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Old 08-08-2018, 03:21 PM
Emperor Wang Emperor Wang is offline
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Default Model Exes

This memoir is pretty lengthy so I’ve split it into a three-parter: the first recalling how I discovered, seemingly out of nowhere, that having my girlfriend expose herself to other men was a huge turn-on, and the second and third parts detailing how I finally got to indulge these longstanding fantasies. It mainly involves two different relationships I was in, about eight years apart. Submitted for your approval, here are the first two.


My candaulistic tendencies first manifested themselves unexpectedly when I was about nineteen or twenty, during a seemingly innocuous conversation over lunch with my first long-term girlfriend, who was also the first truly sexually adventurous woman I’d been with. She was short and curvaceous with shoulder-length darkish-blonde hair, a bit on the busty side though not hugely so; she was in her first year of fine arts at university while I drifted between shitty jobs and shitty bands. One day in early December we met at a local burger joint for lunch. She told me there was something she’d been really wanting to do, but only if it was alright with me. She’d been looking for part-time work and wanted to try modeling nude for life drawing classes. My shock was indescribably pleasurable. I felt like I’d been hit by lightning; this was something I’d never really thought of before but the idea immediately gave me a raging erection. It was all I could do to keep from jumping her right then and there in that fast food shack.

But why? Why this reaction? Where did this come from? My upbringing had been neither puritanical nor super-liberal; attitudes toward nudity, whether pro- or anti-, had not played any significant role, nor had I any hang-ups about it one way or another. The whole thing baffled me at the time and even now, after decades of obsessing over it, I’d say I only understand it a little bit better. At any rate, my girlfriend seemed as happily taken aback by my response as I was. We met up again when she finished classes that afternoon and talked excitedly about the idea as we trudged back through the snow to her tiny apartment. I couldn’t explain to her exactly why I was so turned on by the idea and she couldn’t understand it either, but we agreed that the possibilities were exciting. We had barely gotten through the door at her place when I began tearing away her clothes. Suffice to say some extremely passionate fucking ensued.

Sadly, two unanticipated complications lay ahead for us. First, when she went to look into getting started modelling after Christmas break, she was told that in a rather unusual twist, they actually had a bit of a surplus of life models at present (many of them like-minded first year students) and wouldn’t need anyone for at least a few weeks, maybe longer. While waiting it out, my girlfriend went back to her old waitressing job. A little over a month passed before she was told by one of her profs that various people were leaving so there might be some modeling work available soon, but by that time there were more than a few cracks starting to show in our relationship and we soon broke up. Then, to add insult to injury, she finally did her first nude modeling a couple of weeks after we parted; she proved quite popular with staff and students from the get-go (as I knew she would) and was soon stripping off for life drawing classes several times a week, a gig she continued over the next couple of school years. Down the road she also did some modeling privately for smaller groups and eventually one particular sculptor who came to regard her as his muse. She and I remain good friends to this day, but I have no idea if her next boyfriend – with whom she lived for several years and almost married – had the same reaction to her modeling as I did. Meanwhile, all I could do was fantasize from the sidelines. And wait. And wait… until years later.


About seven years would pass before I’d get a chance to truly indulge this kink of mine, one that continued to fuel my fantasies despite my having only the vaguest understanding of it. In the interim, several more relationships of varying quality came and went, with only one isolated incident of any candaulistic significance to tide me over. I spent three miserable years with someone I should never have been with, because we were simply too weak-willed to end things. A horrible time, for sure, but the one and only bright moment I look back on with this person involved my favourite obsession. Although there was nothing else about this girl to suggest even a hint of exhibitionism, she was quite attractive and once allowed me to shoot two rolls of nude photos of her, which we subsequently had developed at a local lab where several acquaintances of ours worked. After some prodding, she grudgingly admitted to me that she got a bit of a thrill from the idea that these guys she’d known for years would be getting a good look at her in the altogether. Needless to say, I enjoyed it immensely as well.

My next girlfriend, however, would truly be the one great love of my life up to that point, and the one who finally made it possible for me to fully indulge this proclivity of mine that had been nagging at my psyche for years like an unscratched itch. Although a fantastically talented artist herself, she had ditched art school after her second year to pursue studies in social work. At 24 she was several years my junior but looked even younger, having to produce ID in bars more often than not. Personal bias aside, I can say without exaggeration that she was (still is, actually) a classic beauty. Doe-eyed and possessed of a radiant smile, with luxuriant dark auburn hair, she seemed to have reaped all the benefits of her lineage (Portuguese, Irish, French-Canadian and Cree Indian). On the petite side, though not tiny, she’s that rarest of creatures, a skinny woman with curves; legs not overly long but nicely-shaped, a regal-looking and delicately-sculpted neck and shoulders, smallish perky breasts, a tiny waist (in fact, one of the most spectacular midriffs I’ve ever seen) and a jutting, unbelievably round ass.

Early in our relationship she told me that she had done a bit of figure modeling back in her art school days; we discussed my obsession at length, and she said she’d try and find a way to indulge me – some day – but that was all that came of it until about a year later. One day she announced – to my delight – that she wanted to return to figure modeling. She began checking job postings for the art schools at two nearby universities but ultimately her attention was caught by an ad from an artist looking for someone to work privately. It seemed odd – pretty well all the artists we knew personally were poverty-stricken and had to pool resources because they couldn’t afford to hire models to work one-on-one. We both initially wondered whether he was for real or just some skeevy (and possibly dangerous) perv; fortunately, he turned out to be a rather well-off middle-aged guy who owned a posh restaurant and several other businesses but had a passion (and a certain amount of talent) for painting and sculpture. We also learned that an acquaintance of ours had previously done some modeling for this man and she assured us that he was strictly legit. After hitting it off well with him in a get-acquainted meeting at his office, my girl began modeling nude for him several evenings a week in his studio. She was a good sport about describing the procedure to me in detail afterward, as there was no way I could be there to witness it in person. Sometimes – with or without my urging – she’d get naked and re-enact the evening’s poses for me, standing, sitting, reclining or gesturing.

One evening she was grinning mischievously after returning to our place. When I asked her what was up, she replied, “I think you really would have enjoyed the main pose I did tonight!” I told her to demonstrate. Giggling, she undressed and recreated the scene: lying on her back on the floor with a couch cushion under her hips to elevate her pelvis, right leg bent at the knee and turned slightly outward, left leg splayed straight out to the side, her gorgeous pink pussy on full display. My knees almost buckled as I stood over her, taking in this incredible sight, just as I knew this other man had been doing just an hour or so before. This pose was something of a departure, because while she’d done pretty well all of what we think of as the “classic” nude poses in the weeks she’d been working for him – leaving nothing to the imagination in the process – this was nonetheless the first time he’d had her do any kind of pose that could be construed as overtly sexual. I remarked on this as she lay spread out in front of me; she replied that when he’d first had her assume the position, he’d asked – in his usual gentlemanly fashion – “Are you okay doing poses like this?” She recounted that she’d casually responded, “Oh sure, I’m fine with it,” but had to stifle her giggles, inwardly knowing how her lecherous boyfriend would react to the news later. I’m happy to confirm that I didn’t disappoint her, immediately dropping to the floor and burying my face in that beautiful vagina, enthusiastically licking her to orgasm before fucking her hard.

Several more weeks passed before she reported another interesting development, this time pertaining to her attire between poses. As per standard protocol for artists’ models since time immemorial, she would normally disrobe in the studio’s little bathroom and emerge in a bathrobe or towel until the session began, stripping off to pose, then covering up again during breaks. Upon returning home from a session one night, she told me how she had suddenly decided to deviate from standard procedure and have a bit of fun.

She said things had started out typically, with a series of quick gesture drawings – poses lasting between 30 seconds and a minute – and as usual he’d told her to take five after about half an hour. She put her robe back on and they relaxed and chatted for several minutes. They then went back to work for another half-hour or so; this time, while posing, she began formulating a plan and wondering if she’d have the nerve to pull it off. Yes, she decided, it was time. When he called break time again, she stopped posing and stretched a bit, but instead of putting her robe back on, she simply flopped down in a chair, fully nude. To an outsider this may not seem at all extraordinary, but as artist/model protocols go it’s a serious faux-pas. This is on the grounds that while drawing, painting or sculpting, the artist is (supposedly) concerned only with shapes and lines but when the artistic process is halted, even for a short break, the model suddenly goes back to being a naked person – a sexual being – again. Brazenly, she spent the break time naked in front of him in the chair and studied his reaction; he remained cool, chatting away casually with her as if there were nothing out of the ordinary, but she noticed that his eyes kept wandering over her nude form with a distinct fascination. She described it this way: “It wasn’t quite like he was seeing me for the first time, but more that he was seeing a different aspect of me.” Indeed, by this point he had already seen her nude on more than a dozen occasions and clearly appreciated her young body, but she swore he’d never looked at her quite this way before. The little studio, she told me, was fairly warm – this was early summer – so she was sure he could tell from the rock-hard state of her nipples that she was deriving a certain enjoyment from the scenario as well.

In a few minutes they went back to work, this time concentrating on one long pose with her reclining on an old chaise lounge. Her mind raced, she told me, wondering if she should take it further, and if so, how? She quite liked him personally and thought he was rather good-looking but she didn’t desire him sexually, despite the fact that he clearly found her attractive; more importantly, she liked the job and didn’t want to do anything that could endanger their working relationship. Still, she told me, she couldn’t resist trying to up the ante just a bit more before calling it a night. When he told her to take five after another half hour posing, she got up off the chaise lounge, stretched a bit and began casually wandering about the room, looking at various paintings and sketches, again without bothering to cover up. Once more, he played it cool, conversing with her as easily as ever, making no mention of her nudity even when she was standing close to him, but never taking his eyes off her delicious, nubile form for more than a few seconds at a time. When she glanced at the clock, she became even more convinced that he was enjoying the show; normally, he never took breaks longer than five or six minutes, but now the seven-minute mark had already passed without him making any mention of returning to work. Eight minutes now, then nine. She told me it was all she could do to keep from snickering when he finally looked at the clock just as they were coming up on eleven minutes and remarked – not too convincingly – “Oh jeez, look at the time, we’d better get back to that pose.” They finished off the night’s session with another half hour of her reclining on the chaise. She was relieved that this particular pose involved keeping her legs together, as she was getting seriously wet.

Still, when he said it was time to wrap up for the night, she couldn’t resist one final shenanigan. She stood up, once again not bothering to cover up, and strode over the little bar fridge he kept stocked with cold drinks in one corner of the studio and opened the door. Instead of squatting down to check the contents, however, she bent over, legs slightly parted, and took her time rummaging through the various items before selecting a bottle of water. (At this point in recounting our tale, I suppose one more physical characteristic of hers bears mentioning: she’s blessed with quite large, plump labia that are easily visible when she bends over, as is her prominent clit, so her employer would have gotten quite a nice unobstructed view from behind.) Upon standing up again she gulped down about half the bottle’s contents and noticed from the corner of her eye that he was staring quite intensely at her, jaw slightly agape. Feeling pleased with her performance for the evening (and more than a little aroused) she now excused herself and went into the bathroom to get dressed. Putting her panties back on, she was pleasantly shocked at the state of her nether regions; she’d been aware of her pussy moistening steadily throughout the evening but was surprised – and just the teensiest bit embarrassed – that a small amount of her juice was actually visible on her inner thighs. Had he seen it? Hell, how could he not?

Once fully dressed, she stepped out of the bathroom to find him packing things away and preparing to leave. As our place was on his route home he suggested sharing a cab, to which she immediately agreed. He then asked her to wait while he used the bathroom, but she found it odd that he turned the radio on before going in and locking the door. He rarely put music on even while working, so why bother now when they were about to leave? Unless… maybe he needed to cover something up? A minute passed after he locked the door. She stepped a bit closer and strained to listen. Another thirty seconds or so passed before she heard a brief, soft moan from the other side of the door, barely audible over the music. Smiling to herself, she quickly stepped away from the door and pretended to be engrossed in several drawings across the room. Less than a minute later he emerged; they locked up the studio and walked to the corner to flag a cab.

Upon arriving home a little after eleven pm, she recounted the entire story. I sat on the living room couch and she undressed in front of me as she told her tale. When she was fully nude she came over and straddled me; I groped and sucked her pretty little tits as she told me about overhearing him getting himself off in the bathroom. Soon, her words began to trail off as she gasped and moaned while I teased her nipples, then ceased altogether when she took my throbbing cock in her mouth.

PART THREE - in which I finally got a chance to be present while she put it all on display - will be coming in another week or so IF you're interested. Please let me know and thanks for reading so far!
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Old 08-08-2018, 10:06 PM
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nectcouple nectcouple is offline
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Default Thanks!

This has been an awesome post so far! Please continue! Are you sure there are only 3 parts??
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Old 08-09-2018, 11:31 AM
Emperor Wang Emperor Wang is offline
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Originally Posted by nectcouple View Post
This has been an awesome post so far! Please continue! Are you sure there are only 3 parts??
Hell, I wish there were more than three. But that's life in the non fiction section, right?

Thanks for your kind feedback. The third part should arrive in another week, maybe less. I hope you'll find it worth the wait.
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Old 08-09-2018, 05:12 PM
H_P H_P is offline
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Default Life in 3 parts

I for one am looking forward to the third part.
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Old 08-09-2018, 05:57 PM
Everard Everard is offline
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Me too!
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Old 08-10-2018, 11:01 AM
Omega88 Omega88 is offline
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Default Great story!

Waiting expectantly for Part 3, also wishing there were many additional chapters...

My wife revealed a few years ago she posed as a life model in college - blew me away and never had any idea she had done anything like that. She claimed she did not remember any of the poses or what happened but would think experiences like that are not the type one just forgets. Tried to get her to do it again [albeit many years past college now] at a local art school but the best I could get was "maybe" which in most instances means no.
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Old 08-11-2018, 01:01 AM
Emperor Wang Emperor Wang is offline
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Originally Posted by Omega88 View Post
Waiting expectantly for Part 3, also wishing there were many additional chapters...

My wife revealed a few years ago she posed as a life model in college - blew me away and never had any idea she had done anything like that. She claimed she did not remember any of the poses or what happened but would think experiences like that are not the type one just forgets. Tried to get her to do it again [albeit many years past college now] at a local art school but the best I could get was "maybe" which in most instances means no.
Fingers crossed for you!
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