Desire Incarnate

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God DAMN this was crazy! What the hell was I doing here?

I looked down at my bare naked body and prepared to open the grungy door in front of me. I watched nervously as my fingers closed around the cold brass knob and slowly twisted, my sweaty palm making it almost impossible.

The old door was wedged in place, requiring an additional push to get it free. The resulting POP from the frame releasing its snugly-hinged companion announced my nude arrival into the spacious studio much more conspicuously than I had hoped.

As the door swung wide I scanned the room for Penelope, dragging my gaze across the room full of colorful canvases and easels, painted bulbs and wispy scarves. My eyes settled on her head among the soaring skyline of blank and colored works of art. She was looking down, and seemed to be plotting a night full of wretched embarrassment for me on her evil pages of devious plans, or she was mixing up some paint. It could go either way.

My feet obeyed their forward instruction and propelled me into the room, and I could feel the dried dabs of paint under my toes as I padded across the floor in her direction. I could barely breathe, and the stress hormones coursing through my veins caused my entire body to tremble.

She spoke without looking up.

“Go ahead and lay face up on the table Ben,” her soothing voice instructed me. Keeping her eyes down on her work allowed me some space to adjust, and I appreciated the shred of dignity this afforded me . . . for now anyway.

The massage table had been recently covered in a clean, white terry cloth, giving the lofty perch a relaxing and comfortable look. Too bad I wouldn’t be enjoying it.

As I approached the table I pictured a naked man lying atop, Penelope’s imminent view. How does she even do this? How do other people do this? Why the hell am I doing this??

I had no idea anymore. Penelope was so fascinating and charming that she could have asked me to eat my own foot and I would have started looking for a fork. I knew this was how she was able to craft her unique art form into a reality. A phallic artisan would need many subjects, and being able to charm a man out of his pants and up onto a table in the nude was an art form in itself. I was in awe, and my mind flashed back to how it started.


Sitting at a small table at The Trusty Café, I scanned the room for anyone I knew. It had been a while since I’d graduated college, so most of the students around were fresh-faced and unfamiliar.

June, an ex-girlfriend of mine, had called me the day before about an artist friend of hers who was looking for a volunteer to help with an extended project. This friend was exhibiting at a gallery showing in a couple months, and desperately needed a model to help complete the project.

Half joking I asked if it was some kind of nude modeling or something, to which she dryly replied it most certainly was. I asked, ‘why me?’ and she told me this friend of hers, Penelope, was looking for a good fit for a very specific type of model. It seemed I was the only person June could think of at the time, and had offered to give me a call to see if I’d be willing to consider it.

I didn’t like the sounds of posing nude, although I’ve always been comfortable in my own skin. I mean, I don’t go around showing it off or anything, but I don’t have any hang-ups about my body either.

I agreed to meet with Penelope and talk it over, if only to see what she had in mind. Maybe a muscular pose with my legs crossed would be okay. Years of cycling had kept me in peak condition.

As I sat at the table, every person who walked through the door of that Café somewhat startled me, until finally it opened . . . and in strolled the most amazing life form to ever grace our planet.

To say she was angelic would have been an insult. You could have placed her sparkling green eyes and her enchanting smile on a rusty flagpole and still wanted to ask it on a date. The way she carried herself gave me the instant impression that she was a liver of life, a . . . life, liver . . . good god, I couldn’t think. All I knew in that instant was that I would definitely be taking my clothes off for this woman.

Our eyes met, and hers widened upon realizing I was the man she was there to meet. She walked right over and asked, “Ben?”

I stood so fast my chair tipped back, and I clumsily lunged to catch it before it could crash to the ground. Her amused expression when I turned caused my face to flush. I smiled wanly, put my hand out and said, “Penelope?”

She graciously shook my nervous appendage and I motioned to the other chair. She thanked me and sat right down. I couldn’t believe my luck; here was one of the most perfect forms of feminine precision I had ever laid eyes on, and she was here to talk me out of my clothes!

We chatted about ourselves for a few minutes, and I was fascinated by her background. Her art major had been cut short due an overwhelming demand for some of her work. yabancı escort She quickly set up a large studio, where she began teaching workshops in the morning and painting every night.

I told her about my engineering background and how I mainly design bicycle accessories, spending a lot of time riding and training for races. She seemed aloof about my job and hobbies, taking them in stride with polite comments; I could tell she was itching to get to the point.

“So how does this work?” I finally asked.

“Well,” she began, “as you already know you will need to be in the nude to model for my project. Does that bother you?”

I tried to keep my eyes locked on hers as I said, “It might. What’s the subject, besides the human body I mean?”

“The phallus,” she said simply, letting the words hang there for me to try and desperately grab onto like a slippery bar of soap.

“The . . . ph-phallus,” I stammered, “you m-mean like . . . only that?” I was immediately thinking she couldn’t very well be sitting around creating portraits of naked penises all day!

“Well, yes, mainly that,” she said as if we were talking about the rain, “for this project anyway.”

“So, it’s definitely a painting you’re doing.”


“Of a penis.”

“On a penis,” she corrected me, immediately short circuiting my thoughts and my speech mechanisms at the same time.

“You mean . . . you p-paint, on . . .” I struggled to put the pieces together.

“On a penis,” she finished for me. “An erect penis, if I’m being blunt.”

My eyelids and brows lifted high as my mind struggled to connect the dots. Not only did this little vixen want me out of my clothes, but she wanted me at attention, and to paint directly onto my naked manhood. What the heavenly fuck?

As my mind reeled and my pulse quickened, I watched Penelope reach into her colorful shoulder bag hanging on the chair. Out popped a tablet which she immediately swiped to life, running her dainty fingers across the face in quick horizontal blurs.

At once she set the device in the center of the table between us and swiveled it around to face me. I gazed upon a magnificent painting, one of a lush garden scene featuring a cloud of deep blue morning glories bursting from a roughly woven basket hanging on a hook. It was definitely not the graphic display I had braced myself for.

“Wow, Penelope,” I whistled, “did you paint this?”

“I did,” she said, “do you like it?”

“It’s incredible,” I admitted, my eyes popping from one intricate detail to the next, “You have a fantastic talent.”

“Thanks Ben,” she smiled with a genuinely expressive grin. “So you don’t mind the fact that there’s a large penis in the frame?”

I jerked my head a bit in surprise and looked at the image again. It was all flowers and leaves and completely innocent. She noticed my head shaking back and forth and said “Keep looking.”

I furrowed my brow in concentration and tried to look more closely at the fine detail she had used. I noticed a slight shadow running from one flower to the next. It seemed like a trick of the camera which had taken the image, but then it all came together . . . and I almost fell out of my seat!

“Holy shit,” I mouthed silently in the small Café. She smiled and sat back, allowing me room to fully grasp what I was seeing. Stretching from the bottom of the frame almost to the very top was the barely discernible shape of a large and erect penis. It was perfectly camouflaged within the rest of the image to all but completely disappear. I looked up.

Penelope’s smile was wide as she looked into my eyes. Without a word she reached forward and swiped her finger across the screen again. This time a field of golden daffodils filled the screen, painted beneath a brilliant blue sky. This time I knew what to look for, and while it still took me a few seconds, I found the hidden penis. This time it was stretching lengthwise across the very bottom of the image. Blades of grass and elaborate flower petals were painted in fine detail along the taut skin.

“Oh my god,” I finally managed to get out. “How do you do this?”

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night and find out?” she said to me with a hint of allure and mystery. I swallowed hard, trying not to seem shocked out of my skin by her proposal, but I most definitely was. Words escaped me.

“You don’t have to answer me now Ben,” she said with a casual smile, one so honest and compelling I will never forget it as long as I live. She grabbed up her tablet and pushed it back into her bag, and pulled out a small card in its place. “Here’s my card, just text me when you know for sure. From what I’ve heard, you will make a great model for my project.” She winked at me and then stood, and I followed. She leaned across the table for a polite kiss on my cheek, and said, “I really hope to hear from you Ben.”

She clasped one of my hands in both of hers for a moment, her soft yeni escort skin swaddling my calloused hand like a cozy bed. She let the moment linger, gazing deeply into my eyes, and I was lost forever.

“My god,” I said finally, into her searing vortex of unfathomable beauty, “you most definitely will.”


I hopped up onto the table and wondered how on earth my flaccid and frightened cock would become one of her stunning works of art by the end of the night. There was no way I was going to be coming to attention just from lying naked on a table.

I reclined back on the soft material and brought up a foot, keeping my knee bent to obscure the view of my eventual center stage performer, who, as luck would have it, was fast asleep. No need to show something I didn’t yet have after all.

My mind was racing almost as fast as my overactive circulatory system as I pondered the predicament I had willingly subjected myself to . . . naked!

I heard some cups knocking together and some tools or something clicking as I realized there must be a world of preparation to quickly paint a masterpiece before the subsiding of a man’s penis puts a swift end to the creative process.

When Penelope finally made her way through the lean-to town of art, I noticed she had a small tub with a large fat brush and a dish of white paint in her hands. It seemed strange she didn’t have a variety of colors at her disposal yet, so I assumed this was a preliminary step.

She still hadn’t made eye contact as she neared, and now I just wanted to get it over with. Seeming to sense my anxiousness, she set down her supplies on an adjacent wooden stand and turned to face me, looking me right in the eyes.

“How are you doing?” she asked with a slight smile but also with genuine concern in her voice. She had obviously been through this before.

“Okay, I think,” my mouth said; my brain on the other hand wanted nothing to do with this conversation.

“You have a great body Ben,” she said, purposefully running her eyes down to my chin, and then along every bare inch of skin between it and my raised knee, “This will be fun, I promise!”

Her hand touched my knee and gently lowered it, allowing the unobstructed view of my prone nudity to show. To my utter dismay my manhood was in full retreat. I looked up into her eyes as they dragged back up my body and connected with mine again.

Sinking deep into her mesmerizing gaze instantly made me feel better, and all at once I wanted her to see me. I wanted her to paint me. Truth be told . . . I wanted her.

She moved her hand and placed it on my chest, delicately rubbing my bare skin beneath her touch. My god she was spectacular! Just the mere feel of her baby soft fingers on my exposed body was enough to start blood flowing to all the right places.

Her eyes left mine in an easy way and trailed back down to watch her magic touch casting its spell on me. I wanted to kiss her lips. I wanted to hug her body. I wanted to pull her on top of me and keep her there until the sparks we created lit everything on fire. Feeling all of this sexual desire in an instant had me quickly growing in my naked lap, my erection eventually pulling its own skin taught like a piano wire.

“Oh Ben,” she whispered, staring at my newly formed tour de force, suddenly available for her artistic craftsmanship, “it’s magnificent!”

I was sure she said that to all her subjects, but I loved hearing it just the same. I watched her eyes trace the finest ridges and grooves of my granite column, her fingers brushing their way down to softly graze along the smooth surface of my cockhead.

“I’m glad you approve,” I mustered, although it sounded like a sleaze ball line coming out. She didn’t notice however as her attention was fixated on my pulsing shaft. She lightly wrapped her hand around my cock and held it loosely, slightly raising it up.

“This is going to make a great piece Ben,” she spoke softly to my lap, “I’m so glad you came in today. Now I’m just going to freshen up this area for painting; are you sure you’re okay?” She looked over her shoulder at me and her beautiful eyes twinkled so brightly I could only nod.

“Good, now just relax and we’ll get started.” With that she pulled her cart next to the table and sat on a short stool near my waist. The sound of a wet towel in a bowl of water filled my ears and I quickly felt a warm, damp sensation wrapping all around my groin. It felt good, and actually spurred me into a harder state.

What came next however was unexpected as I felt a cool, creamy texture spreading across my lower region, and I had to remind myself I was in expert hands.

“Now I need you keep perfectly still, okay Ben?” she said, keeping her eyes on her work, (you know, my naked and excited cock).

The very next thing I felt was some kind of device dragging along my skin very close to my scrotum. It was cold and wet, and I was sure it must have been some kind yenibosna escort of tool she used to prep the area for her craft. I couldn’t have been more correct.

When I felt the cool metal lift and heard a gentle water splashing before it touched down again, I swallowed hard and realized with a surge of dread that she was shaving me!

I tried not to panic, but I didn’t want to believe she probably had a straight razor running right up the skin of my balls like it was the most normal thing in the world! I had heard of guys shaving their stuff before, but I had never so much as given myself a trim. Now suddenly this gorgeous woman was quickly peeling every strand of hair from my lower body like she was skinning an onion.

I felt beads of sweat break above my eyes and roll down my temples. I could hardly protest in my position, although if the situation were ANY different I would have; profusely. As it was I was stuck, committed to this night and whatever it might bring.

Her hands felt delicious though as they cupped and shifted my newly bared balls. She tilted my shaft around as her expert technique made short order of my furry man hair. Her fingertips teased the head of my cock as she moved it, keeping me on the edge of hardness while her blade disintegrated the follicles that had at one time made me feel like a man. Now I didn’t know what to feel.

By the time I was able to calm down it was over. I heard another splash, and then the warm washcloth touched down again, but this time I felt it along every microscopic millimeter of newly available flesh, a feeling I probably hadn’t known since childhood.

Once the water was dried away I heard a squelch of a sound, and instantly felt another creamy feeling on my balls and shaft, this time it was much thicker, more luxurious. Using all of her tantalizing fingers, Penelope worked the cream up and down my bare and hairless cock, rubbing over my naked balls and down. She continued rubbing it in, making me groan under my breath at the new incredible feeling of complete hairlessness in her hands.

“How does that feel Ben?” she asked me after a minute of intense rubbing and fondling of my freshly shaven package.

“Incredible,” is all I could say, and “I never knew.”

“Sorry for the surprise, but I’ve lost a few in the middle of that conversation,” she admitted. “Now I just get started before anyone knows it’s coming. You don’t mind do you?”

“I don’t anymore,” I revealed honestly, “that feels amazing.”

“I’m glad, and I just want to tell you again how beautiful your penis is, if you don’t mind me saying so. I’m really excited to get started, are you?”

I looked down and almost cried at the incredible view of my completely shaven cock entwined in her thin oily fingers. “I am definitely excited,” I said honestly.

“Great, then we just need to get you into position,” she said, slowing her slippery strokes into a gentle caress up and down my swollen shaft. She reached over with one hand and pulled up what looked to be a really thin rope, or a really thick string, it was hard to tell which. It looked extremely soft though, and I suddenly knew where it was headed.

She slid the blue cord under my erection and wrapped it around one time and pulled, hoisting my solid mast into the air like a barn pole, and tying the ends to something apparently between my legs on the table. I watched in amazement as my rigid shaft towered over me, proudly showing every inch of its naked length in a vertical direction.

“Oh my god,” she whispered as she sat back on her stool, “Look at you . . . its perfect.” Okay, not even I believed that my cock was perfect, but again I appreciated the sentiment.

“That’s nice of you to say,” I offered, unsure of how to really respond to compliments about the perfection of my aroused cock sticking up.

“Really Ben,” she said, tracing her fingers up the side of my length and back down, sending a lusty shiver through my nude body, “I’ve done this quite a bit, and now I’m just worried you’ll have a difficult time keeping it up with all that length.”

“I’ll do my best, I guess.” It was all I could say.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help,” she said running her soft fingers down my shaft one last time before turning toward her work station. With her attention directed away, I could only look down and stare at my cleanly-shaven cock jutting toward the ceiling in a lewd display above me. It looked bigger than I had ever seen it.

Penelope leaned down and withdrew a large board filled with small cups of colors from beneath the terry cloth curtain over the bed. It seemed to be on wheels as she easily guided it in front of her and clicked it into place. So that’s where she was hiding the colors!

She moved quickly, organizing a number of brushes and paint caps while I watched. I could feel my attention moving softly from arousal to curiosity, ever so slightly relaxing my tower of flesh. It leaned a bit to the side like Pisa, and she must have noticed out of the corner of her eye as her head snapped to the left.

“Oh no you don’t,” she leaned back toward me and over my chest, looking into my eyes, “Ben honey, I need to see that long, hard, sexy naked cock of yours sticking out for me all night. Can you do that for me baby?”

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