The scent of jasmine hung thick in the hotel suite, mixing with the dry, metallic smell of camera equipment. Vivek’s lens cap clicked off, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Just a few test shots by the window, Priya,” he said, his voice calm, professional, but his eyes tracked the way her silk lehenga skirt whispered against her thighs as she moved.

“Test shots,” she echoed, a slow smile playing on her lips. She stood against the gauzy curtains, the afternoon light haloing her figure. “Or are you just looking for an excuse to stare?”

He peered through the viewfinder, the curve of her hip magnified. “It’s my job to stare.”

“Is it?” She took a step toward him, the distance between them charged. “My fiancé said you were… thorough. That you make the bride feel everything before the big day.” Her fingers went to the clasp at her waist. The silk pool of her skirt sighed to the floor, leaving her in a short, lace-edged blouse and a translucent chiffon drape. “I want to feel everything, Vivek.”

His camera lowered. He could see the dark shadow of her nipples through the thin fabric, the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. “Priya…”

“Don’t talk.” She closed the final distance, her hands finding his belt. The click of the buckle was louder than the shutter ever was. “Just show me.” She freed his cock, already thick and heavy in her palm. A low groan escaped him as her fingers wrapped around the length, stroking once, twice, a smear of precum glistening at the tip. “Mmm, you’re ready for me.”

He pushed the camera aside on the dresser, his hands gripping her waist, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around him as he carried her to the bed, her mouth hungry on his, tongue delving deep. They fell onto the duvet in a tangle, and she yanked the blouse over her head, her breasts spilling free. “No more clothes,” she panted, pushing at his shirt. “I need to feel your skin.”

Naked, he knelt between her spread legs. Her pussy was already glistening, bare and swollen. He rubbed the broad head of his cock through her wetness, and she arched off the bed with a sharp cry. “Yes, like that, oh god, just put it in—”

He drove into her with one deep, claiming thrust. She was incredibly tight, a hot, silken vise around him. “Fuck,” he gritted out, the sensation punching the air from his lungs.

“Yes, fuck me,” she screamed, her nails scoring his back. “Harder, Vivek, don’t you dare be gentle!”

He set a brutal pace from the start, his hips pistoning, the slap of skin on skin filling the suite. Each thrust buried him to the hilt, his balls slapping against her ass. The bedframe knocked a rhythm against the wall. Her moans were raw, unfiltered. “Oh, oh, right there, your cock is so deep, I can feel you in my stomach!”

He leaned down, capturing a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard as he fucked her. She thrashed beneath him, her heels digging into his ass, pulling him deeper. “You’re gonna make me come,” she sobbed. “Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop!”

Her inner muscles began to flutter and clamp around him, a frantic, milking pulse. He felt his own climax coiling, a tight heat in his groin. “You first,” he grunted, reaching between them to rub her clit with his thumb.

That was all it took. Her body bowed off the bed, a ragged, screaming wail tearing from her throat as her cunt convulsed around his dick, drenching him in her release. He fucked her through it, prolonging her spasms, watching her face contort in ecstasy.

Before she could come down, he flipped her onto her knees. “Doggy,” he ordered, his voice rough. “Now.”

She scrambled up, presenting her ass to him, her soaked pussy lips puffy and exposed. He gripped her hips and plunged back into her soaking heat. This angle was deeper, more invasive. He could see every inch of his slick cock disappearing into her, fucking her with deep, measured, punishing strokes.

“Yes! Yes! Fuck my cunt!” she yelled into the sheets, pushing back against him to meet every thrust. The vulgar, wet sounds of their joining were obscenely loud. “I’m gonna come again, I’m gonna come on your dick!”

He reached around, pinching and rolling her clit as he pounded into her. Her second climax hit her like a seizure, her whole body shaking, her cunt gripping him so tightly it was almost painful. “Cum in me,” she begged, delirious. “Fill me up, Vivek, I want to feel your cum leaking out of me all night.”

Her words, her tight, fluttering channel, broke him. With a guttural roar, he slammed home and held, his cock pulsing violently as he emptied himself deep inside her. Jet after hot jet of cum flooded her, and she whimpered, pushing back to take every drop, milking him with slow, circular grinds of her hips until he was completely spent.

They collapsed sideways on the bed, a slick, sweaty, breathless heap. His softening cock slipped from her with a wet sound, followed by a trickle of their mixed fluids onto the sheets. She turned her head, her eyes heavy-lidded and satisfied. “So,” she murmured, tracing a finger through the cum on her inner thigh. “When do we start the actual photoshoot?”

The scent of jasmine had long faded from his skin, replaced by the sterile, air-conditioned chill of his studio as he packed his gear days later. The memory of Priya’s convulsing cunt was a persistent phantom sensation, one he carried with him as he drove to the new location—a private, wooded estate on the city’s outskirts. The bride’s name was Anya. Her instructions had been specific: an outdoor shoot, sunset, by the old banyan tree.

She was already there when he arrived, a vision in a deep crimson lehenga, her back to him as she stared at the massive, twisting roots of the ancient tree. The evening light was a liquid gold, filtering through the leaves.

“You’re Vivek,” she said, not turning around. Her voice was lower than he’d expected, a smoky timbre.

“I am. And you must be Anya.”

She finally glanced over her shoulder, a knowing look in her dark eyes. “My friend Priya sends her regards. She said you have a… particular talent for capturing a woman’s essence.”

Vivek set his bag down, the familiar weight of the camera in his hand. “I try.”

“Try?” She turned fully now, walking toward him with a deliberate sway. “She told me you fucked her so well she saw stars during her *sangeet*. That she walked down the aisle the next day with your cum still sticky between her thighs.” Anya stopped just inches from him, her gaze dropping to his crotch. “She said you’re not afraid to get raw.”

He felt himself stir against his jeans. “Is that what you want, Anya? Raw?”

Her answer was to reach for the ornate clasp at her waist. The heavy skirt pooled at her feet, revealing sheer, thigh-high stockings and nothing else. The crimson blouse was cropped short, leaving her flat stomach bare. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. The neat, trimmed triangle of her pubic hair was visible, her pussy lips already looking plump and flushed.

“I want you to photograph me,” she said, her fingers going to the buttons of his fly. “But first, I want you to taste me.”

She pushed his jeans and boxers down his hips, his cock springing free, already half-hard. A soft, approving hum left her lips as she wrapped her fingers around him. Then she guided him backward until his shoulders met the rough bark of the banyan tree.

“Stay,” she whispered, and then she sank to her knees in the soft loam.

Her mouth was on him before he could process it, hot and wet, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock, collecting the bead of precum that had already formed. She sucked just the tip, her eyes locked on his, before taking him deeper, her head beginning to bob.

“Fuck,” he grunted, his head thudding back against the tree. The sounds were obscenely intimate in the quiet grove—the wet, slick pulls of her mouth, his own ragged breathing, the distant call of a bird.

She deep-throated him with a practiced ease, her nose pressing into the coarse hair at his base, her throat working around him. He could feel the vibration of her moans. When she pulled off with a loud, messy pop, a string of saliva connected her lips to his glistening shaft.

“You like that?” she breathed, her own breath coming fast. She didn’t wait for an answer. She leaned forward, spreading her legs wider where she knelt, and presented her cunt to his face. “Your turn. Lick me. Make me wet for your cock.”

The musky, sweet scent of her arousal hit him. He slid down the tree trunk, gripping her thighs, and buried his face between her legs. His tongue was flat and broad against her pussy, lapping up her juices. He circled her clit, then speared his tongue inside her, fucking her with it.

“Yes! Oh god, yes!” Her cries echoed through the trees. She ground herself against his mouth, her hands fisting in his hair. “Right there, don’t stop, I’m so close!”

He sucked her clit into his mouth, applying rhythmic pressure, and felt her thighs begin to tremble. Her first orgasm ripped through her with a choked scream, her cunt clenching around nothing, drenching his chin. He lapped at her through the spasms, gentling his tongue as she whimpered.

Before the last tremor had faded, she was pushing at him, scrambling up. “Now. I need you inside me. Now.”

She turned, bracing her hands against the gnarled bark of the banyan, arching her back and presenting her ass. Her pussy glistened, swollen and open.

Vivek stood, his cock throbbing and slick with her saliva. He positioned himself behind her, the broad head nudging against her soaked entrance. With one hand on her hip, he

Vivek's Pre-Wedding Lens