Caught on Camera: Part Two by Lily Harlem Read Free Book Online Page B

machine, slipped in a coin and watched a can of Coke rattle to the bottom tray. I then grabbed a muesli bar from the shelf—I’d never have Jack’s honed physique, if anything I was a little on the skinny side—and flipped open my wallet to pay for the shop purchase.
    An image of Jack stared back at me.
    I paused for a moment, studied the close-up photo I knew and loved. Jack was so handsome, so testosterone-soaked. In this picture, taken on an exercise in Borneo by his colleague Slider, his face was marked with muddy camouflage covering his lips, nose and cheeks in angled streaks. His eyes held that determined, bring-it-on glint that made my legs go weak. The brimmed hard-hat he wore sat low on his forehead, netting material around it to aid his ability to melt into the forest, to hide and move without detection.
    Although I couldn’t see it, I knew he was holding a gun, a big heavy machine he could use with seamless efficiency. He wasn’t nicknamed Jack One Shot for nothing—he always hit the target, no matter what he was aiming for.
    My imagination could easily conjure up the rest of the photograph. Khaki standard issue uniform trousers that sat at a sexy angle on his hips, the folds around his groin just tight enough to give me a hint of what was beneath, just loose enough to keep the mystery. Clumping great boots that in any other situation but a war-zone would seem ridiculously big and heavy, but on Jack, in his uniform, were enough to make my cock swell. Once, on my birthday, I’d even asked him to make love to me wearing his trousers and boots. It had been late at night and we were swapping fantasies, messing about. We did that a lot if Jack was in his relaxed, on-leave mood. That was the beauty of having been together for so long and understanding each other so well—recognizing moods and sharing fantasies came easily and naturally.
    I shut my wallet, cracked open my drink and took a gulp.
    Another fantasy we’d often talked about was a threesome. After eight years committed to each other, monogamous and faithful, we both had daydreams of sharing another lover, together, exploring another man’s body, seeing what turned him on, watching him come, seeing what new delights he could offer us.
    Jack was particularly taken with the idea of giving me, because I was his, to someone and watching me be seduced. He wanted to be a voyeur, see me in the throes of passion while he sat calmly and studied my every expression, my every twitch of ecstasy and cry of pleasure.
    Of course it had never happened. Our quiet seaside hometown had yet to deliver us a gay hunk who was ready, willing and able. But still I thought of it often. Pleasant images of Jack’s cock in my mouth as another lover took my arse could wile away empty hours. As could a little self-pleasuring fantasizing about Jack watching as I was stripped naked, kissed all over then rimmed by our pleasure-seeking Adonis.
    A nameless, faceless Adonis who for some reason always wore the same combat uniform as Jack and had a similar musky, raw scent.
    Delicious.
    The daydream of Jack watching me being seduced, his dick hard and aching, his keen eyes registering every bit of the action, had me almost coming in my pants whenever I thought of it.
    Fuck, now my cock was stiffening at work. It was pressing up against the zipper of my neat navy trousers and making it uncomfortable to walk.
    But I did, thankfully, and was grateful that no one was taking any notice of me as I headed into my office, shut the door and wished the next twelve hours would pass at super-sonic speed. Because that evening, God willing, Jack would be walking through our front door and shouting, ‘Come here, Ken, I want what’s mine’ in his gravelly do-as-I-say voice.
    And of course I would be there for him, ready to give him whatever he desired.
     
    * * * *
     
    “Come here, Ken, I want what’s mine.”
    My heart felt as though it had flipped, my stomach clenched and I flicked the stove to