The underpass

The underpass was empty, concrete and a buzz of a light that did not reach the middle. I stood in the black wool coat, turtleneck, jeans, chin-length black bob, camera on its plain strap at my hip, twenty-five and done with shooting other people for the night. Jian was twenty-seven. Paulos was thirty-four. I had met them at the bar above the road, not as subjects. I told them I do not fuck men in exchange for a portrait. If they wanted to fuck, the camera on my hip stayed a weight, not a bargain. Both of them said they wanted the fuck. Then I asked about the phone.

I wanted a recording, short, all three of us agreed, and I wanted the right to delete it. Jian said yes. Paulos said yes and asked where his hands should be. I said in my hair, firm, the way I like, and nowhere near my throat. He repeated it. I set the phone on a ledge, propped on the coat of dust, framed the stretch of wall, and hit record only after I looked each of them in the face again. Then I stepped into the frame on purpose. Being looked at was the itch. The file was optional.

I opened my jeans and turned. Jian got his cock out and I stroked it, then bent, hands on the concrete, and told him to fuck my cunt. He pushed in, thick, a steady fuck that made my arms shake. Paulos gathered my hair the way I had asked, a hold, not a yank past what I wanted, and I moaned at the combination. Jian's cock drove into my cunt. I told him not to be gentle. He fucked me harder. The phone's red light sat in the corner of my eye and I liked it because I had put it there. I came with my mouth open, cunt gripping his cock, hair held, a sound that bounced on the concrete and died.

We did not keep going for the lens. I said stop. Jian eased out. I picked up the phone with unsteady hands and we watched ten seconds, the three of us crowded around a glowing screen, my bare hip, his cock, Paulos's hand in my bob. It was hot. It was also enough. I deleted it in front of them and emptied the trash. I told them I wanted the memory, not the file. Paulos kissed my temple. Jian asked if he could cum. I said on the concrete, not on me, I am walking. He stroked his cock and came on the ground. I buttoned the jeans, settled the camera back on my hip, and left them in the underpass with nothing recorded and a fuck I still felt in my cunt all the way up the stairs.