An Artist from the Past - Sex Stories

An Artist from the Past

... the sex he was painting began to show full frontal nude males, erect penises, threesomes and orgies. Not the stuff for church art shows, art-in-the-park or thrift sales!

But, it was good. Really good.

One night after the models all left, it was clear than Jerry was incredibly horned. He invited me to go clubbing with him. And I responded by inviting him back to my nearby condo. Thus, we started a several year affair.

Jerry was nothing short of stupendous in bed. He was a confirmed top. And despite his diminutive stature, he had one of the biggest cocks I've ever seen in my life: about 4 inches flaccid, but it was definitely a grower—probably to 9 or 10 inches when rock hard.

On the first "date" I had a drink (and he had Pellegrino with lemon) and we sat on the sofa of my condo which looked out on the Manhattan skyline. We started necking. Soon I pulled him into my lap—he was the perfect size. Clothes were discarded, and our chests came together as his arms stretched around my neck. So naturally, my free hand began the massage of his cheeks, the exploration of his cleft, and the stimulation of his rim. I have always been an ass man. Both of us were rising in temperature and arousal. Then, Jerry whispered that he was a confirmed top. I told him I was okay with that "for now" but that we'd have to revisit that situation if "things worked out between us."

We headed to my bed—and it was then that I realized what an Olympic grower he was. His stiff cock was ...

... barely perpendicular to his body because it was so heavy. The head had reddened and enlarged. He was going to pound the fuck out of my chute and my prostate with that baton. At that point I was re-assessing my agreement to bottom, but that cock looked so good as it darkened threateningly and started to leak.

I pulled him by his cock to the edge of the bed and pointed to the magnums and lube that were on the bedside table. Then, I turned and fell in, belly first. I drew in my legs and I lifted my ass toward him and moaned, "Take it slow and use a lot of lube. You're bigger than anyone I've ever taken, Jerry."

He took his time wrapping and lubing. "I'm really enjoying the view, Mac. I'm going to paint that ass sometime. It deserves to be immortalized. But first it needs to feel a giant dick." Then he bent over me and touched his chest to my back as his fingers began to do their work. It turns out that painter's hands and fingers are pretty good at foreplay and opening—must be the precision practice they get from careful brush strokes. Soon he had at least three fingers inside, turning and swirling, and I was groaning in anticipation and invitation. He slapped my butt a few times and then moved to my nipples to distract me from the invasion.

He positioned, applied some pressure and the head popped. Fuck it stung. But the sting soon faded and I signaled for him to continue. It took several minutes of bumping, thrusting and withdrawing before he bottomed and I felt his hot, ...