The Shoot

Keywords: MF, tg

by HoleFair

I was called by a photographer I knew.  He wanted to know if I was
interested in a modeling assignment.  "The usual, underwear kind of
thing?" I asked.  No, he said, this would be somewhat more risque.
"It involves a friend who wants to give some unusual photographs to
one of his lovers."  "Will there be nudity involved?" I asked.  I had
bared my breasts for some tasteful shots of me, with my face in
shadow.  That's as far as I had gone.

"There will be some, what you're used to.  Plus one other element.
I'll try to put this delicately.  A man will be in the frame as well.
Not his face, just his ... unit."

"His penis, you mean?"  I wanted him to be clear, but I also liked
teasing him about his euphemisms.  "Yeah, that," he said.

"I'll think about it,"  I said.  "Not for too long," he said, "I have
other girls to call on."  Annoyed by the word "girl," I said, "Okay,
call them.  Then call me back if you're still interested and I'll tell
you my decision."

Of course he called me back, and of course I said yes.  Otherwise,
what would be the point of the story?  I trusted my friend the
photographer, and he paid well.

I came in the day he called. Apparently the client needed the shots in
a hurry. Perhaps his or her lover's birthday was in the offing. I
never found out. As I came into the studio, there was another person
present, the male model, of course. Was he another free-lancer who
answered a call? He wasn't particularly handsome. The thought passed
through my mind that this was the client himself. When he took off his
bathrobe, I became even more confused. He had nothing on underneath,
which surprised me a little. But I'm not exactly a virgin. What
flustered me was the sight of his penis. It was so beautiful. His
circumcised head nestled in the folds of skin at its base. His balls
hung down, but not too far; the tip of his penis swung just below the
edge of the scrotum. I didn't know a penis could affect me this way.

I said a few hurried words and went to my dressing room. I came out in
my underwear. "Oh, sweetheart," the photographer said, "Could you slip
into these instead?," and he handed me some shimmery black things that
left little to the imagination. As I was putting them on, I speculated
again about the client, who apparently wanted a small-breasted woman
in this little passion play. Everyone assumes that women with big
breasts, preferably as buoyant as dirigibles, are what every man
wants, but I am petite, with a small bosom, narrow waste, and hips
wider than my shoulders, and I have no shortage of work as a
model. (No shortage of would-be lovers either, at least compared to my
peers whose bigger tits have either fallen to the floor or sprung
silicone leaks.)

The pose that the anonymous client wanted was me, from the waste up,
plus the man's crotch. I sat on a stool, while he stood to my right
and slightly behind me, so my head was level with his penis. I was
glad that for now it was out of sight, because I was still mesmerized
by it. The camera clicked a few times, as the photographer issued
orders to us to move around slightly. Then, of course, he asked me to
take my top off. I had done this before, so I obliged, then turned my
head to the left, into the shadows that my usual lighting scheme
provided. Click, click, click. Then the photographer asked the man to
step forward a bit, and I felt something brush my shoulder. My nipples
instantly became erect. I felt a bit embarrassed, and tried to move my
sholder forward. "No, back," came the command. I did, and felt no
touch from the penis. "Now touch your nipples."  This I had not done
before, but my nips almost ached with longing, and reached up to
cradle my breass. "No, the nipples."I touched them and felt a thrill
of lust. My vagina was getting very wet. I thought, I didn't know I
was this horny. "Now turn your head to the right.""Wait a minute; this
is not exactly what I bargained for."

"Please," said the model. I realized he hadn't uttered a word
as yet. His voice was pleasant, but I must have been crazed with lust;
I thought of the voice as coming from his penis, not his homely
face. I turned and saw that the reason his penis wasn't touching my
shoulders was that it was becoming erect. I didn't look up, but I knew
he was looking down; my breasts and hands were turning him on. I
tweaked my nipples again, to keep them as hard as possible, and make
him harder. I forgot about the camera for a second, until I heard
click, click, click.

I stopped and looked at the photographer, covering my breasts with my
arms. "Hey," I said.

"Look, honey, these pictures are for one client only. What happens
here stays here. You have my word."  No one has ever trusted the word of
a pornographer and not regretted it. But I wanted more of that
penis. So I reluctantly agreed to open up a bit more. I released my
breasts and faced the camera for a few more shots. Then I felt the
model moving closer, his legs touching my shoulder, and the penis
beginning to brush my ear and cheek. The camera clicked away. The
photographer asked me to turn, but I would have done it anyway. The
stool swiveled and there it was, sticking up at a 45-degree angle. It
wasn't particularly enormous or threatening. It was just
beautiful. The head was as well proportioned as in its soft state,
looking like the top to a Greek column. The shaft curved slightly to
the right, but not enough to detract from the symmetries. As he got
stiffer, his balls tightened up, looking like they couldn't wait to
take a shot at me. His demure penis slit looked innocent, as if such
doings were not its concern. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

I wanted that penis in me so badly. I had never felt such a specific
physical lust in my life. My cunt was as wet as its ever
been. Oblivious to the camera, I studied the penis and stroked my
nipples. Then the penis bobbed slightly, and the first bead of
moisture appeared at the slit. I couldn't take my eyes away. I was
torn between the desire to see semen dripping from the slit and the
desire to lick it off. The man said, "Lick," and I ceased to waver. My
tongue touched the head and I lapped. The penis throbbed again, so I
had to lick again. I would have taken it in my mouth, but he pulled
away. I lifted my chest up and stroked my breasts and nipples as
lasciviously as I could. I so wanted the penis to ejaculate, and I
opened my mouth and licked my lips to lure it in. But the photographer
said, "This is great stuff!," which brought me down to earth a
bit. "You know what I'd really like next, darling? Take those panties
off. If I'm not mistaken, they're a bit wet anyway."

I hesitated, because this was far beyond anything I had dared do on
camera. But the penis was so pretty. Still, I shook my head. "I
....I'd like, to, really."I was addressing the beautiful male organ in
front of me, not the photographer, or the model. "But my pussy,...."
I blushed. "I'm very self-conscious about it."

"What is it, deformed or something?"

"No. No. I mean, yes, some people might actually say it is."

"Oh, shit, I should have known. I guess we'll have to find another
girl," he said in disgust. He started to turn away. But the model
stopped him. "I like her. I like you," he said. I looked up. His penis
had gotten a bit softer, and was now dripping fluid. "I don't care
whether your pussy looks funny."

"I suppose it can't hurt to take a look. Come on, hon, slide your
panties off and let's take a peek."  I slipped off the stool. I stood
for a long time, then looked at the model's beautiful penis for
strength, and pulled my panties down and off. Then I got back on the
stool and spread my legs just a bit. "What are we looking at
here?"  asked the photographer, squinting a little. I turned away from
him, toward the owner of the penis. Looking at it, I felt a wave of
lust, and opened my legs wider. I felt blood surging to my pussy, and
moaned as my own penis engorged. I knew he was looking at me, because
his balls tightened visibly, and his own penis began to stiffen. "Oh,
my God," said the photographer. "Oh, Christ, what the fuck....I'm
going to have to find another girl, aren't I?"  He put the camera down
so he could swing his arm down in a dramatic gesture without damaging
it. "All these pictures I've taken of you, and all the time you're a
fucking drag queen."

"No. I'm not that."

"Let me guess, pre-operational trans-something, or something like
that?"  He paced back and forth. "What the fuck's the difference?"  I
started to put my panties back on. My "equipment" had gone back to its
normal size, and I was looking more "normal."

The model's hand stayed me. "You're not a drag queen or transgendered,
are you?"  he said, "You're a hermaphrodite, right?"

I looked up at him and blushed.

"If I know your client, this is just the sort of thing he likes," he
said, turning to the photographer. The photographer stopped pacing and
smiled crookedly at him. "You think you know him, huh?"  They looked at
each other for a second. "You think he wants us to continue?"  Without
speaking, the model reached down and gently pulled my panties back
down. He spread my legs and took a close look at my genitalia. "Your
clitoris is really a cute little penis."  As we looked at each other,
our penises began to engorge again. "It's lovely," he said. "It's not
as pretty as yours," I said. "But," he sighed, "It's so feminine."

Later I reflected that this whole episode seemed awfully improbable.
The photographer must have glimped my little secret and informed the
client that what he was looking for had shown up.  But in the here and
now I was simply intoxicated.

His finger touched my slit gently.  It parted my lips, then slid
lightly up through their moisture, to the bottom of my shaft, then
(trailing wetness) up the shaft until it touched my little glans, my
little slit, which mixed its own juice with that from my pussy.

We looked into each other's eyes for the first time and each smiled a
little sheepishly.  But he lifted me up and kissed me, and I almost
swooned as my penis brushed against his.  Was there clicking from the
photographer?  I have no recollection of anything outside the feeling
of the model's hands as he picked me up and carried me over to the
bed.  Had there always been a bed there?  I think so; I think I had
even posed on it.  Now I was atop the model with his penis stiffening
against my slit.  The photographer was behind me.  The camera was
drinking in the sight of my cunt with a penis about to penetrate it,
and then doing it, causing me to soar into the clouds.  "Sit up," the
photographer said, "and pull out a little bit so I can ...."  He
scooted around to the front, getting frontal shots, of my face, my
breasts, and his darling penis disappearing into my slit, which seemed
to be a channel right into my own little penis, which seemed to be
expanding to receive its bigger brother, sticking straight up,
expanding and expanding, until it ejaculated all over my breasts, and
his chest, and his penis ejaculated in me.
