This story has dubcon content, which exists only in fiction. I fully believe that nonconsensual sex in real life is abhorrent and revolting, and I do not condone it. I trust that you, my reader friends, can differentiate what is good for real life and what should stay in fantasy. Forgive my disclaimer, I am new to this and it makes me nervous to share this kind of content.
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**The Nude Art Modeling Gig**
by me (OC)
“I did not know Professor Ashton was into rock climbing!” remarked my roommate Matt in surprise. “And she asked you to be a model for her class next week right there in the bouldering gym?!” I nodded, and he continued, “maybe she was there to find rock climbers with lots of muscle and no fat , since I remember that class emphasized sketching anatomy.”
“Yeah, that could be the case,” I replied, “I’m half tempted to say yes to her invitation, just to say I tried it. Was it ever weird with the other nude models?”
“No, the professor keeps it professional,” said Matt. “Of course it could be awkward, but last year after the first few weeks, we all knew the drill and it’s just an art exercise. Nothing sexual is on anyone’s mind.”
“Did you ever talk to the models?” I asked him.
“Yeah!” said Matt, “sometimes they get tired holding a pose and ask for a break, and then they walk around the room looking at our sketches and chatting. They seemed surprised at the variety between the sketches and were pretty happy to see our work.”
I hadn’t even thought of about the physical exertion aspect of job. Holding a pose would be an interesting challenge.
“Did they walk around nude during the breaks?”
“Some do, but they have a bathrobe to put on when they’re not posing,” he replied.
“Interesting. Well I think I’m going to say yes to Professor Ashton. The money is actually really good. She said $100 for 3 hours.” I said.
“Shit man, I didn’t know models were paid so well. Maybe I should do it too,” he joked.
———————–
A week later I was greeted by Professional Ashton at the door of the art room for her evening figure sketch class. It was set to begin in 30 minutes, and we had agreed to meet early so she could explain what was going to happen.
She told me basically what Matt already described. When she was finished explaining, I asked her, “what pose would you like me to keep, and how long?”
“For this first session why don’t you just sit on the stool in a position similar to that statue- the Thinker. We will give them an hour to sketch that before you change poses.”
She walked across the room, sidestepping easels and chairs, and then sat on a stool on a short platform in the center of the room, making the pose she wanted from me. I nodded in understanding.
Professor Ashton was a tall, thin woman with jet black hair, pale skin, and she always wore her trademark burgundy lipstick which seemed almost black against her pale skin. She enjoyed projecting a mysterious charisma in front of groups, but she was warm one-on-one. She preferred to wear vintage Victorian style clothes, and people said that she made them herself. Her long hair was always in a bun behind her head, held in place by whatever she found nearby to pin it with- a paintbrush, a pen, or a knitting needle.
She handed me a neatly folded terry-cloth bathrobe and said, “I will leave you here to undress. The students will be arriving soon, and you may wear this robe if it helps you feel comfortable until the class starts.”
I thanked her, taking the robe, and watched her as she briskly walked out the door, hips swaying in a feminine gait. I undressed and folded my clothes neatly on the floor out of the way, stuffing my boxer briefs into the pocket of my jeans. It occurred to me that it was silly to worry about people seeing my underwear when I was about to stand in front of them for three hours naked. I slipped the robe on and sat awkwardly on the stool, thankful that the room felt warm. A few minutes later, someone tapped on the door and I called out that they could enter.
An art student came in, nodding briefly to me, and then he went to find an easel to set his things at. The room filled up over the next 10 minutes until Professor Ashton returned and the quiet conversations died down.
“Good evening class! We have Sam here with us today as our model. You can start your first sketch now, and I will be in the back as usual to answer any questions. We will take a bathroom break in one hour!”
She stepped onto the platform where I was waiting on my stool and addressed me, “well here we go, Sam! I will take that robe from you and hang it up here to keep it out of the way.” She pointed to a hook on the wall by her desk. “Go ahead and try the pose we talked about earlier.”
I handed her the robe, feeling exposed and on display. Professor Ashton watched me too, and when I returned her gaze, her eyes held mine so that I couldn’t look away. My peripheral vision went dark until I could only see her, and I felt my hear fill with comfort and warmth. I forgot that there was anyone in the room.
“This is all fine,” she told me, “you can relax here.” The comforting feeling spread through my limbs and I relaxed onto the stool for a moment. Remembering what she’d instructed me to do, I lifted one foot to set it on a rung and then rested an elbow on my knee, bringing my wrist to my chin to make the classic statue’s pose.
“Perfect!” she said, and her praise was like butterscotch tea in my mouth, I savored it and loved it. I watch her blink her eyes slowly, and as she did so I was free to look away. The rest of the room returned to my awareness, and the air felt less warm and dense.
Her voice changed when she spoke out loud, “Sam, if you need a break, just let us know but please give us a couple minutes of warning if you can. Otherwise we will take a ten minute break in an hour before we try another pose.” Confusion was flitting through my head– her voice sounded so loud and echoey in the room, but a moment before it was almost like a confidential whisper. The confusion passed and I focused on remaining still for the artists.
Various itches came and went. I ignored them, practicing being as zen as possible. My nose tickled, and I wiggled my lip, and a minute later it was gone. The room was hushed with scratching pencils, coughs and sniffles, and sighs or grunts of focus and frustration. The ventilation turned on and I could hear the fan humming somewhere, and one of the vents at the ceiling was making a soft whistle.
I could see the clock on the wall, and after 45 minutes my feet hurt and my calf was getting tired and a little shaky.
When an hour came, I was ready for a break, to say the least. Professor Ashton called a break, and I stood up to stretch. A charley horse seized my calf and I groaned in pain, but no one seemed to notice. When the pain had passed, I stretched my ankle on the edge of the platform and then went to her desk to retrieve my robe. Her head was down as she reviewed a handwritten report, and she ignored me as I pulled it off the hook, shrugged it on, and then walked out to find a bathroom.
I thought to myself, “modeling work is shitty. $100 almost doesn’t seem worth it.”
—————–
After using the bathroom and a stroll to stretch out my limbs for a bit, I felt a lot better and returned to the room to find everyone in place and ready to go. With mild sheepishness at my tardiness, I went to the platform but saw the stool was gone and it had been replaced with a large, long wooden crate.
Professor Ashton was standing by it and told me, “Sam, this pose should be a little easier. I want you to lie flat across this box on your side with your arm supporting your head and the other draped on your hip.”
She took my robe again as I climbed onto the crate, setting myself down and making the pose as I understood her explanation. She nodded in approval, but moved my wrist on my hip into a more artistic position, her slender, gentle fingers feeling warm on my chilled skin.
“45 minutes for this pose and then we will take another break before our last pose!” she announced to the class, and then she returned to her desk to continue grading.
Whereas my last pose was physically taxing, this one was too relaxing. I struggled to stay awake as I laid there, regretting the late nights I’d had. A few times I nodded off, my eyes sagging and my head rolling forward, but each time I’d catch myself falling and jolt awake, adrenaline filling my bloodstream for a few minutes.
Finally the time was up, and Professor Ashton let us have our break. Another pee and a walk recharged me, and I was ready for the last pose.
“That wasn’t terrible,” I reassured myself, still feeling strong doubts, but my heart sank as I saw the crate gone and a stand holding a sword in its place.
“For this last pose,” the professor explained to me, “we will have you in a sword fighter’s stance, with two hands on the sword raised above your head.”
“Okay…” I replied, doubts flooding my mind.
She traded the sword to me for my robe, and again her gaze held mine so that I couldn’t look away.
“Go ahead and lift it above your head, Sam.” Her voice was reassuring and warm. My hands lifted the sword, and they felt as if they floated there on their own. “You’ll do great.”
She broke our eye contact and turned toward her desk. My eyes lingered on her, wondering what I had just felt. My arms returned to reality, getting heavier and heavier. My back started to ache, and my shoulders trembled. I felt as if I might not be able to last much longer, and I glanced at the professor’s desk. She felt my gaze toward her and looked up from her work. Catching my eyes in hers, she said across the room, though it was as if she was whispering inside my mind, “do you want me to help you hold the sword?”
“Yes, I do.” I thought wordlessly. Somehow she heard me.
“I can help you,” she replied, and my arms felt light again, as if they were floating in place with no effort.
Over the rest of the night, I had to look at her for help many times, and each time she held my arms up for me through her strange way of controlling my limbs.
After an eternity posing with the sword on the stage, the students signaled that the class was over with sounds of backpacks zipping and quiet chatter. As they packed their things, I took my clothes to the restroom and dressed in a stall before returning to the classroom to return the robe. When I returned, only the professor was there.
I hesitated. I felt unsure and confused about what had happened tonight. It was weird. And modeling was not enjoyable in any way. Without opening her mouth, she spoke to me, “thank you, Sam. You did well. I will have the school’s payroll staff deposit your pay directly. What did you think of your first modeling experience?” As she spoke I could feel her presence in my mind, as if her tall, thin, feminine frame was standing inside my head. She could see my hands and feet the same way I saw them through my minds-eye, and I knew that when she was there, they could be her hands just as much as my own.
I tried to be okay with this, but it scared me. She was a professor, and she was very beautiful and kind, and she projected a deep, hidden strength. Maybe this is normal for people like her? I was confused about what thoughts were my own and what thoughts were her voice. *Yes, it was okay and normal for people like her to be like this.* I realized that I felt calm and confident.
“It was good. I enjoyed it, thank you Professor. And thank you for your help holding the poses. I needed it,” I replied to her, wordlessly.
“Wonderful. Sam can you come back again next week to model again?”
Without thinking, I nodded yes in response.
———————————
I did not speak of the experience to anyone. Matt and I stayed busy with our classwork and social lives. Over the following days, I fondly remembered her warming reassurance. The sweet taste in my mouth when she praised me. The relief she gave me when I asked her for help. The memory of the modeling work began to seem like it had been wonderful, and when I anticipated the next one, my heart would beat with excitement.
A voice in the back of my head, dry and skeptical, would ask- “is that really what happened? Is this really going to be good? Isn’t this all so strange?” But it was easy for me to dismiss the voice. I wanted to dismiss it. And wasn’t she just incredibly attractive? Her poise, her mouth, her skin… her hips! What is a harmless professor crush? I really wanted to see her again.
Wednesday evening came, and with eagerness and high spirits I walked to the art room again for my modeling gig. I could imagine feeling Professor Ashton’s mysterious charisma, being close to it, in her presence, and I felt almost giddy.
“Hello class! This week we will continue the nude sketches with Sam, and continuing the theme we started last week, we will use poses which highlight Sam’s lean musculature.”
She handed me a recurve bow as I stood with her on the platform in the middle of the classroom. “I will have you stand in an archer’s pose with the bow drawn, if you will, Sam.”
I set my stance, holding the bow before me, and I pulled the string back to my cheek. Immediately I knew I would have trouble holding the pose. After a few seconds, my fingers ached holding the tight bowstring, and the tension in the bow limbs made my arms shake. I glanced frantically at Professor Ashton, who remained standing near me on the platform. Our eyes locked and her familiar presence flooded into my head.
“Help!” I cried out to her soundlessly.
“I can take complete control of your body if you want me to, Sam. It would make this easy, and you could relax completely,” she spoke to me and reassurance dripped from the words, warming me.
“Yes.” I responded, and I watched her with my mind’s-eye reaching herself into my hands and legs, and I released myself from them, letting her have control. Immediately the struggle holding the pose ended; the shaking stopped. I looked at my arms and they were strong with another person’s strength. They were full of energy and I did not feel tired. “Thank you, this feels nice,” I told her.
“The pleasure is mine,” she responded wordlessly. I could feel her thoughts, hear them leaking from her while she lingered in my head, piloting my body for me. There *was* pleasure there. She was enjoying this. And I felt pleasure in my body too. *Oh! I feel it in my stomach, like a deep twinge of delight that shoots down into my groin. What is this?*
Through my tunnel vision, our physical eyes still locked, I saw the professor sit down in a chair at the edge of the platform, never taking her eyes off of mine. She leaned back, as if relaxing, and stretched her feet out in front of her. I could see she was wearing a black Victorian dress with a low scooped neck, revealing the porcelain skin of her chest between her small breasts that created a shallow valley into the neck of her blouse. She had intentionally highlighted that part of herself for me in my mind, I realized, controlling my attention. Her skin was perfect. Her breasts delicate and tender mounds underneath her loose top. I yearned for them. She teased me, leading my mind’s eye around her chest and elegant neck. The twinge of delight in my gut fired again. I could feel my face blushing and blood moving to my groin.
Our focus returned to my own body, and I watched her release my hands’ hold on the bow, controlling the string as it tried to surge forward until the tension on the bow was gone. *What is happening?* I watched myself lean the bow against the stand, and I stood there on the stage, motionless. I felt cool air around my cock and realized that it must be extended from my body. My face flushed red again, and the shame made my cock shrink back, my body’s subconscious arousal diminishing.
“Sam, I can make it feel good,” she said to me.
“But what about the class? What about my modeling? I thought I was supposed to be flaccid for their drawings?”
“Sam, the class doesn’t matter. Try to see them, you can’t. Forget about the others,” her words sounded so true and right. I wanted to accept her message. She continued, “isn’t this nice?”
I felt my hand reach for my crotch, feeling my penis. It was soft, and I felt her use my hand to rub it under the head where it is most sensitive to make it grow.
“No!” I told her wordlessly, horrified. But her private thoughts leaked into in my head, and I saw her intentions. She wanted to feel my erection in my hand.
I struggled to take back control of my hand, and I felt it pull backward slightly before she pushed me away. She was so strong inside me.
“See! This is nice!” she told me with a malicious glee. My hand was stroking my erection now, full and strong. The twinges of pleasure were coursing through my gut and were now joined with new streaks of delight that were circling the head of my cock as my fingers slid across it, calling for the sleeping orgasm that was slowly awakening in my abdomen.
With all my might, I tried to push her away from my arm, but she only laughed and bent my shoulders back so that my hips thrust forward luridly as my hand pumped my cock. *Oh God, what will the others think of this?*
I could hear her thoughts again, and she was absorbed in the experience of masturbating me, so I looked around in my mind’s-eye until I saw she was not holding tightly to my feet. With a sudden jerk, I pulled my heel back into my other leg’s shin as hard as I could. Pain flooded both of us, and I felt some relief as my cock grew soft and the growing orgasm subsided.
“You!” she shrieked in my head. Her figure in my head seemed to grow and loom over me, and I saw her more completely in her rage. As she stood to full height in my mind, she also stood up from her chair in front of me. The professor facade fell away, and she held herself as a powerful sorceress, beautiful beyond belief, terrible, and hungry with a deadly sexual appetite that she would satisfy through me. Dread filled me as I saw my life hanging by a thread, a half step from destruction as she toyed with me to extract the sensuous experience that she craved.
Her eyes were still locked on mine, and I tried with all my strength to turn my head away from her. It only made her chuckle.
“Sam, look at me,” she said and an almost overpoweringly alluring feeling flooded my head. She stepped toward me, her hips swaying suggestively. Her hands were behind her back unfastening her skirt, and then it fell away, floating to the floor. Her hips were impossibly wide, with a gap between her thighs that showed the chair behind her. They dipped to the side again seductively as she took another step, and my heart leapt when I noticed her perfect pussy, long inner lips hanging sensuously between the fat hills of her outer lips. Her clitoris pushed forward prominently, lifting out from under the hood. She guided my attention over every inch of her thighs and the space between them, though we never broke our gaze.
“Do you like what you see?” she asked. “I know you do.” And I felt her making my hand stroke my rigid cock again, a drip of precum covering my finger.
She was standing before me as I masturbated, and soon the drip of my precum became a stream and my cock glistened with slipperiness. She showed me that she was wet too, drawing my mind’s eye to a drip that ran down her labia and hung, perfectly framed in gap between her hips. I could see the classroom behind her inverted in the lens that the drip created. Then it fell from her dangling lip, past her knees and mingled with the dust by her feet. My cock throbbed for release.
I fought her with all my strength, trying to open my fingers that she had around my shaft, but she would not release them. They pumped faster and faster, and we both watched the orgasm building behind my balls, me with horror and her with glee. I pushed harder, but she was unstoppable. The muscles in my arms bulged as they fought themselves, and sweat dripped down my temple.
I was so close. Any second now, I knew I would come, and I waited in terror, pushing against her iron will, for that final fatal pulse in my cock that would send me over the edge. I could feel the deadly hunger in her thoughts. I needed to do *something* before it was too late.
*Maybe the tension is making me build faster?* I thought. I relaxed my struggle with her, and felt the arousal pull back a little, but she stroked harder, determined to reach my climax.
I pretended to surrender, slackening in defeat. As I saw her notice this, I feinted, pretending to make my feet move again to kick myself but instead I jerked my hips forward more to knock myself off balance. As I fell forward, my feet subconsciously stepped forward to catch my fall.
The chaos of the movement threw her off for a moment and she loosened her grip on me. Through her eyes, I saw my body stumble toward her, and then catch itself inches away.
With as much strength of will as I had, assisted by her distraction, I wrenched my hands from her control, threw them around her waist and pulled her toward me. Her seductive spell had built a dissonance in me, as I desperately craved her and dreadfully feared her, scared for my life, and I acted without thinking. I thrust my hips upward, my cock like a spear.
My aim was true as I plunged up into her pussy, neatly separating her flowery, delicate lips. I arched my feet and pulled hard against the top of her ass, raising myself up to my toes to gain as much height as possible until my upward stroke ended when our pubic bones met. I held myself there, locking her hips to mine with all my strength. I felt that fatal twitch. Short and quick once, a pause, and then a powerful blast of cum deep into her. My ears rang with the strain, and I feared my cock would tear apart as slug after slug of cum continued pumping into her ancient cunt.
My eyes watched hers as they first opened wide with surprise, then alarm, and then she closed them as her orgasm seized her, breaking our gaze. The broken connection released her hold on me. I watched her mouth open into an orgasmic Oh, breathless at first and then releasing a primeval, unearthly shriek.
The room filled with wind, pulling the students’ artwork off the easels and sending it spinning around the room. I felt her body shake and then abruptly I was only holding air, my cock pushing out into the wind before me. I lost my balance and fell backwards. The wind stilled with a sigh, covering the ground with papers.
I scrambled to my feet with adrenaline flowing and my heart pumping hard. Looking around, I could only see Professor Ashton’s skirt lying on the floor. She was gone. I rushed over to grab my clothes as the other students began to mumble among themselves. Without waiting to hear what they thought, I fled into the dark night, running to my apartment without slowing.
I laid on my bed panting, still nude but my erection finally gone. Matt heard me enter, and wondering what I was up to, peeked around the corner of my doorway.
“What happened to you?!”
“Fuck man, I don’t even know. ”
“Need a cup of water or something?” he asked.
“Nah. Did you ever get a weird feeling about Professor Ashton?” I asked him.
“You mean, like she was a succubus or something?” he responded.
“Yeah, maybe?” I replied.
“Oh she totally gave off mega succubus vibes,” said Matt.
“Huh.”
THE END
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/yljiix/the_nude_art_modeling_gig_mf_masturbation_piv