Hannah and Helen

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Note: This story has some bisexuality.


“So, would you model for me again? I really need to stay in practice over the summer.”

My best friend Mike’s sister, Hannah, said that to me as I studied her art work in her bedroom. I was a bit distracted, because several of the paintings and drawing hung up on her walls were self-portraits, and a few of them were of Hannah nude.

“Uh, I guess,” I said, as I looked at an oil painting, about two and a half feet by two feet, of Hannah topless, seemingly staring right at me with both her eyes and her nipples. Her breasts in the painting, which I’d never seen in real life except for covered in a bikini top, were a bit bigger than I’d thought. The painting showed large pinkish-brown areolas, and small nipples, in luscious medium-heavy upturned breasts.

“Great!” Hannah said, and even started jumping up and down a little with excitement, which caused her real breasts to bounce under her black t-shirt. Clearly she wasn’t wearing a bra, and I couldn’t stop myself from looking back and forth from her real tits (although under cloth) to this well-done painting of them bare.

“Why are you making such a big deal of it?” I asked, trying to be cool even as my cock stirred because of Hannah’s bouncing real breasts and this painting of them. “You just mean another portrait, right?”

Last summer, just before she went to the state university to major in art, I sat for hours for her while she drew and then painted a portrait of my face. After a few sittings, which were pretty boring—even though I had and have a major crush on Hannah—eventually she finished a small and flattering painting of me. The face in the painting was handsome and almost delicate, and yet still looked quite a bit like me, with brown curly hair and fair skin, with a few freckles. And it was still up on her wall in a corner. When the portrait was made I was 17, but just a year later my face did look a little different—a little older and a little less “pretty.”

“No, silly,” Hannah said, “I mean a life drawing. Something like this—”

And then she pulled out her huge spiral bound art pad, and slowly flipped through the pages that had a series of rather well-done studies of mostly nude women, along with a few men, from her life classes at the university. She stopped on a page with one of the men, which showed a detailed drawing of a muscled older guy sitting in a chair with his legs spread.

It left nothing to the imagination, showing his circumcised penis of maybe four inches while soft, hanging down between his legs, draped over his large and somewhat hairy balls.

“Oh my god!,” I said, “No way!” I could never be in front of Hannah with dick on display in any case, but also this guy looked more well hung than I am. I’m more like three inches soft, and six and a half inches hard.

“Why not?!,” she said, clearly annoyed.

“Well, how would it be if I asked you if you’d pose for me for a life drawing?” I said, confident that I’d backed her into a corner.

“You haven’t asked me,” she said, smiling mysteriously, and then added, “How do you know what I’d say? Have you ever even done a real life drawing?”

“Of course not,” I said.

I had taken the same high school art class with Mrs. Pillar that Hannah had taken. Hannah was a year older and a year ahead of me. And, as Hannah well knew, we only did still-life arrangements and fully clothed models in the advanced art class in high school. In fact, Hannah had just looked at my work on my art pad and had said that it was good enough, considering how little training I’d had. There was page after page in my smaller spiral bound sketch book of arrangements of fruit, blocks and books, and then lots of high school students who were fully clothed. Students took turns modeling for the class.

“Well,” Hannah said, “don’t you think it would really help your artistic development and training to draw a real human body.”

“Sure, but…” I said, beginning to sense that maybe I was falling into trap.

“But I know you’d say no,” I added, “You’re just playing with me. And anyway, I know I couldn’t take my clothes off in front of you. And…isn’t it unprofessional to model nude for a friend…?”

“Actually,” Hannah said, “some of my friends have already modeled nude for me. And I’ve modeled nude for them.”

“Really?” I asked in wonder, thinking about what it must be like to be an art major in college. I planned to major in computer science instead, which seemed much more practical.

“Have even guys modeled for you nude? And you’ve modeled for guys naked?” I asked, amazed.

“Well, no,” Hannah said, sighing. “I asked one guy, my boyfriend at the time, and he said no. And no guys have asked me. But I’ve posed for my girlfriends, and my girlfriends have posed for me.”

“Really?” I said, trying to wrap my mind around Hannah drawing her beautiful college friends, some of whom I’d met, nude. And then I fantasized about Hannah stripping off her own clothes to reveal her own slender but Ankara Escort very curvy body.

I really do appreciate art. I’m not a complete perv. But I am an 18 year old guy with raging hormones who appreciates almost all women, without discrimination in terms of shape, age, or ethnicity.

“Yeah,” said Hannah, “Do you remember Helen who was here yesterday?”

“Of course,” I said, looking at Hannah with wonder. Just the mention of Helen’s name, along with all of the other stimulation I’d already had, made my cock start to grow. If I wasn’t careful, I would soon get a raging hard-on that would probably show through my shorts.

“I thought you had a thing for her!” Hannah said, with a mischievous smile, adding, “Look!”

She turned the pages in her huge sketch pad, which was 18 by 24 inches, and eventually got to one of the last pages, which had a magnificent and detailed drawing of Helen nude. Hannah put it down on the edge of her bed for me to admire.

I should back up to say that Hannah is dark-haired, a little less than average height, brainy, driven, and ironic, while Helen is a tall, blond, and voluptuous goddess—dreamy, angelic, and buxom. And, honestly, Helen is not quite as smart as Hannah, but her looks are almost model-pretty. And here Helen was in Hannah’s drawing, lying on Hannah’s bed, nude.

With her legs spread.

Hannah must have drawn it from the foot of the bed, and so it was, more or less, a crotch-level view.

In other words, through this drawing I was looking at Helen’s hairy cunt and her large breasts. Through intention, or because of a lack or room for the scale of her drawing, she’d left off Helen’s face.

And Hannah’s art, I should say, was not about vague smudged impressions, but was detailed work done with fine pencils.

“Oh my god,” I said, and couldn’t help staring at Helen’s furry pussy, which also had prominent pussy-lips peeking through her fur. And her breasts were large, with pencil-eraser-like nipples, and were spilling down from her chest and resting on her torso.

My cock was rapidly pumping up now with blood. In thirty seconds I had a complete six and a half inch hard-on that was visibly twitching and bulging in my shorts.

“Hannah,” I said, looking away from the drawing of Helen’s pussy and trying to think about ice bergs, “this is amazing…art. But should you be showing me this? What would Helen say?” I was hoping Hannah didn’t notice my bulge.

No such luck. Hannah was looking down at my crotch.

“Oh my god, Ben, You just get a boner from just looking at my drawing!” She laughed and pointed at my shorts, which I quickly and awkwardly tried to cover with my hands.

“You’re an amazing artist, Hannah,” I said, laughing and acknowledging without saying it that what she said was true. I knew I’d better get back to Mark’s room.

“Wait! Can I draw it?” Hannah said, laughing too.

“What?” I said, backing out of her room toward the door, with my hands still trying to cover my erection..

Hannah was still looking at my crotch, and she said, “I want to draw your hard dick!”

“Oh my god! You are such a perv, Hannah! No way!”

And with that, I’m ashamed to say, but it’s the truth, I opened her bedroom door and almost ran down the hallway toward Mike’s room.

Hannah shouted after me, “It’s just the human body! It’s all beautiful! Come back!”

I retreated into Mike’s room, closing and locking the door behind me, laughing and horrified at the same time. My best friend Mike was sitting at his desk looking at art books, and had an amused expression on his face as he watched me.

Mike was tall, dark-haired, muscled, and yet even “prettier” than I was. He was also gay, and he’d already told me a few times that he had a crush on me. But since I was straight, he was seemingly ok, more or less, with just being friends.

“So,” he said, in his almost musical voice, “How was Hannah’s ‘House of Horrors’?”

Mike had jokingly told me that his nick-name for Hannah’s art gallery in her room was the “House of Horrors,” because it featured so much female nudity, which he was not really that fond of.

“Well,” I said, “that part was ok for me—”

“Typical!” Mike said, in his sing-song way, although he looked a little bit theatrically disgusted.

“But then she asked me to pose for a life drawing for her. Nude! Can you believe it?!”

“I most definitely can,” Mike said, “Since she already asked me. And I already said yes.”

“Oh my god,” I said, “you mean, completely nude with your…”

I couldn’t help but glance at his crotch, which at that moment was also covered in shorts.

I have to back up and say that our relationship was a bit twisted, and that was as much my fault as his. Maybe more so. I’ve already said that Mike had a thing for me, but since I’m straight it seemed like there was no hope for him. But there were layers to it.

To start with, Mike fit in, in a good way, with some of Balgat Escort the positive stereotypes of being gay. He was a great dresser, very neat, had wonderful taste in art and music, and a good sense of humor. He was much more interesting, intelligent, and fun than the guys I knew who were straight, who were mainly just into sports and video games. I like video games ok, but for some reason I have almost no interest in sports. Mike was the same, and so we had that in common, along with a lot else, except for the big thing of our differing sexual orientations.

And, sick maybe that it was, I liked that he was attracted to me. That kind of attention and flirting was fun and flattering, I have to admit.

And, here’s the next level. For whatever reasons—my physical type (slender but somewhat muscular), my personality, and maybe most of all that I was just present in his life, I excited Mike sexually without even trying.

Let me be blunt about what I mean by that: often when we were hanging out, playing cards, listening to music, watching movies, chatting, or talking about politics, clothes, or whatever, Mike would get an erection around me.

How could I tell? Well, depending on what he was wearing I could sometimes see the bulge and outline of his hard and large penis in his shorts, or jeans, or even a few times in his bathing suit.

And Mike liked hugging me. And, yes perhaps I could be accused of being a tease, because I didn’t stop him. I liked hugging him too, and often I could feel as he hugged me his big and thick boner against me, which made me smile but otherwise I pretended I didn’t notice.

He pretended too. And so the unmentioned elephant in the room was Mike’s engorged cock, which even as I thought of myself as straight I enjoyed. And, once in a while, horny teenager that I am, I got a boner too. Sometimes maybe it was being around him and his frequent hard-ons, but mostly it was just being a teenage guy flooded with hormones.

But even though I slept over at his house sometimes for almost a week at a time during the summer, which it now was, I’d never yet seen him naked. He was very careful to change in his bathroom. As was I.

And where were his parents and my parents in this, you might ask? Well, his parents were both doctors, and worked very long hours to pay for the big house that they lived in. And they trusted me. So did my parents, who were both professors and also worked very long hours and were often away at conferences.

I was known by all the parents as a good kid. Kind. Smart. An “A” student, who going to the state University as a National Merit Scholar with a full ride, and so on.

Hannah and Mike were also good kids, and so we were trusted alone in the house with almost no supervision.

Up until the point where this story started, we were mostly worthy of that trust, but as you’ll see it starts to go off the rails at this point. But maybe his parents didn’t care about that? They made a big deal of telling us that now that we were all 18 and over we were adults, and they trusted us to make adult decisions without asking for their permission.

One last thing before I get on with my story. Hannah and Mike weren’t biological brother and sister, but steps. Mike had been adopted as a one-year old. He still didn’t know who his biological parents were, and didn’t really seem to want to at this point.

So, with all that out of the way, as you’ll recall I was now in wonder that Mike had posed nude for Hannah to draw, showing even his formidable cock, which I’d had hints of and even felt through layers of clothes, but had never seen.

“So, Hannah didn’t show you her drawings of me?” Mike asked, seeming amused and interested that I was so interested.

“No, she didn’t even mention that you’d posed for her,” I said, puzzled.

“Well, good for her,” Mike said, “She kept her word. She told me she wouldn’t show anyone unless I gave her permission, although probably I should just tell her she can show anyone. Who the fuck cares? I’m not ashamed of my body.”

“No,” I said, not sure quite what to say, and then added, “Why should you be?”

“Anyway,” Mike said, suddenly looking down and seeming bashful, “If you want to see them you can tell her you have my permission.”

I was silent for a few seconds, studying him. Clearly this was a bigger deal for him than he was trying to make out. I realized it was something of a test: did I want to look at him naked, even in a drawing?

Mike voice was studied and trying to stay casual, but now seemed a little bit pained as he added, still looking down and not able to make eye contact, “Only if you want to, of course, it’s all so stupid…”

“I do!” I said, maybe a little too eagerly, trying to prevent him from being hurt. “I would like to see those drawings…”

Mike looked up at me, smiling shyly, “You would?”

“Yes, I would,” I said.

Mike got up, he suddenly seemed almost on the verge of tears, Çankaya Escort as he said, “Thank you, Ben. Let me give you a hug.”

“Sure,” I said, wondering if I’d be able to feel it, as I sometimes had before.

Mike gently but firmly hugged me, and we had full body contact, although through our clothes. Sure enough, I could feel his penis against me, growing, twitching and filling with blood. And my dick, which hadn’t lost its erection from my visit with Hannah, was hard against his, which he almost certainly felt.

“Thank you,” he said again, and he now had a big smile as he separated from me.

And then he glanced down at my crotch, and he seemed to be thanking me for having a boner while hugging him, which was not exactly what had happened. But I couldn’t think of what to say.

“Sure,” I said, lamely, and now it was my turn to avoid eye contact, as I added, “I’ll go ask Hannah to show me those drawings of you.”

“I hope you’re not disgusted,” Mike called after me, “but if you are, please be a gentleman and make sure you hide it!”

“No worries!” I said, not entirely sure what I was agreeing to—or maybe if I could live up to it.

And so, less than ten minutes after I’d left Hannah’s room, almost running, I was walking back toward her door.

But her door was now closed, and I could hear two women talking behind it. Bad person that I was, I listened in, with my hand poised right over the door prepared to knock in case someone opened it.

“…oh my god, he got really excited,” I could hear Hannah saying to someone.

“Really?” I heard Helen’s softer voice say.

When I was talking with Mike, she’d obviously come over, but I hadn’t heard her come in.

“He was staring with his mouth open and practically drooling over my drawing of you, and then when I looked down at his shorts—”

“No!” Helen said, “Shy Ben?!”

“Yes. I don’t want to disgust you, but I could see his boner bulging and twitching in his shorts.”

“Really?” Helen asked, “Actually, that kinda turns me on.”

“Yeah, really. Then I asked him if I could draw his cock,” Hannah said, conspiratorially.

“What did he say?” Helen asked.

“No, of course. Even after I more or less offered to pose for him nude,” Hannah said, “which was kind of a disappointment.”

Hannah added, “I bet if you posed for him he’d do it. He seems to really, really like blonds. Or, more specifically you, Helen. It looked like he was getting ready to practically cream in his jeans for you.”

“You mean cream to that drawing you did. You’re an amazing artist, Hannah, and you really flattered me with that drawing. It’s stunning. It even turns me on. Maybe he wouldn’t respond the same way to the real thing.”

“Oh, you know he would! Because you’re even more beautiful in real life. You’re so luscious and lick-able. Yum! Yum! Yum!!”

And then I heard giggling from Helen as Hannah seemed to be tickling and kissing Helen. Hannah had already told me that she was attracted to Helen, even though she said she was mostly straight, and so this sexy flirting between them wasn’t entirely a surprise to me.

“Stop it!,” Helen said, laughing, “You’re making me wet with all of this sex talk.”

“Really,” Hannah said, “Can I feel?”

“Feel yourself!” Helen said, but then added, “But I’ll pose for him if he’ll pose for us. I don’t care,” Helen said, “As long as we can add a life drawing of a guy with an erection to our work. Drawing from porn pix just doesn’t seem the same.”

“I’ll try to go get him,” Hannah said, “but even with the your allure it might be a tough sell. He literally ran out of here. But let me go get him and then you see what you can do. Use your best seductive Marilyn Monroe impression, like you did with Jeff that time…”

Shit. I couldn’t believe this. But Hannah was about to come out and so I quickly knocked.

“Fuck!” Hannah said, behind the door, and then opened it, looking at me.

“You scared us, Ben,” Hannah said, but giggled like that was fun.

“Speak of the devil!” Hannah added, and then smiled at me. Then she winked conspiratorially at Helen, saying “what brings you back so soon? You were almost running away from me the last time we talked. Have you changed your mind?”

“No, not hardly,” I said, quietly, “But can I come in?”

“Sure. Make yourself at home, Ben” Hannah said, in a rather obviously theatrical way, “You remember Helen?”

I stepped in and closed the door behind me, not wanting Mike to hear us down the long hall.

“Yes,” I said, still almost whispering, “Nice to see you, Helen.”

“Yeah, nice to see you,” Helen said in a knowing way as she stepped closer to me, “I hear from Hannah that you have a very firm appreciate for art!”

At this, both Helen and Hannah cracked up.

I blushed and looked down, but couldn’t help but laugh a little too, even as I blushed.

Helen added, in a voice that was a cross between Marilyn Monroe and Mae West, “Is that a big drawing pencil in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?”

Helen and Hannah laughed again, as I again awkwardly tried to place my hands in front of my crotch. Honestly, my full-on boner was still almost there, and the outline of it was slightly visible under my light blue shorts if you were looking for it—and they clearly were—although now it was hidden by my hands.

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