A gay story: The Love Model Sessions Pt. 03 1.
A fastidious hand brushed fussily across the blank white paper sheet. Fine shavings of wood and lead skittered to the edge of the levelled sketching table beneath, overlooking the bare old wooden floor beneath. With a faint breath inward and a well-aimed blow outward, it all went tumbling into blinding Sunday oblivion.
The waste-paper basket’s placement at Carrie Sledge’s opposite foot dutifully stood forgotten, so happy was she with the hack job performed on the points of her pencils. Carefully she retracted the blade of her craft knife and set it down on the crowded table beside her, where a hot cup of sugary tea steamed away in the intense afternoon sunlight.
She tilted the drawing board of her sketching table next, drew it close to her and hitched up her croc-clad feet on the support beam to secure it, even though it didn’t have wheels on which to run away.
Fingers smudged a dirty grey with lead residue, she drew in another breath, eyes focused on the white nothingness of the A3 sheet of drawing paper, and for a long time she stared blankly.
Where to begin? Like an empty-headed writer before the opening hook, eyes were sharp in focus, brows knitted into a frown of concentration, and without thinking she reached to a small carton stood next to her tea on the table, and the cigarette lighter beside it.
Smoke soon escaped her lips and into the stunningly sunlit living room, dancing through the diminished shadows in plumes. An uncommon and guilty pleasure, a cultural remnant of artists past who fuelled their arduous creative journeys with all manner of stimulants, tobacco once as innocent and essential a thing to grownups as chocolate.
She relaxed, her shoulders stooped, she turned to her laptop, which sat now on her swivelling leather office chair, hooked up to the wall-mounted flatscreen TV. Leaving her seat she knelt before the laptop sat in the other chair and crawled, like Alice, into the rabbit hole.
This particular rabbit hole was her newly updated photo gallery, filled with such provocative sights. She skimmed and she skimmed through photo after photo, and it was like piling naked flesh upon flesh. So much naked flesh.
Conclusively she stopped on one picture which suited her mood without question. On the big screen the scene intimidated her for reasons that did not include, nor threatened, her artistic ability. She stood up straight before the television screen, rose to its inviting occasion, and considered its essence – considered the reason for her contained emotional response.
On her memory stick she now had years of material to draw inspiration from. If she wanted to spend years drawing inspiration from Jean-Luc and Arthur’s sessions thus far, she could have. But something beyond the camera’s eye – the reality and the emotional response to it – threatened to suck her in deep.
But threatening was not the true word. Temptation, seduction, the promise of a pure and primordial gratification of the Carrie Sledge behind the mask, the identity, the personality.
This had gone beyond the typical understanding of professionalism, certainly. But in her heart and mind it had also gone beyond the need for it. Nobody or nothing else to worry about, just the three of them in a free phase of artistic and emotional experimentation.
Arthur and Jean-Luc had become more than just models in the pursuit of a nude portrait. More than performers, associates, friends, and whatever they were by this point. They seemed to have it in them to become lovers, whether or not they were living vicariously through their rudimentary characters.
And judging by their chemistry on-screen, they would ideally be comfortable as lovers come the next and final session, removing any final barriers between them without, in hindsight, one day deciding that it had been something to regret or feel ashamed of.
That was it! Carrie smiled on the inside as she glared with almost lascivious intent. What appeared before her carried convincingly the essence of love, and her response, and therefore the response she would seek, was the primal response.
The physical and emotional compulsion to consumate. The undeniable sexual urge to bond in the physical sense and beyond. Carrie Sledge sought the rapture. Her own urges said so as contemplation now surged like a river through her thoughts.
And really, where was the line crossed from art to all else? Was there a line when art expressed the human response to all else in the human experience?
The mind, the greatest and most powerful erogenous zone, the conscious avatar connecting spirit to living organism, and the divining rod with which we traversed reality, logic, and emotion as though they are land, sea, and air, knew its way no matter how lost or aimless.
Carrie Sledge didn’t know exactly why she did the following, but with eyes glued to the screen of that television – where Jean-Luc straddled Arthur and pinned him down into the cushions by his wrists, lips locked – she hitched up the hem of her dress, slid the black lace knickers she wore that day down her pale slender thighs, and simply stepped out of them.
From there she returned to her drawing board, feeling bare, exposed, and delightfully chilled by the promise of winter’s close residence. And as she began to draw her thoughts and her focus relayed between what her eyes saw on that screen and what was being said between her body and her impulses.
2.
All around groaned and creaked heating pipes and wall-mounted radiators as the apartment’s central heating system flooded with boiling steam. Mutually they opted for open blinds. Let the light in. Let the sun see. Be loyal to the essence of the source material that they had come to honour.
Arthur shivered as he crossed the threshold with Jean-Luc into the blindingly lit bedroom, but not because it was so cold. It wasn’t. The power of the sun passed through the glass with such intensity that its rays landed on his body like a spotlight by contrast of the faint chill of the room – soon to be extinguished as the radiators quickly altered the temperature.
They turned to each other, knowing, for a mutually decided moment was now coming to fruition, and regarded each other with a silent commitment to taking their tendencies into a new realm. However that should work, now it was just the two of them alone, together, free to explore, without referee. That fact hung heavy in the air, and gladly.
Arthur started, taking the initiative, though his fingers toyed for time as they reached for the waistline of his pants, and then came to grips with the leather belt that held up his jeans.
“Let me,” insisted Jean-Luc, who took over, confidently unbuckling Arthur’s belt. With a firm but deliberate slowness Jean-Luc kept eye-contact, conscious of his appeal and effect on the man before him, popped the top button, pinched the puller between index finger and thumb, and began to slide enticingly downward.
Arthur, who had spent now roughly four paid hours naked with this man in the studio of Carrie Sledge, was suddenly more affected in mind by the subtlety of the minor act. Next his snug jeans were being peeled from his muscular well-rounded thighs.
Arthur helpfully popped off his shoes and tugged the socks from his heels with his toes, lifted a knee to allow Jean-Luc to slide a pant-leg off one at a time, and otherwise for the time being held his silence.
Within him a seed of anticipation grew and bloomed, and he considered what Jean-Luc truly had in mind by suggesting they get together in private to work on their form. He was eager to find out.
Stood in just his shirt and briefs now, Arthur took his turn in their game and had off Jean-Luc’s shirt first, and proceeded to undress him the opposite way, top to bottom. When he got to the pants he gently pushed Jean-Luc to the bed in a sitting position, slipped off his shoes and socks, and then pinching the cuffs of both pant legs he slid the jeans right off his fellow model with a cheshire cat smile.
When all was said and done in the act of undressing one another they again stood toe to toe in nothing but their briefs, fixed to the spot by each other’s expectant gazes. The invisible pull between them was so much shorter now. But a promise was a promise, no matter how threadbare.
To make this as deliberately difficult to oblige, though deliciously, his body’s and Arthur’s now touched, and so did the growing bulges between them, stretching elasticated cotton and the will to defy temptation. Without Carrie’s adult supervision, this could turn into one very happy incident.
Jean-Luc’s fingers landed first on Arthur’s bare waist and relished the ability to do so without it being work. Arthur too relished the touch, feeling desired for it. Trailing downward an inch, Jean-Luc’s fingertips came to rest on the waistband of Arthur’s snug briefs and, for the time being, held their place.
“I think we should set some ground rules,” he started.
3.
“We need rules?” asked Arthur. Jean-Luc’s fingers playfully tugged at the supple skin of his sides.
“I think like you said we should wait to date until after the job is done,” he suggested. Arthur could argue, but didn’t want to. The intention was pure, but evidently becoming no stronger than the intensifying magnetism between them.
And didn’t Jean-Luc himself hint that what had occurred over Korean noodles less than an hour ago was in fact a date in itself? Not so certainly, though strongly imagined, Arthur supposed that Jean-Luc was sending mixed messages simply to tease him.
And Jean-Luc’s hands remained settled on Arthur’s hips, playing with the elastic of his waistband, whether deliberately or unconsciously. Arthur’s hands came alive finally, and filled themselves first with the feel of Jean-Luc’s arms, and then his brief clad hips.
“You do trust me, right?” Arthur asked playfully. Jean-Luc held his gaze confidently.
“Maybe it’s me that can’t be trusted,” he replied.
Evident. “Takes two to tango!”
With a teasing buck of his hips, Jean-Luc pressed his growing bulge into Arthur’s and felt his heat and growing hardness. How much of a tease did a man have to be at this point?
“It also takes a man to know one,” he remarked, suppressing a grin. “Okay, so… rule number one…”
Arthur, reinforcing what he couldn’t disagree with, then reached around Jean-Luc’s waist, stroked his butt. There came no resistance. Jean-Luc hitched a shallow breath, steeling himself not because of their tighter proximity but because of his waning resistance.
Playfully Arthur’s hands, one moment caressing, and then coaxing, pulled him in closer. Jean-Luc gasped then, the air pressed from his lungs and not unpleasantly, as their growing physical excitement clashed, responded, probed.
From any man attempting to blindly establish his dominance on Jean-Luc, it would have had no effect other than offence, and no conclusion other than failure. In Arthur’s presence, and in his embrace, he liked this game. It had a seductive effect on him, though he endured the reflex to betray that fact.
Their bodies relaxing together, all wrapped up pleasantly, a paradox of sensations and feelings washed over Jean-Luc. Arthur’s phsyical act, a soft and unthreatening action bolstered the mutual arousal developing in both of them.
The effect was a hardness that contrasted the yielding of all other flesh. Meanwhile emotions and motivations light and mischievous skated with abandon on thin ice. Fearless but with a growing trepidation as of yet unsung.
Arthur asked, “cat got your tongue?” his firm hands full.
Arousal pushing harder, feelings growing, magnetism was magically pulling. Jean-Luc’s hands, hidden from sight, clapped down hard on muscle and fatty tissue, though with that one strip of clothing remaining to soak up the sting. Arthur jolted, laughed.
“I’ll catch your tongue if you carry on interrupting me,” Jean-Luc mock-scolded, confident that he held just as much power in all of this.
“So, rule one?” Arthur asked, releasing Jean-Luc just enough to allow buffering between their duelling delight. It didn’t make the moment any less erotic between them. Now like two magnets of identical poles, they bobbed and pushed with deceptive resistance.
Rule one. Actually no. Maybe rules would not do after all, at least not in the classic sense. “Actually maybe you’ll respond better to dares instead of rules,” Jean-Luc fancied.
“I’m all ears,” said Arthur, patting Jean-Luc’s buttocks.
“Those feel more like hands,” Jean-Luc shot back.
“I’m still mostly ears,” Arhur assured.
“You’re something else,” Jean-Luc chuckled, shifting his own pointed crotch against Arthur’s to make another point entirely.
“Ha!” laughed Arthur. And ‘Smack!’ went Jean-Luc’s hands on his bottom again, putting a stop to it, temporarily.
“Dare one,” says Jean-Luc. “No overt sexual acts.”
Arthur, allegedly mostly ears, didn’t even seem to register. “I’ll try.”
“How about you just follow my lead?”
“Okay, so what’s dare two?” asked Arthur. He waited. Jean-Luc held his gaze but said nothing. Not until he leaned in close, eyes glassy and vivid in the stunning sunlight, held his gaze longer, and then said-
“You know what, let’s decide that later…”
It sounded almost promising to Arthur’s ears. “Okay,” he agreed bashfully, cheeks reddening. He grew noticeably harder also. Swallowed a lump in his throat. “And, umm… what about kissing?” he pressed – vocally and practically.
“Hmmm…”
“Hmmm?”
“Like I said, just follow my lead,” Jean-Luc maintained, now slipping Arthur’s briefs too easily from his hips. The pull, the invisible pull, turned into a primal hunger when Arthur spilled out of the confines of that snug stretchy cotton and into the open air.
And in the act of taking Jean-Luc out of his underwear Arthur pulled his body near once again. Near enough that his swelling organ stroked up against Jean-Luc’s smooth navel, and that Jean-Luc’s own growing tumescence parried back most friendly.
Dare number two…
4.
Jean-Luc led Arthur onto the bed. They knelt opposite each other in the middle of the mattress, knees deliberately touching, and not the only thing deliberately touching. The first pose Jean-Luc had in mind was a tandem variation – hands linked, leaning back and suspended by each other’s bodyweight.
Due to their lower proximity they stood throbbing side by side at the waist. Jean-Luc’s beautiful uncircumcised manhood jutted out at over six and a half inches. Arthur’s, complimentary to his stature, overall had nearly a full inch on him and it prodded him playfully in the abdomen as a result of his torso thrusting away and his pelvis thrusting inward.
That and the simplest action of their fingers hooked together while they flirtatiously regarded each other in silence made for a sense of eroticism that felt different to the other times they spent under the guidance of Carrie Sledge.
Just as well that Jean-Luc’s hands were already pre-occupied, so he thought. Leaning away from the virile living statue before him put Arthur’s impressive phallus not directly under his nose but virtually directly in his line of sight.
Jean-Luc, one moment transfixed by Arthur on the whole, bodies in silent communication, found himself staring, almost drooling. His hands would not remain free for long if he failed to control himself.
“Looking good, so nice,” Jean-Luc approved, snapping out of his reverie.
“Not so bad yourself,” Arthur reciprocated.
Jean-Luc’s fingers now entwined and interlocked with Arthurs. How to bring us closer, he thought, without bluntly stabbing each other through the gut?
He hadn’t considered that. He hadn’t considered both of them developing erections to this extreme, for this long. He expected the excitement would have passed by now, at least temporarily. Instead now Arthur was beginning to leak. That heady masculine scent, again…
“Hold on,” Jean-Luc uttered, wracking his brain. The answer lay, naturally, in making matters worse – or better, depending on your point of view.
Jean-Luc tucked in his hips briefly, effectively withdrawing his tackle. As he did the thick flesh of his shaft dragged enticingly along Arthur’s, causing him to flinch.
And he drew back until their heads were aligned, seeing eye to eye. With a slow and measured thrust of his hips, he pushed the tip of his hard cock forward. Ever so briefly, a perfunctorily happy accident, Arthur’s foreskin enveloped him like a pecking kiss from a pair of lubricious and wanton lips.
“Sorry,” Arthur said dismissively. He really wasn’t. Neither was Jean-Luc as he continued to test his intended manoeuvre, continuing to tilt his hips into the forward movement until their now kissing cocks bent upward into an arch like a drawbridge.
Teasingly Arthur flinched again, smirking as the movement caused Jean-Luc to hiss, and his muscular pole to reflexively pulsate. Right on the spot. He looked proud of himself being able to get that reaction.
“You’re not trying to make this easy, are you?” Jean-Luc pleads.
“You’re the one that made this a dare,” Arthur chuckled as they both held their impressive pose. “Do you think we can pull this one off for Carrie?” he then asked, expecting an overreaction.
“Want to take a photo and ask?” was Jean-Luc’s humorous response, marvelling at how they balanced the lewd act.
“Okay come closer,” Jean-Luc then directed, now that they had gotten their dicks out of the way. They came together slowly. Arthur’s nipples were notably hard against his, two cool pinpoints on an otherwise warm body.
Jean-Luc led the way in wrapping one arm around Arthur’s back, at the waist, and clasping hands with the other, like a dance pose. Then he leaned to one side slightly, turning his face to Arthur. “Now look at me,” he spoke softly.
Cocks pressed together between them, Jean-Luc could feel their pulses going off against each other, as though talking. Their bodies were quickly warming to each other now, hands lightly trembling against each other, fingers dancing.
Now face to face and eyeing each other closely, they knelt nose to nose, lips to lips, throbbing against each other’s bellies. Tension once again began to mount.
“So what’s this pose?” Arthur asked.
“Whatever you want it to be, baby,” Jean-Luc quipped. Arthur laughed under his breath. They both did.
Arthur then licked his lips. “How about,” he offered suggestively, “two to tango?”
They both fell silent. Maybe it was an involuntary reflex. Jean-Luc doubted it – wanted to. Again, the heated pipes groaned and shuddered, this time very loudly, as if the lengthening silences between the two models were giving power to the greater quietude of the day.
“Do you trust me?” Jean-Luc asked, seemingly out of nowhere. He hadn’t forgotten. Dare number two still needed to come to light once he had decided what it was. Now he’d had time to think about it, he did.
Arthur smiled adorably and nodded, a trick move. “No.”
Jean-Luc laughed. His sudden movement brought him so close now that their smooth cheeks touched. Lips parted in goofy smiles held apart by only millimentres now at the corners of each other’s mouths. Arthur could almost feel teeth nibbling at him as Jean-Luc bared his teeth.
“You know I’m kidding, of course I trust you,” Arthur persuaded.
Shyly Jean-Luc buried his face into Arthur’s neck then, causing tingles and shivers between them both, reminding Arthur of their little ASMR soiree one recent night. Hairs arose, as did goosebumps. Jean-Luc then lifted his head and fixed Arthur with a steely look.
“Good… because you shouldn’t,” Jean-Luc said mischievously. Arthur responded to that by angling his parted lips closer, breathing so closely that it tickled.
“Okay, so… dare number two…”
“I await with anticipation,” Arthur replied, still grinning.
He wasn’t ready for it. “I dare you not to cum.” Again, silence!
5.
“Hold onto my shoulders,” Jean-Luc directed now, and let go, leaning back away so that their bare chests no longer touched. The sudden absence of body contact left both men cooled, their nipples straining.
Still, not far south, passions continued to simmer. As Arthur snaked one hand across the smooth rocky terrain of one shoulder, his other instead decided to come to rest gently at the back of Jean-Luc’s head, making sure that he would not leave too great a distance.
He was not ready for what was to come, though he would not be disappointed with what did. With both hands, Jean-Luc reached between them and snugly took both of their fully hardened cocks in hand and coaxed them together so that they came to hug head to head, hot and silken.
Arthur’s heart leapt into his throat as effortlessly as that act in itself. “And hold,” Jean-Luc commanded.
Arthur was now wide-eyed. “Whoa!” he blurted, “you said no overt sex acts, what the-
“I’m not doing anything,” Jean-Luc teased, not so secretly getting off now on the thrill of Arthur’s reaction coupled with the rush of having Arthur fill his hand this way.
Submitting weakly to both the action and the revelation of Jean-Luc’s smooth warm hands enveloping his manhood, Arthur now began to breathe in ragged breaths as he battled a roiling urge within. “Try not to cum, really?”
Jean-Luc held him so gently, so lovingly, throbbed and pulsed against him as they stared each other down in a sudden need to bulldoze the rules, to forfeit the dare.
Nodding, eyes alight, breathing light and shallow, Jean-Luc again insisted, “hold!”
Hold he did, meaning that Arthur somehow dared not to fill Jean-Luc’s hand with pools of molten seed. Instead, defiantly, he slid himself deeper into Jean-Luc’s hand with a shaky redoubled effort. And in response to this Jean-Luc slid himself more snugly against Arthur, made easier by the glossiness of their twinned arousal.
“Hold!”
So challenged, Arthur nearly swore. “Fffffuuu-
An unconscious physical reaction more than anything, Arthur slowly tensed, coiled up, so that Jean-Luc was drawn back closer into his embrace.
“I think you want me to lose this dare,” Arthur said, no longer knowing which he was determined to do.
Jean-Luc inched closer. “The time will come,” he readily admitted. And he let go, his hands trailing their way up through the finely trimmed dark hair of Arthur’s abdomen, and then his flexing pectorals, until their hands reflexively met and intertwined.
Hot breath intermingled, mouths now watered. Athur licked his lips wet again, and so too did the tender creature before him. In the prevailed silence they now eyed each other’s mouths, then returned their gazes, and then looked to each other’s mouths again, longing.
“Just so long as you know I’ll give as good as I get,” Arthur promised as calmly as his growing excitement would allow. Jean-Luc did not respond, not vocally. Smiling into Arthur’s eyes he reached up to cup his face in his hands, caressed his cheeks, gently ruffled his hair.
Taking cue Arthur’s hands went the opposite way, walked a trail down over Jean-Luc’s contrastingly boyishly smooth chest, squeezed and teased, and then slid around behind to secure his closeness. They both relaxed onto their haunches, straddling each other’s thighs.
And then it finally happened – that invisible pull flipped the magnetic field between them, the one up until now pushing them deliberately apart. One last time their eyes flitted between each other and their longing lips, and the uncertainty of what they were doing was thrown out in favour of wanton directness.
“Hold,” Jean-Luc whispered weakly, knowing that he did not want Arthur to hold, and that he himself didn’t want to either. The pretense of professionalism, paper thin, was threatening to tear, and yet they pushed at it with an agonising slowness.
“No, you hold!” Arthur whispers back defiantly, leaning inward so that their lips drew together. Mutually their lips sinched.
Somehow they held.
6.
Lips sealed soft and wet, they panted hot and hard through their noses. Jean-Luc’s eyes were closed in the moment. He had given into the magic of the moment. The tittilation of being saddled naked onto Arthur’s thigh electrified him, filled his stomach with butterflies.
And they held the sinch for a long time, clinging to the very residue of the notion that they were doing anything other than teasing each other now, daring each other to go too far. It was Arthur inevitably who took it too far, playfully stroking the slippery smooth inner flesh of Jean-Luc’s lips with a flirtatious lick of the tongue.
Arthur’s hard cock pulsates in Jean-Luc’s hand. Lips locked, eyes close, they breathe through their noses, hot and hard. Playing, Arthur strokes the slippery smooth inner flesh of Jean-Luc’s lips. “Mmhhh,” Jean-Luc sighed heavily, falling deeper into his embrace.
He licked back. Their tongues danced languidly for a moment before they came apart with a wet smooch that begged for more.
Arthur fought not to seek his lips again. There would be more. He conveyed a hungry look toward the sleepy-eyed Jean-Luc, who savoured the taste of him while returning that same look.
“We should take a break,” Jean-Luc suggested, his eyes scanning down, further down, all the way down until he was focused on the meat stood upright and throbbing between Arthur’s legs. He was a shade of blue almost and it looked painful. Paradoxically Arthur appeared happy and at ease.
That was when it struck him, that maybe his dare offered more to cruelty than it did to promise. How much teasing could a man take? As Jean-Luc himself had said, it took a man to know one. Maybe he underestimated the effect he had on his crush.
“This might not last,” he told himself, and reached down once more to wrap his fingers around the shaft of that magnificent erection. Arthur flinched once again, but this time he didn’t appear so on edge.
Amazing considering that the swollen pink head of his cock now oozed with pre-cum, which soon trickled down over the back of Jean-Luc’s nimble fingers.
He asked, “may I?” and a little late. Regardless Arthur not only nodded, but pushed his hips out to offer greater length. Jean-Luc blushed. “It’s beautiful,” he gushed, oh so slowly easing the wet foreskin back. He was having such salacious thoughts in no time.
Arthur’s hand then reached out and cradled him underneath, as if to weigh him up. The shaft was solid, but the skin around it thick and pliable, adorned with thick veins which wriggled like worms to the touch.
For some moments both young men explored each other, gently, sparingly, acknowledging each other as undoubted sexual partners to be. Still no overt sex act took place. Somehow the dare still remained.
“How about a smoke?” Arthur offered. They both crawled to the edge of the bed, sat up and lit up, and made humorous small talk – casually bonded as men do – not as though all that had just transpired between them hadn’t happened, but in light of the fact that they were so comfortable around each other that way.
Stubbing out their cigarettes with inches to spare, Jean-Luc crawled back toward the middle of the bed and effeminately sprawled himself out on his back, smiling back at Arthur. Arthur was soon on top of him, wrapped up in him, hands exploring a face he found more and more captivating with every passing moment.
“What’s this pose?” he asked.
“The kiss,” Jean-Luc suggested.
Arthur didn’t miss a beat. His lips were soon at work, gently coaxing Jean-Luc’s, compelling them to part, teasing his tongue out of hiding. After all he was going to make Jean-Luc his lover in the very near future.
What was the harm in a real kiss to convey the deeper feelings to come? A kiss with passion, with a view to love? They both whimpered into each other’s mouths before parting.
“You terribly bad man,” Jean-Luc chuckled, feeling giddy, before he pulled Arthur back in for more.
7.
So the reality went unaware that it was but a daydream too, in a long and fitful spasm of meaningful synchronicity, but with more – so much more – as pertaining to the desires of Carrie Sledge.
With jaw clenched, with teeth bared and gritted, eyes pinched tightly shut, the heat-seeking eye of her mind sought to see her models enveloped in a writhing sexual mass, feverish and needy.
Carrie did not need the images on the screen anymore to hold secure the focus of her influence. The fingers of her right hand did the work, but not with the aid of a pencil. Wet. So wet that her fingers up to the knuckles were soaked.
And why wouldn’t they be – sinking deep into her molten dripping vagina, rubbing and swirling her into a trembling frothy mess, while the fingers of her other hand spread her wide open!
Women, just like men, had their kinks. Carrie got off on men loving men. An acquired taste, but to some the very idea of sex is good enough to get their motors running. Hers had gome from a purr to a growl and was now violently vibrating as though she were straddling a thousand cc’s.
Thoroughly abandoning any residual modesty that might have remained, Carrie entered the final quarter mile with her legs spreadeagled and her feet hitched up on the very edge of her seat.
And for sixty straight seconds the room was a philharmonic hall, host to an orchestra of breathless sobs and frantically fast wet slapping sounds as her nether lips sucked greedily on three cramping fingers and her clit took a beating from the fingers of her other hand.
And then the silence…
Sleepy, blurry-eyed, she suddenly needed a nap. She lit a cigarette, basked for a moment in the dizziness of such self-gratification, and looked down upon the moody black-streaked sketch that lay atop her drawing board, where Arthur made animalistic love to Jean-Luc. It had been a work of passion, alright.
Shakily Carrie got to her feet and let the hem of her dress fall of its own accord from her hips. The laptop and television had long since gone into standby mode. The day was beginning to lose its stark shine, giving way to frigid dark cloud and the silvery light of early evening.
Yes, a nap. What a great idea. And later more thoughts on where to go next.
8.
“You are seriously pushing your luck,” the cute French-Canadian said with a shiver in his voice. With glassy blue eyes gazing up into Arthur’s, he exuded vulnerability, helplessness. But he wasn’t
Jean-Luc was no prisoner, no captive audience. He could easily have escaped Arthur’s embrace, if only he wanted to. But reclining lazily between Arthur’s spread legs felt good. Feeling secured rather than weighed down by one muscular arm wrapped around his bare chest, that felt good too.
His head rested on Arthur’s chest, rising and falling evenly as though riding calm ocean waves. No, he didn’t want to get up and leave. Not in the middle of this latest excuse for a model pose.
“Don’t cum,” Arthur teased, with his free hand gripped firmly around the middle-length of his muscular shaft, tender and yet unyielding…
And held.
Jean-Luc blushed furiously, hitched a breath and then failed to exhale so smoothly. A ragged wind escaped his lips with the hint of a groan.
Captive only willingly, now that he thought about it, he was starting to grow unhappy with the idea of having to wait at all to go beyond the threshold of artistic foreplay with Arthur. The man’s touch alerted all of his senses in such a tittilating way.
A humoured silence fell as Jean-Luc further fell prey to his own feelings. It showed as he raised a harmless hand and failed to find purchase against Arthur’s chest, and failed to push away, because that had not been his true intent.
Instead he pawed like a feline, and let his fingers drift through the soft chest hair of the gorgeous man all around him at once, as Arthur held him firm, his distended sex organ tilted slighty toward them both.
“How are we doing?” Arthur whispered into his ear.
“Oh my god, fuck you!” Jean-Luc giggled. Arthur echoed him. And then the bastard gave him a little squeeze and a stroke.
Jean-Luc flinched, moaned, “seriously…”
“I had a cramp,” Arthur lied.
“This isn’t fair,” Jean-Luc said weakly.
“Maybe it’s payback,” Arthur whispered again, a wolfish growling rasp growing in his voice.
“At least mine passed for an artistic pose,” Jean-Luc tried unconvincingly.
“What? You don’t think Carrie will like this pose?”
“Oh I’m sure she’ll find it… ahhh, very… expressive,” Jean-Luc gasped, tried to laugh, or was it another whimper riding the turbulent wind of a ragged breath? He had to escape Arthur’s grasp if he wanted to survive now. He knew that.
What he also knew was that he wanted the tables turned once more, to be in control. To be the master of his own game. No real rules, just…
Dare not to cum!
Jean-Luc grabbed Arthur’s wrist suddenly, brought any more teasing to a halt, at least at his own behest. “Scooch down,” he commanded, his eyes pleading up at Arthur who doted on him now.
Nope. Melting into submission again, and so soon. Jean-Luc’s mouth was parted like a hungry bird, desperate for the worm. No the dare was not the issue, not at all.
Arthur lowered his butt, wriggling to slide himself further beneath Jean-Luc, who rose up to accommodate and then carefully settled himself into where he so badly needed to be. And with that he held a tender hand to Arthur’s cheek and eased himself into Arthur’s soul with a sultry stare.
“You’ll lose this game before I do, I hope you understand that,” he said, and leaned in, lips parted. And they melted together into a kiss that throbbed and dripped and danced like an act of procreation in itself.
Soon both of Arthur’s hands hand him all wrapped up and he turned so that their bellies were pressed together, and Jean-Luc now hungrily penetrated Arthur’s being with a snake-like tongue. He pulled away firmly with a wet slurp, sucking at Arthur’s lower lip.
“I’m starting to not care about dares,” Arthur panted needily.
The tempted was now the temptor, the temptor now the prey. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Jean-Luc threatened playfully, and began to slide and shimmy his way down Arthur’s body.
“Where shall we go on our next date?” Arthur asked, sinking anxiously back into the pillows.
“Shut up,” said Jean-Luc, licking his lips.
To Be Continued
Afterword:
If there’s anything I’ve learned about myself creatively recently it’s that I’m more comfortable writing compulsively and in quick succession after starting something that requires a follow-up. The further I get from the start, the further I feel from the essence of what it’s all about.
But really it’s not much different to playing an epic open-world game that starts off tightly scripted and then leaves the road open to the interpretation of your own actions and reactions as the whole thing begins to escalate and requires greater control and flexibility, and more of an open mind.
I’ve been very busy elsewhere, otherwise too tired or unwell to get into that meditative trance-like state where the conscious river flows of its own accord. I still did it in the end when I managed to stop being so hard on myself, though, and I’m happy where this is going. I hope you are too. One day soon I will look back on what I’ve done and think…
“Damn, was I really that horny?”
Thank you, last but not least, to the handful of readers/writers who reached out to me the last couple of weeks to offer encouragement. You’ve all been so helpful and also a pleasant distraction from the everyday mundane.