Penthouse Letter, Naruto & Sai

Naruto Penthouse Letter
Naruto

So I suppose I should start by being brutally honest…

I’m dirt poor and a male model.

Not for magazines or commercials (‘cause then I wouldn’t be poor) but for life drawing classes down at the local university. It’s easy cash and I’ve got a great body, so why the hell not? At least, that’s what I originally thought.

There’s this kid there, you see—pale as sin—but talented as fuck. Any position I take, any pose I deliver, he captures it perfectly. The curves, the colors, the shapes…Every detail—all the way down the hairs of my chinny-chin-chin (if you catch my drift) and each little vein that glows beneath my skin...(why haven’t I even noticed them??)

At first it was flattering. Cool even. But then…it got kinda kinky.

Just what went on through that head of his as he drew me?

That’s what I would ask myself each time, watching as his fingers clenched the thick hold of his paintbrush, rubbing thick gobs of white paint on black paper. He’d smirk at me, too, when he dipped that brush into the paint bottle, making sure I’d watch the stringy droplets of ‘sea foam white’ or whatever dribble across his paper.

From the other side of the room I’d hear the teacher ream some girl about being afraid to draw the penis, and on more than one occasion the student would reply, “It’s not that sir. It just…wasn’t there a minute ago.”

And hell no it wasn’t.

That’s what this kid would do to me. Licking his lips, letting his eyes run laps around my waist—even turned away I could feel his eyes devouring me, planting me like an erotic tree on that canvas beneath him.

And so this one day—this really shitty Saturday afternoon, class was cancelled. Only no one bothered to inform me so when I arrived the drawing labs were like ghost towns. I sat for a while debating on whether to brave the weather home…until that same (undeniably attractive) student came in.

“I think classes are out,” I said to him, but he just unloaded his supplies and sat there, staring at me. He lifted his brush and I felt that familiar feeling in my pants, wondering just what the hell he was thinking.

“Well, are you going to get undressed?”

I stared at him a little more and stood up, fighting back the urge to just strip and fuck him blind. Instead I did what I thought was the adult thing and walked away…until he said one last thing.

“That’s too bad. After all, it’s not like you have a penis for me to draw anyway.”

I’m never one to be challenges—ever. My clothes were off in a matter of minutes and I glared down at him, making sure my pride and joy was in plain sight. He smirked.

“Good. I’ve been wanting to try out some new techniques.”

I barely heard him before he took me with his lips, his empty palette and styro-board falling to the floor as he gripped my hips, fucking me hard with his mouth. His hands were sticky—covered in paint. A felt it smear over my abdomen and back across my ass as he pressed into me.

I gripped his shoulders as his hands left to remove his jeans, surprised when he pushed me back and twisted me around, pinning me down on the carpeted rise where I usually pose on blankets and pillows. I felt his paint-slickened hands part me and grabbed a pillow, moaning and crying out when his cock took me.

I took it like a dog as he worked his way in and out of me, running those hands all over my body like he was branding me or something, rain pouring outside and hail slamming against the windows loud enough to deafen my moans and cries.

I came hard onto the riser and could hardly breathe, and with the stamina of a racehorse he had fixed himself up and packed his belongings. He came beside me before he left and smiled—a very dangerous smile, and ruffled my hair.

“Next time, don’t hard-on me all through class. It’s embarrassing.”

And he left.

I haven’t modeled for the university since. After that hot little number, I bet I’d do a lot more than just get hot and bothered at the sight of him.

No-longer-modeling,
Me

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For the ygal Penthouse Letter Club.