Captured

Dylan

End of chapter 4

I click the capture button, while I move slowly around Larson. He’s been here for a long time, so I’m not at all shocked when the message on my camera screen reads Card Storage Full.

Chills break out all over my body. How many pictures have I taken of this man? Slowly, I lower the camera and look at him spread over the corner of the bed. His hands are tied, the rope extending to the far diagonal corner to keep them stretched over his head. I’ve also made it appear that his legs are tied, keeping him completely at the viewer’s mercy.

His long body flexes, muscles becoming prominent before softening slightly, though they never disappear under his skin. They’re always there. Always on display.

His body is situated in such a way that the corner of the bed is at his crotch. I’ve somewhat awkwardly adjusted him in a few different ways. The first set just had his balls visible. Full. Firm. Tight. His ass cheeks parted slightly, so there’s just the barest hint of his hole.

Now his dick is pressed against the corner of the bed. There’s a very clear wet spot. As I stare at his sexy ass, I imagine my handprint reddening his right cheek.

His hair is still damp. I did a sexy male version of a wet T-shirt contest just before this. Him sitting on his knees, his ass barely touching the floor. The shirt was bunched tightly at the base of his back, and the dripping wet fabric clung to his skin. Sopping wet hair dripping. One set had him looking straight ahead. The other over his shoulder. I’m not sure which is sexier.

Then I move around the front of him, and his hard dick is the cause of pulling his shirt tight. It’s under the hem, straining like a tent pole. The very clearly obvious rim of his cockhead is on full display. I tried to get him to hook the shirt under his balls, but it just wasn’t sticking.

I’m not sad about it. I think I even caught a couple pictures when the shirt came loose from his balls and slid up the length of his cock. I swear to fuck, I could feel an echo of that over my skin.

I take a deep breath and stand. There’s no need to look down to see my cock straining in my tight jumpsuit. I love one-pieces, but I feel like this is going to be a struggle to get rid of. There’s simply no hiding it either.

“Okay,” I say quietly, trying to keep my voice from reflecting how breathless I am. “That’s it.”

Larson twists his neck to look at me as best he can over his shoulder. God fucking shit, he looks so damn sexy. That heat in his eyes. I wish I could take more pictures. I want to remember that forever.

“Memory card is full,” I tell him. Not that I don’t have a hundred more.

He nods. “Okay.”

For a second, neither of us moves. To be fair, Larson can’t move much. His hands truly are tied. I got some fun shots looking down the rope at his body spread out, ass curled up.

In the silence and stillness of the studio, I’m reminded of how alone we are. No one is here. Kyanne left. Lawrence left. It’s just the two of us. The need to strip down and fuck him just like this while he drowns the silence with his cries is so potent, I’m shaking.

Not wanting to take a chance of dropping my camera, I set it on the cart. Necessary. Besides, I need to untie him.

My heels click-click on the floor as I round the bed toward the head where the ropes are tied. Larson watches me. Heat spreads between us.

It doesn’t take me long to untie him from the bed. He gets up and then sits on the edge, his tied wrists in front of him as he waits for me to unravel him. God, I have to get close to him like this.

I stifle a groan as I approach him and try not to let my fingers touch his skin, but each hint of contact burns. That burn travels through my body and deposits in my dick. Fuck my life! I need this man more than I need to live.

“Thank you,” Larson says after a minute. “For staying so late.”

I shake my head. As if it were a hardship. “Thank you for being such a flexible model.”

Larson grins, and I feel my cheeks flush.

“Wait. That’s not what I meant. Not that you’re not flexible. You’re remarkably flexible. I just mean, you’re pliant and…” I stop talking as I watch Larson’s smile continue to grow and feel my skin heat so much that I’m pretty sure my makeup is melting off.

“It was fun,” he answers. “I’m looking forward to seeing the pictures. I’ve never modeled before, but I’d do that again.”

I don’t think I can do that too many more times. The way I ache has me almost whimpering. Begging for him.

“You should consider modeling more. The camera loves you.”

His smile is hypnotic. “Thanks.”

Seconds pass, and I finally take a step back. “I’m going to straighten up. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll let you out.”

My back is to him, so I don’t see his answer. He doesn’t move for several minutes, and I busy myself with picking up the lengths of rope we’d used. There’s likely precum all over the place. How do I sanitize rope? This is the rope used in BDSM. I bought it from a BDSM supply site specifically. Guess I’m going to have to see if it’s washable.

Hmm. There’s that wet shirt, too. I found that by accident. Maybe I’ll just keep that.

I straighten up my cameras on the cart, disconnecting the lens I’d been using and shutting down the camera.

“Dressed,” Larson says.

I spin around to look at him. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him home. Or ask him to stay. But I remember Tomy, and I can’t do that. Does it matter that he came here alone? Where is Tomy right now? Does he know Larson’s here? With me? That he’d been naked and hard, dripping for me?

Who am I kidding? Those pictures were probably for Tomy.

“This way.” I turn, heading toward the waiting room. Did I get the balls picture he’d wanted? I glance at the photo album on the table. Hmm. Maybe not exactly, but I certainly got many ball shots.

I unlock the door and push it open for him. Larson steps outside and turns to look at me. “Thank you,” he says.

I nod. “You’re welcome. At the risk of this having a double meaning, thank you for letting me pose you. It’s not often that I have the opportunity.”

“I enjoyed it.”

He meant the shoot. That’s it. That’s all he enjoyed.

“I’ll… see you around,” Larson says, his smile fading away.

“It’s a small resort,” I note. Which is both true and not true. There are a ton of places on the islands where we’d pass each other without realizing it. On the other hand, it’s not like we have the entire US and Canadian countries to run into each other while he travels with hockey, so… we have that going for us, right?

Not that anything is going for us. He has Tomy!

“Yeah,” Larson answers. “Well… bye.”

“Bye,” I repeat.

He still hesitates but eventually turns and walks away. I watch, but only for a second. Otherwise, it’ll become creepy. I pull the door shut and lock it before racing into the back and further into the bathroom, where I lock myself in.

I love my one-pieces, but right now, it’s a barrier that’s just adding to my desperate frustration as I shove the top over my shoulders and around my hips. Reaching down the front, I grab my cock and pull it out, hooking the material under my balls so I can maybe avoid soiling it.

Then I’m jerking myself, eyes closed, as I remember the very last scene where Larson was bent over the bed for me. Looking over his shoulder, eyes locked with mine. The heat between us was powerful. Filled the room and made the air between us crackle with electricity.

I grunt and lean forward, gripping the edge of the sink as I stroke myself harshly. I’ve been hard for what feels like half the day. That’s not entirely inaccurate. Staring at his pictures on my screen means I’ve been hinting at hard for a while.

And then he walked in and stripped down for me. Showing me the masterpiece that he hides under his clothing.

I’m not just referring to his sexy dick or his pretty hole. Everything about Larson is dream-like. Everything I’ve ever imagined.

His voice is deep. Lovely. Mesmerizing.

Feeling his muscles flex as I moved him around like a doll, complying with exactly what I wanted him to do without question. How smooth his skin is. Soft but so damn firm.

But, fuck, it’s the way he looked at me. The way he watched me. So intently. Did I imagine the heat behind those looks? Obviously, I didn’t imagine his erection. I have an entire memory card as proof that it was real. But was it me turning him on?

My orgasm surges when I convince myself that I’m the one who made him hard like that. Dripping. Veins prominent.

With a grunt, I shift my position and turn to the toilet to deposit my load into the bowl. It’s not the best orgasm I’ve ever had, and it’s hardly satisfying, but at least it served its purpose. I needed some relief. I’ve been chubbed since first seeing this man yesterday. It might not have fully registered because it was the least overwhelming emotion filling me at the moment, but it was there.

Sighing, I make sure I’m empty before flushing the toilet and putting myself away. I redress and then wash my hands. I think I’ll just put my camera batteries on charge and head out. I’m not sure I can handle staring at his photos any longer. I’m going to drive myself insane.

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