"It is my job to take as much of your cum as humanly possible, Master. But if you prefer I don't -" I hastened to assure him that it was quite alright. Pulling myself up in bed so he could fully enrapture himself by staring at the tanned muscles of my hairy chest, I decided to see how far I could push the kid. "As a matter of fact, from now on, whenever you see me erect, even if it's in the gym, the bus, or at your mother's fuckin' funeral, you will instantly jump to bring me to climax, and take my full load; either in your butt or in your mouth. Understood?" He beamed with boyish glee. "I understand, Master, and it is my ecstasy to obey this command."

Jesus Christ, I'm not making this up! The kid was a natural. These WASPy jock types, they're all filthy, I'm convinced of it. I got up, he re-dressed himself, and I led the twink into the studio.

As soon as he gets into the studio he looks at the hot kliegs I've got set up and says "Fuck, Master, it's warm in here…" "I like it warm, it makes the muscles of my subjects sweat." "So - should I take off my shirt?" "Knock yourself out, boy." So he peels off his shirt - damn, I love men. Nothing but ego, muscles, and cock. For his part, he can't take his eyes off my tum-tum.

"DAYummmm…look at your abs, Master!" I looked down at my own stomach, glowing in the hot lights. "Pretty fucking impressive, huh?"

"They're so…THICK! And hard! NOBODY has abs like that - even bodybuilders!"

"That's 'cause they're afraid to work 'em too hard; makes 'em bulky." I look down non-chalantly, and crunched down a little, bringing the ridged plate my abs into tight swollen relief. I slipped my hand under the waist of my shorts, pulling it down to reveal the veiny cords of muscle flaring past my hipbones and bulging down into my groin.

The kid draws near to me like a moth to flame. "Fuck…Can I touch 'em, Master?"

"No." He looked momentarily pained. "We're gonna take some pictures, and then I'm going to fuck you again." His eyes got wide like an owl, and this goofy grin almost splits his face in half. "As you wish." Ha HA!

Suffice to say, with Brandon's eager help, I took some incredible shots in the next few weeks. The best was this one B/W I set up - wait wait wait, I've got to describe it, you'll fuckin' LOVE THIS! First I had my slave shave every hair off my body - even my goatee - and then cover me head to toe in shiny silver paint. Then I stood like a statue, arms akimbo, massive thighs planted apart, leaning slightly back, thrusting out the ridged plates of my abdomen and staring at the ceiling. I wanted to look like a living, art-deco hood ornament. Prime manhood in machine form, that kind of shit.

Then at my command, Brandon lubed himself up and climbed up backwards onto my torso, his lithe back arching over my rippling mid-section, and carefully lowered his boy-ass onto my rock-hard cock, impaling himself. Wrapped backward on me thus, he had to support himself, of course, by hiking his long legs around my glistening-smooth shins, and arch his long arms behind him to grab my lats.

"Are you balanced?" He gasped, meaning yes. "Good - now, don't hold on with your arms; slowly, let go, bring them forward, and let them go limp." I commanded. He obeyed, slowly releasing his hands from my lats, taking more of the weight onto his quads, wrapped around my legs. "Okay, good. Now pull your legs up - let them relax in front of mine, dangling down limp."

"Master - I have no wish to disobey - but that will mean --" "DO IT!" I shouted.

He closed his eyes, and ever so slowly, he pulls his legs forward, lets them drop. "Now relax EVERY MUSCLE IN YOUR BODY - even your butthole." Slowly, he does - now he is like a rag doll, literally hanging entirely off my steel muscle-cock, planted deep in his guts. Of course, his pretty cock stood straight up along his belly, framed by the flatness of his stretched-out abs. He shuddered at the strength it took for me to support him like this.

I wanted the overall effect to be a dream-like pieta, as if this perfect, all-American boy was getting reamed by a rushing, powerful god-like muscle machine, zooming up behind him at 60 miles an hour and skewering him to ecstasy, immobilizing him to near catatonia. I knew just when to snap the photo, too - I whispered into his hot ear, "can you hold this position?" He nodded, gasping. I knew he must be hurting. I didn't care. "'Because I can hold this for hours." He groaned a little. "Please Master - I'm gonna cum! May I cum?"

"NO! Not yet!" "Yes, master!" I laughed.

"Listen carefully - Only when you feel me dump a hot jet-stream of cum into your ass - will I let you cum, too." He nodded, gulping loudly. "Please just hurry, I don't think I can wait!" "Oh, you'll wait, boy…you'll wait."

I took my time. I slowly flexed every muscle I could control, first in my traps and chest, then my abs and hips, finishing by gradually rising onto the balls of my feet to blow out my thighs and calves, and forcing my cock another couple of inches upward into his belly. It took incredible control and patience just to breathe and keep my balance on tip-toe, with every muscle in my body flexed tight. I was supporting not only my weight but his. Luckily, I had been practicing and building up my strength for this.

I enjoyed hearing his whimpers and sighs as I squeezed my muscles to maximum hardness under him, sliding my cock deeper and deeper into his abdomen. I could feel the warm moistness of his insides bathing the head of my dick. Finally I decided he'd had enough. I dropped the remote-shutter control, which would give us five seconds before the pic snapped. Concentrating on being absolutely PUMPED and absolutely STILL, I focused on my cock; on the feeling of having 179 pounds of terrified boy holding himself up off the ground only by grasping the shaft of my prick with his cramping sphincter. I growled like a tiger and let go - heaving about a gallon of milky fluid deep into the kid's innards. I timed it perfectly - feeling the first gush of my spunk inside his pink colon, Brandon spurted his own load high into the air, like a fucking Roman fountain. The shutter snapped, capturing his spurting juice in mid-air, before it fell back down to his taut, stretched torso, a blurry white streak.. His wincing expression of agony, the quivering definition of his clench-wracked body, and the blurry mop of hair on his involuntarily thrashing head, suggested wild, uncontrolled motion, which contrasted nicely with my rock-hewn, expressionless power and immobility. Best-selling pic I ever took. •