I had been out of school for a couple of months. I was living in a small, walk-up studio apartment with Kurt near the east village. I had taken a job answering phones at an office building, uptown. My job had nothing to do with my degree but the pay was OK and, for the most part, I liked the people I worked with. When the phones weren’t ringing I got to write, so it was good.

I had taken off early that day and been lucky with the subway, no waiting, plenty of seats. I got home pretty quick. When I opened the door I saw Kurt, he had one hand on the wall and was leaning over the bed.

Before I go any further, I should tell you something about Kurt. Kurt was a beautiful man, as well as a handsome man. He was tall, just over six feet, dark skinned, and broad shouldered. His torso tapered down to a thin waist and he had hard abs and a hard ass. I think you could open beers on his ass without any trouble. His biceps were impressive and when he would take me in his arms I felt safe, and protected. He wore his hair clipped short and spoke with a delicious accent. Kurt was from Zurich originally. He spoke German, Italian, French, and English and could shift effortlessly from one to another. He would always correct me when I told people that he spoke German, “No, CJ,” he would admonish gently, “I speak Schweizerdeutsch. güvenilir bahis It’s different.”

Kurt was a photographer who worked nights at an upscale restaurant to make ends meet. He was a warm and generous lover who always made sure that I was satisfied. He was a man’s man who just happened to enjoy wearing women’s underwear and who didn’t have a very big dick. Fully erect his cock was just over four inches long and narrow in girth, but he knew how to use it effectively. I loved it. I loved his cock. Kurt made me feel like a deep throat queen.

Anyway, back to the story. That afternoon, I came home to find Kurt leaning over the bed, his left arm extended over the headboard and supported him against the wall. He had a photograph that he had taken of me on the bed. I knew the picture. In the photo I was dripping water, wet and wearing a little shiny blue bikini. The top was modest but I had pulled the front of the swimsuit bottom out and was looking down inside them. You couldn’t see my face, my nipples, my pussy, or my ass. Not even my pubes were visible in the photo but Kurt loved that shot. He often told me how sexy I looked in it, and how it never failed to give him a hard-on.

Anyway, he was leaning over the bed, looking at a photo of me. He was wearing nothing but one of my sports bras and his dick was türkçe bahis in his hand. He was masturbating. He stopped when he heard me come in and looked over his shoulder at me.

“Damnit Kurt,” I said, “You’re going to ruin more of my clothes. You’re going to stretch that bra all out of shape.”

“I’ll get you a new one, I like this one, the colour looks good on me and the material feels nice.” He went back to his stroking.

“Can I help you with that?” I asked him. I closed the door to the landing and slipped the latch to lock it.

“That’d be great,” he said, “but I still want to look at the picture.” The motion of his hand changed while I slipped out of my work clothes. He went from stroking his cock to holding the head in his palm and rubbing it with a circular motion.

Now completely naked, I leaned against his back and pressed my tits against him. I took the back of my bra, that he was wearing, in my teeth, shook my head, and growled as I reached around with one hand to take over the rubbing responsibilities. With my other hand I reached between his legs and began gently massaging his balls. One thing about Kurt that I may have neglected to mention was the size of his balls. He may have had a small dick but he had big testicles and right now they were pulled up tight against his body. I slid güvenilir bahis siteleri that hand back and forth between his balls and his anus while I kept rubbing the head of his cock with the palm of my hand. His dick was rock hard. A steel shaft. I could tell that he was about to cum and just as I thought that, he did cum. The warm liquid jetted from the end of his cock into the palm of my hand where it fell onto the photo that was lying on the bed. A series of five, six, or seven spurts hit my hand; each one accompanied by a delicious spasm and clenching of his body. When he was done I changed hands and used my cum covered one to rub his semen into his scrotum.

He collapsed onto the bed and onto his back before he picked up the picture. “Oh no,” he said, “I’ve ruined it. It has spunk all over it.”

I climbed on the bed and straddled his haunches I lowered myself on his still stiff cock and began moving up and down. I didn’t want to waste that boner. He put one hand on my hip and held the photo up to look at it while I rode his cock. The cum ran down the photo instead of just remaining pooled in one place and when he came the second time he came inside of me. By that time the photo lay forgotten on the pillows.

That weekend Kurt framed the streaked photo of me and it hung in a gallery show later that year. There was a little tag in the lower left corner while it was in the display. The tag read “NFS”. Not for sale. Kurt wanted to keep that particular print of that particular photo. He told me that he had strong emotional attachments to it.

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