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nothing to do with it. Sean’s eyes on me
are ten times more erotic than either of their hard dicks in my mouth. When I
finish them they’re dismissed, and I aim myself toward the sunroom for the next
course.
    Sean catches
my sleeve as I pass by his seat, and he whispers, “Save room for dessert.” I
yank my wrist away coldly.
    Five boys
came tonight and soon enough, five boys have come. I work my way through the men
on offer until only the uninvited one remains. Sean followed me into the
sunroom, and as the last hired man exits in delirium, he draws my eye from his
perch in the bay window. I wonder what the people in the park make of his
near-naked silhouette from four stories down.
    “Follow me,”
I say, and he’s gotten very good at taking this one order. I lead him
downstairs three flights to the center room with no windows, its corners piled
with my photography equipment. I drag a chair in from the parlor and push it
against the bare wall and toss a black drop cloth over it.
    “Sit.” I set
up a camera and lights and an umbrella until he’s bathed in the drama his bone
structure demands.
    “Sit the way
you do in my den,” I say. “Like you’re judging me.”
    Sean reclines
a bit, casual, and I begin snapping overexposed pictures. Tonight is the last
time I plan to see him, but I want to possess his body long after he’s banished
from my house. He follows my directions through dozens of shots, maybe
hundreds. I capture his face in every emotion, his eyes boring into the lens,
cast down, glancing to the side, closed. He touches himself when I ask, his
hand over his shrouded erection at first, then dipping beneath the cotton. He
holds the waistband down to show the camera then sheds them completely. The
photos will document all of his details—the tendons that stand out along his
throat when he moans, the crease in his brow when he’s
so hard and close it must hurt. I record his beautiful back muscles and the
shadows of his shoulder blades, the still-glowing mark on his ass from his
penitence earlier.
    “Why do you
think you’re here?” I ask him as I near the end of my project. His eyes burn into mine through the viewfinder.
    “Because I’m
special,” he tells me then he laughs a little and smiles, and I photograph it.
    “You think
you’re special?”
    “More than
the others,” he says. “None of them have tasted you or kissed you. None of them
will ever fuck you the way I’m going to. And you won’t be able to forget about
me like you can with them.”
    “What makes
you so sure?” I ask, and I click the camera off.
    “I don’t
know, but I think you feel it too.”
    I collapse
the tripod and lights and shoo Sean from the chair so I can fold the drop
cloth. I carry the chair back to the parlor and he follows.
    “Where?” he
asks when we reach the second-floor landing.
    “My
bedroom.” We climb another flight.
    “How?” he
asks as I close the door behind us.
    “Rough. Be
mean and rough.”
    He nods once
and then it’s on.
    He grabs my
wrist and pulls me with him to the bed. I’m tugged hard onto his lap,
face-to-face, and my skirt rides up as he wraps my legs around his waist. He’s
still naked, still hard as iron, and his strong hands make me ride the thick
length of him. I wish my panties would just catch fire and disintegrate
already, so we could be fucking right this instant.
    “Keep that
up,” he tells me, and his hands take my face. His kiss is deep and explicit, as
are the noises that escape him. I ride him and fantasize that he’s inside me.
    “Good,” he
moans against my lips, and for a brief moment I’m in charge.
    “You better
fuck me right,” I tell him.
    “You won’t be
able to walk,” he promises.
    He pushes my
sweater up and yanks it over my head. His lips find my nipple through the lace,
sucking until it’s a hard peak then doing the same to the other. His warm hands
squeeze my breasts together and he buries his face between them, taking in the
perfume