Drawing David

1

"Would you pose for me in private?"

It was such a direct question, so boldly delivered that he couldn't respond for a moment. They had met by accident that afternoon in town, had almost passed each other in the street, then stopped with a flicker of recognition and a shared smile. She had pulled him to the side of the path to get out of the way of the other shoppers, and said, "I nearly didn't recognise you with your clothes on", to which he laughed and blushed faintly.

She was one of the artists, and he recognised her of course. The modelling had been his flatmate's idea, and he had overcome his initial reluctance to make a few extra dollars posing nude for the community art college.

She was one of a group of mature students learning to draw, and he had spent an hour a week for the last couple of months posing naked in the studio under the direction of the tutor; who told him he had just the right type of body for his classes -- lean, but with good muscle tone, plus a relaxed attitude and the ability to stay still for long periods without apparent effort.

He subverted the erotic potential of the evenings by masturbating just prior to biking down to the college, and found this left him curiously indifferent to his own nudity, and to the stares of the group circled around him. But she had caught his attention anyway: she was older than him; a confidant well dressed woman who looked serious when concentrating on her drawings, but after the sessions the models and the art students had cups of the awful college tea and she showed herself as cheerful and quick-witted, with a gently teasing manner that made him feel even younger than he was.

"So? Would you? I have a small studio at home and some drawings I want to work on"

The question hung there as they stood in the street, and he stumbled his reply that, "Sure. I mean, I don't see why not". They haggled over the price as he didn't think it was fair to get paid the same as the group evenings, and she insisted, saying he would be just as nude for a single artist as he would be for the group. They settled on a fee and a time, and he arranged to come to her house the following afternoon.

2

She opened the door to him dressed simply in a blouse and skirt, and he realised again how effortlessly good looking she was as she guided him through to her studio -- a stand alone shed at the back of her garden. The studio was warm, lit through a large sunlight which bathed the room in a pleasant overhead light.

The room was lined with drawings and paintings, mostly nudes and as he looked closer he saw that they were nearly all studies of one subject: Michelangelo's statue of a nude David, posed with his sling and stones, ready to face Goliath -- with his face tense, but his body curiously calm and still. She had drawn from a wide range of perspectives, as if she had come in from a great distance, and then moved closer and closer until she was drawing the texture of his marble skin.

She offered him a glass of wine, and they stood together sipping as she confessed her obsession. She told him of her time in Italy as a young woman, the frequent visits to Florence, where she had spent hours in the Academy sitting in the gallery with the statue, drawing and reading.

She told him about its history, about the surprise choice of the young Michelangelo to sculpt it; of the deranged man attacking his toes with a hammer; the continuing battles between Rome and Florence over its ownership.

She pointed at a small replica of the statue on a desk. "So, what do you think - can you maintain a pose like that?"

He looked closely at the miniature statue, the standing pose - relaxed but slightly awkward and shrugged his shoulders, "It doesn't look so difficult". He took off his shirt and noticed her turn away while he slid out his belt and removed his trousers and underwear. And then he was naked in her studio, their slight mutual embarrassment covered by her directing his pose. She gave him a handful of stones and a strip of leather as a sling, then helped to arrange the leather strap across his shoulder and down his back where it curled around his buttock. His right hand curled around the stones and hung loose at his side, and finally she stepped back and was satisfied. "Perfect. Just hold it there."

3

In the art class it had never been a problem, but it was different here: the warmth of the studio, the wine, the proximity of her as she walked around him had all conspired to stir his sleeping penis from its slumber. And he realised too that he had forgotten to masturbate as he normally did before a posing session.

Thinking about masturbation didn't help. He tried his silent art class mantra: 'Margaret Thatcher, Margaret Thatcher, Margaret -' but it was too late. He was swelling and could feel the gravity tugging at his thickening cock and knew that if he looked down he would see it beginning to arc out from his body.

She had noticed too of course, but rather than turning away she came closer, transfixed by the sight of his lengthening cock fattening and uncurling like an awakening creature.

Looking at her as she approached, he saw that she didn't appear at all shocked. Rather, there was a pink tinge to her cheeks and neck, and from this angle he looked right down her substantial cleavage and to the outline of her nipples protruding through the fabric of her blouse. Instinctively, he reached out to her, longing to slide his hand down her neckline, to run his fingers along the curve of her breasts and cup them in his hands. He started to speak but she quietened him with a finger to her lips, and then held her hand up to indicate he should stay just as he was, silent and unmoving.

She slid a hand down to caress and knead her breast, and then down over the folds of her skirt. She ran her hand firmly up between her legs with her eyes closed, savouring the feeling as the afternoon changed in that moment from awkward to sexually charged; where she knew there would be no stopping until they had taken each other, until they had cast aside their restraint and fucked each other until exhausted and satiated.

She unbuttoned and took her blouse off -- a move so unexpected and sudden that it was all he could do to stop himself pulling her to him. She was braless, and her beautiful pale breasts stood proudly out from her chest. The skirt quickly followed the blouse to the floor, and then they were naked together just inches apart but not touching.

4

For her, she was transported back to the Galleria dell'Accademia in Florence, with the warm light through the dome centred on the huge statue of David on its plinth. She was sitting on the bench she had always chosen to the left side, against the wall. The murmuring crowds had faded and she heard the main doors being shut. Lastly the radios and footsteps of the guards had come and gone, and the interior doors were closed and locked behind them.

She had been so still and quiet that no-one had noticed her in the corner of the gallery and now she uncurled herself and stood alone in the great room. It was silent and empty, her footsteps echoing as she circled the plinth, recalling again the erotic charge she had first felt as a young woman seeing the massive form of David as a naked young man.

Her clothes seemed an affront here, an inconsistency. So she shed them and left them in a pile on the floor. And now she found herself naked in the gallery, with this great marble statue sprouting a huge erection. She knew Michelangelo was no stranger to erotic potential of men and smiled at the idea of him seeing his famous work so aroused.

She needed to touch him now. She turned to find a table against the wall that would allow better access, and dragged it to lie at his feet. On the table, she found she was now able to kneel in front of the statue, with the enormous stone cock pointing out at right angles towards her face. She touched her finger to his cool hard thigh and, having broken this barrier, clutched at his legs, burying her face against him, clasping him to her like he was a lost lover returned. She could feel her pussy had become wet, and ran her hand down through her tangled pubic hair and shuddered as she slid a finger across her slippery slit.

She reached out and touched him now, running her fingers over the rock hard cock, painting the smooth curved tip with her wet finger, so that the marble glistened and shone. She took the end in her mouth, tasting and encircling him with her tongue; the stone cool, solid and massive in her mouth. Her hands rose to grip the shaft and she sucked him into her as far as she could. The feel of his solid cock filling her mouth made her moan with pleasure, and sent ripples down to her groin, making her long to feel him inside her aching pussy.

5

She pulled away from the statue, letting his fat cock slide from her mouth trailing a string of saliva. She needed him inside her now, and was almost frantic as she turned on trembling legs and positioned herself on the table on her hands and knees so that her arse was directly in line with his huge sculptured cock.

A small part of her rational brain told her the night security guards could come back at any time, but she was consumed with lust now, and would have continued regardless. A group of English pensioners could have walked into the gallery on an evening tour ("Alfred, can you ask our guide why that young lady has the rampant member of Michelangelo's statue of David aimed straight at her cunny?") and she would have licked her lips and impaled herself on him anyway.

She positioned herself with her arse high in the air, and felt the marble cock press against her buttock. She slid a hand between her legs and took him in her palm, then leant back until the tip of him bumped and probed at her pussy. She rotated her hips so that her slick labia parted around his swollen head and then pushed back against him, and the tip of the big stone cock pressed into her hot opening. It was hard and cool but slick with her saliva. She felt her swollen inner lips parting as he entered her and pushed slowly backwards onto him.

She gasped at the size of him as her cunt was filled with his cock. She stopped for a second, savouring the feeling of completeness then pulled forward and pushed back again, and this time it felt like the statue was pushing back to get deeper inside her.

She bent further forward now; her hands gripped the edge of the table so her arse was higher in the air, changing the angle of his entry. She felt his hard balls slapping her pussy when she rocked backwards, smacking her clit with every thrust. In this position her breasts swung lower too so that her nipples grazed the shiny surface of the table. She glanced down at her engorged nipples, sweat running down between her breasts now. She was transfixed by the sight of the sweat beading and then slipping onto the surface of the table so that now each swing of her breasts left a glaze over the glass.

The rhythm of their fucking took on a relentless edge: she rocked back, his cock slid in; they slapped together; his balls smacked; her breasts swung and nipples slipped. Over and over and over again.

She gasped out and realised she had been holding her breath and biting her lip to keep from crying out. She released a moan and the sound spurred her on further to vocalize her lust. The words came from her Italian friends who had taught her the dirtiest words first:

"Scopami...cazzo...cazzo mi! Fica...scopare la mia figa...Scopare la mia figa...con il cazzo grosso!"

She whispered them first; then emboldened, she spat them out in time with the thrusting cock from behind. Her voice echoed through the gallery and she revelled in the sheer force of her words as she implored him to fuck her harder and faster.

And then her orgasm raced through her, stronger than ever before. She took a great breath in and felt a spasm go through her. Her cunt contracted around his thick stone shaft as she slammed back against his groin taking him into her core.

He came too then, his rock hard cock jerking into her, gushing molten cum deep into her sopping cunt. They pulsed together as he spurted, and she became oblivious to everything else around her. She was incandescent, her eyes tightly closed and mouth open without making a sound, and she felt an explosive white light course through her body.

She wasn't sure how long they had stayed like that, but when she pulled forward his diminishing penis slid out of her with a rude squelch.

Her legs trembled as she lay flat on the table, now sticky with sweat and semen. She lay there for some time, and let her pulse slow and calm and her breathing settle; then she slid down and rolled to her feet on the floor.

She took a tissue from her bag and wiped him clean, then planted a kiss on the head of his now shrunken cock, another on his damaged marble toes. She stepped back then and dressed silently, finally looking up to the statue again to make sure she had wiped away all traces of their passion.

David stood still as ever, gazing out over the gallery. But his pose seemed a little different now; the eyes were softer, the muscles more relaxed, and his lips betrayed the hint of a smile.