Beautiful Box Set

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Brett knows just what to say to make Johnny feel good. “Oh, that’s perfect,” he tells Johnny, watching him pose through the eye of his camera. “Damn, you’re a sexy boy. Give me that pout again. Make me want you.”

Johnny doesn’t think that’s hard to do.

“Gorgeous.” Brett snaps off another two or three shots, Johnny moving subtly with each frame. The camera’s digital, connected to the closest computer by a long, thin cable that snakes across the room, and over Brett’s shoulder, Johnny can see images of himself pop up onto the screen, each slightly different from the last. They use a cloud-covered backdrop for the first series of shots, close-ups mostly, in which Brett directs Johnny through a myriad of emotions, from flirtatious to angry to heartbroken. Johnny acts his way through each one, determined to prove he still has game. “Awesome,” Brett says, camera clicking away. “Give me that pout again. Run your hand through your hair, you’re trying to get your way here, show me some puppy eyes. Yes, like that, yes.”

After about twenty minutes, they move into the bedroom scene, where the daybed still looks rumpled and feathers from the pillows still litter the floor. “How about something a little different?” Brett suggests.

“Different how?” Johnny starts to peel off his shirt, but the moment it’s over his head, obscuring his vision, he hears the tell-tale click of the camera. Tugging off the shirt, he glares at Brett. “What the hell? I’m getting undressed.”

“I’m just testing the setup,” Brett says. He’s not looking at Johnny—he’s setting the camera onto a tripod, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face and Johnny knows that shot wasn’t an accident. “Come on, man. I’ll just erase it.”

Yeah right. Johnny can see the photo from here, the concave curve of his bare chest an almost erotic pose. It’s a great shot, if he says so himself, but if Lou saw it? Holy s**t.

Brett continues to fiddle with the camera, correcting the settings for the new backdrop. “You getting changed or what?”

A pair of CK boxers waits for him on the bed. Grudgingly, Johnny unsnaps his pants and eases down the zipper, moving slowly to see if Brett plans to take a picture of that, too. But the photog doesn’t seem to be paying him any attention, and the camera is silent. Still, Johnny half-turns as he begins to pull down his pants. Once again he’s sans underwear, and the last thing he needs is to see a picture of his d**k on the front page of the National Enquirer. As the waistband slides down over his ass, he glances over his shoulder….

Another click; this time, the flash blinds Johnny and he stumbles in his haste to pull up his pants. “Hey!”

The smile Brett gives him looks sincere. “Johnny, trust me. No one sees this, I swear.” The corners of his mouth turn up a little, seductive, and Johnny catches a hint of the lust he tasted last night. “I’ll erase it when we’re done. You can erase it yourself, I’ll show you how. What do you say?”

Johnny knows what he should say, but those eyes, that grin, they turn him on all over again—who’s he kidding? He’s been hard since he walked into the studio, and he’s loved being objectified through the lens of Brett’s camera. He loves being watched, being seen, and his c**k has been at half-mast all damn afternoon. The thought of doing a nude photo shoot with this man? Hearing Brett’s encouragement as he writhes on the daybed, the sheets twined around him? Touching himself as Brett watches? Or—God forbid—having Brett join in? Sweet Jesus. That’s better than dinner and a movie any night.

With a coy smile of his own, Johnny starts, “I don’t want to be the only one having fun….”

Brett makes one final adjustment on the camera, then steps around the tripod, his hands drifting to the fly of his jeans. “Thought you’d never ask.” By the time he reaches Johnny, his jeans lay on the floor, his shirt is off, and the bulge at the front of his boxer briefs leaves no question how he feels about their time together. Behind him, the camera clicks, another picture pops up on the computer screen, and he laughs at the surprised look on Johnny’s face. “It’s on a timer. Have you ever watched yourself having s*x?”

“No.” Johnny tries to laugh but the sound comes out warbled and anxious. He shouldn’t do this, he knows—hello? How many celebs have been laughed at and mocked when their homemade s*x tapes showed up on eBay? What if these pics end up online? What if Lou sees them?

I’ll delete them, he assures himself. Brett steps closer, catches the front of Johnny’s pants in both hands, and kneels to kiss the trembling skin that peeks between his open zipper. A hot tongue licks out, swirls around his navel, then trails down to disappear into his pants. He wants this. As Brett spreads his fly wider, the fabric presses down on Johnny’s stiffening c**k with a sweet ache.

He needs it. Lou be damned.

Leaning back, he vaults up onto the daybed. His pants stay with Brett, sliding down Johnny’s legs, releasing his d**k. The meaty shaft swings up for its cameo at the same moment the camera fires again. As if spooked by the flash, Johnny’s c**k jerks to attention, hard and thick. He grabs it in one tight fist and squeezes, sending a thrill through his body. “Brett….”

The photog needs no prompting. He drops the pants to the floor and places his hands on Johnny’s knees, spreading them apart, as his tongue licks over the soft sac of Johnny’s fuzzy balls. Johnny lays back, legs wide, as those lips kiss his nuts, then that tongue traces the contours of his hidden spaces, down below his sac, to taste the quivering hole at his center. “Yes!” Johnny cries, arching his hips off the bed as he grasps at the cool metal rails behind him. “Oh God, oh yes, f**k me, yes.”

Click. Another photo, him spread wide, his anus puckering, his knees weak. Click. Click.

Brett’s breath is hot and feathery along Johnny’s inner thigh. “Turn over,” he says as he stands. “You want to do this?”

Johnny lies on his back a moment, his heart racing, his blood on fire. “Yes.”

“I’m not your first, am I?”

There’s a worried furrow in Brett’s brow that smoothes out at Johnny’s quick laugh. “God, no. Just f**k me already, will you?”

Brett grins. “For this, your photos are free.”

“You don’t have to,” Johnny says. “I’ve got money—”

But Brett leans over him and silences him with a kiss. “I want to.” His hand brushes over one pert n****e and Johnny shivers with delight. “Maybe it’ll entice you to come back.”

“I haven’t come yet,” Johnny points out.

Brett’s hand drifts to his crotch, where it closes over Johnny’s tender cockhead. With a gentle tweak, he purrs, “Let’s remedy that.”

In the top drawer of the bedside table, there’s a bottle of clear lube Brett says his models use when he needs a little shine on their skin. He has a condom tucked away in his wallet, which he fishes out. Johnny flips onto his stomach and positions the pillows under his belly to lift his ass into the air. He’s grown used to the sound of the camera, and watches the images appear on the screen—himself on all fours on the bed, his hard c**k jutting out from his crotch like an arrow; Brett’s back obscuring the shot as he puts on the condom; Brett’s ass spread invitingly as he climbs onto the daybed, one foot on the mattress, the other still on the floor; Brett behind him on his knees, Johnny lying on the bed, the pillows crammed under him.

Brett’s hands on his hips, the lubricated tip of his c**k pushing against the cleft of Johnny’s buttocks.

Johnny’s mouth wide and eyes shut in pleasure as that hard d**k is thrust into him. The burn of entry steals his breath, and his hands clench at the bed’s railing, his teeth bite into the bed sheets, his ass rises up, his body rocks back, to meet Brett thrust for thrust. His own d**k is chafed against the sheets, trapped between his body and the mattress, their motion rubbing him toward orgasm. Yes. His mind whirls. Yes, yes, YES.

The camera snaps away in time with the litany. Click, click, click.

Yes.