A Hot Piece of … Art, Chapter 4 (NSFW)

Good Monday morning Story Orgy friends. Before we get to another wacky, sexy romp with Charlie and the gang, a few announcements.

Story Orgy’s very own Lee Brazil has a new release available, Trapping Drake. You can find an excerpt and the purchase link on Lee’s Blog here. Click on over and check out this hot first book of his new trilogy.

Releasing this Friday, May 11, Story Orgy’s very own Havan Fellows’s first book! This is a continuation of the series started in our Word Play anthology with the story Harlan’s Ryde, and her first stand alone release! Woo hoo! Click on over to the Breathless Press site and pre-order Emery’s Ritches today!

Our photo this week was “snapped” by the delectable Jade Baiser. Nothing says good morning like a man taking off his suit. Wait, what?

This week’s prompt: This is not about…. I’m writing a full length prompt today, yay! And Em Woods has shifted to join my schedule, so watch for us to post hook ups and full length prompts on the same Monday.

Okay, ready? Here we go…

A Hot Piece of … Art

Chapter Four

Hank Edwards

(c) 2012

Someone cleared his throat and Charlie opened his eyes. A man stood below his platform, staring up into his face, a glass of white wine in one hand and a small plate of crackers and cheese in the other. Even as Charlie registered the presence of the stranger in front of him, he had to close his eyes again as the man behind him increased the speed of his fucking.

“Like that?” his partner asked.

Charlie kept his eyes closed and didn’t look around. “Oh, yeah. That’s good.”

“Yeah it is,” the man agreed.

And it was, physically. But with his eyes shut, Charlie found himself imagining that it was Rock fucking him. He told himself the cock pumping into him was attached to Rock, and not this stranger who had climbed the short ladder to Charlie’s platform, whispered Wichita, the code word Sven, Charlie, and Billy had agreed on, and stripped nude. The man was attractive, very much so, and Charlie was, as usual, very horny. He had used his fluffing skills to suck the man to a sizable erection, then turned around on all fours and sighed and moaned as this new stranger pushed into him.

This was the fourth sexual encounter for Charlie during his stint at the art studio, and his second day. The first time he had had sex with one of the strangers, there had been a small crowd of maybe twenty people standing around. He and Billy had both first been visited by one of the men they had selected themselves from a large group Sven had assembled. Charlie had ended up fucking that first visitor, the man shrieking and moaning beneath him in a high falsetto until they both came, Charlie with more difficulty than he was used to.

Apparently word had spread around the art community about the hot gay porn being enacted live in the name of art, because now the room was packed and it was almost midnight. People stood around eating cheese off toothpicks and sipping white wine as they watched Charlie and Billy perched atop their twenty by twenty foot platforms. In the last two days, Charlie had sat and stared into space, read a few chapters of a gay romance story that he had had to put down because he had started to get an erection and didn’t want to jerk off in front of people, talked to Billy where he sat on his own platform fifty feet away, texted Rock and Kinitia and Bernice and even Billy, slept, and had sex with four men. All in the nude, all in open view of any one who stopped by.

He was permitted to climb down and walk through the crowd to the restroom in a back hallway for bathroom breaks, but that was it.

Charlie and Billy’s platforms were built in the back half of the art studio, behind two large signs on tripods that announced they were LIVING ART – THERE ARE THINGS WE DON’T KNOW ABOUT LOVE BY SVEN ZUSKY. Paintings hung in the front half of the studio. From what Charlie had been able to see while living on his platform, the pieces were brightly colored and thick with paint. These paintings were part of the show by an artist named Rafael Fothergill, and the show was titled I STAND BETWEEN QUIET AND SILENCE. Charlie thought the paintings were interesting, but he didn’t see how the colors and images in the paintings demonstrated the title of the show.
Then again, he wasn’t really a connoisseur of art.

“Look happy!”

Charlie opened his eyes to find himself staring into the angry face of Sven Zusky, the artist who had hired him. His black hair was swept dramatically across his forehead and his platinum blond beard practically glowed beneath the studio lights.

“Sorry,” Charlie said.

“Don’t be sorry,” Sven snapped quietly. “Look like you’re enjoying it!”

“Oh, fuck,” Charlie’s partner groaned. “I’m getting close. Are you getting close?”

Charlie looked over his shoulder at the man behind him and smiled as honestly as he could. “Oh yeah, keep fucking me. Just like that.”

“Better,” Sven whispered, then turned with elegant balance and click clacked away on his shiny black high heels.

With his eyes shut, Charlie focused on the physical sensation of the moment, the invasion and retreat of his partner. He cleared his mind of all the people watching him, of the five days that remained in his contract for this gig, and the fact that Rock had not yet stopped by to see his show. It worked, somewhat, and Charlie felt the familiar tightening of his balls as he approached orgasm. His partner slapped Charlie on the ass, then grunted when Charlie’s muscles tightened around his dick.

“That’s it,” the man said, his voice deep and intense. “Tighten down on me.”

The rush of Charlie’s climax swept through him, and he stroked himself to a gasping finish as his partner came into the condom inside him. They stayed connected a moment, the sounds of the studio visitors slowly coming back into focus in Charlie’s mind. The man slipped out of him and peeled off the condom, looking around for a place to put it.

“Here,” Charlie said, and lifted a small white plastic canister. “Drop it in here.”

“Awesome.” The man dropped the condom and grinned down at him. “I had a great time.”

Charlie smiled. “Yeah. Me too. Thanks for coming. Literally.”

The man chuckled as he pulled on his pants and shirt. He grabbed his shoes and, with a wink and a smile, climbed down the ladder to strut toward the door. As he wiped his ass clean of lube and mopped up his own cum from the platform, Charlie ignored the people milling around looking at him and Billy and the artwork in the front half of the studio. He was tired, exhausted more like it, and just wanted to stretch out on the futon on his platform and fall asleep.

But first, he needed to use the bathroom. And that meant climbing down and walking through the gawkers to the restrooms down the back hallway.

“How was it?” Billy called from his own platform across the room.

Charlie looked over and shrugged. “It was good. You?”

Billy was crunching on cheese curls from a bag he had bought out of the vending machine near the restrooms, his fingers coated with orange dust. He raised an eyebrow, glanced around at the people watching them, then licked his fingers clean and picked up his cell phone to tap out a message. A moment later, Charlie’s phone buzzed and he looked at the text Billy had sent him.

Was it really good?

Charlie wrote back: No. But it wasn’t horrible. Gotta pee.

“Don’t fall,” Billy called out after reading Charlie’s message.

“Not a third time,” Charlie replied as he carefully descended the ladder with a small shaving kit in hand.

People stared at him as he walked across the floor to the bathroom. He entered the single bathroom, locked the door behind him, and let out a breath. It was nice to be out of the public eye for a moment. He had no idea how Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton dealt with the attention. After he had peed, Charlie washed his face, brushed his teeth and tried to get his hair to look somewhat normal. It wasn’t easy, though, when he had to give himself a sponge bath in the sink.

The crowd had thinned out considerably by the time Charlie had climbed back up on his platform. He settled onto the futon, the mattress much more comfortable than the one in his tiny apartment, and before long he was fast asleep.

Charlie woke to someone gently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find a young, hunky Latino man leaning over him. The man wore a police uniform, the short sleeves stretched to their limits around his biceps.

“Hmm?” Charlie said through a yawn. He looked around at the art studio and understanding filtered into his sleep-addled brain. “Oh, is it morning already? Okay.”

Reaching up, Charlie cupped the cop’s crotch. The man gasped and pulled back a little.

“Just relax,” Charlie whispered. “I was nervous the first time, too. But just ignore everyone else. Pretend we’re alone.”

“But—”

Charlie sat up, yawning again as he unzipped the cop’s tight, dark blue pants. With skilled fingers, he slipped the thickening shaft from within the young man’s jock strap. He licked his lips as he eased the foreskin back from the head, then took it in his mouth.

“Oh, that’s good,” the cop sighed.

Still half asleep, Charlie worked the his mouth along cock. He tightened his lips around the shaft, paused to suck hard on the head, and took it deep into his throat. As he sucked, Charlie thought how considerate Sven had been to find a hot, young stripper to wear a cop uniform for him. Maybe Sven wasn’t so bad after all.

In minutes, Charlie’s oral skills once again proved divine when the cop grunted and swore. Charlie released the dick and stroked him to a hot, gushing climax that covered his bare chest and dripped down over his belly.

“That was —” the cop started, but stopped to catch his breath.

Charlie smiled up at him, eyes still half shut with sleep. “Yeah? Thanks. Tell Sven thanks for sending a stripper cop over.”

The cop blushed and jumped when a gruff voice shouted, “Rodrigo!”

As the cop tucked his cock back in his pants, Charlie looked around the studio. Uniformed police officers stood around smirking at Charlie and his latest partner. Charlie rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked up at the cop.

“Didn’t Sven send you as part of his art project?”

“This is not about your art project,” the cop said. He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and stood with his spine straight and his eyes fixed on a spot on the back wall. “This is an official investigation, and I’m here to question you about anything strange you may have seen during the night.”

“Strange?” Charlie said. “You mean stranger than being paid to live up here in the nude?”

The cop flicked his eyes down to Charlie, then quickly away. “Yes, sir.”

Before Charlie could respond, he heard Billy’s voice rising with indignation and turned to look at the platform across the room. Billy was being made to climb down his ladder by two uniformed cops. Paper bags covered his hands, duct taped in place around his wrists.

“This is discrimination!” Billy shouted. “I protest! I’m innocent! Charlie, tell them. I didn’t do anything.”

Charlie got to his feet, wide awake now. The cop he had just sucked off put a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.

“What’s going on?” Charlie said, looking between Rodrigo the cop to where Billy was being led through the art studio to the front door, his bagged hands now in handcuffs. “Why are they arresting Billy?”

Before the police could get Billy to the front door, it burst open and a tall, thin woman ran into the art studio with a wild banshee shriek of rage and pain that made everyone flinch. She grabbed fistfuls of her blond dreadlocks and fell to her knees in the middle of the floor with another godawful shriek.

“Who the fuck is that?” Charlie asked.

“That is Rafael Fothergill,” Rodrigo said.

“That’s Rafael Fothergill?” Charlie glanced at the cop, then looked back at the woman who had collapsed in a sobbing heap in the middle of the floor. As Charlie watched, the two cops to either side of Billy led him in a wide circle around the crying woman and toward the door. Before Billy was taken out of the art studio, he looked over his shoulder at Charlie with wide, frightened eyes.

“Your friend is being arrested for the theft of one of Ms. Fothergill’s art pieces that was on display here,” Rodrigo said.

“What?” Charlie turned on Rodrigo, ignoring the blush in the cop’s cheeks as the man caught sight of his spunk still drying on Charlie’s chest. “That’s ridiculous! Billy’s no art thief! Where’s the proof?”

Rodrigo looked around, then crouched down to grab a towel and handed it to Charlie, watching with interest as he wiped himself off. When Charlie had cleaned up, he followed Rodrigo down the ladder and across the room to where yellow crime scene tape had been strung a few feet out from a white space on the wall. Rodrigo led Charlie to the side of the area and pointed to the wall. Charlie stepped up next to Rodrigo, felt the man’s body heat as he hovered close by, and leaned in closer to the wall. Orange streaks marred the white wall and Charlie frowned.

“What are those?” Charlie asked.

“Fingerprints!”

The woman’s shriek made Charlie jump and he turned to find Rafael Fothergill’s furious face two inches away. “That’s what those are! The cheese dusted fingerprints from your thieving friend!”

Rodrigo moved protectively in front of Charlie and a couple of other cops stepped up to lead the woman away for questioning. When she was gone, Charlie tapped Rodrigo on a broad shoulder and asked, “Is that true? Do you think Billy stole her painting?”

Rodrigo cleared his throat, looked around, then leaned in closer and said in a low voice, “Your friend had an empty bag of cheese curls on his platform and his fingers were covered with cheese curl dust.” He tipped his head toward the wall. “Evidence seems pretty clear. Unless you saw or heard something different?”

“No, I slept really hard last night. I didn’t see or hear anything.” Charlie looked at the orange smears on the wall as a cold spot opened in his chest. “But, Billy’s not a thief. He’d never do something like this.”

“You have no idea how often I hear those words every day,” Rodrigo said. He adjusted his gun belt, tipped Charlie a wink, and said, “Thanks for the bj. You’ve got a magical mouth.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Charlie mumbled, and made his way back to the ladder to his platform.

~~ * ~~

Oh no, poor Billy! Could he have stolen the artwork? Guess we’ll have to wait and see. Be sure to come back next week for another round of fun and fucking (yeah, I said it!) with Charlie and Billy. Until then, jump on over to the other Story Orgy blogs for more hot, smexy reads.

J.R. Boyd,    Lee Brazil,     Havan Fellows,     Em Woods,     Jade Baiser

Follow our tweets during the week:

J.R. Boyd: @JR__Boyd

Lee Brazil: @leebrazil

Hank Edwards: @hanksbooks

Havan Fellows: @HavanFellows

Em Woods: @EmWoodsAuthor

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4 Responses to A Hot Piece of … Art, Chapter 4 (NSFW)

  1. Oh good, Charlie’s only fallen twice. I worry about that boy. Had a chuckle about the cop. But poor Billy! Who framed him, I wonder? More, please!

  2. jade baiser says:

    I’m sure Billy was framed!! He just attract problems like a whore in heat, but he’s not a bad guy!
    Oh and I love Charlie… Always willing to give a helping hand!
    Great post!! As usual :)

  3. Lee Brazil says:

    Moral of the story? Avoid cheese curls.

    And if at all possible, I’d like a stripper in a cop costume to wake me up on my birthday.

    Very hot…sexy and oh oh…if the exhibit closes early, does Charlie get paid?

    Next post, please?

  4. Sharon S says:

    Wow!! Can’t wait to find out if Billy did it! And I’m glad Charlie didn’t get arrested for giving Officer Rodrigo a blow job! LOL

    Awesome post, Hank!