Author’s note: the narrator becomes less of a douche bag as the story progresses.
Not too many living artists on the planet can get $600 for a pencil sketch, but I can. Jenna wanted a nude as a gift for her husband. She didn’t earn much from her gigs as a model down at the guild. Her husband was pretty rich, but because Jenna was such a spend thrift, he gave her a weekly allowance to put a cap on her spending. Jenna had just blown all of her money a shiny pair of new shoes and couldn’t afford the fee.
“Why don’t you come back next week when you have the money,” I suggested.
“I am sure I can find a creative way to pay your fee,” she said. Jenna was a fine piece of ass, one of the most popular nude models at the guild. Everybody knew she liked to fuck around. I agreed this was a fair trade.
I was pretty confident that I knew what a man like Jenna’s husband would want: something elegant; something large; something that would objectify Jenna a bit as trophy he had won through hard and meticulous labors; and above all else, he would want something with unequivocal hints of sexiness so his guy friends would become jealous and run home to masturbate.
Jenna was diminutive in size and as flat as a surfboard. I stood her on a couple of crates and sat myself on the floor so I could draw from a lower perspective. I had her twist slightly to get a profile view of her chest. I turned the heat down so her puffy nipples would swell. I had no intention to reproduce the finer details of the extensive tapestry of tattoos she had draped across her back, so I cut off one of my three studio lights to hide the art in shadow. The twist of her body still allowed her ass to remain illuminated, which was important as it was as tight, firm, and fine as an ass could get.
On the picture itself the outlines of the tattoos appeared as faint lines, detectable as body art only to those already familiar with Jenna’s body and knew where to look. For those not in the know, the tattoos were lost in shadow. To make her seem taller and more elegant, I stretched her proportions slightly, giving her longer arms and legs. I took out her bust but only slightly, and with her large agitated puffy nipples I aroused the onlooker without completely betraying the truth.
Jenna was thrilled. “You made me so beautiful,” she said. “I’m getting wet just looking at myself, and I’m not even bi!”
I was glad that Jenna’s pussy was ripe and ready for action because I was eager to collect my fee, and I didn’t really like giving oral. In the real word Jenna’s tits were much less provocative than the art I had created, but I felt quite content to flip her over, face down, upon my sofa and plunder her fine firm ass from behind. Just the sight of her small tight pink pussy got my monster cock quite agitated, so I didn’t need her to suck me off.
I had to ease the head of my long thick cock past the tight aperture of her shaved pussy lips. They inverted slightly on the way in, but popped back out when I withdrew.
“Oh that’s so big,” she said, “please be gentle.”
I gave Jenna short shallow strokes. Her pussy lips seemed to stretch. Her vulva seemed to grip my cock each time I withdrew. Some of the moist pink pussy parts even prolapsed a bit, following my cock out if I came back too quickly. I wanted so bad to feel her tight little ass against the base of my thick cock, so I thrust my dick in deep and with force. She pulled herself foreword, and said, “take it easy, Tiger! You’re tearing my tight little pussy apart!”
I went back to short shallow strokes, and tried to get deeper by slowly and gradually increasing the depth of each successive thrust, but each time I got half my length in, she would start to squirm and complain. “You’re really spreading my pussy out.” She pleaded, “I can’t take you any deeper.”
One way or another I was going to take her balls deep. I slipped out my cock, causing her stretched pussy lips to quiver and make a slurping noise. I pressed my bulbous dick head against her tight pink puckering asshole.
“Oh, I don’t know about this,” she said. “You’re just too big!”
“Hey, do you want to take the drawing home or not?” I said, “because I can easily sell it at the next show.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, “just take it easy, alright.”
I pressed hard against her tight pink snare. Unyielding at first, my cock bowed out to the side. For a while, I was afraid it was going to bend and snap. Finally, the dam burst. Her ass gave way and engulfed the first three inches of my thick cock. Jenna could barely stifle a scream, “uh!”
Jenna’s petit frame seemed almost dwarfed by the long thick cock that wore her ass like a party hat. A cock as big as mine was simply something that didn’t belong in there. The chrome surface of the art deco lamp I kept by the sofa reflected the image of her face., She bit her lower lip, her eyes closed tightly. If she asked me to stop, I would have, but she didn’t. She wanted my drawing so badly she was willing to put up with any amount of pain or discomfort. bahis firmaları I eased myself in further, and slowly but surely achieved my goal. I could feel Jenna’s swollen stretched pussy lips touching the front of my nut sack. In the reflection off the lamp, her eyes bugged out of her face. The veins of her forehead and neck were purple and swollen. The power I had over this woman was immense. The feeling was so gratifying I just couldn’t contain myself any longer. I pulled my massive cock out of her tight hole and splatted her ass and sculpted back with my hot sticky cum. Part of my load reached as far as the portrait of Che Guevara’s face inked just below her right shoulder. I got him right in the eyes. The irony was not lost on me considering the nature of our transaction.
I didn’t want my cum splatter to drip off Jenna’s body and stain the couch, so I quickly got up to fetch a rag I used to dust the studio. It was mostly clean and didn’t leave too much grime behind when I used it to mop my seamen off her back.
Jenna sat up and got dressed. Her movements were slow, and at times she was completely still as if lost in thought. I chose to remain naked. As I walked around my loft, my limp but massive cock swung in circles as if taking victory laps.
Jenna had been careless when she redressed herself. The buttons in her blouse didn’t line up properly, and the tail wasn’t tucked in right.
“Your debt is paid in full,” I announced, “It’s time for me to deliver.”
She followed me into the studio. She seemed to have trouble walking and took slow short steps. She declined to sit in the chair I offered her. She studied the drawing on the easel, but her face didn’t register the same sense of delight she had expressed previously. Rather, she seemed downright despondent.
She shook her head. “No, no. I can’t take this.”
“What?” I said, indignantly, “it’s one of the best drawings ever!”
“No,” she said, “It’s not. I can’t take it home.”
“It’s a monument to my betrayal!”
“What the fuck! Everyone knows you fuck around on your husband. Why do you care about this now all of a sudden?”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe what I just did.”
“Come on,” I implored, “Who do you think you are kidding? We all know you followed me up here to get a fine drawing and a big dick too.”
She frowned and was silent for a while, still studying the picture. “It’s true,” she said, “some women really like a big dick, but only when the guy knows how to use it and when it’s not attached to a big dick. You meet neither criteria.”
“Yeah, well if I act like a big dick, it’s only because making an emo goth chick like you look beautiful is so tiring and tedious!”
“You’re pathetic,” she said, shaking her head again.
I escorted her out my flat and slammed the door behind her. I was pissed. No one had ever declined delivery of my art before, and the drawing was one of my best. I went back to the studio to study the drawing, to second guess myself and look for flaws, but there were none. A pattering at the window broke my concentration. Gomez, the local stray tabby cat, was on the fire escape, pawing at a crack in the window, trying to break in to look for food.
I threw a paint brush at him. “Get out of here,” I snapped. “You’re not the kind of pussy I like.” The brush clattered off the glass, and the cat scampered away.
My encounter with Jenna continued to bug me. I didn’t understand why she refused to take the drawing home after she had already paid for it. Fortunately, we had another nude scheduled at the guild, which cheered me up immensely. I loved drawing nudes. It was the best way an artist could express his worth, to create uniqueness and beauty in that which we all had.
There were more women in the studio than men, which meant the subject was a male. I didn’t mind this one bit. It made for better conversation with those around me and it kept most of the male posers away. It was as if they thought drawing another man’s dong would drive them to turn tricks under a bridge, to suck cock for beer money. Of course a male subject brought in more female posers than usual, a phenomenon with immense benefits. They were always impressed with my work, and I could probably take a cutie home for later.
The subject was early middle aged. He had a lazy eye, which was problematic because it made him look unintelligent. He didn’t work out much, but he had a pretty good sized cock. It hung low, but the skin was tight. It was probably just a shower and not nearly as big as mine when agitated.
I relocated to a three quarters view. This way his eyes would mostly, but not completely, seem to line up. Only those that knew the subject personally would be able to see the flaw. Half the other would-be artists would simply keep his eyes misaligned, searching to find beauty beyond this flaw. Most would fail and end up with a comic book doodle of a deranged mental patient. The other half would correct the eye, pretend the strabismus wasn’t kaçak iddaa there. This approach betrayed the true nature of the subject. He would probably even find it offensive when he viewed their art later.
I made his face older. I drew heavier lines around his eyes and mouth. I thinned out his hair and accentuated the patches that were turning grey. I deepened his widows peak. By contrast I made his body more youthful. I toned him up a bit, thinned his gut slightly, and made his love handles seem more like wide bone structure. I drew thicker darker chest hair to partially conceal his droopy man boobs. I wrinkled the tight skin of his dick, so the viewer would know it would get much bigger when he went to use it.
As usual, everyone was quite impressed. They gathering behind me and elbowed one another for space. The work was too provocative for viewers to form an orderly line.
“That’s just incredible,” said Olivia. She was a natural beauty but quite the amateur. Her own drawing looked like little more than a sick figure sitting on a toilet and passing a long bowel movement, which was impressive only because the subject had been standing the whole time. The expression on the drawing’s face seemed constipated, pained even.
“You should call this well-endowed, wizened man,” suggested Sarah. She had some talent as an artist, but her face and body weren’t very fun to look at.
“I love how you made me seem older but preserved—no enhanced even—my sexuality,” the subject said softly. “I also liked how you didn’t hide any of my imperfections.” He introduced himself as Clarence. He was thrilled with my drawing and wanted to take it home to give to his boyfriend. I took the high ground and offered it up without payment. Earlier, Clarence had arrived in a beat up old Toyota Corolla, and, no doubt, could not afford my fee. His was not the type of ass that interested me. The gift wasn’t completely unselfish, of course. By appearing generous, I would secure the good graces of those around me and increase my influence. Also the subject had, in a sense, paid me. By returning to artistry I had completely emerged from the funk cloud that obscured my thoughts ever since Jenna left my studio. I was my old self again.
“Well, at least let me buy you a beer.” He offered. I graciously accepted.
The bar nearby was clean and shiny, with dark stained wooden furnishings and polished metal fixtures. The high prices kept the derelicts out, but, as usual, the place was full of noisy investment bankers in their obnoxiously expensive suits. I ordered a bottle of Sapporo’s Space Barley, not because I necessarily liked the taste, but rather because it was the most expensive beer they sold. Poor Clarence nearly did a double take when he got the bill and looked pretty worried when he handed over his credit card. The transaction left him ill at ease, and he dismissed himself shortly afterwards. I wasn’t sad to see him go. Hearing him gush about how handsome he looked in my drawing was getting kind of tedious. He didn’t seem to fully grasp that it was the artist, more so than the subject, that created beauty.
Cas sat in Clarence’s stool after he left. Her real name was Casdoe but everyone called her Cas for short. She was, in a sense, our matron. She ran the guild, admitting and expelling artists, hiring models, and connecting artists to collectors. She was getting on in years and was very much a soft body. However, there was something about her that just exuded sexiness. Her facial features were elegant with large expressive brown eyes, high cheek bones, and a generous mouth filled with perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. She had a small feminine chin. She had a deep but womanly and sexy voice, and she spoke assertively and eloquently. She wore simple but artful jewelry and Asian style dresses of shiny black, deep blue, or dark red. They fit her well, accentuating her curves, drawing the eye toward something you just wanted to grab or caress. She ordered a glass of red wine.
“You did very well today,” she said.
“It was very nice of you to give that drawing to Clarence.”
“What can I say, I’m a pretty nice guy.”
It almost sounded like she snorted. A warning to others, perhaps, not to talk while drinking wine. She didn’t break out into a paroxysm of coughing, but if she had, she would not have appeared any less alluring. She took a few more sips, and swilled the wine around in her glass, watching the legs form and judging the drink’s viscosity. The task was something only those sophisticated enough to fully understand viniculture bothered to perform.
Satisfied with the wine, she turned her attention back to me. “You really are developing into quite the artist.”
“Thank you,” I said, “I’m really glad you noticed.”
“With my help, we could take your art to the next level, make you one of the great masters of our time.”
I didn’t need lessons, but I knew where this was headed. Cas wanted me. I was more than happy to play along. “Well, gee,” I said, “I think that’s kaçak bahis a great idea, but I’ve been pretty broke lately, you know, what with me giving all my good pieces away. I don’t think I could afford private lessons.”
“Oh, I won’t charge you a fee,” she said. I knew perfectly well that she wasn’t after money, which I had aplenty.
“Well, thank you. Yeah, I’d really like that.” I said enthusiastically.
“Excellent,” she retrieved her bright red lipstick from her purse, and used it to write her address on a cocktail napkin. I saw plenty of pens in her bag. She was rather deliberately trying to excite me, and it was working. “Why don’t you come over Saturday afternoon.”
“Two-ish should suffice.”
We exchanged phone numbers in case we needed to change plans. I knew we wouldn’t.
“Excellent,” she said, “I am sure you will find our lesson most educational. From a technical stand point there is nothing that we need to improve upon. You have the fundamentals down pat. However, we need to adjust your vision ever so slightly.”
“You know, the way you look at things.”
There was nothing wrong with my vision, but I wanted to fuck her so badly. “Yeah, I know I’ve been having some problems with that lately.” I said.
“Good,” she said, “understanding is the first step to improvement.” With a flick of her head she quickly finished the rest of her wine. Seductively, she wiped her mouth with the back of her forearm. I had seen the exact movement plenty of times before, always right after a girl swallowed my cum. Her lip stick had smeared, but she just smiled and said, “I’ll be seeing you soon,” and with a wave of the fingers, “ciao!”
I rushed home quickly to drop my pants and vigorously slap my meat. Gomez watched me the whole time from the fire escape, but I didn’t care.
Cas opened the door to her flat. I had arrived over an hour late, but she didn’t seem to care and said nothing of it. The building had been a mill once, but real estate developers had repurposed it into luxury apartments. Her place was spacious with large south facing windows, a true artist’s home. She had procured a unit on the top floor. Large wooden beams with thick black iron bolts and heavy connector plates held up the high ceiling. The beams were from an older era with irregular surfaces and the scars from tooling. The walls were bare brick. To Cas the building’s history was its major appeal. She had rejected the shiny renovations and modern fixtures esteemed by the new money yuppies ubiquitous to the neighborhood.
She had been painting with oils and wore an old moth eaten sweat shirt blotched with stains of cadmium lemon and winsor emerald. This was the first time I had seen her with her hair down. Dark brown strands draped down to her shoulders. Her hair seemed tousled, unkempt even, but clean and shiny. The beautify of her face was more than sufficient to offset any of the frumpiness in her grooming or attire that day.
She invited me in and we exchanged the usual pleasantries about the mildness of the weather, the gloriousness of her place, and my lack of difficulty in finding my way. She had set up an easel in the northern part of the flat near an antique sofa. Light flooded in from the south, but at this angle and distance the sun didn’t cast any harsh shadows.
“I’m going to wash the paint off my hands really quick,” she said, “why don’t you finish setting up? I want you to use the supplies on the coffee table.”
She had selected the best brands for our lesson. I expected nothing less. I decided to go with the heavier weight paper. The pencils had been freshly sharpened, so I dulled the tips slightly by shading a small scrap.
From the kitchen, over the sound of rushing water, Cas asked, “do you mind if I have a glass of wine?”
“That’s fine,” I said.
She reappeared holding a half empty bottle of inexpensive red table wine and a single glass. It seemed rude of her not to offer me any, but perhaps she worried alcohol would dull my senses and hold back my artistry. We cleared off the coffee table, and she poured herself a rather generous serving. She placed the bottle by the glass on the table.
“This is what I want you to do: I am going to sit there,” she said, pointing at one end of the sofa. “I am going to look towards the far corner. I want you to draw me, the sofa, the foreground, the background, and my reflection off the window behind me. Are you up for that?”
“Okay, let’s get started.”
She slipped the old sweat shirt up over her head and tossed it aside. The skin of her face, neck, and trunk was pale, smooth, soft, and nearly flawless. A rather dull appearing off white brazier supported her large breasts. I hoped she would need help removing it, but she rather effortlessly reached behind her back and undid the clasp. Unrestrained, her big soft tits spilled out. They were sloppy with a good amount of sag, but, oddly, this didn’t seem to diminish their appeal. How I wanted to grab them, to squeeze them, to caress them! Her areolas were broad and dark. The room was a little on the cold side causing her long nipples to stiffen slightly. How I wanted to pinch them, to suck them, to bite them!