The Magnum Model

I’m falling for this girl. Every second I’m in her presence I can feel the obsession growing. I’m being drawn to her in a strong unique way. Desire is building within me and it’s threatening to explode.

I can feel the intense need ripping through my veins, hollering at me to go over there, pick up her sexy body, lower her onto that table of paints, and make a real work of art. One that will have our skin slathered in bright vibrant colors as we roll around on top of each other in a sweaty mess of spilled paint and deep moans.

This girl is killing me. She’s testing my resolve in a fierce way. It’s torture to stand here and watch her beauty. To watch her as she watches me.

“I think we could use a break,” she says as she puts down her pencil and stretches out her back. My hungry eyes dart to her tits that are pressing against her blue bra and her thick overalls. I hold back a groan as I imagine slipping off that bra and feeling her soft tits. My mouth starts watering as I picture how heavenly it would be to wrap my lips around her hard pink nipples and suck on them as she moans above me.

“Shit,” I whisper as I quickly grab the robe and slip it on. I’m getting hard thinking of all these dirty thoughts.

Her eyes dart down to my cock one last time before I cover it up with the robe. I’ve got a magnum hiding between my legs. It’s never been a secret. It seems like the rumor about my size always gets to a place before I do.

It started in high school when I was on the football team. After the first time I showered with the guys, I realized that I was different. Much different. They realized it too and before the day was over, everyone in school knew what I was packing. Some even asked me to see it.

I’ve always been playing one sport or another and I always get looks of awe in the showers after. I’ve learned to ignore it. It doesn’t matter. It’s just a cock. Nothing more.

But with her little mischievous blue eyes taking it in, it feels different. It feels like it matters. If it can impress and intrigue this beauty, then I’m glad I have a full twelve inches. I’m glad it’s thick and meaty and gets as hard as a fucking rock.

I want to see her tiny paint-splattered hands wrapped around it. I want to see her juicy pink lips open wide as she shoves it deep into her mouth. And I really want to hear her whimpers and moans in my ear as I thrust into her tight little cunt and stretch her out so much that no other man will feel her tightness like I will.

I’ll fuck her so good that she’ll never want another man. She’ll only want me.

And we can be together forever, just like we’re destined to be.

“I can make some coffee,” she says as she cleans up her paints, her cheeks still as bright as the red paint on her palette. “Do you want some?”

She looks at me shyly as I tie the fabric belt around my waist.

“I’d love some.”

I follow her into the kitchen and smile as I look around at all of the pictures on the walls—a young Mila with some other kids doing cartwheels on the beach. I recognize her immediately. I’d recognize that goofy smile anywhere. Mila holding a diploma for art school flanked by what I’m guessing are her parents.

A strong urge to know everything about her comes flooding in. She looks like she’s in her early twenties right now—twenty-two if I had to guess—and I have all those years to catch up on. I want to know everything.

“You went to art school?” I ask as we enter the kitchen, a colorful kind of kitchen that you would only find an artist living in or somewhere on Instagram. Plants are hanging in colorful vases and there are little painted details everywhere in all of the little nooks and crannies. A tiny bunny struggling to pull up a carrot is painted on a little area beside the sink, a few roses painted along the top of the oven, a tiny girl holding a big lollypop beside the toaster. I love it. It’s like this kitchen is a peek into her mind. Everywhere you look, there’s something new to see.

“I did,” she says as she opens the fridge and pulls out a bag of coffee. “Much to my parent’s disappointment I might add.”

I sit on the stool at the counter, watching her as she opens a cupboard and pulls out the coffee filters. She didn’t invite me into the kitchen, but I didn’t think I could physically be away from her for long. Plus, I really wanted to see inside her house. I’m intensely curious about her.