Disclaimer: I haven't done one of these in a while. This story, unlike the previous short stories, contains sex. Not just mentions of sex, but lot and lots of hot monkey lovin'. If the thought of two guys going at it hot and heavy bothers you, why the hell have you made it this far into Godsend? Also, you should turn your Puritan ass around and find something holy and righteous to do, and leave the real world for the rest of us. A-fucking-men.
Duce
Duce pulled out a pen and wrote down his number, handing the napkin to the man next to him. "I'd love to go out with you some time," he said.
"Duce?" the man said. The worried look on his face was adorable. "I've heard about you. Guys don't stick around after going out with you, do they?"
"Sure they do," Duce said with the sweetest smile he could muster. "I still talk to most of them on a daily basis."
"Your long distance bills must be high," the man said with raised eyebrows. Duce had already learned from him that he was an accountant. His job didn't matter, though, as long as he was pretty. His name was...Duce couldn't remember, not that it mattered to him.
"I can afford them," Duce said craftily.
"You must be loaded," the man said. "I've heard your place is massive, and that your gallery has some of the most beautiful art. But I'm not so sure about dating a guy with green hair."
"I'm an artist," Duce said. "It comes with the territory. The pieces at the public gallery, though, are frivolities. The real art is in my personal collection at home."
"Now there's a come on line if I've ever heard one," the man said, though his eyes showed that he was warming. Good.
"Well," Duce said, "you don't give a come on line unless you want a guy to come." The double entendre wasn't lost on the man, whose eyes widened and breathing quickened at the words. It was time to turn the heat up. "I've done some masterpieces, some of my best work, inspired by the beautiful men I've brought home. Some of the works were even direct likenesses of the men who would model for me." Duce leaned over and brought his mouth within millimeters of the man's ear. "I'd like to do you tonight," he breathed.
"Let's go," the man said quickly. He stood up and led the way to the door. Duce studied his form. His khakis flowed like a waterfall over the edge of the man's tight round butt. A silk shirt hung loosely down to where it entered the well-fitted pants. The frame showing through the soft fabric showed a man who was no stranger to a gym, but knew not to overdo it. His sandy brown hair was cut short and came down to an even point at the middle of his neck. Duce could also just see the backs of the man's gold, wire-framed glasses. In all, the man looked, not like an accountant, but like a beautiful Hollywood actor playing an accountant.
"Let's take my car," Duce said when they were outside the bar. "My driver can bring you back here to get yours when we're done."
"Interesting license plate," the man said. "Why 'Me Duce'?"
"Duce was taken already. Probably a poker player."
The driver held the door open and Duce let the man climb in first. It was tempting to reach out and caress those gorgeous orbs, but Duce resisted. Once Duce got in, he sat right next to the man. He could feel the desire radiating off of him, like a campfire on a chilly night.
"Your driver isn't much to look at," the man remarked in a hushed tone. "With the money you have, I would think you'd upgrade." Oh the vanity, Duce thought. Duce knew he had the looks, and he used them like he used his paintbrushes and chisels, because they were tools, and that`s all they were. Using them as a basis of worth was beneath him. If he were looking for something more lasting than a night, this guy would be history.
"I find that beauty like yours can be distracting when I work," Duce replied, "unless it is my subject. My focus is drawn to beauty, so I need my people to look like my driver so they cannot draw my focus." It was a partial truth, but all the man needed, and probably wanted, to know. Pure physical beauty with no substance, like this man, had no loyalty. They would flit away and ruin Duce at a moment's notice. Men with both beauty and substance were far too captivating, and Duce would never get any work done. So it was the plain looking population that Duce chose his workers from.
They pulled up to Duce's mansion and the man whistled. "I guess you can afford plenty of long distance bills."
"I have many faults," Duce remarked. "Dishonesty is not one of them." The limo door opened and Duce stepped out first, giving the man a sample of his rear assets. Unlike Duce, the man didn't resist touching. The finger sliding along the center seam of his jeans was at once both repulsive and erotic. Had he liked the man, the touch would solely have been erotic.
Inside the mansion, the man was in awe of the marble floors and pillars, but he marveled at the artwork in the halls. "This is phenomenal," he breathed standing next to a three dimensional replication of a man's torso. Every line in it was a work of perfection, and the colors Duce had painted the model with were a delicate blend of reds and oranges.
"That was Henry," Duce told him. "Henry's chest and stomach were the pinnacle of human perfection. Not a line or curve out of place. I had to match it."
The next was a painting of an eye, with a striking pattern of over a million shades of blue. "This was Daniel's eye. Remarkable, wasn't it?"
"Surely you embellished a little," the man said. "Nature just doesn't produce that coloring."
"But it did," Duce said, truthfully. "This is a true likeness of the eye. I should have taken a photograph while he was here. No one ever believes it was real."
"How many of these do you have?"
"Over thirty paintings, twenty mixed media, like the torso there, and maybe forty or so statues," Duce replied.
"Where do you get all this talent?" the man asked.
"My mom and aunt were able to make statues, but not nearly as lifelike as mine. Theirs always looked like humanoid lumps to me. Ape men and stuff. Their technique was flawed. I had another aunt who died long before I was born though. Man, she was good. I think I got my talent from her. If she was still alive today, I would show her my innovations, like the paintings and the mixed media."
"So you only pick models that are perfect?" the man teased.
"Full perfection is nearly impossible," Duce said, gesturing to the torso. "Henry's face was actually very plain. He would have made a lousy statue. Besides, without absolute full-body perfection, the body detracts and distracts the viewer from the essential parts. That's why my new techniques are so cool. I can isolate whatever I want to isolate and leave the rest out."
"And you want to do me?" he asked. "What part of me is perfect?"
Duce stroked a gentle hand across the man's ass. "This," he said, "has potential, but I won't know until I see it bare."
The man shuddered. "You have an artist's touch," he breathed.
"You don't know the half of it," Duce replied with a grin. "Let's get to my studio so you can see what an artist can truly do with his hands." Duce rushed to his studio down the hall, and the man was on his heels the whole way. Inside were canvases, paints, chisels, drop cloths, and walls that were almost blindingly white. There were also floodlights in various places, pointed at half-finished canvases and sculptures
"How many sessions will this take?" the man asked, gesturing with an open hand to the unfinished work.
"Oh, just one, if you're right for the canvas. Those are the things I'm working on without models. It's just not the same without a living, breathing person to work from. There's just more of a life force inside those other works than in these here, don't you think?"
"Yeah," the man said, "but I just thought it was because you weren't done with these. I wouldn't have known otherwise. So...how do we do this?"
Duce walked over to a raised slab of marble and placed a large canvas over it. The marble was formed to fit exactly inside the frame of a blank canvas. "That's where it will happen," Duce told him, walking seductively to the man.
He closed in and kissed the man slowly, unbuttoning the man's shirt as he went. He pulled the yellow fabric out of the man's pants, and then slowly slid the shirt off of his shoulders and to the floor behind him. Duce took a quick glance at the torso. Lean, proportionate, good looking, but nothing noteworthy. He kissed his way down, letting his hands roam over the quickly growing bulge in the man's pants.
There was a nearby crate that was the perfect size for a chair. Duce stood slowly, trailing his tongue back up the man's stomach as he went, then took him gently by both hands and led him to the crate and sat him down. Kneeling, Duce slid off the man's right shoe and slowly pulled off the sock underneath. Then he pulled a bowl over and poured in some water from a pitcher that sat next to the crate for just this purpose. Pulling a clean cloth from a rack, he dipped it into the water and slowly rubbed down the man's foot. "You're going to be walking on the canvas," Duce told him. "I have to make sure nothing gets tracked onto it." When the foot was cleaned, Duce dried it with a second cloth, and then pulled a hospital bootie out of a box and placed it over the clean foot. Duce repeated the whole process with the left foot. The man had his eyes closed the whole time and was starting to moan. "You like that, huh?" Duce said. "When the painting's done, I'll do it again, but slower and more thoroughly, and I'll work my way up when I'm done."
When the feet were cleaned and covered, Duce climbed up and straddled the man, placing his lips against the man's. His tongue began exploring the inside of the man's mouth, as his hands explored the man's belt buckle. Once unfastened, the button and zipper of the man's pants nearly opened themselves with the force being applied to them from inside. Duce helped the straining member gain complete freedom from it's cloth prison, and the man gasped as Duce gripped it and slid along the shaft. Like the man's chest and stomach, his penis was very nice - great for a hot night or a relationship full of hot nights - but not great enough to be immortalized as a work of artistic perfection.
Duce returned to the floor, taking the man into his mouth, savoring the salty, musky flavor of his skin. He couldn't get the entire length inside without taking him down his throat, which Duce always enjoyed. He worked the man slowly and assuredly, making him grip the handles on the sides of the crate, also installed for just that purpose, so he wouldn't grab Duce's hair. The man jerked and spasmed as Duce worked his pole with an expertise only gained through years of practice. He felt the man tighten up and prepared for the eruption, which Duce took in his mouth so he could taste the man's real flavor. Salty, like his skin, with a slightly sweet undertone.
Once complete, Duce slid his hands along the man's backside and brought the pants down to his ankles. Then, very slowly, he reached inside the pant legs and pulled the feet through, making sure to hold the booties in place as he did. He stood the man up and turned him around.
The sight that greeted Duce made him smile with an inner glee. Not a single blemish marred the smooth and milky skin of this man's perfectly shaped backside. It was as if someone had placed two identically smooth melons next to each other and coated them with soft, flawless skin, with only a hint of fuzz.
"You will do very nicely," Duce told the man. "You have an ass the gods themselves would be envious of."
The man chuckled. "I hope not," he said. "Didn't they used to smite people who were better than them in any way?"
"You've read your mythology," Duce said, impressed. He walked up behind him and slid his arms around the man, his hands caressing the man's chest as he kissed the man's shoulder. "They used to behave like that, yes," he said. "But there's a reason those stories stopped happening. The gods realized that a person might have one trait that rivaled or surpassed them, but every other trait that person had was lesser than the gods. That mollified their pride, and they stopped punishing humans for being better than them."
"You sound like you know them," the man said softly as Duce started licking his ear. He whimpered and Duce could feel the goose bumps rise on the man's skin.
"Nope," he said, "just watched the interviews they gave. You ready to be immortalized?"
"Definitely," he said, walking over to the canvas. Duce put a hand on his arm to stop him before he could walk on it. Bending down, he lifted the man's left leg, pulled the bootie off, then set the foot on the canvas. After the man had shifted his weight, Duce did it to the other foot. Now the man was completely naked and on the canvas.
The man turned to watch Duce remove his clothing, so Duce gave him a show. He writhed and pivoted the top of his body as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, making his lean muscles do a dance usually reserved for talented strippers or belly dancers. When his head was clear, he saw the man grinning and pulling on himself. He couldn't even wait for Duce to touch him. His greed for physical pleasure was so great that he had to keep himself constantly stimulated. Duce resisted rolling his eyes.
Instead, he unfastened his belt and slowly slid it through the belt loops of his jeans. As it slid out, Duce pulled it up and across his chest, licking the leather as it passed his mouth. He pulled it all the way out and let it drape around his neck and over his shoulders so it rested on his chest as he moved on. He ran his hands along his chest and hissed out a slow stream of air as he went down. He stroked down his stomach, past his waist, and along the outside of his jeans as he bent down toward the floor to reach his shoes. He went to one knee and rested his chin on the other, looking up into the man's eyes as he untied his sneaker.
After Duce pulled it off to reveal the same specialized bootie he had earlier placed on the man's foot, and was setting the shoe to the side, the man interrupted. "Let me smell it," he said. Normally, Duce wouldn't have cared, but he just couldn't comply.
"Sorry, my shoes can't go over the canvas, and you can't come off of it," he told the man. "Next time, though, it's all yours." He smiled at the man and licked his lips as he changed position to remove the other shoe. When he did, just for the man's benefit, he placed it over his nose and took a deep breath. The booties absorbed anything his feet would produce, so the shoe didn't smell like anything except rubber and leather. He pretended they smelled wonderful. The man was pulling faster and harder. "You already came once," Duce warned him with a light chuckle. "And I have another round planned. Unless you can do a third load, I suggest you slow down with that."
"Sorry, man," he said. "That was just so fucking hot I lost control." To his credit, he stopped touching his cock altogether at that point. Duce gave him an appreciative smile.
Duce stood and gyrated some more, tantalizing and teasing the man as his hands roamed across his body, stopping several times at the top of his jeans, then wandering away without opening them. The man took a step forward and Duce froze. "If you step off the canvas, the session is over and my driver will take you back to pick up your car."
The man, panting with lust at that point, looked into Duce's eyes, for a moment lacking any understanding of what was said. The it sunk in and he took a breath, then smiled. "Alright," he said, "you're in control."
"Always am," Duce said as he continued his dance. The man was visibly panting as Duce played with his own nipples, rolling them, pinching them, running the leather of his belt across them. Then he slid the belt down, buckle last, over his stomach. Pulling the top of his jeans away from his body, he let the belt slide inside. Then he let the jeans go and used both hands on the belt to slide it up and down, against his own rigid member. The man was now almost hyperventilating.
Now he was ready. Duce pulled the belt off and placed it back over his shoulders. Then, with a quick flip of his wrists, he pulled open all the buttons of his fly, letting his jeans fall to the floor. His now bare cock flew free and the man's eyes bulged. Most guys loved that part of his anatomy the most. Large, but not a monster. Perfectly straight. Wide enough to make them moan, but not so wide as to make them scream.
Duce stepped out of the pile of denim and over to the canvas. He lifted his foot, slipped the bootie off and placed the bare foot on the canvas, then repeated with the other foot so he was completely on it. Then he took the belt and looped it around his own neck, threading the leather through the buckle and pulling it tight. Then he held out the free end to the man to take as a leash. The man rushed over and took it, pulling Duce in slowly for a kiss.
Duce had to admit, the man was a good kisser. As their tongues swirled around in the other's mouth, the man stepped in close so their bodies were pressed against each other and began running his hands all over Duce's back side. Duce closed his eyes and got lost in the sensation. He loved being touched, and this man was still very physically attractive. He allowed himself to forget the man's personality, and soon his own lust was driving him into a frenzy of hands, tongues, and skin on fire and hungry to be touched.
When his awareness came back, he slowed himself. Just breaking the frenzy would have made the man think something was wrong, but slowing down to a stop just indicated something was about to change. "Are you ready?" Duce asked him. The man nodded. Duce turned him around and started slowly running his nails up and down the man's back gently. Goose bumps were starting to form on his skin. Duce leaned in and kissed the man's neck as his hands roamed over the man's perfect ass.
He moved his hands back up to the man's shoulders and directed him to his knees, going down to his own knees at the same time. Another gentle touch guided the man to bend forward and get on all fours. Duce bent down and ran his tongue along the man's ass crack. The man whimpered. Duce was pleased. He did a few more swipes, then circled the man's hole. He was moaning now. Duce couldn't help but smile. He loved bringing guys pleasure. He was just a giver like that. Without warning, Duce thrust his tongue inside and the man gasped. "Oh yeah," he said, his voice pitched slightly higher than it had been. In and out, in and out, Duce's tongue was like a piston, both lubricating and loosening the man's hole, and at the same time making him moan and pant.
Duce straightened back up and lined his cock up to the man's hole, touching his tip against it so the man would know what was coming. Reaching over to a small table at the side, he took a dab of clear fluid and rubbed it over his own pole. He then pushed gently, and the man accommodated his cock head without a problem. He waited for a moment while the man's ass adjusted to the sensation, and then started the slow invasion of the man's insides. The man was groaning steadily now, as each millimeter entered his waiting hole, and the head pressed farter and farther into him. At long last, Duce's hips touched the man's ass and the man let out a sigh.
"Wow," he told Duce, "your cock feels amazing in me." His voice was no longer pitching higher and was now, in fact, growing deeper and more sultry, almost a purr.
Duce pulled back a little and pushed in slightly. "Good," he said. "You're about to have it in you a lot."
"Oh yeah," the man breathed.
Duce slid his cock back until it was almost out, then peeked at it. It was now a yellowish green. He smiled. So this was the man's color scheme. It would look nice on him.
Sliding his cock back into the man, he reached over to the tray of paints, grabbing the yellows, greens, and some browns for good measure. A good artist always added his own touch, and he felt browns would fit in very nicely to the natural look the man's body hungered for. As he slowly slid in and out of the man, he took his brushes and began painting the man's lower back. Once in a while, he would dip the brush into the clear fluid he had used to lubricate himself and mix it into the colors. The pattern he was painting was a series of small vertical dashes, all different colors, and very staggered so they didn't look like a grid. The overall effect was something like a tree's bark.
He picked up speed, setting the bushes aside so he could grip the man's hips. He thrust deeper and harder, slamming the man, who was now screaming out in ecstasy. "More, more! Harder! Harder!" Duce fucked him harder. He used his hands and arms to power the man in and out when his own hips weren't going fast enough.
Finally, he felt something building inside of him. It started in his gut, but the warm feeling quickly filled his body. His skin became rock hard, turning slightly gray. He fucked with all of his might now. Duce's eyes began to glow green and the man started to cry out in more than pleasure as he realized that this wasn't going correctly. The man turned his head back just in time to see a mane of snakes burst forth from Duce's head, a writhing mass, all hissing and looking at him hungrily. Duce continued the fucking, even faster and harder now that his powers were on.
The man lurched forward, but something was holding his wrists. He looked down and saw that it was the canvas. His hands were no longer visible, having sunk down inside during the fucking. As he watched in horror, he sunk deeper in. He could feel his knees doing the same thing. The man cried out for Duce to stop, but this was what Duce had been waiting for. It was his big moment, and nothing was going to stop him. He thrust over and over again. Freeing his hand from the man's hips, he reached under and started pulling on the man's cock. The man stopped struggling for a moment as the sensation took him by surprise.
"Yes!" he cried out as his arms sunk in past the elbow. His lower legs weren't completely covered yet. Duce needed the man's ass to stay high, so only his front half was really sinking. Duce stroked the man and felt his orgasm building. The man's face was now touching the canvas. The man called out in the height of pleasure and started shooting his load all over the canvas just as his face was passing the surface.
Duce continued to fuck the man, who was still writhing beneath him, but no longer capable of making any sound. He had to readjust himself as the body went lower, and was basically lying on top of the man when he finally shot his own load. He relaxed his power and let his dick slide out of the ass that was sticking out of the canvas. That beautiful ass.
Duce's skin and eyes retuned to normal, and the snakes receded back into his head, being replaced by his normal green hair. He leaned over and licked the man's hole again. The ass twitched, but the life force was slowly fading from it. Duce got dressed and propped the canvas up onto an easel so he could finish painting.
About an hour later, he placed his final stroke and flared his power, hardening the man's skin so it would stay preserved. Then he picked up the man's clothes and checked the wallet for ID. Elliot Gardener, 23. Duce walked into another room and sat at his computer, typing out a document, then used the signatures on Elliot's IDs to forge his signature at the bottom.
His butler arrived at the door to his computer room. "Sir, Officer Speedman is here to see you."
"Send him in," Duce replied. Less than a minute later, the officer walked through the door. He was out of uniform, in a polo shirt and jeans. "Hey Bobby," Duce said with a killer smile.
Bobby's mouth quirked up as he tried to keep himself from smiling. He failed. "Hey Duce," he said. "Got a question for you. Was Daniel Hamilton one of yours?"
Duce sighed. "Your secretary didn't give you the fax, then," he said. "Yes, Hamilton no longer exists as such," he said. "Neither does Elliot Gardener, after tonight. Just got done with him, actually. Both of them filled out fake wills and made me the executor of their estates. The kids at the orphanage will be quite happy when I have it all sold and they can get some new clothes."
"They both set up in new and happy lives?" Bobby asked.
"Can't really give any details," Duce said. "If I did, I'd have to refund their payments and they'd have to go back to lives they hate. But yes, I think I did a really good job matching both of them up to lives that matched what they really wanted."
Bobby placed a hand on Duce's cheek. His warm brown eyes gazed into Duce's with a softness and a passion Duce could never get enough of. This was a good man. He cared about people and devoted his life to helping them. This man, as average as he looked in nearly every respect, was more beautiful than any of the men in Duce's artwork. This man would never be in canvas or stone.
Duce took Bobby's hand and led him out of the office. They were headed upstairs, where Duce was going to make real and passionate love to his boyfriend.
Mythology Note: For those who don't know already and may be confused, Medusa was one of three Gorgon sisters. Stheno and Euryale were her sisters. Medusa was the one killed by Perseus because she was the only mortal one of the three. In this story, Duce refers to his Aunt that died before he was born (Medusa) as being the truly artful one. I've seen conflicting information as to whether Stheno was killed or not, though I would assume not, if she was immortal. However, because of this, I'll make Euryale Duce's mother, just in case.
Author's Note: So, from the number of responses, combining emails with blog replies, Class Reunion got a whopping...single reply. I'm guessing it wasn't well loved. Even with the personal stuff in the blog version. Hopefully, you like Duce better.
The blog: http://geocities.com/waterbearer99/blog.html My email, for those who wish to talk only to me: academygm@hotmail.com