Urban Fantasies: the Model

I wriggle again in my chair, denying to myself that it's the man lying, nude, across the bench in the center of the room that is making me so wet. I'm not supposed to be turned on by the model, my hand still moving in gentle strokes on the paper as I do my best to capture that which has enchanted me.

His semi.

Even I can tell he wasn't fully erect, and that the only reason he wasn't totally flaccid is that it's chill in the room. My nipples peak against my shirt; I like to go braless. I'm just a B-cup, so it's not like anyone gives a notice, anyways.

I lick my lips.

His cock really is stunning. The way it lays in repose against his muscled thigh, the tip just peeking over at me. Yeah -- I get a full stare of the little monsters one-eyed glare.

I shift again; glance up at the clock.

Two more minutes.

I add one last stroke to the paper, then drop my pencil and study my handiwork.

Okay -- I'm not the world's greatest artist. Not even close. But even I can tell this is some Grade-A work. For once.

I had correctly framed every smooth, soft curve of his semi-hard cock with the firmer, athletic tones of his muscled thighs; upwards to his six-pack abs.

Out of humor I title it -- "McTruck."

The teacher was instructing Sinclair to go ahead and put his clothes on. I saw the model wrap a towel around his waist and then make his way to the changing room.

I sigh.

Truth be told, when I handed my project in that day I was a bit dismayed and more than a little depressed.

Sinclair was always gone by the time class got out; by the time I'm allowed to leave. So I didn't have any opportunity to tell him I was interested in seeing much more than his 4" semi in the entire two months he'd been stopping by, twice a week, to pose.

Ha! As if someone with his Greek God looks would notice someone like me, anyways!

Still. I'm smiling by the time I fall asleep that night.

If nothing else, I'll always have my picture.

One Month Later

The bell was five minutes from ringing to dismiss class when - "Miss Bollar? Can you stay a moment after today?"

I look up at Mr. Crantz and wonder what this is about.

"Sure. No problem."

When the bell rang the others made haste filing out; some of them even throwing me a questioning look.

'Don't look at me,' my eyes said back; shoulders shrugging, 'I'm just as clueless as you!'

We both waited for the room to empty.

"Mr. Crantz?"

"Yes. Well. This is awkward for me, Miss Bollar. You must understand I've never had a circumstance like this before. Never! And I've been here thirty-six years! Why did you have to draw that picture?"

I shift my bag more securely over my shoulder.

"What drawing?" There was only one.

He gave me a look. "Don't play dumb with me, Miss Bollar. Mr. Westfurd's drawing."

At least I felt a blush creeping on; in truth, I was only embarrassed to be discussing the contents of that drawing with him. My teacher.

"Well. You told us to draw what 'Enchanted' us," more blushing, "So I did."

"I didn't tell you to draw his... Well. I didn't ask you to draw that, Miss Bollar."

"But you did allow him to go nude, Mr. Crantz." And I had him there. It wasn't MY decision for Sinclair to pose unclothed.

"Which brings me to my question."

We both wait while he gathers his courage. Whatever it is, I know it's going to embarrass the shit out of me.

"You know the school's hosting an Art show in a week. Well -- that picture is the most remarkable piece of work this school has seen all year; years, in fact! Since there's no way of telling who it is Mr. Westfurd is most willing to let it be auditioned."

Okay.

"You'd have to be there opening night if it's accepted."

As the artist.

It hit me. I'd be standing next to the picture I'd drawn of Sinclair's cock for everyone to see. My family, friends... Sinclair?

I squirm, my nether lips getting slick as I dare to ask the next question, "Has he seen it?" I couldn't say his name aloud.

"Mr. Westfurd? Yes. He was most surprised as well."

"Did you tell him who the Artist is?" Did you rat me out?

He appeared offended; sounded it, too, "Of course not! He'll have to wait until opening night -- if you are accepted -- to see who drew it. Like everyone else that may be interested."

"Well. Okay sure. Go ahead and audition it. No problem." I was babbling as I made my escape to the door. "Later, Mr. Crantz." No way would they allow a drawing of a nude cock to hang in their art show.

I was safe; he'd never know of my secret, dirty fascination with his genitals.

Someone would veto it.

One Week Later

Boy was I wrong!

Not only was it not vetoed, but my drawing won Picture of the Year; 'It's daring' they said, 'Bold and Original,' 'Stunning detail in contrast.'

It would be front and center tonight for everyone pouring through the doors.

And I would be standing right next to it.

Maybe I should pretend to be sick.

I have twenty minutes granted the Artists pre-opening the exhibition; my stomach rolls as I step through those doors and look at the framed piece.

Maybe I won't be pretending.

What in the world dared you to draw it, I ask myself. What did you think was going to happen? That Mr. Crantz would be too mortified to really look at it? That you'd just get to take it home and enjoy it all to yourself, late at night when you're stroking your pussy to thoughts of what you'll never have?

Um. Yeah?

Ha! You gotta pay for that pleasure, baby.

Fuck off.

"Sara?"

"Yes?" I turn as I hear my name though I don't recognize the voice.

I'm instantly hypnotized by light amber eyes and smiling lips; golden curls surrounding boyish features. I cannot swallow; I cannot breath. My heart is beating five times the normal rate, and I'm sure he can hear it.

Is it hot in here, or is it me?

"That picture," he's breaking eye contact to look at it, "it's really something."

Now I'm blushing again. And squirming; my pussy is wet. Fuck! Me!

"Um. Well... See... The thing is..." What the hell could I say? How could I explain it to him without sounding like a total slut? Which I'm not. I've slept with one guy in my entire life, and that was back a few years.

He wasn't even that good at it.

Which is why I was so drawn to this man's cock in class, I suppose.

"I like it," he's whispering into my ear, close before I notice he was going to do so, "I love it," he's stressing, punctuating it by licking my lower ear lobe.

I was shivering. Fuck me, my mind whimpers. I'm way too much a coward to say it.

He smells good, whatever he's wearing.

His arms are around me and he's nuzzling my neck before I can think to exhale.

I reach up and wrap my arms around him, tilting my head to the side to feel the glide of his lips along my neck. My lips part for a moan I cannot keep contained, and don't try to. My eyes are closed.

Pleasure is coursing through my veins; his hands roaming electrical cords up and down my back in opposite rhythm of each other. At last they land on the firm, tight globes of my ass and haul me against his raging erection.

There it is. It feels so, so big.

"Let's get out of here," I'm hearing in my ear; nodding before I can think to do anything else.

And like that I'm playing hooky.

My hand in his, we walk quickly out of the building and down the steps. When I would have gone to my car he shook his head and pulled me to his.

I'm so wet -- my nipples are so aching hard -- that I don't care how we get there. I want to be where he wants me to be so we can be naked.

It wasn't a long ride to his place; and not much longer to get past the door and down the hall to his room.

Then I'm standing inside and looking at him, upright against the door.

I hear the click of the lock.

I'm not interested in the things around us; my eyes are glued to his; such a deep, beautiful golden brown, like rich, warm caramel.

"I'm going to fuck you, Sara. And you know you're going to love it."

I bite my lower lip and nod my head. He's right, of course. I'm going to love it.

He's walking towards me; taking me in his arms and conquering my lips with his kiss.

My lips open willing to his invasive tongue, my own going up against his in a slippery battle of mutual pleasure.

He's encouraging me backwards until my lower thighs hit the edge of the mattress and I'm falling down, breaking the kiss.

Not for long.

He's looming over me -- I'm scooting up the bed -- he's following me.

Our lips meet again, tangling and winding, neither of us holding back any longer.

My hands grip the silken, golden curls that frame his face. At last I'm sighing in the pleasure of their texture; knowing more with each flexing, driving reality born anew in this moment.

His hands are cupping my small breasts, easily palming them beneath the cotton shirt I'm wearing. Through the peaks of my nipples his thumbs are driving me insane with delicate, rapid zings of shocking ecstasy.

I don't even attempt to stop my lips from loosing the moans that are rising up from inside of me.

He pulls away to look down at my face, "Do you ever wear a bra?"

I must have given him a comical expression because next thing I know he's laughing. Of course I wear bra's! When I have to. Rarely.

"Almost never," I finally admit.

His hands are still creating pools of liquid to build beneath my pussy's nether-gates with their delicate pinch's and caresses over my nipples.

"Part of the reason I was hard at all," he's saying as he got around to pulling the shirt over my head, "is because I kept wondering what these beautiful babies would look like with nothing covering them."

I'm watching him stare at my tits as if they're the most gorgeous pair he's ever seen.

My eyes are drawn to the way his thumb and forefinger are rubbing in tandem over and around my aching peaks; his hands doing their best to palm what little mass there was to the under-side of my tit.

I look up at him, biting my lip.

He's fucking gorgeous and could have any woman he wanted; didn't most men desire big, massive, globbulous tits?

Not to mention he's still dressed.

I'm remembering him naked, as he was lounging on the bench in class.

"I want to be naked with you," I hear myself saying before I can stop it from pouring out.

Fuck. I'm not usually this daring -- totally terrified of rejection.

Like now; He was totally going to reject me.

His hands were falling away from my breasts; no longer could I feel the torturous passion of his knowing fingers.

Was I whimpering?

But no.

His hands move to the hem of his shirt and in one swoop pull it over his head, tossing it to the side. Toe to heal removes each of his shoes with a quick slide of the feet; hands finding landing on the hem of his loose jeans, over which peaked the hem of his midnight-blue silk boxers and that recollected, impressive six-pack.

The front tented a massive curve, an obvious visual of his desire for me.

I sit there watching, stunned.

We hadn't been allowed to watch him undress in class. This little peep show was making my pussy oh, so fucking wet with each new piece of flesh revealed without vanity. Beneath my jeans my lips glide along one another in sloppy self-kisses.

I didn't know the picture I made for him, either, leaning on my elbows as I watched his strip-tease.

With my long black hair, straight as an arrow, hanging down my back and pooling on his pillows; my itty-bitties perky and tight-nipped, starring up at him like a pair of second eyes, encircled by my larger, rose-colored areoles.

With my wicked, silver-blue orbs wide, round and full of flaming lust in my delicate, pale-skinned face; my lips a perfect lower lush topped with cupids bow, a parted O of shocked hunger.

With my legs spread just a bit, and my scent seeping up and around us despite the thickness of my tight, blue jeans; my strappy black heels, three-inches high.

"You're not naked."

"Is that why you stopped?" I'm looking where his hands pause over the button of his jeans.

"I stopped because even now upwards of hundreds of people are 'seeing' me naked, thanks to your drawing."

He's smiling as I meet his gaze, a bit worried. Is he having second thoughts about allowing me to audition the artwork?

"The least you can do is take off those ridiculous shoes, lose the pants, and let me see that cunt of yours."

I'm gasping at his crude words, heart accelerating as they turn me on further.

"You know you want to, Sara. So just do it so I can fuck you like you want to be fucked."

My last and only lover had never talked dirty with me. I had no idea it'd turn me on so much -- but it did. I liked the words coming from Sinclair's mouth, directed at me; towards me.

I didn't speak my ascent; I didn't need to. I said it in the way my fingers went to the straps of my heels, pulling first one and then the other off, hearing them hit the floor with a dull 'thunk.'

Lying on my back, I raise my ass even as my fingers struggle with first the button that doesn't want to come loose, and then the zipper that decides to get stuck.

Wriggling it further, I get it a bit more down -- just enough -- for me to push the tight pants over my slim hips and slender legs. With a kick they too fall to the floor.

And then I'm as nude for him as he had been for me and others during that naughty college class -- but an hour a session, two days a week; my favorite parts of those days. Well, until I went home to masturbate later.

He's still standing there staring down at me with a goofy, crazy-ravenous look on his face, hands lost in rest on the edge of his jeans, button having popped due to gravity and pressure.

I giggle, my hand rising to cover my wide-spread lips.

"You're not naked," I parrot back at him.

Which gets him moving; rushing to get his zipper down, and then his pants and boxers in one shove until they lay on the floor at his feet.

His cock is no longer even partially flaccid. I'm seeing it thick, long, hard, and pointing at me, its one eye glistening with a spot of pre-cum.

Spreading my legs wide I don't bother to stop myself as my hand zones in between, playing with my slicked up pussy lips and engorged clitoris.

The only difference between now and those times I'd gone home after class was that I could feel his eyes watching my fingers dig in and out of my cunt as I lay there, in his bed instead of mine, playing with myself; staring at him instead of the memory of him.

This was even hotter than my fantasies.

I watch as he makes his way to me, crawling up the bed and drawing a gentle, knowing touch up my legs until his hands are resting on my quivering thighs. I don't stop reaching in and out of myself, driving my own release closer.

"You are so fucking hot," his breath burning against my pussy lips as he breathes the last word on my flesh, impaling my puss with the rigid muscle of his tongue, swirling around my already penetrating limbs.

I withdrawal my familiar fingers and allow him full access to that blushing pink, glistening pussy of mine, instead using them to find caresses once more in his strands of hair, holding the locks by his scalp in a vice as I keep his face in my twat.

It isn't long before my fingers are replaced by his, those members along with his flickering, twirling tongue building me to rising, orgasmic climax.

I love the way his hand drills me, fast and hard with deep, forceful thrusts; the way his tongue dances correspondence over my huge, feminine cock.

My hips are bucking off the bed and my head is thrown from side to side as I moan and scream -- I'm not even trying to keep my voice down. He's fucking amazing the way he's playing my snatch like a well-beloved, familiar instrument with his tongue and fingers.

His tongue!

I hadn't known such things were possible!

Then I can't think at all. I'm exploding with stars behind my eyes, wild delight blowing up around me like a few dozen fireworks, and hot, liquid cum squirting from my well-played cunt.

As I come to I can feel his wet tongue-tip squirreling over my right breast nipple.

I moan and arch my back for more.

He's looking up at me, "You're so fucking hot. So fucking prim and proper hot little fuck slut, aren't you?"

I take too long to answer and he's biting my nipple; I whimper.

"Yes, oh, fuck yes."

He's sitting back on his knees and bringing the tip of his massive fuck-stick to the opening of my snatch, pushing the gates open and then gliding the underside of his shaft over my fuck-hole.

Making himself slick with my juices; tormenting me with the feel of that skin-covered steel that would soon be gobbled by my famished puss.

"Do you want this?" he's teasing me.

"Yes, yes," I begged shamelessly, hips rising.

"Say, 'I want to be fucked by Sin.' Say it."

I moan. Fuck this is so fucking hot.

"I want to be fucked by Sin. Fuck, please, I want to be fucked by --"

I'm screaming -- I cannot continue what I'm saying. It's just not possible. His cock is pushing in to me and opening wide my too-long celibate cunt, and it's fucking glorious.

My nails dig in to his shoulders; my eyes squeezed tight shut so I can savor every lovely detail of that dense, hooded rod stuffing my snug, saturated pussy.

I feel the pull of it as it's taken from my pussy, which complains; vibrates with friction-filled joy as his monster-sized cock stuffs me again. And again. And again.

I can think of nothing but the sensations I'm forced to endure and feel; forced by the choices I'd already made.

My legs draw up, inner thighs squeezing outer as he continues to fuck me, granting deeper access to the cavern of my passion-filled juices, squelching in delicious music between us with every steady beat of smacking thighs.

"Perfect artist loves being a little cum slut for my cock, doesn't she?"

"Oh, God, yes."

"Say it."

"I love being your little cum slut. I love slutting out this cunt for your cock; I love this big, picture perfect cock fucking my snug little pussy. Fuck, oh, God... fuck... I'm Cuu-u-mm-mm-ing"

I was. Hard. Rapture poured though my very soul as my pussy squeezed and released rapidly over his still thrusting flesh, my cum pouring in waves down his cock, still fucking me -- harder now; deeper, faster.

"Oh, fuck," I'm screaming; cumming again.

This time he's cumming with me. I feel the spurts of his hot ejaculate coating the inner walls of that snug snatch; heard the grunts he was making atop me as he drove again, again.

Stopped.

Collapsing atop me; both of us breathing heavy in an attempt to catch our breath.

Minutes later kisses on my collarbone, delicate and fragile light.

"You are way more amazing a fuck than I'd ever imagined."

I feel myself flush at the compliment. I've never thought of myself as particularly sexy. I don't have the right body parts -- the big tits and shapely legs and slender waist -- that most men consider 'hot.'

"Aaa-aa-hh," I squeal.

He's tweaking my nipple. I brush his hand off, offended.

"What the hell was that for? And you were being so nice!"

"To get your attention, Sugar Tits."

Sugar Tits. I like that. It makes me smile, large and wide.

"Wha'for?"

Then I know because his hard cock is thrusting inside of me and I'm moaning.

Brushing my nipples with his too-light touch, "That's right, slut. I want to fuck you again," pulling that stiff rod out of my cunt with a soft 'pop,' "Doggy. Get in position."

He's scooting away a bit, giving me room to roll over.

I flip myself, rising to settle my weight on my knees and hands, back curved in to fluff out my pussy lips; give that lovely cock easier access back inside.

I feel the bed shift as he comes up behind me, rubbing the tip of his meat against my opening, getting it nice and slick before pushing in on one long, deep thrust.