This story is a sequel to my previous story, Coolest Guy in School (
https://www.getdare.com/bbs/showthread.php?t=213416). I hope you enjoy.
‘Charles? Charles?’ He looked up to the open doorway, put aside his laptop, and rose from the bed. He crossed the bedroom and through the living room: on the balcony stood his girlfriend of eighteen-months. She stood facing away from him, wearing an open shirt and short cargo shorts, hands on hips and gaze outwards. He crept behind her, and laid his hand on her lower back, caressing it gently.
‘You called?’
‘This is where I’m going to paint.’ In front of her: an easel – and behind it the beautiful expansive Georgian landscape. On the wooden boards was a wicker bench, padded and inexplicably facing inwards towards the shack.
‘Yeah,’ Charlie said. He certainly still thought of himself as Charlie, even though no-one had called him that since he left school. ‘Yeah – it’s a beautiful place.’
‘Oh no,’ Rosaline turned, her open-shirt revealing a black lacy bra below, ‘I wasn’t going to paint the landscape. Charlie brought a finger down the side of her left thigh, playing with the hem of the shorts. ‘You,’ she said. ‘I thought I might draw: you.’
Charlie felt the slightest of tugging in his shorts, although he didn’t know whether it was the prime view of Rosaline’s tits, or the way she was playfully biting her bottom lip. ‘Me? Like life drawing?’
‘Like life drawing.’ Rosaline ran her fingers along the inside of Charlie’s shirt, and pulled it from him as she walked around him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and, standing on them with her toes, backed him out of his flip-flops.
‘Rosaline,’ Charlie said, stuttering slightly. ‘Rosaline – I’m in the middle of writing something-’
‘And I want to start painting something.’ She undid his belt and slid his shorts down to his ankles. He stepped out of them, and stood there in modal black briefs. Charlie had remained slim, although had brought on some tone to his physique since he was a teenager – running, rowing, two-months of boxing before his first bad punch in the nose.
‘Okay... I know there’s not loads of people around here, but…’
‘Please…’ Rosaline said, bringing a finger from his back down the side of his leg. ‘I just need to practise my art, you see.’
Charlie walked forward to observe the horizon. The sun was slowly setting, and the landscape had a beautiful glow. His briefs showed the perfect curves of his body: the subtle lines of his abductors, his still-almost hairless legs – made tanned through always wearing shorts, the smooth firmness of his ass, the bulge of his cock. ‘What if someone comes?’
‘What if you cum?’ She was fast.
‘You can draw me in these,’ Charlie plucked at the side of the elastic of his jet black underwear, ‘until you need the final details.’
‘You’re no fun,’ Rosaline said, ‘But alright. Lie down. Relax.’ Charlie took his position on the wicker bench, bringing one arm behind his head, and the other at his side. He looked into the distance to Rosaline’s left. ‘Stop tensing,’ she said, ‘I’m not giving you a six-pack.’
Charlie sighed, and tried to relax: ‘I hope you’re enjoying this-’
‘Stop talking,’ Rosaline said, now stood pretty much out of sight behind the easel, the sound of her pencil scratching at the paper. ‘It moves your whole body. Just lie there, and concentrate on your body. Those legs, imagine them bending and unbending as you move backwards and forth…’
‘Rose – are you?’
‘Quiet! Imagine those arms grabbing me, Charles – imagine your hands going through my hair, taking it roughly as we fuck. Imagine your cock, Charles – hard as it ever could be as you enter me, imagine how wet I’d be.’ Charlie’s briefs were starting to stretch now, his dick forcing its way upwards against the material. ‘You – inside me, all my weight around your waist, forcing your cock deeper and deeper into me. You – biting your bottom lip, moaning with pleasure. Me – well,’ Rosaline had one hand on the pencil, and was still sketching. She’d got Charlie’s outline – was adding detail to his torso. Her other hand was down the front of her shorts, and she began to moan, loudly. Charlie was rock hard, and went to grab his cock when – ‘No –’ Rosaline said between gasps of pleasure. ‘You can’t be mov-ah-ing.’
Charlie put his arms back around his head, and lay there as he was drawn. Rosaline was still playing with herself, but doing so as she concentrated on the sketch, on all of Charlie’s features. She shaded in the lines on his legs, where all the running and cycling had chiselled them. She drew his sharp facial features, his blond hair shaped – shorter than had been as a teenager, more stylish. She let out a moan. She lightly drew on his snail trail, his armpit hair. ‘Your cock inside me, Charlie… in my ass.’ Charlie’s cock let out an extra bit of pre-cum. The briefs were now visibly dampened. ‘Me biting my bottom lip…’
A creaking of hinges, a ways away but close enough. The shutting of a gate, down the hill, at the bottom of the garden, and footsteps on the paved pathway.
‘Who’s that now?’ All eroticism gone from her voice, hand from panties.
Charlie scrambled for his shorts, pulling them on before he leant over the back of the wicker bench, his erection still as apparent as if he were naked. There were perhaps fifty metres between the garden gate and their place, and the person walking was still in darkness. They walked the garden path without illuminating their way. Up the stairs they came.
‘Hello?’ Rosaline called. Something trickled down the inside of her leg. Charlie thought of anything to lower the drawbridge. The stranger emerged into the light, and Charlie saw someone he had not in five years.
‘Hey… sorry, I know it’s shitty of me to come at this time of night… I was in the area. I saw you were here. Don’t have your number, anymore… I…’
‘Sorry – who are you?’ Rose asked.
‘Hey, sorry, Rose – this…’ Charlie couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘This is Zak. We went to school together.’