The Artist's Studio

Ah yes, we drew her until she came.

And when she came, with a quiet intensity that was wordless, for these papers and canvases caught no words and we could not paint it nor draw it, for it was Joanna's own ecstasy that we had aroused; when she came our three images captured the moment just before her peaking pleasure. That was the moment we could see and capture, but the tumbling, soaring waves of pleasure that were beyond that moment, we could not capture those.

For they were the intensity right there in front of us, now, and we all wanted to stay and bear witness and gaze upon this woman in her pleasure that we had helped create but she had made her own. As she came and quivered with the swooning delight of it, Joanna made one soaring cry and moan, and the room throbbed with her sound.

We four were motionless, and our images forever captured the moment before. And in the moments after, four artists who had shared this luscious model and her generosity, the four of us each looked deep into ourselves and took our own silent pleasure, each in our own way.

I vowed that I would place my drawing on a wall and had no doubt that I would spill my come on the floor before it like a sacrament, many times. In that room and in that place, though, I held my hand firm on my hard prick held tight within my jeans, and felt the hot peak within my nipples and that was enough. I had my drawing.

I looked at Nicola, and in her own shy way, I saw that she had one hand cupping her breast inside her soft bra, and with the fingers of her other hand she traced the blossom of heat on her own throat; and her gaze was upon the face she had drawn on her paper. That was why she was here, in this class.

On the other side of the room, Sarah still held her brush in one hand, poised and still, but her other hand was hidden inside a fold of her skirt, and there was a slow movement at the very core of her. She was responding to her own response to the woman who lay before her, and it was her skill that had brought Joanna to her peak. Sarah was clearly going to celebrate women in her art.

And by the door, leaning against the door post, Sophia had one hand down the back of her low slung jeans, inside the band of her high underwear, and I knew she had one finger pressed to the bud of her asshole and it was clenched there.

If there had been another artist with a wider vision and precise quick skills, then the studio would have been a silent tableaux, filled with tiny details but soundless. And then movement crept back into the room, while the images on the easels were still and forever now, and sounds returned as well. Joanna broke the spell first, by getting off the couch and then moving to see herself portrayed. Each of us stood by our easel and were silent as she gazed upon herself.

In front of my drawing she held one hand to her own belly, and reached the other to the image and lightly touched it on its belly there, and made one tiny final adjustment to the picture, based on some intimate knowledge of her own, that I could not see. So she knew that the sensations in her belly and ribs were from me.

"Thank you, your touch was gentle when I wanted it to be gentle, and stronger when I wanted that."

Seeing Nicola's drawing and that shy girl standing beside it, Joanna reached her finger to Nicola's own throat and stroked the side of her neck.

"Your fingers are so soft, you must draw me again, I would delight in that." Ah God, the look on Nicola's face, hearing those words.

"Oh Sarah, I am still as wet as your paint; and Sophia, I see that you could not resist dabbing your deepest purple on my clit. You wonderful tease, I thought I felt your colour there!"

--- ooo OOO ooo ---

The next day it was I who ran late, seeming to catch every red traffic light on the long straight road on the plain, and then the curving climb up the hill was slow and truck blocked. By the time I arrived, Sophia, Nicola and Sarah had claimed their spot in the studio, and set up their easels.

But the women were despondent.

"Joanna can't make it today," said Sophia, "she's been tangled up in some other business. I don't know what to do about a model, I'm sorry."

I immediately thought of Joanna's experience yesterday.

"Hey, if nobody minds, I'm willing to give it a go. I've not done it before, but I'm willing."

Eager at the idea: truth be told, if three women could paint me and I could feel it like Joanna felt it; fuck, I could manage that.

Sophia looked at me with a serious gaze, "are you sure?"

"I might not be a David, but I'm not Jabba the Hutt either," I replied, "and if Sarah and Nicola would like to paint a man's body, then yeah, I'll give it a go."

"What do you think, ladies?" Sophia asked.

"Why not," replied Sarah, "it will be something new for me."

She looked at me in a different way, but I couldn't begin to guess what was going through her head. I remembered how she had painted Joanna's open and fecund sex, and how her quick brush strokes had brought Joanna to her peak. Her peak of purple bruise and vermilion crease.

"Me too," said Nicola, blushing, but not catching my eye. I couldn't read the girl.

Sophia looked at me for maybe five seconds, but she too was unreadable. Perhaps she was wondering about my willingness to strip naked before a group of unknown women, when she herself found it so hard. Perhaps she was appraising me with her artist's eye. I don't know, but then I saw a small smile in the corner of this elegant blonde's mouth, and the smile creased to her eyes.

"OK then, if you think you can do it, let's do it. I'll paint as well - I wonder if I can get a good likeness."

Damn, was she teasing me or challenging me? I knew that much of Sophia's income came from portrait commissions, so what the hell was she on about?

I looked at the three women, and it was only then that I realised that I had no real idea what I was doing here. I didn't know these women at all. My thought from the previous day flashed into my head, about a coven of white witches. And then the witch scene from Macbeth flashed through my mind. Polanski had filmed Macbeth, darkly....

Shit, maybe I wasn't so clever after all. I didn't even know if these women even liked men. Nicola certainly had a thing for women, that was obvious, but she seemed uncertain, so I think I was safe there. But Sarah, hmmm. Lady lawyers could be ball busters, since they needed to learn to survive in a male dominated world, in this town, at least. And Sophia? Fuck, I knew I was way out of my depth with that woman.

It was no wonder then, with these thoughts swirling through my head, that my cock was small and fragile when I stripped out of my clothes. Sophia had shown me to another room to prepare myself, knowing perhaps that my bravado might disappear. Damn, I can't go out there with you looking like that, I said to myself, as I looked down. My cock ignored my head. Fuck you mate, say it to the hand. That's better, a bit more heft and length, but nothing to startle the ladies. OK, I can do this.

I went back to the studio in the same kimono that Joanna had wrapped herself in yesterday, and the silken softness was smooth against my skin. My hanging cock brushed against the cloth as I walked, and even that little movement was tactile and sensual. It seemed that my senses were becoming more acute already, with the expectation of the next hour or so.

Still, it was a bit daunting. Here I was, naked under a silken gown, and the eyes of three women already on me, and knowing that I was going to be looked at more intensely than ever before. But Sophia the teacher took control, and for a minute or so there were instructions and the moving about of easels as they each found an eyeline and then I was stretched on the couch as they decided what pose they wanted me to hold.

In the end, it was much the same as Joanna's pose from yesterday. I was sitting slightly higher on pillows, with my right arm along the back of the couch. My left hand was resting on my left thigh, my right leg was slightly raised, so my body was tilted ever so slightly forward.

My cock and balls were nestled, coiled in my groin. Because of the angle of my body, my cock was curved around my right ball sac, nestled over the top of the left sac. I am uncut, so my foreskin was just over the end of my cock head, the prepuce quite tight. Soft, my curved cock was maybe four, five inches long and would, I hoped, make a nice study for the women. The room was comfortable and warm, so I had no concern that my cock would shrivel and shrink with cold.

I did not know if the drawing and painting would work the same magic in the room as it had with Joanna, I did not know what magic might be involved. The women might be witches, but I am no wizard.

"Are you comfortable, A?"

Sophia makes sure that I am settled and relaxed, and then she becomes the teacher, once again.

"See how the bulk and shape of a male body is so different to a female body. Joanna was all curves and soft round shapes, whereas A is all about flat planes and lengths, and the muscle contours are different. You still need to find the main gesture and the outlines, but you will find that the tones and contours are flatter, and the shapes more angular. When you are capturing the essence of a male physique, you need to think in terms of columns and length and flat planes. For a woman, you think curves and roundness. Unless you are drawing a catwalk or a fashion model, in which case it's all angles and elongation."

There was a laugh around the room at the last comment, but the point was made. Bodies are different, it's that simple. All you need to draw a body is close observation.

And as their drawings and paintings began, I went into a zone of my own, some inwards observation, some contemplation. For maybe ten minutes I was aware of the voices in the room, but because I could not see what was being talked about, and the shapes being made on paper and canvas were out of my sight, I found that I was no longer following the conversations. My eyes were half closed, but I was aware that Sophia had stood by each of the artists to see where they were up to. She hadn't turned to her own easel yet.

"That's excellent, Sarah, you've really caught that line well. Just close up the shape of his left foot and you will have a full outline and can start to block in the masses."

As Sophia says those words, I feel a strange sensation in my foot, as if the lightest, most delicate breath of wind has blown over my naked skin. Then there is a stronger sensation on my toes and on the base of my foot, and then a long sweeping line of pressure up the side of my foot to my ankle. It's not unpleasant, just unfamiliar.

The same sweeping pressure moves up my shin to my thigh, and there is a circular motion around my knee, and a descending sweep down my leg. There follows abrushing sensation along the back of my calf, and a coolness also. I open my eyes and look towards Sarah and see that she is concentrating her focus towards my legs. Is this what it feels like to be painted, then? Each brush stroke a touch on my skin, and because she is using paint, a wetness as well?

I shift my vision to see where Nicola's concentration is, because I cannot feel anything else. Ah, wait, yes, the lightest, softest touch is around my face and eyes, just a shimmer of touch on my temples, and I guess that Nicola is sketching in my face and features. Again, the sensation is faint and gentle, like a ghost touching my skin. I think Nicola's touch is as light and delicate as her glances - almost not there at all, but repeated over and over as the line and shadow fall into place on her paper. She uses pencil and light colours, and her touch is like gossamer on my skin.

I find that I can feel the two different sensations at my head and on my lower limbs at the same time, even though they are quite different in the length of each stroke or touch, and their firmness. Sarah's strokes are more confident, and cover more of my limbs in one sweeping flow. Nicola's touch is lighter, more tentative (like the girl herself, I think), but every now and then there is a stronger sensation, and then that place is left. She builds up her detail in tiny, light touches, just finger tips on my flesh, and then she underlines a finished place with a stronger, confident, final touch.

Then it is strangeness around my chest and belly, and it is the gossamer light touch sweeping down from my neck, and the wetter longer brush moving up from my thighs, and both women are painting and drawing my chest and torso, together. Their different styles merge in my muscles and skin, and then there is a big swirling confident rub all over my body and breast, and a solid stroke all down my leg, and I see that Sophia stands by her easel with a thick stroke of charcoal in her hand, and her confidence is upon me. Her artist's eye has caught my line in one confident sweep, and the feeling is exhilarating.

The sensations from their three different styles of painting become intense on my skin, and I begin to get saturated with sensation, especially if the women chance to focus on the same place of me at the same time. Right now they are all still focusing on the main planes and long shapes of my body, and my skin is swept by a range of long touches, swooping and curving over my limbs and down the sides of my torso and across my belly.

Sophia is the more skilled artist, and her touch on my flesh is confident, swift and firm. I feel wide stripes of sensation ripple like bands of light across my body as she rapidly builds up the tone and shape of my muscles, my legs and arms. She runs her fingers over the curve of my upper arm, and it is like a firm massage, deep into the muscle.

Sometimes her touch is almost painful, as she pulls up the dark tone from pressing hard on the charcoal. Under her firm sweeping embrace, which flickers quickly from one limb to another, from my chest to belly to thigh, I feel a softer, slower and more gentle caress. It is Nicola's fine pencil slowly filling in the darks and light and shadows on my skin, and she circles the fine point slowly down my arm, and she finds the sensitive hollow inside my elbow, and finds all the shadows there. Her style is slow and patient, as she looks closely into my flesh and finds the detail.

There is a little scar on the inside of my left wrist, and she has spied it and traces out its dimensions, making a light prickle of shadow lace down my wrist. The inside of my wrist is delicate and sensitive, or it is Nicola's soft, gentle touch that makes it so.

Then, suddenly, there is a wetness on my nipple like a tongue, and Sarah has turned her eye and the bristles of her brush to my nipple, and she is twirling the tip of that nub of flesh into tightness. I can see that she has used a rich colour from her palette, and my nipple stands up in contrast. She spins the brush around my other nipple, and both are painted up to bright, sharp peaks, and a pulse darts down the nerve that connects my tight tits to the base of my cock, and there is a twitch and pulse deep in my groin. I feel my balls shift and roll, but the eyes of the women are elsewhere, and the slight movement is not noticed, not yet.

But as Sarah teases up my nipples for her canvas, this small movement in me is seen by the other two women, and my chest and nipples are brushed with a myriad of sensations, as Sophia presses firmly onto my chest to lay down her tone, and she then shapes it with two fingers, to get the fill of the shape on her paper, and she uses the pad of one finger to pull up a bright highlight. But fuck, the bright white light is on the end of my nipple, and the shaping feels like a pinch. Sophia is not gentle with her drawing, and I wonder if she knows she is being quick and hard on my flesh. Jesus, she has just pulled three fingers hard across my ribs, chasing the corrugations and shadows down the side of my body.

I ache for Nicola's gentle touch, but even she is more certain, more rigorous, as she pencils in the conical tightness of my nipples, both tweaked quickly, one after the other. The attention on my chest and tight nips sends more nervous bursts to the base of my spine, and my cock is starting to thicken.

Nicola is the first to notice the thickening and slow straightening of my cock, and I feel the light feathering touches of her pencil like the stroke of a feather itself on my cock. Her exquisite subtlety in capturing what she sees is enough by itself to shift and lengthen my cock more, and Nicola is trying to draw an ever changing shape. My cock is not yet a shaft, but it has uncoiled in my groin and is moving on my thigh.

Sophia notices what Nicola is doing.

"Don't use your eraser on the shifting shapes," she says, "think what that might do, it wouldn't be good!"

Nicola gasps as she realises what she was about to do.

"Just keep drawing over the smaller shapes as you see the bigger ones emerge," Sophia advises, realising what will happen in my cock before the younger, more innocent girl realises. And with the attention, for now Sarah also notices the shifting growth in my groin, my cock thickens and straightens and completely changes its position on my leg, and the head starts to emerge from its foreskin.

"Oh, I can't wait for all this slow arousal," Sarah has a laugh in her voice, "let's just paint him erect, right now, so we can each adjust our own drawings and paintings to show the final shape."

And there is a broad, wet stroke up the length of my cock as she brushes up the full length of my erection, and swirls a full shape of rich red and purple colour for my cock head. The wetness is like a tongue, long and slick up the flesh of my tightening shaft.

Sophia joins the shape shifting with a firm grasp of her charcoal covered fingers, and my cock is fully erect now and hard against my belly, swollen with her grip and the firm, confident lines of her drawing.

"Well, there's a nice length for us to draw, I'm not sure I expected that," she says.

I sneak a look at the women from closely slitted eyes, each at work on their easels, and their different artistic approaches shift and shiver up and down my thick shaft. Now there are swirls of sensation around my balls as they translate these rounded shapes to their work. And here I can sense the different visions of my cock and balls being translated to their easels. This coven of three women view and portray me, their momentarily captured and captive man, in different ways.

Sophia's drawing is bold and assured, and her long fingers rub over the muscles on my gut and the shapes of my thighs, and she shades bold tones deep into my groin and lifts the highlights up onto the shaft of my cock, shaping it long and strong, upright and solid. She exaggerates the ripple of veins along the skin of my cock, and my balls are full and swollen in her image of me. She draws long shudders up and down the length of my body. I sense also that she is drawing my cock at a new angle, that is not what she sees in front of her, but is an angle to satisfy something in her mind. She is starting to add something to her drawing that is not only me. She is drawing some new curves for my hands to hold, that I cannot see, but they are in her mind's eye.

Nicola's drawing and touch is once again light and delicate, teasing soft sensations over the head of my prick as she shapes the head of it as finely detailed and shaped, like a succulent piece of fruit. Her fragile touch also drifts over the hair on my balls, as she shades and shapes those sacs, like other pieces of fruit, almost as if each soft hair is individually drawn onto a soft velvet background.

Sarah has no patience, and I feel the swirl of her brush and the smooth wetness of the paint she uses, as if it were some wet sheath being wrapped around my limbs. She dabs at my cock, layering on shadows and colours, and almost as quickly as she shapes a limb, she swirls over it in a different direction, and it feels like my body is being torn and tangled. Her style is jagged and abrupt, and my flesh is bruised with the colours she uses.