Lens Master Jizz Master

Such a sweet face; I love and deplore the white socks still on his feet, in his later shots, adore the thigh-long-dong, and the pose-happy side views that have him patting his own ass. The fact that he can sit on his ankles is admirable. I’d think, this one fancies himself a model. But then the latter photos are so relaxed, the face so elfin-sweet, I can all but hear him saying Nahh, I’m funning with ya mate, just flirting with the camera a bit.

So, flirt with me, I think. I place myself behind the camera. Now I’m lens-master. Yeah, Baby. Cream the lens for me, get it all gooey.

I want to see that frog pose some more, I think.

But first, get off the damn stool. I want that arm behind you, straining to hold you up, back arcing—thighs— diesel-pumping against your heels, like you mean to crunch through the flooring with your toes, while you frog-fuck the air. That sweet little lip will be bleeding with the force of your sweet little teeth biting it.

Pump, Baby, Pump, till you jizz the camera lens.

Only then am I gonna let you rest up, but only enough so you can come in me next.

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