I used to be a heavy smoker. Drank a lot too. I gave it all up last year for health reasons. However, a not so kind friend of mine told me not to breathe a sigh of relief too soon since ‘obsessives’ like me didn’t take long to replace one obsession with another. Usually religion or sex. I think he must have been right because recently I got the hots for a male model I saw advertising underwear in a mail order catalogue.
Nothing captures the basic erotic essence of man better for me than seeing him in a pair of briefs. Ones which barely conceal his credentials but communicate vastly to the imagination and send my libido on a flight of fancy. This guy was classified under the heading ‘Intimate articles’ which is what they call underwear over here in Italy. The line of ‘intimate articles’ he was advertising so very well was new to me. The pair that turned me on most had ‘Basic Man’ written on the elastic clinging to his waist. I couldn’t wait to run out and buy myself some although I was already more than half convinced that they wouldn’t even look a quarter as good on me as they did on him.
The photos were in the June edition of the catalogue and I stared at them in open-mouthed disbelief. My basic man’s ‘article’ couldn’t have been more intimate. Or obvious. In fact he seemed to be having a lot of difficulty keeping it under wraps. I couldn’t believe they’d had the nerve to print the pictures. In one he was wearing a pair of those slightly old-fashioned white briefs that hug a guy’s crotch. Normally if you’re lucky you can just about see the outline of his dick bearing to the left and upward and his balls bulging to the right. But this guy looked like his briefs were fighting a losing battle in both directions and June was most definitely busting out all over.
Some irrational demon inside my dick made me determined to track him down. I didn’t know what I was going to say to him if I succeeded in this enterprise but I didn’t let myself worry unduly as my dick usually takes over on these occasions. It wasn’t too difficult for me as I’m a photographer and all I had to do was contact his agency and leave my number. Eventually the object of my lustful affection called to say he was leaving for Madrid. He thanked me for my interest and said he would contact me as soon as he got back. Naturally he assumed I was offering him work. So far so good.
In the meantime I went out and spent a fortune on a full range of Basic Man products. Just the sight of them turned my dick up two notches. They felt good on too. Gave me quite a lift. I’d forgotten to ask the horny hunk how long he was staying in Spain and all of a sudden found I had a lot of time on my hands. Couldn’t concentrate on a thing. Except his body and dick. And the basic man expression on his fabulous face of course. I took to going to the gym again. Working out bored the pants off me but I figured if I was going to get the pants off him I’d better get into shape. By the way, he had a name. Brook Matthews. So he wasn’t even Italian. Never mind I could deal with that.
I hadn’t been to the gym in a long time and was happy to see there were lots of great guys working out. I decided to have a shower first. Officially for hygiene reasons but really because I wanted to see some dicks as soon as possible to try and block Basic Man Matthews out of my mind. There was plenty of eye candy in the shower room and you don’t have to be too discreet as Italians love being looked at and there’s nothing they enjoy more than comparing dicks under the shower. Or so it seems. By the way there’s an intriguing theory that the reason Italian guys are so well endowed is because their mothers are forever rubbing their dicks. And from a very early age. So they grow up rubbing their dicks too and leaving white patches on the front of their jeans. If you don’t believe me check it out. Of course they’re only too pleased to continue the family tradition and don’t really mind who’s doing the rubbing as long as the guy or gal is good looking. At least that’s what I’ve always been told. But maybe you’d better not take my word for it and check that out too before you start a-rubbing. Otherwise you might get your fingers burned.
I worked out two or three times before I tired of it again and was about to give up the body beautiful struggle when I ran into this security guard. I couldn’t believe it. He fairly stopped me in my tracks. He was an absolute dead ringer for Brook Matthews. As near as makes no difference anyway. For one thing he had the same sort of ‘don’t fuck with me’ face and his navy blue uniform clung to him in all the right places. Naturally I followed him into the shower at the earliest opportunity to check out his credentials and was gratified to find he was hung like a horse and definitely eligible for the basic man stakes.
We got to chatting in the locker room and I found myself boldly asking him if he’d ever done any modelling work. He said he’d been asked the same question many times before but usually by guys making out. Anyway it wasn’t compatible with his career as a security guard and he didn’t think his wife would like it. Why? I told him it could be very lucrative. I also told him I was a photographer and I wasn’t making out but looking for a guy like him to model some swimwear for a catalogue. I chose swimwear as an alternative to underwear as I thought that would have scared him off. Then the irrational demon inside my dick made me mention an exorbitant price which was more than I could afford but one I knew he couldn’t refuse.
I gave him my card and he said he’d talk it over with his wife and let me know. He said that his name was Marco Massa and that he was pleased to meet me. As we shook hands my knees shook too. I suddenly realized what I was getting myself into for to all intents and purposes I was renting this gorgeous hunk to fulfil my Brook Matthews fantasies. I was taking a big risk too, him being a security guard and all that. Like Alfred Hitchcock before me I’d always had a bit of a phobia about running foul of the police. I was also all too aware of the similarity between me and the character James Stewart plays in the movie ‘Vertigo’ where Hitchcock has him trying to turn Kim Novak into the spitting image of the love object he’s lost. And that film took a nasty turn if I remember rightly. Soon I found myself wishing and hoping Marco Massa wouldn’t call but of course he did.
He wanted to come to my studio and check out what the job entailed and make sure I was on the level. I was anything but on the level. In fact my legs were still shaking and I’d decided to tell him that the job had fallen through. But when he arrived and I saw his eager face and to die for body within easy reach, and possibly up for grabs, my irrational dick got the better of me once more. I showed him some trade catalogues so he could see how innocuous it all was and just to prove to him I was ‘in good faith’ handed him an envelope containing the Italian equivalent of two hundred dollars as a ‘deposit.’ I told him no contracts had been signed yet but we could start straight away if he liked. He did. I asked if he thought his bank would have any objections if we took a few shots in his uniform. He said he didn’t think so especially as the uniform was fairly standard and he could hide the insignia if I didn’t mind. Naturally I didn’t. All in all the conversation was boringly tame, as conversations tend to be when the photographer is trying to put his model at ease.
Actually, for a beginner, Marco was very relaxed in front of the camera and extremely photogenic. I decided to play it cool and show him some of the results before I encouraged him to take his clothes off. For my own purposes – and pleasure – I took some of those standard James Bond shots with his gun doubling for his dick but I didn’t show Marco those of course. Just some very flattering ones in full uniform and a few with his sleeves rolled up and his shirt unbuttoned. We studied them on my computer. He looked happy with the results and surprised too.
“I didn’t know I could look like that,” he said. “Thank you.”
“The camera never lies,” I said, already afraid to tell him the truth.
There was a long pregnant pause as if he wanted to ask me something but didn’t quite know how.
“You’d better be getting back to your wife,” I said hoping I’d satisfied his curiosity.
“She’s out playing bridge with some girl friends,” he said. “I told her I was on duty.”
“I see,” I said although I didn’t really. I wanted him to go before I was out of my depth.
“Can we take some more?” he asked like a child who’s been offered fancy cakes.
“How much time have we got?” I asked.
“Two hours,” he said. “If that’s ok with you.”
There was another long pregnant pause. He looked at me in a way that made my dick rise.
“I can take a lot of clothes off in two hours.”
I didn’t say anything. I waited for him to continue. After all he was the one calling the shots.
“I don’t even mind if you take photos of my dick. As long as you don’t touch it.”
This was the first indication he’d given me that he was excited about being photographed in the nude. Maybe he’d been thinking things over as he called it but for some reason he’d decided not to tell his wife and after seeing how he looked on camera had already been bitten by the bug and couldn’t wait to ‘show me the goods.’ My dick hadn’t been so irrational after all.
“I don’t have any swimsuits just yet.” I lied, acting as if I hadn’t heard what he said.
“No problem,” he said. He was already halfway out of his clothes.
“They arrive tomorrow.” I added, knowing we were both at the point of no return.
“I can pose in my jockey shorts,” he said, stepping out of his trousers.
“Ok.” I said. “If you’re happy to do that. I’ve got some other things you can wear.”
“Let’s start with the jockey shorts,” he said. “I feel more comfortable in them.”
He did indeed look comfortable in his jockey shorts. Too comfortable. Like a retired major in his bedroom slippers. They were entirely unsuitable for the kind of photos I thought I was taking and the combined weight of his dick and balls made them droop most unattractively.
I tried to tell him so without offending him but the right words didn’t come.
“Your dick just isn’t hanging right,” I finally blurted out.
“Give me a second and I’ll re-adjust it,” he said. But instead of slipping his hand inside his shorts as I’d expected him to he lowered them to his knees so I got the Full Monty as he stroked his dick into what he called a “more suitable position.” He really was a good-looking guy and a mass of muscles too. Really lived up to his name. Massa by name, ‘mass-a’ by nature. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the mass of flesh he was presently fisting but didn’t say anything. Just took a few shots to drool over later. Then of course he couldn’t get his long hard pole back into his jockey shorts.
“I could help you with that,” I heard myself saying.
“I bet you could,” he said. “Just get it into your head this all belongs to my wife.”
“I’d rather get it into my mouth,” I said, trying to make a joke of it and failing dismally.
“Maybe we should wait till it goes down,” I added rather pathetically to cover my embarrassment.
It was all very frustrating. If only he would explain the rules of the game he was playing.
“I’d better go to the bathroom and jerk off,” he said, stroking his thick prick and making it thicker.
He lowered his shorts once more so I could get another full eyeful and then turned to go.
“On the other hand I could do it here in front of the camera,” he said as an afterthought.
“As you like,” I said trying to sound casual although my dick was dancing at the very idea.
“Of course you’ll have to give me the negatives. I don’t want them appearing on the internet.”
“There are no negatives,” I said, suddenly sounding at my most British. “They’re digital.”
“Whatever,” he said and started to stroke his prong. Long and strong.
I found myself wishing I had a movie camera handy. This show was just too good to miss.
It lasted quite a long time too. He was a slow comer. I needed to jerk off myself by the end of it.
“Feast your eyes on that man,” he said as he was on the verge of shooting his load.
“Did you ever see a dick like it?” I had to admit I hadn’t. Nor one that oozed quite so much.
He came in copious globs and a pearly string hung from his wrist when he’d finished.
“Let me at least wipe it for you,” I said lamely but knew I hadn’t a hope in hell.
“No way,” he said using his jockey shorts. “Anyway I’m all pooped out.”
“Does that mean we’re finished for the day?” I asked like a schoolchild being told to go home.
“‘Fraid so,” he said “Show’s over. We can pick up where we left off tomorrow.”
And with that he rolled his shorts up in a ball and threw them to me, or rather at me.
“Wipe the drool off your mouth,” he said as he slipped into his security guard trousers.
“Don’t you want them back?” I asked, offended. “You might catch cold.”
“No, you joker, they’re all yours. You can jerk off in them.” And he was gone before I could think of a suitable retort. I had no choice but to take his advice and jerked off like a nerdy high school student. I remained in a pool of my cum trying to gather my thoughts and recover from his ‘visit.’
In all my years as a photographer I’d never ever let another guy take control of me quite like that. I’d always let my lens gently seduce my twinks or straights and turn them on subtly and slowly. And I’d always made sure I was the one in charge. My sleazy session with Marco had been my first taste of what was turning out to be essentially a master-slave relationship and he’d caught me with my trousers down so to speak. I’d been turned on by his uniform and his body and had expected him to act like some straight stud who’d eventually let me take a few candid shots that would make my dick happy. Instead he’d turned into some kind of closet camera hog on his first day and seemed intent on going the whole hog too. I also had a feeling that lurking not so deeply inside him was the desire to be possessed by another man but he was fighting it with all these cock- teasing games and using his wife as a thinly veiled excuse.
The next day he arrived bright and breezy and raring to go. I wondered what horny surprises he had in store for me this time. I didn’t have long to wait. He stripped to the buff almost before he walked in the door and then proceeded to put on a pair of snow-white briefs which this time fitted his ball sac perfectly and made his dick look snug as a bug in a rug. I didn’t bother to ask why he hadn’t changed at home but let him go through what was to become his usual ritual of showing off his dick to me and then keeping it under wraps for as long as possible. Which, as time went by, turned out to be as long as I held out and resisted. Which wasn’t long. As an extra bonus this time I got an eyeful of his powerful buttocks and the horny chasm of his asscrack. I wondered if he would ever allow me in there and consoled myself with the thought that I could but try. After all Rome wasn’t built in a day and we were already making steady progress. And how. Today I had him leaning against a high wooden stool so that his long wooden dick was dead on camera. He kept touching himself as I’d taught him to do and making appreciable bulges in all the right places.
I complimented him on all the progress he was making and in such a short time.
“Thanks,” he said, “I practised in the mirror while my wife was sleeping.”
He shifted on the stool to show me some of the positions he’d developed and then chattered on.
“Got myself really turned on too and had to change my shorts twice.” he proudly informed me.
“I tend to ooze a lot when I get excited,” he explained,
Tell me what I don’t already know, I thought.
“These are what my wife calls my Sunday best. Do you like them? “
“Yes, I do,” I said. “They’re a big improvement on the others.”
“She used a special perfumed softener but that doesn’t stop me going hard inside them.”
He smiled at his own little joke and his dick went visibly harder at the thought of it.
“Why don’t you come over here and smell their sweet perfume,” he said.
For a moment, I couldn’t believe what my ears were hearing nor what my nose was soon smelling. I put my camera down and walked over to him obediently like one hypnotised. He was now sitting astride the high stool like a jockey on a horse. He lifted his haunches so I could sniff the perfume and then suddenly pulled my head towards his crotch. My nostrils were assailed by the scent of the detergent his wife had used mixed with the smell of pre-cum.
The heady aroma combined with the heat from his dick went straight to my brain. I pressed my nose against his hardness and felt his dick respond to its softness and ooze more pre-cum. He let me rub my nose in his damp shorts for a few magic moments until my head swam with the potent smell of him but then I made the fatal mistake of reaching for the waistband.
“Steady,” he said. “Remember I’m a married man. That’s forbidden territory for the likes of you.”
But his words seemed to belie his actions and after a second’s hesitation he scooted his hips further forward and allowed me to sniff around his crotch below his tight sack and let me mouth his balls through the cotton material. His previously immaculate shorts were wet with his excitement and the warmth from his balls against my flaring nostrils was like a furnace. I rubbed my nose and mouth over his seeping shaft my face getting a free skin treatment from the pre-cum he oozed so profusely.
Small groans and mighty moans told me that he was totally turned on but he absolutely would not let me pull down his briefs. Every time I made a timid attempt to do so he said the Italian equivalent of “Naughty, naughty,” but gave out little strangled cries of pleasure as I continued to push my face deeper into his crotch spearing his shorts with my tongue. Before long I realized he was unofficially urging me on. Encouraging me to jerk him off with my nose and my mouth. I never thought such a thing was possible. His dripping cock pulsed and jumped inside the flimsy netting of his briefs like a freshly caught trout. I watched fascinated as my efforts began to bear fruit and his shorts became a lake of cum. I so much wanted his dick in my mouth but was terrified to upset him at this juncture. All I could do was suck the soggy cotton and imbibe as much creamy moisture as I could without actually touching his forbidden flesh. He hollered like a heifer in heat as I sucked the bittersweet juice out of his dick through the semi-transparent material of his saturated briefs. Then without any warning he suddenly turned on me and began to berate me again for overstepping the mark.
“How am I going to explain this to my wife?" he said pulling down his shorts.
My eyes were only inches away from his gorgeous cum-drenched dick and my mouth literally watered at the sight of it. He scooped up some of the spunk pooling in his pubes and rubbed my face with it. “That's what you wanted, isn't it?" he said roughly. I nodded gratefully.
"Now get me a towel and washcloth so I can clean this shit up." he ordered. I obeyed instantly.
After he’d washed up and calmed down a bit I offered him a fresh pair of Basic Man briefs.
“How am I going to explain these to my wife?” he asked me.
“You don’t have to explain anything to your wife,” I said conspiratorially.
He grunted his thanks and took the briefs from me. “Let’s take some more photos,” he said.
I tried but I was tired and uninspired. “Let’s leave it till tomorrow.” I suggested.
“Ok,” he said, “Tomorrow it is. Same time, same place.” He turned to go.
“Just as long as you keep your hands off my dick,” he added as he went out the door.
Next day he was over an hour late and I feared he wasn’t coming. He was strangely docile and apologetic and eventually confessed that he’d just fucked his wife. She’d been getting jealous and suspicious about his constant absences and he wanted to keep her happy. And quiet.
It seemed that whenever they had a row she threatened not to do his laundry. He explained all this to me because he just couldn’t get a hard-on. I told him not to worry as it happens to the best of us. “Not to me,” he said. I gave him some dirty magazines full of juicy cunts and balloon-like boobs together with the occasional dick in case that should strike his fancy but all to no avail. He threw them down on the floor in disgust.
“Come over here and give me a hand,” he said. As usual it was an order not a request.
“I thought you told me to keep my hands off your dick,” I protested.
“That was physically not figuratively,” he said. “You’ll only be touching it through the material.”
“Whatever you say. Just as long as you don’t get angry again and start spitting the thing at me.”
“You should be so lucky,” he said.
I did as I was bid and put my hand where it had longed to go yesterday. He didn’t get an erection right away and I had to cup his balls in the palm of my hand and run my thumb slowly and firmly along the length of his dick according to his detailed instructions.
“It would be much easier if you’d just use a sock or let me slip my hand inside there.” I said.
For a moment, as I caressed him through the cotton, I sensed his weakened resolve. His dick even gave a tiny twitch as if he were momentarily evaluating my hands-on offer. I thought for one moment I was going to get his big fat dick on a plate. Then common sense once again prevailed.
“No, I don't think so. I'm a married man, remember.”
“So you keep telling me,” I said with a tinge of frustration on my tongue.
I stood behind him so I could get a firmer grip on things. He almost nestled his butt in my crotch as he gave way to the rhythm my thumb was strumming upon his dick. Soon I was playing him like a double bass and he was making strange twangy sounds at the back of his throat. As I repeated the motion, this time with my knuckles, he began to rub his butt against me and even laid his head on my shoulder. I stole a look at him. His eyes were closed and his face seemed contorted with a weird mixture of passion and guilt. He began to breathe heavily through his mouth as his dick hardened in my hand. “That feels so good,” he said eventually, “Just don’t get any strange ideas that’s all.”
I knew then he wanted sex with me like crazy but just couldn’t let himself admit it. His wife excuse was getting frailer and frailer as were his cotton briefs. It was as if Mrs. Massa was neglecting her wifely duties. As the days rolled by there seemed to be less and less material separating my mouth from his dick. I still wasn’t allowed to touch the darn thing but that didn’t stop him from slapping my face with it or making me drink the oceans of ooze that flowed from it as he came within inches of my mouth. Strangely I was turned on by the whole sordid affair. I put his gross behaviour down to the fact that he was Catholic and feeling guilty about being unfaithful to his wife. Especially with another man. He had to take it out on someone so he took it out on me by humiliating me. After all I was the devil who was tempting him. That was my interpretation anyway. Strange people Catholics.
Things came to a final head so to speak when he arrived straight after work wearing the most threadbare of shorts. His once immaculate symbolic briefs were torn away from the waistband.
“Maria didn't do the laundry this week,” he said. “They're pretty worn out, aren't they?”
I had to admit they were but, as far as I was concerned that only made his dick more vulnerable and that could only be in my favour. Marco’s little cock-teasing sex game had me at the end of my tether. I’d stopped pretending I was taking photos for a swimwear catalogue but he hadn’t quite stopped pretending he was straight. Today I decided to tell him there was no point coming anymore (in both senses of the word) as the photos were just an excuse to have sex and we weren’t really having that. Just a travesty of it. I was about to issue an ultimatum and tell him to choose between his dick and his wife. I only wanted one of them.
Just to humour him I let him go through the usual ritual of pushing his briefs down to his knees, titillating my taste buds with the sight of his erect dick, and then dragging them slowly back up again. This time however they tore away some more from the waistband. He always closed his eyes when I face-fucked him so he didn’t seem to notice that the head of his cock was partially exposed now. As usual, I dropped my face into his crotch but this time began rubbing it against his hard-on. At first I avoided the exposed cockhead but as I rubbed diligently away more and more of it began to emerge. I glanced up. His eyes were tightly shut as usual but he must have felt what was going on. There was only one way to find out. Slowly but surely I wrapped my trembling lips around the tip of his dick and waited for him to push me away. He didn’t. Instead I heard him moan and felt him shudder. I pulled at what was left of his torn briefs. Another rip and his whole magnificent cock was suddenly free. I took it deeply down my throat. Victory was mine.
He let out a long low moan of appreciation and grabbed my head as I sucked my way to heaven. From the sounds he was making he was already up there with me.
“Oh, God, I can't believe it ... I can't believe it,” he cried out. “What an asshole I’ve been.”
I grunted my agreement as he started fucking my face, using my ears as levers. I did my best to join in but it wasn’t easy with his dick wedged firmly in my mouth and going at the rate of knots. He kept it up till I thought my jaws would burst under the pressure then with a loud satisfied groan he erupted sending a flood of hot steaming cum down my astonished throat.
When he finally released me, I collapsed onto the floor struggling to catch my breath. But the surprises weren't over yet. Before I knew exactly what was happening to me, my beautiful basic man was on his knees ripping open my fly and kissing my dick. Between slurps he told me it was all over between him and Maria and that he was finally mine. Then he pushed my shorts down and jerked me off until I was sending hallelujahs to the ceiling and rockets of cum all over my stomach and chest and eventually into his waiting mouth. This time he didn’t throw a pair of soiled pants in my face or hurl hurtful words at me but kissed me full on the mouth so that I ended up drinking my own cum.
“Sorry I took so long lover,” is all he said. “Thanks for waiting.”
“That’s ok,” I said.
There was a long silence. This one not so pregnant. Then he spoke.
“We’ll have to get me some new underwear,” he said.
And would you believe it, the very next day I received a message on my voice-mail asking me to contact Brook Matthews. I wonder what I’m going to say to him.
The model used to illustrate this story is Jan Sourek. If you'd like to see more photos of him, click here.
The Badpuppy.com model in these pictures is Jan Sourek
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