Blush Strokes: Bonus Chapter

The air in the studio felt thicker than usual—humid with the scent of oils, turpentine, and something else. Something warmer.

He sat on the stool, naked, muscles taut under the glow of the overhead lamp. I’d painted dozens of live models before—men and women—but something about this session felt different. Maybe it was because his cock was so… big. Bigger than I remember on past live models. And the way it dangled before me… Maybe I was a bit cheeky when I picked the pose.

My brush should’ve been focused on the curve of his chest, the slope of his shoulders, the shadows that carved across his torso. But my eyes kept betraying me, straying from the canvas to the man himself.

His eyes were locked on me. To be fair, I told him to look at me. I wanted him to be looking at the viewer in the painting. But there was something about the way he looked at me…

Every time I looked up, he was watching me—dark, hungry, unashamed. The kind of stare that didn’t just look at you but through you, peeling you open like a page.

And maybe I was dressed a bit more… provocative than usual. Maybe, when I found out he was coming in, I put on a shorter skirt than usual. Maybe I put on a tighter crop top. Maybe I curled my hair more than I would normally, and put on a bit more sparkle on my cheeks. 

“You’re supposed to hold still,” I said, my voice lighter than I felt.

“Hard to do,” he murmured.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

His stare burned through me. 

He didn’t reply. I kept painting. He kept staring at me. The room was warm. Too warm. I casually unbuttoned the top button of my crop top, hardly thinking about it. Then, I caught his gaze darting down to my perky cleavage. He blushed. I did too. 

I wanted to keep it professional… but maybe it stopped being professional the moment I saw him posted on the talent website. I could have picked any model, but I chose him.

And now, his cock looked even bigger. His eyes kept sneaking down to look at my cleavage. I undid a second button—maybe that was too much.

Now, his cock was lifted slightly, foreskin pulled back. I was turning him on. He couldn’t hide his arousal without ruining the pose. 

Heat pooled in my stomach. My hand trembled slightly, smudging the edge of his painted shoulder. I swallowed, tried to reset my grip on the brush, but he leaned forward just enough that the lines of his abs caught the light.

He smiled at me, and I realized he was doing this on purpose. He was trying to seduce me. And damnit, I was falling for it. How could I not? He had the body of a Greek god. The thought of him taking me… it scared me as much as it exhilarated me. 

“You’re ruining my concentration,” I whispered.

“Good.”

That one word slid across the room like a touch.

I set the brush down. “This is supposed to be professional.”

“Then stop blushing like that.” His grin was slow, deliberate, wicked. He was a player. But I didn’t mind the flirtations. It was nice to hear a bit of validation. I will admit that I put a lot of effort into that look. And to get validation from a man like him—a man that every girl dreams about. 

The laugh that spilled out of me was nervous and electric. I felt the hem of my skirt shift against my thighs as I crossed and uncrossed my legs, suddenly aware of the way his gaze followed the movement.

“Stay still,” I warned, but my voice betrayed me, breathier than I wanted it to be.

He didn’t stay still.

He rose from the stool, erect, all sculpted lines and heavy steps, until he was standing beside me at the easel. The canvas was between us, but only barely. I could smell him—warm skin, faint cologne, something masculine that made my pulse jump.

“You’re supposed to be the subject,” I said, but it came out like a plea.

“Maybe I need a bit of a break,” he said, lowering his voice until it rumbled through me. 

“I—I’m trans,” I blurted out, worried he was about to find out the hard way.

He paused, but only for a moment. It didn’t seem to bother him. 

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, down my neck, across my chest. His hand lifted, fingers hovering just short of touching my hair, like he was waiting for permission.

I didn’t stop him.

His knuckles grazed along my cheek, soft but sure, and my breathing paused. He tilted my chin toward him, and suddenly the portrait, the canvas, the whole world behind it disappeared. There was only his body close to mine, his mouth so close I could taste the warmth of his breath. He moved closer, now pressing his hardness against me. He did nothing to hide it; he was proud of it. And how could you blame him? He had twelve hard inches. Any guy with a cock like that is going to happily flaunt it. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

The words unraveled me.

When his lips finally met mine, it wasn’t tentative. It was hungry. I gasped into the kiss, heat flooding me as his hand slid into my hair, pulling me closer. My own hands betrayed me, abandoning the brush and palette to clutch at his chest, hard and hot under my palms. My hands moved down, over his abs, which were sweaty from the studio lights. I pushed my hands lower, through his soft pubic hair, down to his erection. I slipped my fingers around it. I felt throbbing. Throbbing for me.  

He wanted me.

He needed me. 

The easel rocked when he pressed me back against it, the canvas smearing faintly as his body crowded into mine. My skirt rode higher as his thigh slipped between mine, and I let out a sound I didn’t recognize—half moan, half laugh—into his mouth.

He kissed me like he’d been waiting the whole session to lose control. And I kissed him back like I’d been waiting months.

And then, he guided me down onto a white couch that I had in my studio. He was so dominant, the way he pushed my legs apart, the way he grabbed my thigh and lifted it into the air and he shimmied in. I gasped, feeling the redness filling my face. 

I looked down to see the throbbing monster inching closer. He pushed my balls out of the way before using his fingertips to feel out my asshole. “Are you going to fuck me?” I asked softly.

“What do you think?” 

I bit my tongue I felt his tip. He spat and I moaned. I closed my eyes, nervous I was about to be ripped in two. He pushed deep. Another sharp gasp. I opened my eyes to see half of his cock gone, lost inside of me, and the other half slithering in, veins bulging. 

I gripped the couch.

He pushed deeper, using some force. A grunt escaped his lips.

Another inch deeper—and then another. I felt all of it. So deep inside of me.

“Oh God,” I moaned. 

His gaze explored my body before he said, “Beautiful.” A flutter danced in my chest. There was no pain. Just a fullness and a thrill. Then, as he began to thrust, there was euphoria.

I let my head fall back while he fucked me. He gripped me firmly with his strong hands. I couldn’t move. He was too strong—ten times as strong as me. He had me firmly in place while he railed his cock in and out of me. 

And it felt so good. I wished it could have lasted forever.

He tore my top off, exposing my perky breasts, which were now bouncing around on my chest. He slapped one of them, making me yelp. Then he squeezed a nipple—hard enough to make me gasp. “Cute,” he growled with a deep voice. 

Another inch deeper. Now, I could feel his pubic hair. Twelve hard inches inside of my body, filling me fully. 

I was all his. His own personal fuck toy—and he was getting as much use out of me as possible.

He rammed me harder and harder. Then finally, “I’m going to cum on that pretty face.” I hardly had time to process the words. He pulled out, squeezed his monster cock, and a torrent of white gushed onto my face. It splashed my mouth, my nose, my cheeks, my eyelids. I closed my eyes and felt warm splash after warm splash. 

It felt good. 

Humiliating, degrading—maybe a little. But it made me feel so feminine. To be dominated and defiled by a muscular man… 

I wiped the cum from my eyes and looked at his shimmering body. He was still hard, cock standing upright, with a white bead clinging to his reddened tip. “You’re a good fuck,” he said.

“And you’re a good subject,” I said. “When you’re sitting still.”

He blushed. With a towel, I wiped my face, and then I put my crop top back on. Luckily, the buttons were unharmed from him ripping it off of me. I didn’t bother to fix my hair as he got back into place. And now, he was glowing with a curious satisfaction. That glow just made the painting better. It gave him a cockiness that was actually quite interesting. And the way his cock stayed half erect—I personally liked that little detail.