The Penthouse Apartment

I do some work from time to time for a property company. They've got a few blocks of smart new apartments down by the river that they're trying to sell, but with the economy how it is, they need to try anything. Anyway, what I do is go in and take photos, we usually get a couple of actors or models in, just to look like they live there, we dress the place up with some personal shit and do a few set ups, you know the kind of thing, here's the yuppie couple having breakfast in their stylish modern kitchen. Here's the yuppie couple in the lounge, looking out at the view. And they take the photos and make up a brochure which they send out to any poor saps who think they might want to live in a place like this.

Anyway, on Thursday they've got me lined up to do another shoot, this time in the penthouse flat. Don't get me wrong, the place is spectacular - fourteen stories up, balcony overlooking the river and all that, well, you'd expect it to be good the price they pay for it. And I'm waiting around in the lobby for this woman to turn up, she's the marketing woman from the company, always hanging around the shoot, pretending to be important, and my phone goes.

'Can't make it today, too busy' She says. 'But I've left the key with security. Just do the usual shots. The actor's turning up in about an hour'

'Actor?' I say, because usually they get two in, man and woman, to go for that whole fake happy home shit.

'Just the one today. Cutbacks. Do the best you can.'

Great, I think, after she hangs up. They're cutting back on costs. Only a matter of time before they decide to take their own pictures and I'm out the door.

So anyway, I'm in a right mood when I'm setting up the equipment in the penthouse. I just want to get it done and go home. And then the door rings, and I open it.

You know the one thing that'll always get me? Sure, I love a good body, but the thing that ices the cake? A smile. A genuine, cute, sexy, happy smile.

And that's exactly what the boy at the door gave me. I say boy, I reckon he must have been 22 or 23, Blue/green eyes, healthy shine to his skin, with one of those wild yet styled haircuts they've all got today, A T-shirt that really shows off his shape, torn jeans, trainers. Record bag slung over his shoulder.

'Is this the right place for the photo shoot?' He asks. His voice is soft.

'Yes' I said. 'Are you the model?'

The boy looked down, smiling and embarrassed

'I'm... I'm an actor, really. I just got out of drama school, but I haven't got any roles yet, I'm just filling in. My name's Joe.' He holds out his hand, in greeting. I shake it. It's smooth and dry to the touch.

I know instantly he's wrong for the job, but I'm not gonna tell him. The agency was supposed to send someone over who looked like he was some sort of city banker type, all polo shirts and stuff like that. This boy looks like an art student. Hey, I don't make the bookings, I just take the pictures. I'll do my best with what I've got.

I tell him my name, and bring him inside. He bounds into the room, pointing like a child at the view, running his fingers over the fancy worktops, saying things like 'cool' and asking stupid questions like 'is this your place?' My grumpiness is all but subsided. How can I stay mad when a young spark of energy like this is in the room?

I run him through the set-ups. Were gonna do some shots on the balcony, some in the kitchen, some in the lounge, and then see what time we've got, and maybe improvise a bit. Is that OK? First things first. Those clothes aren't quite the look we're going for. There's a prop shirt and some trousers in the bathroom, stick those on, maybe put a bit of gel on the hair, we'll take it from there...

When he's back from the bathroom, I look him up and down. He scrubs up quite well. The clothes don't fit perfectly but they are good enough.

We start in the kitchen. He's a bit wooden at first, but he soon gets into it. I'm good at making the talent relax. We do a selection of poses, all bland stuff, you know. Drinking coffee. Drinking wine. Leaning up against the wall, sitting at the table. Real dull shit, but I know that's what the client wants.

Anyway, by the time we get to the living room he's loosened up a bit, and so have I. Now things are flowing, I can take a bit of time on the set ups, and enjoy really looking at the boy for a bit. I always love it when you can see just a hint of the neck and chest underneath peering through the clothes, so I get him to unbutton the top two shirt buttons. He's got some kind of tribal necklace or something, almost like a thin wiry collar, and it really looks good hanging across his throat.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we race through the photos. He's got a natural look for the camera. We've done all the shots we need. I check my watch, still early.

'I was thinking of doing some shots in that nice bathroom. You know, brushing your teeth. Shaving, that kind of thing. What do you think?'

'Sure, no problem'

'You'll have to take your shirt off. Any problem with that?'

'No, it's cool' he says, without hesitation, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. I feel hot all of a sudden, as if the air conditioning has failed.

Stay professional, I think.

'I'm going to get another lens. Why don't you go into the bathroom and put some shaving foam on your face. There should be some in there, and a razor'

I go change the lens and get another memory card. When I return to the bathroom, he is rubbing shaving foam into his face. He is shirtless, just that sexy necklace. He is also trouser-less, with a bath towel wrapped around his waist.

' I felt silly just wearing the trousers, plus, I didn't want to get any of this stuff on them. This is more a bathroom look' he says.

I take the camera and look through the viewfinder. I'm pretending to set up the shot, but really I'm taking a good look at the boy's body. Sunlight is coming in the window, bright and hard, directly onto his skin. Nothing looks better than soft young skin in direct sunlight, it almost glows.

The new lens has a zoom so, although I'm standing in the doorway I can zoom right in. I pan down from his face onto his chest, seeing the slender wiry hairs, and then focus in on the boy's nipple. The lens is real good, I can zoom in until it almost fills the whole frame. I take a few shots 'Have we started?' he asks. I make up some bullshit about checking the light. I continue to move down his body. He has good definition in his muscles, he is not too bulky but his pecs are rounded and clean, and there is good shape in his stomach, with a defined six pack. I take a few more 'test shots'.

Then we begin. I coax him with instructions, to get a performance out of him

'Look at yourself in the mirror. Stare right in there. You're this big shot banker. You've got a Ferrari downstairs, and a yacht in the marina. Everyone wants to be near you. You're king of the world'

And he responds well. His posture changes, he starts acting powerful, sexy. He puts a hand behind his head, without being asked, and I snap away hundreds of shots on the camera, thank god for digital.

We finish the shots. 'What now?'

'How about the shower,' he suggests. I look over. The shower cubicle is glass, and is frosted up to just about waist height. I don't know if the water is on. This won't be any good for the brochure, I know, but fuck it. Let's see where this is going.

'Ok,' I say.' As long as you're alright with that.'

'Why wouldn't I be?' He says. There is another cheeky smile on his face. He reaches in and turns on the shower.

'Turn around' he says to me, jokingly. I turn around, and hear the shower door open and close, hear the towel hit the floor.

I look back and he's showering. It's a power shower so it's warm immediately. I line up the first shot, from across the room. I can see the whole of the top of his body, and through the frosting on the glass I can see the blurry outline of his legs. He's definitely naked, except for his necklace. This boy is game, I think. I start snapping away again. Then I go in for the close up. He's a real pro, it's like I'm not there at all. He just lathers up with a bar of soap, and starts running his hands up and down his body.

I love to see water draining down his skin. I take photos of his head alone, his head and neck, his back, his chest. I open the shower door, and take full length photos. He has a fantastic body by anyone's standard, his proportions are perfect. The first few shots are a bit coy, just side on, no details, but he instinctively turns and points his defined, rounded bubble butt towards me, and I get a good line in photos from that, everything from full length shots to close ups. I even go down to the floor and take shots looking upwards, and he keeps acting the innocent, just like a boy having a shower. Then he snaps out of it.

'Why don't we do some in the bedroom,' he suggests. 'Hand me the towel.' I reach for the towel, and he turns to face me, and for a few moments I get a glimpse of his cock for the first time, nestling in a bed of damp frizzy pubic hair, not erect but certainly not totally at rest, before he wraps the towel around his waist. This is getting hot, I think.

The bedroom is huge and features a very stylish modern bed. It's all made up with sheets and blankets, as the place is styled as a show flat. The boy drapes himself across the bed like he had lived here for years.

How about this? He suggests. And he proceeds to go through a number of poses, from reclined, to kneeling on the bed, to on all fours, like a dog. He is still wearing the towel, but it keeps slipping down, ready to fall off. I begin coaching him again, but this time he's creating his own looks too. And he's looking directly into the lens now, like a porn star.

Unexpectedly, he takes the towel in his hands and throws it to one side. That's better, he says. You bet it is, I think, as I'm now looking at his totally naked body, still wet from the shower, as he stretches and bends from pose to pose, arching his back and crossing his arms behind in, or placing them both behind his head, or kneeling on the duvet, legs apart, straining and flexing his muscles. It's like a different person had just climbed into his brain and was now controlling his actions. And I analyse his every move through my camera viewfinder, pausing every now and then to look up and see it in the flesh. I examine his cock minutely through the lens, note that it's still only semi-hard.

He hops off the bed and goes over to the window, and straight out onto the balcony, still stark naked. Anyone looking up now from the street would be in for a sight, as the balcony is almost totally glass. He goes into a set of muscle-man poses, like you would see at a Mr Universe show, not that he has that kind of over-built body, but he still has enough muscle on him to put on an impressive show in the sunlight. I stay inside, photographing through the patio doors He comes back in, past a box of my lighting equipment. He stops, and reaches inside.

There's these things called safety chains, you put them round light stands when you're doing a shoot, it's just in case someone walks into a light, it will stop it all falling over. The chains are about one to two feet long, black metal chains with a hook at one end.

The boy pulls a bag of them out of my lighting bag. He takes one out, plays with it. Then, he coils it round his neck, loosely, just above that African necklace. He takes others, drapes them over his shoulders, around his wrists. He goes back to the bed and lies down, on his back. This time, however, he stretches his arms and legs wide, to the corners of the bed. The frame of this designer bed has holes in it, like it was a piece of structural steelwork.

'I've never been tied to a bed', he says, and looks right at me. OK, I think, time to put the camera down.

I wrap his ankles, then his wrists, one by one, firmly with the black metal chains, then I loop it through the bed frame, and pull it tight. He is now secure. He suggests a blindfold - I search quickly for something, before finding a tea towel in the kitchen.

I fold it over until it's long and thin, and quickly blindfold the boy. Now the boy begins to pull and tug at his bindings, trying his strength, tugging at the restraints, but I've done a good job with them, they hold fast. I sit on the bed beside him and watch him play.

I place a hand on his chest. He doesn't object, so I begin to stroke the skin in long, slow, smooth movements. I bring another hand into play, and explore his side, up to the armpit, feeling the muscles tense and pull. I run my fingers down his washboard stomach, marvelling at the velvety skin texture, and then I move in on the cock, first circling it, toughing the inner thigh and the skin just below the belly button, then my fingers enter the pubic forest, curling little tufts of hair around my fingers, pulling ever so gently for the pleasure of an unspoken sigh or groan of gratitude from his lips.

Then I reach the shaft, and, using just one finger first, I trace its route from its source to its tip, feel it pulsing, actually feeling it swell beneath my touch.

I add other fingers, and lean my head in nearer to get a closer look. Droplets of water from the shower still mark the skin, and it is dry and fresh from all the soap lather, but I still detect a slight, musky smell as I move in closer. The organ is awake now, standing erect and ready.

I breathe on it first, and it twitches, its owner giving off a quick gasp. I begin with a kiss, just on the shaft. Then another, then another, then an open mouthed kiss, the tongue touching the boy's skin for the first time. I work my way around the shaft, probing with my tongue into the crevices.

I reach the head and lick the foreskin, then extend my tongue into the hole where the purple head waits. I touch the cock head with my tongue, and taste just a hint of the salty flavours ahead, then I wrap my palm around the shaft, and pull down, millimetre by millimetre, the foreskin shroud from around the head. The boy twitches and bucks in his bindings.

I open my mouth a little, and stick the end of the cock in, pushing down and letting the girth of the cock push my lips apart. I keep going further , further down, until my chin reaches his balls. I let my tongue examine its new housemate. The boy likes that, I can tell.

I work the cock slowly, no rush. I enjoy the almost choking sensation as it fills my mouth. All the time I'm doing this, I'm pulling at my own clothes, trying to get them off. There's no way I'm stopping this just to get undressed. Pretty soon I'm naked too, and hard.

I'm on hands and knees by the bed now, still sucking, but I pivot around, crablike, climbing up onto the bed without taking my mouth away for one second. I rotate around so my crotch is now near to his face. Despite the blindfold, he seems to know exactly what is going on. He opens his mouth, and his tongue rolls out to connect with my balls. He licks me until I am sticky and wet, and then he moves on to my cock. I help him by positioning my cock with my free hand over his mouth, and he takes it straight in, the whole length.

We suck at each other, naked, in the penthouse apartment, for as long as we can. Neither of us wants the moment to end too soon, but we can't keep this up forever. I'm sweating like a pig, and the boy is too. I'm fondling and feeling him as much as I can with my hands, reaching underneath and squeezing his two bulbous arse cheeks, feeling into the gap between, running my palms up the inner curve of his back. He of course is still bound and immobile, all he can do is twist and struggle.

I'm getting near, and I feel he is too. Both of us have abandoned restraint, and are going for it. Now the two of us are making the bed creak and groan as we pump up and down on each other's faces. We have become wild animals, feeding insatiably on each other, waiting for our hot reward. The boy is squeaking, groaning, his noises of course muffled by the cock in his mouth. I am now eating his flesh for all I am worth, my neck, my arms all aching from pumping up and down but I'm not stopping now . I feel him tense up. He's gonna blow. I pull back at the last moment and finish him off with my hand, because I want to see this. He blows a load up, into my face. I open my mouth just in time to receive the next burst, hot and welcome.

I'm ready to go and he knows it. I offer him the same courtesy, I pull out and he waits below, mouth ready and waiting. With an orgasm like an explosion, I come on his lips, a good, solid spurt. His mouth and my cock head are linked by a shiny trail of white. I spurt again and catch him just on the top of his chest, a scattergun spray which leaves his flesh dotted with white deposits.

We lie, side by side for a few minutes, panting. I turn round on the bed and kiss him on the lips, and we exchange the taste of each other's cum. I take off his blindfold, and untie him from the restraints. We lie in each other's arms for a while.

I have to return the keys in fifteen minutes, so we tidy the place up, take a shower and pack up the kit.

I pack the memory card with the bland, corporate shots in an envelope, and put the more interesting one in my inside pocket. I don't want to get these two cards mixed up.

He gives me a copy of his acting resume, and suggests, coyly, that if any other work comes up, I should call him.

I ask him how he's getting home.

'No, you can't take the bus,' I say. 'I have a car downstairs. Let me take you home.' He thinks about it. He agrees.

I nearly got a dozen speeding tickets, I was in so much of a hurry to get to his destination.

'Would you like to come in for a coffee,' he asks.

How could I say no?

The End.