Dear FemdomU

When I was 22, I got paid to swing my dick around for a bunch of horny grandmas. This senior living community center hired me as their “mostly nude” model for their weekly art class. I’d strut in wearing nothing but a strategically placed hand towel that barely contained what God blessed me with. Sometimes they’d sketch me, sometimes paint, sometimes sculpt, all while I could feel their hungry eyes devouring every inch. I always wore loose sweats and no underwear, giving them a little peepshow during the quick-change. My abs were tight, my ass was firm, and my bulge was impressive even at half-mast. The class size doubled in a month as word spread faster than their arthritis cream that there was prime beefcake on display every Tuesday at 2PM.

One night, Gladys, the blue-haired vixen who ran the class and slipped me that crisp Benjamin every week, deliberately took her sweet-ass time with payment while I stood there, dick print clearly visible through my thin towel. Once the last arthritic hand waved goodbye, she whipped out two hundred-dollar bills, fanning herself with them like she was already overheating. “How about a private session, stud? Double your usual rate for… shall we say… dropping that ridiculous towel altogether?” Her eyes practically motorboated my chest before diving south. “These old hands need to study the full anatomy.” I’d be lying if I said my cock didn’t twitch at the proposition.

And so, for the next 45 minutes, she painted on her canvas while I stood there, fully naked, arms up above and behind my head like I was auditioning for “Prisoner of Horny Grandma.” Every time her eyes flicked to my junk, my dick would twitch and bounce like it was trying to wave hello. The AC was blasting, making my nipples harder than calculus, but the way her tongue kept darting out to wet her wrinkled lips had my balls practically retreating into my body from performance anxiety. Still, there’s something weirdly empowering about having your meat and potatoes appraised like fine art by someone who probably remembered when electricity was invented.

The next week, same thing, but this time Gladys wanted the full package deal. “I need to capture the magnificent vigor of youth,” she purred, licking those prune-juice lips. “Get that gorgeous cock rock-hard for me.” I stood there stroking myself while this 70-something art teacher watched hungrily, her ancient fingers gripping her paint brush like it was my throbbing shaft. When I finally got fully erect, veins bulging, pre-cum glistening at the tip, she started snapping photos, moaning about “reference material” because “no man could possibly maintain such a magnificent erection” long enough for her to finish a proper oil painting. Her flash kept going off right on my swollen purple head, making my dick jump each time.

And then the next week was when things went completely off the rails. I’ll admit, my cock was practically making decisions for me at this point. She was turning me into her personal sperm fountain, and my balls tingled with anticipation every time I thought about it. The extra cash was just lubricant for my conscience. That night, she had me stroke my throbbing meat while she recorded every drop of pre-cum that oozed from my swollen tip with the video camera her clueless grandkids had gifted her last Christmas. And holy fuck, did I deliver… legs spread wide, hips thrusting upward, moaning like a porn star as I painted my abs with rope after rope of hot cum while she zoomed in close enough to catch the pulse of every vein.

It went on like this for months, my cock becoming her artistic obsession. Every Tuesday, I’d strip down and stroke my throbbing meat to full mast while she captured every vein, ridge, and pulsing inch of my manhood. When the old pervert finally kicked the bucket, her estate sale featured a cordoned-off section labeled “EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT” that was basically a shrine to my dick. I couldn’t resist checking it out, even splurging on one painting of me mid-orgasm, my face contorted in ecstasy, thick ropes of cum arcing from my swollen purple head. Some rich fuck snatched up her life-sized sculpture of my rock-hard cock, balls drawn up tight, pre-cum eternalized in clear resin dripping from the tip. Now my magnificent junk is scattered across town, Gladys’s filthy legacy of my throbbing manhood hanging in strangers’ bedrooms, probably getting jerked off to nightly.