Sorry, no pics to accompany these two stories from my unpublished book, though I can't help wishing the totally immoral photographer who sent in the first had sent me the photos from his first shoot, just for my personal enjoyment. I never suspected what so many supposedly professional photographers get up to, though to judge by the stories I've received from them, I shouldn't be so naive.
PICTURE TIME
My reputation for being great with knots has had its amusing moments. A couple of attractive clones hired me once to do a photo set of them. Both are exhibitionists who, in addition to waiting tables, supplement their incomes by stripping at “Ladies’” nights at various bars. They have swimmers’ builds, blond moustaches, and it’s difficult to imagine that either of them is a top.
They had plotted their picture session so I could be in a couple. It began in their dressing room. They are in their G-strings putting on makeup — they embrace and kiss. The self-timer allowed me (dressed in black with a black eye mask) to enter with a gun, tie them to their chairs — close-up of sucking their hard-ons after I gag them with their powder puffs, and see-thru tape. I put them in 2 laundry sacks. Next scenes in their bedroom where I have positioned them in 69 and tied their heads so their mouths are plastered to the root of their lover’s cock. The series ends with 2 shots, one with me between them, their cocks taped together (hard) and them kissing me on.
The last was a picture with J. wearing a skintight wedding dress (faisles (?), makeup and all) and L. in a leather jacket, ruffled shirt, cummerbund and tux pants with motorcycle boots. I even got a hard-on when I developed the pix.
As you might have guessed, I’m a professional photographer, having a collection of over 100 cameras. I do a lot of composites for actors. The majority are such exhibitionists that it’s easy to get them to pose in the nude. Since I’m a body builder 48", 30" waist, 44 hips, they’re a bit awed when it gets hot in the studio and I strip to a posing strap.
Catch you later.
I got a few minutes to add something a friend of mine who’s written to you before said to add. Every fall I run a legit scam in the newspapers which go out to incoming freshmen. I offer to get them jobs modeling “if they have the talent and looks for it.” Free placement. I usually get from 30-50 responses and do simple head shots of most of them. When I find a really butch guy I’d like to break I have a routine.
I come on super butch and style his hair, pluck eyebrows, shape his lips with gloss and pancake and rouge his cheeks. He looks in the mirror and sees an incredibly handsome young man. 99% of the time they LOVE it. I have him pose in tux, give him a joint to smoke, a robe, another joint, p.j.’s, tight speedos and when I see his packed crotch, laugh and say if I was a woman I could really go for a guy like him. I bet he has 6 inches — He usually says hell, no, I've got 8 or more. He proves it by dropping his Speedos. I measure it with a tape and offer him a drink (laced with sleeping pills) — within 10 minutes he’s out on his ass and I have the asshole tied, gagged and photographed like I like choice meat. I check out their asses to see if they are cherry. When they aren’t, I screw them. If they are, I enjoy sucking them up and j.o-ing them off.
I always end up doing that. Then I untie them, loosely tie my wrists with a necktie used for modeling — smear my ass with their j.o. cum — shove the Speedos in my mouth and lie down, rolling the stud as much on top of me as I can. I wait for him to wake up. When he does, it usually takes the poor bastard a few minutes to realize what I want him to. He unties me and is grief-stricken by what he “did.” I tell him the grisly details of how he went wild, overpowered me and raped me. He wonders what to do and I tell him I’ll live. He gets dressed, and embarrassed, leaves — but not before I tell him he’s going to be one terrific husband in the sex dept. He laughs and I give him a hug. The number of times I’ve done this, I’ve never failed to be asked to shoot yearbook pictures by the young men at a later time.
NURSING PETER
Over a year ago Peter bought the house next door to me. We seldom saw each other. He is self-employed (an accountant) and works at home. I took him immediately for a 40-year-old closet case. He’s roly-poly, short, with a beer belly and sagging tits.
A couple months passed when I had a phone call from him in the middle of the night. He had what he thought was the flu and asked if I’d come over, he felt so weak. I took one look at him and saw he’d been spitting blood. He was wearing black silk p.j.s and I slipped a robe over them and slippers on his feet and had him at the hospital within a 1/2 hour. He had pneumonia. When the x-rays came back, the doctor supplied penicilin pills and told me he could go home.
Peter went right to sleep once he hit the bed and I stayed the night. On his night stand was a photograph album. I looked at it and was pleased it confirmed the closet status I’d given him. It was full of photos of young men in bondage.
Pete slept 18 hours and was too weak to go to dinner. I fed him broth and pudding, fed him his pills and before he went to sleep he said thanks and I kissed his forehead. It was like that for 5 days. I split my days at work and wet nursing. When he was well enough, I moved home.
About a week later he felt great and fixed a candlelight dinner for me which went well until, over brandy, I mentioned the bondage book. He claimed someone had given it to him. He said he wasn’t gay. I told him bull shit. At that point I wanted to punish him for denying his gayness. I intentionally spilled coffee on my pants. Peter went rushing to get me a towel. When he returned I had taken off my pants and stood there in my black cire bikini. I asked him if I could borrow a robe and went upstairs with him to his bedroom. He gave me the “faggiest” robe I’ve ever seen — baby blue satin, floor length. I slipped off my shirt and briefs and slipped into the cool satin robe. He watched me and I could tell his mouth was dry in anticipation as to what I’d do next.
I took off my boots and socks and told him to get comfortable. I stretched out on his king-sized bed, leaving the robe open so he could see my rising hard-on. He stood there dumbfounded, afraid to move. I got up and unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his pants. I kissed him lightly on the lips, then removed his shirt and kissed his wide nipples which hung at the ends of his fleshy, sagging tits. I licked them and he murmured. As I sucked on them, he lowered his pants to his ankles and fondled his small hard-on and tiny balls.
The front of his jockey shorts was wet from pre-cum. He began crying and said stop. That turned me on. I rocked his briefs down his flabby thighs to his knees. He yelled NO! and I slapped his face which really made him sob. I shoved him over on his bed and the clothes around his ankles made him easy prey. The sash of the robe went around his wrists behind his back. I raided his closet for neckties and bound his knees together, stripped his pants, briefs, socks and shoes and tied his ankles together, then rolled him over. Tears were running down his cheeks as I forced my mouth on his. He yelped as I bit his neck and chest.
He pleaded with me not to go any further. I responded by rolling my boot sock and shoving it deep in his mouth, tying it in place with another necktie. It muffled his whining. I found some cold creme in his medicine cabinet and checked out his asshole. He was a cherry so I only inserted one finger and finger-fucked him until I hit his joy button so many times, his hot little pecker exploded all over his bed. A huge amount of cum. I lay beside him and rubbed the cum over his fat chest.
His whining was now a whimper as I tongued his belly button for a long time and pinched his raw nipples. His cock got hard again. I fingered cold creme up my ass and sat on his little pecker — it kept slipping out as I jacked off on his chest. After mingling the cum, I jacked him off and he came a second time.
I knew my knots would hold, so I got dressed and went home for my Polaroid and took a full 10 pix of him bound and gagged. I left 1/2 of them with him after I loosened his bindings so he could get free in time and went home.
Peter has become quite a dirty old man now, hustling young men (usually straight — too bad for him). He’s not my type at all, and the extent of our relationship now is I caress his chest whenever I see him. He loves it, and I think he’s in love with me.
Hmm, I get the very distinct impression that both stories were authored by the same guy.
That's just me and it's not the use of "cherry" in both that make me think so. (even though I can't remember hearing that term and I am 56).
Bob replies:
You may be right, but I can't remember, I put that manuscript together so long ago. The fact that I put one submission right after the other makes it a distinct possibility. As for "cherry", I do remember the word being used quite often when I was young, and quite recently I even read it in a (pretty bad) Nifty story.
Posted by: Leo Devin | January 23, 2015 at 03:00 PM
Ok, I have read some older stuff but your use of 'Nifty' puts you way before me, I was only a teen in loud polyester bell bottoms and poufy sleeved shirts.
(I figure you are really referring to "Nifty Archives")
Bob replies:
Right you are.
Posted by: Leo Devin | January 23, 2015 at 04:54 PM