By Gustav Jorgenson
Excerpted from: “Exhibitionist Wife Tales”
My wife Linda had been working as a model since was in her twenties. Just small time stuff, like ads for the local department store or carpet liquidators. So you know, she’s good looking, but not exactly a supermodel or anything. As she got older, the job offers sort of dropped off. The market for middle aged local models was pretty slim. We didn’t really need the money or anything, but Linda liked to keep busy, and it annoyed her that she was having such a hard time finding work. So one night, she invited a successful photographer named Roger over to dinner to ask his advice.
We had just settled in the living room with some glasses of wine after a nice meal when Linda started pressing Roger on the question of work.
“So tell, Roger, is anyone you know looking for a middle aged beauty past her bloom?” joked Linda with a playful toss of her head.
“Ah, you still look wonderful, Linda.” He lifted his glass to her. “To your unfading gorgeousness!”
“Hear, hear,” I agreed, and we drank a toast to my wife’s good looks. She still did look nice of course. She still had a slim figure, and a nice rack. Though her tits have started sagging a bit lately. And of course she was starting to get a few wrinkles around her eyes and wasn’t quite as fresh looking as when she had been in her twenties.
“But I can’t find any work, Roger!” complained my wife. She was kicking her legs in frustration and since she was wearing a pretty short dress, I saw Roger checking out her exposed legs. I never really trusted these photographers. They are a bunch of perverts in my view.
“I know, I know, the market is tough right now,” he said. He was pursing his lips as his eyes lingered on my wife’s shapely calves. If this guy kept checking out my wife like that, I was inclined to say something to him. But I know Linda was hoping he would get her some work, so I bit my tongue and tried to keep my cool.
“It’s only tough for us old, over the hill types,” shot back Linda.
“Come on, Linda,” complained Roger. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘Honestly, Roger, isn’t there ANYTHING out there for me? My agent won’t reply to my emails anymore. I’m at wits end. I want to work. I go nuts penned up in the house all day.” Linda was getting agitated and I felt a pang of guilt for some reason. Haven’t I given my wife a nice house and a good life? Why was she so unsatisfied?
Roger rubbed his face and gave me a worried look. “Ah, do you know Giuseppe Roma?”
Linda scrunched up her face, a far away look on her face as she gazed at the ceiling. “Yes, that Italian. He’s a art photographer, right? He does a lot of nudes.”
Roger looked at me again, a nervous expression on his face. “Right, that’s the one.”
“Now hold on,” I said, holding up my hand. “No wife of mine is going to start doing pornography. Go do volunteer work with the poor if you want to get out of the house.” The very idea of my pretty little wife getting naked for some Italian greaseball made my blood boil.
“Now Sam, settle down,” coaxed Roger. “This guy is a real artist. He shows in some of the best galleries in LA and New York. He’s not some cheap pornographer.”
“Yeah, honey, let’s not rush to judgment,” agreed Linda. But I could tell that she was less than enthused about the idea of doing nude modelling. I relaxed somewhat when I saw how squeamish she looked. “But Roger, you know, I’m no spring chicken any more.” My wife tried to force a laugh. “I mean, things are getting a little saggy,” she cupped her generous bosom in her hands and gave him a twisted smile. “Gravity takes it’s toll.”
“Well, Roma likes to work with real women, if you know what I mean,” said Roger delicately. “He, uh, doesn’t go in for that airbrushed sort of fashion magazine look in his portraits. The feminists revere his work and say that he promotes, what’s the phrase? ‘Positive body image’ or something.”
“So he shoots fat chicks and old bags?” smirked Linda.
Roger looked pained. “I don’t about that. Look, I only brought him up because you seemed so, forgive me saying this, but you seem desperate for work. I know you are a married woman and you haven’t done work like that before, so if it makes you uncomfortable, just forget I mentioned Roma.”
Linda seemed crestfallen and she sat there with her knees together and feet skewed to either side, holding her wine in her lap with both hands and contemplating it solemnly.
I hated to see my wife so miserable, my heart was breaking at the sight.
“Can’t you find her anything respectable, Roger?” I asked.
Roger frowned at me. “I’m telling you, Sam. Roma is actually very respectable. Seriously.” I gave him an icy glare. “But I will ask around for regular work, I promise.”
“Come on, Roger, would you allow YOUR wife to pose nude for some strange man?” I asked with some annoyance. Then a thought occurred to me, “And then, and then, have her naked pictures on gallery walls all over, with thousands of people looking at them, and men leering and whatnot?” The idea made my stomach churn as I thought of all those strange men looking at my naked wife.
“Well, you know, I’m not married, Sam,” he said. “But I think you are being a little uptight about it. My girlfriend has done some nude modelling. Very tasteful stuff. It doesn’t bother me in the least. She has a wonderful body, it should be appreciated. The female form is a thing of beauty. Of course men like to look, and they get excited, but that doesn’t diminish my relationship with my woman in any way.” Roger pursed his lip thoughtfully and took a drink of wine.
I just scoffed at him. “I knew it! You photographers are all perverts.”
“Stop it, Sam,” sighed Linda. “Roger’s right. Artists have been portraying nude women for centuries. There’s nothing perverted in it. I would even consider doing that sort of work myself if I wasn’t so insecure about my decaying figure.”
“You still have an amazing body, honey,” I told her dutifully.
“Yes you do,” agreed Roger. He eyed my wife’s boobs. “Hey, listen, Roma’s got a show tonight at a gallery in Uptown. Why don’t we head over there and take a look, get a sense of what sort of pictures we are talking about.”
“What, right now?” I said in surprise.
“Sure, why not?” asked Roger. “I’ll introduce you to Giuseppe myself.”
“Yes, let’s go and meet him at least,” agreed Linda, brightening up a bit. “I’m not committing to anything, but I will go meet him and see his photos.”
“Really?” I asked. I was feeling slightly nervous.
“What’s the matter, Sam?” asked my wife. “Don’t you want to go look at pictures of naked women?”
“Well when you put it that way,” I laughed. “Let’s go.”
We were all pretty drunk by that time, so we summoned an Uber and got a ride within a few minutes.
The gallery was on a dingy side street lined with auto repair shops, but once we got inside, it was an amazing, high-ceilinged art space done up with tastefully concealed lighting. A real bastion of gentrification the activists might say. It was one of those places that got mobbed with crowds of hipsters on first Fridays when they shut down this part of town and held a big street party for Art Murmur each month.
On this night, the place was filled with men in suits and women in fancy cocktail dresses and I felt a little underdressed in my shirtsleeves without a jacket. The entire space was so classy seeming that I was utterly taken aback when I saw the first set of photos. They were pretty salacious. It was a series of pictures of a very pale naked white woman, her bush somewhat unruly and her hair a mess, not wearing any makeup, standing in a bare white room with a huge naked black man. He was oiled up and sporting a shocking erection in every picture. At first they were just facing each other, but as the pictures progressed, they got closer, until they were hugging, the man’s stiff black boner poking off to the side of the woman’s hip. Then the woman was down on her knees before the black man, her hands on HIS hips, his boner just inches from her face as she looked at it dispassionately. I felt my own penis growing stiff but it felt weird to pop a boner in this tony crowd.
“Uh, wow,” gasped my wife. She fanned her face as we looked at the photos together.
“Yeah, um, it looks like Roma’s work has gotten a little more, uh, intense since the last time I saw it.” Roger seemed sort of chagrined.
A pixieish, middle-aged woman with short blonde hair stuck her face in front of mine suddenly. “What do you think of this piece?” she asked. She was wearing a black leotard and cat eye glasses as she fixed me with a intense blue-eyed gaze.
“It’s, well… it seems pornographic really,” I admitted. “I know I’ll sound like an ignoramus for saying it, but that’s what I see. I’m no art major, I’m just a tech guy.” I felt apologetic and was prepared to be berated by the arty hipster woman.
To my relief, she just laughed. “Of course it’s pornographic, silly. What world do we live in? Giuseppe doesn’t shy away from the zeitgeist. He works with the language of the media of our time.” Then she noticed Roger. “Oh Roger, darling. So wonderful to see you.” She kissed Roger on each cheek. “Are these your friends?”
Roger smiled at the hipstress. “Hello, Luna. You are looking marvelous as usual.” To which Luna simply turned her head and fanned her fingers at him coquettishly. “And yes, this is Sam and Linda. Linda is a model, you know.”
“Oh yes?” asked Luna, turning to my wife with interest. She grabbed Linda’s hands and held them out to each side. “Oh, yes! Oh, yes! What a plausible beauty! Did you bring her to meet Giuseppe?”
“Plausible?” Linda asked in confusion.
“She did express some interest in seeing Guiseppe’s photos. She’s been looking for work herself. But I think this… phase… he’s in might be too, uh, intense for her,” said Roger. He was trying to be diplomatic, I could tell.
Luna leaned toward my wife conspiratorially. “You’re not much of a slut, are you?” she asked in a stage whisper.
My wife just looked at the kooky art woman and laughed. “No, not really I guess.”
“We can fix that,” said Luna. She took my wife by the hand and started to lead her away. “Let’s go show you to Giuseppe.”
“Um,” I said, holding up a finger.
But Luna just stuck her tongue out at me and lead my wife away. Linda shrugged and laughed nervously. I wanted to object more strongly but the devilish little woman was too disarming. So Roger and I picked up the rear as the imp lead us up a flight of stairs to another gallery. This appeared to be some sort of VIP area and was guarded by a big black bouncer in a tuxedo. He recognized Luna and smiled to let us pass.
The crowd was thinner up here, and less fancy. Some people were dressed really sloppily and I assumed that they were other artists. Luna made a beeline to the back of the room with my wife in tow where we found a short, grey haired mediterranean man in his fifties talking to a tall thin black woman in a tiny dress with a huge afro. The man had dark eyes and an animated expression as he was talking to the black woman and his purple silk shirt was open halfway to his waist, exposing a chest covered in gnarly grey hair. He stopped short when Luna appeared with my wife and he immediately fixed Linda with a fierce gaze.
“What have you brought me, Luna?” he hissed.
“Look for yourself,” laughed the elven woman, pushing my wife forward. Linda blushed bashfully as Giuseppe inspected her with a critical eye. “Roger brought her for you.”
“Ah, not exactly, Guiseppe, we were just talking it over, you know,” coughed Roger. “She might not be ready…”
“She’s hot,” commented the tall black woman with a lewd grin. “I’d do her.”
“Did you come to model for me?” Guiseppe asked my wife. He cocked his head to one side with his eyes drilling into my wife. His stare was intense and Linda stammered under his gaze.
“I, uh, I was just telling Roger that I wanted to work,” said my flustered wife. “Older women like me can’t find much work these days you know. It’s frustrating.”
The stocky Italian artist nodded seriously, acknowledging her point.
“But she can’t pose in these sort of pictures like you have downstairs,” I interjected. “She’s a married woman.”
Guiseppe’s serious expression transformed into a gleeful grin. “And who are you? Her husband? What circus have your brought me, Luna?”
“I promised I would make a slut of her,” said Luna proudly.
“You called me plausible,” said Linda in wonderment. She seemed totally bemused by these strange people. We didn’t spend much time around artists. They seemed insane to me.
Guiseppe and the black woman broke out in tremendous laughter.
“Oh, she’s entirely plausible, Luna.” gasped the black woman. She was wiping tears from her eyes.
“Yes, you are plausible,” grinned Giuseppe, facing my wife. “I want you to model for me. Will you model for me?”
Linda looked back at me with indecision. “My husband…” she said indecisively.
Giuseppe looked at me in confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you doing here? Your wife said she is looking for work. She is sufficient for my needs. I will give her work.”
“She is sufficient?” I asked sarcastically. “Is that how you describe your models?”
Giuseppe turned his gaze to my wife and put his hand on his chin. “I think so,” he said. “I would need to see her nude to say for sure. Take off your dress, darling.”
“What?” croaked my wife in shock.
“Go ahead,” he said motioning to her impatiently. “Take off your dress so I can see your body.”
“I’ll help if you want,” purred the black woman lasciviously.
“What, right here in front of everyone?” asked my wife. She was looking around at the bohemians milling about.
“Now see here!” I objected.
“Tut, tut, are you a model or not, dear?” asked Guiseppe with a shake of the head.
“Of course I’m a model,” said my wife, drawing herself up indignantly. “I’m a very plausible and sufficient model.” Giuseppe, Luna, and the black woman broke out laughing at that. Even Roger cracked a grin, and I had to smile along in spite of my trepidation. “But I usually get a dressing room to change in.”
“Bah, these are all my friends here,” said Giuseppe. “Take off your clothes and show us your body.”
“Is she going to get naked?” asked a good looking young white guy with a big beard and crewcut. I hate these hipster looks, so incongruous.
“Certainly not!” I sputtered.
“Look at the jealous husband! How darling!” The black woman pointing a mocking finger at me. “He doesn’t want to share his property.”
“I don’t have time for this. You have piqued my interest now,” said Giuseppe. He strode forward toward my wife. “Turn around.” He pointed at my wife with such a commanding tone that she instantly obeyed. “Good,” he grunted. “You take direction well. I am unzipping your dress now.” And he did. The cheeky bastard unzipped my wife’s dress right there in front of everyone.
“Whoa, oh my goodness, Giuseppe,” exclaimed my wife in shock. She looked around as a crowd started to gather around her.
“Luna, help me undress her,” instructed Giuseppe. The little pixie slipped my wife’s dress up over her head in a flash. Poor Linda was standing there in her bra and panties in the middle of a fancy art gallery surrounded by appreciative hipsters. Giuseppe put his hand on his chin and nodded. “Turn around,” he told my wife, twirling his finger so imperiously that she immediately complied.
“Now hold on one minute!” I blubbered and pushed the bearded crewcut guy out of my way so I could go intervene. But before I could grab my wife’s dress and help her put it on again, the tall black woman interceded and put her hand on my chest.
“Hey man, cool it,” she whispered urgently in my ear. “Giuseppe and Luna are tripping on shrooms right now, and I promised to babysit them. You can’t get all macho man with them, you are gonna freak them out.”
I stared up at the woman with her amazing afro haloing out in all directions and she nodded insistently. She sure seemed earnest.
“But, my wife…” I pointed at Linda standing half naked in front of all these strangers.
“She looks great! Why are you so uptight?” The black woman was enthusiastic.
“Luna!” shouted Giuseppe suddenly. “Go get my camera, right now. We are doing a shoot, right now, right here.” Luna saluted and ran off.
“Wait, what?” gasped Linda.
“Look at you, you are amazing!” he shouted at my wife, waving his arms maniacally. He was so obviously tripping that I can’t believe I didn’t notice before. I had seen friends trip back in college. “Take off your bra, we are about to get started.”
Linda covered her chest with the palms of her hands and glanced over at me guiltily. “Sam’s going to freak out,” she said.
“Sam will be fine,” insisted the black woman. She gripped me around the shoulder with a surprisingly powerful grasp. “Roger and I will keep him in check.”
“I will?” asked Roger hesitantly. But when the black woman glared at him, he came and stood on the other side of me. “Yeah, sure, I will help calm Sam down, of course.” He forced a laugh. “I mean, it’s just a photo shoot, Sam, no big deal.”
“But all these people are standing around!” I gestured at crew cut beard guy who was watching my wife expectantly, licking his lips as he waited for her to disrobe further.
“There are always a bunch of people milling around at a photoshoot,” explained Roger.
“But I’ve never really done a nude shoot before,” my wife told Giuseppe weakly. She was trying to cover her body bashfully with her arms, but it wasn’t working well, her shapely form was already almost fully exposed.
“I know, that’s what makes this such an authentic moment,” enthused Giuseppe. Luna appeared with some ridiculously high end looking camera. “I need LIGHT!” shouted Giuseppe so loud that I jumped. “Your vulnerability, your embarrassment.” He was speaking quickly as he snapped photos of my wife, cringing half-naked surrounded by hip onlookers. “You wear your heart on your sleeve,” he said. The lights suddenly came up full blast and the gallery was flooded with blinding white light.
“Holy shit!” I gasped, holding up my hands to shield my eyes.
“Well, you know, you need light to shoot pictures,” said Roger. He was ogling my wife’s gorgeous form along with the rest of them.
Poor Linda was squirming shyly as Giuseppe walked around her, snapping away madly. Her white skin glowing under the blinding gallery lights above. I stopped to admire her long legs and wide hips. She had a little pot belly now, but it just enhanced her shapeliness in my view. She tried to cover her big hanging breasts, barely held up by her bra, but they were too big to cover.
“What, what, am I supposed to be doing?” my wife asked the madly tripping Italian as he prowled around her. She was blushing prettily and her cheeks were pink.
“You are doing it! Standing, exposed and objectified, mortified by the public exposure of your body,” gushed Giuseppe. “As all women today, you are made into a product to be consumed by a hungry public.”
“Weeeerd!” agreed the black woman at my side, nodding her head.
“Oh, I think I get it.” My wife straightened up a little. “It’s like a metaphor.”
“Yes, an allegory! You see! I see you, coming to terms with your place in the world. I am capturing it all. Luna, this is going to be, I don’t know, one of the best, I am sure. Makeup, hair and makeup!” The hairy old man motioned impatiently at his pixie assistant.
“Oh, right, I need some makeup, of course,” chuckled my wife, patting her cheeks.
“Oh, no, not at all,” replied Luna, rushing to my wife with a baby wipe. “We need to take OFF your makeup. Your defenses are down, and you are naked and vulnerable without the armor of makeup we women use to defend ourselves.” And the little pixie rapidly and efficiently wiped any trace of makeup from my wife’s face while she stood there in shock. Then Luna pulled randomly at my wife’s hair, messing it up.
Poor Linda must have been REALLY freaking out at that point. She never set foot outside the house without being perfectly made up with every hair in place. I think she would rather walk around naked than go out with messy hair.
“Oh my god, you can’t do this me,” squawked my wife. She was pawing at her hair obsessively. “I must look awful! I look OLD!”
“Let your shields down,” coaxed Giuseppe. He was snapping pictures the whole time. “Face the world as you ARE!”
“I think you look wonderful honey,” I said. Linda gave me a grateful smile. And she DID look good. She has gotten older of course, I could see the bags under her eyes. But she looked real. This is the beauty I see when she rolls out of bed in the morning.
“You look natural, totally alluring,” said Roger. He was clapping his hands in approval. Several others in the crowd murmured encouragement and compliments. The good looking white hipster beside us clapped along too.
“Oh my gosh, you guys,” said my wife. “You are making me blush!”
“This is good, this is good, time to bring in DeShawn.” Giuseppe was gesturing passionately. “DeShawn, come here! Come here!”
The big black bouncer in the tux came lumbering over. He was built like a linebacker, over six feet tall and he must have weighed 250 lbs. “What’s up, boss, Ooooh, shit,” he said when he saw my wife. He covered his face and laughed. “Some crazy shit going on up in here.”
“DeShawn, meet, ahh,” Giuseppe paused in confusion for a moment, which seemed strange after his non-stop flow.
“Linda,” prompted my wife. DeShawn shyly offered her his hand to shake, and Giuseppe captured the moment on camera. The huge black man, fully dressed to the nines, timidly shaking hands with a half-naked white woman, pale as ivory, surrounded by the crowd of modern day beatniks. It was pretty kinky actually, even I had to admit.
“I need you for this shoot, DeShawn,” ordered Giuseppe. “You and Linda are going to get naked together and rub oil all over one another.”
“For realz?” laughed DeShawn. He was covering his face bashfully again. “Oh noes! You gotta be kidding me.”
“Look at that big man, afraid of a naked little white woman!” teased the black woman with the afro.
“Don’t play, Yolanda,” he told her.
“You seen the pictures downstairs, nigga,” laughed Yolanda. “You think anybody playin’ wit you? You know what Giuseppe do!”
DeShawn just stared at Yolanda with an open mouth and then he looked at my wife, who avoided his gaze in embarrassment.
“Ok, yeah, this is just going a little too far now,” I piped up. “I mean, you know, getting naked and oil rubbing and all that.” But as I said it and pictured my wife doing that with this big black man, my penis grew more and more erect. All this in spite of the fact that my stomach was roiling with shame and jealousy.
“You are not getting it, man,” said Giuseppe with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The black man and the white woman are in this together. Both are sexualized and objectified by our society. And racism divides them from each other. But here we will make them vulnerable and they will administer salve to one another, or baby oil, whatever, don’t you see how beautiful this is? DeShawn, take your clothes off, you have to be naked for this. Don’t worry, we give you model pay on top of your security pay.”
“Shit man, I don’t know how to model,” complained DeShawn as he awkwardly started unhooking his cumberbund.
“That’s what I look for!” shouted Giuseppe. “The REAL, the unaffected. You think I want some prancing professional model putting on a show?”
“But I’m a model, I’m a professional,” insisted my wife.
Giuseppe laughed in her face. “What have you done?”
“I did the, um, well I did some ad work for that used Toyota dealer on Broadway. You know that big banner?”
“Yes, yes, dear,” said Giuseppe condescendingly. “I mean of course I never saw the banner, but I see what you are saying and you are just proving my point really. Luna, take Linda’s bra and panties off her. It is time.”
“Now wait!” I shouted as Linda cringed. But Yolando gave me a little punch in the gut, just hard enough to knock the wind out of me a bit.
“You settle, hubby, this is art in progress,” she hissed.
“Goddamn it,” I grumbled, rubbing my belly.
Luna deftly unhooked my wife’s bra and Linda’s big white breasts were revealed in all their glory. Her pink nipples growing hard and bumpy in the cool air of the gallery. DeShawn had gotten stripped down to his boxers by this point and he stared at my wife’s chest in gape jawed fascination. His penis sprung to attention and his erection pitched a massive tent in his baggy shorts.
“Oh my gosh,” gasped my wife. She drank in the sight of the big black man’s muscular legs and torso and then gazed with interest at the obscene bulge in his shorts. Giuseppe giggled and captured the scene from several angles.
“I think he likes you,” laughed Luna. “Or your boobs anyway.” The crowd guffawed noisily, losing some of their cool and their distant hipster attitude at the sight of the bare chesty MILF before them.
“Omigosh, you guys!” My wife covering was her nipples self consciously. “He’s really popping a boner!”
“Yeah, uh, sorry,” apologized the big black man. He was surprisingly sensitive and seem truly contrite about his erection.
“This is so beautiful,” said Giuseppe as he recorded the awkward moment between my wife and the bouncer with his boner. “Take your shorts off, DeShawn. Luna, take off Linda’s panties.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, but this time Roger held me by the shoulder and everyone else ignored me as DeShawn guardedly lowered his boxers, allowing his huge manhood to come springing out.
“DAMN brutha!” commented Yolanda with appreciation.
“Oh wow!” agreed my wife. She was staring with amazement at DeShawn’s massive dong and big hairy balls hanging down. He stood there awkwardly while all the women in the room admired his massive package. Luna took the opportunity to pull my wife’s panties down, revealing her furry bush to the room and making her squawk ith embarrassment.
“Luna!” choked my wife, and she struggled to keep one arm covering her nipples and one hand over her cooch. But her bare white ass was there for all to see and enjoy and my own erection just grew harder and harder at the sight of my naked wife writhing self-consciously in front of this hip art crowd and also this big naked black man with his big black boner.
“Oh, yes, oh yes,” enthused Giuseppe. His camera was drinking in the moments. “This will be my finest series. By far, by far. Luna, bring the oil.”
“I have it here.” Luna was holding up a bottle of baby oil.
“Linda, I understand your discomfort at being nude in front of all these people and this big virile man. And I want to capture and honor your emotions. I am validating your experience. Now, I need you to administer to DeShawn, and spread oil on his skin. Look at him, he is nervous too. Comfort him.” Giuseppe used a soft and soothing tone to coax my wife into action, and it worked.
Linda took the bottle from Luna and approached the big black man, padding naked and barefoot across the room toward him while everyone watched with baited breath. Myself included.
“Heh, this is so weird, isn’t it?” my wife asked DeShawn. She was pouring some baby oil into her palm.
“Yeah, this is, um, some really fucked up shit,” he said. His eyes kept flicking back and forth between my wife’s bouncing boobs and pink nipples to her broad hips and exposed bush. His erection was standing almost straight up.
“Wow, are you getting harder?” My wife examined his cock with interest and my blood was boiling.
“Uh, I don’t know,” he lied. “Maybe.”
“Ok, I’m just going to put some oil on your arm, OK?” My wife was clearly flustered by the huge black erection before her. I could tell she wanted to grab that big dick and it made me both sick and aroused at the same time. What a strange feeling. What a kinky scene. But Linda restrained herself and she started rubbing oil onto DeShawn’s rock hard bicep. “Jesus, you are like man of iron. Your muscles are so HARD!” gushed my wife as she rubbed in the oil.
“Yeah, I work out,” he said humbly. He turned toward my wife and his big dick slapped her on the hip. “Oh shit, sorry.”
Linda gulped. “Oh no, that’s fine, really. It was a mistake. I understand.” Her eyes were bright with passion as she contemplated DeShawn’s pulsing member. “Here. let me rub some oil on your belly.”
“Yes, yes,” urged Giuseppe taking pictures from many angles.
‘I’m not going to touch his penis, Giuseppe,” scolded my wife.
‘No, no, of course not,” replied the artist. “Perish the thought.”
“Ok, here I go,” said my wife. She licked her lips as she rubbed oil onto DeShawn’s washboard abdomen, going lower and lower, until she reached the edge of his pubic hair. His cock was practically bouncing up and down as she rubbed his belly and he was biting his lip and perspiring profusely. He must have been exercising a lot of willpower to keep from grabbing my sexy wife and fucking her right there in front of everyone. “Are you making it go up and down?” asked my wife. She was watching his dick acrobatics closely.
“YOU making it go up and down,” he grunted.
“Wow, ok, let’s take a break for a moment,” said my wife. She fanned her face with her hand and was clearly flustered by her own arousal.
“You put some oil on Linda now, DeShawn,” insisted Luna, grabbing the bottle from my wife.
“Aw shit, should I?” DeShawn asked my wife. His eyes were bright with passion.
My wife held her big boobs in her hands as she looked up, doe eyed, at the big bouncer. “Um, yes, you can put some on my belly, but don’t touch my boobies.”
‘Right, right, ok,” agreed the black man quickly. My stomach flipped as he put one big black paw onto my pale wife’s tender belly and he started rubbing oil on it in circles.
“Oh, oh,” moaned my wife as DeShawn got closer and closer to her crotch.
“Go, go!” urged Giuseppe, snapping frantically.
“Not so low,” Linda begged DeShawn.
“Oh, sorry,” he said and moved up higher on her torso.
Linda removed her hands from her boobs and they flopped down onto the back of DeShawn’s big hand, pinning it to her abdomen.
“Oops,” she said, grabbing up her boobs again.
“That wasn’t my fault,” he panted. “I didn’t mean to touch them.”
“I know, I know,” My wife was staring with longing at his big black cock, straining at attention before her.
“Put some oil on her legs,” cajoled Luna.
“Um, Ok,” said DeShawn. He bent over until his face was practically in my wife’s muff and he started rubbing oil on her thighs and calves.
“Maybe you could put a little here too,” she offered, looking at me guiltily as she turned her foot outward and offered one inner thigh to DeShawn.
“Yeah, yeah, ok ,ok,” he said. DeShawn’s tongue was literally hanging out of his mouth as he rubbed oil on my wife’s inner thigh. His face was just inches from her cooch and his hand was sliding the oil up, higher and higher until the back of his hand was practically brushing her pubes. My wife was moaning with pleasure as the black man was about to finger her, but I couldn’t take it anymore.
“No, no, come on, that’s, that’s just inappropriate!” I choked, holding my arms out in supplication to my wife.
“Oh, dear, oh dear,” panted my wife. She grabbed DeShawn’s hand and pushed it down away from her vagina. “I’m sorry, my husband, he’s freaking out of course.”
“Yeah, yeah, for sure, for sure,” gulped DeShawn and he stood up quickly, smacking my wife in the elbow with his cock.
“Oooh, watch that thing, you could hurt someone,” purred my wife.
“Oh, it would only hurt for the first couple inches, honey,” laughed Yolanda. “After that, you would be feeling no pain, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“Yolanda, don’t be bad!” laughed Luna with delight.
“Yeah, I don’t appreciate that comment,” I told Yolanda petulantly.
“Oh, you would love watching that, don’t bullshit me,” she whispered in my ear.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I stammered nervously. Was I really so obvious?
“You know,” she said softly, but maybe not so softly that Roger couldn’t hear. “You want to see that big black bull penetrate your little woman with that spear of his. Don’t lie. You can’t fool me, nigga.”
“Uh, what?” I gasped.
“If I call you nigga, it just means I’m starting to like you,” explained Yolando. “You know, like ‘dats my nigga?” I stared at her blankly. “Whatever, just watch the show, white boy.” She shook her head with a smile on her face.
Linda and DeShawn were standing awkwardly in the middle of the murmuring crowd, each looking at the other’s nakedness with longing. Luna was rubbing oil onto my wife’s neck and shoulders and whispering something in her ear.
“Ok, now you put some oil on DeShawn’s legs,” said Luna loudly to my wife.
“You might need to get down on your knees before him,” offered Giuseppe helpfully. “Luna, bunch up her dress beneath her so Linda doesn’t hurt her knees.”
Lunda followed his instructions and my wife eagerly knelt before the towering naked black man. His hard phallus just inches from her face as she rubbed oil on his thighs.
Linda’s knelt there with DeShawn’s cock hovering right in front of her open mouth and she was about to lick it, I am sure, when she caught herself. “Um, this is too distracting, I can’t do this with your, uh, thing right there in front of my face.”
“Too tasty!” giggled Luna. “You want to take a bite!”
“No, no, I mean, of course not,” stammered my wife. She was looking back at me guiltily.
“Just put it on her shoulder, DeShawn. Don’t stick that big thing in her face like that,” scolded Luna.
“Uh, her shoulder?” asked DeShawn blearily. His mind fogged with lust for my naked wife kneeling in blowjob position before him.
“Yeah, I lubed it up for you ahead of time,” said Luna with a wink.
“It’s fine, it’s fine, you can put it on her shoulder,” said Giuseppe. “That’s not sexual,” he told me defensively as he went on snapping pictures.
“Oh, oh, ok,” said DeShawn as he lowered his big dick onto my wife’s oiled up shoulder.
“MMmm, yeah,” said my wife, putting her hands on DeShawn’s hips as he slid his cock back and forth in the crook of her neck.
“Oh shit,” I gasped. My dick standing at attention as I watched.
“What?” asked my wife, turning to look at me over her shoulder and laying her chin along the top of the long black shaft. “Are you OK, honey? This is for art.”
“Yeah, art,” grunted DeShawn. He was sliding his dick back and forth more vigorously now. Basically fucking the lubed up crook of my wife’s neck and the underside of her chin while she looked at me guiltily.
“Now, DeShawn,” warned Giuseppe. “You are spoiling the mood. Calm down a little.”
“Huh, huh, huh,” grunted DeShawn. He ignored the photographer as he slid his dick back and forth. The shiny black knob of his oiled up cock would poke out from crook of my wife’s neck and then disappear again. She was pushing her chin down against it and seemed to be encouraging him by squeezing his hips. The crowd gave grew feral and restive, with people making crude comments, some even encouraging her to suck his penis.
“You are not GETTING the allegory,” snapped Giuseppe irritably. But he kept shooting anyway. “That’s not comfort, that’s something else.”
“Oh fuck!” groaned DeShawn and his cock started spurting semen down my wife’s back. The crowd gave a gasp and then broke out in applause and laughter.
“DeShawn, what did you do?” exclaimed my wife. She turned to feel her back and he blasted another spurt of cum right in her face. “Oh! Did you cum? Ooh, I’m really sticky.”
“Goddamn it, DeShawn! What’s the hell do you think you are doing?” shouted Giuseppe. “You are ruining my shoot. This isn’t pornography, you buffoon!” Giuseppe grabbed DeShawn by the arm and pulled him and his exploding cock away from my wife who was examining the jism on her finger with facination.
“Oh shit, man, I’m sorry, but I TOLD you I wasn’t no model. Naked white woman get down on a nigga, nigga gonna bust a nut, cuz. What the fuck I know ‘bout art?”
“Lay off him, he’s just keepin it real, Roma,” shouted Yolanda.
Even I thought it was ironic. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not as though you couldn’t have seen THAT coming. You set this whole this up,” I said.
“None of you understand my vision,” cried Giuseppe. He seemed really upset. “I am telling a story about platonic love and memetic hazards!”
“I don’t know what the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout,” admitted DeShawn as he put his pants back on.
“I don’t either,” said my wife, taking the opportunity to slip back into her dress as the crowd began to disperse, the show now apparently over.
“Ok, look, we just have to do this all over again next week,” sighed Giuseppe. “Luna will get your contact information and we will cut you a check and have you sign the paperwork for this shoot. But we have to start over and do this right next time.” He punched DeShawn on the arm. “And no ejaculation from you!”
“I mean, I’ll try, nigga, I’ll try,” yelped DeShawn.
“Yeah, I mean, I’ll try it again,” said my wife. I was disgusted to see her licking some of DeShawn’s cum from her lips. “Maybe we could try putting it between my thighs instead of the crook of my neck.”
“Wait now, I don’t like this,” I croaked.
“Yeah, how’s that gonna make it easier?” asked DeShawn in frustration. “I get my cock up against that pussy, Imma bust my nut again fo’ sho.”
“You never know, you might be able to control yourself,” said my wife with a little smile.
“And if not, well that would be fun too!” chirped Luna.
“Stop it, Luna, you go too far,” sniffed Giuseppe. “You are a minx. Now get Linda’s contact information and stop being devilish.” He turned to me and grabbed my hand, shaking it sincerely. “I’m very sorry about all this, sir. I assure you that we will keep trying until we get a perfectly pure artistic expression, free from any carnal depravity. It just might take some practice.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. My wife seemed pretty eager for the practice to go astray. But what could I say? My wife was working again, and that’s all that mattered.
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