The Art of Lust

Isabelle would unfasten her pants and slide them down while staring at his cock. She'd bend over and slip one long leg then the other from the cotton. That toned ass he suspected would be revealed as pale and firm, covered in a modest blue pair of panties, the everyday sort, not sexy so much as comfortable. Just like you'd expect a mature woman to wear. But it was time for them to come off, too. John would just be posing there, frozen but aware of her progress in undressing. Like nothing was happening. Like they were all pretending his erection wasn't happening now. Should he pretend that their panties weren't all getting wet?

He imagined her moving toward his frozen body on the platform. Her aroma preceded her, a heady jolt of womanly arousal. In her blue panties her hips would swivel freely, clearly feeling her own lubrication. The other artists would be stopped now and just watching. Maybe Bob would ease toward Barbara. And she'd be looking coquettish in her forty-something way. Sylvia might be reaching under her long peasant skirt to pull down her panties.

When Isabelle reached him she'd look up and smile then reach one hand to cup his balls. His cock would jump. But he wouldn't break the pose - he was a professional. She'd lean down and lick the tip of his organ, the red, swollen and dripping tip of his purpled organ. Still, he'd hold the pose. It wouldn't be easy, but he liked a good edging session. Thank you, again, Gloria! He thought. John couldn't look down at what the hungry woman was doing. He imagined that it felt like she'd wrapped her other hand around his shaft and begun smearing his juices along it. Then his knob was engulfed in a wet heat.

Another twenty-minute buzzer went off. He turned to the wall again, climbing down and checking to see if he needed to wipe actual juices off of his balls. Behind him the room was very quiet. After a good minute of deep breathing and a shuddering stretch to the ceiling where he showed them his tight buns, John climbed the platform again and again looked them each in the eye. There was frustration and elation and intensity. Even Barb, who must be fifty, had a kind of awed invitation in her eyes. Bob seemed angry, but John figured he would be too if he were faced with another man so intimidatingly hung.

This time as the artists sketched he imagined two of the women topless, Sylvia in just her peasant skirt, Isabelle in her blue mom panties at her easel drawing, her breasts swaying with her arms as they slashed color on the paper. She'd be antsy as she stood there trying to concentrate. She'd be distracted and drawing poorly. Finally, she'd tear the paper from the pad, ball it up, her boobs wobbling delightfully, petulantly throw it to the floor and kick it for good measure.

"You're impossible to draw!" she'd spit. "I'm too tense." As Isabelle paced, her body would move with animal fluidity.

"Go up and pose with him," Bob would say, the old lecher, standing there with his own cock out, thick, short and hard. Good man, Bob! He thought.

Isabelle would only pause for a moment. Then, while John kept rigid, she'd climb up behind him on the platform. The tall woman would plaster herself against his body, her warm breasts against his ribs, belly against his butt, one hand on his hip, the other reaching around to grasp his cock. She'd begin stroking, slowly, slowly, slowly and his juice would drip over her knuckles.

Bob would take Barb in his arms and she'd let him kiss her, grasping the organ hanging from his pants. Sylvia would bend over her stool, flip her long dress up over her hips and begin fingering herself, her boobs hanging low, saying, "Bob, we're not getting any younger...put that where it can do some good."

"Barb's gotta get me wet, first," he'd say and Bob would push Barb down to her knees. She'd happily slide down and open her mouth for his cock, stripping off her pink sweater and prim blouse and white bra, down to just her tasteful string of cultured pearls and brown, corduroy pants. John and Isabelle would watch the others playing while she stroked him and his energy grew. He would be trembling now, still holding the pose, still modeling what they needed.

Barb would gobble Bob's sturdy manhood for a while and he'd plainly become increasingly torn, watching himself disappear into the gray-haired woman's mouth and watching Sylvia grinding her hips on her own pawing fingers. "Bob!" she'd pant, "Bob! I need it." Finally, Bob would shuffle over and lift his cock up, press forward and sink his organ in the bent over woman. They'd find a rhythm and her gasps would echo in the room with increasing frequency. The older man would grab her hips, bend his knees and hit a stride that John could really admire. The man could pound a woman like a freight train climbing a grade. Slow and steady would get them to the top.

Barb would look lost for a moment, then she'd come to stand before him, her heavy breasts marked by gravity and children, but flush with pleasure and capped with nipples hard with excitement. She'd smile up at him and lift her breasts like a platter with her pearls draped across them.

Isabelle would climb down and join Barb before him and she'd grasp his cock again, stroking the weighty organ with intensity, with the experience of a mature woman, with a pleading hunger in her eyes. John would look down now at two women on offer before him, one pulling eagerly and skillfully on his rod, the other coquettishly smiling as she rocked her breasts in her hands.

"Do you think he's got a lot of cum in those balls?" Barb would ask Isabelle.

"We're about to find out," Isabelle would say, smirking. And she'd redouble her efforts on his cock, two handed now, stroking and twisting as she pulled, looking cross-eyed at the nozzle end, clearly hoping for a bounty. She would part her lips and lean forward, extending her tongue. He'd feel the detonation in his testicles and a clenching in his ass and the rush of a load speeding up his cock.

The buzzer sounded again and John was snapped from his fantasy. "That's it for today," said Isabelle, sounding disappointed. "I hope you all have a safe drive home."

Looking around the room, breathing hard, just that close to spraying spunk on the floor, John noted that all was as before and pretty normal. Four artists packing up their kits and making positive comments on their work. He appeared in each of them as a tall, muscular and youthful David. Only Isabelle had included his erection. Bob had done him from the waist up. Barb and Sylvia's propriety had led them to simply leave his crotch a haze of dark hairs. He himself was still hard, though, and poised on the verge of an orgasm. As he left the platform and tried to clear his head, Isabelle touched his shoulder and said, "You need a ride?"

Part II is coming soon!

If you've made it to the end, may I ask for a comment, please? The benefit to you is that I'll be much more encouraged to write and to write more often. Your feedback makes my stories better. Thanks for reading. (If you have constructive criticism, please be specific)