Baudelaires Cane

As an art student I often go gallery hopping to keep up with the current artists in my area. I was quite taken by some very sensitive but erotic nude paintings done by a local artist named Marc Duhon. While I was looking at them the gallery owner came up and asked me if I liked his work. I told her yes. Then she said he was looking for nude models to sit for him and if I would be interested she would give me his phone number. I was not sure but said yes. I had the number for several days trying to make sure I really wanted to sit before a stranger and let his eyes look at my naked body. The truth is I needed the money and he was paying pay twenty dollars an hour. I called him and set up an appointment to be painted by him.

I went to his home and knocked on the door. He called to me through the intercom to come on in and proceed straight down the hall to the studio in the back. I walked into the studio and it was everything I imagined. Spacious well lit with a north light and very well designed. Paintings finished and unfinished lying all around the place. As I entered he did not even look up.

“You must be Breanna, you can undress behind the screen in the corner. There is a clean robe there to put on until I am ready, I’m Marc Duhon.

He was an older man, gray haired and probably in his sixties but did not look frail at all. As a matter of fact he was quite tanned and looked very strong. Not a big man, but he gave me the sense that he was very confident, a real man. I went behind the screen, nervously stripped, put on the robe and walked over to him.

“I am ready.”I said

“Fine,”He said as he looked up at me.”

His eyes were a deep blue and very piercing. His voice was resonant, deep and very reassuring as he spoke. He made me feel very comfortable.

“Ever done this before?”He asked.

“No, first time, I’m a little nervous.”

“Well you’ll have to sign this models release and show me some ID and then we can get started. Don’t be nervous. Everything will be fine.

“Okay.”I said. I went back to my purse, found my drivers license, sat down and filled out the paper.

When I showed them to him he said, “Okay”then quickly then “Let’s get started.”

“Take off your robe and let me see what I am working with here.”

I hesitated but slowly let the robe roll off of my shoulders and to the floor. He walked slowly around me taking his time looking at every inch of me. I guess I should have felt uncomfortable but I did not.

“Very nice,”He said. “You are beautiful. Very full and well proportioned, more woman than girl. You will make a great model.”

I was pleased he liked me and felt I looked like I woman. I did not really know what I looked like. What I saw in the mirror when I looked was an under developed 20 year old.

He stood in front of me and looked deep into my eyes. “I want you to know that you being a model for me I consider a high calling for both of us.”He did not touch me.

He signaled me to follow him over to the posing platform and his easel. He picked up a walking sticking with a large ornate brass ball on the end to carry with him as he walked. He did not limp though, so I figured it was just an artistic quirk. The bed and background were beautiful. It was a Japanese themed background with Ming trees, vases and elegant deep green silk curtains. The silk covering of the posing platform was scarlet red. He described how he wanted me to recline then brought over a long, narrow black silk scarf to drape over a portion of my body.

“May I drape this over you as I would like it?”He asked.

“Yes.”I said.

I was partly reclined and holding my upper body up at a slight angle with my left arm. He walked behind me and very lightly let the silk touch my skin as he moved around me. When it first touched my skin it gave me goose bumps. I was very sensuous. He picked it up and placed it here and there on my body letting only the silk touch my skin. It glided across my thighs and hips and then touched my breasts. The he would pick it up as if undecided and once again let it glide on my flesh. I was getting excited, my nipples getting hard and my pussy little bit wet as he did so.

“No, I am not satisfied.”He said “May I reposition you, I may have to touch you.”

“Why sure.”I said.

He used the tip of the walking stick under my knee a bit to reposition my leg and then while behind me place his hands on my shoulders to turn my torso a bit. His hands were soft and sensitive and when they touched me I just closed my eyes thinking to myself how good they felt. Not at all like the rough touch of other men that I knew. He gently pulled my hair back brushing my ear lobes as he did so and sent shivers through me and then repositioned the silk scarf again.

“Okay,” He said, “Can you remember this pose?”

I said, “Yes”with a slight lump in my throat.

“Alright, then let’s take a little break. Put on you robe and we will continue after a cup of coffee, the kitchen is over there.”When I got up from the platform there was a slight wet spot on the red silk cover. I hoped he had not noticed, but was reasonably sure he had.

The kitchen was quite nice, a marble floor with a couple of big over stuffed chairs to relax in. Warm toned wall and lowly lit with quiet classical music playing in the background. We drank our coffee and chatted. I felt very, very comfortable with him and as a topic of conversation mentioned the collection of walking sticks in a container at entrance to the kitchen.

“Oh yes,”he said. “I have collected them for years. Quite eccentric I guess, but I enjoy them. I have some very rare and unique sticks in my collection. Which ones do you like?”
Trying not to look like a phony I feigned interest and walked over to the container.

One of them really caught my eye. “That one is beautiful I said.”

“You have good taste my dear. ” He said. That is solid ivory and over a hundred years old and was owned by a very famous poet.”

“Who?”I asked.

“Baudelaire, the French romantic.”

He pulled it out of the container and handed to me. The handle was about six inches of beautiful smooth ivory the end of which was carved with six soft, rounded ribs encircling its slightly bulbous end that was five or six inches around. It felt very good in my hand. I stared at it a bit not knowing what to say. I was mesmerized by how it felt.

“It looks a bit like a dildo doesn’t it?”He said

“I guess.”I stuttered, slightly embarrassed.

“Well knowing who owned it, I am not surprised.”He said looking into my eyes. He was looking right through me and he knew what I was thinking. I handed it back to him. He was still staring into my eyes when at the same time he said, “I saw the wet spot.”he slipped the ivory handle of the cane under my robe, slid the smooth ivory up my leg and placed the end against my sex. It felt so good all I could do was close my eyes. He pressed it more firmly as if asking for entrance and I parted my legs a bit. My pussy was wet and the ribbed tip of the cane slipped past my folds and into my wetness. He pulled me to him, put my head on his shoulder and began to move the cane back and forth slowly at first and increasing the tempo until my wetness could be heard as he stroked me. My eyes still closed I was in ecstasy from both the feeling of the moment and my imagination running wild wondering how many beautiful women Baudelaire had brought to climax with that same cane. And now here it was between my legs.

Without losing a stroke he reached behind me grabbing the cane with his other hand and turned me around to face one of the over stuffed chairs. He gently lifted one leg of mine at a time moving my into a kneeling position on the chair still never losing the rhythm of the cane as he stroked my hot pussy. My whole body was flush with heat and told him I was very hot. He told me he could fix that and did by removing my robe one arm at a time, again without ever taking Baudelaire’s cane out of my throbbing pussy. Once I was naked he put some pressure down on the cane as he stroked making sure it would touch my g-spot. I went wild and started shaking as I came in a gusher.

“Oh my god!”I screamed. “Oh, my god, don’t stop!”

All he said was, “Oh my dear, we have just begun. I will not stop until you are fully satisfied and I am finished with you.”

Still kneeling in the chair he pushed my butt down a little and laid the tip of the cane on the floor with its sizable head still deep in my pussy. He had dropped and removed his pants and stepping over the cane he began to insert his very hard dick into me on by sliding it in on top of the cane. The cane head filled up most of my pussy but the wetness of it and his patience in inserting himself made it possible for all of him to get all of his nicely sized meat inside of me. He whispered dirty things in my ear as he fucked me. I was like having two dicks inside me. Something I had never tried, but god it felt good. Every inch of me was full. He then began to lift the tip of the cane off of the floor a couple of feet and letting it drop hard and vibrate. Every time he lifted it he would pause and ask me if I was ready. And when I said yes, he would whisper in my ear. “Hear we go baby.”And drop it. The vibration off of the hard floor up through the head of the cane was maddening. Then he would stroke both himself and the cane back and forth in unison. After I came again he withdrew himself and the cane. I started to stand up and he gently pushed me forward again saying, “Oh no honey, we are not, I am not finished yet.”

“All I could say in my daze was, “There’s more?”

“Oh yes my love, much more, do not move.”I couldn’t, I was frozen in anticipation.

He picked up Baudelaire’s cane again and rubbed the ribs against the folds of my pussy and then his fingers went inside. He whispered in my ears from behind as he fingered me, “Making love is very tactile, it is how I touch you and what I touch you with that will take you farther than you have ever been before. His fingers knew every fold of me by now and his sensitive fingers did things inside me I had never experienced. I soon came again and again on his hand.

My eyes were still close but I opened them when I felt a thin, long object slide the length of my pussy lips. It was dark and almost black about three feet long. “What is that?”I asked, He was pleased to tell me. “It is a walking cane my dear made from a bulls penis that I am sliding between your pussy lips”He whispered I my ear. I wanted to pull away but could not. It felt good and the imagery caught my imagination. As he slowly pushed the rough black bull’s penis its full length back and forth he spoke again, softly in my ear. “Imagine my love, a giant sweating, hulking two thousand pound bull with his giant penis out and hanging between his legs. He is in a bull ring and wants to mate. But there are no female bulls with which to mate, only you standing naked beside him. You reach underneath him and touch his hot, throbbing, dripping penis. He moves just a little the stands motionless as you squeeze and stroke his giant member. Now on your knees you stroke harder and harder, first with just one hand and then with both. It is wet and slick and oozing into your hands. Then it stiffens and he comes all over you, again and again. The come runs down you breasts and between your legs and the trickles between the folds of your sex. But that is just a fantasy.”

I was dripping wet as he spoke and could feel my juices running down my leg in anticipation of what was to come next.

He spoke again. Now close your eyes and listen. “My father was a Jockey, he taught me how to ride, once in the middle and then side to side.”As he spoke he entered me from behind and stopped in the middle and then bucked side to side as he spoke the words over and over again. I became a filly, mounted and controlled by a jockey or a horse in stud in my mind. He pounded me until I came again and again. He gently bit my ear lobes and pulled my hair as I squirted over and over again. His dick seemed to get larger and larger like the bull he spoke of and then he came. His sperm was hot and burning and pumped until it too came out and down my legs. I was in a daze my eyes glazed over when he pulled out and led me by the hand out of the kitchen toward a bed. I could not even speak. “I want you to just lie in my arms for awhile.”He said.

We will do that when we get there. But on the way we will finish up. I glanced back and his dick was still hard and erect. He stopped me at a small table and bent me over again. This time he was a little rougher as he first stuck three fingers up my slit and vibrated me like a machine until I came again. He pulled out his hand and slapped it against the wet of my pussy. I could hear the smack of wetness. “Do you hear that?”he said. I told you were woman. He patted my wet pussy until I was shaking then he slammed his rock hard dick into my aching hole and stroked me. He pulled out and took me by the hand again and led me a few more feet. Then bent be over the back of a chair and repeated the same thing again. Again I came. I was a helpless love doll. He could do anything to me and I would not care I thought to myself. He stopped, bent me over and fucked me from behind three more times on the way to the bed. He stopped one more time a few feet before we reached the bed. It was a wooden cabinet about waist high against the wall.

“Before I hold you in my arms I want to take you face to face.”He picked my up and set me on the edge of it with my pussy exposed. He dropped to his knees spread my legs and stuck his face in my wet pussy sucking and licking me as I screamed in joy until I came again. He stood up. Then he raised my legs up to my shoulders, put the head of his dick at the entrance to my sex and thrust home, all the way in one giant, exploding thrust he came inside me. He did not move for awhile. Just stayed thrust inside me pumping hot sperm inside of me.

It felt so good to have a man do that. Just hold me. Not pull out right away. I could feel his dick getting smaller. The he pulled out and did what he promised. He said, “I am through now, I want you to lie in my arms.”And so I did. He did not paint that day, but many times since he has made love to me before and after he painted and Baudelaire’s Cane? I promise you Baudelaire would be proud.

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