Photo Shoot
"Photo Shoot"
by K.M. Hirosaki ([email protected])
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is copyright (C) 2005 K.M. Hirosaki.
This story is dedicated to someone who knows exactly who they are.
Please send feedback and comments to
[email protected]-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The embarrassing thing isn't that I'm about to take provocative pictures of another guy-I've heard folks joke that all otters are at least a little bit gay, but even so, I'm not ashamed of how I am. Besides, taking pictures is my job, and if a magazine wants me to do a shoot with a topless skunk babe with DD breasts, I'll do it as much as I'd do this shoot with this cute little fox, here. That's all it is, to me, is the job.
No, the embarrassing thing is that I recognize this fox from a magazine-an even racier magazine than the one I'm shooting for, today! I mean, fuck, I must've jacked off to pictures of this guy a couple dozen times! Sure, that was two years ago, or so, but I still recognized that face the moment that he walked in the door: it's like he's got some perpetual "come-fuck-me" grin slapped onto his muzzle, and it doesn't help that he's already hot as hell.
Still, I'm a professional, and so it's my job to be professional. When I shake his hand and greet him, I don't do anything stupid like let my paw linger a moment too long so that he'll get the hint or anything like that. I just smile, nice and courteous-like, and show him on into my studio, and he seems content with that. Besides, the most he's going to be showing the camera is maybe just a bit of crotch fur; like I said, it's not a real raunchy magazine or anything.
He's definitely dressed for appealing to the gay crowd, though: he's got this dark brown leather vest worm over a tight white t-shirt, and below that he's wearing some classic denim shorts. He also has this silver chain hanging around his neck, and it's got some sort of symbol that dangles down onto his shirt, but I don't recognize what it is and I don't ask. Maybe he'd appreciate the small talk, but I'm convinced that the less I try to chat with him, the less chance I have of accidentally saying something dumb.
Reminding myself that business is the order of the day, I just go right to my camera. It's a nice one, medium format digital, which I just got a little over a year ago, and it really makes my job easier. I have it set up on a tripod for the first set of shots, and I figure I'll probably get closer and get more unusual angles as the shoot progresses; I've been given a high degree of creative control, with the only real stipulation being that I make this guy look sexy. I'd have to try to make sure that he didn't.
I always make sure that I take a picture at random before I actually begin 'shooting.' It's like some weird superstition of mine or something, only I don't know what I even do it for. I just do, and so here, I just snap an off-center shot of my model while he's dragging a stool out in front of the plain beige background I have set up. Maybe I'll keep that one for myself. There's something about getting to see models when they're not modeling that I guess has a nice appeal to me, as a photographer.
Now that my subject seems ready, I check the lighting one more time, just to make sure that I'm not getting a weird angle that reflects off of the grain of his fur in some weird way. I'm all smiles as I get back behind my camera and line him up for the first few shots-I want to make sure I get his face, first, so that I can capture that fresh eagerness before he fully settles into the part. He's playing sexy for the camera, not for me, but while it's still fresh for the both of us, I'll let myself enjoy it a little more. You've got to love what you do, after all, right?
The first set of shots I take all involve him staying fully clothed. Turns out that foxy is something of a self-directing fellow; either that, or he knows what I'm going to ask before I ask it, because he's just great at finding those positions that are subtly provocative-the kind that you could pass off as completely accidental. Well, except for the one where I get his hands framing his package.
Seeing his black-furred fingers forming a triangle around his crotch makes me remember that old magazine. He's kind of hung under that denim, especially for a fox. Knowing that makes me feel dirty, for some reason. It's probably because he thinks he's secure, here, in the knowledge that he doesn't need to drop trou, but I already know what his dick looks like, and that's my naughty little secret. It's kind of a turn-on in and of itself, too, and while I don't really need any more of those, at the moment, it at least puts me in the right mindset to take the kind of enticing pictures that I'm being paid to.
"How about we lose the vest?" I say, cueing him up for the next series of shots I want. He shoots me an awesome grin, and I make sure to get a picture of it. He slides his vest off of one arm, and I take another picture as the garment dangles on one shoulder, before it falls off onto the floor. Without missing a beat, he kicks it away and twirls his chain around his finger; I get a shot of that, too.
I gesture with one hand for him to start taking his shirt off, and he doesn't say a word or even nod. He just starts complying, and I smile. Slowly, that plain, boring white t-shirt comes up, replaced instead by lush, exciting white fur. Just as his shirt is almost full off, the lighting glints off of a bit of metal that's shot through his right nipple. I had forgotten he had that-my mind and my memories have been stuck on more natural parts of his anatomy. After he drops the shirt to the floor, I say, "Okay, play with your left nipple." He does, and I take a shot. "Good. Now, use your other hand and twirl your chain some more." Again, compliance, and I take yet another shot.
He turns sideways, and curls his bushy red tail around the leg that's facing me. His slender vulpine muzzle is in perfect profile, and he looks absolutely gorgeous. That one requires some close-ups. God, I can't wait to see how those come out. I might have just snagged a cover shot in there! My topless fox (oh, fuck, am I really thinking of him in terms of 'my?') turns another ninety degrees, showing me his back and his backside. The muscles in his shoulders and along his spine are nicely defined, and his tail is still curled out of the way so that I can get a clear set of shots of his denim-covered rump. I'm just about to open my mouth to ask him to turn around again, but then he flags his tail and diddles with the catch at the back end of his shorts, and I just have to get that on film, because the honesty in that teasing is turning me on, like it's meant for me and not for the camera.
It's probably not just for the camera, I figure.
"All right, turn back around, face me," I say. He does. "Okay, now, try to look nice and vulnerable." With his attitude, I almost expect him to protest, but I know he can do vulnerable. God, he looked so vulnerable, looked so fuckable in those old pictures.
"How's this?" he replies, and fucking hell, there's some teasing in his voice as he gets into a real nice position: he's got one leg canted back, slightly, and his torso is bowed downward, and he looks like he's just been taken aback by some awful news-awful news like he's just been dumped, or awful news like he's just been told that his blowjob skills are only 'passable.' I wish I worked in porno. I'd take pictures of this fox with a dick in his mouth.
I just take my 'vulnerable' shots and leave it at that, though, pushing dirtier imagery out of my head. Shit, at this rate, I'm gonna get shaky paws and I'll be hard pressed to steady my camera. Already I'm hard and pressing against my pants. Well, kind of. Halfway there, maybe.
Did I just let my mind wander a moment too long? "Okay, let's switch gears over to provocative," I say, and I'm amazed I'm able to keep a straight face.
Not one to pull punches, evidently, foxy reaches down and cups his package again, making like he's rubbing his cock or his sheath through the fabric. The look in his eyes says, in translation, "I know you wish you could see my dick." That's "you" as in, "you, the guy or gal holding this magazine," and not, "you, the man with the camera," by the way. Even so, forget only being halfway hard.
Could I just call a pause and claim that I need to go to the bathroom? Technically, it wouldn't be lying. I could just whack myself off real quick, probably in about the time it would take to take a long piss, and then come back out and take pictures like nothing had happened. It might work.
But no, he's a canid. He'd smell it. Maybe he'd even look nice and hurt, and whimper to me, saying, "Oh, mister otter, I would've helped you with that if you'd have just let me know." Or maybe he'd just roll his eyes and think to himself, "Dear lord, that makes three this week."
Okay, so forget the bathroom. Just wait for it to go down and concentrate on doing your job.
And he looks at my crotch. I swear that there's a smirk on his face, too. He can see that I'm hard. Oh, damn it, it's so noticeable, too. He probably can see it from there, and it's not like I've got anything to hide it with. I mean, he's not looking anymore, but I just know that he saw. Well, there goes my self-confidence.
I remove the camera from the tripod, take a few steps closer, and then squat down onto one knee, hoping (in addition to getting some more dynamic shots) that it'll make any bulges less obvious. "Okay, how about something just a little more playful?" I ask, and I watch his eyes to see if they try to zero in on my groin again. I don't know if I'm hoping he won't or if I'm hoping he will.
It occurs to me that I probably should have specified what I meant by 'playful,' because that's a very ambiguous adjective, and while I'd been thinking, "Smile a bit more brightly and look nice and wholesome," that's not what the fox has in mind, and that's readily apparent by the way that his hands go right for the button at the front of his shorts. Rather than backpedal, though, I just go along with it. I need to get these shots eventually, anyway, and he and I both know that.
He gets his button undone, and I take a picture of him while he's tugging his zipper down. He only pulls it down halfway and just lets the front of his pants hang open a little bit. I shift backward a bit and get some wide framed full-body shots of him. Then, I zoom in, and I focus on his belly and the fur that's showing just below his waistline. His shorts aren't opened enough that his sheath is visible, but I can see where it's being held in place by the fabric. These pictures are going to look fucking awesome when I get them printed.
From a photographer's standpoint, I'm actually very impressed. He must do this kind of shoot more often than I know about, because he knows just what to do in order to show what he can without crossing the line. This might not be porn, but it's still hot as hell.
"Looking good, there," I tell him. "Now, turn back around, and let's get some shots of that cute butt of yours." I realize what I'm saying halfway through my saying it, but I don't bother to stop myself. If he already noticed that he's making me hard, posing for me like this, then it can't really do any damage to tell him that he has a nice ass.
Without direction, the fox just goes ahead and undoes the rear clasp of his shorts. Since both clasps are undone, now, the waistband rides pretty low. He puts one foot up on the rung of the positioning stool and then he leans forward so that he exposes a few inches of red-furred rump for my eyes and my camera to take in. I lean over to one side, snapping a shot of the base of his tail, framed just right so that you can't see what's underneath it, but so that you can still see that the area is totally bare and exposed.
I wish that the magazine would let me show his bare butt. It's not like it would be that racy, and I really want to see it.
"Just about done, I think," I say, hiding the disappointment in my voice. I've been having a good time, and hopefully he has, too, and I'd hate to ruin that with a whiny attitude. Besides, I got to be here in person, so I've got nothing to complain about.
The fox turns back around, and now that his shorts are sagging a little lower, I find myself looking right at the top of his sheath, which has a teensy bit of pink that's just showing at the tip. I feel the lump in my throat as I swallow it, and I look up from behind my camera to give my subject an apologetic smile. He smiles back, but if it's anything, it's not a smile of apology. Without taking his eyes off mine, he reaches down and pulls his zipper down the rest of the way, and the entirety of his sheath comes into full view.
"We don't need to rush things up, do we?" he asks, and God, he's as good at voicing the part as he is at posing for it.
I chuckle for him, to show him that I appreciate it. "The magazine's not going to take any pictures that are that explicit."
"You don't need to send them just because you take them," he replies, and he brings his hand down toward his sheath. I can't bring myself to not look, and I almost want to whimper when he see him rub up and down the side of that white-furred sheath with a single black-furred fingertip. Scrambling my paws, I bring my camera back into position, because I just need to get a shot of that delicious contrast and that pretty, pretty teasing.
More fingers join the first, and he starts to fondle his sheath more lewdly. I can tell that he's getting pretty hard in there, too, which is a nice match to my own situation; I take a quick look down, and I'm leaking enough that there's even a little damp spot at the front of my pants. My breathing must be a lot louder, now, and I keep on having to lick my lips because I feel so jittery. The webbing between my fingers feels clammy. My queer-boy instincts make me want to just crawl on up to him, tug that sheath down, and wrap my lips around him, but I hold strong.
The fox's fingers tense up around the front of his sheath, and I can tell what's coming-both me and my camera are ready. He starts to pull that fuzzy holder of his down, and my finger slips off of the shutter button on my camera, because I'm just totally caught off guard.
Holy shit, he's got a piercing! That's cheating! He can't do that! That wasn't there before! Oh, fuck, there's that slick, pink dick of his, all lined up for a shot, and I almost miss the goddamn shot. Quickly, I snap the shutter a bunch of times-I'm not even counting-and I just stare. Glimmering precum at his tip and glinting metal pierced right through it... oh, God, that's just not fair.
"Like what you see, huh?" the fox says, cupping his balls in his paw and lifting off of his heels so that his shaft bobs up and down for a moment. I just nod, mutter wordlessly, and take a few more pictures to hide my embarrassment with my camera.
There's a red blur in my viewfinder as the fox twirls around, doing a one-eighty. He brings his feet closer together so that his shorts start to fall off, but then he spreads his legs apart again so that they get caught just above knee-level. There's that bare backside I'd been lamenting a minute or so ago, and I don't waste the opportunity to burn every single detail into my mind's eye for future reference, figuring that the digital film can just serve as my backup.
"Do you mind if I get some closer shots?" I ask, marveling at my own ability to not sound like I've completely lost my sense of professionalism.
"Get as close as you like," he replies. Plain and simple.
I scoot closer, and I'm close enough that my nose is being tickled with the mingling scents of vulpine and arousal. "Do you mind lifting your tail for me?" I ask, again without presumption.
Up goes the tail, no questions asked. I change the zoom on the camera accordingly, getting full, in-your-face shots of the fox's pert little ass. He looks so inviting, and I actually seriously consider giving him a bite to one of his cheeks. I don' think there are very many barriers between us, anymore, but still, all I've done is look.
I shift closer still, sitting with my own ass on the floor so that I can just point and click without a problem. The fox reaches down and moves the stool forward, and then he keeps his hands on it so that he can brace against it as he bends over, tail still nice and high with his balls dangling down below. I've lost track of how many pictures I've taken and how much memory I've got left, and I don't care.
Then, I'm touching him. I don't remember deciding that I was brave enough to do that, but I do remember thinking that I should get a nice shot of that fuzzy run between his balls and his tail, and in doing so, my hand goes up between his legs and rests against his bunched-up sheath for balance. The fur there is somewhat damp. He doesn't react: he doesn't say anything, he doesn't moan, and his cock doesn't twitch with my hand so close. He just keeps nice and still and lets me get my picture, and I hesitate in pulling my hand away before I finally do so.
"Got room for a few more shots?" the fox asks me.
"Yeah," I say, not sure if I'm lying about that or not. "Did you have something in mind?"
"Well, it might be kind of stereotypical," he begins to say as he slides the stool away and just hunkers down onto his hands and knees with his shorts bunched around his lower legs. "I think this is kind of classic, though. Don't you?"
My cock is aching. "Definitely classic," I murmur back, dropping any and all façade. "Begging to be captured."
He looks over his shoulder to smile at me, and I smile right on back. Then, of all the things to do, I actually scoot myself away from him, and then around to the side. I've got enough butt-on shots, and this fox here is pretty enough that his entire body needs to be caught on film in the old fashioned "ready and waiting" position. Best of all, from a few angles, I can still manage to get his dick in the frame as it pokes down between his white thighs.
Oh, and at this point, there's no question that he's looking at the hard-on in my pants.
"Hey," he says, voice softer than before. "Why don't you put the camera down?"
I nod, and I set the camera aside. I say nothing. I just crawl back over to him, and I know what he wants me to do, and I know that he knows that I know. We're both quiet as I make my way over to him and kneel in between his shins, my knees against the wadded-up denim of his shorts.
It feels like I've been dealing with this raging hard-on for weeks, at this point, and I let myself moan with blissful, blissful relief as I undo my pants and free my cock from being trapped. I have to take a few seconds to catch my breath just from that alone, and in the meantime, I just kind of stare at my member, poking out there, so close to the fox's tail.
That's it. I can't take it anymore. I take one of my fingers and start to push it against the ring under the fox's tail, thanking the powers that be that I've got some natural slickness to my fur (and if you've never been with an otter, trust me, it comes in handy on so many occasions!). The fox moans for me, and he waits until my fingertip is past that tight entrance before he starts to push back.
My other hand rests on one of the fox's rump cheeks, and I rub and massage it to take my mind off of the fact that I really want to start fucking him. It kind of works. Sort of. I'm happy that I'm not going too crazy with my finger, because if I hurt him now, no amount of jerking off later on is going to make up for what I'd miss out on.
It doesn't surprise me that the fox is quick to loosen up; it does make me smile, though, because it's kind of hot to know that I'm dealing with a pro, here. For a moment, I consider working another finger into his rear, but no, to hell with that. I'm not that thick, and I'm gonna blow my load all over the back of this poor fox's nuts if I don't get myself inside him in the next minute or so.
With the hand I've got on his backside, I spread his cheeks apart, and with my other hand, I bring my tip into position. Despite how much I've been leaking, already, it doesn't look like my body's going to stop that anytime soon. That's good, because I want this to be nice and smooth. I'm fantasizing about it being nice and smooth.
I don't need to fantasize, though, because I'm in the here and now, and oh, God, holy fuck, that feels nice when I shove my tip into him. I immediately slap both of my paws down on his hips and just hold myself still, because otherwise I might be liable to tip over from lightheadedness. My heart is pounding, my cock is pounding, and my tail seems to have worked its way around one of foxy's ankles.
At this rate, my fuse is not going to be a long one, and so I decide to hold off for a bit before pressing on. He doesn't seem to have as much patience as me, though, because when he feels me hesitate, he skips the waiting and just pushes back against me. God, he wants my cock in him, and I whine, because the only thing I can think of right now that could possibly be hotter than fucking this fox is fucking this fox and having him eager for every second of it.
I tense my fingers and claws against his hips and steel myself, biting my lip as I huff out through my nostrils. The fox's furry backside comes right up against the front of my pants, and my shaft is just enveloped in tightness and warmth, and I whimper even though I don't want to, because I do want to. My arms go still, and with my hold nice and steady, I draw my hips back, and I start to thrust.
The way that the fox yips as I begin fucking him makes me wish that I had a tape recorder in addition to a camera. I fixate on the way his black ears look from behind, and how his head tilts back more and more the harder I drive into him. I can't let myself think too hard about any one thing for too long, though. I need to keep my mind busy so that I can hold my orgasm off for as long as possible. He's loving it, and I can tell because he keeps yipping and he keeps bumping his ass against me as I slam my cock under his tail over and over and over.
Oh, fuck, God forgive me. I throw my upper body down and forward, wrapping myself around the fox's torso, holding myself against him and him against me. He's so fucking warm, and I stuff one of his ears in my mouth to keep from moaning too pathetically. Oh, sweet, he likes that. He's squirming underneath me, losing his own rhythm, out of control because I've got his ear, and his wriggling hips really do a number on me, too.
His ear slips free of my mouth, and I need to start panting with my muzzle wide open. I gasp for air over and over, and I've already slipped past the point of no return, I just noticed. It's just a few more seconds, and there's no stopping me, now. I close my eyes, I let my hips move on their own accord, and I explode inside of him.
Each spurt I release into my fox makes my whole body shudder. It's been less than twelve hours since the last time I got off, but it feels like it might as well have been twelve days, from the way that I go into spasms. I don't even remember the last time I came this hard, but whenever it was, it hadn't been quite like this.
My dizziness fades, and I realize that my chin is tucked over the fox's shoulder, now. I don't know if I blinked out for a second or so, there, or if I just wasn't paying attention. Does that matter, though? I don't think it does. He's warm.
I wish my tail could reach my camera from here. I want a picture of me like this.
Time goes by (a minute? Five?) and I start to wonder if he's gotten off, yet. I take a sniff in through my nose, but I can't smell clearly enough to tell. All I smell is 'fox,' and that's not specific enough. So, I reach down between his legs, and sure enough, he's still hard and drippy. His piercing is so fun to play with, too, especially with that drippiness.
He squirms. "You know, my driver is coming back to pick me up in about five minutes or so," he says.
"Mmm. That's a shame," I murmur into his ear, squeezing his member gently. "After the session you gave me, I figure I kind of owe you my appreciation."
That makes him giggle, and it makes me happy (in an admittedly silly way) to know that I can make him giggle. "Do you do just regular portrait work?" he asks. "I could schedule an appointment for sometime... oh, say, early next week?"
My spent cock twitches. "Give me a call," I reply. "I'm sure I can fit you in somewhere. If not, I can move some other things around."
"I'll pay you extra to make up for your trouble," he says.
The last thing I think before I pull out of the fox so that he can get up is that I know I'm going right to look for those old magazines the minute I get home tonight.