Enticingly Unnaked


"George," I said. "It's early in the party. Let's wait for—"

"Come into the water with me."


"Come into the water with me."

He turned me toward the ocean and held me close to him as we walked down the beach and into the water. We waded out to where the water was chest high and then we kissed and stroked each other's cocks until we were both erect. Then George moved me in front of him, both of us facing the house, crouched down, and pulled me onto his lap. His bulb was pushing into me. I hadn't really been prepared for it.

"Uh, George. Some time, please. Take it easy."

He was gripping my waist and pushing me down on the cock. He was in a good three inches and I was gasping and groaning, still trying to open to him.

"Easy there . . . Fuck! Oh, shit!"

He had thrust his hips up smartly, pushing a couple of more inches up into my channel.

"God! Oh, shit. Oh, Fuck!"

He was slamming me up and down on the cock with his grip on my waist and laughing. "Good to get right to it," he said. "You love it. This is the way you were meant to be fucked."

He was fully saddled now, and although I was whimpering and panting, I was taking him. I lifted my arms up and locked my fists behind his neck and he ran his hands down my legs, grabbed my calves, and lifted and spread the legs wide, bringing my toes out of the water. His cock sank in deeper by an inch or two and he stroked me deep.

I was going with him now. Yes, loving it now. I was happiest with a man's cock—a man's monster cock—deep inside me. George wasn't wrong there.

As he plowed me from below and behind, my gaze went up to the house. A figure was standing on the second-floor balcony where I once had stood. He was dressed in shorts and a cut-off T-shirt, showing an expanse of flat belly, with a trail of dark hair descending to the low-rise waistband of the shorts. I could tell it was Chad Simmons. He was drinking a beer and looking down at the party. I didn't think he could see George and me out in the water, and even if he could, he probably couldn't tell either that it was us or what we were doing. Well, he probably could pretty easily guess what we were doing.

George kissed me on the ear and whispered. "It's good for you." he was continuing to slam his dick up instead me burying it as deep as he could with each thrust.

"Yes, it's good for me," I admitted. It wasn't Chad Simmons, but it was good for me.

"You gonna come for me soon?"

"Just about now," I answered in a jerky voice. And then I did. George laughed and kept fucking to his own ejaculation, the waves carrying the stringy cum of both of us away.

We waded back toward the beach, and, as we reached the beach, the two horse-hung black studs approached us. I looked up at the balcony, but Chad was gone.

"He's all yours," George said to the two guys. "He likes it rough."

"George!" I said, but the two were already leading me toward a pocket of hidden sand in the rock formations, where, after they did pushups in the sand over my prone body while face-fucking me, one after the other, they fucked me in the ass in succession—not together, thank god—the first standing behind me and me reaching for my ankles and the second doggy style, with me on all fours on the sand. They were both thicker and longer than George—and rougher—and I thoroughly enjoyed the fuck, although I didn't tell either one of them that.

For the next hour, exhausted, I found a towel and laid out on the sand—on my belly, to minimize the approaches. Still I couldn't go to sleep because the offers did come rather frequently, and I dared not go to sleep anyway because I was sure that being asleep wouldn't stop any of these guys from sticking a cock up my ass.

When I was afraid that I'd get burned if I stayed out any longer, I rose, brushed as much sand off me as I could—fending off a few offers to brush it off for me—showered under the outside showerhead at the door up to the back porch, and dried myself off. I went upstairs and into the study and retrieved my clothes.

I had pulled the jock strap on, the sweat pants up, and the torn athletic shirt down over my chest and was looking down at the flap in the athletic shirt and fingering my nipple, thinking that the nipple ring might have come out, when I heard the deep-throated growl.

"God, Jason. Take your hand away. Let me see that." Chad walked over to me from the doorway into the bedroom and reached out and touched my nipple with a couple of fingers. I could feel him trembling. He took the nipple ring between his thumb and forefinger and tugged a bit. I heard him catch his breath. Our eyes met, our faces moved toward each other, and we were kissing. Deep kissing. He pulled my body into his and I felt him hard. I was hard too. I was sure he could feel it.

Coming out of the kiss, I whispered in a whimpering, pleading voice, "Fuck me, Professor. Oh, god, I want you to fuck me."

He leaned down and took my exposed nipple in his mouth and sucked on it. I lifted a leg, hooking it on his hip, trying to rub our cocks together as closely as possible.

He lifted his lips off the nipple and growled, "You want it? You really want it?"

"Yes, fuck, yes. I've wanted it ever since I saw you."

He picked me up in his arms and carried me into the bedroom, slamming one side of the doors between the rooms shut with his feet. He laid me down on the foot of the bed and then went back and quickly closed and locked those doors and then the door to the hallway. He returned quickly to me and crouched over me and kissed me on the lips. His mouth went to my exposed nipple again and a hand pushed under my waistband and the mesh of my jock pouch and fisted my cock. I moved my hands down to push my sweats off my hips, but he brushed my hands away. He did the same when I gathered up the hem of his cut-off T-shirt and went to pull it over his head.

For some reason he wanted us to remain clothed—at least until he did the undressing, I assumed.

I heard and felt the rip as he tore the flap of material across my chest enough to expose the other nipple and attacked it with his mouth and teeth. I arched my back and moaned. My hands slid below the waistband of his shorts, careful now not to try to push them down, and I grabbed his buttocks in my hand and kneaded them while he devoured my nipples and made little growling sounds deep in his throat.

After several minutes of this, he knelt down between my legs as he spread them and his mouth went down my body, over the material of the athletic shirt, and he pulled the sweats down—but only down to below my hips, exposing the mesh of the jock strap pouch. He sucked me off through the mesh of the pouch, relentlessly, not satisfied until I had come inside the pouch. While he sucked, his hands slid up my torso under the hem of the athletic shirt and he rubbed and squeezed my nipples.

After I'd come, he turned me and told me, in a hoarse voice to kneel on the foot of the bed, and, when I'd done so, my chest resting on the surface of the bed, I heard the tearing of material, where he split my sweats apart along my butt crack. His palms went into the slit, which he tore apart more, exposing my buttocks, and he pushed my butt cheeks apart. I felt his mouth and tongue go to my hole. He kneaded my buttocks with his hands, and his mouth briefly left my hole while he licked and kissed and gently bit my cheeks and I writhed under his attention. Then his mouth went to eating my ass out in earnest.

"Fuck me, fuck me," I whimpered.

"Yes," he answered in a breathy voice, continuing to work my ass. I continued imploring him to fuck me.

At length he stood and picked me up, carrying me in front of him and turning me away from the bed and over to a small ottoman. I went down on my belly there, my torso spilling over the far edge, my cheek on the floor, my arms extending out on the floor, my hands gripping at the pile of the carpeting, while he held my legs out at the sides and slipped his cock—proving to be a very, very long cock—through the slit in the seat of the sweats and into my channel. He had worked me so open that he slid right in.

He fucked me hard, deep, and fast to his ejaculation, both of us fully clothed, just his cock extending through his unzipped fly.

He swung into a second fucking almost directly from the first, with little pause. Certainly with no time out to undress. He took me on the bed the second time, me on my belly and him saddled on my hips and fucking me more languidly than the first time.

We heard the noise of the party breaking up, of guys going into the study on the other side of the locked doors to get their clothes. I was trying to be quiet, but he was fucking me so deep and well that I couldn't avoid moaning and groaning. Chad reached over and turned the music on on the clock radio on his nightstand—and fucked on.

The party was pretty much finished and twilight was approaching outside the French doors to the balcony before Chad was done—at least for a while. Both of us were exhausted, and he just lay, stretched out on top of me and kissing my neck and my ears. Sticking his tongue in my ear and whispering to me what a good fuck I was.

"Why, Chad?" I whispered. "I don't understand."

"You don't understand what?"

"Why now? You could have done this weeks ago. I wanted you to. You didn't know I was gay and that I wanted you?"

"I figured you were gay, yes, but I didn't know—"

"I flaunted myself to get your attention. I did everything I could to be naked in front of you and to take on poses that would make you want to fuck me."

I heard a low laugh.

"What? What's funny?"

"I wasn't looking at you in a sexual way when you were naked. Painting nudity is my art. It doesn't turn me on. If it did, I couldn't paint."

"But then—"

"Seeing you partially clothed—your nipple in that torn T-shirt. You fiddling with that nipple ring. That's what aroused me. I knew your body was beautiful before. But it's the mystery of the body—the glimpses of sexy parts of the body in the gaps of clothing—that arouses me. When I saw you touch your nipple through that slit in your shirt—I had to have you."

"Ah," I murmured. And yes, ah, I thought. The Japanese wood block prints on the wall. The male Shunga studies. This was his décor after all. I should have figured it out when I saw them. The arousal of those is in the facile expressions and the bits seen and felt in the gaps of the clothing as the men fuck.

He was rolling off me, turning me over on my back, crouching below me, spreading and raising my legs, entering me again through the slit in the sweats. I cried out at the penetration, sure now that we were alone in the house and not holding back in my responses to him. He dug deep with that long, long cock of his and then held there. He leaned down to me and took my exposed nipple in his mouth, rolling the silver nipple ring around with his teeth and tugging gently on it. Then he paid attention to the other nipple too. I couldn't wait for him to find out that I had a silver ring embedded under my balls, in my perineum, too. I had worn none of this body ware when I was modeling for his classes. I knew now this was part of the key to him. When he'd seen the nipple ring, framed by the material of the T-shirt, it was an unexpected surprise to him and his libido instantly jumped into gear.

He set my feet on the surface of the bed, my knees bent, his pelvis still between my spread thighs, his cock throbbing deep inside me, and ran his hand up my calves, past my shins, over my knees, exposing the knees of both legs. Taking each leg in turn, he kissed and gently bit my toes, my feet, my calves, and my knees, while I lay there trembling and shuddering and begging him to renew stroking me with his cock. As if he only then had heard me, he grasped my now-bare knees with his hands and began to stroke inside me, moving my bent legs back and forth with the hands working my knees like he was rowing a boat—maintaining the quickening rhythm of the stroking of his cock inside me. I came in a flood that added stickiness to the inside of my jock strap pouch.

Chad pulled out of me and went down on his knees, sucked the cum out of my pouch, and mouthed and teethed my cock through the mesh of the pouch. Then he was back up on top of me, sliding his shaft inside of me again and his mouth going to mine in a cum-sharing kiss.

I ran my hands up under the hem of his cut-off T, not trying to pull it off him now, but exploring his pecs and his nipples under the material, able to understand how sexy that was just to feel them without seeing them. One of my hands went down to the root of his cock, stroking the material of his parted fly while I fingered where the root of the shaft, most of it inside me, met silky, curly hair. I move my hand lower, cupped his balls, my hand buried inside his fly, and squeezed. He groaned and began stroking inside me again. I laced his balls tightly in my fingers and pulled the balls out of his fly, extending them, pulling them tight, and squeezing them. With a jerk and a groan he ejaculated inside me.

I reached for his hand and pushed it under the waistband of my sweats, moving it down below my balls, showing him, by the discovery of touch, the other ring down there. He shuddered and fingered the ring . . . and hardened again and resumed stroking inside me.

In the darkness, later, as we lay in an embrace, still clothed, although in dishabille and now with his cock no longer in me, exposed to the air, standing up straight from his body as I stroked and squeezed it, he murmured. "It's too late for you to go home. You'll have to spend the night."

"I have nothing to wear."

"I have a silk robe I'd love for you to wear while I fuck you."

"Well, OK. If . . ."

"If what?" he asked.

"If tomorrow we go shopping in second-hand clothing stores where we can get clothes for me that turn you on and that are disposable. I can't afford to have any more of my own clothes torn up."

He laughed and I rolled over on top of him, nuzzling my head under the hem of his cut-off T; reaching for one of his nipples, buried in a nest of curly black hair; and, finding it, suckling on it. He didn't seem to object to that much exposure of his flesh but just lay there, humming deep in his throat. My fingers went to the other nipple, not wanting it to feel left out, then my mouth took possession of the nipples, one after another. I worked my tongue to the matting between his pecs and then tongued his silky, curly black hair down his sternum, over his belly, and into his pubes. Licking up one side of his once-again-erect cock and down the other, I moved down to lick the balls that protruded from his open fly, swallowed them, and sucked.

With a roar, Chad lifted me and set me on his hips for the long slide of my channel down his shaft. I rode him, there in the dark, my hands inside his T-shirt, palms on his pecs, to what was, finally, a gloriously shared ejaculation, both of us, at least to some extent, still clothed. My cock had never left the jock pouch, but still I felt fully satiated.

And so much for that, I thought—so much for any need I might have for Nude Day.

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