The Wedding Nymph Left Her Number on My Skin

“If you do as I tell you, you’ll go far, boy. I started out like you, and look at me now—I’ve made it in life.” Mateo repeated his boss’s chant to himself while struggling with the cases for the outrageously expensive equipment. Bullshit. He had become a slave to the most despicable man in the universe—that was what he was.

It was past midnight, and exhaustion, apathy, and rage were blending into a bitter cocktail. While that dirty old man fluttered around like a vulture, trying to pick up drunk spinsters, Mateo was still collecting, organizing, and loading every piece of equipment needed for the wedding shoot into the van.

“Get in there already, for fuck’s sake!” he complained, wrestling with a rebellious spotlight that wouldn’t fit in its case.

He pushed so hard that the glass shattered. The crunch warned him that everything he had earned that day had just vanished: he would have to replace it out of his own pocket.

After a year of hauling equipment around and putting up with his idiot boss, he was the personification of demotivation. At twenty-three, there was nothing left of the enthusiastic young man who had joined the city’s most prestigious studio. The pay was minimal, but they had promised he would learn the trade from one of the country’s best photographers. Instead, he had become the pack mule of a high-end wedding photographer: upper-class guests, plenty of luxury, and, in the end, weddings and nothing else.

“Let’s hope we’re lucky and get the hell out of here soon,” he grumbled.

He knew that was asking too much. His boss took advantage of his good looks and the female guests’ drunkenness to get one of them into bed, or into any half-hidden corner where he could mount his conquest of the night.

After several trips back and forth, Mateo sat down in a secluded corner of the garden beside a fountain. He pulled a little plastic bag from the pocket of his cheap suit and, with his earphones in and his favorite music playing, rolled himself a marijuana cigarette. The first drag already calmed him. He took off his shoes, sank his feet into the damp grass, and the sea breeze did the rest. Through the smoke, he began checking his personal camera, the one he used to take pictures however he pleased.

He was so comfortable in his own world that he only noticed her when she sat down beside him, kicked off her heels, and massaged her feet with a moan of relief.

“Ugh, what torture. They’re gorgeous, but so uncomfortable,” she said in a sweet voice.

Mateo jumped. If his boss caught him smoking that, he wouldn’t just have to pay for the broken spotlight: he’d be fired on the spot. He made as if to stand up and throw away the joint, but she placed her hand on his thigh and stopped him.

“Don’t throw it away. I really don’t care. Smoke it in peace.”

The dim light from the lanterns didn’t reveal her beauty, but he didn’t need any light. He had secretly photographed her all afternoon and knew every inch of her body: her dark hair, clear gaze, pert nose, long legs. A young, devastatingly beautiful woman.

“Want some?” he offered, holding out the cigarette and looking for a bond between them.

“No, I don’t smoke, but thanks. My name’s Nadia. You’re Mateo, right? We saw each other the day I went to the studio with my cousin and the wedding planner.”

“You remember my name?” he asked, surprised. “What a memory. Your cousin’s been calling me a thousand different names all day. ‘David, take a picture of me with Aunt Mercedes. Diego, now with my friends.’”

“She’s an idiot,” Nadia said, rubbing her foot. “And a slut. I saw her screwing around back there with your boss.”

“Yeah,” Mateo replied without surprise. Brides were that obsessive man’s favorite prey. The newlywed had been to the studio a dozen times, and the moans coming from the office were definitely not from a work meeting.

“It’s normal for her to cheat on that fool, but… on the very day of her wedding! That’s going too far, even for her.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Nadia laughed.

He shrugged. He had never been good with words, even less so with women that beautiful. He preferred listening to them and, as a good photographer, reading the nuances in their expressions.

“What are you listening to?” She put one of the earphones in her ear, and her face lit up. “I love this band! They’re my favorite.”

“Seriously?” he asked, perking up.

To prove it, she began humming the chorus under her breath. And Mateo, whether because of the joint, her voice, or the hand still caressing his thigh, grew hotter by the moment. He tried to move away from the touching, but she persisted, intensifying that apparently innocent caress.

“I wish the fountain were bigger,” Nadia murmured. “If it were, I’d get in with my dress and everything. I’m burning up… from the heat, I mean.”

“To hell with it!” she suddenly exclaimed, throwing her heels into the water. “I’m sick of suffering for nothing. This wedding is a bore full of old men. And I don’t mean you,” she hurried to clarify, “I mean those lechers in there.”

“Yeah.”

“One of them groped me,” she said furiously. “The groom’s father. In front of everyone. He sat me on his lap like I was a little girl, touched me, and my idiot father laughed instead of saying anything. He still sees me as a child.”

“What assholes.”

***

They talked for a while longer. She told him that her best friend, Bruno, was “a charming pervert” who had always chased girls around with his camera at university, but treated her like a queen without ever touching her. Mateo didn’t know whether he found that sweet or sad.

“Sometimes I’d like him to do those things to me,” Nadia confessed sincerely. “But I’d rather not risk our friendship.” She glanced at him sideways. “You could do them to me. The pictures, I mean. You’re a wonderful photographer.”

The problem was that she already had them. She snatched the camera from his hands before he could stop her and began scrolling through the images. There were dozens of her: the tight white dress, the melancholy expression, detached from everyone else’s happiness. And then the others appeared. The ones that showed, from an impossible angle and with the sharpness of a good lens, that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath her skirt that night.

Mateo froze, wishing the earth would swallow him.

“This morning, in front of the hotel mirror, I saw that my underwear showed through beneath the dress,” she said without anger, “so I took it off. I thought nobody would notice.”

“I… I’m sorry. I’ll delete them right now.”

“Delete them? Why? Do you think I’m ugly?”

“Ugly? You’re a goddess,” he blurted out, immediately blushing, unable to believe those words had come from his mouth.

Nadia smiled, delighted.

“Keep them. Seriously. But promise me they’ll be for you alone.”

“Of… of course. You don’t have to worry.”

“You know,” she said mischievously as she stood up, “there’s a grotto at the end of that path. An ancient Roman bath with a waterfall. You have the key, right? Take me there. I want you to take real pictures of me.”

***

She led him by the hand along the barely marked path. The moon, a willing voyeur, gave them its light. A few minutes later, what had looked like the entrance to a cave turned out to be a glass door set into the rock. Mateo flipped the switches, and several spotlights dispelled the darkness. Nadia was breathless: it was a large, warm, humid cavern, with a waterfall pouring into a small lake crossed by a wooden footbridge.

“This is incredible,” she whispered. “And my cousin didn’t want to take pictures here. A slut and an idiot.”

She imagined herself crossing that footbridge barefoot, the wild water behind her. She was so spellbound that she failed to notice she was already being photographed.

“I couldn’t help myself. You look beautiful,” Mateo said between shots. “You look like an angel in that dress. You’re only missing the wings.”

She felt important to that attractive young man, and it turned her on. She posed, flirted, and moved with a fresh, uninhibited sensuality. At one point, one of the straps slipped off her shoulder, revealing the beginning of a breast. She made no effort to cover herself.

“Is this all right?” she asked coyly.

“Yes,” he said, swallowing hard.

Shot by shot, the dress gave way. Soon she was standing before the camera with her torso bare, her small breasts crowned by two stiffened nipples, the fabric balanced precariously on her hips.

“Do you like them? They’re a little small, aren’t they?”

“They’re incredible.”

Nadia was beside herself. The dress fell to her ankles, and with Mateo’s modesty finally defeated, he feasted: close-ups, long shots, with the waterfall in the background. She greeted every shot with an unerasable smile, happy to be the object of that young man’s worship. When she noticed the hard bulge beneath his trousers, a blush rose to her cheeks. She was aroused, but didn’t know how to take the next step: in her previous relationships, the man had always set the pace, and this one was too shy. So she decided to push things along.

“I like playing kitty,” she said, kneeling and arching her back like a feline. “A friend and I play at it. I’m his obedient little kitty, and he’s my master. He gives orders, I obey.” She rubbed her cheek against his leg. “Do you want to be my master tonight? If you are… you can do anything you want to me.”

She curved her hips until her sex was visible to the lens. The flash lit up the grotto intermittently.

“Will you be my master, please?” she begged, sliding two fingers between her legs to open herself.

“Yes, Nadia.”

“Yes, kitty,” she corrected him.

“Yes, kitty,” he repeated dutifully. “Touch yourself. Masturbate.”

“Meow!” she cried, and obeyed.

She pressed her face to the floor so her master wouldn’t miss a thing. She plunged her fingers all the way inside, spread them apart when he ordered her to, and let a clear thread drip down and join the water on the floor. Rough sounds came from her throat, a purr more animal than human. She was so ecstatic that it took her a moment to realize a third finger, not her own, was exploring her inside, clumsily but much more deeply.

“Do you want to do it yourself, my master?”

“Yes.”

“Meow!” She gave him a clear path.

Mateo’s fingers slid in and out while she writhed with pleasure. Without putting down the camera, he took pictures with his free hand. When he tried to insert a third finger, Nadia jerked, and he pulled them out at once, as if electrocuted.

“I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“No, no. Keep going, master. Do whatever you want with me.”

She grabbed his hand and guided it back. She was the one who fucked herself onto his fingers, thrusting her hips until she had taken them all the way in. She didn’t stop until the contractions of a brutal orgasm left her trembling, lying on her back and shamelessly showing him the result so he could immortalize it. Mateo did so in a burst of photographs, though the hardness beneath his trousers made every movement difficult.

“And my reward, master?” she purred, returning to her feline pose. “Good kitties get milk from their masters.”

She crawled closer and rubbed her face against the bulge in his trousers.

“Can I have your milk, my master?”

All he could do was nod, a lump in his throat. That was enough for Nadia. She needed both hands and his help to free his cock, and when she saw it in front of her, she made no attempt to hide her admiration.

“My God. I’ve never seen one like that.”

She began with his testicles, lapping quickly like a kitten, before taking the tip between her full lips. Mateo was in heaven: it was almost the first time anyone had done anything like that to him. He had to clench his teeth to keep from coming immediately.

“Look at the camera and smile, kitty.”

“Meow!” she obeyed, without stopping her sucking.

Desperate to hold out, he asked her to use her breasts too. She caught his cock between them while the tip of her tongue played with the head. Mateo’s hand was trembling, but he kept taking pictures until he couldn’t go on. At the last second he pulled away and ejaculated across her face. There was so much that it closed one of her eyes and painted her cheek, though most of it landed in her open mouth.

“Wait, don’t swallow it yet.”

Nadia obeyed, opening her throat toward the camera that kept working, and only when he gave her permission did she swallow.

“Meow!” she cried, pleased with her accomplishment.

By then, Mateo realized he hadn’t lost his vigor.

“On all fours, kitty.”

She assumed the position without stopping her purring, arching her back. He positioned himself behind her and drove into her in one thrust, gripping her hips. Then he stayed still, his entire cock inside her. Only after receiving a loud slap on the ass did Nadia understand what was expected of her.

“Move, kitty.”

“Meow!” She rose just enough to begin the rocking motion that carried her to heaven.

When she turned her head, she understood why he wasn’t helping her: he had the camera in his hands again, focusing on the most intimate part of it all. That excited her even more. She pushed her body to its limit, taking him in and pushing him out a thousand times, until she felt hot jets explode against her walls and multiply her own contractions a thousandfold.

Overcome with ecstasy, they lay on their backs on the rock.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, spent.

“Better say ‘meow,’” she laughed.

“Yes. That. Meow.”

They got under the warm waterfall and spent a long while kissing each other hungrily. Then, out of the water, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, overcome by exhaustion.

***

“Hey, you fucking idiot!” a rough voice woke him.

It took Mateo a moment to understand where he was. The person beside him was no longer Nadia, but a surly, broad-shouldered man with an enormous mustache.

“Get dressed and get out, Romeo! If the manager catches you, she’ll rip your balls off. How the hell did you get in here?”

“I… had the key. I’m the photographer’s assistant.”

“Hand it over! I knew I hadn’t lost it. Damn manager.” The man softened his tone. “Don’t look for her, kid. Your Juliet left a while ago. I saw her go, which is how I knew someone had broken in. She looked satisfied, heh, heh. And very pretty, you bastard. Too pretty for you. Take my advice and forget her. She left in a very expensive car. Oh, and by the way… she was carrying a huge camera.”

Mateo searched through his clothes in disbelief. She had taken the camera, all the pictures, everything. Luckily, the guard was letting him leave without notifying his manager. He walked out into the early morning empty-handed, his heart caught halfway between anger and a smile.

He reached for his phone and found the only thing she had wanted to leave him: one last picture he didn’t remember taking. It was a phone number, written in red lipstick across two small, perfect breasts. A number he knew, in that instant, he wouldn’t be long in calling.