The Photographs

"I have been in the same market as your publishing house for years," he answered. "I kept track of Andres--and of you. I had hoped we'd meet again. Did you come here because, with Andres dead, you need my cock? I'll bet it remains the biggest one that's ever fucked you."

"Hardly," I said, leaving vague whether this applied to the reason for seeking him out or the size of his shaft. But just now I couldn't come up with a plausible reason, even to myself, why I had come. I just couldn't get the photobook of nudes that we'd both been subjects of out of my mind. If, in my subconscious, I'd come for a sexual connection, there was nothing I could see in what Lucas had become that I found enticing. I looked down at his desk to see that he had a copy of our photobook there. He saw where my gaze had gone.

"Yes, I keep it here. It was a classic. I'd like to do another one someday. You've aged well. Perhaps you could take the Roman soldier role and one of my prostitutes could be the young slave."

One thing was for certain. Lucas couldn't reprise his role in such a book. He was heavy now. He wasn't quite obese and he still had some hard muscles, but he wasn't body beautiful as he had once been--for at least the three days I had known him. Time hadn't been good to his face either. He was jowly and he'd been in a bar fight or two at some time and had a scar running from earlobe down to the corner of his mouth. His mouth had set into a sneery frown. Where before he was noble Roman in looks, with the abdominals of a Roman soldier's breastplate, he now just looked like a tired thug sitting in a seedy fetish club.

I looked out onto the club floor, where the platinum blond was still dancing the pole. He was the only enticing object in this little world Lucas had sunk to.

Lucas's eyes went to where mine were focused.

"I understand that you and Andres maintained the fetish. You'd like to fuck my little pole dancer, Lazlo, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," I answered, honestly.

"And that's why you are here today?"

"I was in Vienna on business anyway and decided to look you up here in Salzburg," I said, lamely, having let entirely too much of a pause get established to give the statement credence. He knew, I'm sure, that it had taken considerable effort to find him. "So, I have found that you run a club here in Salzburg now," I said. "Your talent, Lazlo, did you say, up there on the stage looks very young. And I understand that you photograph nudes now, like Andres did."

"Exactly like Andres did," Lucas said, with a smile. "I photograph nudes for one set of subscriptions, and sex for another, just like Andres did--like you and I did. And Lazlo there, riding the pole. He is eighteen, yes. I specialize in eighteen-year-old males. I do a good business providing eighteen-year-olds to the men of Austria. They come here from throughout the country to taste my goods. Just as Andres did with you when you were eighteen. Let me guess what you really came here for, though."

With that, Lucas stood up from the desk, unzipped his fly, and fished out a gigantic cock. He was in erection. "You were curious about this. You wondered if I really was this big when I used it to claim your virginity. You never again had it this big. You want it again, don't you? If I let you fuck Lazlo, you'll let me fuck you again, yes?"

"Yes," I said, not being able to prevent myself from being honest.

* * * *

After Lazlo danced on my cock, Lucas fucked me on a bed in a room off a corridor reached through a doorway at the end of the bar covered by a beaded curtain. It was clear that the room was meant for such trysts and it wasn't the only room at this club devoted to this purpose.

I was panting, wiped out, stretched to the limit by the man's monster cock, when he grasped my ankles in his hands as he hovered over me on the bed, took my ankles off his shoulders, and let my legs bend, with my feet flat on the mattress beside his hips. He rubbed his and my accumulated cum into the flesh of my belly with a thumb. He'd jacked me off while he was fucking me. He'd ripped the condom off his cock with the other hand and dropped the rubber to beside me. I turned my head and looked at it. For a man of forty-six who was no longer in top shape, he could fill out the bulb of a condom to bursting. He also had confirmed that he possibly had the thickest, longest cock I'd ever taken.

I couldn't lie. This was what I had come for, not for Lazlo.

"Still have it, do I?" he asked, running a hand up my torso, grasping my throat and cupping my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes.

"Yes," I said.

"But it isn't the same, getting it from an old man, as it is giving it to an eighteen-year-old, is it?"

I was surprised. He knew more about me than I'd thought he did. I didn't answer. I didn't have too.

"Just like me covering you, an eighteen-year-old all those years ago, I understand that's your fetish, just like you were Andres's fetish. You have a young guy in your bed now, don't you?"

"Yes," I answered. "His name's Xavier."

"Is he eighteen?"

"No, he's twenty now."

"But you still have a fetish for eighteen-year-old guys. You came to me to give you a young guy like Lazlo."

"Yes." I saw no reason to boost his ego by telling him I'd come for his cock.

"This isn't just a club here," Lucas said. "I have a photo studio, which you know. But this is a male brothel. I have rent-boys. Most of them are eighteen. None are older than nineteen. That's the club specialty. You'd like to fuck another of my male whores, wouldn't you?"

"Yes." I was too far into this to lie.

"And you'd like him to be a virgin to men. Lazlo wasn't a virgin, which is, I'm sure obvious. You enjoyed him, but you would be much happier deflowering a virgin. Just like you were when I fucked you when I was your age. Right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I have a deal for you. I want to do another glossy photobook of male nudes like you and I did before. I take the photographs. You be the Roman soldier. I'll supply a beautiful virginial slave. Your publishing house will publish the book, and we will split the profits."

"When? Where?"

"Here in the studio. Over the next three days, just like with our photo shoot. Stills of nudes starting early in the shoot moving into sex photos and videos for a separate subscriber set later in the shoot. Can you stay here in Salzburg for the next three days?"

"Yes."

* * * *

His name was Michael. His father was a married English sailor, who was doing a tour in Hamburg and had been lonely and had returned to Devon before Michael was born. His mother was a German cocktail waitress. Lucas had bought him with the stipulation that, at eighteen, he was a virgin to men's cocks. Lucas promised the young man a much better life than he'd had before.

Lucas set up the scene much as it had been fourteen years previously, although we didn't have the Mediterranean at our disposal. He provided a Roman couch set before a draped silk curtain. The Roman soldier's armor, slat-plated skirt, and sandals lacing up to my knees composed the exact same costume Lucas had worn before. Michael was, initially, in a loose-fitting tunic that allowed for much fondling under the material for the camera before it came off. The photography was done in three two-hour sessions over three days, just as Andres had done with us in Tangier. As with Tangier, each day the photography went from covered seduction and fondling to extensive ever-more-provocative nude poses, to, when the purpose changed, full-on sex, with milk chocolate-brown, thirty-two-year-old, muscular me, having my way with small, alabaster white, eighteen-year-old Michael.

Lucas hadn't made it easy for me losing my virginity fourteen years ago. I didn't make it easy for Michael either.

I agreed with Lucas that the first day of shooting, while Michael was innocent and proceeding to where I took his virginity from him in both film and reality were the best and those were the shots that predominated in the finished collection. The young man's nervousness, anticipation, awe, and suffering came through best before he had been initiated fully to the sport of men. He consented to it all, but there was a hint of reluctance and then, at the moment of taking, an ineffectual instinct of pulling back that could only be captured in the reality of doing it. At the point of crossing the young man over into the anal sport of men, I gave Michael no quarter, just as Lucas had given me none. It made for spectacular photography.

In the Tangier version, it had simply been the size and power of Lucas that had carried through. This time, the taking was enhanced by binding the young man's wrists and, in some photos his ankles as well. Lucas had expressed delight that this version was enhanced by my having a thick Prince Albert ring in my cock head and by my cock been a darker brown than my skin tone.

He thought the deflowering scene, filmed at the end of the first day, was exquisite. I had taken Michael onto my lap, facing away. His arms were stretched up, with his wrists bound together in leather strips behind my neck. His legs streamed back around my hips and the ankles were bound. He was held fully captive in front of me as I sat on the side of the couch. I cupped has genitals, holding them back against his belly to give the camera a clear shot of me teasing the young man's hole with my ring-pierced cock head, my thick, hard shaft brown and the tender inner thighs and buttocks of Michael creamy white. As I slowly and relentlessly buried the shaft inside the sobbing and ineffectually writhing slave, the camera caught every disappearing inch of me and every jerk, silent scream, and writhe of the deflowered virgin.

I pulled Michael on and off the cock interminably, as he slowly subsided into collapsed, whimpering surrender. The camera caught me pulling the cum out of him and, later, me bringing the head of my cock to the surface to ejaculate at his entrance and then to push in for more stroking. By then the young man was mine, nestled into me, turning his face for my kisses, and rocking on my buried cock.

The deflowering sequence, when matched with the finale on the third day, produced an extremely well-selling photo journal for certain well-heeled and fetish obsessed subscribers. In the last sequence, Lucas reenacted Andres's last scene in the Tangier version. Once again, Michael was in my lap, facing away from me, as I sat on the side of the couch. And once again his wrists were bound behind my neck. But this time, his ankles were bound behind my neck as well, giving the camera a clear shot of my shaft working in his hole.

As Lucas called in one of his men to take up the camera, I untied Michael's ankles, grasped them, and raised and spread them in front of us. Lucas dropped his drooping shorts, which had, like Andres before him, been the only article of clothing he'd been wearing, and he approached us, moving between our spread legs. The camera clicked off photographs, as Lucas presented his cock head at Michael's hole, in which my shaft already was buried. As Michael writhed and cried out in pain-passion, Lucas forced his way in above my cock, and fucked the erstwhile virgin into unconsciousness.

My Barcelona publishing house published the glossy photobook of nudes under the title of Natürlicher Mensch und Junge Liebhaber--"Natural Man and Young Lover"--and packaged it for exclusive sale, for those who were as rich as they were sexually obsessed, with a republished edition of Generational Male Nudes.

When I returned to Barcelona, I took the platinum-haired, eighteen-year-old flexible pole dancer Lazlo with me. It was time to turn twenty-year-old Xavier over to Count Rosario for full-time training at the count's school.