Paris // Jake Kiszka

Madrid

"Tighter." You said, giving the instruction through gritted teeth.

Jake tugged on the leather strap until it dug into your flesh, leaving raised abrasions on your wrist. The sensation was not unpleasant.

"Calm down." He hushed, tightening your other wrist in the same fashion, "I don't want you to fly too close to the sun."

You shot him a silent, desperate plea as you languished against the pillows, arms outstretched and completely immobilised. He met it cordially, with a look of deep anticipation rolling off his smirk.

"What do you say if it gets too rough?" He asked, pulling off your underwear in a single, swift movement.

You watched him bundle it into his fist, breathing in the scent like he always did before throwing them down.

"Paris..." You uttered, already breathless by the way he lingered at the foot of the bed.

"Good girl." He confirmed, leading his hand down the length of your thigh.

Madrid was a touch warmer in the evenings than Valencia had been. Without the cool air coming in off the sea, it felt stifling during the day. But the heat was nothing compared to the inevitable goodbye that would come with the morning rise.

Jake took out his camera from his perpetually packed suitcase and began to fiddle with the settings as you remained still, trying to keep your body from fighting against the restraints. It was an old thing which required a film to be loaded instead of digital. How endearing it was, as he stood there carefully placing his last roll inside, knowing he was using it to capture you.

The idea had come to him as you wandered the San Miguel market. Taking pictures of the grand structure on your cell phone, he'd watched you closely taking in the architecture as he took in the structure of your body against the soft yellow sun dress he had bought for you to replace the one he had unceremoniously ruined in Amsterdam.

"Spread your legs for me." He said, placing the camera at the side of your ankle, the lens peering up towards your core.

You did as you were instructed, listening to the low discernible click as he took pictures of you laid out on the apartment's four poster bed. Jake had spared no expense for your final destination. A weekend of such luxury that you were not accustomed to. His choices of wine and food had you flawed as he insisted on picking up the bill each time, something which did not sit well with you until he reminded you that it was his way of saying I love you...

And this was yours. Giving in to his every whim, his every desire. He had asked you for a memory he could look back on, always, and your body was his only interest. He had no care to recall the museums you had sauntered through, the beaches you had laid upon. There was only one thing he craved to remember.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He whispered, perhaps to himself, as he moved around the bed.

You arched your back for him, allowing your breasts to move as he watched you through the view finder. His cock growing incessantly hard beneath his crisp white boxer shorts.

You were conscious of time slipping away from you as he placed his camera on the side of the bed. "I'll take some more later..."

"When I'm all fucked out?" You asked, aware that he often left you so bedraggled you weren't sure you wanted it on film. "Typical."

He grabbed your feet and moved your legs apart so that your body was a star upon the bedsheets, leaning in at the end of the bed to stare longingly at your wet, glistening pussy. He pulled his hair back into a low bun, strands falling out around his ears as he tucked them behind.