The Photoshoot in Valencia That I Ended Up Paying For

Good morning, everyone, and happy start to the year. I’m back here again to share one of those experiences I keep tucked away in some corner of my memory and that, whenever I remember them, bring warmth back into my body and raise goosebumps on my skin. There are experiences one relives simply to feel desired again.

For this story I’m going back to when I was twenty-seven. By then I’d already been having sporadic encounters with men for a while and was enjoying, without guilt, a sexuality that I finally felt was mine. Back then I’d caught the travel bug, the urge to discover new places, so I decided to take a weekend getaway to Valencia. I’d known the city as a teenager, but this time the visit was going to be different. More interesting, in my opinion.

Before getting in the car and heading for the coast, I spent an afternoon combing the internet for something different. And I found it. A photographer was offering free erotic sessions to young guys. Well... not exactly free free. He didn’t charge money, but it was understood that in exchange for that session I had to give something back. It seemed like a fair trade to me.

I’d never been photographed naked, much less by a professional. It seemed like a lovely keepsake, and also a practical tool: with an erotic photo involved, it’s much easier to convince a man to spend a good while alone with me. After all, that was what I liked doing most.

We settled on place and time by message. After spending a whole day touring the city’s most touristy spots, Saturday night arrived. That was the big plan for the weekend, what had really brought me there.

In the hotel room I was already prepared. Under a hot shower I carefully removed every last hair from my body: legs, stomach, buttocks, pubis. My skin was left clean and smooth, not a single hair left. All set. When nine o’clock came, I went down to the street, started the car, and headed for a suburb. I remember driving along the coast, going through a couple of tunnels while the streetlights came on as I passed and night fell over the sea. That was how I reached a quiet street of low-rise buildings, parked without trouble, and went to the indicated entrance.

The bell rang and a man in his mid-forties, with a Valencian accent and a bit of extra weight, opened almost immediately. The last part has never mattered to me; I put my interest elsewhere, and I’m honest when I say it. With a stubble beard, that man whose name I no longer remember greeted me kindly and invited me in. His model for the night crossed the threshold excited and nervous, ready for a new adventure.

The door closed behind me. I found myself in a living room converted into an improvised studio. A large black cloth served as the backdrop and several indirect lights spread a warm tone through the room. On either side of the set were two heaters switched on, which made it clear to me that I’d be spending a good while naked: those appliances were there so January’s cold wouldn’t give me goosebumps.

We chatted calmly for a while. He told me about his career as a photographer without hinting in the slightest at his secondary intentions, without a single extra gesture, without any sleaze. He was being very professional and I liked that. On his laptop he showed me previous sessions of other guys who had passed in front of his camera. Always without showing their faces, the photos impressed me. It wasn’t just that the bodies looked good: he used objects to give them an original touch. One posed with a soccer ball and stockings; another, with a chef’s hat and a loaf of bread in his hands.

More than convinced, I put myself in his hands and surrendered to his professional instructions. My body would be one more of those this man portrayed and, almost certainly, for something more.

Following only his orders, I started taking off my clothes and folded them neatly on a chair. I stood there naked, barefoot on the canvas that covered the wall and part of the floor. I wasn’t touching myself, kept my hands at my sides and, a little nervous, looked at him waiting for the next instruction.

He couldn’t help letting his eyes run over my body from top to bottom. He liked what he saw, or so it seemed to me. Without wasting time he picked up a bottle from a nearby table and came closer.

“I’m going to touch you to get you ready,” he warned.

“I trust you. Do whatever you think is best,” I replied.

My line had a double meaning and I think he caught the message, because he squeezed the bottle and out came a transparent paste. It was a thick oil, the kind that gives the skin some color and shine.

“It’ll look good in the photos,” he said, and I let him do it.

His right hand began moving over me, spreading the oil. He started with my chest and abdomen, then my arms and legs. He saved the best for last. His hand, as warm as my own body, moved into my most intimate areas and caressed my testicles while lubricating them. Then came my cock, which soon began to harden. His hand jerked me off slowly, under the pretext of coating it well, though it was obvious he was also fondling me to his heart’s content. To finish, he turned his hand around and soaked my buttocks, spending a few last seconds running his fingers over my asshole, up and down, without putting anything in. He was preparing the ground for later, I thought.

Now covered in oil, he positioned himself behind the camera and started asking for poses. Everything was directed by him and I obeyed without complaint. Turn sideways, cross one leg, hand here, the other there... the orders came one after another while the shutter clicked, immortalizing my naked, shiny body.

They were sensual photos, most of them covering the genitals. First he wanted some sinuous images, without showing the prize. Then came a towel draped over my shoulder that covered my parts, like someone coming out of the shower after a gym session. Then he gave me some boxing gloves and put me in guard, turning my legs just enough to hide my cock.

Very lovely memories, yes. But we were already hot, and the best was still to come.

***

All at once he seemed to decide the sensual shots were done. He took the gloves off me and explained that we were going to turn up the heat. The next ones would be more explicit, exactly as we had agreed by message. Now he would show everything, with those looks that scream for pleasure.

He wanted a first shot from the front, but before taking it he asked me to masturbate. He wanted me hard, thick, with the veins standing out. My cock, visibly red, posed for him while I offered a sly half-smile. Several shots of the same style followed: turning a little to show the curve of my ass, from behind showing my buttocks completely, others crouched lower letting the asshole be seen, and some squatting with my legs wide open and my cock in my hand.

The arousal kept building and I let myself go. He gave the orders, I obeyed. His crotch seemed tight from the spectacle, though from that distance I couldn’t tell for sure. After a final photo on all fours, he turned off the flash and declared the session over.

I understood he was satisfied. He had managed to photograph that guy from Zaragoza who had come asking for an erotic album.

He asked me to come closer to the camera and I did. In the viewfinder he showed me some of the photos. He was seated on a high stool, in front of the tripod, and the two of us were very close, looking at the screen as the images went by. My body, pressed against his, invited touching, but neither of us said a word. He caught the message quickly: with one nimble movement his hand began stroking my ass, soft but decisive, inviting me to sit on his thigh. And that’s what I did, with a shiver running down my back. We pretended to look at the photos while I settled onto his leg and his hand took up position on my right cheek, holding on to his prize.

When the last image ended, everything rushed forward. He turned toward me and started licking my neck, because he already knew I’m not into kissing on the mouth. With his other hand he fondled my testicles, which dangled over his leg, and my cock hardened again. I was his dessert and I was enjoying it, letting him paw my skin and play with my parts.

***

He got tired of having me in his lap and, thanking me for the filthiness of the pose, made me kneel in front of him while he stayed on the stool. Without further delay, the fly opened and a thick mushroom head I already knew from the photos we’d exchanged peeked out, one I was dying to taste. Between a few hairs, his crotch invited me to pay for that session in flesh.

My lips obeyed once more and soon covered it completely. His cock went in and out of my mouth, now lubricated with saliva instead of oil. I sucked to please him and to complete payment for the work he’d given me. The taste of pre-cum filled my taste buds while I rubbed my mouth against that shiny shaft.

He was still seated, with his legs resting on a metal step, while I, sitting on the floor like in a ritual, savored that piece of flesh filling with blood. I sucked as I should, and soon he wanted to let loose completely.

He lifted me by the arm and took me to another room, where a bed seemed to be waiting in anticipation of the encounter. Without saying a word, he made me get on all fours. His hands kept giving me orders as if we were still in the session, but the script had changed.

He made me open my legs wide, lower my back, and stick my ass up. Ready and open, he pulled a condom from the nightstand drawer, put it on, and took off his pants and underwear. He stayed in just his shirt, perhaps to avoid undoing the buttons one by one, and crawled across the bed until he was pressed against me. Unable to turn around, I felt his cock force its way in and hurt a little.

“Slowly, please. Let me stretch little by little,” I asked him.

Maybe that dampened his eagerness a bit, but he couldn’t hurt me: it would be counterproductive if he wanted a compliant partner. With a little extra oil and some patience, the cock began to slide into my rectum. And then, once I was well stretched, he drove in hard. He started fucking me, squeezing my buttocks every time we met, pulling out fast only to plunge back in even faster. The sound was deafening; I hoped his neighbors were used to it or the walls were sturdy, because the impact of his pelvis against me was brutal.

Valencia had shown me the most beautiful parts of its streets and now I was paying it back with my shaved, upturned ass. That Valencian man was fucking me to his heart’s content, holding my waist with both hands. The fingers that had earlier handled the camera and oil with such delicacy were now gripping me hard so I couldn’t escape. I felt his cock coming out and going in, forcing my walls to open as it went. I moaned without holding back while he gave it to me hard without mercy. I didn’t want more positions, or to waste time flipping onto my back or against the wall. I wanted to be fucked like this, the way he liked it best, and I knew I wouldn’t leave there without paying my debt. His balls slapped against my ass like bells. Heat rose inside me while my cock and balls knocked against each other with every thrust. It was impossible to jerk off like that to come, but I didn’t miss it either.

After a while I could never quite calculate, he headed into the final stretch with a sprint worthy of the best athlete. He sped up the thrusting without pulling out completely, and soon his cock started to spasm. I barely had time to react: he came out in one go, half sat up, took off the condom, and let a river of semen spill over my back and ass. He was moaning with his mouth open while one hand kept holding my cheek and with the other he emptied himself, letting the thick drops slide down my skin.

Calm slowly settled over him as he let the last drops fall onto the model who had served to release all his tension. We stayed still for a moment, in silence, before he cleaned the head of his cock against my ass, forcing out what was left. That was what I was to him in that instant: the naked body he used to empty himself and clean up. He had saved it all for me and there he left it, stuck to my skin and the oil.

***

The fucking was over, and the session had been over for quite a while too. He let me shower and get dressed while he saved the photos onto my flash drive. With an almost comical solemnity that turned me on, the two of us signed a document equally so that both of us would have the images but neither would use them against the other. He could show them, never send them, always safeguarding my face. I could use them and share them as long as I protected his anonymity and his location.

It was an airtight pact, sealed with eroticism in front of a camera flash and capped on all fours on his bed. We all won: he got new photos and had fucked a beautiful ass all the way through, while I took away the images I so wanted and the memory of a load that the shower soap washed away, but that my skin would keep forever. In short, a fleeting getaway to Valencia and one of those small pleasures its streets offer.