
"The new one. The hot number from Peddar Road."
"Oh, her."
Nimisha was a dusky, attractive woman in her mid-twenties, caught in a ridiculous marriage to an overweight, sexually incompetent businessman with inherited money and no brains.
They discovered her recently, when one of Kavita's clients, a handsome young chauffeur, mentioned that he was balling his *memsahib*, too. Karan moved in immediately, getting the chauffeur to drug her and get her to the hotel where Avinash shot some particularly raw footage of her with the chauffeur and then with two strangers.
The ensuing blackmail worked like a charm. Nimisha had become a regular.
He carted his gear to the second room, where, Tanu, a reasonably attractive young girl with big breasts and a lovely smile, was preparing to service a good-looking middle-aged client.
The man was trim and well-built and he had a satisfyingly thick penis. Tanu loved her work; at twenty-two, she was a natural, and her enthusiasm for sex was boundless.
Avinash smiled at her, nodded to the client and quickly set up his tackle.
Fifteen minutes later, he was roving around the bed, his shutter clicking rapidly as Tanu moaned and gasped, rocking back and forth on the bed, her heavy breasts bouncing, while the client fucked her slowly from behind.
A little later, he was filming Nimisha and he grinned his approval as he watched her moan and gasp, her body heaving and writhing, her hips bucking up and down as a swarthy man with a hairy chest ran his cock in and out of her cunt.
Six months had passed since Karan and his gang burst into their hotel room. Avinash was now very much a member of the team, the mainstay of the photo unit. His work was astounding, erotic, sensual, steamy.
The blackmail never failed. At his instance, they began to lend the tapes, too, often to the subjects themselves, and to local video parlours in slums and shanties. The income was
substantial and the demand high.
While Karan continued to head the gang, Avinash was now indubitably the second in command.
The camera mesmerized him. He no longer felt the need to copulate. The few times he got into bed, with Sheela or Shilpa or Tanu, the experiences were unsatisfactory and he lost interest within minutes, preferring to return to the camera without orgasming.
There, he shot footage and this invariably excited him, and he came hard and copiously, filming the woman he had tried to fuck copulate with another man. Karan said he was a basket-case.
Sheela said he was a pathetic waste of male flesh. Avinash grinned and ignored them. He didn't mind. It was true. The women no longer aroused him themselves. Nothing they did truly moved him.
It was only when he was filming them, sweating and moaning and thrashing and writhing, or studying the results in his films and colour blow-ups, that he felt aroused and came.
At home, he was a handsome, intelligent, dutiful son, the pride of the family. He did well at his college examinations, scoring high and placing in the honour rolls.
He applied to a prominent engineering college, sat the admission test and did even better.
The college welcomed him eagerly and gave him a choice of specializations. He selected electronics.
The college was in the suburbs of Bombay, not far from the hotel they used as a brothel. Avinash was relieved to be out of the cloying atmosphere at home, free of his mother's syrupy fussing and his father's quiet, but equally stifling, puffed-chest macho conceit in Avinash's achievements.
In college, he was widely regarded with admiration. Quiet, studious and meticulous, his work was held up as exemplary. He said little, but when he spoke, people listened with respect.
Invariably, his ideas were supported by closely reasoned arguments that reflected a deep understanding of the science and technology. Soon, he was seen a brilliant innovator with a fine grasp of theory, tipped as the student most likely to succeed in his career.
He had few hobbies; reading, music and, of course, photography. He became the secretary of the college photography club and, under his stewardship, it hosted the first ever public exhibition of the students' work.
The show received wide publicity and his own work was praised in the daily press. His parents almost burst with pride.
He divided his time between the college and the hotel. His pornographic films became even more sophisticated and slick. He had a number of new and exciting ideas about the business.
Gradually, Karan began to look to him for guidance and their positions reversed. Now the team operated under his instructions and Karan was his chief lieutenant.
He generated more money by raising the girls' rates and putting on specials where the girls performed live, realising that there were people who enjoyed watching sex as much as having it.
Copies of his films were circulated discreetly on video tape among select clientele at high cost; they were much in demand. He put together several pornographic magazines of the stills shot by himself, Santosh and Mukesh.
With the rising income, he bought better and more sophisticated equipment and trained the other two in its use. The products got better and better.
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