It wasn't a hard decision. In art school, I had taken many Life drawing classes which used a nude model. I didn't really have an qualms about my body so I figured it was no big deal. Besides, you try making a living as a potter. I really needed the extra cash, and it was a lot for a couple of hours lying around naked.
I arrived at his studio in my ripped up blue jeans and black Dresden Dolls t-shirt. I normally would have worn a dress or something when I knew I would be hanging out with someone that adorable, but I figured what was the point. I would be taking my clothes off soon enough. Where's the mystery in that?
He smiled as he opened the door and waved me in. His black, silken hair was pulled back with just a few sexy strands falling in his face. His deep brown eyes gave me a quick once over, making sure I would do for his model. He seemed satisfied and gave me a reassuring smile.
He led me in to the room and showed me where I could disrobe. He had left a nice silk robe for me to put on until it was time. I came out as he was pulling mounds of clay out of a cabinet. He told me to just relax while he got finished setting up.
As I sat there waiting, I looked around the room at the sculptures he had made. They were all so wonderful. Every little detail seemed to pop and give life to the piece. He was quite talented, and I felt privileged that I was about to become his next sculpture.
When he was ready, he asked me to sit in the chair he had set. I was nervous, but I tried to hide it as best I could. I think he knew this and gave me another of those reassuring smiles. He was so beautiful. I started to think he should have been the model instead of me.
He asked me to slip the robe off over my shoulders and let it fall down around my elbows and waist. This left my breasts exposed, but nothing below the mid-line was showing. He gently positioned my body the way he wanted it, turning my shoulders a bit one way, pulling my chin up the other. His touch was so gentle and yet firm enough to show me exactly what he wanted. He didn't speak much, but the intensity in his eyes showed everything I needed to hear. He knew exactly how he wanted things and would work until he got it right.
He had positioned me so that I was looking at him while he worked. This pleased me beyond measure. He was so focused and purposeful, and I loved watching how he moved the clay around until he got what he wanted out of it. His eyes would squint as he observed the angle of my nose or the roundness of my cheeks. His eyebrows would raise as he stood back and contemplated the next step. I was mesmerized. But what intrigued me the most was his hands. They were so strong and yet could make the most gentle movements. His fingers were long and graceful, and his whole body often moved in sync with what his hands were doing. It was like a dance.
We took a break and I got up and stretched. He offered me a drink and a snack. He didn't say much, but was warm and friendly. I walked around and looked at the rest of the work he had. It was all so incredible. I was really jealous of his talents.
We went back to work and he told me that now he would be touching me a bit, to get the feel of what he was trying to accomplish. I was so excited that I would get to feel his hands on me that much more. He put his hands on my face, probing and feeling along the ridge of my eyebrows, then down along my cheekbones. He softly stroked over my cheeks and down to my jawline. He closed his eyes as he felt my jawbone and mouth. He worked his hands back up to my forehead and felt along my hairline, ever so slowly. He moved down to my temple and through my hair to my ears. Feeling my ears he paused and smiled, his eyes still closed. Then his hands went into my hair and massaged around in my scalp. This felt so amazing to me that I had to close my eyes and surrender to the tingly sensation that was now wandering down my spine.
He finally stopped, but it seemed like an eternity that he ran his fingers in my hair. He held my skull a minute, as I brought myself back to the room. I think he didn't want to disengage without me acknowledging his presence. I opened my eyes, sort of in a haze and I am quite sure with a stupid grin on my face. He smiled at me when I saw him and held my gaze a moment. This was starting to become the biggest, longest tease I could have imagined.
He went back to sculpting. I saw him staring at me, but somehow this felt different than just trying to visualize a piece of art. It was more like he was looking at me... smiling at me.
It was time to call it a day. My back was sore and I needed a rest. He said goodnight and sent me home. On my walk to the car, I felt as if he was watching me from the window above. I didn't look back, but I was quite sure he was there.
The next day started off much the same. He was still quiet, but somehow friendlier. I got into my "wardrobe" and sat in the same position. This time he was working on my torso. After the initial first bit of working up the general shape, he came over again to do his "feel-through". He started this time on my neck, gently probing his way around the muscles and flesh. He slowly worked down to the collar bone, out through the shoulders and then came back and started to feel my upper ribs. This was all a slow build up to where things started to change. Ever so softly, he worked his hands down to my breasts.
My nipples hardened was he felt around the soft, roundness of my tits. He stopped, tentatively and asked, "Is this okay?"
"Heh," I stumbled for an answer, "Yeah, it's fine.". Better than fine. Perfect, actually. Oh Christ.
He fumbled for a minute, touching, feeling my nipples that were now pointed up towards the sky, ready to be sucked and pinched. It was about then that I realized my pussy was dripping and I was getting so unstoppably turned on. This was bad.
He stopped and I opened my eyes. He was staring at me, and if I could read him right, longingly. My heart was beating like a drum. He broke our gaze and went back to his work station.
I watched him, intent on trying to determine if he was feeling what I was. Once in a while, I thought I saw him blush a bit when he looked at my breasts. He would look at them, and then look me in the eyes for a second, almost out of embarrassment. It was quite a turn on for me, but then, I didn't really need any help in that department.
The rest of the day I felt like I was on a razors edge. I couldn't sit still and the day dragged on forever. I was so horny and here was a really sexy guy staring at and even grabbing my tits! This was so unfair!
When I got home for the night, I had to break out the vibrator. There was just no getting around it. I let the shimmering sensation glide along my clit and pushed it deep into my cunt until I came in such a wave that it made me shiver. But I knew this wasn't going to be enough. I knew I had to have him, and this desire wasn't going to end until I did.
When I returned the next day, he had not pulled his hair back from his face. He was wearing a tank top and a pair of faded, almost broken through jeans. He smiled coyly at me and said hello. He still didn't say much when he spoke, but I didn't really care, it wasn't his voice I wanted, it was something far lower on his body.
He sat me down and got me set up, this part had become routine. This was the first time I had really seen his arms as they were always covered in longer sleeves. They were strong and lean. The definition in the muscles was clear. Even if I didn't know what he did for a living I would have been able to tell he worked with his hands in a strong capacity. And I could just make out the outline of his abs under the shirt. So strong, so sexy. My imagination was getting the better of me.
He went back to work behind the sculpture, pushing and pulling the clay to make it what he saw. His hands were gray with mud and he sometimes wiped his hair from his face with them, leaving behind a streak of gray on his cheek or in his hair. I wondered why he didn't pull it back like he had the last few days, not that I mined - it only made me want him more.
After a while, he came over and started feeling my waist. He rubbed his hands along my ribcage, staring at my torso, studying it. I was starting to feel like he knew my body better than anyone. As he felt, I looked down and saw the streak of gray mud left behind on my naked flesh. This made me feel like I was his clay, his medium to mold and push and pull the way he wanted me. I couldn't stand it any longer. He looked up at me after I took a trembling breath and, when he did, I kissed him.
