A Model Garden – Exhibitionist & Voyeur – Free Sex Story

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A small CFNM tale of no great purpose except that of being my entry to the Nude Day story Contest 2022. We all know this wouldn’t ever happen for real. No, of course not. Would it?

Two points for your consideration. First, there are indeed fairly firm expectations with respect to etiquette when models pose nude. Secondly, please be aware that this story doesn’t include hard-pounding boy-in-girl Sex. If that’s what you’re looking for, there are so many other good stories around. This is just girls havin’ fun and playin’ around. Please enjoy!

+

“You OK, Ty?” Gale asked. “Do you need another break?”

Without turning my head, I took a look at the clock on the studio wall. I had another ten minutes or so before my hour was up. Gale had posed me sitting on a tall stool, leaning back with one leg stretched out to the floor and the other foot resting on a rung between the stool legs. There was a bit of tension, but no more than in many other poses. I could hold the stance for ten minutes, no trouble.

“No,” I replied. “I’m good, thanks.”

A few mimutes later, Gale gave the class a five-minute warning. She called it five minutes after that.

“That’s it, folks. Wrap it up. Thanks, Ty.”

I broke the pose, nodded in acknowledgement as the students gave me a light round of applause. Gale came forward with my housecoat, which I accepted thankfully. It hadn’t taken me many modelling sessions to learn to bring that and slippers. Gale was considerate and did her best to keep the room warm for my bare skin, but she couldn’t control everything.

“‘Kay, class,” she called. “Let’s all take a look at our work.”

The students gathered in her wake as she moved from easel to easel. I drifted with them, interested in seeing how I looked on paper.

Gale had fourteen students in this class, mostly young and evenly split between men and women. I was flattered at how well a couple of sketches had turned out and silently, sympathetically wished a couple of other would-be artists a speedy return to whatever reality their actual talent might lie in.

Gale made a couple of comments on each one, suggestions for improvement and such. I was impressed that she almost at all times found something positive to say.

“Right, please sit down, everybody. I have some final words.”

I took that as my cue and started towards the privacy screen placed at the back of the room as a changing space.

“Ty,” she called. “Stick around. I’d like to talk to you after.” I raised a hand in acknowledgement.

A few students had waited until I’d put my clothes on to say thank you, which was nice of them, I wondered. They left while Gale was still cleaning up. I decided to help her and started stacking easels in their ordinary places against one wall.

“Thanks, Ty,” she said over her shoulder. “I do appreciate your help this past semester. You’re a good model.”

“No worries, Gale.”

“That’s it for this term, anyway.” she reminded me. “Have you any plans for the summer?”

“Not really. I mean, nothing all that special. I’ve got a McJob lined up and have been asked to do some tutoring. Spend some time at the beach, I guess. Maybe an expanded routine at the gym, more time with the weights.”

She looked me up and down, chuckled.

“Like you need more time with weights, Ty.”

She grinned and handed me an envelope, my money for the evening.

I thanked her sincerely. One thing I liked about Professor Gale Swanson, there was never any waiting around for payment paperwork to plod its way through the bureaucracy. Cash worked for both of us. I noticed the envelope was a bit thicker than ordinary.

“They did a whip-around as a tip for you. They liked you, Ty.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t expected that. “Um, thanks!”

She brushed her hands against each other, hung her purse over her shoulder and motioned me out the door.

“Would you be interested in some more modelling work?”

I was a little puzzled. “I thought the faculty was closing down for the summer.”

“Oh, it is. This would be a private thing.”

She locked the door to the studio behind us, dropped the keys into her purse.

“I’ve been asked to run an advanced sketching class for some of my friends and neighbours. I’ve got a studio at my house and the days are long enough now that there’s lots of light.”

She stopped, bent her head back to look up at me.

“You’re pretty impressive, Ty — good muscle definition, good ability to hold a pose. You’d be a great starter for the class.”

“How often would it be?”

“Just once or twice, I think. I’d certainly like you for the first session. After that, maybe another, but I do want to rotate through models.”

“May I think about it, Gale?”

“Of course. But let me sweeten the offer — twenty bucks more than you get here. Plus tips.”

Her eyes twinkled a little as she said that.

“I’ll let you know.”

“You do that.”

The air outside was balmy, sweet with spring promise. We parted with a wave.

+

Gale’s house turned out to be near the university, in a nice neighborhood. It was hardly new and didn’t seem all that big, but it had a settled charm I found impressive.

I was the first to arrive.

“This is very pretty.”

“Thank you.”

She showed me around inside. The studio wasn’t particularly large, but it was open and full of light from an entire wall of windows, extending up to the peak of the roof. Clean but ‘artistically cluttered’, an array of sketches and paintings were hung and thumb-tacked over the walls in no apparent order, a couple of half-finished stone sculptures stood flanking the door and what appeared to be a disassembled loom leaned against the wall in a corner. A knee-high wooden posing platform stood in the middle. The place smelled slightly of oil paint and turpentine.

The windows faced west and the late afternoon sun was warm on my face; I could see I’d have no worries about being chilly.

Her studio opened into her back yard. Outside the windows, through a pair of French doors, a well-mown lawn was surrounded by a tall hedge and half-filled with flowers. I could see an artist’s touch in the garden, too.

Gale showed me a spare bedroom in which I could change when it was time, then led me back into her living room. A bottle of wine — a nice Merlot, I saw — and five glasses had been set out on a table, along with some plates and cutlery. Gale handed me a corkscrew.

“Do the honours, will you please?”

I was removing the cork from the corkscrew when she came back, a bottle of white wine in one hand and a stack of napkins in the other. I reached out, took the bottle and began opening it without being asked. She returned with a tray of snacks. I was pleased to see she’d included a fair bit of protein — ham cubes, nuts, turkey rolls. Protein is crucial.

I looked at the glasses. “Just four students, Gale? Or do some of your students not drink?”

She laughed. “Just three of them. One of the glasses is for you, silly. You will join us, won’t you? You might as well get to know them.”

“Ah. Sure.”

That’s not a ordinary part of the job, but why not? I was actually rather complimented by the invitation.

“I’ve told them about their first model, you see, Ty. The idea of sketching a tall, muscular poet has them intrigued.”

There was a knock at the door. I could hear it open and a woman’s voice calling.

“Gale? May I come in?”

“Come on in!” Gale called over her shoulder. To me she said, “Tammy’s my next-door neighbour. She’s really nice.”

She was, I wondered to myself, really cute, too. Not much older than me, she was very tall for a woman and slender in a exceedingly good way, Tammy had long, dark hair flowing loose over her shoulders, blue eyes and a sinuous walk that contrasted oddly with her apparent shyness when Gale introduced us. When we shook hands, her long fingers were soft, her grip very gentle, as if afraid I would squeeze too hard. I tried not to, let go the instant her grasp loosened.

“I know I’m early,” she said, “but I thought you might need some help setting up.”

“We’re good,” Gale replied, “but find a chair. Ty, might I ask you to pour for us? I’ll have white, please.”

“Red for me, please. It’s ‘Ty’?”

I smiled. It was a common question. “Yes — short for ‘Tyson’.”

“And you’re a… poet?” I could see she was trying to make conversation. She had a sweet voice, high without being girlish.

“Aspiring,” I smiled. “Not particularly good, yet. There’s more to it than I’d thought originally.”

I asked an obvious question.

“May I ask what you do, Tammy?”

She gave me a half-smile.

“I’m a stay-at-home mom.”

“The most important job I can think of,” I replied, quite honestly.

That got me the other half of the smile.

“Sometimes, but it’s also nice to get out of the house for a bit.”

“How old are your kids?”

“Danny is four and Ariel just turned three.”

“Enough to keep you busy. Is your husband sitting tonight?”

Her face fell.

“I’m sorry if I…” I started.

Gale stepped in. “Tammy’s a widow, Ty. Charlie died in a climbing accident two years ago.”

“Oh. I am so sorry.”

She dabbed a corner of one eye with a forefinger.

“It’s OK. Really.”

“You still miss him. I can see that.”

“Oh, yes. I do.”

I felt as awkward as I’d ever been.

Way to begin out the evening on a relaxed note, fathead!

She looked up at me, smiled ruefully.

“It’s OK. Truly. You couldn’t know.”

I was saved by the doorbell. I rose when two other women entered with Gale.

“Heather, Quinn, I’d like to introduce Ty, our model for the evening,” Gale said.

Heather, a very cute woman in her late 20s, stepped forward, offering me her hand. Curvaceous, just short of voluptuous, Heather had curly red hair, a brilliant smile and soft brown eyes. Her handshake was firmer than Tammy’s.

“Hello, Ty,” she said. Her voice resonated all through me, smoke and old cognac.

The third woman, Quinn, was by far the shortest, barely five feet tall. In her early 30s, she had a nice figure, a spunky, devil-take-you-all attitude and a gutsy swagger in her walk. Stopping just in front of me, hands on her hips, her eyes started at my feet and ran up to my head, her own head bent back in an exaggerated gesture. She turned to Gale.

“Wow! You weren’t kidding!”

Looking back at me, she grinned.

“How’s the weather up there, Slick?”

I’d heard the joke before, but could see there was no malice or mockery, just friendly jesting.

“Warm and sunny thanks. Pardon my asking, Princess, but have you ever thought of suing the government for building the ground so close to your butt?”

Her bray of delighted laughter filled the room. The others joined in. It was a good begin, I wondered. Quinn and I locked eyes for a second. We understood each other pretty well, I wondered, would get along just fine.

“What will you two have to drink?” Gale said.

+

“It doesn’t bother me, Heather,” I said, chewing on a ham roll. “I’d grew up in a pretty relaxed family, which is to say that casual nudity was accepted and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Mom and Dad had an in-ground pool at the farm and skinny-dipping was pretty much the norm if there weren’t guests.”

She smiled, tilted her head to one side. I continued.

“I was actually sort of surprised when I got to school and learned how embarrassed some people could be, how shy they were.

“Now? Well, if people want to pay me to sit on a stool while they practise their sketching, that’s just fine with me.”

Her hand came out, touched my forearm.

“You’re pretty unusual, Ty. You know that, right?”

I shook my head.

“I prefer to think of everybody else as unusual, Heather. I’m pretty ordinary by my own standards.”

She chuckled happily.

“Actually, posing gives me a paid hour in which to work on composition, an hour in which I can ignore my phone, an hour in which I can not goof off and waste time on Twitter. I get some pretty good poems started when posing. The hard part is remembering them until I get home and write them down.”

“Oh, that’s right. Gale said you’re a poet.”

“Hoping to be. Third year English major at this point.”

The five of us had had half an hour of polite conversation, general cocktail party light chatter. I found myself growing to like all of them. Tammy was woefully shy, but seemed to open up after a while and I knew enough now to tread carefully. Quinn was as bubbly and as brash as they come, but there was a solid mind and sparkling wit inside that pretty head and I found her both interesting and attractive. Gale and I were already comfortable with each other. I admired her smarts and her 40-something figure was still striking, still caught my eye.

And Heather? I’ll confess it. I have a thing for redheads. A serious thing. Heather had my complete, puppy-dog I’ll-roll-over-if-you-rub-my-tummy attention from the moment we’d been introduced.

Gale rose, caught everybody’s eyes.

“OK, let’s get some work done, folks.”

With that, the other three followed her towards the studio; I headed into the bedroom.

I hung my clothes up on some hooks on the back of the door. There was a full-length mirror on the wall and I took a moment to comb my hair. That done, I took another to examine myself. I wasn’t displeased. Six feet four, 225 pounds, buff but not quite ripped. Not yet. My shoulders were broad enough, my waist as narrow as it would ever go, but I figured I had to work off another five pounds or so to get the look I wanted. Nothing too extreme, but it would give me better muscle definition, especially my abs and pecs.

So, yeah, I’m a bodybuilder. I enjoy it; it’s a challenge. I’ve invested a lot of time getting to where I am.

Donning my housecoat, I stepped into the studio. Four sets of eyes jumped to me, noted bare legs, looked quickly away.

Gale spoke again, almost in her professorial voice.

“Before we start, some formalities.

“First off, Ty, please confirm that you are over the age of 19 and that you understand that you will be expected to be pose nude today.”

I smiled, nodded. “Yes.”

“And do you understand that we will be producing images of you while nude and that those images will remain the property of the artists and, further, that they may be disposed of as the artists see fit?”

“Yes.”

She had a couple of other questions, ones pretty well following the terms of the artist’s release I’d signed earlier.

“Thank you, Ty.” Her head turned to the other three.

“Ladies, a reminder of the basic rules. Ty is a professional, well, semi-pro model. He is to be treated with respect. No touching, no staring, no comments on his body, no sexual inuendo., no…”

I smiled a little. It was the same lecture as she’d given to the students at the start of the university course.

She stopped, looked around.

“Any questions? No? OK, Ty, I’ll ask you to step up on the platform. I want you standing, left foot forward, leg straight out as if you’re walking.” I adjusted my posture as she continued.

“Will you be comfortable with that?”

“Yes.”

Without further ado, she held out her hand; I slipped out of my housecoat, handed it to her, resumed the pose.

There’s at all times a moment when a model first appears nude, one in which the ‘no-staring’ rule is at best thinly-observed. This was no exception; Gale was of course cool with everything, but the gaze of the other three felt like soft fingertips running over my skin.

That was part of the challenge for me.

Gale (bless the woman!)  cleared her throat lightly. The other three women abruptly turned their eyes away from me, sought out pencils and such. Gale and I refined the pose she wanted me in.

The position wasn’t hard; I could use most of my brain for something else. I let my mind roam over the assignment my Composition prof had given us to work on over the summer. I made a few initial tries, compared them, expanded one, shifted words around, ran the lines through my head.

It hadn’t seemed like twenty minutes when Gale called a break, but I realized then that I needed one. I stepped down from the platform and scooped up my robe from a chair where she’d left it.

“Mind if I go outside for a few?”

“Not at all.” She looked at her watch. “Five minutes?”

“Gotcha.”

The sun was still warm in the yard. I tied the waistband of my housecoat, smiled at the feeling of soft grass under my feet.

It was a lovely spot, very quiet and as good for the soul as it was pleasing to the eyes. The hedges were tall enough that Gale had perfect privacy, like living on another planet. I stopped, spread my legs a bit, swung my arms in a circle, then bent down to touch my toes a couple of times.

I turned suddenly and saw four pairs of eyes watching. I grinned to myself, headed back. None of them would meet my eyes when I entered the room and there were a couple of fading blushes. Tammy in particular still looked embarrassed.

A minute later, I was back in my pose, trying to blank my mind, send it back to discover something rhyming with ‘slake’.

There was a second break, then another period on the platform.

“OK, guys,” Gale announced presently. “That’s it. Let’s see how everybody did.”

I could see why Gale had referred to this as an ‘advanced’ class, for all of them clearly had had some experience. To my surprise, I liked Tammy’s chalk rendering the best. That shy young woman had real talent. It at all times feels odd to see an image of yourself naked, but I had little trouble with this one. Quinn had used charcoal sticks in what I wondered of as an impressionistic style — lots of fine strokes building to make a solid image. It was pretty good, I had to admit. Heather’s pencil rendition was technically perfect, almost draftsman quality, but to me it lacked a little soul, that spark that turns Good into Great. I didn’t say that to her, of course. It’s not like I’m an expert anyway.

When Gale began discussing techniques, I quietly slipped out and got dressed. When I returned, I discovered the four of them had found the wine again.

“Would you like a glass, Ty?” Gale asked.

I looked at my watch, shook my head.

“No, thank you. I’ve an early morning tomorrow. It’s been a pleasure meeting everyone.”

The four thanked me and Gale handed me my envelope as she saw me to the door.

“They were impressed, Ty. Thanks very much!” She gave me a quick friendly hug.

“You’re welcome.”

+

Gale asked me back for another session a week later. It went well but I suppose she was using other models after that. Three weeks passed before I got a text from her inviting me for a coffee at a campus outlet.

We made small talk for a few minutes before she got to the point.

“Would you be interested in modelling for us again, Ty?”

“Probably,” I said, somewhat surprised. “but I thought you wanted to use different models each time?”

She grinned.

“Erm, would you accept ‘back by popular demand’? What can I say? The girls were impressed and want you again.”

“OK, I guess. Same time?”

“Mmm-hmm. There is one other thing.”

I waited, intrigued by a slight blush growing on her face.

“Um…” she stammered. She took a deep breath.

“Ty… Look, this is going to sound weird, but — and I’m saying this as an artist — we’d like to ask…”

As an artist?  It struck me that if she was talking as an artist, Professor Swanson wouldn’t be half this tongue-tied. I leaned back in my chair, grinned and stared at her over the rim of my coffee mug.

Her words came out slowly, with pauses as if she was trying to discover the right phrasing.

“Oh, poop! Look, you’re just gorgeous and the girls, they — OK, we — want to see more of you.”

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