A/N: This section has some pretty mild underage and voyeurism. Just thought I'd let y'all know. :P If you don't like it, it's really not that bad, but you can skip this section and pretty much miss absolutely nothing. Herp-derp.

Cameras and "home movies" aren't really your thing.

You've had a couple guys that wanted porn on in the background, or maybe needed it to get started, which is a little strange, but everyone's got their damage you suppose. Honestly though, you wouldn't trust the majority of your Johns to keep that stuff off the internet so you mostly don't allow any kind of lens, but there's this kid named Matt- the exception to your rule. After all, isn't there always an exception?

You saw him first in an alley behind the local strip club, attempting to look inconspicuous and only succeeding in making himself seem more shady than anyone else. There's always one or two boys like him, with a surplus of money and a deficiency of common sense. They all think a fake ID works just as well for sex as it does for alcohol, though it's much easier to guess out their proper age when they're naked and trying to hold back a premature orgasm in a well-lit room than when they're hiding their face from a bartender in a smoky, shadowy club.

This boy's something slightly different, though. A little bit darker, a little bit twisted. When you turn down his money the first time he doesn't spit profanities in your face, doesn't stalk off angry with a shield of superiority covering the sting of rejection. Instead he bites his lip, pauses a moment, and then smiles. He does something you've never seen before. He makes a new sort of deal, one that's a bit safer for you and still somehow quite beneficial for him. For some reason, one you still can't quite fathom, you accepted, and now…

Now you're kneeling on you mattress, spine arched, legs spread, as you press your fingers deep, deep inside and splay them open. The catch of his breath across the room steals your attention and you roll your head his way, sharing a half-lidded stare with the camera. A red light blinks up near Matt's face and bathes his broken expression in an eerie pallor. He makes a pained sort of whine and slouches down in his seat, a hand shoved down the front of his pants and a dark spot spreading through the crotch. You throw the camera a smirk before climbing off your sheets and cleaning yourself up.

You're horny as hell now, but you push it down, throw on some boxers, and toss him a clean washcloth. He frowns deeply and your quick change of pace, but sets the camera and starts cleaning himself up. He grumbles the whole time about how one day he'll last long enough to catch you coming on tape. It makes you smile, not unkindly, as you hold your hand out for the cash. Seven minutes of video, twenty-five dollars a minute, the easiest $175 you ever made. You might feel a little bad taking it, if he wasn't so prideful and assuming. It actually gives to a bit of a thrill to have so much power over the boy.

It feels like a definite kind of corruption, but one you're more than capable of living with.