Me, the photographer. My subject, a rather body-shy wah. She was short and petite, barely showing any curves. I had to card her on the way into the flat, pull up her information and make sure it wasn't all a forgery. She'd made it, but barely. Today was her birthday and she was celebrating her freedom from a strict home by liberating herself. There was a therapeutic aspect to it, she had explained. She figured the way to becoming a real adult, free of influences, was to rebel for a short while and experience both sides of the equation. She wanted to find a friend with benefits, she wanted to see the world, she wanted to dress in fancy clothes and find herself beautiful in the mirror, but she needed reassurance first. She was off to a good start already: the flat was hers. I was the visitor. We had spoken of the subject while I had been busy setting up the lights and umbrellas. I had draped white blankets along the walls at her request. She'd moved the furniture away. All along, she had been showing that huge blush on her cheeks, the very fur on each side of her muzzle turned a rosy pink that gave her an adorable look. She admitted she had let her wavy black hair hang freely just for the occasion. She'd always worn it in a tight bun, pulled back and giving her an unflattering appearance. At its natural, it hung to her shoulders. She had gotten an Egyptian cut this morning. The plain jacket she wore over her tight turtleneck betrayed the nature of a bookworm - a nerd she was looking to shed from her existence - in that strange way as to give a hunch or even a conviction that the appearances were deceiving. She was not quite fit into the new mould she had made for herself. She knew what she wanted but she needed time and practice. My instructions were minimalist. I simply made small talk and directed a pose or two now and then. I took shots in rapid succession. I had told her I would shoot a whole lot and simply keep the best ones, perhaps filter through them with her if she desired, but she would always have a copy of the entire set, if she were to change her mind someday about one. I adjusted my angle so as not to see the Big Ben in the distance through the open window. I wanted the place to be anonymous and feel like the viewer's own home. Like it could have happened anywhere that just barely resembled it. I had grabbed a second camera that I used without the tripod (and I ended up using it a lot) to take some quick shots from a funny angle or to sate a rush of inspiration or a fey mood of sorts. I had little highs from it. Half of it being the satisfaction from a job well done and half being this natural way photographers had to know a good shot when they saw one. The jacket came away, and the turtleneck left the spotlight to a black tanktop. The long skirt became a pair of heavily modified, off-white shorts that clung to her trim body. She seemed reassured that I was sticking around. I let her change for the swimsuit part. She disappeared in a corner setup with a curtain to do so, and emerged in a summery yellow bikini. Her chest had filled out and bounced into a pair of C-cups wildly out of proportion with her body. I figured breaking down her mental barrier wouldn't take long. Every swish of the shutter, every flash of the bulb, every word of encouragement built her confidence, leading to increasingly lewd and beckoning poses. I told her to show a side of her no one's seen before. The pictures were personal after all. I switched the lenses around while she considered that. I wanted to experiment with a wide angle or a fisheye. Maybe a bigger studio. Definitely a stiff drink. She was giggly from my reaction, complaining that she felt so naked and vulnerable despite wearing a suit that was perfectly normal with the times. She complained of the cold. She kept trying to cover her chest. She was hesitant and needed constant support. I complimented her body over and over again. She was just barely starting to believe I was not lying to her, fighting against per conditionning and her preconceptions. She really had been given a stern upbringing. She was still almost as embarrassed as she was when I had walked in here, if not moreso. Couldn't deny she looked adorable - eyes lowered, trying not to meet my gaze. Shuffling her feet on the floor. All of them. All ten. Narrow, petite feet, fidgeting shyly at the end of legs so well crafted as to be the very definition of curvy were it not for the fact that her rump was far more deserving of that title. A perfect, rounded bubble butt. Wonderful conclusion to a body I was finding hard to resist. And myself, I was glad I had worn a thick shirt and loose pants. Wouldn't want her to think less of me. Not somebody with a sudden hourglass figure like that. Much less five. Never was good at math, but her sides looked like the sexiest sine wave I had ever seen. Must stop staring. Smile, try not to look flustered. I was cracking the shell. With each strike, the next became easier. I had spent almost an hour getting her to become more natural. And then, all of a sudden, she wasn't looking nervous at all. Wish I could say the same. Hands were trembling. She was jumping into the shots, smiling more often, building up a sense of the right pose at the right time. Getting her out of her swimsuit had taken but a small ten minutes. I was careful and ponderous on this one. Line up the shot, close one eye, concentrate, take a deep breath... **click** Noticed something different when the shutter reopened. Had to take my eye away from the camera to check. Yes. Four breasts. Four pert, perfect breasts on each chest. Could barely stop staring, but break away long enough to snap another picture. Shutter reopened. She's nuzzling herself. Shoulders as sleek as ever, somehow, she's perched another head on them. Now they're - she's? - kissing. Tiny pink tongues dancing back and forth, lips to lips, fine, hesitant, tentative... I left the tripod camera on automatic and snuck in for closer shots. I went and touched - it was all real. She playfully batted my hand away but then she snuck a grope at my chest without looking, discovering my state of mind and being. I chose not to say a thing, left that subject alone. Still, it couldn't be ignored. She was putting on such a good show. Could watch her kiss for hours. Sick with envy. Jealous of her relationship with herself. I put a brave face on it. Snapped another picture, saw another change. Arms, four. Joining the first two in hugging, groping, teasing herself. It was easy to misinterpret her show as just for me. Sure it wasn't. I was just a bystander. A facilitator. Better that than nothing. **click** More of her. Again. Different kind of more. Again. Two of her now. Seemed happier embracing herself this way. Happier kissing, too. Less twisting of necks I guessed. Still, stunned. Not even trying to hide myself now, not that it mattered. Just... staring. Watching as mouth pressed to mouth, tongue fought against tongue, then withdrew just as quickly. Like each wanted equal time with the others. One's left made out with the other's right. They switched places. And then, the far heads kissed while the near ones cast a glance my way. I saw pretty doe eyes and parted lips. She looked at the tripod camera, not waiting for me to figure out I had to shoot with the other one. But as soon as I aimed her way, she gave me a shocked look, pretending I had walked in on them. She gnawed on her lip. She stared lovingly into her own eyes. She snuck a little nip to an upper lip and tugged. I needed to step back if I wanted to get them both in shot. Didn't know why I kept shooting. Obligation? Maybe. Dreaded this - these - beauties leaving? More likely. I could have joined in at any time, I could have asked to touch and to feel, I could have honored them and worshipped them, but the thought had come to me in arguably the worst occurrence of staircase wit I'd had in my entire life. Those moments when you wished your hindsight was blind. Never having seen the train felt better than knowing you had missed it. **click** I heard a shatter. I hadn't been expecting that. Again. Almost obscene how unsurprised, unapologetic she was. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Dozens of sacs between her hind legs. Heavy. Churning. Just knocked over my lights. Could hear the floorboards creak. Past caring. Those weren't important now. Moved around for a better shot. Realized all those balls were there with good reason. Couldn't find it in me to snap a shot. Mind had just snapped, fallen over and broken apart. Won't forget this. Each body, four sheathes. Each sheath, thicker than my waist. Thicker than anyone's waist. Size seemed fluid. Contents, many times so. Terrifyingly huge shaft one moment. A full dozen little brothers the next. A hand guided my look to the foremost set. It looked somewhat normal by comparison. The shafts moved like tendrils. They were slender and yet so long. Was relaxing to watch them move. She held some in her hands and kissed others. They played games with her breasts and between the two of her. She pressed her globes to make four deep cleavages. At some point, she turned away, or rather one of her did. She had shot through the alphabet; I could see her nipples from behind. Undergarments would have been at a loss of what to do with her. They would have been incredibly expensive. Somehow, it worried me far more than the tired thought of her buying shoes. Or, well. Any sort of clothing for that matter. She was better off as she was now, yet my mind raced through full haute couture collections that would *try* to cover her up. Wondered how much more she was hiding. Wondered if I'll ever see her true self. Wondered how she might fit even one of those *things* into herself. Sure that at least one of her heads had grinned at me, me, just me and no one else. Four identical voices. Four different angelic chants of the bliss of mounting herself. Steadied my hands. Wanted this one to come out well. **click** Eight Breasts. Twelve arms. Odd. Those had come up already. No. Two torsos, stacked one on the other. Strangely alluring. Beautiful. So many arms. Shafts seemed to jump into her vacant hands, coil around her limbs. Always too many to handle. I could no longer express her proportions with letters alone. I had to start counting in feet and inches. Knowing I was checking her out, she reared up, she stood on the last two pairs of her pretty feet and showed me how the ebony wonders she had kept hidden at the back were just shy of peeking from among her forelegs, heads flaring, cuffs swollen, veins thick and prominent, showcasing a quiet but decidedly equine power. She did not throb at all. The simple act of presence was enough to generate the effects and make the heart flutter. I was hoping to run out of space but the portable camera alone still had enough for twenty thousand more. I did my best to follow along, almost slipped on the wetness that had dribbled from her lengths. Before I knew it, the two of her were on each side of me and untying shoes, careful of my well-being. She had me walk on bare feet. She commandeered the improvised studio. With silent gestures, she asserted herself and directed the session. She had me shooting from the hip, not bothering to check focus, playing it by eye. She was backed up into a corner and standing up to the ceiling while she was paying homage to herself with hands joined into a prayer. She was in front of the window and obscuring the view with the tender embrace that got her breasts kissing just as well as her lips. She spooned in an amazing tangle of legs and shafts that rubbed against one another. She vanished into her bedroom and I followed. I found a perfect angle for a panoramic shot that took in the bathroom just as well as the bed itself. I took at least fifty of those shots that made her look like twin sisters making out passionately under a steaming shower, while they were still pulling the remainder of themselves out of bed. When I returned to the living room, she followed me with four red pandas and twenty legs apiece. I heard moans. I should not have stood in front of her like that. I'd been knocked to the floor by a wild gush of her unexpected climax. Hot. Sticky. Binding. Felt it soaking through my pants. Felt warm against my sex. Couldn't breathe. Struggled to my feet. I was wading in it. She'd pointed the tripod camera to the front door and slammed herself against it in a playful group hug. Could still hear that distant moaning. And... giggling about precum? Realization crept in. Needed to get out. Despite hormones. Despite arousal. Despite... Swelling belly? Poked it and it made for another giggle from her. Firm. Round. Pregnant? I made sure the window was open. A growl. Uncharacteristic. Not unexpected. Nothing unexpected now. Closed my eyes tight, waited for the rush to come. But it didn't. Curiosity seized me. Splash over, see not eight, but sixteen familiar faces. Eight familiar wahs. Ignoring me. Enraptured with one another. Eighty gravid bellies squirmed. Churning with life. As one, they trembled. As one, black-haired heads peeked from swollen netherlips. Halfway grown when they dropped from their mothers. Full-sized when their eyes opened. Pregnant from the moment of conception. I was swimming in them. The flat was not meant for such a party without the certainty of close contact. I had no way to move without brushing against her and *touching* her. Escape! Escape! The only offense she took was when I slipped out the front door and she slammed it closed and locked. As if she was afraid to let out a dirty secret. I had not even realized I was holding my equipment in my hands, at least until I realized the shutter was still clicking away on the tripod camera, the only sound in the eerie silence that should not have been heard from the confines of her flat. I got looks on the street. I was wet from head to toe. It clearly was not water. It dawned on me how unsightly I must have looked. Outside of its frame of reference, the whole thing had felt obscene. It took me a good five minutes just to turn the camera back on and browse through the pictures. I thought I had dreamed it. And I felt an unspeakable terror when I saw the entire scene playing back out in front of me at sixty pictures a second, sixty of which were well eligible to remain as keepers. I could see the open window from here, but there was nothing. Not even the neighbors on the other side of the street were paying attention. I saw a man reading the newspaper and having coffee on his balcony. He was completely absorbed in the moment. I had a change of clothes in a bag. They were meant for a soiree later on, but putting them on now was the sensible thing to do. For another five minutes, I cursed myself at having let an opportunity slip by. I checked the pictures again. I had the perfect plan to make it work out so much better. I couldn't believe I had let it go through my fingers. I had blanked out and retreated into professionalism in that desperate attempt to control my passion. My tight lace boxers and my complex brassiere reinforced my agony. I should not have put them on so soon. I should have remained in the confines of my truck and waited it out until I could look at reality in the face again. I paced on the street. I couldn't look at anyone without wanting to do something with them. They would never do. I could stand nothing but her. I was high on a drug that put all the others to shame and made the world into a bleak wasteland. I wanted to be back in this room, between white walls and curtains, under the perfect angle where the afternoon sunlight shone and colored her golden. I bought flowers. I ran because I was on the verge of crying. I ran because I did not want anyone to see how I was perked up and erect. I ran because I felt that if I stopped, I would lose my courage and let go of the moment like I had just done before. I was getting excited at meeting her again. I would not recognize the mother from the daughters. I would ruin my fancy clothes. I would get them ripped from my sensitive body. I would compare my hard-on against hers. I would try to kiss her and have her retaliate twice. I would see if I could render her gravid as well, curvier than ever before, pear-shaped, full of more of herself that would look a little more like me. When I rang from outside to gain access to the stairway, I found out I was still holding tripod and cameras in my free arm. No answer. I tried the door, and it opened. I ran up the staircase. My shoes made a deafening noise. I smelled of musk. I had the most natural and beckoning of fragrances all over my body, a little of mine and much of hers. I hoped she would answer and let me back in her universe. I pictured her in a negligee, in a bikini, in her underwear, in all of her clothes at once, answering me and welcoming me with her beautiful silence and her body language. I almost came at the simple, romantic picture of the sunrays flowing into her home and leaving her in shimmering colors, in warm body and fur, in the beauty of the shafts she would try on me to see how thick I would go, in the glorious sight of soft and sweet petals she would use to beckon and finally seduce me. I hoped she would continue the session. I wished for her to ask to fill both cameras with pretty pictures. Pictures that I would keep copy of be they with or against her wishes, pictures in a set that dutifully obeyed the Wadsworth Constant as jacket and turtleneck revealed a body under full blossom, pictures that she and I would rediscover whenever our memories were fuzzy and would spark a new idea that would involve goddess and disciple. And in the immediate, she would simply, sweetly, quietly, from body to soul - she would *make love* with me. And I would care even less about how she could do all this in open defiance of everything I knew about the world. She would be cracking the shell. With each strike, the next would become easier. I had spent more than an hour getting stiffed up tight. And then, all of a sudden, I wouldn't look nervous at all. Wish I could say this for real. Hands were trembling. She was jumping around in my mind, smiling, always, always, always the right pose at the right time. Getting me out of my outfit would take but a small tenth of a *second*. I took a deep breath. I thrust my chest out. I tried to make it look like it was a cupsize bigger than reality. I held the delicate flowers in my hand, reached out with the arm holding the sturdy equipment. And I knocked on her door.