This story is fiction. Any resemblances to real persons/places are pure coincidence. Also, in the first chapter, I used a load of en-dashes and em-dashes. They seemed to become letters with accents above them when I moved the file from a .doc to a .txt. So, if there are a bunch of weird typos that you noticed, that would be why. Now I'm just using hyphens to replace both. :)
Reminder of our cast: Desmond "Dez" Elias Hart, 35, 1/2/1989 --- Professor Michael Vosta, 49, 8/14/1975
ACADEMIC EXPLORATION - 2 - THE DOUBLE-BOOKED GIG
No matter how much my anxiety mounted before Friday, I couldn't not go. Even my girlfriend, to whom I explained absolutely nothing of my first meeting with Professor Michael Vosta, encouraged me to attend. And, ultimately, it really WAS good money for just a two and a half hour gig.
Today, I decide to wear baggy clothes that don't reveal a thing about my figure in the hopes of not seducing Professor Vosta into anything strange. And, of course, I wear underwear this time. I imagined that Michael wouldn't go to any weird lengths in front of the students, anyway, but I still wanted to put up a barrier in advance. I pull into the driveway of the art building, and make sure to park as close as possible to the entrance, just in case there would be an incident resembling last time. I silently pat myself on the back for having thought of everything. "I'm really taking this professionally, aren't I?" That's the thought that goes through my mind.
Getting into the studio, I find two students sitting in two circles. Professor Vosta is explaining something to them on a screen--a sculpture by someone named Edmonia Lewis. The ripples in the fabric are astounding, it's hard to believe it was all made out of marble.
Professor Vosta gets a smile on his face as he sees me coming through the door, and nods to me. I bow my head a bit and wave with one hand. Without interrupting his lecture, he gestures for me to take a seat. I turn to look to where he was directing me, and find a chair next to a man--who is definitely not a student--already sitting right next to the spot left for me. As well, a camera on a tripod is set up next to the door--the same from last time I met Michael here.
I sit next to the man. He has profoundly dark skin, broad shoulders, and a buzz cut. On the back of his chair, a giant puffer jacket. He's wearing a droopy tank that exposes his shoulders and most of his chest, and short shorts that ride way on up near his inner thighs. Before this week, I never would've thought twice about his choice of clothing, but now that I'm primed to think about it, I find myself taking a peek. Unlike me, his body seems to be completely hairless, and his skin looks so soft and shiny that a genuine glare is created from fluorescent lights reflecting off of his pecs and shoulders. I can see, poking out from the corner of his tank top, the edge of his nipple.
Once I notice myself looking for these things, I force myself to look away and greet him. He hasn't noticed me staring at him as he's just on his phone, leaning back in his chair with an arm up behind his head. He puts his phone down on his thigh to shake hands with me.
"Hey," I whisper, respecting the class that's going on, "I'm Desmond. Nice to meet you,"
"Hey Desmond, name's Marcus. Are you... doing the modelling thing today too?" He asks. He seems nervous, but he smiles a bit to ease it off.
"Yes," I nod, perhaps too much, "I am. I guess Michael booked two of us for the same session? Wonder why."
Marcus just says, "Mmm," and nods before going back on his phone. I can't pin down why he's acting a bit on edge. Unless... Did something happen between him and Professor Vosta as well?
As I wonder that, Vosta speaks louder, getting my attention. "Now," he says, "on to the figure modelling part of class today. We are very lucky to have two people joining us today, Desmond Hart," he says, gesturing a hand to me. The students turn around in their seats to look at me. I wave, and nod once. "And Marcus Thorne." Michael then gestures to Marcus, and he puts a hand up to wave, too.
"As always, I've already collected their personal data FOR you, so here it is on the board now." Michael clicks to the next slide. There are full body images of each of us, completely naked, but with our dicks blacked out with a thick censor bar. I go cold in an instant. Yep, Michael and Marcus definitely fucked before. Telling from both of our faces in the screenshots he chose, he cropped himself out of the recording he took, and blacked out what else he couldn't hide, at least sparing us the embarrassment of total exposure. But, still. In my picture, my eyes are closed, and my head is partially tossed back in a moment of ecstasy. As for Marcus, it's even worse - with his tongue slightly hanging out of his mouth as he stands still, drool drips onto his chest in the screenshot. Then, next to each of our images, are our full names, ages, heights, weights, and various measurements. Vosta, at the very least, did us the mercy of not tacking on "dick size" or anything like that. And here I was thinking that this whole thing would be anonymous!
Marcus slaps a hand onto his forehead, seemingly mortified.
"You too then, huh?" I offer it to him as a token of camaraderie.
He nods silently, covering his eyes with his hand.
"Now then," Michael says, clapping his hands together. "Let's have our models disrobe and get into a position of their choice in the center of our circles. And, class, please remember to be respectful, polite, patient, and above all else, do. Not. Judge. They are here for YOU. Do not take them for granted. Focus, study our subjects today, and use this time wisely. And say `thank you' to Marcus and Dez."
I stand up to walk to the center of one circle of students. I expect a big, cheesy, drawn out `thank you' all at once from everyone in the class. Instead, most students begin busying themselves, setting up their sculpting stations and hardly paying us any attention. As I enter the ring of students, though, one student that I pass by says to me, quietly and individually, "Thank you so much for coming in today. We don't get too many models for this class, and we seriously appreciate getting the practice."
I'm totally caught off guard by his sincerity. "Oh. Um, of course. I mean, you're welcome. Happy to help." The student smiles and nods in response.
Wow. What a considerate class Vosta has fostered here.
Except that, now, standing in the center of the circle, I remember what I have to do. There's a large podium, maybe four or five feet tall, for me to stand on. And, on that podium, there are various objects which I can use when I decide on a pose. A stool, a bean bag chair, and a railing that I think I'm meant to lean on, if I so choose. I glance over at Marcus's circle, and it's the same options.
I also realize Marcus is already completely disrobed, save for underwear. As he puts his thumbs into his briefs, Vosta speaks up. "Now, Marcus, Dez, I'm sure you remember what we discussed during your interview? Some of the students and I will be touching you while you pose. Is that okay?"
I look to Marcus for approval. If he says yes, then, sure, I'll say yes.
He nods without hesitation.
"Yeah, sure," I say, following his decision.
"Excellent. Now, we're actually going to do something interesting today. With their consent in mind, class, one group of you is going to be completely blindfolded, and you will be sculpting based on touch alone."
A chill passes through my spine as I hear that.
"Raise your hand if you want your group to be the blindfolded group!" Michael Vosta says with a burst of excitement.
Absolutely zero students raise their hands. Michael waits an extra second too long, hoping someone will change their mind. All the students seem committed to their craft, and I guess they don't see the value in their professor's exercise.
"Ah." Vosta says in a beat of disappointment. "Well, in that case, here's what we'll do. First, both groups will create a few drawings and sculpture as we traditionally do. Then, in a remaining hour or so, we'll get our models into new poses, and THEN we'll have everyone blindfolded for a blind attempt. Sound fair?"
The students, still silent, nod in agreement.
"Great. Now, models, please disrobe all the way, down to the way you were born. I'm going to be locking the door, and I've already collected all the students phones before the class began, so it's truly just us here in this room." He turns to walk away to lock the door. "Also," he continues, "get into a pose of your own choosing. Whatever you think you can comfortably hold for 30 minutes, at which point we'll take a brief break and get into a new pose."
As Vosta explains, I look over at Marcus, and realize that he's already fully naked. I scan him up and down, and find my eyes lingering on his dick. This is never something I used to think about, but, he's uncut, and I think it's considerably smaller than mine? Not that he has anything to be embarrassed about. Plus, completely soft, who can really tell how big it is.
Then I realize I should be getting naked too. I toss off my shoes, and my hoodie, and my sweatpants, in a rush. Then a student right near me whispers, "No rush."
I look at him, nod, and mouth a thanks.' Now I understand why Marcus wore so little--it's actually worse to wear more, because you take longer getting out of it all. I stand there, in a full circle of 20-something-year-olds, getting naked for such a long time that it's just too awkward, even for a no judgement' space.
I take off my undershirt at a speed that makes me seem not insane, and then I'm left in just my boxers.
"I suggest you both take a bit of a stretch before we begin, or a drink of water or something, then I'll start a timer. Class, we're starting with two sketches, then one sculpture. So this first pose will be a sketch." He begins tapping away at his computer, and a timer appears on the screen. "Tell me when to start!"
That means me, since Michael is already ready. I do away with my underwear in one clean motion, and toss it away with my foot. But I kick it a bit too far, and it awkwardly lands right up against a student's backpack. He doesn't seem to notice - or, he just doesn't care. I look over to Marcus for inspiration for a pose, and see that he's doing a classic double-bicep flex, putting on the whole gun show.
I decide that's way too hard to keep up for a half hour, and simply lean on the railing. I keep one foot flat, and the other is perpendicular to the floor, with that leg bending at the knee a bit. Both of my forearms lie on the railing, and I look slightly off to the right, tilting my head just barely, as if I have an interesting thought. "Ready!" I announce.
"Go!" Vosta shouts back.
The students are diligent--or, at least, they seem to be. I can't see any of their drawings, but I watch them in my periphery, and they constantly look up and down, at my body, and then back to their paper. The entire environment is really, actually, rather peaceful...
And before I know it, time is up and we're on to the next pose. I look over at Marcus, and see that he's already grown tired. He flops down into the beanbag chair, and spreads his legs. He rests his head on the top part of it, and splays his entire body. Absolutely everything is on display, and his chest looks like an enormous pillow.
Staring at him, I feel my dick twitch. I glance away in horror, and get into a new pose quickly to try and hide it. I get up on the stool, and lean forward, with both my legs bent at the knee, resting on a rung of the stool. I cover my crotch with one arm, and rest my chin in the palm of my other arm's hand. I can't remember exactly how The Thinker is posed, but I'm pretty sure it's similar to that. However, as I couch myself in the stool, I find something is strange with it. There seems to be a dowel, poking my in the backside, right in the middle of the seat.
Before I can figure out what it is, Professor Vosta speaks up. "Students, rotate please. I'm starting the next timer."
The students of each circle get into new positions. I suppose this gives everyone who had to draw me from the back a chance to see me from the front, and vice versa.
The timer starts, and just then I feel the dowel move a bit. Confusedly, I try to look beneath my ass to see what's poking me. I lift myself off the seat just slightly, and it slides past my thigh momentarily, but seems to shrink. Then, I realize I can't be moving. I quickly reorient myself. "Sorry," I mutter to no one in particular.
As I return my weight to the stool, I realize that the platform of the seat itself slightly falls when weight is on it. As a result, a wooden support rod that goes from the center of the stool to the rungs near the bottom pokes out a bit. Right now, it's kind of... basically putting pressure on my balls. I do my best to shift infinitesimally, just to fit it between my legs instead of where it is as of now: trying to punch a hole into my nuts.
No one seems to notice the discomfort as I adjust myself, and no one complains about my minor movements, even Michael who is circling the students and watching their progress. However, I can't get it to move completely out of the way. I decide that, when Michael reaches a point where he's looking at Marcus's circle of students, I'll lift my ass as quickly as possible, and get it out of the way for good.
I watch carefully, keeping my eyes on Marcus's circle. Marcus is still completely, fantastically still. His gorgeous body must be way easier to draw than mine, since I'm fairly hirsute, and he keeps far more still than I do. I become wishy-washy about moving to adjust myself--after all, there are only, like, twenty minutes left for this pose.
But then I see Michael face perfectly away from me, pointing out something to a student about their drawing. I take my opportunity, and hastily put as much of my weight as I can into my feet. I push off the bottom rung of the stool, keep my hands and arms in the same position, and just barely correct my posture to move the dowel out of the way.
I lift myself off the seat, feel the dowel disappear, and sit back down.
"Hah!" I gasp, as absolutely quietly as possible. I tell myself that it was nothing more than a loud breath, but I can't be positive. At least, none of the students seem to look at me strangely.
In sitting back down, I've made the problem ten times worse. The dowel is no longer poking my balls, but now poking my hole. I glance at Vosta, and see that he's still talking to a student. In an effort to fix it, I squirm forward in my seat, and when that doesn't fix it, I try to wiggle back. I'm horrified: no matter what I do, ANY movement whatsoever just drives the dowel deeper into me. At this point, I'm breaking out into a sweat, and creating a lubricant that allows my ass to hungrily eat up the entire thing as it's just about all the way inside of me. I shudder as I feel myself relax and tighten around the short pole, no longer than two or three inches--but it's absolutely enough to make me feel it.
I close my eyes and breathe slowly, trying not to get hot and bothered--but I've already grinded my ass against the seat too many times, and I was already feeling weird from the stupid thing poking my balls. I feel myself stiffen up, and do everything I can to keep my dick down between my thighs. My brows furrow, and I close my eyes trying to focus on something else--anything else that will keep me from having to stand up with a giant boner in front of all these students.
Yeah, all these students... They're all watching my every move, observing every muscle of my body. My every twitch, fidget, and movement is going into their artwork to be immortalized. I should've just followed Marcus's lead, and done something easy like the beanbag chair. He's probably asleep by now!
I glance over without moving my head whatsoever, determined to be still now. He hasn't moved an inch. Vosta has since moved back to my circle of students, and walks slowly while glancing between me and a student's work of art. Marcus is so still that I can't even tell when he's breathing, his perfect, rippling six pack frozen in place, and his giant plush chest levitating in the air, his nipples standing at attention above him. He has huge nipples, too, that look sensitive like mine. And his dick--I know I thought it was small, but seeing it now, resting so carelessly in the open for everyone to see--I find myself admiring it. His black dick looks so... smooth? I'm not pale, but being white makes every vein, hair, and bump stick out in an obvious way--not just for my dick, but for my entire body. Marcus on the other hand looks almost airbrushed. My mind wanders to tasting him, licking his chest up and down... I want to hear what he sounds like when he's in a... shall I say, compromising situation.
Oh. Shit.
I forgot myself. I let my mind wander. My cock has grown completely hard, and, as I've recently learned from Professor Vosta, is eleven inches in all. It's impossible to conceal it between my thighs, no matter how much muscle or fat there is to block it from view. My dick now fights to pop out from between my legs, and snakes between my thighs like a third leg itself. I can only cover so much of it in the current position I'm in, but work to delicately slide more of my forearm over it to hide it from view.
But, no. It sends a shock of pleasure through me to touch myself whatsoever. And I'm already in a strenuous position on both ends... I do my best to sit completely still, and just focus on getting through the remaining time. Problem being, it doesn't matter how still you are when something's rubbing up against your insides. The very tip of the dowel seems to be barely brushing up against my prostate, and I am all but scratching an itch when I feel it move inside of me. That, as well as being watched from all angles right now... I wonder if there's a student directly behind me, watching bewildered as I get penetrated in plain sight.
Then Professor Vosta approaches me. "Look HERE," he says to a student. My eyes dart to the person he's speaking with. He half-stands and looks up over his sheet of paper to watch Vosta's instruction.
Vosta puts his pointer finger on my right shin. I'm surprised by his touch, so much so that I jolt a bit. The movement jams the dowel further into my ass and I exhale sharply. I think that Vosta must know what he's doing because he draws a line up and down a fold in my muscles that creates a line from my ankle to my knee. He places his entire hand, completely flat, on my knee. He says, "You have a light source. Pay attention to the direction of the shadows, and use your eraser as much as - or MORE than - your charcoal. Make bright spots pop on your page! Look here: shadow," Vosta says, dragging his fingers across my lap where my arm casts a shadow, "as opposed to here, light." He places both his hands on my knees, and slides them forward and back on my thighs, fully brushing my erect dick with his fingertips in the process. I shut my eyes tight and wince as he does so. How many times can he emphasize this part of my body without it being incidental?
Then he looks to another student, and says, "You see what I'm getting at? Help each other, talk with each other, it doesn't have to be a library in here. Come, look," and he waves for a student to get out of their seat and come closer.
The student apprehensively approaches, and I can see his eyes widen as he sees my dick poking up through my legs. I guess, since I'm a bit above everyone while on the platform, no one can really see anything until they walk up to me. Meanwhile, Vosta rambles on, rubbing my thighs all the while. He drags big circles with his palm across my lap, occasionally tapping the head of my cock with the heel of his palm.
The friction is unbearable. I heave a giant sigh, and I can tell it emboldens Vosta further. "Here, feel," he tells the student.
My alarms set off. I knew this was going to be part of it, but not like this. The student hesitates to touch me, but Vosta says, "It's alright, Dez said he's fine with it. Right Dez?"
He doesn't give me space to respond, and just keeps speaking. "Pretend this is an object, right? This isn't a person right now. This is an object; this is an item," he says, referring to me, all the while caressing my thighs and dick. "Do what you have to do with it, especially for the sake of improving your art."
Then the student doesn't even say anything or look me in the eyes, he just mimics Vosta's movement. He drags his hand clumsily across my lap, feeling the texture of my thighs and bouncing his fingers off my dick all the while. I recoil slightly, and as I do, the stool's pole is forced deeper into my anus. I let out a long exhale from my nose and close my eyes. The student seems to move his hand haphazardly, squeezing my legs in random places and caressing me between my legs at random speeds. There's no rhyme or reason to it--no obvious information that he's trying to gain in the process.
"Just like that," Vosta whispers. Perhaps he lost sight of himself, because the student abruptly stops.
"There's only a few minutes left on the timer. I'll try to apply this," he says, motioning towards me with a tip of his head, "to my drawing." He goes back to his seat and continues drawing.
But at this point, I'm basically at critical mass, so to speak... I'm leaking from the tip of my dick, and I'm sweating profusely. I don't even know if I'm posed in the same way that I was when we started, and, I can't help but wonder if I'm actually getting further turned on by all these eyes watching me...
I know it's wrong, and I know it only serves to leave me vulnerable for further humiliation, but I'm at the end of my rope. Gently, and as slowly as possible so as to not disturb any of the artists, I ride the dowel that's between my legs, shoving it--just barely--deeper inside of me. All it takes is a flexing and unflexing of my glutes to silently give myself enough movement, and the pleasure is unbelievable. A relief washes over me as I fuck myself with the dowel--but it's also just teasing me, as I know I won't be able to climax here. I don't know what I'm going to wind up doing... Ask to run to the bathroom? I... I suppose so, yeah, that would work. Honestly, my mind is becoming foggy with every delicate, miniscule thrust that I give myself. I flick my eyes around to make sure no students are giving me any weird looks, and find that I'm still in the clear. I hump the dowl and tighten my jaw to keep my mouth in a line that reveals as little as possible about my mental state.
Even so, with my mouth closed, some noises spill from my throat. "Hnn... Hm... Nnn..." My head is on a swivel to make sure no one is catching on, and right as I think I'm past the point of no return, time is up again.
Professor Vosta says, "Alright everyone, that's our time for this pose."
I'm frozen. I immediately shift as much of my weight as I can to my feet, so that the dowel slips out of my ass. But even still, I'm sweating, and my giant dick couldn't be any less noticeable...
I look over to Marcus for guidance. I don't know how I didn't notice, but he's gotten an erection, too. In his splayed pose, his dick points out, creating a 90 degree angle with his torso. It's bigger than I thought it would be, when I saw it soft...
Michael continues, "Let's move on to sculpting clay this time. Remember, we have plenty to spare, but still try to keep your work on the smaller side so that we have enough for the whole semester." He's pushing a cart towards the students. It has a simply insane amount of sculpting clay--some of it, colorful, in tiny plastic wraps; the rest is an enormous pale grey mound that most of them seem to gravitate towards. "Focus on form over detail, and feeling over fact. This isn't a research essay, and this isn't a photograph. Capture what the model is GIVING you, more than what they are showing you!"
As students continue to grab their clay, I see Marcus get into his new position. He doesn't move much, rather, he stays on the floor, and just inches himself off of the bean bag chair. He sits with his cross-legged, like he's meditating. His dick is on display, but it's mostly blocked by his huge, muscley legs, unless you look at him straight-on.
I realize that this is our opportunity to move, without drawing attention to ourselves.
Even still, as I slowly stand, my ass almost aches in anticipation, and I feel myself leaving a wetness behind on the seat of the stool. My right foot touches the ground, and I slowly lift myself off of the seat. My dick attempts to stick straight out, but I clamp it between my legs for as long as possible. I try to move towards the bean bag chair--my plan is to sit with my knees up in front of me, and draw attention to my upper body by throwing my arms out in some kind of dynamic way. However, the bean bag chair is so low to the ground, I realize I can't sit down without bending my knees, and essentially unleashing my dick. Right as I'm about to do so, Michael comes up to me and offers me a bottle of water.
"Here, Dez," he says plainly.
He holds the bottle almost directly in front of my dick--and, my dick is longer than the bottle, so it isn't even hidden.
I hesitate to grab it. He's basically positioned it exactly far away enough that I need to take a step.
"C-could you...?" I gesture for him to bring it closer to me.
"Hm?" He feigns ignorance.
I resign, and reach for it. As I do, my dick pops out from between my legs, and Vosta, still playing dumb, moves his hand closer at the same time. My dick bumps into his hand and the water bottle, and pre-cum splashes onto him.
"Ah... I..." I'm at a loss for words.
"Not to worry," Michael says. He wipes the pre-cum off on me. He uses the back of his hand - where the tip of my dick landed - to pet the side of my dick, essentially giving it back to the source.
My entire body jolts, and it takes an amount of resolve that I wasn't even aware I had within me to not orgasm on the spot. My voice gets caught in my throat--then, I loudly sigh. He wipes his hand on my dick four, five, six times in quick succession before becoming satisfied that he is in fact clean. Then he turns towards the class, taking the water bottle with him. I guess it was obviously never about passing me a drink, he just wanted to torment me.
"Everyone ready? Another thirty minutes on the timer!" He speaks as though that interaction was utterly routine.
My dick, still suspended in the air, draws attention. I finally notice most of my circle of students staring at it, or still setting up their clay. Even students from Marcus's circle are glancing at it. And, speaking of Marcus--as I go to sit down on the bean bag chair, he rapidly shakes his head in small motions, and even lifts a hand to draw a line across his neck, waving it rapidly.
I'm already seated before I can clear my confusion, but I immediately see what he was warning me about. I sit with my knees raised so that I can--if only partially--tuck my dick in between my legs. It ultimately still hangs out and can be seen from the sides, but it's good enough. My ass is deeply planted into the bean bag chair, and my back is upright. I sit on it more like it's a pillow than a bean bag chair, so I put all of my weight on my ass. Then I bend my arms at the elbows, point my elbows vertically in the air, and lazily hover my hands above/on my shoulders, kind of the way a mermaid or some kind of wood nymph might do. This way, I think to myself, the students will be focused on my upper body.
The problem is, I've driven my ass deep into the bean bag, and there's no convenient way to adjust myself with the way I'm posed. And, something is hidden inside of the bean bag. This must be why Marcus became erect: something akin to a massage gun is, not quickly, but also not slowly, thrusting between my cheeks. It's not loud, but it creates an audible hum as it rubs against me; it isn't small, but it's small enough to get right between my cheeks and jam itself right up on my entrance.
Er, exit. Not entrance. My asshole is not an entrance...
But, undeniably, this device--be it a vibrator, or something else, I'm not sure--knocks on my hole like it IS an entrance. I already regret the pose I selected, and wish I could've spoken with Marcus more clearly in between timed sessions.
"Starting... now!" Vosta says. The timer immediately starts counting down, but by now, I've already gotten a few dozen thrusts from this machine hidden in the bean bag chair. My dick is twitching between my legs, and my nipples are so hard--I feel intensely vulnerable and exposed with my armpits out in the air and my nipples stretched out as I raise my arms.
Like I said, there's not much room for movement with the pose I chose. I do what I can to dodge the rhythmic thrusting of the device hidden in the bean bag, but it seems to somehow adjust to me as I move. I'm so confused-as I shift one way, it follows, and when I shift back, it chases me back.
I ultimately forfeit myself to the device, and simply clench my cheeks tightly together so as to not let it get close to my hole.
I close my eyes and meditate on my pose, and pretend as though I'm alone. No one sees my dick, twitching as it hangs in the air, sticking out beneath my knees, exposed to everyone around me. No one notices the sweat dripping down my back and chest, slicking my body, running down my sides in occasional beads. No one hears the device inside of the bean bag chair, rhythmically rubbing on my ass, applying pressure in the same place where the broken stool was.
Then something even stranger happens. I don't hear it, but feel it. The bean bag, unzipping beneath me. A hole is opened by a zipper that I didn't know was there, and the device--it was not a device at all, but a gloved hand. With no fabric between it and my ass, clenching does next to nothing to stop it from playing with my hole. At first, I tense my muscles in different ways to resist it, but frankly, I'm seated in such a way that stretches me open, and leaves my anus poking out at the spot the hand has unzipped. Once it's gotten a knuckle inside of me, I instantly lose all strength, and stop resisting.
Whoever this hand belongs to notices that, and throws caution to the wind as it begins abusing me. Two fingers quickly wriggle inside of me, and repeatedly bend and straighten in my ass. I'm breathing through my mouth. Loudly. I look at Marcus, who was obviously wise to escape this after it must have happened to him. I look at Vosta, who does not look at me, except for in glances as he points out things in his students' work. I look down at myself, and see my muscles tensing and untensing over and over.
I do what I can to put myself at ease, but every time these fingers find that spot within me, I jerk, or tense, or flinch. When I feel them sliding out, I glance at the time, wondering if my torment is over.
But, no. There's still twenty minutes left. And the fingers are replaced by something much bigger. A sound escapes from my lips. "Nnnnn..." As it slides inside of me, my body can't make sense of it. It feels like I'm going to soil myself--except, obviously, I'm not going to. "Nnnoooo...!" I breathily mutter.
It's not a dick - not a real one, anyway. If my brain is still working, then I think I can parse that I'm currently getting fucked by a dildo. It moves more quickly than the fingers did, and with less resistance. Maybe it's lubed up? Either way, I squint my eyes tightly and bear it as best I can without making a sound. But, being watched from all directions, and even being able to glance at eye candy like Marcus... I don't think I've ever been so turned on in my entire life.
My legs are shaking as the pleasure overwhelms me. I'm so mortified, and yet thrilled. Right as I think I'm about to cum all over, Vosta grants me some strange mercy.
Michael Vosta announces to the class, "Hey, everyone look here for a moment! Look at how Paul here is capturing the light..."
As he rambles on, I take my opportunity. I glance in a circle, and there's surely a few students who will notice this, but this moment is better than any other I'll be afforded. I grab my dick, and stuff it into the whole made in the bean bag chair. The very base of my cock is still visible, but the rest of it is going straight down. A lot of pressure is put on it as it sort of bends in a direction that it doesn't naturally want to go, but it's fine for now. At least this way, no one will see me react to what happens next.
The only problem is whoever's manipulating me from below. I've just thrown myself to the wolves, so to speak. As I pull this maneuver, they pause playing with the dildo. I immediately feel their fingers wrap around my dick, and rub circles on my frenulum.
No. This is so much worse than before. The literal only way in which it's better is that no one will see me spurt semen everywhere, but they'll surely still notice me cum, right? And in this state, there's no resisting it. I'm going to orgasm no matter what--I can't imagine any other possibility. Whoever is beneath me has begun twisting their fingers up and down the length of my cock while thrusting the dildo in and out of my ass. Every tiny movement feels like a fire is engulfing my body from below--and yet, the movements are not small, not at all. My dick is so hard - and twitching - that I think it's going to snap in half if I don't get release.
But I just feel so WATCHED. Everyone is observing my every muscle, the shapes my body is making, my posture, my face; it's all I can do to pretend as though I have a shred of composure left while being veritably milked in front of so many strangers. I tighten my lips and focus on a random student in Marcus's group who has his back turned to me. His artwork of Marcus, it's, it's quite accurate, and the--
Nope. Can't do it. The person beneath me is now abusing how sweaty I am, and gliding the dildo in and out of my ass faster than I've ever even fucked someone with my own dick. His hands aren't being gentle or cutesy anymore, he's genuinely tugging my dick like he wants to rip it off. Well, ah... I assume it's a "he." I don't necessarily know, but, gender aside, I feel a tongue on my dick, now, too. I can't hang on, not for another moment.
I become aware of just how long my legs are, and how on display my thighs are. Every muscle in my body tenses, and for my legs, that's a lot of big muscles. Everyone is watching me. My hands ball up into fists. My nipples are so hard that merely being looked at makes them feel tormented. Sweat pours down my back, and the hair on my chest and under my arms is visibly wet. I grind my teeth, clench my jaw, and try to choke the sound that comes out.
It's quiet first. "Ah..." Then it comes out again. "Ah...!" I feel semen course into my dick. I inhale sharply. Then I cum, and it pumps out. "Nhhaaagh!" I'm still keeping my volume down, but, granted that half of all the students are already looking at me, it must be obvious.
Four, five, six, seven, EIGHT spurts of cum. A tongue on the head of my dick licks it clean and squeezes out every last drop. I finally exhale, and it's obvious what must have just happened to me, because I underestimate how loud I am. "Haaah... Hng... Ah." Everyone in Marcus's circle turns to look at me. Marcus turns to look at me. Professor Vosta looks at me.
The person beneath me must realize some kind of scene has been caused, too, because they slip the dildo out of my ass and stop touching me, save for a few last licks with their tongue, which cause my dick to pulse.
"Um," Vosta begins, "I know we have a few minutes left on the clock, but how about we move to our final exercise? I think our models are getting a bit fatigued."
"Yes, let's," Marcus immediately says, sparing me.
Vosta begins handing out blindfolds--hurriedly. Perhaps he's taking pity on me. But, with what I expect to come next, he probably isn't.
Once all the students have put on their blindfolds, Vosta finally motions for me to stand up. I do so extremely slowly. My ass feels weird from having been fucked so aggressively... And my dick, although visually clean thanks to whoever's tongue was at work, is sticky and shiny.
Upon standing, I look down at the bean bag and see that there is indeed a stealthy zipper. And, with the podium I'm standing on being about five feet in height, I suppose someone could crouch or sit inside of it easily enough...
I come down from the podium and stand next to Marcus. Both of us remain completely nude, and my heart is still racing.
"Sorry, I, I tried to warn you..." Marcus says. "It was happening to me too when I was on the bean bag... I think I was just lucky in not being driven to that point."
I'm still panting when I speak. "I... You... It's fine. Whatever." It's obviously not fine, but what can I say? My face is burning red and my dick is still parallel to the floor, as is Marcus's.
Vosta approaches us. "Lose your composure there, Dez?"
I roll my eyes.
"Anyway, the next part of modelling session will also be the final part. The students, blindfolded, will attempt to sculpt you with a blindfold on. Each student will take turns feeling a part of your body, and try to sculpt JUST the anatomy of the part they randomly feel. I'll arrange the two of you into a pose so that the students have absolutely no idea of what they're dealing with, and so that your muscles are flexed in such a way that it will be hard to predict. For instance--"
"We get it," Marcus says, interrupting him. "If we just sit in a chair, most of our body will be at ease, so the students will be able to just sculpt something from memory if they studied anatomy well enough."
Vosta nods. "Exactly, you get it." Then he turns and claps his hands together. "So!" He shouts, "Everyone line up in two single file lines. You'll each have twenty seconds at a time to feel the models, then you'll go and sculpt for sixty seconds. I'll record on my clipboard which part of the body each of you are sculpting so that you can return for another feel and know that you're not accidentally examining a different part of the body. Everyone ready?"
The students line up and nod in agreement.
Then, Vosta returns to Marcus and I, and poses us.
His pose is unexpected, that much is for sure. Professor Vosta has us basically forming a capital "A", with both of us leaning slightly forward, hands outstretched and connecting above our heads. Our bodies form straight lines from the tips of our fingers to our heels, so we put weight into our hands and lean into one another to prevent from falling over or changing position by pushing our hips too far forwards or far backwards.
Marcus and I can't help but make eye contact as our faces are so close together. If we breathe too hard--and I am, from having recently came--we'll be sharing air. In trying to look away, I look down. His body is--frankly--fucking gorgeous, and my heart beats faster just touching his hands. And, his dick... it's calmed down a bit, but I can still tell that it's big since he's still slightly chubbed up. His dick is uncut, and it makes the shaft look so flat and lickable.
"First students, go!" Vosta says, snapping me out of my fugue. Christ, I feel hypnotized. Today has made no sense whatsoever.
The first pair of students walk up to us. They approach slowly and cautiously, not wanting to bump into us. They sort of walk like zombies with their arms in front of them, hoping to make gentle contact. The student approaching me lands on my shoulder with his right hand, and my collarbone with his left. Marcus's student has landed on his side, and his ass.
"Sorry..." I hear Marcus's student mutter.
Marcus doesn't respond, he just exhales sharply through his nose.
They're both being quite respectful--I can see how they're trying to gain information, and why this might normally be a good exercise. Of course, ethics are thrown out the window, and Michael has completely poisoned the entire experience. But, yeah, that aside, there's merit to this. My student taps my skin with his finger pads, following the shape of my bones and muscles. My shoulders aren't particularly defined, so I imagine that will make for an easy time in sculpting. Or, maybe a harder time? I don't actually know. Right before his twenty seconds are up, the student makes a sweeping motion across my chest with his left hand and my neck with his right.
A burst of sensation comes across me as he--gently--grabs my neck and brushes my nipple. He lingers on my nipple for a full second or so, making me feel as though there may have been an ounce of intention...
Marcus's student is similar. Simultaneously, as my student feels me, this other guy grabs handfuls of Marcus's ass. Since all I can do is look at Marcus's expressions, I can tell he's made remotely uncomfortable. Then, Marcus dramatically inhales, and makes a small noise. I can tell that this student has touched his hole, and then, does it again, and one more time.
"Whoops..." The student whispers. He seems to be almost laughing, or mocking Marcus, even.
"Woah!" Marcus says as silently as humanly possible. "Did you just go in? Hnn!" He closes his eyes tightly.
"You two, get sculpting. Next students, go go go!" Vosta shouts.
"Fucker basically just molested me...!" Marcus mutters.
"Lucky for him, we basically signed up for this..." I respond.
"Hmph, yeah, I know what we're here for." He says.
The next student of mine lands on my arm. However, he must have not wanted that, because he pushes past and puts one hand on each of my pecs, holding them like boobs.
"Uh?" I say.
Marcus's student landed on his arm, as well. I suppose all these guys are approaching us from our sides, so it's hard not to. Marcus's student idly feels his bicep.
On the other hand, I'm getting outright fondled. He's not even pretending to feel me for the sake of his craft, like the first student did. He grabs my tits--er, my pecs--in his hands, with my nipples under the heels of his palms, and his fingers spread out. Then he massages me and bounces my chest, squeezing and probing me all the while. After pushing my chest around in a few circles, he draws his fingers together and pinches my nipples with all five of his fingers at once. He flicks them and tugs on them.
"Hhng! Nnn! Nnn!" I pant with my mouth open as he harasses me. Marcus tries to turn his head away, just slightly. Our mouths are mere inches apart, so I don't blame him.
Then this student does something insane. He begins licking my chest--my nipples!
"Hah!? Ahn!" I let out. I look to Vosta for help, but he conveniently has his back turned on us.
But then I'm freed from it. "Next students!" Vosta calls.
These two move off of us and the next two descend. Marcus's student keeps his hands low, and lands near his thigh. His student feels his thigh and knee area as respectfully as possible.
My student lands high--on my face, in fact. He caresses my jaw, neck, and cheeks as he moves his fingers around. Then he puts two fingers on my lips.
"Ahm--" I involuntarily pipe up from the back of my throat. But he cuts me off by putting his fingers in my mouth. I pant harder. He strums my lips, and pokes my tongue while brushing my neck.
"Next!" Vosta calls.
When the student emerges from my mouth, a string of saliva follows him.
The next pair of students is when we start to get unlucky--if, that is, we hadn't been unlucky already. Marcus's student has his hands out wide and low, and practically hugs around his groin area. My student lands on my side, and decides to move to my back.
The student on Marcus grabs his ass and dick. Truly, that's where he lands with his hands. He mutters an apology, and immediately jolts when he realizes it, but what's done is done. The student begins massaging Marcus's dick, and I can tell he's really just being inquisitive in a genuine way. He passes slowly over a large vein, and feels the tip to find foreskin on Marcus's fat cock. Marcus is now exhaling loudly; his entire body shivers, and I can tell his student has once again found his anus.
While Marcus is played with, front and back, I simply receive a back massage from my student. However, he pushes me, ever so slightly, forward towards Marcus. As he does, Marcus's dick stiffens up from being played with, and my dick never calmed down in the first place. Our heads touch, and Marcus's student comes to realize it when, as he was stroking the base of Marcus's shaft, he comes to reach the end of it and immediately moves to wrapping his hand around mine. He jerks us both off, unaware for a moment that there is any difference between my cock and Marcus's, his hand crossing between as though we had formed a bridge.
"Huh?" He audibly says, moving more rapidly for a brief moment to try and understand what just changed.
Marcus whines.
"Next pair of students please," Vosta then announces.
The student walks away confused.
Marcus, having stiffened up, apologized. "S-sorry..."
"No worries. Erm... My fault too."
Our dicks are now tip-to-tip: kissing.
Marcus's student finds his chest, and makes no attempt at deception as he feels up Marcus's tits. My student finds my left leg, and grabs handfuls of my ass as he feels around for contours.
The next pair of students keep their hands high. Marcus's student puts his hands all over Marcus's face and head. Mine keeps primarily to my neck and the back of my head. As they push us around, our faces are forced together. I try to shut my lips as it happens, but Marcus is desperately panting, and we're sort of planted into a hot and sweaty kiss. As Marcus breathes on me, I open my mouth out of pure stimulus-response. It feels as though our entire body weights are on our hands above our heads as the students force us together, and we sloppily, steamily kiss. Marcus moans into my throat.
Then, the next students are on top of us before the previous students have departed. I try to find the professor's eyes, but I'm pressed into Marcus, and see nothing but his face. Hands begin feeling my chest again, and they toy with my nipples at the speed of a vibrator. Marcus and I are sucking on each other's tongues, now.
At this point, one of us should just throw in the towel and call bullshit and sexual harassment and everything else on the whole situation. But neither one of us does. In fact, the thought of Marcus doing so disappoints me on some level. More hands get onto my body--Marcus is quietly whimpering, as I feel his hips thrust towards mine. A student has gone to fuck with his ass again, while a second student jerks both of us off, moving tight hands back and forth between our cocks.
Only a few seconds pass at a time between each new hand that lands on my body--and, for the most part, that means on my dick. More than four people, I can tell, are now fondling Marcus and I at the same time. Individual fingers navigate up and down veins and pubes, while fully closed hands wrap around our shafts. Another hand rubs our heads in circles, and someone is even peeling back Marcus's foreskin. I feel a tongue occasionally dart into the mix, and someone has finally started fingering my hole.
I can hardly see anything save for Marcus's eyes. We look into one another, hopelessly seeking an answer. Then, hands get to our faces, and as we make out, fingers slip in between our mouths and feel inside our cheeks and trace the insides of our lips while our tongues continue to fidget with one another. Marcus's eyes shut tightly, and his throat shakes as he yells.
"NNNN! HHNNNN! HNNNGGGH! AHNNNNN!"
Cum sprays all over me, and presumably, all over the hands and bodies of the students. It's an endless gushing stream that feels delectably hot. Knowing Marcus went so far, I feel helpless but to follow suit.
I lose all strength in my neck, breaking the kiss and falling into the crook of Marcus's neck. And then, to my own surprise, I completely fall into him, breaking our pose and wrapping my arms around him. The students continue to grope and fuck me as I stumble. I cling onto Marcus for dear life as I orgasm.
"AAAAHHH! Aaaah! Ahnnnn! Nnn! Nnn! Hah! Hah! Hng! Fuck! Fuck! Nnnnn!"
I close my eyes and press myself into his shoulder. I can't escape the probing hands as I unload, primarily into Marcus's crotch, as our dicks have slid past each other and we know poke one another in the leg-crotch area with our cocks.
We both pant, and have completely lost the poses Vosta put us into.
Thrilled, and yet mortified, I'm completely confused as I look around. All of the students are sitting quietly, blindfolded, working on their sculptures. They're completely clean, without a trace of semen on any one of them.
Marcus, holding me and still panting, too, is noticing the same thing. We both look confusedly at Vosta.
Then I see. The hidden-until-now doors beneath the podiums we were standing on earlier are now open, and I see multiple man cramming themselves into the concealed space. It's an impossibly uncomfortable fit, but, yes, multiple people could fit within, as it seems the floor dips down to allow for more hiding space. There are two podiums, and the one door I can see closes quietly as a semen-soaked arm reaches out to shut it.
A student only now, having heard our aroused moans, asks, "Is something wrong...?" He seems to ask it idly, perhaps to an adjacent student. No one answers him.
Marcus sits--as do I. Vosta looks at us with a grin, and wipes his hands clean with an antibacterial wipe, the kind you're supposed to use on tables. His hands shine with sweat and cum until he wipes it away.
I'm mad, but... Pleasure has swept me away, and exhausted me. Vosta places the container of wipes next to us, and we clean ourselves up (helping one another a few times) and we do our best to reassume the pose we were originally in before the students remove their blindfolds.
As the time runs out, the students lift their blindfolds, and eagerly compare the body part they inspected with the part that they sculpted. Faces, biceps, deltoids, pecs, hips, thighs, and yes, asses and dicks made from clay are held up against our real body parts to see how close they got.
Marcus and I heartily congratulate them as earnestly as we can, before breathing sighs of relief that we can get our clothes back on.
"Excellent work class. And, what do we have to say to Marcus and Dez?" Vosta says.
As we wait by the door, each student thanks us individually as they depart. Some are beaming with pride at their work, leaving sculptures on shelves in the back and taking home paper sketches. The final stragglers make their way out, and Vosta knocks on the podiums.
Six men in all emerge, and grin as they clean up. Although, it seems many have licked the cum off of each other.
Professor Michael Vosta explains, "Theres are some of my acquaintances. They helped out with the bit near the end."
As he says that, one of them pipes up: "Helped out is a nice way of putting it! Mm-mm!"
They all laugh.
"Hell..." Marcus says. His clothes are just as revealing, if not more so now that he's slicked with sweat. His cock leaves a profound print on his shorts now that he's been chubbed up. "I'm not trade! This wasn't supposed to be part of it this time, Michael." He says sternly.
I nod beside him, too tired to even put up the noble argument.
I look at Vosta. He glances at the tripod near the door, which has been directed a camera at the two of us this entire time. One of his friends goes to retrieve it.
"Well," Vosta says. "You're going to be, now that this footage is in my hands. Right?"
Our new character: Marcus Thorne, 36, 9/9/1988
Thank you for reading. I invite you to send comments and (kindly worded) feedback! I really appreciated the messages I received last time. I can't promise that Dez and Marcus will return super soon, but I at the very least have more stories planned for the near future. Look forward to more from me in the future, and thanks again. Remember to support Nifty if you can!