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“Sure I don’t care,” I answered, my heart racing.
“Will you take pictures?” he asked.
I shrugged, trying to indicate that I didn’t care one way or the
other as I moved towards my camera. He sat down on the gray tarp and
started to slowly stroke his meat. He spit on his hand to create some
lubrication and then stroked faster. My hand found its way to my crotch
where it started to stroke my own erection through the fabric as I watched
him.
He closed his eyes and threw back his head as his pace grew more
furious. I snapped away eagerly at this spectacle, pleased with the
private photo collection these would make.
With little effort he came, gobs of semen jetting out of his cock
onto his chest and abdomen. I grabbed some tissues and brought these to
him so he could wipe himself off.
“Grab your robe and go to the bathroom and clean up,” I told him.
He nodded.
By the time he returned, I had set up a couple of Greek columns
against a blue background, a phallic image. I thought it was appropriate
considering the show he’d just given. My erection had subsided.
I photographed him between these pillars, and we didn’t have any
problems with his cock for the rest of the shoot.
When I got back to my room I had a great orgasm.