Dante - Daryl Banner Page 0,35

up—”

“My abs, yes, I know. Are you gonna get this shot? This is sick!” He laughs, enjoying it way too much.

I can’t help but smile as I focus the camera on its stand, checking it before snapping a few test shots. “We’re going to make some magic today.”

“Oh, right. I keep forgetting it’s only afternoon. Feels like it’s always night in here.”

“Well, made sense for Jaime to lend us a room before he’s open, not while he’s open when he’s got his customers able to peek in.”

“Mmm … Doesn’t that turn you on a bit?” He struggles as he—still upside-down—cranes his neck to get a look at the door behind me. “People, like, watching us …?”

That makes me smirk. “Sounds like someone’s finding his inner exhibitionist. Don’t worry, Tye; you’re about to be made into an exhibit for many eyes.” Flash, flash, flash. “Perfection.”

I direct Tye as I always do, turning the wheel now and then so his blood doesn’t all rush to his head, as well as to get new angles of his face and his sexy predicament that wheel has him in.

The photos I’ve posted of him on my site have made the rounds, to say the least. I’ve had so many calls this past week, I’m now booked through two months from now, which is a level of business I haven’t achieved in years.

I can’t help but to think our work together has made quite a ripple through the fetish community as well. No doubt, Leobardo has seen the images—and my gorgeous, young new model Tye—but he’s been notably radio silent.

Perhaps stewing in a hot stew of jealousy.

Or bitterness.

Not that I give a stewing shit.

“Now I want you to pull,” I instruct him. “Like you’re trying to pull yourself free.”

“Mmm …” Tye groans. His hard-on is visible, but not crude, keeping my photography tasteful—despite how very close we are to crossing the line between work and play right now. “It’s so fucking tight and strong …”

“Well, it’s metal, so yeah.” I snap a few shots. “C’mon. Really try, Tye. I wanna see the sweat of your efforts, boy …”

“Argh … Urgh …” He starts to really pull, giving me just what I asked for. His biceps flex exquisitely and his abs tighten with excruciating beauty. His eyes scrunch to nothing as he clenches his teeth, pulsating with strength, with youth, with power …

My camera flashes.

And at that exact moment, his left wrist breaks free from his bind.

Shards of metal fly out, spinning, ringing. The chain from the shackle hangs from his wrist. His body drops slightly, then is caught at once by the other straps that still hold him in place.

We both freeze, astonished.

“I … oops …” whispers Tye, wide-eyed, then peers up at me in alarm.

And for whatever reason, whether by instinct, or by the hand of some invisible god of fate, I snap one last shot of his surprise—Flash.

Then I rush up to the wheel, turn it right-side-up, and help Tye out of his binds. “Uh, I didn’t mean to break it—” he starts.

“Nah, it’s fine,” I tell him. “My bad. I’ll pay for it. I just can’t trust this thing to hold you anymore, not if a shackle broke that easily.”

“Maybe it wasn’t easy.” Tye puffs up his bare chest, smirking proudly. “Maybe I’m some kind of Super Boy.”

I roll my eyes and choke back a laugh. “Calm down there, Peter Parker. His equipment is likely recycled or homemade 90s torture devices.”

Tye squints at me. “You do know Peter Parker is Spiderman and not Super Boy, right?”

I help Tye off the wheel. When he’s about to pull off the broken shackle still attached to his wrist, I stop him with a sudden inspiration. “Hey, stay right there, standing next to the wheel. Keep it on, but … lift it above your head.”

“Oh. Like this?” He lifts it over his head.

I’m already behind the camera, inspecting the shot, refocusing the lens, zooming in. “Yeah. Just like that. And make a fist.”

He curls his fingers into one mighty fist.

Flash.

When I step back and look at the scene of him standing there, glistening with sweat—mixed with an oil I applied to his body for extra sheen—and looking like a warrior who just broke free, I realize the pair of us just achieved something amazing. I can’t even bring myself to speak, so struck by the moment—and the images now on my camera.

“Uh … Dante?”

I grin at him. “We got it.”

Tye lifts his eyebrows. His fist is still