The Love Model Sessions Pt. 03

1.

A fastidious hand brushed fussily across the blank white paper sheet. Fine shavings of wood and lead skittered to the edge of the levelled sketching table beneath, overlooking the bare old wooden floor beneath. With a faint breath inward and a well-aimed blow outward, it all went tumbling into blinding Sunday oblivion.

The waste-paper basket's placement at Carrie Sledge's opposite foot dutifully stood forgotten, so happy was she with the hack job performed on the points of her pencils. Carefully she retracted the blade of her craft knife and set it down on the crowded table beside her, where a hot cup of sugary tea steamed away in the intense afternoon sunlight.

She tilted the drawing board of her sketching table next, drew it close to her and hitched up her croc-clad feet on the support beam to secure it, even though it didn't have wheels on which to run away.

Fingers smudged a dirty grey with lead residue, she drew in another breath, eyes focused on the white nothingness of the A3 sheet of drawing paper, and for a long time she stared blankly.

Where to begin? Like an empty-headed writer before the opening hook, eyes were sharp in focus, brows knitted into a frown of concentration, and without thinking she reached to a small carton stood next to her tea on the table, and the cigarette lighter beside it.

Smoke soon escaped her lips and into the stunningly sunlit living room, dancing through the diminished shadows in plumes. An uncommon and guilty pleasure, a cultural remnant of artists past who fuelled their arduous creative journeys with all manner of stimulants, tobacco once as innocent and essential a thing to grownups as chocolate.

She relaxed, her shoulders stooped, she turned to her laptop, which sat now on her swivelling leather office chair, hooked up to the wall-mounted flatscreen TV. Leaving her seat she knelt before the laptop sat in the other chair and crawled, like Alice, into the rabbit hole.

This particular rabbit hole was her newly updated photo gallery, filled with such provocative sights. She skimmed and she skimmed through photo after photo, and it was like piling naked flesh upon flesh. So much naked flesh.

Conclusively she stopped on one picture which suited her mood without question. On the big screen the scene intimidated her for reasons that did not include, nor threatened, her artistic ability. She stood up straight before the television screen, rose to its inviting occasion, and considered its essence - considered the reason for her contained emotional response.

On her memory stick she now had years of material to draw inspiration from. If she wanted to spend years drawing inspiration from Jean-Luc and Arthur's sessions thus far, she could have. But something beyond the camera's eye - the reality and the emotional response to it - threatened to suck her in deep.

But threatening was not the true word. Temptation, seduction, the promise of a pure and primordial gratification of the Carrie Sledge behind the mask, the identity, the personality.

This had gone beyond the typical understanding of professionalism, certainly. But in her heart and mind it had also gone beyond the need for it. Nobody or nothing else to worry about, just the three of them in a free phase of artistic and emotional experimentation.

Arthur and Jean-Luc had become more than just models in the pursuit of a nude portrait. More than performers, associates, friends, and whatever they were by this point. They seemed to have it in them to become lovers, whether or not they were living vicariously through their rudimentary characters.

And judging by their chemistry on-screen, they would ideally be comfortable as lovers come the next and final session, removing any final barriers between them without, in hindsight, one day deciding that it had been something to regret or feel ashamed of.

That was it! Carrie smiled on the inside as she glared with almost lascivious intent. What appeared before her carried convincingly the essence of love, and her response, and therefore the response she would seek, was the primal response.

The physical and emotional compulsion to consumate. The undeniable sexual urge to bond in the physical sense and beyond. Carrie Sledge sought the rapture. Her own urges said so as contemplation now surged like a river through her thoughts.

And really, where was the line crossed from art to all else? Was there a line when art expressed the human response to all else in the human experience?

The mind, the greatest and most powerful erogenous zone, the conscious avatar connecting spirit to living organism, and the divining rod with which we traversed reality, logic, and emotion as though they are land, sea, and air, knew its way no matter how lost or aimless.

Carrie Sledge didn't know exactly why she did the following, but with eyes glued to the screen of that television - where Jean-Luc straddled Arthur and pinned him down into the cushions by his wrists, lips locked - she hitched up the hem of her dress, slid the black lace knickers she wore that day down her pale slender thighs, and simply stepped out of them.

From there she returned to her drawing board, feeling bare, exposed, and delightfully chilled by the promise of winter's close residence. And as she began to draw her thoughts and her focus relayed between what her eyes saw on that screen and what was being said between her body and her impulses.

2.

All around groaned and creaked heating pipes and wall-mounted radiators as the apartment's central heating system flooded with boiling steam. Mutually they opted for open blinds. Let the light in. Let the sun see. Be loyal to the essence of the source material that they had come to honour.

Arthur shivered as he crossed the threshold with Jean-Luc into the blindingly lit bedroom, but not because it was so cold. It wasn't. The power of the sun passed through the glass with such intensity that its rays landed on his body like a spotlight by contrast of the faint chill of the room - soon to be extinguished as the radiators quickly altered the temperature.

They turned to each other, knowing, for a mutually decided moment was now coming to fruition, and regarded each other with a silent commitment to taking their tendencies into a new realm. However that should work, now it was just the two of them alone, together, free to explore, without referee. That fact hung heavy in the air, and gladly.

Arthur started, taking the initiative, though his fingers toyed for time as they reached for the waistline of his pants, and then came to grips with the leather belt that held up his jeans.

"Let me," insisted Jean-Luc, who took over, confidently unbuckling Arthur's belt. With a firm but deliberate slowness Jean-Luc kept eye-contact, conscious of his appeal and effect on the man before him, popped the top button, pinched the puller between index finger and thumb, and began to slide enticingly downward.

Arthur, who had spent now roughly four paid hours naked with this man in the studio of Carrie Sledge, was suddenly more affected in mind by the subtlety of the minor act. Next his snug jeans were being peeled from his muscular well-rounded thighs.

Arthur helpfully popped off his shoes and tugged the socks from his heels with his toes, lifted a knee to allow Jean-Luc to slide a pant-leg off one at a time, and otherwise for the time being held his silence.

Within him a seed of anticipation grew and bloomed, and he considered what Jean-Luc truly had in mind by suggesting they get together in private to work on their form. He was eager to find out.

Stood in just his shirt and briefs now, Arthur took his turn in their game and had off Jean-Luc's shirt first, and proceeded to undress him the opposite way, top to bottom. When he got to the pants he gently pushed Jean-Luc to the bed in a sitting position, slipped off his shoes and socks, and then pinching the cuffs of both pant legs he slid the jeans right off his fellow model with a cheshire cat smile.

When all was said and done in the act of undressing one another they again stood toe to toe in nothing but their briefs, fixed to the spot by each other's expectant gazes. The invisible pull between them was so much shorter now. But a promise was a promise, no matter how threadbare.

To make this as deliberately difficult to oblige, though deliciously, his body's and Arthur's now touched, and so did the growing bulges between them, stretching elasticated cotton and the will to defy temptation. Without Carrie's adult supervision, this could turn into one very happy incident.

Jean-Luc's fingers landed first on Arthur's bare waist and relished the ability to do so without it being work. Arthur too relished the touch, feeling desired for it. Trailing downward an inch, Jean-Luc's fingertips came to rest on the waistband of Arthur's snug briefs and, for the time being, held their place.

"I think we should set some ground rules," he started.

3.

"We need rules?" asked Arthur. Jean-Luc's fingers playfully tugged at the supple skin of his sides.

"I think like you said we should wait to date until after the job is done," he suggested. Arthur could argue, but didn't want to. The intention was pure, but evidently becoming no stronger than the intensifying magnetism between them.

And didn't Jean-Luc himself hint that what had occurred over Korean noodles less than an hour ago was in fact a date in itself? Not so certainly, though strongly imagined, Arthur supposed that Jean-Luc was sending mixed messages simply to tease him.

And Jean-Luc's hands remained settled on Arthur's hips, playing with the elastic of his waistband, whether deliberately or unconsciously. Arthur's hands came alive finally, and filled themselves first with the feel of Jean-Luc's arms, and then his brief clad hips.

"You do trust me, right?" Arthur asked playfully. Jean-Luc held his gaze confidently.

"Maybe it's me that can't be trusted," he replied.

Evident. "Takes two to tango!"

With a teasing buck of his hips, Jean-Luc pressed his growing bulge into Arthur's and felt his heat and growing hardness. How much of a tease did a man have to be at this point?

"It also takes a man to know one," he remarked, suppressing a grin. "Okay, so... rule number one..."

Arthur, reinforcing what he couldn't disagree with, then reached around Jean-Luc's waist, stroked his butt. There came no resistance. Jean-Luc hitched a shallow breath, steeling himself not because of their tighter proximity but because of his waning resistance.

Playfully Arthur's hands, one moment caressing, and then coaxing, pulled him in closer. Jean-Luc gasped then, the air pressed from his lungs and not unpleasantly, as their growing physical excitement clashed, responded, probed.

From any man attempting to blindly establish his dominance on Jean-Luc, it would have had no effect other than offence, and no conclusion other than failure. In Arthur's presence, and in his embrace, he liked this game. It had a seductive effect on him, though he endured the reflex to betray that fact.

Their bodies relaxing together, all wrapped up pleasantly, a paradox of sensations and feelings washed over Jean-Luc. Arthur's phsyical act, a soft and unthreatening action bolstered the mutual arousal developing in both of them.

The effect was a hardness that contrasted the yielding of all other flesh. Meanwhile emotions and motivations light and mischievous skated with abandon on thin ice. Fearless but with a growing trepidation as of yet unsung.

Arthur asked, "cat got your tongue?" his firm hands full.

Arousal pushing harder, feelings growing, magnetism was magically pulling. Jean-Luc's hands, hidden from sight, clapped down hard on muscle and fatty tissue, though with that one strip of clothing remaining to soak up the sting. Arthur jolted, laughed.

"I'll catch your tongue if you carry on interrupting me," Jean-Luc mock-scolded, confident that he held just as much power in all of this.

"So, rule one?" Arthur asked, releasing Jean-Luc just enough to allow buffering between their duelling delight. It didn't make the moment any less erotic between them. Now like two magnets of identical poles, they bobbed and pushed with deceptive resistance.

Rule one. Actually no. Maybe rules would not do after all, at least not in the classic sense. "Actually maybe you'll respond better to dares instead of rules," Jean-Luc fancied.

"I'm all ears," said Arthur, patting Jean-Luc's buttocks.

"Those feel more like hands," Jean-Luc shot back.

"I'm still mostly ears," Arhur assured.

"You're something else," Jean-Luc chuckled, shifting his own pointed crotch against Arthur's to make another point entirely.

"Ha!" laughed Arthur. And 'Smack!' went Jean-Luc's hands on his bottom again, putting a stop to it, temporarily.

"Dare one," says Jean-Luc. "No overt sexual acts."

Arthur, allegedly mostly ears, didn't even seem to register. "I'll try."

"How about you just follow my lead?"

"Okay, so what's dare two?" asked Arthur. He waited. Jean-Luc held his gaze but said nothing. Not until he leaned in close, eyes glassy and vivid in the stunning sunlight, held his gaze longer, and then said-

"You know what, let's decide that later..."

It sounded almost promising to Arthur's ears. "Okay," he agreed bashfully, cheeks reddening. He grew noticeably harder also. Swallowed a lump in his throat. "And, umm... what about kissing?" he pressed - vocally and practically.

"Hmmm..."

"Hmmm?"

"Like I said, just follow my lead," Jean-Luc maintained, now slipping Arthur's briefs too easily from his hips. The pull, the invisible pull, turned into a primal hunger when Arthur spilled out of the confines of that snug stretchy cotton and into the open air.

And in the act of taking Jean-Luc out of his underwear Arthur pulled his body near once again. Near enough that his swelling organ stroked up against Jean-Luc's smooth navel, and that Jean-Luc's own growing tumescence parried back most friendly.

Dare number two...

4.

Jean-Luc led Arthur onto the bed. They knelt opposite each other in the middle of the mattress, knees deliberately touching, and not the only thing deliberately touching. The first pose Jean-Luc had in mind was a tandem variation - hands linked, leaning back and suspended by each other's bodyweight.

Due to their lower proximity they stood throbbing side by side at the waist. Jean-Luc's beautiful uncircumcised manhood jutted out at over six and a half inches. Arthur's, complimentary to his stature, overall had nearly a full inch on him and it prodded him playfully in the abdomen as a result of his torso thrusting away and his pelvis thrusting inward.

That and the simplest action of their fingers hooked together while they flirtatiously regarded each other in silence made for a sense of eroticism that felt different to the other times they spent under the guidance of Carrie Sledge.

Just as well that Jean-Luc's hands were already pre-occupied, so he thought. Leaning away from the virile living statue before him put Arthur's impressive phallus not directly under his nose but virtually directly in his line of sight.

Jean-Luc, one moment transfixed by Arthur on the whole, bodies in silent communication, found himself staring, almost drooling. His hands would not remain free for long if he failed to control himself.

"Looking good, so nice," Jean-Luc approved, snapping out of his reverie.

"Not so bad yourself," Arthur reciprocated.

Jean-Luc's fingers now entwined and interlocked with Arthurs. How to bring us closer, he thought, without bluntly stabbing each other through the gut?

He hadn't considered that. He hadn't considered both of them developing erections to this extreme, for this long. He expected the excitement would have passed by now, at least temporarily. Instead now Arthur was beginning to leak. That heady masculine scent, again...

"Hold on," Jean-Luc uttered, wracking his brain. The answer lay, naturally, in making matters worse - or better, depending on your point of view.

Jean-Luc tucked in his hips briefly, effectively withdrawing his tackle. As he did the thick flesh of his shaft dragged enticingly along Arthur's, causing him to flinch.

And he drew back until their heads were aligned, seeing eye to eye. With a slow and measured thrust of his hips, he pushed the tip of his hard cock forward. Ever so briefly, a perfunctorily happy accident, Arthur's foreskin enveloped him like a pecking kiss from a pair of lubricious and wanton lips.

"Sorry," Arthur said dismissively. He really wasn't. Neither was Jean-Luc as he continued to test his intended manoeuvre, continuing to tilt his hips into the forward movement until their now kissing cocks bent upward into an arch like a drawbridge.

Teasingly Arthur flinched again, smirking as the movement caused Jean-Luc to hiss, and his muscular pole to reflexively pulsate. Right on the spot. He looked proud of himself being able to get that reaction.

"You're not trying to make this easy, are you?" Jean-Luc pleads.

"You're the one that made this a dare," Arthur chuckled as they both held their impressive pose. "Do you think we can pull this one off for Carrie?" he then asked, expecting an overreaction.

"Want to take a photo and ask?" was Jean-Luc's humorous response, marvelling at how they balanced the lewd act.

"Okay come closer," Jean-Luc then directed, now that they had gotten their dicks out of the way. They came together slowly. Arthur's nipples were notably hard against his, two cool pinpoints on an otherwise warm body.

Jean-Luc led the way in wrapping one arm around Arthur's back, at the waist, and clasping hands with the other, like a dance pose. Then he leaned to one side slightly, turning his face to Arthur. "Now look at me," he spoke softly.

Cocks pressed together between them, Jean-Luc could feel their pulses going off against each other, as though talking. Their bodies were quickly warming to each other now, hands lightly trembling against each other, fingers dancing.

Now face to face and eyeing each other closely, they knelt nose to nose, lips to lips, throbbing against each other's bellies. Tension once again began to mount.

"So what's this pose?" Arthur asked.

"Whatever you want it to be, baby," Jean-Luc quipped. Arthur laughed under his breath. They both did.

Arthur then licked his lips. "How about," he offered suggestively, "two to tango?"

They both fell silent. Maybe it was an involuntary reflex. Jean-Luc doubted it - wanted to. Again, the heated pipes groaned and shuddered, this time very loudly, as if the lengthening silences between the two models were giving power to the greater quietude of the day.

"Do you trust me?" Jean-Luc asked, seemingly out of nowhere. He hadn't forgotten. Dare number two still needed to come to light once he had decided what it was. Now he'd had time to think about it, he did.

Arthur smiled adorably and nodded, a trick move. "No."

Jean-Luc laughed. His sudden movement brought him so close now that their smooth cheeks touched. Lips parted in goofy smiles held apart by only millimentres now at the corners of each other's mouths. Arthur could almost feel teeth nibbling at him as Jean-Luc bared his teeth.

"You know I'm kidding, of course I trust you," Arthur persuaded.

Shyly Jean-Luc buried his face into Arthur's neck then, causing tingles and shivers between them both, reminding Arthur of their little ASMR soiree one recent night. Hairs arose, as did goosebumps. Jean-Luc then lifted his head and fixed Arthur with a steely look.

"Good... because you shouldn't," Jean-Luc said mischievously. Arthur responded to that by angling his parted lips closer, breathing so closely that it tickled.

"Okay, so... dare number two..."

"I await with anticipation," Arthur replied, still grinning.