You both pose for the camera
From Create Your Own Story
The studio lights hum as Kevin steps beside you, both barely clad in sleek black jockstraps that leave nothing to the imagination. Rod adjusts his lens with a practiced flick of his wrist, gaze sharp behind the camera. "Tighter," he murmurs, and you obey, shifting until your thighs brush Kevin's, the heat between your bodies palpable.
"Arms over shoulders—yeah, just like that." Rod's voice drops an octave as you comply, fingers grazing the sweat-damp skin above Kevin's collarbone. The air thickens when Rod directs Kevin's hand to your hip, his thumb pressing just above the strap's edge. Flashbulbs pop, capturing the way your breath hitches.
"Turn," comes the next command, and you pivot in unison, the jockstraps framing your bare asses like a dare. Over your shoulder, you catch Rod licking his lips, the camera whirring as Mike shifts on the desk's edge, teeth sinking into his lower lip. The leather jacket hits the floor with a thud Rod doesn't bother to retrieve. "Fuck, it's hot," he growls, and no one argues.
The studio lights burn hot against your skin as you and Kevin stand poised before Rod's lens, your bodies clad only in those black jockstraps that leave nothing to the imagination. The air hums with tension—part sweat, part something far more electric.
Rod circles you both like a predator, his camera clicking rapidly. "Closer," he murmurs, voice rough. "Yeah, just like that." Your shoulders press together first, then his hand slides down to guide your hips flush. Kevin's breath hitches—you feel it against your neck. The scent of his cologne mixes with musk, heady and intoxicating.
Behind Rod, Mike perches on the desk's edge, denim straining. His teeth dig into his lower lip as he watches, knuckles white where they grip the wood. Rod shrugs off his leather jacket with deliberate slowness. "Christ, it's hot," he mutters, but nobody's fooled. The temperature isn't the problem.
Another command: "Arch." Your spine curves, Kevin mirroring you until your bare asses are on shameless display. Cheek to cheek now, his stubble scrapes your skin. The camera whirs.
Then—"Kiss."
You freeze. But Kevin doesn't hesitate. His mouth crashes into yours, hungry and slick. Somewhere, Mike groans. Your fingers tangle in Kevin's hair as Rod barks a laugh. "Fuck yeah, just like that."
His next order is filthy, whispered like a secret. You obey, spreading yourselves wider for the lens. Rod's voice drops lower. "You like this, don't you? filthy boys." The shutter clicks. And clicks. And clicks.
The studio lights cast a warm glow across the space as Mike leans against the edge of a table, his fingers tracing slow circles over the taut denim covering his thickening arousal. His gaze lingers on you and Kevin—both of you arching your backs just slightly, accentuating the curve of your asses as you pose for the camera. The air hums with unspoken desire, thick enough to taste.
Rod exhales sharply, stepping back from the viewfinder, his eyes darting between Mike and the two of you. He licks his lips, hesitating for just a heartbeat before his voice drops to a low, husky murmur. "You boys ever think about making… *more*?" He motions toward the camera, its red recording light pulsing like a heartbeat.
Mike smirks, his hand now gripping himself more firmly through his jeans, the fabric straining. "Fuck, look at you," he breathes, eyes darkening with hunger. "You know you want it. Bet you’d look even better out of those jocks" His words hang heavy in the air, teasing, promising.
Rod adjusts the tripod with deliberate slowness, his fingers lingering on the controls before he glances back—his own erection pressing insistently against his zipper. The tension coils tighter, undeniable.
Do you
leave and get out of here with the money you have already made Or stay and keep going
