This is about second time I posed nude for the artists – for the background and story to date, please see the first part of this story ‘Modeling Nude for Money in College’.
I took the job because the money was good for a college kid – $15 an hour – and because there were only two prerequisites: A) I owned a bathrobe, and B) I was willing to take it off. I showed up for the afternoon class about ten minutes early, so there’d be time to change into the bathrobe. The professor – who was now my ‘mentor’ (described in the first story) – was busy dealing with a student. She looked up at me over her reading glasses and indicated the bathroom with a nod of her head. I went in, undressed, donned the robe and came out into the studio, already feeling self-conscious in that I was the only person there not wearing clothes of any kind, just the robe, totally naked underneath, in a room full of fully-dressed people.
I noticed the beautiful blonde girl was there, the only one in the room my own age – all the other art students appeared to be men and women in their late forties to early fifties. I avoided the young girls’ eyes, still self-conscious from what occurred the first time, when I’d become erect while posing. Even though the teacher had told me it was OK, it happens, still . . . to be standing naked in front of a group of strangers, sporting a boner. It was embarrassing to say the least.
It was time for me to step up on the pedestal. This was the worst part, the feeling of butterflies just before disrobing. The unveiling, I felt most vulnerable. I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I undid the robe and let it fall away. ‘Oh my God, I’m totally naked in front of all these people,’ I thought as I took up my first pose.
And then the feeling became natural, almost liberating in fact. I was supposed to look over the crowd, to a blank spot on the wall, which I did and this helped. But I could not resist to look at the artists as they gazed upon my form and rendered what the saw on their sketch pads. A few met my eye. With the male artists it seemed the worst – I’m not gay, but I wondered what about those men who looked at me naked who were gay. Did they look at me with lust? I put the thought out of my mind. It was amusing, however, to meet the women’s eyes, and to wonder about their thoughts. Some of them were old enough to be my mother, and some – if not all – must have lustful thoughts lurking somewhere in their minds, at this young man standing naked before them.
The feeling of air moving directly over my skin, combined with the fact that I was 19 years old, had the effect I was hoping would not happen . . . but of course it was happening. I felt the stirrings in my penis as it swelled slightly. I closed my eyes and prayed, “Oh God please no, not this time, please not this time,” but it was hopeless. God was not listening, or perhaps he could not hear my prayer over his laughter at what he was doing to me. I soon had a magnificent erection poking straight out. My eyes went back to the blank spot on the wall while I endured the situation. The same dreadful situation had happened first time I’d posed, of course, and the teacher helped when she came up to me and said in a quiet voice not to worry about it, it happens. This time the teacher stood in the back of the room with her arms crossed about her chest and I swear I detected a smirk on her face, which only made the thing worse – I was getting even harder, and I feared how this might resolve itself!
I kept my eyes on the blank spot on the wall as my rock hard penis pulsed. Of course, a mischievous curiosity came over me and my eyes darted to the women artists. Each woman I glanced at – one by one – their eyes were focused on my boner! My cock throbbed, and I felt a sensation course through my being. I dare not glance down, but I had to, I had to see, and so I did. A large droplet of glistening clear liquid had emerged right from the very slitted end of my cock. ‘Oh my God’ I thought. This was beyond terrible.
Then I glanced towards the blonde, the young girl my own age. Her eyes – like the eyes of every woman in the room – were glued to my midsection, and her mouth was open as if in shock, or awe. Then her eyes darted up and met mine, and this time it was her face that burned with embarrassment. Her face went red right up to the hairline.
I prayed for my ordeal to end somehow, but my libido had other plans. My erection did not deflate or become limp. Instead, it maintained an aroused state, as a sort of semi-rigid hard on. I glanced down momentarily and my cock, although hanging down, was almost twice its normal girth, with veins bulging along it’s length.
Finally at last it was over, at least for the time being; time had come for a break. As I stepped down from the pedestal to don my robe, I noticed a small puddle beneath were I had been standing. ‘Oh my God’ I thought again, mortified. Everyone in that room had watched as my cock had oozed cum.
It was very difficult to maintain any kind of poise or savoir-faire as I moved among the artists, looking at their renderings of me. I could not cast out of my mind what had just happened. The knowing looks I received from the women artists were giving me heart palpitations. Worse still, the terrycloth robe rubbing against my nakedness was making me become hard again, and the robe was beginning to poke out in front.
The teacher – my mentor – came up to me, took my forearm in her hand.
“Let’s go take care of that for you,” she said quietly, her eyes indicating my midsection. She walked me to the bathroom. When we went in together and she closed the door behind me, I couldn’t have cared less what the rest of the room thought.
Standing in front of the sink, she undid my robe. My penis was becoming erect to at least twice it’s normal size, and growing. My balls ached – I needed relief.
She put her cool fingers about my stiffening member and slowly began stroking me, the age-old milking motion. We were both looking down at my cock in her hand. Standing to my side with her left arm about my waist, her right hand on my pole, she reached to the soap dispenser, then wet her hand with some water from the tap, and went about stroking me off in a fistful of soapsuds.
She was very business-like about the whole thing. I was now fully erect, hard as a wooden pole. Her hand went from gently stroking my rod up and down to where she was jacking me off, faster and faster. I felt a little dizzy – it wasn’t going to take much longer, I was very near.
Then I looked up in the mirror and our eyes met. “OOOH!!!” I moaned as cum spurted out of my cock and landed on the mirror with a SPLAT!
“AH!” she smiled, lightening her grip to just her forefinger and thumb in an O around my rod, but keeping up the fast tempo.
SPLORT! SPLAT! My cock spurted several more gobs of goo, which landed on the mirror and all over the faucet and sink.
Finally my poor cock went limp as she milked the final drops out of it, and rinsed me off with cold water from the sink. This had its notable effect; my poor member was a shrunken, wrinkled shell of its former proud self.
“Perhaps it might be a good idea for me to help you with this BEFORE posing, from now on,” she said with a knowing smile.
We returned to the studio, and I resumed my place on the pedestal with a great deal of self-consciousness but somehow as I opened my robe and let it fall away, none of the usual feelings of butterflies. How could things possibly get any worse? I briefly glanced down and my shrunken member had regained normal size and shape for its non-erect state – no doubt the effect of walking across the studio with nothing but the robe, and swinging free – although there was a slightly reddish hue to it, residual from the workout at the sink.
I took up my distant gaze to a non-existent spot on the wall, then as was my habit, I glanced across the faces of the women in the group. It seemed I detected knowing looks, smirks even (or perhaps they were looks of approval) on the faces of the women whose eyes met mine. But wait – my eyes darted about the room – the beautiful young blonde girl was not there!
‘Oh my God,’ I thought, and I wondered about her state of mind over what had occurred. Was she disgusted? Perhaps even nauseous? Would she ever return to class? And if she did, how would I ever be able to look her in the eye? At the end of the session, there was no mingling, thank God. The artists packed up their materials, placing their sketches within their portfolios and making their way out. I went straight to the bathroom and got dressed. Returning to the studio, I met the teacher, sitting at her desk, which was in a little alcove in the rear of the large room.
“Next session will be Monday afternoon,” she said, handing me my pay. “Will it be possible for you to arrive, say, thirty minutes early, so we can . . . ahem . . .” her eyes went to my midsection, “take care of things . . . beforehand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And are we still on for you coming over and . . . uh . . . posing . . . at my place, tomorrow evening?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good! I’ll be looking forward to it!” she smiled, standing up and shaking my hand. “Good work today, by the way,” she said, to which I looked at her with a puzzled look on my face – I’d never been through a more disgraceful ordeal in my entire life. “Oh, that,” she said, executing a perfect Gallic shrug. “Don’t worry about it – they’ve all seen everything, in the art world. Don’t give it a second thought.”
But I did give it a second thought. And a third, and a fourth. I couldn’t get it out of my mind in fact, as I walked about the streets adjacent to the campus. I looked into the bookshops, the coffee shops, wondering if I’d see her, the girl my own age from the art class. The other art students, the older women, may have seen it all, but I felt as if I’d somehow stolen the younger girls’ innocence with my performance that afternoon, up on the pedestal. The beautiful blonde girl – my beautiful blonde – would I ever see her again?
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/t2ztbn/modeling_nude_for_money_in_college_part_ii
Great part 2!
Great work! Can’t wait for more.