A gay story: The Love Model Sessions Pt. 04 1.
Jean-Luc wrapped himself perfectly around Arthur. He was hot to the touch, veins thick with the strain of such prolonged excitement. Arthur’s pulse throbbed against the clammy palm of Jean-Luc’s hand strong and steady. Even the simple act of holding Arthur in hand had him harder, and turning a darker blushing shade as he willed greatly to contain himself.
The tips of Jean-Luc’s fingers and thumb barely touched as he made a loving fist around that hot hard flesh, the feeling so magical for the both of them that they both uttered an appreciative moan in unison. Such eroticism stirred Arthur as he gazed down upon Jean-Luc, whose hot breath alone threatened to send him over the edge.
That moment would come, inevitably, and Jean-Luc was playing his part in hinting at the fact as he marvelled at the size and weight of the sex organ within his grasp – one he wanted to fill his mouth with, but not only that.
Jean-Luc barely hid a devilish smile, but the broad shaft of the magnificent cock in his hand did well to obscure his lips. Gazing back up at Arthur as he lay on his tummy between Arthur’s spread thighs, he inhaled through his nostrils.
And inhale he did deeply, permeating the growing sexual void within himself with the sweet seminal essence of the proud stag before him. Arthur’s masculine scent made him high, giddy, made his mouth water all the more.
The powerful phallus in the grip of Jean-Luc’s fist now oozed all the more in response to its coaxing into a more heightened state of arousal. Arthur, jaw clenched into a subtle grimace, breathed deep and even, as he fought off the temptation to simply let go.
And while he fought that devilish temptress stirring deep down – an invisible but palpable manifestation of sexual delirium, he positively dribbled down the underside of the shaft of his length, over the back of Jean-Luc’s thumb, and then across the back of his hand.
2.
Jean-Luc lowered himself, snaked out his tongue, and licked the fluid up from that hand, savouring in its salty taste and the mildly anaesthetic effect it had on his tastebuds. Unable to stop himself he then ran the tip of his tongue up the shaft, licking it all up.
Arthur hissed, tensed. “Let go a second,” he urged. “You’re going to make me…”
Jean-Luc grinned as his eyes penetrated Arthur with intent. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind…”
Arthur was panting now, faster, harder. “Please, not like this,” Arthur implored, glassy eyes widening with urgency.
Without any of the same haste, Jean-Luc relented, still grinning, and let go. A sigh of relief from Arthur preceded his own sigh, and contrasted it, for Jean-Luc’s was one of lusty inspiration.
How Arthur stood up tall and proud without a hand to support him. He stood impeccably straight, a perfect ninety-degree angle.
“Oh fuck, yes,” Jean-Luc gushed, eyes now like saucers. What a nice snug fit that would make for, and with the right amout of spit or lube, an excruciatingly long and satisfying slippery slide.
“Changed your mind about what?” Arthur asked after regaining some composure. The devil in Jean-Luc was all but decided now.
“About daring you not to cum,” Jean-Luc reminded briefly, before snaking his fingers around the base of Arthur’s throbbing monument to manly arousal once more. With a seductive glare and a wet tongue brushing across his lips, he declared, “I’m going to make you beg to cum instead.”
Jean-Luc leaned in, brushing his smooth cheek against Arthur’s seven-plus inches, then playfully, frankly villainously, proceeded to snake his lips around the shaft, breathing hotly all around it. Then he gave it a kiss, and a kiss which could have meant half a dozen things at once.
Loving, lusting, teasing, hungering…
He kissed it again, then feigned an act to consume Arthur whole, instead scraping his teeth across the ruddy flesh.
“Sheeeeezus!” Arthur hissed, tightening up all over and instinctively reaching for the rail at the head of his bed like a man trapped in a cage with a carnivorous animal.
And again Jean-Luc opened his mouth to grip his prey, but this time he dragged out the full length of his pink tongue and slid wetly from bottom to top. Arthur’s hands now made fists around the rungs of the rail behind him, holding on for dear life.
Now he was the captive audience, highly strung on tenterhooks as Jean-Luc moved like a serpent up and down his manhood, kissing and licking him where he imagined it throbbed hardest. And there was where Jean-Luc was happiest, at least for now…
Insulated by the trembling muscular thighs of a strong man made sexually submissive, growing hotter by the second, rendering, dripping, sizzling, prime rib from frying pan to fire – destined for hungry mouth and growling stomach.
So much flesh that Jean-Luc’s free hand roamed tirelessly, spoilt for choice. From thigh to loin and to a tantalisingly erect nipple, he had his fill before his mouth got to work at all. But when that occasion did come in full, he let it be known by rising to it.
Arching his butt into the air, sliding up onto his knees, and then to one elbow as his free hand came to caress Arthur’s lower abdomen, Jean-Luc raised his head and then hung low, aligning his lips with the leaking tip of the bulbous glans before him, and parted his lips once more.
The saliva that had been welling at the inside of his cheeks now came in a steady drool, hot and alkaline, bathing the magnificent prick barely inches away. And inhaling deeply once more, and feeling the anticipation within himself finally come boiling over, he spoke his choice of words very clearly.
“I’ve wanted to do this since I first met you,” he said, and then with a tantalisingly slow shift, he plunged downward to both give and to receive.
3.
Arthur lay paralysed with curiosity and wanton excitement as those words made home inside of him while willingly submitting to the seductive assault of his physical senses. Disbelieving, his mouth agape and speechless, all that came to him was a steady rising growl.
He watched helplessly, captivated by the sight and sensation of those lips sliding like silk over the head of his straining cock, and then down, further down, all the way down the shaft.
He felt the guiding tickle of the tip of Jean-Luc’s tongue, then the delicious roughness of his tastebuds, as he glided into the natural suction point before a hot wet stream took him deepthroat.
“Oh, I love you,” Arthur gasped on the back of a series of prolonged sobs.
“And hold!” Jean-Luc told himself, mouth and throat both satisfyingly full of cock.
He looked up into Arthur’s eyes again finally, with a look that hoped to convey what Arthur’s reflexive rambling made him feel. Too soon he lost himself in the taste of Arthur, which now seemed to come to life even at the back of his throat where the urge to gag just seemed to try to suck him deeper.
Again, here was where he wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world. Here between Arthur’s legs, and soon to be under him, and on top of him, and in whichever way Arthur would like to have him when the time was right.
Here right now, though, was perfection enough for Jean-Luc. Taking power through yielding, and with an empowering desire to give himself.
The long slurp back up and out was no less intense. Now as though Arthur were the caged animal he was growling unreservedly, bucking his hips up as Jean-Luc’s water-tight suction teased such tight slippery delight.
Inevitably they both parted with a loud wet pop and a shared exhilerated gasp. Unreservedly sliding fist gently up and down Arthur’s soaked hard-on now, Jean-Luc teased, “I bet you wouldn’t do that on camera,” with a wink.
“I don’t think… I’d care where that happened again… your mouth is…”
Arthur was not finding the words nor the breath to say what it was he wanted to say.
“Then I think we’ve got our next session down,” Jean-Luc teased, planting another kiss. “Mmm,” he then groaned, tasting Arthur on his lips, and was tempted enough to polish off the resulting beads of pre-cum with his dextrous snake-like tongue.
Before silence could dominate the aftermath, and before Jean-Luc could allow himself further – because all along he was just competing for the title of “Most Terrible Tease” – he was on top of Arthur, straddling his hips, working their lips and tongues back into a froth.
4.
“So where do you want to go date?” Arthur asked, wrapping up the young man’s body in his strong arms.
“To be honest I don’t even care,” Jean-Luc snickered, adoring the man under him. “I just want to see what happens the next time we get naked together.”
Grinning, Arthur rolled them over to the other side of the bed, so that he was now the dominant one. The not-so-surprised yelp escaping Jean-Luc’s lips oozed approval.
“Well, the next time we might have to behave ourselves,” Arthur chuckled, his hands roaming tenderly over every inch of flesh within reach. And did they reach, downwards, until they found purchase of the current matter.
“Oh?” Jean-Luc’s question sounded just as much a reaction to being so delicately manhandled.
“If you had your way we’d end up having full-on sex in front of that poor woman,” Arthur said, rising up to his haunches. He began to massage the love muscle filling his hands, gently, venturing down to cradle the full testicles hanging underneath.
Jean-Luc’s eyes rolled up in their sockets and his mouth came open in a sweet sight. “And? She’s practically dripping wet watching us lose control a little more every next session.”
“You think?” Arthur asked.
“I actually know her,” Jean-Luc insisted, eyes now closed, hips gently dancing to the rhythm of his own tender physical manipulations. “And I know women more than you might think. She’s into it!”
Arthur considered this revelation with surprising level-headedness. “And you?”
“Am I into getting her off?” Jean-Luc asked on the back of a giddy breath as he felt the warm velvety inner flesh of a mouth envelop the tip of his penis. “Yes! Would you like to know why?”
“Mmmm,” came Arthur’s full-mouthed reply as he tenderly sucked Jean-Luc into his hot depths with relish and ease.
“Maybe I tell you, maybe I show you,” Jean-Luc teased, and attempted a laugh, which turned into a breathless moan as his eyes opened to the delight of seeing himself swallowed whole now.
“Ha… Hold!” he sputtered.
5.
That afternoon the wind picked up again, coming in from northwest of the Atlantic coastline. By twilight the stark wintry blue had been replaced with an ominous heavy leaden overcast, bruised and brooding.
And as evening entered with the abyssal black of night’s darkest hour, so came the rain again. With an affectionate kiss Jean-Luc left Arthur to his dinner plans and dashed out into the street and into the backseat of a private hire.
By the time he was back home under a hot shower, enveloped in a steam that seemed to pale in comparison to the activities of the day with his hot date, the sky was crashing down with an unexpected fury.
Jean-Luc was then stood in the galley kitchen of his small apartment clad in nothing but a bath towel around his waist, another around his neck, and a pair of flipflops which he used at the local baths.
He was brewing tea, heavy on the sugar, and steeping an equally sugary pot of oats in hot milk when the phone rang and Carrie’s name came up. She sounded sleepy, which was out of sorts for 7:30pm. Carrie, who lived on caffeine and chocolate and nicotine, notably also had little reason to be tired, unless she had been glued to a digital screen.
“You sound out of it,” Jean-Luc noted after skirting around the typical subjects. It was definitely not Carrie’s style to do that. She was sometimes so abruptly to the point that it intimidated those of a more sensitive disposition. “Are you feeling well?”
“I’m fine, I think I’m treating myself to an earlier night. Just wanted to check in and ask your thoughts like we talked about earlier this week,” came the distant voice. “Is Arthur with you again?”
“No I just got home. He took me to dinner earlier.”
Carrie was not in bed yet though. This evening she was sat in her modest little armchair in the living room, television off, fireplace on, and laptop computer creating a notably warm spot in her crotch. She was wearing a lot less than anyone would be used to – just an oversized white printed t-shirt which hid only a pair of knickers.
Still, the crocs. And still, the garish childish socks. Her blank expression had brought the whole picture together for a moment, until the last comment caused a look of overt perplexion.
“Dinner, eh?!” she nudged. “And then what?”
“We put our heads together,” Jean-Luc offered sparsely, his tone betraying any chance of saying nothing further. “You know, worked on our chemistry… for the next session, you understand.”
Stirring his steamy mug of tea he then fished out the bag, which he dumped into another mug filled with dried used teabags from the last two days.
“Uh-huh,” Carrie replied, not convinced. There was a smirk in the tone of her voice, a knowingness. She had heard it all before.
“I mean I really think you two are becoming very natural in the mood that the project is assuming as it all takes shape,” Carrie offered. She pinched her lips together, suppressed the blush rising in her cheeks, and tore her eyes away from the glowing screen of the PC in her lap.
Himself blushing, Jean-Luc queried, “so, were today’s poses more to the point?”
Carrie giggled at that. “Well, the point being?!”
A burning question and a telling remark all in one. Jean-Luc blushed harder, now stirring his milky oats. “Hotter or colder?” he pushed, forgiving his own curtness.
“Darling, I have a dilemma and I don’t know how to say it without feeling awful asking,” Carrie said, leaving an awkward pause as she hoped he would read her social cue and help fill in the gaps.
“Well then feel awful about it and just tell me, or ask, whatever,” Jean-Luc said cutely, rubbing at his damp hair with a clump of the towel hung around his neck. “Dancing around it won’t make it any clearer, no?”
“I think the next session may have to be our last on the project, at least for the foreseeable,” Carrie answered abruptly. With cold determination she continued. “I don’t want it to be, as it’s really come into its own so quickly…”
Jean-Luc stood dismayed, almost defeated, not believing his ears. The only thing he could think to respond with was a single word. Staring blankly into space he simply asked, “why?”
“I can’t afford to keep paying you both out of my own pocket for very long, so that was always going to be a factor,” Carrie explained, which was undeniably true and reasonable enough from Jean-Luc’s perspective. It saddened him, but he understood what it was like to be broke.
“You want to see my heating bill alone,” Carrie went on. “It’s enough to make the eyes water.”
“I totally get that,” Jean-Luc broke his silence tenderly. “You do run that studio like a walk-in incinerator.”
They both laughed a moment, and raucously. “Are you trying to say that I am a cold blooded bitch?” Carrie quizzed with suppressed humour in her tone.
“Never, darling,” Jean-Luc disarmed with genuine affection.
“Good! So I suppose my question is this,” Carrie pitched nervously. “How about you and your, err, performance partner bring what you were working on today?”
It was Jean-Luc’s turn to giggle now. Again he stirred up his oats, then swiftly sucked the sweet milky residue clean off the spoon. “Do you even know what you’re asking?” he asked with a dirty laugh that just refused to be contained.
“Scaredy-cat,” Carrie teased.
“Like I don’t notice you shaking like a leaf every time I climb naked into your crush’s lap,” Jean-Luc teased wickedly.
Carrie burst into harsh laughter again at that. “Fuck off!”
“You leave the next session and Arthur to me,” Jean-Luc assured after laughing off his friend and mentor. “You just set up the scene you want and, you know… capture the magic.”
“Mmmm,” Carrie groaned under her breath, then loudly clearing her throat. “Yes, very good, I await our next session with… great anticipation!”
6.
Arthur had an earworm, it was a symbiotic thing. It began to grow when he met a certain boy. When his hormones then his feelings flourished, nerves tingling with the love of danger, both body and mind jingling – then a voice began to sing!
That earworm caused a feedback loop, a wordless voice, a cyclic melody. A musical paradox, a lucid dream, an emotional dichotomy. The mathematics of poetry, the mysticism of wisdom, the music wrote itself like prophecy.
As goes with the magic of music, fingertips make breath, electricity makes ether, and synth gives life to mimicry. Knowledge is power, time is experience, and destiny manifests in invisible forms.
Arthur looked to the clock, his coffee cold, and saw that surprisingly little time had passed but felt that he was drained. 9:30pm, not bad at all for an evening session making such an intriguing something from a relative nothing…
Nothing but the culmination of his experiences of late, his feelings about it, and that ability he had to live and breathe and to feel music.
It was a dreamy ethereal piece, deceptively calm, illusively shallow, like walking ankle-deep into a river only to find onseself fully immersed and pulled far away on undercurrents of… what?
It needed something, but that something wasn’t coming to him tonight. What he would rather know, what divined him now that he had awoken from his musical trance, lay virtually a short distance from his fingertips.
Saving his audio files and powering off his laptop and keyboard, Arthur sipped from his cold coffee on the way to the kitchen where he would dump it down the drain and instead pour himself some water.
One-handed all the while, Arthur thumbed his way into his WhatsApp and hovered over Jean-Luc’s name. It became apparent to him then just how mentally drained he really was. He was coming up blank for things to say.
And it wasn’t that it mattered what he could say, other than not wanting to come across as neurotic or cynical. That was something that made him contemplate feelings he had yet to face, despite having lept into action so daringly with the boy on his mind.
He liked Jean-Luc, a lot! He was now realising that he wanted Jean-Luc to keep seeing nothing but his better qualities.
“Arthur, you dramatic over-thinking ass,” he said to himself. All he needed was an ice-breaker, if even that considering the hot and heavy day they’d shared.
“If money and time were no object, what would you be doing right now?” Simple and corny enough.
Jean-Luc replied quickly. Arthur smiled to himself. “Did you win the lotto?”
“Nah, got to be in it to win it,” Arthur rapidly typed. “I’m not the money kind of lucky,” he added. He took his water up to bed, put it on the nightstand, and flipped on the television, volume muted, and threw off his shirt, then shucked off the grey cotton sweatpants he wore that evening to fend off the rain’s moist chill. Underneath he was naked, hanging free.
“I’m not even the money kind of motivated,” Jean-Luc sent back. “I don’t know how to answer these kinds of questions.” He himself was laid back comfy in his couch in front of the TV back home.
“I was only after your attention anyway,” Arthur admitted, slipping under the crumpled duvet. He had not made the bed since he and Jean-Luc had occupied it that afternoon. It smelled faintly of him, of his natural scent – his body, his hair, the musk of his perspiration which oddly smelled like nobody else.
“Aw, do you miss me? What are you doing now?” Jean-Luc asked. The television was no longer of importance. He muted it, abandoned the controls, and fell head over heels into his phone.
“Just finished some new music. Fell into bed,” Arthur replied, then, “today took it out of me.”
“Saying I’m hard work?” Jean-Luc quipped, only to immediately unintentionally answer his own question with, “I am hard work, though!” More laughing emojis.
“You did nearly suck the life out of me, in the best way…” Wink.
“Nowhere near!” Counter-wink. “Not yet.”
Arthur recalled the day. His testicles still ached. He was lucky not to have suffered a serious back-up, but his balls were so ripe and full that even his prostate ached.
What to say to that though? “Better luck next time?” Arthur sent back.
“I think you underestimate how much of a slut I’ve been trying NOT TO BE the past two weeks, Arthur,” came the not entirely expected confessional bomb. “And frankly I’m running out of willpower.”
Arthur’s cock was no longer slumbering against his inner thigh, but rather lolling in the direction of his chin. “Try not to cum, he said. It’ll be fun, he said!”
7.
The phone rang. Arthur picked up. Jean-Luc sounded almost indignant. He was not a natural actor. “And who started that game?” he demanded.
Arthur laughed unreservedly. “You did.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Jean-Luc chuckled all too agreeably. A sigh followed.
“I like you a lot, you know,” Arthur said from the heart. “You’re teasing me something rotten and I like the game we’re playing, but I want it to be on record that I respected my way into your pants.”
In Jean-Luc’s living room the television was now off. He was sitting up, bent over, teetering on the edge of his seat. “Oh Arthur,” he uttered solemnly.
“Too much?” Arthur asked, spoken so softly.
“Arthur, ever since I’ve gotten to know you…”
“Yes?” Arthur’s voice now took on its own edge.
“It’s been an eye-opening experience to see you wearing pants at all,” Jean-Luc gushed hopelessly, to which Arthur silently laughed himself apart.
“Please, by all means, date me,” Jean-Luc went on, his voice filled with nervous excitement. “But I would be such a willing little boy slut for you, and I don’t know if you’d ever be able to take me so seriously,” he said, now switching off the living room light and headed for his own bed.
“The things I will do,” Jean-Luc uttered, trailed off.
Arthur heard almost nothing but his own laboured ragged breathing by that point, until he tried to force himself to calm, exacted a deep breath, and realised during that pause that he was not the only excitable one.
“It’s more than that though, isn’t it?” Arthur spoke eventually, his voice deep and raspy beneath his laboured breaths. “You feel it too.”
“I feel things with you I haven’t felt,” Jean-Luc’s weak voice pleaded. “Because, unghhhh,” he growled hungrily, “the physical bonding in that studio, the way you hold my gaze, the way you aren’t afraid to be so intimate with me – it’s all so backwards!”
And maybe it reminded him of past regrets, possibly a feeling new to nobody alive today.
“You’re so easy to love, Jean-Luc,” Arthur interjected the very moment that he could.
“Don’t use that word,” Jean-Luc begged, now pacing up and down the bedroom floor. “Not before you really know me.”
“Okay,” Arthur relented, confused but ever patient.
“I’m sorry. I’m feeling things, and you probably are too, that people don’t normally feel, because of what we’re doing,” Jean-Luc held the floor again, “all for a silly art project – a dare!”
“I feel what I feel because I like you, Jean-Luc,” Arthur insisted. “As far as the project goes, I turn up to get naked with you and all that jazz, and it allows me to feel things I only wish I’d been able to feel with people in my past who acted like they loved me.”
“Oh, that’s deep,” lamented Jean-Luc, realising more and more now what was at stake.
“But the idea of you wanting to be my adorable little boy slut?” Arthur contemplated. “Unnnghhh,” he growled safely away from the mouthpiece of his phone.
“Am I confused, Jean-Luc?” Arthur searched.
No! Jean-Luc knew that wasn’t the case. Arthur was hurt – hurt in a way that wasn’t so irreversible or rare, or even in a way that commanded compassion.
But wasn’t that such a cruel fate? To be that capable of love and yet to have never found it? Who could do such a thing to a man like this? Was it a woman? A man? They still knew so little about each other.
Arthur was now sat on the edge of his bed, listening with a silent intensity, shoulders heaving. And as though two people could share the same space while existing in two different dimensions, Jean-Luc let the wind leave him and settled down on the edge of his own bed, stooped and submitting to the heart-rending feeling in his chest.
8.
He was afraid. Over the moon hopeful and hopelessly weak for Arthur all at once, but admittedly afraid too. Want for intellect and you will find conundrum and confusion. Want for love and you will find monuments to regret and to wounds that never healed.
Want for nothing, Jean-Luc reflected, and just take what you need. “Arthur?”
“Yeah babe?”
Jean-Luc snorted. “I really am looking forward to that date. But we left each other unfinished earlier,” he reflected sorely, but softly.
“I almost couldn’t contain myself,” Arthur responded agreeably.
“You know and I know neither of us wanted it to stop,” Jean-Luc enticed, that French tongue working seductively once again. Hairs stood up on Arthur’s neck, and then his arms…
“Ugh, I want you so fucking much,” Arthur implored. “You have no idea.”
“Oh I’ve been having great ideas ever since we met,” Jean-Luc laughed cutely. “And I was having them at dinner today, and when we kissed again, and again…”
Jean-Luc’s libido purred from within now, like a coasting racecar, sex on wheels. Arthur’s was soaring like a bird of prey, gliding, biding…
Arthur admitted, “I wanted to just lose control earlier, you know?”
“Mm-hm?!” Jean-Luc agreed without a doubt.
“…to push it as far as it would go,” Arthur went on responded groggily, taking deep and measured breaths in a bid to remain focused. “But I like you too much. It’s important you know that I respect you.”
Jean-Luc quickly assured, “I know you do!”
“That everything is… mutual!”
“Oh it feels very mutual between us,” Jean-Luc responded, with a cryptic chortle. “I love that about you, Arthur,” he then reflected admiringly. “You really care about my feelings, don’t you?”
Arthur said faithfully, “I do, strongly.”
“Me too!” beamed Jean-Luc, and then sultrily, “And I really want us to feel more things mutually.”
The implications were not lost. “I wanted it today too. I can’t stop thinking of what could have happened if we’d just done what we wanted to.”
Arthur cracked finally. The defensive wall came down. Everything within the vicinity of his roaring sexuality swept away. “We should have,” he agreed. Still he wasn’t prepared to hear the words that came next.
“Thinking of you filling me up, giving me deep backshots with that amazing dick of yours,” Jean-Luc gushed, the words coming in a rapid tumble. “I just know I could slide my boy-pussy all around it, get you all up in me.”
“Jesus, Jean-Luc,” Arthur groaned hoarsely, reached shakily for a cigarette. On the other end he could hear Jean-Luc softly moan. Food for thought. He lapped it up without asking. He confessed, “I think of that most of the time anyway.”
“I knew it wasn’t just me,” Jean-Luc chuckled. “And my prostate has been throbbing like crazy ever since I had you in my mouth,” he continued relentlessly. “I could cum in an instant right now feeling you go bare up against it.”
Arthur couldn’t even hold his cigarette straight. He stubbed it out in the bedside ashtray and stood up to pace the room, cock full, hard, bobbing stiffly in front of him like a heavy blunt weapon. Red-faced and breathless he reached for his jeans – hung on the radiator – and threw them onto the bed.
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he urged. “Just say.”
“I trust actions, not words,” Jean-Luc teased.
“Right now?” Arthur urged.
9.
Barely past ten the intercom at the main door buzzed. Jean-Luc simply knew. In the dim light of the apartment, basking in the stark light of the hallway outside which shone through a beveled glass panel above the door, he approached wearing nothing but a tight pair of black briefs and a simple white cotton vest which also hugged his lithe athletic form, and buzzed his late evening guest in.
Then as nimble footsteps signalled his ascent up the stairs Jean-Lu released the lock on the door with a flick of the wrist, and opened wide with a knowing smile.
He did not have time to steel himself, not that he’d imagined that he should have to. His spirits were high, so was his heart in his throat. And as he shrieked the sound didn’t come to completion. Freezing cold, dripping wet, Arthur took hold of Jean-Luc and kissed him needily.
Arthur was drenched from head to toe, battered by the storm simply by running from car park to apartmment building, and he had not come wearing a coat.
Quickly though, the door flung shut behind them as the smacking of their lips hastened. Arthur hummed appreciatively into Jean-Luc’s open mouth, tongues mating, and in an instant beyond that the soaked t-shirt moulded to his torso was being peeled off like sellotape.
Breaths mingled hot and heavy, and frantic now. Arthur returned the favour, getting Jean-Luc’s comparatively warm and dry body out of his clothes. And instinctively then Arthur licked and kissed his way down that smooth perfect body, where he took Jean-Luc in hand and fell to his knees.
“I need to taste you again,” Arthur whispered down his half-protests, and alluringly slid his tongue out to receive the hardening penis suspended right before his parted lips. It was when Jean-Luc so tenderly ran his fingers through his hair that he closed his eyes and pursed his lips around the sweet intruder.
It took almost no time at all for his mouth to fill up, first with a torrent of hot saliva, and then with the remaining five throbbing inches of his lover. Arthur’s coaxing hands took their cue then and filled themselves with those smooth supple glutes, now flinching in response to Jean-Luc’s sensitivity to his impressive ministrations.
Too soon, Jean-Luc’s hands – with a newfound assertion – gripped Arthur’s strong sinewy wrists, and coaxed them away. Arthur then found himself being pulled back up to his feet.
“First let’s get you warm,” Jean-Luc intimated.
10.
One inviting hand opened up to welcome him in. He took it, cleared the knee-height of the bathtub easily, drawn to the unadorned vision through the steam where they embraced and held each other beneath the shower head.
Hot water rushed in jets over his icy skin, scalded him like hot wax in an instant, but was then replaced by a soothing, pleasurable warmth. Arthur, cheek to cheek with Jean-Luc, tilted back his chin to further quench his need for warmth and comfort.
Now the both of them shivered, but no longer from the cold. As flesh shimmered and slithered in unison without friction, muscle clenched and quivered in anticipation. And as the adrenaline and other delicious hormones permeating both hot-blooded young males synchronised into mutual movements expressive of a single-minded need, their mouths met to communicate more intimately.
Hands, slick and friction free, caressed and slithered sensuously. Arthur swept back Jean-Luc’s hair, mopping the fringe from his eyes to view the glassy ocean blue.
The boy who once led the play, who feigned adoration so convincingly on Carrie Sledge’s studio floor that it was in itself an act of seduction, and whose hints of mischief and harmless misdemeanour spoke bolder than the everyday flatness of words as this chemistry grew between them, was as here as ever.
But in his eyes now pleaded an animal spirit, a sentient instinct not so common as those called to obedience too easily by the call of the lizard brain. Arthur gently attacked his lower lip with a kiss, sucked it between his teeth, tugged, let it go – went back for more with a smooch and a flick of the tongue.
As Jean-Luc requited, he looked up into the treacle-brown eyes of a big game cat. A sigma that might have been cautious in approach, but was fully confident in predation of its captive. Too confedent – Jean-Luc easily captured his tongue and expertly sucked it into his mouth where they wrestled, swirled, ululated.
Arthur was no dangerous animal, not just some merciless beast. His shoulders might have heaved tall and broad, leaving Jean-Luc eclipsed in the mists beyond the bathroom light, and inside of him may have purred a powerful biological machine of carnal inclination, but also behind those dark and hungry eyes lay a vulnerability; and perhaps the hurting wounds of a loyal pet.
They were fully giving in to each other the moment those two animal spirits connected. Bodies responded in full. Hearts pumped to elevate the senses, to need to mate, the expanding emotions of two flesh and blood souls becoming…
11.
Something!
Neither knew what. A cliff edge of raw feeling stood before them and one from which they gladly dove, and that was what it felt like as Jean-Luc led Arthur by the hand to his bed. Gravity at its most exhilerating, freefall towards the inevitability of self-fulfilled prophecy.
Like walking through a wormhole into another reality, the entirety of all that flashed before his eyes could have proven too much to pay attention to all at once. So he focused steadily on the jut and sway of the smooth hairless bottom before him as it led the way.
And all he cared to notice about the room was that it had a bed big enough, that the warm glow of the lamplight shone upon the body of the boy he desired so much, highlighted all that motivated him to act upon his feelings toward him.
He was guided to the bed, pushed down onto his back, and fell into a mess of soft pillows. And all the while his libido remained standing, too proud.
Jean-Luc’s expression in the dimness was a warm, wide-eyed smirk, almost feline. As if to live up to this, he pounced with well-measured grace up onto the mattress, and quickly straddled Arthur’s hips, immediately taking note of the stiff phallus stroking against his smooth firm perineum.
His smirk widened, he rested back into it, and danced a little along its length, while seeking Arthur’s hands. Finding them, interlocking them with his own, he easily subdued Arthur so that his wrists were crossed above his head.
With a delicate vigor Jean-Luc began to kiss his lips, licked them apart, sucked at them, nibbled at them, and matched for volume the sodden pitter-patter of the downfall against his bedroom window.
“Let’s have some music,” he suggested as Arthur lay content, hands roaming.
“Sure,” Arthur whispered back, “whatever you want,” – and was flattered to hear his own music soon breathing new dimensions of heat into the bedroom. “Hey I know this guy…”
“Yeah he’s such a dork!” Jean-Luc snorted. “Still, I’d fuck him,” he attested with a wink.
Arthur snaked a hand around Jean-Luc’s neck, coaxed him closer again, and directed his lips back onto his own for a wet smooch. “Never give up on your dreams,” he cracked cockily, causing Jean-Luc to giggle into his throat.
Both shivered. “Let’s get under these covers for a bit,” Jean-Luc suggested, pouncing off, then dragging the duvet from under Arthur and draping it around himself. Like Dracula fanning his cape then, although Jean-Luc wasn’t about to turn into a bat, he pounced again, covering them both.
12.
He had become so lost in the music of Arthur; the sounds, the vocals, the rhythms.
He had become so lost in the feast of Arthur; the tastes, the textures, the aromas.
And he had become so lost in his own feelings; the doubt, the reverence, the guilt, the desire to worship and lose himself.
So much so that he had lost himself in all the rapture of allowing himself to be loved in a way so tender that it terrified him. So he lay back in awe upon coming around to the realisation that he had put a ring on Arthur’s finger somewhere in all of this – now two liberally lubricated middle fingers to be precise, and was having his prostate milked while his lover milked his stiffened cock too.
And “oh god,” were the only words that could escape him.
Confidently manhandling the cute young French-Canadian, his now self-confessed boy slut, Arthur alternated between orally worshipping Jean-Luc’s swollen testicles and drooling erection, seemingly having all the time in the world to do so, and all of the spit required to keep him drenched.
The giddy feeling welled within Jean-Luc’s abdomen, a growing warmth, a growing pressure, like a positive emotional radiance inflating him with a kind of happiness that was rare.
And “ah… hah… h’ahhh…” god didn’t come this time.
Jean-Luc had experienced no drought of sexual partners in his life, and yet he had almost always been the one with his fingers on the control buttons. It was a matter of trust, of preference, of whatever excuse suited the mood at any of those times.
So it was a big deal to him that he could lie here cradled in the arms of a man and allow that to be done to him. As a sexual creature, and an emotional one too, he was experiencing a kind of fulfilment that did not need to be understood – simply felt.
“Oh my…”
Arthur continued to voice his wonder at just how pliant and malleable Jean-Luc was in his hands. His slippery hot little boy pussy yielded and moulded itself around him as Arthur beckoned Jean-Luc hither, to squirm and moan on the sweet spot his fingertips caressed with love.
Jean-Luc was shaking like a leaf. The opposite of cold, he was beginning to shine with perspiration. Arthur regarded him longingly, silently, slowing his ministrations to a crawl as Jean-Luc’s eyes became lucid again and an emboldened expression overcame him.
Despite his fixed and compromising position, with his thighs folded back into him, he reached down with almost elastic dexterity and steadied Arthur’s hand by the wrist. He eased Arthur out, unfolding himself, and came to a sitting position, eyes burning with lust.
And piercing Arthur with his eyes, he rested his sweaty forehead against Arthur’s and exhaled a deep and wavering breath. Arthur kissed his cheek, his nose, his forehead, again mopped the hair away from his face.
Jean-Luc breathed steadier, feeling the deep throb within him ebb and flow, neither coming nor going. It just stayed there, a heightened arousal which could now be satisfied one way only. He closed his eyes, took one last deep breath, and then opened them again.
“Fuck me,” he whispered.
Arthur’s kisses became more direct. “Yeah?”
“Fuck me, fuck me,” Jean-Luc repeated, placing the tube of KY into Arthur’s hand and meeting his deepening kisses. “Get up here,” he urged, clambering backward into the middle of the bed.
“How do you want me, beautiful?” Arthur asked, rising to his feet and standing doubly proud.
In one feline movement, Jean-Luc flipped over onto his hands and knees, arched his back and waved invitingly. “You’d better believe I want those backshots,” he insisted, and with a quick liberal stroke of lube, Arthur came closer.
13.
Arthur gazed wide-eyed down the distance of his own navel. At the end of the road stood his aching thick-veined sex organ, long without a home to call its own. Slick with lubrication it glimmered in the bedside light, foreskin eased back, bobbing to attention.
Right at the tip sat the rosebud, the centre of the universe that now consisted of a smooth heart-shaped arse, also slippery, also feverish to the touch, and also visibly throbbing as Jean-Luc reclined to meet Arthur’s incline.
Jean-Luc bore weight on one forearm to steady himself as he pushed back onto the tip, and chewed on his own lower lip as he felt it so easily stetch his ring despite its thickness. The other arm reached around to grab one wrist as Arthur held him by his hips, guiding him as he reverse-parked himself two more inches back, and then began the tease of letting an inch slip back out.
He wasn’t lying when he said he’d have no problem taking Arthur in. But the first penetration, the first slippery slide, and then every next seductive action replay, played on the moment, and then so did the look on his face when he turned to look back at Arthur over his shoulder, mouth wide open in breathless amazement.
It was an expression of daring also, of overwhelming pleasure as the two models resolved to continue melting into one another with submissive groans, as if to beg the question: what on earth could feel this good, this right, right now?
Arthur’s seven and a half inches stood straight and solid like a rock carving. The contrasting pressure of slipping so easily into something so tight made the veins in his cock thicken, and the slip-sliding grip of the boy pussy that he was now two-thirds the way inside made his balls tighten almost instantly.
“Stay still,” Jean-Luc commanded suddenly. Arthur did so, hands still firmly wrapped around those slender hips. Jean-Luc’s insides churned as he slid back up to the knob so slowly that his nerves caught fire with the mutlitude of sensations. Offering his sluttiest smile back at Arthur, he bore down slowly, and slid his wet boy pussy all the way down the shaft this time, until not a millimetre remained between them.
“Fuuuuuck,” Arthur moaned, now sheathed fully inside Jean-Luc. Fever-hot, and yet so soothing with all the coaxing interior muscles hugging him snugly.
“You like that?” Jean-Luc taunted, dragging away as he clung like a second skin to Arthur’s shaft.
Inhaling sharply, Arthur tightened his hold on Jean-Luc and slid him back down four inches, making the boy shudder and gasp. “Don’t try to get away from me now,” Arthur retorted, and began to drive in and out at an excruciatingly slow pace. He too could feel almost every sensation within.
Jean-Luc quickly began a vocal assault of the situation, unable to contain his rising moans. Arthur meanwhile basked in the glory of the sight before him, namely the beauty of the boy impaled on him. He filled his hands with the soft pliant buns, now buttered with more than just KY jelly.
Arthur was drooling pre-cum as he entered a higher state of arousal. It wasn’t long before he began to hit those smooth backshots harder, clapping his boy slut’s cheeks and making them jiggle – such a happy sight!
And he began to grunt like an animal which seemed to turn on Jean-Luc all Very attuned to his body, Jean-Luc sensed that he and his prostate and everything within the vicinity of that whole nerve centre was about to blast off.
With unexpected agility he virtually leapt off Arthur’s plentifully endowed ramrod with a slick pop, flipped, and landed back on his behind, planting his feet each on Arthur’s torso. “I don’t want to cum all over the duvet,” he laughed breathlessly, before inviting Arthur back in.
Now with both hands on his own cock he began to stroke and occasionally apply a gob of spit to keep it greased, already fully possessed by the impending orgasm as Arthur plunged back in from the front and began to grind himself sensuously against Jean-Luc’s alluring hypnotic depths.
The angle of Arthur’s dominating position still allowed him to hit that P-spot from there. Plunging into Jean-Luc he angled down so that the tip of his penis would angle upward by default. Every time he hit that swollen bump, Jean-Luc would shudder and sob, pinching his nipples between his toes, spurring Arthur on.
“It’s big,” Jean-Luc sobbed of his approaching climax. Arthur leaned more into it, feeling the burn all over now. Both at the tip of his penis and deep inside where his own swollen prostate throbbed, an intense heat swelled and swelled and that familiar liquid feeling began to boil up.
Jean-Luc sensed that too. The two lovers were face to face, eye to eye, synchronised intimately in the spike of that sudden intensity.
“In me!” he urged, and said it again and again. “In me, in me!”
And suddenly he froze, stopped breathing, arched his back, came up off the bed even with his feet still clamped down against Arthur’s chest. Arthur took the initiative and grabbed on, suspending Jean-Luc while sliding all the way in until his hot clammy testicles slapped up against his tailbone.
Jean-Luc’s eyes glazed over. He began to hyperventilate and turn furiously red. Arthur tightened up, sswelled inside of Jean-Luc, and began to shudder himself apart, swelling up inside and outside of Jean-Luc as he felt no end of white-hot seed unload itself at a force he hadn’t felt before.
Meanwhile the orgasm passed through Jean-Luc like an invading spirit – tried to take control of him, succeeded, filled him with a frenzied euphoria, and very very reluctantly and slowly subsided.
His cum began to shoot in thick white jets like a volcano boiling over. The first jet flew up before Arthur’s eyes, the second bathed him from chin to abdomen.
The third he caught with his mouth wide open.
The fourth he sucked from the source.
The fifth, the sixth, the seventh…
He drank, he shared…
14.
It was late. They had gone a second time. That second time Jean-Luc had gone on top. It had been sweet, romantic, at least started that way. Once he got started it was hard to sate the little devil inside. It needed to be expressed, unleashed to corrupt those within reach. But that time had passed for now. Now they were both aching in a different way, tired, sleepy!
The lights were out now, the music off. The cold winter rain still drenching the bedroom window in a steady torrent. It was the only ambience in the room now. Relentless and unwavering nature prevailing over all, and yet so comforting and subduing.
Arthur moulded himself around Jean-Luc’s body from behind, spooning him snugly, hands incorrigible but still caring and tender. His lips too, he couldn’t help himself.
He was one beyond enamored now, and there hadn’t been another male in his life that had allowed this kind of closeness, this intimacy, so that granted him permission to be so bold.
So it was almost novel, but that wasn’t the reason. Arthur didn’t need to say what the reason was, and Jean-Luc didn’t want to stop him. He liked having such an effect on someone new.
But eventually tickled mad by the sensation of Arthur’s dry lips rubbing up against the sensitive spot beneath his jawline, he turned over and put a finger to those lips.
“Sleep,” he instructed, and planted a kiss on Arthur’s lips, then buried himself between his neck and shoulder, sliding a leg up over his hip to pull him closer.
Cocooned against one another, safe, warm, spent, happy – yes, sleep, what a good idea…
Needed sleep…
Rest…
TBC
Afterword:
Hey folks, thanks for reading another instalment of ‘The Love Model Sessions.’ I hope you continue to enjoy it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it for you. Please feel free to throw me some criticism, or otherwise to let me know if any parts in particular got your engines revving.
As I have said in my bio recently, things are about to get consistently busy for me over the next month. Work will be piling up over the Christmas period and I don’t like the idea of more time coming in between every next instalment so that the heat of the overall story cools off.
So I have planned to continue the story in a separate series once part five is completed (hopefully before Christmas). It makes sense for me to continue this way. On one hand we get to reach a culmination of what’s happened so far, and on the other hand I like the idea of entering a new chapter where Arthur and Jean-Luc can enjoy an increasingly erotic new adventure. I already had something in mind when I started the story, something very specific and sensory-based.
Thank you again for your patience, your support, and your lovely compliments.
Randy Pan