Modeling Nude for Money in College

For more than two years, I modeled for many artists. My initial thoughts were correct. The art professor was a lovely brunette woman in her forties. I tried to focus on the conversation at hand, but my eyes couldn’t help but wander to her voluptuous breasts whenever she flashed a bit of cleavage.

She told me to go to the bathroom and get undressed there. There would be a bathrobe waiting for me, and I was expected to wear it when I left my room. I had a moment of doubt when I walked into the room full of art students and asked myself, “Am I really going to do this?” Finally, I stripped down to my underwear and stepped onto the makeshift stage in front of a roomful of artists, largely middle-aged women. Among them was a younger woman, a girl my age; she was blonde and gorgeous, and when our eyes met, I felt an overwhelming sense of awkwardness.

Take a stance you can hold for at least 20 minutes, I was told. At first, it was thrilling and an unusual experience to have so many people staring at my nude body. It quickly become routine. Being a young man, it was only natural that I began to feel my erections strengthening over time. Without opening my eyes, I pleaded with God, “Oh no, my God, do not let me get hard.” I quickly developed a massive boner. Don’t worry about it, the teacher replied quietly at my side. And so I accepted the situation, my stiff member protruding like a flagpole from the side of a building. I looked directly into the eyes of the stunningly attractive girl and felt my face turn a fiery crimson with humiliation.

Many of the artists stayed afterward to show me their renditions of me in pencil; some were pretty skilled. The absence of the stunning teenager was actually rather welcome. At long last, it was just the professor and I left in the room. Would I be open to acting as a model for a small group of artists at her house? Higher compensation of $25 per hour was offered. I shrugged and responded, “Sure, why not? I’m young and I like to try new things.”

The next few days later, I went to the instructor’s house in the early evening. Due to a last-minute schedule adjustment, she was alone for the evening. It seemed like an ambush, but there was nothing I could do. I have no idea how much art professors make, but she seemed to be rather well off as she offered me a glass of wine and took me around her home while describing her creative process. Everyone was completely naked, and it looked amazing. Her skill at depicting the human figure was remarkable. There were more men than women.

A bronze statue on a pedestal stood sentry in the middle of the corridor. A sitting young man had a larger-than-average penis, which was held rigidly aloft and pointed skyward.

The penis seemed polished and glossy in contrast to the rest of the darker bronze metal, and its shape was the acme of the male sexual organ. She laid her hand on the big bronze phallus and almost caressed it, saying, “The wonderful deity Priapus, from ancient Greece.” She explained that the phallus was revered by the ancient Greeks. “It represented masculine power and strength, good fortune, and, of course, fertility. Women traditionally offered adoration to similar statues. They would literally impale themselves on the statue in the hopes of bringing forth robust and healthy offspring.”

She continued to fondle the statue’s erect penis while making this statement to it. She appeared fascinated and awed by it.

Now, we’re moving on. She paused in front of a pen and ink painting of a man (older than me but obviously younger than her) with an erect penis and stated, “I would like to sketch you… like this…”

The intensity of her gaze reminded me of the young woman from the recording studio the other day.

The art instructor told me to change into my robe in the bathroom, just like I was allowed to do in the studio. I stepped up onto the coffee table as she instructed and stepped out of the robe. Sitting at a distance of approximately six feet from me, she looked up at me for a moment before returning her attention to the artist’s tablet on which she was busily sketching. A bottle of wine and some quiet time in her living room brought on the first stirrings. Although enlarged, my penis was still drooping and not quite firm.

She set her iPad down, came over, and put her hand on my privates. She whispered, “Please let me help you get correctly… hard.” With her fingertips, she started running them up and down my cock and into my balls. My body soon hardened to the point that my cock sprang out at a 45 degree angle.

With that, she went back to her sketchbook. Like an owl staring at a rabbit, her attention was riveted on my pole.

This time, as my erection grew more difficult, I felt more exposed, more naked and vulnerable under the art teacher’s intense gaze. She placed her notepad down and scooted closer to the coffee table. Her chin was resting on my belly button, and her eyes were fixed on my spine. To God I cried, “Please, don’t let this happen. But the fact remains that it occurred. A noticeable throb developed in my usually stone cold cock, and a tiny bead of liquid trickled out. The artist educator’s pupils widened in shock. She muttered, “At last…”

Then she did an incredible thing. She kissed my cock’s swollen head as her eyes were closed and she leaned forward.

To put it bluntly, I completely lost it at this moment. The art instructor didn’t bat an eye as I ejaculated into her wet, warm mouth through a gap in her parted lips. As she took in my burden, she moaned.

I finished ejaculating, and she grabbed me, sucked me dry, and licked me clean. I was able to get past my first discomfort with the strange setting thanks to her calm demeanor as she dabbed her lips with a cloth behind her head. Finally, she leaned forward and kept licking my somewhat firm manhood. Her tongue and lips traveled the entire length of me. The moaning continued as she adored my cocks, and I quickly regained a full erection.

She leaned back and smiled, “Ah,” as she admired my stiff cock. “This is what makes a young man so awesome. You are welcome to visit, and return.” After ogling the statue’s erect phallus, she moved on to cradling my shaft. With a direct gaze, she asked, “Shall we take it to the bedroom?”

She took my hand and led me up the stairs, where I still remained undressed. We kissed passionately in her chamber while I fumbled with her clothes to undress her. In her natural state, she was a vision; a lovely brunette with a magnificent body. It wasn’t long before she had thrown back the sheets and we were snuggled up in bed. A sixty-nine felt like the next logical step for a cockworshiper to enjoy herself.

There was a sense that she was the professor during the entire scenario, and that she was looking out for me as I was much younger and less worldly than she was. This feeling stayed with me as I climbed on top of her and proceeded to enter her. Only in the climax stages of our passion, when her pussy walls tightened around my shaft in orgasmic convulsions and I spurted what seemed like a gallon of white hot sperm into her depths, did I lose sight of the big picture.

After the initial excitement wore off, the mentor/protégé dynamic resumed. After I got ready, she walked me to the door and handed me $200. The time commitment was little, I argued; “it was only three hours of my time.”

Yes, but of course you deserve your tip,” she said with a grin. She then said, “Shall you be coming back on Thursday?” as if nothing out of the norm had happened. I, of course, said yes. The question really is, how could I refuse?

So began my brief career as a model for various artists and, I guess, a gigolo. It was a highly unconventional pairing. Before we had sex, she would conduct cock worship on the coffee table with my penis. This is, as I’ve already mentioned, a very peculiar pairing with a remarkable lady.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/z3259p/modeling_nude_for_money_in_college