Artist and model
I woke early to prepare myself. A quick breakfast and then up to my studio on the upper floor.
The easel was ready; the canvas readied the night before. It was time to set out the paints on my pallette. Black, rich blues, the earth tones and ivory white that whose lush ointment would create the lush softness of male skin and muscle and sinew. The bell rang. Even before I descended the steps I was breathless. He had accepted.
The week before I was doing a landscape in the park. Across the field from me, in an open area in full sun, a young man lay extended in a lounge chair. Like a Roman statue fallen from its base, his almost completely nude body, clad only in the slightest speedo, and carefully shaved of every hair, stretched from toe to head and in an invitation to be consumed by anyone whose glance would fall his way. When first I saw him, by strength of will, I ignored his presence and continued my work. But weak is the flesh and within the hour I could resist no more. Resisting the swelling between my legs and despite the already pendulous heaviness against my inner thigh, I made my way across the field toward him.
Although I was trembling at the approach I knew I could not hesitate. Swallowing fear I stood over him.
“Sorry to interrupt you, but I was just wondering”.
“Well, I saw you from across the field. I’m a painter. You see - there - there’s my easel”.
“Well, I was wondering. I was wondering if you might be interested in modeling?”
“Yes, well, you see.... Well, you are clearly..... And I saw that you are shaved down....”
I knew I couldn’t falter, couldn’t stumble... “It’s well paid. Forty dollars an hour”.
“Forty. That is quite good. Forty.”
He accepted. He accepted. We fixed a date. We made an appointment. Now he was here.
I rushed down the steps. The bell rang again. I opened.
Blue eyes, deep below sandy brows glimmered before me. Above them thick dark brown locks folded in dense waves around a squarely sculpted head. An ivory neck, full and rounded descended to the hollow of a pink white throat exposed between the v-shaped opening of a black polo shirt that delicately outlined an undulating chest. Arms emerged from the tight grip of sleeves restraining full yet delicate biceps. From the chest the black of the shirt slid in a tapering angle to the most slight and beckoning waist where it met the rise of faded jeans bound by a brown leather belt. From that slender waist in the front the outward curve of his developed thighs, from behind the thrusting slope of half hidden hips. How at that first glance my hands longed to reach out and grasp those hips. To draw that waist to mine. To feel that chest against my own. To press the lips of that elegant face firmly to myself.
“Come in. Come in. The studio is on the upper floor.” I restrained myself from saying more. I must be professional.
We went up. I showed him the platform where he would stand. I offered him an pale gray sheet.
“You may undress when you’re ready and use this as your drapery”.
I turned my back and walked to my easel. I could not watch, but only imagine. I busied myself with paint, with brushes, with oils. I could not ......
“How’s this?” I heard.
I turned. My heart ceased. My mouth went dry. My eyes paled. There he stood before me: Apollo risen, Narcissus reflected, Adonis reborn. He had draped the cloth from his shoulder and let it cluster down from his left arm to the shallow of his groin where it made its caressing outward turn over his yet unseen manhood.
“But wait,” I stuttered. “Let me...” It was a response from exhilaration, from panic, from secret desire. In a fog I left my easel to approach him. “Let me....” I feigned the need to adjust the drapery. Trembling, my fingers moved towards his shoulder. I made a slight change to the folds.
Then towards his thighs. As they approached my fingers felt the heat. My palms began to moisten, my hands to tremble. I moved the drape ever so slightly. Briefly, I revealed a few golden strands of curling pubic hair. Quickly, processionally I recovered them. My eyes fell on the outward curve beside those golden brown hairs. The fragrance of that hidden place entered my nose. How could I keep myself standing?
“There. There”. I muttered. My face was red and burning. Turning my back I returned to my easel.
Again I busied myself with paint and oils. My back was to my model.
Then, suddenly, there was a warmth. A warmth at my back. In that instant, two arms clasped themselves about my waist, a heavy chest was against my back, two lips were at my neck beneath my ear. Against my hips, at the middle of my ass, was a fullness pressing. I closed my eyes and collapsed against him.
“This is what you really want, isn’t it?” His lips kissed me again. My neck fell to his mouth.
I felt him against me. I felt it hard and upright against the crack in my ass cheeks. Could this be happening?
“Do you want me in you” “Do you want me hard and straight, right up inside you, now?” “I can do it in a single push. I can fuck you with one great thrust. Eight inches, straight up, straight up inside you”.
“No, I cried. No, not yet. Not yet ... Let me... let me...”
His embrace let loose. I turned. “Let me look at you. Let me see you. Let me love all of you”.
He stepped back. I turned.
Like a god of purest marble he stood before me. The full thickness of that blond hair, the roundness of the shoulders’ muscles the density of the molded chest, the gentle slope of the pure white belly, the energy of the thighs and calves but now, now, at the center of them all, rising like the spear of some great warrior the most elegant and forceful cock, the most upright and steel hard dick, thin yet long... firm... rigid... thrusting up from the density of that golden brown hair surrounding it in a perfect triangle.
I fell to my kneed and seized it between my lips. Down and up, down and up my lips, my mouth, my throat seized its silken iron. Again and again, there was not end to it. There was not satisfying my desire. I wanted it all. I wanted it inside me. Deeper and deeper against the wall of my throat. As if to push it further my hands moved to his hips to that thrusting ass. I grabbed. I pushed and pushed, urging his ass forward, urging his dick forward, forcing into the grasping desire of my mouth. Then my fingers too, wanted their share. From the roundness of his ass cheeks they found the recesses between. They found that dark hole. First one, then two, then all fo them were grasping for entry. They pushed and plied and forced themselves all the while pushing that ass forward so that hardening and lengthening pole might enter more deeply into my ravenous throat. Pushing, thrusting, again and again until he grabbed my hair with his clenching fist, he held my head tightly. My face was buried in that triangular mass of velvet hair. Then suddenly, there was an agonizing a liberating, an ecstatic scream and my mouth was filled, filled with the bitter sweet salt of his come, again and again it gushed from that silken white dick.
In an instant he crumbled on the floor.
There he lay at my feet. The mountain of his chest rising and falling in panting exhaustion. His sculptured arms and legs distended. The curves of the muscles rippling and trembling across his entire being. Slowly, his legs parted as his hands moved to the moist and shining tip of his slowly receding dick. He caressed himself. The muscles of his arms widening, as they pressed against the mass of his pecs. His dense and manly fingers softly cradled his now limp but ever so lovely member.
“Now it’s your turn”, he whispered.
“My turn?” I asked.
“Here”. As he spoke, he widened his legs and raised his hips. There before me was the pink rose of his ass, adorned by a soft, golden crown of hair.
My cock rose so tall and so hard that it caused distress. The blue of his eyes cast their glance across his chest, across the shallow of his every so slight stomach, across the sweet delicacy of his flaccid pink dick and delicately soft sack of balls. And beneath them that awaiting sweet darkness.
“Now”, he said, “Now”.
I moved closer. I knelt before him. I took his heels into the palms of my hands and spread apart those ivory legs even further than he had extended them.
“Yes,” he cried, “Yes”.
I bent before him. My lips caressed that tight opening. My tongue sought out the golden hairs and tasted them all. Again and again I circled my victim with my tongue.
“Now, now!” he insisted.
But there was more. My hands still distending those masterful legs, my mouth continued above that sweet hole to his balls, to that soft and delicate cock. Around its soft pinkness my tongue made its way; tossing it first this way, then that: a bauble in my mouth. From there to his navle with its own hint of golden fur. Around and around then upward to those nipples, small and pink and thrusting outward. Such sweetness, such delight. And above that sculpted neck, tall and white and elegant. My tongue swam in the small of the throat. From there the chin, the upward to the eyes, the eyelids. His head reeled backward.
My stomach, now perched above his once flaccid cock, sensed a rebirth, a revival. It had grown, full and beautiful that thin yet sharply pointed spear.
I dropped his legs from my hand and immediately straddled him at the waist. With my right hand I held up that magnificent shaft. I shifted back and in a single thrust shoved myself down upon its lengthy power. He was in me: in me to the prostate. In me to the stomach.
“Don’t move”. I cried,
Again and again, up and down, up and down, I impaled myself upon his spear. Never had I had such pleasure. He was in me. He was in me. It was all I had wanted. “Come, Come”. I screamed. “I want you. I want you”.
“yes, Yes”, he groaned. His hands reached up and held my face. He pulled me towards him.
His lips met mine.
“Now”, I screamed.
“Now, now”, he echoed. His tongue invaded my mouth, I felt the heat of his come explode in my ass.
“You’re mine,” he cried out.
And I collapsed into the strength of his arms.
A boy's Filipino mom is a MILF. She goes into the woods and finds wood, meaning he watches his mom being taken...
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