Also, my stomach did that “flip-flop” thing when I saw his little treasure-trail of wispy hairs from his navel down to the waist-band of his trousers and as I photographed him against the window, my heart was racing. My right hand felt the pulses of his juice, as time after time, it seemed to surge from his groin and through his balls, into the warmth of my mouth. “Do you know,” he laughed, “You’re the only person to have ever said anything like that me! Now undue the waist, and make as though you are teasing the camera.” He did as I told him. “Like what you see?” he taunted, as he pulled the shorts up and adjusted his tackle – down the right leg, I noticed. Suddenly, he let out a deep gasp and without warning he shot his first jet of jism randomly into the air. He quickly recovered his composure though and I sat back on my haunches on the carpet beside the bed as he sighed.
