Modeling Nude for Money in College

When I was in college I saw an ad: $15 an hour for nude models. This was good money so I went for it. I became an artist’s model for over 2 years. At first it was what I expected. The art professor was a woman in her forties; brunette, attractive. I kept my eyes where they belonged but it was impossible not to notice her shapely figure, especially her generous breasts – she was showing a bit of cleavage and that’s always impossible not to look at.

She directed me to undress in the bathroom. I would find a bathrobe hanging there, I was to come out in the robe. As I entered the studio full of art students there was a split second of hesitancy – was I really going to go through with this? Then I dropped the robe, stepped up on the little platform and suddenly there I was standing nude in front of a room full of artists – men and women – mostly women actually, mostly middle aged. There was a younger woman amongst them – a girl my own age – blonde, beautiful – when her eyes met mine I felt intensely self-conscious.

I was told to take a pose I could hold for 20 minutes. At first it was an extraordinary feeling and a bit of a thrill to have all those eyes on my, wandering up and down every square inch of my naked body. It soon became normal. Of course, being a young man, it was also normal that eventually I felt myself becoming erect. I closed my eyes and prayed, “Oh no, dear God do not let me get hard,” but to no avail. Soon I was sporting an enormous boner. The teacher came up to my side and said quietly, “Don’t worry about it, it happens.” And so I resigned myself to the situation, my rigid member poking out like a flagpole on the side of a building. I caught eye contact with the beautiful young girl; her eyes burned through me and I felt my face blushing hot red from embarrassment.

Afterwards some of the artists stayed and showed me their sketches of me, some were quite good. The beautiful young girl was gone, and somehow this was a relief. Finally there were only two of us in the room, the professor and myself. The proposition was offered; would I be interested in posing for a select group of artists, at her home? The pay was more – $25 an hour. Being young and adventurous, I shrugged and said sure, I’d do it.

A few days later I arrived at the teacher’s home in the early evening. There were no others, last minute change of schedules she said, tonight it would just be herself. I felt like I’d walked into an ambush but what could I do. She offered me a glass of wine and then walked me around her house – I don’t know what art professors are paid but she seemed to be well off – and showed me some of her art. They were all nudes, and very well done. She was quite talented at portraying the human form. More than half of them were men.

In the center of the hallway was a bronze statue on a pedestal. It was a muscular young man, seated, with a penis that was proportionally larger than normal . . . fully erect and pointing upwards.

The penis was beautifully shaped – it was the perfect epitome of the male sexual organ – and it seemed as if it were polished and shiny, compared to the rest of the darker bronze metal. “The glorious deity Priapus, from ancient Greece,” she said, putting her hand upon the massive bronze phallus, almost caressing it. “The ancient Greeks worshiped and respected the phallus,” she said. “It was a symbol of male strength and power, considered a symbol of good luck, and of course fertility. Women used to . . . perform worship . . . upon statues like this. They would actually mount the statue, impale themselves upon it, seeking good fortune and hoping for strong, healthy children.”

She was looking at the statue as she said this – or rather, she was looking straight at the erect penis, which she continued to fondle. She seemed drawn to it, in awe of it.

We moved on. Stopping in front of a pen & ink drawing of a man (older than myself but evidently younger than her) also sporting an erect penis, she pointed to the man’s erection and said, “I would like to draw you . . . like this . . .”

The look in her eyes was like the young girl the other day in the studio, when she looked at me when I was hard.

Just as in the studio, the art teacher indicated I could undress in the bathroom and come out into the living room in the robe. She had me step up on the coffee table, I undid the robe and let it fall away. She was very professional, sitting about six feet away, looking up at me, then to her artist’s tablet and sketching. The two of us alone in her living room and the glass of wine were starting to have an effect as I felt the stirrings begin. My penis swelled but was hanging down, not yet hard.

She put down her tablet, approached me and placed her hand over my penis. “Please let me help you,” she said quietly, “to become properly . . . hard.” She began to trace her fingertips along the length of my cock, all over my balls. I soon became very hard, my cock poking out and up at almost a 45 degree angle.

She returned to her sketchpad. Her eyes were fixed on my pole like an owl staring at a rabbit.

This time I felt more exposed, somehow, naked and vulnerable beneath the art teacher’s focused stare, while my erection became harder and harder; it became an ordeal. She finally put down her pad and moved her chair closer to the coffee table. Her face was inches away from my midsection, her eyes glued to my shaft. I was praying to God, “Please God, please no, don’t let it happen!” But it did happen. My rock hard cock throbbed noticeably and a droplet of liquid emerged. The art teacher’s eyes went wide. “At last,” she whispered, “At last . . . !”

Then she did something remarkable. She closed her eyes, leaned forward and placed her lips on the swollen head of my cock.

At this point I lost it. The art teacher didn’t even flinch; she parted her lips, engulfed my cock and I ejaculated into her warm, wet mouth. She moaned as she swallowed my load.

When I finally was done ejaculating, she took me full into her mouth, sucked me dry and licked me clean. Leaning back, she daubed her lips with a handkerchief, quite composed and not the slightest bit self conscious, and this helped me overcome any awkward feelings at the unusual situation. Then she leaned forward and continued to lick my now semi-stiff member. She worked her lips and tongue all up and down my length. She moaned as she worshiped my cocks, and it wasn’t long before I had a full erection once again.

“Ah,” she smiled, leaning back to admire my fully erect cock. “This is what’s great about a young man! You can come, and come again!” Her hands were on my shaft just as she had admired the erect phallus of the statue, earlier. She looked me in the eye, “Let’s take it to the bedroom, shall we?”

I was still naked as she led me by the hand upstairs. In her bedroom we kissed and my fingers fumbled, undressing her. Her nude body was magnificent, truly a stunning brunette. She pulled back the covers on the bed and we laid down together. Things progressed to a sixty-niner, which seemed a natural way for a cockworshiper to take her pleasure.

Throughout the entire episode there was this aura of her as the professor; a wise guide and mentor, a figure of authority over myself, younger and inexperienced in the world. This vibe persisted even as I moved over her, mounted and entered her. This perspective dropped only as we writhed in the most intense climactic throes of passion; as I drove my hard cock like a piston in and out of her hot wet pussy, as her pussy walls clamped around my shaft in orgasmic spasms and I spurted what seemed like a gallon of white, hot cum into her depths.

Once the afterglow had passed the aspect of mentor/protege returned. After I dressed she saw me to the door and it felt strange as she handed me $100. I said, “But it was only three hours of my time.”

“Yes, but you earned your tip, of course,” she smiled. Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, she asked, “Shall you be coming back on Thursday?” I agreed to, of course. How could I not?

This was the beginning of my brief career as an artist’s model, and I suppose as some sort of gigolo, actually. It was a very unusual relationship. Sex was always preceded by the ritual on the coffee table, with her performing cock worship upon my penis. As I said, a most unusual relationship, with a very extraordinary woman.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/t0ebcp/modeling_nude_for_money_in_college