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“Alright, tell you what.” I come up to the foot of the big sling, then pull tight the straps on each of Tye’s ankles, causing him to tense up. “Let’s get your young ass into this thing properly …” I come around and take hold of one of his hands, which surprises him, then secure it to a wrist strap. “And we’ll make you as helpless …” I take his other hand and secure it to the other strap, rendering his limbs useless. “… as that photo of the wrestler that got you so worked up.”
I leave him on the sling—strapped spread-eagle, open to my every whim—then go for the camera. I lift it up to an eye to find my angle.
Tye squirms for two and a half seconds, as if to test how tight the holds are. He pulls a bit harder on either wrist, curious. Half a smile of excitement breaks over his face, which is quickly wiped away when he turns to find the camera aimed straight at him. “Oh. Are we already starting? Should I …” He gives his arm another feeble tug. “Should I do something? This isn’t like our other shoots, is it?”
Snap, snap, snap. I take a few tests without the flash. He’s perfect. “You’re already doing plenty.”
“Am I?” He swallows firmly, nervous.
A picture of beautiful helplessness. A model of vulnerability. A beacon of youth. Snap, snap, snap.
I can visibly see his heart race with excitement, from the way his eyes shrink to the way his neck tenses up. Tye is already making those discoveries he so craved since the moment he pushed through my front door—and through every shoot since. His mind is bursting to life.
And I’m right at the helm of it.
Snap.
“Aren’t you gonna direct me with this one? Am I supposed to look somewhere specific? Or …?”
He’s already giving me so much, I just feel like an observer of nature, snapping shots in the wild. “You’re doing enough just by being yourself.”
I don’t have to direct him at all in this one; he’s giving me everything I need.
“Oh. You’re going for … a natural thing?” He chuckles anxiously, tugs on one of his binds again, then smiles. “I kinda was hoping you’d direct me more. Or tell me what to …” He swallows. “… do.”
I stop, then peer at him over the camera.
He wants me to direct him. Control him. This kid is literally bound in a sling, at my mercy, and he still wants more. He might as well ask me to make his binds tighter.
I’m not gonna say I’m getting hard right now.
I’m also not gonna say I’m not getting hard.
I’ll just say I’m glad my pants are their own kind of concealing tight right now. It’s helping hide my arousal—even if it’s also making me ache.
“Pull on your binds,” I direct him, giving in to what he wants. “One at a time, not all at once. Let me know how trapped you are.”
After burning me with his gorgeous blue eyes, Tye bites his lip by instinct as he glances up at his left hand and gives it a tug, causing the whole sling to shake lightly—and his toned arm to flex, catching the light deliciously. Snap. Then he peers up at his right hand, facing me, and cutely scrunches up his forehead as he gives that hand a gentler tug. Snap. Then he stares down his long, lean body and gives either of his feet a tug, pulling against the binds.
Snap.
It’s fucking perfection.
Snap, snap.
“Uh …”
I take a few more shots, then quirk an eyebrow and peer over the camera at him. “What is it?”
Then my eyes drop to his crotch.
The leather pants might be a little constricting, but unfortunately for him, they also hide nothing.
Like the fact that he’s hard as fuck.
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He can’t cover it up with his hands.
He can’t pull his legs together to hide it.
He can’t, in any way, conceal from view what this photo shoot has done to him—and where all of the blood his heart was so eagerly pumping went.
Tye’s face burns red.
The corners of my lips twist up. “Well, well … Looks like you successfully made yourself know just how trapped you are.” I let out a soft, breathy chuckle, then eye him curiously. “Do you want this photographed, too?” I ask innocently, as I give my camera a sarcastic gesture. “Or is this not quite … the shot you intended?”
“I …” He suddenly appears conflicted about what to say. The big boy from earlier is traded for a scared, horny, clueless cat who’s climbed way too far up the tree to get safely down.
It’s growing increasingly impossible to respect the separation of client and photographer. I cannot cross that line, no matter how tempting, no matter how he looks at me …
