Posing

Fred watched her hands flying over the clay: he couldn't see her directly, but had a good view in the mirror. The big pile of clay almost seemed to flow under her touch. It was fascinating, almost magical. Out of the pile appeared a body, his body: pinches and squeezings moved and changed surfaces. When he wasn't watching her hands, he glanced at her breasts, bobbing so nicely within the shiny fabric. Except for the mild discomfort of the pose, he was enjoying himself quite thoroughly, thank you.

Suddenly, after several minutes of effort, Laura grimaced and squashed the whole emerging sculpture down into a shapeless pile. She looked at Fred, smiled, and said "Not unusual... Sometimes you just get a false start and can't bring it back. Here we go again!"

Her gaze at him was intense, flicking rapidly back and forth between his body and the clay. His mind raced, and his muscles twinged. Minutes passed: she studied him. The clay flowed. She grimaced again, re-did something, studied him intently. He studied her right back. Nice butt beneath the skirt: he liked the way her muscles moved. Strong forearms and fingers, probably from all the clay-work. Hair slightly disheveled, she was sweating now. When she turned around for more water to wet the clay working surface, she bent over and her upper calves winked at him. As she turned, he got a glimpse almost all the way up the inside of her thigh, but he couldn't tell if she was wearing underwear: the possibility that she was naked beneath the flimsy outer garment did unwanted things to his cock, and he went back to watching the clay flow. Nice knees, though!

Losing the thought-control he'd been maintaining, he watched her breasts again, imagined them hanging over his mouth, or down into his cupped palm, then nearly panicked as he felt blood surge into his cock. Backed his attention off again and concentrated on what he could see of her technique with the clay. The blood ebbed. Slowly.

Minutes passed, the clay got squashed again, and Laura suggested a short break, instructed him to hold the pose "Loosely", said he could now talk. While he "relaxed", she brought him a big glass of juice, held it for him to drink. To Fred there was something powerfully erotic in that act, but it didn't last.

In moments they were back to work: the pose was complicated, hard for him to get into and to hold. Now he was locked in, and her fingers were flying over the clay. Over the next several minutes, Fred realized that the juice had been a bad idea: now he really had to pee, badly, and he was growing rapidly more desperate. Laura, of course, couldn't know that he was in trouble. Finally, Fred couldn't stand it any more, and whispered through clenched lips "Sorry, but I absolutely have to pee!"

Laura looked up at him, muttered "Damn!" then grinned from ear to ear, said "Hold the pose!" and disappeared from view. Fred silently gritted his teeth. Laura re-appeared in moments with a narrow-necked one-quart glass cruet, walked up to him with it. He eyed her. She stood there for a moment, finally said "Well, I'd hate to have you lose that pose, so how about Nursey Laura helps the poor patient pee into the bottle? Permission to touch again?"

Fred's cock inflated rapidly with that conversation: they could both see the effect. After a brief embarrassed silence, to Laura's quizzical look, Fred managed "Okay, Nursey!"

Laura's left hand stretched out, her warm fingers, all clay-covered, went gently around the shaft. Looking straight at Fred, she murmured "Gee! Such a change! I suppose this is what you call a pee-hardon?"

She placed the half-swollen cock-head into the neck of the bottle, and held the plump shaft properly aligned. Fred let fly: Laura felt the surge of hot pee through the big vein of his cock, thrumming and vibrating against her sensitive fingertips. Her crotch twisted again, harder than before, and she could feel the surge of slickeriness in her crotch-lips.

The heavy stream gurgled and splashed, raising a head of foam on the gathering liquid. The cruet filled, became warm and heavy in her hand. Finally the flow slackened, and his hardon did begin to recede - albeit slowly. One or two final spurts, and Laura looked up at Fred again, asked "Is Fred all through peeing?" and giggled.

Fred nodded slightly.

She released his cock; it hung sideways, against his belly, still over half erect. Her middle finger snaked out suddenly and wiped off the single hanging drop from its tip. Then as Fred's insides churned, she slowly licked the finger, said "Nice! I'll keep this jar: you know, urine, especially male urine, has been used for ages as a good fixative for some pigments! Thanks."

Before he could reply, she was back at her clay, hands flying... but as she walked from him to the tripod, he noticed that the backs of her knees were shiny wet with sweat, and there was a tiny dark streak of dampness in the fabric just at the top of the cleft of her butt. His cock throbbed now, and his will was completely inadequate to the task of keeping real control over JT. In just a few seconds he had a perfectly fine, very strident erection. And his balls actually hurt, he was so thunderingly horny!

Laura looked at him. Among other things, obviously, the erection spoiled the pose, at least for her sculpting purposes. His balls throbbed: her mouth itched; he watched her as she considered the erection and the entire situation. She finally looked at him, started to speak, and then stopped.

Fred eyed her, and said "Sorry about the hardon: I love being touched, and even imagining being touched. And I also like pretty women. So here's the result. I really didn't do this on purpose, you know - JT always has had a mind of his own!" He paused: "What were you going to say?"

Laura started, stopped, then started again. "You know, Fred, this whole business of sculpture is tactile. I got into it because I have a blind younger sister, and she "sees" with her hands and fingers. She's had to substitute touch for sight. And as we grew up together, I learned a lot of that, too. I helped her learn to see with her fingers. We were always together, and we'd spend a lot of time studying things, peoples' faces, animals, trees, anything at all, with our hands. I'd close my eyes and join in with her all the time. So I am REALLY touch oriented..." she paused. Fred waited. "Fred, I like to touch the objects I'm sculpting. Somehow I can't get the shapes and textures just right if I don't do that. It's sort of like my brain can make a template of a shape, from touch, and use it to drive my hands on the clay."

Fred nodded, replied "I've never known a blind person very well, but that certainly sounds reasonable. I know that each sense can be trained and hyper-sensitized to compensate for the loss of other senses, so that doesn't surprise me. It sounds like quite an amazing gift you've given yourself. Or that your sister gave to you!" He paused: this all seemed pretty much off-point, although interesting. How did it pertain, if at all, to this hardon problem?

He had a thought. "So? Does that mean you want to touch ME, so that you can use that sense?"

Laura nodded, murmuring "Yes, right. That is, if it's okay with you! It would really help a lot. And, thanks for telling me you think I'm pretty. But we're here to do some sculpture, and that cock of yours... well, jeez, it reacts like you're a horny sixteen-year-old! I didn't think men our age were supposed to do that! I guess we're just going to have to work around it, aren't we?"

Fred nodded, the tiny motion making his cock-tip wave about. He shrugged: "Okay by me. Touch permission granted. Again! Anything for art, I suppose." He grinned at her, without moving: "Want me to hold the pose while you touch?"

Infinitely relieved, Laura smiled back, and nodded, then said "Fred, I'd like to combine touch and sight. There's an old technique to bring out muscle definition much more plainly, dates back to the Greeks: coating the body with olive oil. If it's okay with you, I'd like to combine that with the touch, so as to get the best of both senses." Fred had started slightly at the suggestion. Laura felt worried: hoped she hadn't pushed too far too fast. "Besides," she kept on, "I don't think that a touch-oriented person will object to being coated with warm olive oil... And I DO have a good shower you can use later!"

Fred sighed inwardly, worried most of all about his wayward cock. It showed no signs whatever of deflation, and inside his head, since he was trapped into having a hardon, he was letting his imagination run wild: Laura had no idea how thoroughly she'd been fucked, mentally, in the last several minutes! Fred thought to himself that this was going to be interesting... so he relaxed into the situation and said "OKAY by me. I suspect I'll even like it! Permission granted. Do your worst!"

She left him alone briefly: he heard a door, then the buzz of a microwave. She returned with a shallow bowl half-full of golden-green oil, set it on the nearby table, looked down at Fred's still-swollen, fully erect cock. It stood up free of his belly, bobbing slightly with his breathing and his pulse combined. After studying it for many long seconds, she looked up into the mirror and locked eyes with him. He looked worried: she smiled faintly, and kept looking right at him. "Well!" she said, "...it certainly is a beautiful cock you have. Nicely formed, and nicely curved in just the right direction. That's a beautiful erection, too. It would do a teenager proud, in fact. So I'm personally very flattered, Fred... assuming - I hope accurately - that I had something to do with this?"

Fred simply nodded at the question: she most certainly did!

Laura continued: "Now then, however nice this hardon of yours may be, and it really is QUITE the nice item, you know... well, it is NOT in the plans I have for my sculptures! I don't suppose you can simply think it away, can you?"

Fred shook his head slightly, and Laura whispered fiercely at him "Hold the pose, dammit!" Fred did so.

With a wry expression, Laura said "No, I didn't think so. And I don't suppose it's going away by itself, of its own free will, either... Is it? At least, not soon?"

Fred said nothing, kept his eyes locked on hers in the mirror, shook his head 'no'. Laura moved from his side to stand in front of him, almost touching the inside of his left calf. "You can speak, just don't move!"

Fred uttered one syllable "Nope."

"I suppose, then," she said, "that it is going to be up to me to do something about it if I want to continue the sculpture session? Don't you suppose the same thing? I mean, we wouldn't want you to lose that beautiful pose, would we?"

Fred made no sound, but he could feel the throb in his cock getting heavier by the moment. His brain was mush, overloaded on testosterone and horniness and the sight of Laura's now obviously erect nipples rubbing within her blouse.

She reached out and hefted bowl of warm olive oil. "I think I might be able to salvage the session, Fred, with a little cooperation from you. Is my permission to touch still active?"

He nodded, just barely perceptibly.

She smiled. "Good! Now hold the pose, darn it, we're only half-way through the first of several pieces!"

She knelt beside him on the platform: her hand went into the oil, emerged dripping. She made a loose fist, held it above the bouncing tip of Fred's cock, almost but not quite touching it. She looked him straight in the face. "If I'm going to oil your whole body..."

Here, Fred's insides curdled and his mushy brain took careful notes, considering what that would feel like, and practically sitting up and begging for the touch! "Well, then, I have to start somewhere. Why not here?" She paused for quite a few seconds, watching his cock-tip move to his heartbeat. Then she continued, "Every man has a name for his cock... So what's this one's name? You can speak, briefly."

Fred breathed deeply, and said only "JT. Stands for John Thomas."

Laura smiled, and replied "How nice! A literary name... straight out of Lady Chatterley!" Holding her eyes on Fred's, she murmured "Hello JT!" as she dropped her hand.

JT's tip settled nicely into the tiny cup made by her little finger at the bottom of her fist. She pushed down, found herself thinking damn but it was a serious, hard erection! She finally admitted openly to herself just how turned on she was: a tickle at the back of her mind even suggested she might be so wet it would soak through her skirt. Just too damn bad! Very slowly, her fist began to force JT up inside itself, agonizingly slowly. She felt his belly tighten and his breathing pause for a relief-yielding thrust up into her hand.

She stopped him with "No moving! Hold the pose! I'll be doing all the moving for us both until further notice. Clear?"

Laura loved the look of near-agony on Fred's face as he did her bidding. She had an enormous feeling of power, and enjoyed every second of it. After a full minute, her hand had slid only halfway down his cock, the oil from her fist drizzling in green-yellow rivulets down its sides, over his taut balls.

Fred's senses were on full overload. The heel of her hand flattened out against his pubes, and ever so slowly she rotated it candy-cane fashion as she brought it back up, covering the tip, feeling the heavy muscle slither within its cat-neck-loose skin.

Fred was straining mightily by now, aching for release: he'd never in his entire life done anything sexual so deliciously, so agonizingly slowly, so exquisitely, painfully sensual. He only knew, through the sensations flooding his brain, that he needed something more to reach his pinnacle, maybe just one fast stroke, hell, almost anything.

But Laura did not provide the needed stimulus - at least, not yet. She continued for several more strokes, spread over nearly five minutes, with her strong fingers clamped tightly around JT, holding just a razor's-edge away from causing pain. She watched Fred's chest flush red, watched his balls tighten, throb, tighten yet more. His eyes closed but his head didn't move. He was GOOD! she thought. He was stretched as thin as a soap bubble just before it bursts: she knew precisely, because that was the feeling she carried around inside her own body for the minutes just before she climaxed. Which was every time she did a long, slow session with her own pussy, with Pussy "Juicy Lucy", her cunt's secret pet name.

Her other hand dipped into the oil now, and her middle finger touched the base of Fred's cock on the underside, atop his balls. He twitched heavily, but his eyes stayed shut. The fingertip slid down his midline, over his balls, and across his anus. He quivered, and Laura decided to take a chance. One could never tell just how a straight man might respond to his ass being touched: most were really up-tight about it, but she didn't get a sense of that from Fred.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her oiled finger pressed against his anus, and gently slipped inside. He groaned aloud, but didn't move, not a flicker. Deeper into his rectum went the finger, into the hot greased-velvet depths, sending all sorts of wonderful sensations to her brain, where they bounced immediately to her crotch and seemed to vibrate on the inner surface of her clit. As her finger went all the way in, she began to rotate and move it ever so slowly, in perfect time with her long, slightly faster strokes up and down his shaft.

Her own juices were dripping down the inside of her thighs now, but she kept her eyes locked on Fred's face. His breathing stopped and his chest flushed all-over red, brighter than she'd ever seen a man go before. She knew before he did that he was coming, and she curled her finger hard against the nut of his prostate, pressed hard on it to trigger him, felt the lurch of the first spasm deep in his insides, his butt clamping down hard on her finger just before the first blast of come went shooting through his vein, under her fingertips, and out into freedom.

She watched: her senses were hyper-acute, everything seemed to be in slow motion: a glittering streak of come emerged from his cock-eye, arced up and away, to land on his belly. It actually splattered. Fred's eyes were still closed as he continued to come. Laura squeezed her thighs together, hard, and wiggled her legs against one another, instantly engulfing her belly with the fire of an intense, brief climax. Through it all her eyes stayed open and watching: Fred's own eyes never opened. She doubted he could feel her shudders through his own. At least, she hoped he couldn't. The thought occurred to her "Now, I wonder WHY I feel that way? Seems sort of silly!" She got no answer.

Another pulse of come, and another, and Fred gasped a long-drawn intake of breath and followed it with yet another full shot, each on a shorter lower arc, each landing closer to his cock. Seven clear, countable pulses. Laura was impressed. Finally, his breathing resumed something like normalcy, and his eyes slowly opened. Laura looked at him and smiled knowingly to herself. Then, still holding on to his oily but deflating cock, she extracted her finger slowly, lovingly from deep within his ass, and said "So, do you suppose we could get back to work now?"

Fred sighed slightly, and nodded. Laura's hand unwrapped itself from his cock, maybe just a little bit reluctantly he thought (he HOPED so!). "What a spectacular, beautiful orgasm!" he thought, grinning secretly to himself and wondering if, perhaps, someday somehow he might get to return the favor. He hadn't noticed Laura's climax at all. Her personal secret.

She ignored the come slowly dribbling sideways down his belly, picked up the big dish of oil, and began to coat his body with it. He relaxed a little, partly into the afterglow of his orgasm, partly into the new sensations of examining fingers and palms and warm, good-smelling olive oil. Very nice indeed, almost a massage - she really did have strong hands.

His cock was still slightly inflated, but nothing near erect. Her hands dipped into the oil, slowly coated him with it, starting at the feet. Fingertips spread oil across his insteps, then slid through the spaces between his toes. Normally he was exquisitely ticklish, and this would have driven him crazy: now, somehow, he got totally different sensations. Comfortable, close, friendly. Over his calves, more oil, the backs of his knees, fingertips tracing the joints and the contours of his muscles. He concentrated, tightening and loosening muscles and tendons as Laura's hands moved over him.

He noticed in the mirror that her eyes were gently closed: she was being a blind person, he figured. Flat palms gliding oil-dripping over the big planes of his thighs, then up over his hips and back, shoulders, spearing gently into his underarms and waving his pit-hair about, then more oil, down over his belly, scooping up his come and mixing it, smearing the mixture about, nearly his whole body coated, glistening at him in the mirror. He watched: he liked what he saw as much as what he was feeling.

Her hands ran across his suddenly, unexpectedly hard nipples, twiddling the few hairs on his chest, then back around his waist to his buttocks, long slow careful oily fingerslidings cupping his buttocks, riding down his butt-crack and over his recently-invaded butthole, then around the front again, more oil, and just fingertips, all ten at once, tracing the outlines and memorizing the details of his cock and balls and inner thighs and navel.

In moments, he was fully erect again. Although he enjoyed it immensely, he worried that this resurgence would spoil the rest of the day, and probably the whole model/artist relationship. Why couldn't a man's cock be under conscious control, he wondered? It would sure help, sometimes!