Walk on the Wild Side - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,105

sodomized him.

“I want it just like this.”

Mistress Gwen dealt with clients obsessed with their fetishes every day. She returned the photograph. “Then let’s get dressed properly.”

“I want it just like this,” Collins repeated. “No wigs, no makeup, no falsies, no condoms. Just like the picture.” He handed the photograph back to Mistress Gwen. “Does your camera include a timer?”

“It does.”

“I want a photograph of the two of us, just like that.”

“This will all cost a little more, of course,” said Mistress Gwen. She set up her camera on a tripod as Collins undressed. She did get frequent requests from clients for photographs of the two of them together. She removed her wig and makeup, brushed up her short black hair, then got out of her clothes. Miss Joan was struggling into her new garments and required assistance. They laced each other into the corsets, and Mistress Gwen finally settled Miss Joan into her dress. It was a good fit.

Miss Joan bent over, pulling her skirts over her hips. “Is this like in the photograph?”

Mistress Gwen checked her camera for frame and took a shot. “Very much so. You even look like the boy you’re dressed up as. Let’s try another.”

Mistress Gwen was wearing just the corset, stockings and garters, and her new shoes. She applied lubricant to her cock, set the timer, then stood behind Miss Joan. She guided her cock just past the head into Miss Joan’s ass as the camera flashed. Withdrawing, she collected the photograph and showed it to Miss Joan, along with the Victorian picture. “It’s a very close match.”

“Take another to be sure.” Miss Joan was tottering on her five-inch heels. Her hands were braced on her knees.

Mistress Gwen reset the timer, then moved behind Miss Joan, reinserting her cock a short way. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. It feels good. Now smile for the camera.”

The flash went off, and Mistress Gwen plunged her cock all the way into Miss Joan’s ass, grasping her hips to keep her from falling. “Just try not to faint on me this time. I don’t want you dangling from my dick.” She began to work her hips slowly back and forth against Miss Joan’s lace-circled ass. Mistress Gwen was enjoying herself; no need to rush a good fuck. Many of Miss Joan’s fifty-quid notes would be hers soon enough...

Collins was sitting on the edge of a bed, his dress soiled and his face running with tears. Oscar Wilde had finished getting dressed and was laying five pounds upon the dressing table.

“Please, let’s not have further histrionics. You surely must have known that you were only a passing infatuation.”

“You used me like a girl,” Collins sobbed. “Now you’re paying me as if I were a prostitute.”

“I’m certain that you will find other men,” said Wilde, moving toward the door. “By the by, if you pop round to Soho, Jack should have some photographs for you. Keep them and remember your beautiful youth.”

“I never want to see them!”

“That’s not what you said short days ago. And what’s said is said.” Wilde adjusted his hat and left the room...

“It’s not a painting. It’s a photograph,” Miss Joan murmured.

“Of course,” panted Mistress Gwen. “I just took them.” Miss Joan was about to fall over, but Mistress Gwen held her hips tightly and made several more deep, quick thrusts as her orgasm jetted into Miss Joan. It was one of the best, and a pity she had to charge for such pleasure. Miss Joan had been silent during most of her screwing; there was semen running down her stockings, so Mistress Gwen assumed she had been quietly tossing herself off beneath her heaped petticoats. At least she hadn’t fainted. Mistress Gwen let her spent cock slip out of Miss Joan’s ass, pulled down Miss Joan’s skirts and helped her to sit down on the bed.

“It’s a photograph!” Miss Joan did seem a bit scattered.

“Yes? ” Mistress Gwen collected the last photograph she had shot. Very good, indeed. A close reenactment of the Victorian original, and Miss Joan’s resemblance to the buggered boy in the dress was uncanny.

“That bastard!” Miss Joan pointed to the original. “He fucked me for a few weeks, paid me off as if I were a whore, then wrote a book about me!”

“I think a glass of sherry will do you good,” said Mistress Gwen. “Settle you down a bit.”

Collectors know other collectors, whether they collect coins, stamps, books, old cars, whatever. They make acquaintances and sometimes friends with those of similar