I forgot I’d written this erotic escapade as an homage to a painter from my past.
I looked up the flight of wooden steps and began my climb. The studio was on the third floor. The building had certainly seen its better days, but it was clean and seemed in decent enough repair. I’d only posed for this artist once before, but I’ve modeled for painters, sculptors, video animators; my basic form is actually part of a video game, and the character’s sword swing is mine. I keep hearth and home together with a day job, but life modeling is what I do for fun and a slight profit. Let’s face it, you either have to be desperate for some cash or a complete exhibitionist to want to get naked for a room full of people and let them reproduce you. Plus, there is pay involved. It’s a little different with an individual artist. It’s my preference. There can be a bond that forms among the artist, model, and medium.
Anyway, it’s summer, sweltering hot, humid as the rain forest, and I’m about to melt. Finally, I’m at the top of the stairs, and Jim’s there to greet me. “Come on in,” he says as he waves me through the door. He’s got the air on. Wonderful. Last time I modeled for him, I was clothed. He needed me so he could put the finishing touches on some portrait he was painting. I had to wear a tux. At least it was winter then. “Take a moment to get comfortable,” he said while he fiddled with his easel. I took off my backpack and pulled out the paisley silk robe. I know it’s a little silly, but I don’t like to be naked when I model except when the artist is working. With my back to him, I took off my shirt, kicked my sandals off, pulled on the robe and dropped my shorts. “I’d like to do some charcoal drawings of you today before I start the painting next week,” he said. “Just pose however you’re comfortable. In fact, leave the robe on for a little bit.”
I took my place on the model’s stand and struck a pose. Okay, it’s not at all like fashion modeling. This is serious. You have certain traditional poses at your disposal for warm ups or classes. Typically for gesture drawing, you hold the pose for a short time, so you can be really creative. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, so I went with something I could hold if I had to. “Great. Can you face the window and drop your robe to about mid back? Please be comfortable. I want to take a little longer here.” No problem. Okay, there was a problem.
This guy’s cute. He’s about six feet tall, dark brown hair, brown eyes, a build that isn’t really muscular but could do a hard day’s labor if it needed to. He’s kind of swarthy, but then he’s really not. I always think of him as being from the ancient courts in Persia. It’s been a couple of weeks since I connected with someone else. I can imagine him pounding away at my ass. Before I get too out of control, he’s call in me back to reality. “Not too cold in here is it?” Fuck no, I’m on fire. I mumble that I’m okay. Damn, he probably thinks I’m a complete idiot.
Now it’s time to face him and toss the robe off. I do it casually like I’ve done it a thousand times before–which I have. He looked around at me and his eyes widened. I’m not bad to look at. I’m about five feet nine inches, a little skinny, but I’m working on bulking up with the help of creatine and my personal trainer–who’s also my best friend and unfortunately hopelessly straight. I’ve got red hair–with carpet matching the drapes. In truth, my dick’s not anything to talk about. It’s cut and quite average. “Very nice” he said almost forcefully. “I like the tattoo.” I almost forget about having the tattoo. It’s a dragon just above my navel; I always think of it dancing along my happy trail. A boyfriend who was really into tattoos took me in and had me inked as a birthday gift one year–his birthday not mine. His brown eyes met my blue ones, and we didn’t need to say anymore. His paint splotched t-shirt went flying across the room, his pants were around his ankles–then he stepped out of them. He turned to get something from the stand next to him. Ah, a cockring enameled with the black and blue bondage stripes and a red heart. He slipped it on with the same ease I’d slip a ring on my finger.
Our mouths met. He grabbed my ass and left charcoal prints of his hands there. I think it was intentional. I’ve had guys do odd stuff to my body before. Remember how I got the tattoo? Anyway, before I realized what was happening, Jim was kneeling before me–not to give me a blow job. He was making out with my tattoo. Once I got over my “what the fuck” moment, it was very pleasant–very enjoyable. His mouth followed the dragon’s trail to my dick. If he could drive me to near ecstacy with his mouth on my abs, what would it be like once he started on my cock? Damn! It was far different than anything anyone has ever done. His technique was quite indescribable.
I am not a person to wait patiently. I managed to get his attention and lay us down so I could get his dick in my mouth. Damn! It was the size of a cucumber. I greedily started out with a deep throat and went from there. The next thing I knew I was having one of the strongest orgasms I’ve ever had. I nearly passed out with his dick in my mouth. I let go to be able to breath and hopefully stay conscious. When I back in my body, I turned to look at Jim. I had to kiss him and lick that lingering drop of my cum from his mouth.
ii
“You distracted my work,” he said with a scowl. “You’ve got to be punished.” My hands we tied to his easel. The cold aluminum felt good against my hot flesh. The belt met my flesh, and I took a deep breath to keep from crying out. “And look at that. You’ve gotten charcoal dust on your ass.” Again the leather met with my ass. My dick was a solid rock, and I was aching for him to fuck me. He stood before me looking almost sad. “Think you can behave?” I nodded. He untied me. “I can’t work with this hard on. Can you take care of it for me?” I knelt before him and took him again in my mouth. His nuts were as big as billiard balls, and I did my best to get one into my mouth. “I appreciate your efforts,” he said as he tussled my hair. “It’s no use though. I’m going to have to fuck you.”
He was gentle with me know. He fingered and thumbed my hole then he licked it some more. He slid into me easily as though afraid he’d hurt me. “Just fuck me,” I begged. Then I realized this slow, deliberate action was another part of his mastery over me. I was willingly becoming his slave. I tightened my sphincter to keep him inside me. He pulled out and tossed the condom aside. He pulled me to him and held his dick over my tattoo. His hand reached for his dick, but I pushed them away. I jacked him off, the cum ran over the dragon. Together we worked it in like some sticky lotion.
Now I too have an enameled cockring with black and blue stripes, but where his has a heart in red, mine has a circle of chain. I am his as surely as if my bill of sale were complete and my deed filed at the courthouse. The bondage to him is mine, but he swears he’s bound to me. Maybe his story is the mirror of mine. He just happens to wield the leather that paints my canvas.
