Written by sagau

Gay
14 May 2012


It is a work in oil, realistic, and ingenious. It is made of three panels folding over on themselves so that only one is visible at a time. The first depicts a young guy lying on cushions, naked, but with a small white towel laid across his loins coyly protecting his modesty. His face is beautiful and quietly composed as he looks directly at the artist. His body is youthful and very well proportioned.

Fold the panel over and the second painting comes into view. Exactly the same as the first except that he is now naked and his expression is one of surprise, delight and a hint of things to come. His exposed cock is uncut and lying down his leg but is obviously at the beginning of arousal.

The last panel is again the same but the hard on is rampant and cum is splashed on his chest and abdomen. His face is agony and ecstasy. The torment of delight has torn his mouth open and you can almost hear him shout. All the while his arms are spread across the cushions almost as if he is hanging on a cross, not touching himself and it seems that he must have cum without stimulus, just a reaction to the stirring thoughts powering the excitement.

I love the painting. It has been a work of passion and seems to have been completed in a flash but in fact has taken months to get to this point. That passion and, dare I say it - sexual desire - expended on the work has imbued the painting with more than oils. I can feel some strange force emanating from the canvas, which takes my breath away when I look at it by accident. It's not just the oil and canvas, but some kind of intensity sucked from the ether, which gets inside my head when I look at it. The feeling gets more intense as I turn the panels over and on the last panel my cock and my head seem to be in tune and I almost cum like the subject in the painting, without physical stimulus - weird but wow!

I hang it in the studio with just the front panel open. The guests are due in 20 minutes to view the exhibition staged by Lauren and she has agreed to let me put four of my works up for display. The other three are standard portraits of guys, torso and head only, and do not have the passion and intensity of my trio. I do not want to sell them, but do want people to appreciate them. I can't wait to see the reaction as they page through the trio. Will they experience the power or is it all in my head?

The rattle of refreshments and cutlery disturbs my reverie and I hurry to help Lauren with the preparations. I turn back to look at it and the studio lights which highlight the paintings in the gallery catch on the blue in his eye and it seems to me that he stares into my soul from the canvas. Whoa boy! Don't get carried away with it - just oil and canvas. They will be coming in white coats to take you away to the funny farm if you go on like this!

The crowd begins to filter in. The studio is in a part of the city where young aspirant artists have gradually congregated over several years to swap ideas and techniques, drink the occasional bottle of wine together in a bohemian, creative atmosphere and fuck their brains out whenever possible. The population is young and vibrant, but everyone lives in hope that, when they have an exhibition, some wealthy folks from up town will drift in and the art will become famous and expensive and the artists can live happily ever after. Dream on. Mostly, the local crowd comes in for the free snacks and wine, they chat each other up and then all go home well-oiled or stoned to stare at their own works of art - the end of another boring day at the office.

Much the same is happening today. I have seen one or two girls go up to my trio and giggle at each other in a nudge, nudge, wink, wink sort of way, but nobody has turned the leaves of the canvas. Perhaps it is not obvious or they are embarrassed by what they will see. Then a young brunette wearing an outrageously short skirt and odd, hand-painted shirt who has been wandering the room on her own gets to my painting, stretches out her hand and flicks over the first panel. Two other girls standing off to her left with drinks in their hands see the second panel and squeal. But the brunette just looks. She has no drink and no food. I move closer and lean against an empty stretch of wall so that I can see her face. No expression, but her piercing blue eyes have an intensity which is scary. She turns to look at the squealers and they clam up instantly. Then she turns the second canvas over. I see her flinch, but it is not at the subject matter, it seems to come from inside her head. Her eyes appear to flash briefly and then she closes the painting to leave the original page at the front. She looks at me and our eyes connect with an energy which has me jerk off the wall.

'Yours?' she says, nodding sideways to the trio. I nod silently.

'It certainly isn't Lauren's' she says glancing at the rest of the paintings in the room, which mostly depict sea and landscapes from outside the city.

'I feel the power. You are one of the Circle?'

I sense the capital C and wonder what she means. I cannot reply as my mouth has gone dry and my head dizzy. It is her piercing look and expressionless face. Her eyes glaze somewhat and at last her face shows emotion - brief surprise.

'You are not of the Circle, but you have captured power and spirit in your work. That is unusual and exceptional. Do you know what this power can do?'

She seems to be deciding something and then a smile crosses her face so briefly I wonder if I have imagined it. I suddenly feel a presence in my head - a probing thought connection. Then it is gone. It was so quick that I am not sure if it was real.

She is talking. 'The painting has taken on a life of it's own which you have given it. You have a master's power although you seem not to have been trained to it. You are also young and it is unusual for such strong power to be present in someone of your years. I also got the power very young, but I was detected by the Circle and trained before I grew out of my teens. I have been into your mind to find your history. You have the power but do not have the defences to protect yourself. If you agree, I will enter your mind again and provide those defences. Also, I will leave within your mind the conscious understanding of what your unconscious can and, I think, has been doing when you gave the painting its life. I shall try to implant the notions of control, understanding, and defence as well as some ideas as to what you can do. Do you agree?'

'Yes, I suppose so.' I said doubtfully, still not sure what she was saying and yet feeling a spirit within me, which was almost sighing with relief at being soon to be released.

'You seem not certain?'

'No, I'm certain' I said with more conviction as the inner voice took more control.

Then I feel her there, in my head, probing, fusing, prying. It is strange, even stranger here in the studio full of people going about their business. In a very short time the oddness in my head is gone. She is standing in front of me and I feel grown up. I cannot describe it fully but, in seconds, I seem to have added years to my knowledge.

'I shall stay in the room for some time. You can use the powers and I shall be here in case you have need of me. I must go in one hour, so take courage and test yourself. I am not supposed to leave you after so short a period, but from my examination of you I think that you will be able to withstand the effects of the changes, which you can feel. Remember that you have to act responsibly with what you have been given.'

With that, she went off to look at the rest of the exhibits.

I go to the trio. Staring at the front panel, I wonder at everything that has taken place. I wonder at the power in the painting - the power I had felt before and which is intensifying for me now that I have opened my mind. I gently turn the panels and feel more and more of the strength from the boy with the blue eyes. In the third panel the ramrod cock almost seems to be alive.

Hunger and thirst clutch at me and I go to the refreshments table in search of sustenance. After a glassful and a roll, I come back to the wall near the trio.

What should I do to use the powers as she had told me to? A young guy comes across to the painting. He is beautiful. He is slim, well-proportioned, dark hair with hazel green eyes and finely drawn facial features. He turns the first panel over. I reach into his mind and reel as if I have been slapped. What a power! I can see his life, his thoughts, his preferences, all of him as if I have always known him. I prompt him to think that it is hot. He looks around, sees that many of the bohemian crowd are hardly dressed on this hot summer night. Most of the boys have no shirts. He removes his. I tell him to drop it on the floor. He does. He turns to the last panel. His eyes are shining, alive. I see that he has a hard on, obvious in his light flannel longs. I prompt him to take it out. He does. I thought he would balk at that since I am not sure how powerful my ability to command is. But a long, thick and very erect cock is now pointing at blue-eyed him. How far can I go? I notice that the crowd has gone quiet. Quickly looking around the room it is obvious that those who are not stoned are drifting towards us. But they are not staring at the cock sticking out from the longs, they are fixed on the blue eyes in the painting. I enter the mind of the nearest guy and find that he has felt the energy from my earlier communication and this has transferred his concentration to the canvas. He has removed his shirt. Now I prompt hazel-eyes to strip. As his body comes into view I marvel at the marble unspoilt quality of his torso. His dark pubic hair has been trimmed from his cock, which seems to stand out even more precociously. I check his mind. He knows what he is doing and is loving it. He knows that the room full of people is gathering in a semi-circle around him and they are watching the painting and him. He loves it. 'Take it in your hand' I tell him. His hand goes to his cock and starts to move his foreskin forward and back. His ass is gently moving back and forth. I look around and see that some of the crowd have stripped as well. But they are watching and not touching, just like the boy in the painting. Some have even begun to move their arms away from their bodies, like blue-eyes, but the movements of their bodies suggests that they are feeling the sexual prompting without physical stimulus. The painting has taken control of them!

The boy in front of the canvas is making moaning noises and his foreskin has rolled back completely. A shining patina of pre-cum covers the end of his cock as his hips grind faster and his moans grow louder. The crowd is all stripped naked now and as they fixate on the painting their bodies are swaying in unison and there is a smell of desire and sex in the air. I see my mentor standing aside from the mass of bodies. She is still fully clothed and is watching. Her expressionless face is belied by her eyes, which reflect the essence of desire and raw sex.

I can feel my own cock rampant and tearing at my clothes. I strip naked and enter the mind of the nearest guy and command him to suck me. He comes over, kneels down and takes my rigid member into his mouth. The crowd sees nothing of this as they approach their own orgasm. The boy in front is reaching his climax. His hips buck, his mouth opens in ecstasy like the painting and a spurt of cum flies across the gap to hit the cock and slide down the blue-eyed boy's leg. My body is racked as it feels as if a gigantic force is sucking sperm from deep inside me and my whole being is following it. Everything in me is flowing towards the end of my rock hard penis, which is growing and growing beyond the confines of the skin enfolding it. It is mind-blowing and I have never felt anything like it. The guy sucking feels the energy and works harder, his mouth sliding to my pubic hair and back, the cock smacking the back of his throat. His finger, which has been exploring my asshole, slips in deeply and touches the nerve. With a scream that seems soundless to me, my back arches until I am almost bent backwards, and cum smacks into the back of his throat, wave after wave. As I come to my senses I smell sex, the room has erupted in cum.

Slowly the people in the room emerge from the trance and stare about them as if they have been far away and just returned. They gather their clothes and slowly drift to the exit.

I turn to look at the boy in front of the canvas. He is gone. I look around the room. He cannot have gone very far. He is nowhere. The painting has folded back to the first page. But now, where there was one naked boy covered in a towel, there are two.


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