In the Nude

"We'll have our model, Kirk, here for two forty-five-minute sessions," the art instructor, Dex, told the attendees at the community education center art class. "This week, get whatever you're painting outlined. Next week will be for filling it out."

Kirk, twenty, almost too pretty to be male, but hard-bodied and divinely built on a five-foot-five frame, was stretched pit on a blue velvet-draped dais, completely nude. He was posed sensuously on his side, his reclining torso supported on an arm bent at the elbow, with the hand of the other arm shielding his genitals. Most of the art students were sketching him from behind—and a very nice behind he had, too. A couple of artists, though, including a blowsy earth-mother type in her fifties and a tall, trim, distinguished-looking handsome man in his late forties, were sketching from the young man's front. Both of them were giving the dark-haired and sultry young man possessing looks as they sketched. Both were obviously more interested in the prospect of making him than painting him. Both of them were contemplating whether to be as bold as to show what was behind his hand in how they chose to paint him.

Fifty minutes later, Kirk had been released from his pose and was in an adjoining room, pulling on his briefs, jeans, and Henley pull-over shirt and black leather boots as the man who had been sketching him, Carl, leaned into the doorframe and watched him. Kirk looked up periodically to give the man a shy smile. It hadn't escaped his notice how closely the man had been scrutinizing him while he was in the nude and posing. And when he'd passed the man's easel on the way to getting dressed, he'd notice both that the man hadn't been doing much sketching and that his eyes dropped to see what he could of Kirk's package. Kirk had been interested enough to take his hand away and let the man get a good look.

"May I paint it that way?" the man had asked.

Kirk had laughed and said, "As you wish." If the man was making a pass, Kirk was game. He often made more from the man he left the studio with after one of these sessions than he did from the model fee. He could have profited equally from the women if he swung that way—and when times were tough, he was willing to do that.

"You're a beautiful young man," Carl said from his leaning stance in the changing room doorway. "It's a pleasure sketching you."

"Thanks," Kirk said, taking extra time he probably didn't need to zip up the side of his left boot and smooth out the leather.

"Do you enjoy modeling—in the nude like this?" Carl asked.

"It pays well—and I need the money. And I don't mind showing off my body. I guess I'm somewhat of what you'd call an exhibitionist." Finished with the left boot, he slid his foot into the right one and placed his food on the seat of a wooden chair. He was still taking his time—still posing.

"You have a great body. It's right that you show it off." And the young man did have a great body. He was a little guy, but he was perfectly proportioned and toned. "You must work out a lot."

"Thanks. Yeah, I spend a lot of time at the gym. Pete's Gym over on Elm."

"I know that gym." There was a pause while Carl contemplated whether he should go for it. He decided he might as well. The guy was showing every sign of interest. "Dex tells me that you're approachable."

"Did he?" Kirk asked, giving Carl a smile. Kirk understood perfectly what Carl was asking and what Dex had told him. Dex got a cut for any referrals. "Well, as I said, I need the money. College ain't cheap."

Carl pulled a hand to the surface of his trousers pocket, showing a small wad of greenbacks. "I understand that two hundred would do it."

"Barely," Kirk said.

"Would you like to go get some dinner with me? I'll pay, of course. On top of the other."

"Sure, I guess."

Carl was driving an imposing, late-model black Chrysler 300 sedan. He drove them out beyond the outskirts of the town to a country inn sort of place with small dining rooms providing cubby-hole recesses for tables in the shadows. Dim, filtered light was provided by table candles. The food was by choice—you could eat hearty or like a bird—but all of it was expensive. The conversation was comfortable although studiously unrevealing on both sides other than issues of national football and basketball and body-building techniques. Carl was making a show to indicate he was a man's man—that he wasn't a sissy. Kirk thought that the man was maybe trying too hard on that, but he didn't care. For the fee, he became whatever the man wanted.

They didn't stand out in the restaurant. There were more male couples than mixed ones at the tables.

Carl probed on Kirk's background and current situation but didn't get anywhere. Kirk didn't bother to probe into what made Carl tick at all. The wad of cash the man had flashed was enough to make Kirk tick. For now, tonight, he knew precisely what was making Carl tick—what Carl wanted. Carl's occasional grip of the young man's knee under the table told Kirk what Carl wanted and that Carl wanted to top.

"Do you do a lot of work in the nude?" Carl asked.

"Yes," Kirk answered, and, giving the man a saucy look, added, "And some of it is as an artists' model."

Carl smiled and squeezed Kirk's knee under the table. "So you do private modeling."

"Sure, if that is what is wanted."

In the nude, Kirk was thinking. The man wants me to strut around for him in the nude before sticking it in me. Well, Kirk needed the money and this was one fine-looking man—older, yes, but tall, good-looking, sinewy, and quite intellectual. He had a good vocabulary and a nice smile, and he smelled of refinement and wealth. If Kirk pleased him, he thought there would be something steady here—more than the initial trial two hundred, he hoped. College expenses were going up and there were added expenses of staying on the college lacrosse team. Posing in the nude as a buildup to sex wasn't all that kinky.

All that needed to be determined was how well the man was endowed and how easily could he get it up and keep it up. How much work would Kirk have to do for the money? He moved a hand to the man's inner thigh under the table. Carl gave him a warm smile and parted his legs, as Kirk moved his hand up, finding which way the man dressed—finding not only that he was able to attain an erection on his own but that he also was godawful long.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

"Very," Kirk answered.

"Do you want dessert or would you like to go for a little drive?" Carl said, moving one of his hands to cover Kirk's and hold it in place. "There's a very secluded picnic area at this time of night out with a good view of the old quarry."

"That was a big steak," Kirk said. "I'm stuffed."

"You will be," Carl responded, giving a little laugh at his own joke. Kirk chuckled as well.

"I can feel that," he said. The man's dick was long, but it didn't feel to be too thick. And the man was fit. There'd be no problem in holding position and keeping it in. He could just lie back, sheath it, and let the man do the work. Kirk did like being fucked. He liked the idea of man wanting him bad. He wouldn't let himself get in this position if he didn't. He moved his hand from Carl's crotch to rest on his forearm. There were no waiters or other diners nearby, so he leaned in for a brief kiss on the lips.

"Be good to me, Daddy," he whispered when he came out of the kiss.

"Oh, I'll be very good to you," Carl said. The bill had come. While he had his wallet out to retrieve a credit card—and Kirk could see that he had several, all platinum—Carl extracted two fifties, added them to the wad he'd already shown to Kirk, and stuffed the augmented wad into the young man's jeans pocket.

"I can't wait to get you nude again," he whispered.

In the nude. The man was going work himself up watching Kirk strut around in the nude and then he was going to stick it in and fuck him good. Kirk liked showing off his body. Kirk also liked to be fucked good.

* * * *

The moonlight illuminated the rock walls of the abandoned quarry and reflected off the water of the small lake at its base as the two men kissed and fondled, entwined, in the front of the Chrysler 300, its nose pointed at the view, but only Carl able to see it as, Kirk, his Henley shirt already pulled over his head and Carl worrying the young man's nipples with his lips and teeth, sat in the man's lap, facing him, in the passenger seat. Kirk had Carl unzipped, his long, hard cock extracted from his fly, and was handjobbing the older man and himself, frotting their cocks together.

"In the backseat. Get naked. I want to do you nude," Carl murmured.

"Yes," Kirk answered, now really into the fuck himself. It wasn't just for the money now. "You too," he murmured.

"No, just you nude. I'm going to fuck your lights out," Carl growled. He opened the passenger door and turned Kirk in that direction, tipping the young man's body out to the ground.

"Yes. Hurry. Fuck me good, Daddy," Kirk pleaded.

There, beside the car, Carl stripped Kirk down to his boots. He opened the rear passenger door and pushed Kirk down on his back on the backseat, his legs outside the car. One after the other, the older man pulled the young man's boots off. Other than his own long, hard erection protruding out of his trousers, Carl was still fully dressed—and he would remain so. Nudity turned him on—but the nudity of his partner more than of himself. Besides, he was too keyed up to get his cock inside the young man to take the time to undress.

He stood on the ground outside the car, hovering over the now-completely nude Kirk on the back seat, his hands and lips moving everywhere on the young man's body. Kirk raised his feet to the top of the door frames, as Carl swallowed his cock and, eventually, moved his mouth further down, eating the young man out as Kirk writhed and moaned under him.

"Yes, yes, fuck me," Kirk pleaded.

And then Carl did, moving into the car, over Kirk's body, knees pressed into the backseat cushion, hooking the small young man's knees on his shoulders. Kirk arched his back and cried out to the echoing quarry walls, as Carl penetrated the nude, sliding inside him, deep, fully possessing the young man, setting up a steady beat of thrusts . . .

. . . and fucked his lights out.

After a few minutes of missionary fucking, with Kirk lowering his feet to the cushion on either side of Carl's calves; alternating between clutching the man's buttocks and his biceps, both on the surface of the material and, when he could manage it, between material and flesh; and, using the leverage of his feet, moving in the rhythm of the thrusts, Carl turned the young man under him, putting Kirk on his knees, with one of his hands grasping at that back edge of the seat and the other one hanging on to a strap hanging from the top of the pillar between the front and back seats, crouched over the young man's hips, and fucked him like a dog. One of Carl's hands moved to below Kirk's belly, grasping and milking the young man's cock, while the other closed over Kirk's throat, both pulling the young man's head back into Carl's chest, and controlling Kirk's breathing as the fuck went on relentlessly to both of them getting off.

The positioning was cramped and awkward, but the extraordinary length of the older man's cock was enough for him to hold position inside Kirk's passage, even if he couldn't manage maximum depth of possession in his relentless thrusts. In either case, Kirk knew he was being fucked well. Age wasn't important here. The man could get it up, keep it up, and use it well.

Later, Kirk sat in the Chrysler 300 as Carl paid for the room in the cheap motel outside the outskirts of the town and returned with the room key.

In the room, it once more was Kirk totally nude, bent over the bed, and Carl, still fully dressed over than his erection freed from his fly, covering Kirk from behind and above, grasping the young man's wrists as Kirk buried his fists into the chenille bedspread, and fucked him hard and deep from behind in the doggy position. Here, access was easier to achieve, and, mouth hanging open in a perpetual yawn and long, drawn-out moan, Kirk felt himself being possessed deep in his inner core. The man was old for what Kirk usually went with, but he was able to command the young man as no other man had been able to do as yet. Kirk was totally owned by the incredibly long shaft.

It was a turn on for Kirk that he was fully nude and the man nearly fully dressed. There was something more sexy, kinky, taboo, and whorish about that then if Carl has stripped down.

Holding place covering the young man, afterward—after Kirk had heard the snap of the condom being put in place, felt the long deep slid inside him, jacked himself off as the man pumped him, and then both tensed and jerked, tensed and jerked, as Carl filled the bulb of the rubber inside the nude—both of them panting hard, Carl murmured, "Until next week. Until you pose for the art class again."

"Yes, until next week," Kirk murmured, already thinking of where that three-hundred dollars in his jean's pocket would be spent. Knowing he had pleased the man and being assured that there would be more after next week's art session—and then maybe something regular after that.

Carl couldn't wait until the next week to see Kirk again, which Kirk saw as a good sign. The young man had told the older man what gym he went to and that he spent a lot of time there. This information—nearly the only information about himself that Kirk revealed—wasn't mentioned by mistake. And Carl took the information in.

Not three days later, as Kirk was lying on a bench, pressing weights, he heard a voice say, "Here, let me spot you with those weights," and there was Carl, just in athletic shorts and sneakers this time, touching Kirk on the knees and spreading the young man's legs suggestively, obviously wanting to do more than that with the young man. Kirk was happy to see that the man was in great shape for his age. He'd been a bit worried that, since Carl hadn't undressed when he'd fucked him in the car and the motel room, maybe there was something physically wrong with the man that would keep Kirk from being sexually aroused by him undressed. But there wasn't.

Being confident that he would find Kirk at Pete's Gym, he had already rented a room at the Pine Motel on the outskirts of the town where he'd taken Kirk three evenings earlier. He was well prepared for the tryst this time, and he took his time with the young man.

Once in the motel room, he commanded Kirk to strip and pose for him, as he sat, fully dressed, at the foot of the bed, fly open, cock in hand, and stroking it. Kirk thought that, once again, the man would remain dressed for the session, but he didn't. As Kirk posed and walked back and forth along the foot of the bed, cock in hand, and giving Carl sultry looks, Carl slowly disrobed, revealing that he had a spare, but hard-bodied physique, with muscles that bulged on a tight torso and blue veining running just under the surface of the skin. And then there was that extraordinarily long erection. As he watched Kirk pose, Carl stroked the erection with one hand and flicked a riding crop against his thighs with the other. Leather restraints lay on the bed beside him.

"I can't get enough of watching you pose and move in the nude," Carl said in a husky voice.

"You are a beautiful man too," Kirk answered, believing it, but not until these movements knowing that that was what he would find in the older man. He had been shy of showing anything of his body off other than his magnificent cock to that point.

Carl smiled. Pleased that he was pleasing enough to arouse the beautiful young man. He wasn't pretending if he could get as hard as he did in this situation. The older man swished the riding crop against his thigh. He took his other hand off his cock and picked up the four restraints from the bed next to Kirk. "You do see these toys, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And you're not thinking of leaving?"

"No."

"Have you ever—?"

"No," Kirk answered, sucking in his breath and trembling a bit.

"Have you thought about it?"

"Yes."

"You will do it for me." It wasn't a question. His eyes went to the top of the bureau in the room, where he'd fanned out seven fifty-dollar notes. Kirk knew they were there.

"Yes."

"Are you afraid?" He was asking for permission to bind and beat the young man—and then to fuck him helpless and bound. At least that's what Kirk assumed the man was asking. Kirk was aroused by that, ready to let the man take command and use him totally. He couldn't keep his eyes off that long cock. He wanted it deep inside him again, fully possessing him.

"Do me. Use me," Kirk murmured.

* * * *

Kirk was spread-eagled on his belly, naked, on the motel room bed. His arms were spread and raised above his head, the wrists restrained to the corners of the headboard. His legs were spread, the ankles restrained to the corners of the footboard. Pillows were stuffed under his belly, lifting his pelvis. His buttocks were rosy red from the spanking and switching they'd already taken. His cock was pulled through along the top of the pillows, his cum dribbled out onto the sheets. Carl had jacked him off while he was spanking and flogging him.

Carl stood in the doorway to the bathroom, popping in a couple of pills. He hadn't used enhancement drugs before, but now he did. He wanted this realized fantasy to continue as long as possible. He stood there, leaning into the frame of the bathroom door, looking at Kirk's prone, captive, naked small body as, with the help of the drugs, he pumped his cock up with his hand. They both knew he'd be hard for hours now. They both knew he intended to fuck Kirk for hours.

Fully erect, he climbed on to the top of the bed, on top of Kirk. Kirk tensed, dug his knees in, and raised his buttocks higher to give the man full access. He gave a little cry and began to pant hard as pressing the palms of his hands into the young man's shoulder blades, Carl penetrated and slid in and in and in. Kirk murmured, "Yes, yes, Daddy. Fuck me," as Carl thrust deeper and deeper and deeper and fucked the young man long and hard.

Later, after pulling off Kirk, still in erection, and rolling a spent condom off his cock, Carl made a trip to the bathroom. He came out snapping on a new condom and released the restraints of a moaning and whimpering Kirk. He only did so, though, to reposition the young man, turning him onto his back and raising and spreading his arms and restraining his wrists again. Kirk offered no resistance. Carl didn't restrain Kirk's ankles. Still fully erect, he climbed onto the bed, moving his knees between the young man's thighs. He moved his left arm underneath the quaking and surrendering young man's waist, elevating Kirk's hips. He grasped Kirk's throat with his right hand, holding the young man's head pressed to the mattress. Penetrating and taking a deep slide, as Kirk began to pant and moan again, Carl resumed the deep-core fuck.

It was well after midnight before Carl, no doubt still in erection, drove Kirk back to his car at the now-closed Pete's Gym.

Kirk was not surprised four days later when he was posing for the second of the art sessions he was modeling in the nude for at the community arts center that Carl was there to finish his sketching of the young man. Neither was he surprised that Carl was standing in the doorway of the adjoining room afterward, watching Kirk dress and pulling a wad of cash out of his pocket far enough for Kirk to see it, or that he asked Kirk to go to dinner with him—or that he'd booked the Pine Motel room again.

If he could keep this going, Kirk wouldn't have to worry about covering his college expenses.

* * * *

At the beginning of every semester, President Singleton of Buena Vista College held a series of four receptions to welcome a cross section of students to the campus. Someone on his staff kept copious notes to ensure that over the time of a student's march to graduation at the college, he or she would have been invited to one of these receptions.