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Excerpt from Influence: Erotic stories of the dynamic between powerful older men and their young male protégés
The Artist’s Model
Jeff checked his silhouette between the bars of the building’s glass front door. His fitted jeans and clingy white t-shirt showed off the tight-bodied model’s image he hoped to project for his first posing session. He’d moved to New York from Kentucky to become an actor, not a model. But as he made friends with the other aspiring actors and dancers he met at auditions, his gym, and the catering jobs they worked together, they all seemed to share a few things in common. They were all handsome, well-built, and talented. They were all working for that one, big break. And they all modeled for Nate Daniels’ Wednesday evening life-drawing group.
“It’s a bit of extra money,” Jeff’s roommate Jordan said, “but more than that, the artists can make or break a career and it’s a great chance to get some exposure. He rattled off the names of two choreographers, a famous set designer, and the producer who just happened to have the hottest show on broadway that season; a physical all-male story populated with the exact kind of beautiful guys you can imagine modeling for these sessions. Jeff’s Instagram account confirmed Nate’s relevance, as every male performer he met and followed on the app seemed to have at least one posting of himself standing, alone or with another muscled stud, in Nate’s unmistakable studio, next to sketches of themselves. In almost every photo they sported nothing more than their muscled bodies, a book or their hands covering their genitals, and proud smiles that said ‘Yes! I’ve finally been sketched by Nate Daniels!’. His roommate Jordan, with his square jawline and perfect proportions, could boast three such postings on his IG account, and had the nine-month role as a backup dancer in one of the choreographer’s shows to boast as an outcome.
“Acting lessons, the gym and Nate’s studio – that’s a fastest way to get to Broadway,” Jordan advised, and Jeff took his wise advice.
He spent hours in the gym, building his natural ectomorphic frame into the muscled swimmers build that was finally getting him weekend invites to Fire Island, where his hosts would encourage him to join them in the nude swims and sunbathing that was expected in that erotic paradise. Jeff was tall and lean, with a combination of dark brown hair cut in a traditional side part, and deep blue eyes you could swim in, that got him plenty of attention when he walked the city streets. But it was on the beaches and swimming pools of Fire Island that he could really show off his most distinguishing asset. For Jeff, to put it bluntly, had one of the largest, most beautiful tools that The Pines had ever seen. It was becoming legendary among Jeff’s growing group of friends as word spread through gym locker rooms and audition waiting rooms about ‘The Kentucky kid with the huge cock’. For Jeff’s part, it had been part of his life forever, and while it gave him an extra swagger in the world, he didn’t think much more about it.
Finally, after two solid months of effort – thirst trap postings, hard workouts and DM’s to the artist’s account, he got a reply.
“Come on by the studio this Wednesday evening, Jeff. Any friend of Jordan’s is a friend of ours!”
Jeff pumped out ten quick pushups in the lobby and sprinted up the stairs to the third floor loft studio, in hopes that he’d have a nice pump when they opened the door.
“You must be Jeff, welcome!” The artist greeted him at the door of the Hell’s Kitchen loft. Nate looked every bit the artist in residence, a shock of well-cut but uncombed hair topping a handsome middle-aged face and a perfectly trimmed van dyke beard that could have looked cartoonish but somehow worked on the artist. He wore a large denim shirt spotted liberally with paint and chalk dust, misbuttoned so that his still-fit, tanned chest peaked out from the incongruent collar. He led Jeff through the enormous loft which looked to be equal parts home and artist’s studio. A wall of floor-to-ceiling, North facing windows let through the ambient glow of the early fall’s setting sun. Sketches and large-scale canvases covered the room; god-like men represented in sultry repose or strained athleticism. Jeff tried to conceal his nerves as he and Nate pierced the small circle of artists, heads down as they focused on sharpening pencils and searching sketch pads for blank pages.
Nate introduced him around the circle; a group of men of various ages and looks but with the same shabby elegance that marked them as creatives.
“And this is your partner for the evening, Andrea, our friend from Italy. Andrea, this is Jeff.”
Andrea was a beautiful slab of a man, broader than Jeff, but with the same short dark hair and blue eyes. That, combined with his refined features and sharp-as-a-knife jawline grazed with dark stubble, led Jeff to conclude that Andrea was of Northern Italian heritage.
“Milano,” he said in his deep, sexily accented voice when asked.
“All right boys let’s not stand on ceremony. Go ahead and strip down and jump up on the stand.”
Andrea peeled off his skin-tight black Versace tee and white jeans with the careless speed that made clear he’d done this before and made Jeff’s brief hesitation even more noticeable. Jeff squirmed out of his equally tight jeans and tee (no underwear for either of the boys) and mounted the repurposed, oversized coffee table which doubled as a posing stand, where the sexy and very nude Andrea was already half-perched on the lone stool. Immediately, Andrea wound his giant meat hook of an arm around Jeff’s waist and grasped the side of his buttocks with his giant hand in a way that was so careless, so comfortable, that he reminded Jeff of the golden retriever he’d had as as kid back in Kentucky.
One-by-one, as each of the artists finally looked up from their blank pads and their freshly sharpened pencils, and saw the meaty tripod between Jeff’s legs, their eyes grew wide and shifted from the academic gaze to something more visceral. Jeff was used to this and feigned not to notice as they stared.
“Wow, you’re a big boy,” Ben, the set designer blurted out, cutting the awed silence around the room, and prompting a laugh from Jeff.
“I get that a lot.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Ben said, with some leering in his tone that matched the hyper-focused look in his eyes.
Andrea, now fully aware of the monster hanging just inches from his face, tugged subtlety at his own penis to fluff it up a bit in a vain effort to match his partner.
Once the men all settled in and grew more used to the ‘unexpected third model’ on the stage, the evening followed their typical schedule. Three short poses of five minutes as a warmup, followed by the first forty-five-minute pose before their first and only break of the evening. There was something so serene about the dimly lit studio, candles aglow on stacks of books and the gentle scratches of pastels and pencils on rough paper, that Jeff began to feel very comfortable on the stage, and with his and Andrea’s bodies touching as they shifted into various poses. The first two poses they chose themselves, but for the third, Nate climbed the stand and shifted their bodies into position. Turn towards Jeff, shoulders back, left leg forward, until Nate exclaimed ‘perfect’ and Jeff found himself in a half-embrace with Andrea, legs positioned between each other so that their smooth, muscled abs and thighs pressed, and both model’s cocks we’re inevitably pressed together.
In the minutes that passed, something changed in the energy between the models. Andrea’s giant, manly paw began to rub, imperceptibly at first, then in slow, affectionate strokes, the top of Jeff’s smooth, muscled ass until his pinky just brushed the crevice between the young man’s butt cheeks. The artists, seated primarily in front of the models, did not see this, but felt the sudden shift in the interplay between the models. Jeff begged his cock not to react as he felt Andrea’s growing member press against it with some new sense of urgency. ‘I can not get hard, I can not get hard,’ echoed the repeated plea in his head, but it served only to make it more difficult to ignore that his stiffening monster was rising between his partner’s thighs and would threaten to lift him off the floor if not controlled.
“OK, why don’t we take a break,” Nate called out mercifully as the gentle sound of pencils on paper had died away, Jeff conscious that eyes which had darted up and down from paper were now largely boring uninterrupted at he and Andrea’s burgeoning crotches.
“Mi scusi,” the sexy Italian said as he pulled a pillow from the couch and covered his erection, “sometimes I getta carried away.” Jeff felt equally bashful and grabbed a seat cushion off one of the unoccupied wood chairs to cover the tent pole still bobbing between his legs.
The group called out almost in unison, that it was no problem at all, with a ‘these things happen all the time,’ and ‘we’re all men here.’ And soon, the models, and their erections, relaxed as the customary bottles of good wine were opened and poured for the artists and models as they mingled around in the nude. By the time the break was winding down, everyone was glowing with a combination of the camaraderie and Nate’s big, generous pours.
For the second half of the evening, Nate took full command of posing the two models. And with each pose, Jeff became more aware that the positions were becoming increasingly intimate. ‘Do you mind?’ He would check in with the models on each pose, and in an effort to please his host, as well as the pure carnal enjoyment of pressing their bodies against each other, the boys complied with each request.
“For our final long pose, we like to give the models the option of doing something a bit more daring. This is totally optional. Are you both up for it?”
“Si, I am up,” the Italian stud immediately volunteered.
“I can see that,” Nate replied, now more lascivious in his tone as he tapped Andrea’s semi-erect penis with the blunt end of his pencil. His cock sprung back responsively.
“And you Jeff? Are you,” he paused meaningfully, “up for it?”
“Well, sure,” Jeff replied, unsure, but titillated and wanting to please.
Without pause, two of the artists brought forward bottles of baby lotion, ‘to highlight your musculature’ which was offered to the models for application. Once their bodies shined with the oil, one of the artists offered, ‘let’s see a wrestling stance,’ and Andrea, on cue, leaned into Jeff in a crouched stance, his ropey arms encircling the model’s torso so that Jeff could naturally fold over his broad back and shoulders.
“That’s perfect, stay just like that! Oh, we could use just a bit more oil. Oscar, Kurt, would you mind?”
From Jeff’s prone position, head down with his arms around the other model’s muscled core, he could feel first streams of warm oil being squirted generously at their tangle of muscles, then two sets of hands rubbing every accessible contour to a high gloss. The feeling of the hands, in combination with Andreas’ warm breath so close to Jeff’s cock, made it stiffen immediately. In a moment, he felt the warm tip of the other model’s tongue, then full mouth, tease his rigid rod to full life.
“That’s it, suck that big cock,” he heard a voice say gruffly. Then, “yeah, take it as deep as you can, boy.” With effort, Jeff lifted his head from the other model’s back and glanced through hooded, ecstatic eyes at the scene around him. The men had closed in, encircling them, with a hushed reverence that felt intense and animal. They were quiet except to instruct the boys in low, urgent tones.
“You love it Andrea, don’t you?” Nate prompted his strapping model as the Italian stud sucked and slurped away at Jeff’s girthy member.
“Si, lo adoro,” he moaned, around the giant cock still filling his mouth.
“Sit on it, you big stud. Ride it like we know you want to,” a faceless voice commanded, as Andrea released his hold on Jeff, and Jeff slumped down to the platform, intoxicated by the passion of the moment. All the artists surrounded them now, their hands rubbing themselves or lowering the big Italian onto Jeff’s rock-hard rod. In moments, Andrea was bucking and grinding like the stallion he was, impaling himself on Jeff, now leaning back on his elbows overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure. Great spurts of oil shot at them now as what felt like hundreds of pairs of hands violated every inch of the models; hands on chests, squeezing nipples, and cupping ass cheeks as they were raised and lowered on the pole beneath them.
“Drive that big cock into him, make him scream,” another voice commanded, and Jeff began to pump his thighs and ass as he felt himself closing in on his climax.
“Si, si, si…oh yes!” Andrea called out as Jeff gave a final, valiant push against the big man crouched over him, exploding into that fine, muscled ass.
It was only as the reverie of his orgasm started to subside that he became conscious of the men, all but on top of the two models now, unleashing their own passion onto their chests, and faces, in warm, steady gushes which had replaced the oil. The boys fell, spent, across the platform in one lubed, semen-covered mass of muscle and exhaustion.
Two Months Later
Jeff sat in the dressing room after the final curtain call of his third performance. He had a small, but memorable role in the latest hit of the producer he’d met at Nate’s studio.
“Man, I’d have killed for that role,” his roommate Jordan said, “I can only guess what you did to land it?”
“I guess I just fit the part,” Jeff answered slyly, as his greatest talent stirred in his sweatpants.
