In the lobby, there was a map where alumni from out of town placed thumbtacks to indicate how far they had come to the reunion. Only a handful were out of the state. With his stuck in San Francisco, Jerry thought he had a good chance to win. When he saw a woman put a tack in the same area, he was intrigued and moved toward her.

He didn’t recognize her when she turned around. Attractive and well-dressed in a conservative skirt, top, and blazer, her bright, multicolored scarf, loose around her neck, added a splash of color. Catching her before she was too far away from the map, he pointed to his thumbtack next to hers.

“Half Moon Bay, eh? Looks like you beat me by a dozen miles,” he said.

“Jerry, I heard you were in California but didn’t expect to see you here,” she grinned.

“I hadn’t planned to be here,” he began the explanation he had been repeating over the past week or so while trying to read her name tag without staring at her chest.

It said “Minerva Mars” and although it was familiar somehow, he could not recall a student with that name. It was so unusual that he assumed it would have caused adolescent teasing, but he had no particular memory of it.

Seeing his befuddlement, she chuckled softly and interrupted his tale, whispering, “That’s my professional name. Don’t you remember me?”

He tried to take twenty years off the confident smiling face, but could only shrug with embarrassment.

Suddenly, she stepped close, her face inches from his, her chest almost touching him. He had a moment to notice her perfume before she gave him a surly frown, rolled her eyes, and sighed nihilistically.

“Cass—!” his moment of recognition was interrupted by her finger on his lips.

In high school, Cassandra Papadopoulos had been the goth chick: long stringy hair dyed blue-black, makeup that gave her a cadaverous look, and a loner attitude. He had heard she was an “A” student, but she rarely spoke in class. The woman before him had a neat, auburn page boy hairdo, a sprinkling of freckles across her peach-tone face, and dimples when she smiled. He felt warm when she put her hand on his shoulder, still standing so close, and spoke conspiratorially.

“Don’t tell anyone my name. I want to see how many can guess it. Minerva Mars is the name I use for my artwork, mostly sculpture.”

At last connecting some dots, he almost whacked her when he raised his palm to smack his forehead, making her step back to normal conversational distance.

“You know, I think I have one of your pieces. It’s a standing couple making love. An ex-girlfriend bought it and I liked it so much that she left it when she moved out.”

The woman was perched on the standing man, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands behind his neck. He held her butt, standing on his toes as if floating. Gazing into each other’s eyes, their mouths were open in ecstatic exclamation.

“It was so loving and erotic.” He paused as he felt the blush color his face. “I’m sorry, but I always thought the words ‘Minerva Mars’ on the base were the names of the figures.”

Minerva’s laugh was generous and sincere. “That’s hilarious. In fact, that’s exactly who they are. It was my take on that mythology. I made a life-size version in bronze. It weighed a ton with the base to keep it from tipping over in an earthquake. I also made miniature replicas like yours. They were popular and the gallery that sold them was featured in the Chronicle. The reporter mistakenly assumed that ‘Minerva Mars’ was the name of the artist. My real name is too long and they would never spell it the same way twice, so I decided to take advantage of the publicity and have used that name ever since.”

Jerry was just happy she hadn’t been insulted. With every minute in her presence, he wanted to get to know her better. But her eyes were drawn to arriving classmates.

“I’ll save a dance for you,” she said as a way of excusing herself. With a devilish grin, she strode off into the hotel ballroom to see who might be able to recognize the butterfly she had become from the caterpillar they knew.

Jerry mingled with the crowd, catching up with classmates he hadn’t run into yet. He had been away almost twenty years until his parents insisted he come back and take care of their dog while they were on a cruise carefully scheduled to coincide with the reunion. The ten days so far had been eventful, to say the least.

On his way to the bar, he nodded to Laurie who smiled back, which made Greg put his arm around her defensively. In a short, low-cut, shimmering, royal blue dress, Melinda held court in a group of local businessmen with Bill at her side. The three exchanged meaningful glances without disrupting the discussion of the fate of the nearby shopping mall.

Penelope introduced him to her date from a distant suburb. Both in ordinary semi-formal attire, he couldn’t help imagining him in restraints and her in her lingerie. If Jerry had any doubt that he was a drone, it was erased when he reflexively responded with a quiet “Yes, Queen” when she sent him to get her a cocktail.

Pablo caught Jerry at the bar and put his arm around his shoulders. “After you and I had lunch, I went out and saw Sonia’s farm. She seems to be doing well,” he conceded. Pausing to shake his head, he couldn’t help adding, “I guess I just expected more for her.”

“I, too, had ideas about how her life should go.” Jerry’s mild barb was wasted on his oblivious friend. “But seeing how happy she is, how can I substitute my desires for hers?” He reached to put his arm on his old buddy. “Sometimes you have to give up what you want to keep something more important.”

Between conversations, he would look for Minerva, especially once the band began to play. But she was either already dancing with someone or in mid-story with a group. Later when the band took a break, she was sandwiched between two guys on one side of a row of small tables that had been pushed together. Surprisingly, the seat across from her opened up just as he walked by so he grabbed it.

She was listening to the man on her right talk about his boat and Jerry was immediately captured by the woman on his left, who showed him pictures of her kids. As the conversations flowed, he felt a foot bump him under the table and politely moved his foot back. Surprisingly, a second foot joined the first and pulled his foot forward. Shoeless toes stroked his shin through his pants and even slipped under the cuff. Although she gave no indication above the table—and he tried to suppress his reaction—only Minerva was in a position to be the owner of those toes.

Moments later, the leg raised and straightened, and the foot pressed into his crotch. He tried not to squirm as he felt her toes wiggle, losing track of what sports team the guy on his right had been talking about. Luckily, Minerva interrupted, addressing Jerry for the first time since he sat down.

“Tell us, Jerry, what secrets have you omitted from the alumni newsletter?” The rest chuckled at her sly look, unaware of the distraction in his lap.

He told some unflattering anecdotes about a few well-known tech billionaires he had encountered, generating some laughs. Returning Minerva’s attention, he mentioned how he just discovered that he owned a sculpture she had created. With everyone focused on her for a bit, he slipped one hand below the table and caressed her foot, trying not to distract her from her story. The band started playing again, so she retrieved her foot; apparently, the guy on her left had claimed the next dance.

Jerry was torn between wanting to get her alone and observing how she positively glowed interacting with people who, before tonight, would never have applied the word vivacious to her. He realized that he was a member of that group. She was talking to two men when the band announced the last dance; Jerry’s heart sank when both offered a hand.

Minerva demurred and spun around, her eyes quickly finding him. She raised her arm as she strode towards him and he tried not to run to meet her mid-dance floor. It was a long slow song that was popular the year they graduated—something Cassandra would have mocked. Perhaps affected by exhaustion or alcohol, she leaned on him for support. He reveled in the feel of her rubbing against him and tried to keep his swelling cock from poking her.

“This evening has turned out much better than I ever expected,” he confessed.

“For me as well. And the evening isn’t over yet.” Her voice promised something, but he wasn’t sure what. “After we say our farewells to everyone, why don’t you walk me back to my room?”

The song ended to applause. As they separated, she gave him a curtsey, drawing a reflexive bow from him. Blowing him a kiss, she turned to cycle through old friends and reacquaintances to say goodbye.

Most of the attendees, like Jerry, were not staying at the hotel. He loitered as they left, waiting in the lobby for Minerva, then followed her into the elevator.

“I don’t know you,” she stated the obvious as the door closed. “Will you do exactly what I say? When I tell you to go, will you leave without argument or hesitation? If not, you can stay in the elevator.”

Taken aback by her suddenly stern demeanor, he agreed, “Sure.”

It was a short ride to her floor. She turned and blocked the open door. Her eyes were intense on his.

“Do you promise?” she insisted.

Jerry understood how things were from her perspective. Inviting a guy you just met—even if you vaguely knew him a long time ago—to your room was a risky proposition. She was surprisingly direct in talking about it, but he had no trouble agreeing to the terms.

“Yes, Minerva,” he assured. “I will do whatever you want and will go whenever you say. No drama. I promise.” He gave her his most sincere smile.

“Thank you,” she said and led him to her room.

Once inside, she slipped off her jacket and draped it over a chair as she spoke.

“Are you familiar with CFNM porn? Clothed Female Naked Male?” When he nodded, suppressing a grin, she continued, “This is sort of like that. Take all your clothes off. You can put them on the couch.”

She didn’t wait for him to react but ducked into the bathroom and closed the door. Jerry didn’t know what to think, but not knowing how long she would be in there, he quickly took off his tie, suit, and shirt. He paused in his boxers, but she had said “all your clothes” so he removed those as well.

Although he imagined she would emerge transformed as Penny had, she still wore the same blouse and skirt.

“Stand here,” she pointed to a spot in the middle of the limited open area of the room. “Hands at your side. Don’t speak unless I ask you to.” Slowly she walked around him.

She lightly brushed his chest, tickling his hair and making him shiver a bit. The awkwardness of the situation had his privates deflated. Taking his soft organ in hand, she gave it a gentle tug and pump.

“Let’s hope you’re a grower, not a shower,” she said matter-of-factly. Her attention woke it up slowly. Behind him, she grabbed his ass with both hands, giving it a hard squeeze and a slap.

“Do you remember the Odyssey? How Odysseus was tempted by the Sirens?” She continued stroking and fondling his body as she moved around him, revisiting his crotch more frequently and lingering longer and more blatantly.

“I’m thinking of a new work and I need some inspiration, some reference material.” She traced his ribs, his spine, his arms. “You’re about the right age. He was a captain, not a recruit.” From behind, she drew her fingers down his crack, then reached underneath to massage his taint and cup his balls.

Jerry sighed in appreciation for the caresses and relief that his rod was starting to stand up. He moaned softly as she tugged his nipples and rubbed his chest and belly. She squatted in front of him, her face almost touching his swollen organ. He could feel her warm breath as she got closer. Her left hand gripped him tightly, then loosened to pump him slowly. Her right hand toyed with his balls for a bit, then went to grab his butt.

“As you saw in the piece you have, I interpret things with a modern erotic sensibility. Ovid has Mars so infatuated with Minerva that Anna poses as Minerva to trick him into marrying her. In the Illiad, when Minerva wants Mars to stop fighting, she ‘takes him by the hand’. Well, my version shows a more certain and effective way to distract him from the war.”

Only vaguely familiar with the mythology, Jerry struggled to pay attention as she worked his genitals.

“For Odysseus, the singing of a half-bird Siren is not going to be much of a challenge compared to the womanly arts of daughters of a god. An earthly temptation would be hard enough for him to resist; he will need a different approach against a supernatural one.” As if to illustrate, she applied her two-handed jerking technique. Even without lube, her soft, agile hands were having the effect desired by both of them.

Although she opened her mouth an inch from the tip, she did not close the distance and he dared not. Her fingertip found the drip of precum emerging from the opening and spread it around the head. Her other hand milked the shaft, squeezing more of the fluid like she was getting the last of the toothpaste out of the tube.

“Can you cum if I keep doing this?” she asked, resuming her steady stroking, going a little faster.

“Yes,” he replied. “In fact, I was going to warn you. Wouldn’t want to get it on you.”

“No, we don’t want that,” she grinned and looked up at him. “Say ‘too much’ if you’re getting in the danger zone.” Somehow, the eye contact made it more intimate and it wasn’t long before he was approaching the edge.

“Too much,” he sighed. She didn’t stop immediately and he was ready to repeat himself when she took her hands away, watching his pole bob and twitch. After a few breaths, she started again, mostly watching his face.

Her gradual increase in speed led to another alert, this time more of a groan. He squirmed his hips, trying to escape as she continued another dozen strokes before releasing him. She barely gave him time to back away from the brink before she seized him again.

“Too much!” he gasped, and he moved his hand to be ready to cap the gusher if he lost control.

She must have recognized the desperation in his voice because she let go immediately. Standing up, she searched his face closely, seeing the delightful anguish in it. His eyes begged her to finish what she had started.

“Get dressed and go,” she said, tensely.

Jerry’s hormone-soaked brain wanted to deny he had heard it, wanted to protest, to plead. But Minerva’s face said “You promised” as plainly as a neon sign. He hoped he hadn’t noticeably hesitated because time had ground to a halt. Turning to remember where he had placed his clothes, he got dressed, stuffing his softening but still tingling cock into his underwear and pants.

When he was dressed, Minerva smiled endearingly with full dimples. “Give me your phone.” He unlocked it and handed it to her. In a few seconds, she handed it back. On the table, her purse chirped. With a text to her phone, she had given him her number.

“Congratulations, you passed the audition.” Jerry could hardly keep his mouth closed as his mind wrestled with his libido. “If I had decided you weren’t what I was looking for, you would have gotten a half-hearted handjob and that would have been that. I needed to see you turned on and ravenous.”

Jerry gave a quick head shake, not to disagree but to try to clear it and understand her words.

“Most important, I had to discover if, even in that aroused state, you could take direction. I hope it wasn’t too traumatic and you’ll contact me when you get back to the Bay Area.” With an enthusiastic hug, a sweet peck on the cheek, and a surprising goose in the ass, she sent him on his way. “We’ll discuss details then.”

Driving to his childhood home, Jerry knew he would have to jerk off to relieve the frustration she had generated, but he didn’t know how. Finding his old yearbook, the one photo of Cassandra looked nothing like her now. Her sullen expression wasn’t going to stoke his embers. He found only a handful of pics on the internet from galleries and they were mostly headshots or in business garb like she wore tonight.

The best was the old newspaper article she mentioned. With chestnut hair and eyes and a cheerful smile, the decade-younger woman was still apparent in the more confident person he met that night. His rougher hands needed lube, but it was imagining her soft ones that got him hard again. He found himself thinking “too much” as he got close, and held back, edging to recreate the sequence from the hotel room.

But the last time, he imagined feeling her soft lips wrapped around his shaft and her hot tongue on his glans as he exploded into her mouth.

Minerva and the other out-of-towners left the next day. Jerry’s parents would return the day after that. Until then, he finished some repairs and improvements around the house.

He spent a few days with his parents, hearing about their cruise and reporting on his reunion and selected details of the days leading up to it. It was hard for him to disagree with their I-told-you-so comments, even though they had no idea of the magnitude of his appreciation for their chicanery.

He had almost forgotten about it, but from the moment the plane landed in San Francisco until he burst into his apartment, he had an urgent and escalating need to see that sculpture. Dropping his bags, he ran to pick it up. Looking closely at the two-inch female head on the foot-and-a-half tall pair of figures, he was certain that it bore Minerva’s face. From her expression, it was easy to imagine her cries of passion, but he wondered if the rest of the body was representative of hers.

The figure was of classical proportions, without the exaggerated breasts and buttocks of contemporary preferences. It matched the few clues he got from her outfit at the reunion. Although he had always found the artwork erotic, holding that metal butt in the palm of his hand was giving him a hard-on.

With no further encounters after the reunion and a reluctance to masturbate when his parents were home, he hadn’t emptied his balls since the night of the reunion—and that, too, had been driven by Minerva’s face. Taking the statue into his bedroom, he stripped naked and got some lube out of the nightstand. His mind projected him into the body of Mars, despite his un-godlike physique. Turning it so he looked over his shoulder into her face, he began to pump his throbbing rod with his slick palm.

Standing wasn’t his favorite way to jerk off, but he spread his legs and bent his knees to mimic the god’s posture. As he fucked one hand, the other reached as if supporting her ass. He rose so rapidly to the peak, it was too late to retreat and draw it out as he normally would. Instead, he was barely able to cup the tip with his free hand in time to avoid spraying a mess onto his furniture and floor when the pleasure shuddered through him. He seemed to have no control of his milking hand while it extracted a massive load as he staggered, struggling to capture it all in his other hand.

Uncertain legs and a light head made him flop back onto the bed, one hand spilling his spunk onto his stomach while the other produced a few more drips in aftershocks. Tingling with an afterglow that was usually reserved for in-person sex, he lingered until the puddle cooled before cleaning up.

He decided to wait until he was fully dressed again before texting Minerva that he was back in town. There was no immediate reply; after fifteen minutes, he gave up staring at his phone and unpacked his bags. Later that night she responded, “Very, very, busy these days—frown emoji—will call when I have time.”

It sounded like she was blowing him off. Disheartened, Jerry was about to send a perfunctory “ok” when she added a line, “I promise!—pinky-swear emoji”

Elated, Jerry got busy himself catching up with work and getting back to his routines after a two-week absence. Minerva lurked in his thoughts, keeping him from resuming his dating activity.

It was around six on Tuesday a couple weeks later that Jerry got a text from Minerva. “Take me to dinner?” It came with a picture of her in a calf-length coat for a foggy San Francisco evening at an intersection only a few blocks from his apartment.

He cleaned up and changed clothes in record time, dashing to meet her as fast as he could without working up a sweat. When she gave him a quick hug, he could smell wine and fresh perfume.

“I drank too much with clients, so I need to kill a few hours before driving home. Is there someplace we could get something to eat?”

One of his favorite date places was nearby. There was a line of people wanting to get in, but he always took care of Marcel, the maître d’. He looked doubtful when Jerry got his attention, but when he saw Minerva with him, he winked.

“Jerry, Jerry, Jerry,” he spoke loud enough so the waiting crowd could hear. “I was about to give your table away, I couldn’t hold it any longer. You know our rule—fifteen minutes!”

It was an act for the crowd, making them think he had a reservation. Marcel would be amply rewarded for his performance. He seated them at the emergency table in the corner, not the best location, but useful for contingencies like this one.

Jerry almost whistled when he helped Minerva out of her coat. Underneath, she wore a little black dress that stopped mid-thigh. The neckline plunged between and beyond the domes of her modest breasts. It might have reached her navel, but he didn’t stare long enough to be sure.

“Quite a change from the reunion,” he remarked.

“They won’t accept erotic art from a sculptor dressed like a spinster,” she laughed.

Over an epicurean four-course dinner—with no alcohol—Minerva explained what she had been auditioning Jerry for. The modeling session would be recorded on multiple cameras from different angles. Since he would be naked and sexually stimulated, it was almost like shooting porn, at least as far as the legal issues were concerned.

“Of course, although I retain all the rights to the video and can produce works based on it, the agreement protects you, too. The video cannot be distributed to anyone else.” She sounded business-like as if she had given this explanation to other models.

“Also…,” her pause got his attention, “I have been assuming you are willing to do this pro bono. I do pay professional models, but I don’t think that’s why you want to do this.”

“Yes, I’m in it for the adventure,” he enthused. There was no reason to confess or even define in his own mind what he hoped might develop. So far, he was along for the ride.

“It is essential for me to see real, natural behavior and reactions so that I can translate that into the work. Obviously, you can’t act an erection into existence, you have to feel turned on. The same applies to your posture—the look of your muscles and face. You will need to really feel as tempted as Odysseus did. Do you think you can handle that?” Her eyes searched his for the answer before he spoke.

“I know you have been tempting me since we met at the reunion,” he smirked. “I jumped at the chance to see you tonight in the hope of continuing this escapade. I don’t know if I can meet your expectations, but I want to try.”

They had finished their dessert and coffee and Marcel’s eyes were begging for the table to satisfy the still-long line of customers.

Seeing the situation, Minerva suggested, “I should wait another hour before driving. Why don’t you show me your apartment?”

Thrilled at the idea that he had been ready to propose, Jerry waved for the check.

He was on a higher floor and the corner unit offered a 270-degree vista of the city lights, ships moving in the dark bay, and the incoming fog. Using the bathroom after she did, he emerged to find her admiring the view. Off his game without the option of offering drinks and with limited time, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Idly, he enquired about her place in Half Moon Bay, comparing it to city life. She liked the slower pace and opportunities for solitude and was close enough to participate in the art scene and enjoy other aspects of the city on occasion. He needed to be there for work and didn’t want to spend time commuting. As long as he was paying the high price of proximity, he took advantage of restaurants like the one they were at earlier.

They ran out of topics they hadn’t covered at dinner. Jerry was contemplating making a move to determine whether this was a professional or romantic relationship—or both.

“Would this weekend work for you?” she broke the tension. “You could come Saturday around noon.”

“That’s good for me,” he said.

Unexpectedly, she moved to him, pulling his head down for a kiss. Delighted, he met her soft lips and wrapped his arms around her. The ambiguity he had felt between his obvious attraction to her—and her to him?—and the pragmatic details of the modeling session evaporated as she melted in his arms. Her hand boldly found his growing erection, seeming to prove her intentions.

Her soft moan encouraged him as he cupped her ass while she massaged his bulge. Abruptly, she broke the kiss, catching her breath.

“Please don’t think me cruel. Maybe I got a little carried away, but I think I’m sober enough not to blame the wine,” she apologized. “For Saturday, it’s important that you be… well… horny. Odysseus had been without female companionship for a long time. Can you abstain until then?”

Jerry shuddered in frustration. “Oh… kay,” he said, trying, in his excited state, to convince himself he could hold out.

“Temptation. Risk. The necessity for resistance against the hunger for gratification. The uncertainty of your mettle.” After a poignant pause, she added, “The possibility of betrayal.”

His thoughts felt shuffled like a deck of cards, but her smoldering eyes bespoke more than her words. She crouched a little and reached under the hem of her dress, extracting two damp fingers that she raised to his lips. The scent and taste as he licked them confirmed her arousal.

“In the meantime, we’ll both have to suffer for the art!” she said, sucking them dry.

Their laughs broke the mood. Taking a step back, she closed her eyes and turned her face upward. He almost bent to kiss her, but she stretched out her arms and alternately touched her fingertips to her nose like a roadside sobriety test.

“I think I’m good to go,” she giggled.

He walked her to her car. In the dim light of the parking lot, she pulled him face-to-face as she had at the reunion.

“I will make it worth your while,” she pledged. “But not yet. If we cross that line, it will be too late to get what I need.”

He couldn’t get to sleep, especially since he was denied a masturbatory sedative. Around two, he slammed a double bourbon—immediately regretting that it was his most expensive bottle—then poured another one to sip as the alcohol began to take effect. When he finally did nod off, his unsettled dreams were of gods and goddesses and nymphs and satyrs.

In the morning he saw the email she must have sent as soon as she got home. Attached was the performer contract and release, modified from the standard porn version to not include distribution rights. She pointed out that it required a sexually transmitted infection test and that she would also get one.

There was a long list of potential acts and scenarios for him to allow or prohibit. He chuckled, thinking it was a sneaky way to find out a potential partner’s kinks. He was inclined to blithely agree to everything but didn’t want to convey that he didn’t take it seriously. So he declined the extreme practices yet left in things that he would agree to in the right circumstances, even though they weren’t likely to be a part of this session.

Thursday, she sent him pictures of the studio space, showing cameras, lights, and reflectors. In the middle was a three-foot-tall post that she labeled “the mast”. He had been battling a headache and focusing on work to distract himself from the radioactivity clicking in his pants; her message made the Geiger counter louder.

Friday she sent a picture of the three-inch leather wrist cuffs she would use to secure him to the post. The past few days, he had been briefly playing with his cock and balls, stopping far short of orgasm, to relieve the itch. But the pressure surged to the point where he dared not touch himself at all. That evening, he went to the gym and did a double session hoping that exhaustion, aching muscles, and the smell of sweaty men would suppress his libido and let him get some rest.

He drove down the road that wound along the coast rather than the inland freeway. The sight of sailboats and fishing charters crashing through the waves and the smell and sound of the sea put him in the mood for his “voyage”.

Minerva lived on a small farm. She had turned the barn into her studio and forge and leased the fields to the neighbor who grew artichokes. Wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, common attire for the often foggy seaside location, she led him to a small office. All business, she had him sign another form and handed him a check for a dollar.

“This makes everything legal and official,” she explained.

The studio room was as shown in the pictures. It was hot; he guessed over eighty degrees.

“It’s for your comfort,” she said when he noticed it. “Think of it as Mediterranean temperature. We can adjust it as you prefer once we get going.”

She led him to a bathroom in one corner. “You can undress and prepare yourself in there. There is a robe.”

Alone in the room, the prickly anticipation he had felt driving there churned inside him. Looking at his thirty-eight-year-old body in the full-length mirrors, he was suddenly self-conscious unlike he had been in any bedroom in well over a decade. Was this inspiration for art? She had seen—inspected!—him after the reunion. He had to trust her judgment.

In a brief bolt of insecurity, he worried that this was an elaborate prank, recalling her humorous and capricious moments. Was he about to emerge to a room full of known and unknown people who would laugh at the audacity of thinking he could play this part? Donning the long, plush, spa-quality burgundy robe gave his reflection a regal air and he flushed his misgivings down the toilet.

His mind was reset by Minerva’s reassuring smile when he reentered the studio. Wearing a digital SLR camera on a strap around her neck, she gestured for him to remove the robe and stand near the post where the lights and video cameras were pointed.

She started with a large number of pictures, some full-length, some close-ups, in a variety of poses. There were many of his hands and feet from different angles. About the only words she said besides one- or two-word instructions were when she mumbled that they were hard to get right. During the process, she touched him only fleetingly to adjust a position.

It was far from erotic, but the attention and his nudity under her intense gaze caused occasional stirring, but not for long and never completely hard. After what he guessed had been an hour or so, she focused on his crotch—and looked unhappy.

“Is something wrong?” Jerry asked defensively.

“Oh, no, dear,” she said, using the term she likely used for any model. “People tell me I look upset when I’m concentrating, but I’m not.” She forced a smile. “I’m almost done. The last area is your genitals. Will you be able to get fully erect in a bit? Do you need any porn from your phone or some lube or anything?”

He decided not to wisecrack and suggest she remove her shirt. Using his fingers, recalling their previous encounters, and imagining what he hoped would happen when the work was done allowed him to reach his full dimensions. As with his hands and feet, there were a lot of close-ups and different angles.

“Let’s take a break before the main event,” she said, handing him his robe. “I’ve got water, juice, coffee. You’ll want to use the bathroom before we start.”

Minerva checked that he was comfortable as he relaxed for a bit. After a few minutes, she led him to the post and took one arm, wrapping the cuff around his wrist and fastening it.

“Snug, but not tight, right?” she checked. “It is quite sturdy, so you can tug on it as much as you like. There shouldn’t be any pain or numbness.”

She repeated for the other arm.

“Ready, Odysseus?” she asked. Her eyes were bright and eager and inspired a warm flush down his spine.

“Go ahead, pull it, lean on it,” she suggested when his arms were attached behind his back. “I use the post when I’m working on full-size bronze figures, so it’s not going anywhere.”

He tested it, confirming her assertions. It was a proper stand-in for the ship’s mast.

“I thought this would help set the scene,” she said, tapping on her phone. Sound emerged from speakers around the room: first, the lapping of waves, then adding a subtle chorus of airy voices vocalizing. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

She did a quick check of her equipment and some minor adjustments to the cameras.

“You know the story,” she said. He had read several versions since his “audition” at the reunion. “My interpretation is more visceral. Odysseus is not tempted by mere songs, but by the strongest and most carnal of desires.” Her fingertips roamed his chest, toying with the hair there.

“He couldn’t simply block his ears as did his crew. As in other religious and mythological stories, he had to fully experience the temptation and overcome it.” Her eyes never left his as her hand found his awakening organ. “The Siren will use what she has to make Odysseus submit to her. Somehow he must master her.”

Being naked and bound as she—clothed—toyed with his privates made that seem unlikely. Her gentle tugging made his too-long-neglected manhood swell.

“In a moment, we will stop speaking. Sirens did not use the language of Man. Is there anything you want to ask or say before we begin?”

Jerry tried to summon some meaningful words. Rejecting quips that would break the mood, he spoke from his heart.

“Thank you,” he crooned, not for the caresses that had him hard and twitching but for being invited into this encounter.

Minerva raised one finger to his lips and one to hers indicating their mutual muteness.

Stepping forward, she hugged him, the soft flannel warm against his chest. As she rubbed against him, he perhaps imagined more than felt her breasts through the bulky fabric. Stepping back, she traced his muscles and ribs, circled and gently pinched his nipples, leaning in to shower him with her warm breath.

Turning around, she pressed the rough fabric of her jeans against his crotch. His swinging cock appreciated any contact and he leaned back on the post to push more firmly against her. She offered only the thick seam between two spheres tightly wrapped in denim, but his rigid shaft had no complaints as she undulated.

Barely separating, she bent forward and lowered her pants, tossing them off to the side, then resumed her position and motion. Her black thong panties allowed his shaft to nestle between her bare cheeks. When she pushed back, trapping him between her soft globes and his belly, the pressure inspired hip motion and an involuntary moan. Rocking forward and back, she teased him, by turns letting him waggle in the air and giving him delicious contact.

There was a brief respite as Minerva slowly unbuttoned her shirt. Opening it revealed a bra that matched her panties. When she tossed it away, she raised her arms over her head and seductively pirouetted, confirming in his eyes that this was the classic body in his sculpture.

She leaned close but touched him only momentarily. Her fingers circumscribed the contours of his face, torso, and limbs, brief stripes of—accidental?—contact making him long for more. Grazing his body hair would send tiny impulses into him, more intensely on his inner thighs and crotch.

Crouching in front of him, her face at his genitals, she looked up, licking her parted lips. Trying to close the distance, he moved his feet forward, making him lean back more. She stretched his cock with her hand, pulling it enough for her lips to suck the head. When she let go, it snapped back, bobbing close enough to still feel her breath.

His stressed arms made him aware of the limits of his movements as he tried different positions to reacquire her fleeting touches. Regaining his feet, he shrugged his shoulders to relieve the strain while he ogled his temptress and tried to imagine a better approach.

Standing, she showed she had other assets to deploy. Stepping closer, she unhooked her bra, discarding it while masking her breasts with her arm, like a stripper. First hugging them together into cleavage, she alternately flashed her nipples, squeezing them into candy kisses, leaving them stiff.

Jerry was mesmerized by the show, unconsciously licking his lips anticipating sucking those morsels. She stepped closer, lifting and presenting her sweet orbs. He bowed forward this time, lowering his mouth to their level. Straining against the rings that held the cuffs, he stretched his neck. When he extended his tongue, he barely reached one proffered nipple.

After making him struggle to lick one boob, she turned and mashed the twin into his mouth. He suckled like a newborn, his face against her warm softness. She lacked the mass to completely smother him, but he was gasping for air when she pulled back. Alternately serving him both swollen nubs, her breathy moan showed that she, too, was responding to the interaction. Perhaps realizing that, she pulled back but continued giving and taking away nibbles of her breasts.

She decided it was time to escalate again. Kneeling under his bent frame, she grabbed his cock. Pulling himself back upright and looking down, he was surprised to see a long, glassy, tendril of precum hanging from his glans. Cupping one hand underneath, she milked his shaft with the other, growing the drip of sticky fluid until it was too long to stay attached. Capturing it and wringing more from him, she palmed the goo onto his cockhead, making it glisten. Seizing the base and licking the knob like an ice cream cone made him dance from the intensity.

She gradually backed away, maintaining her firm grip and forcing him to lean back and move his hips forward again to relieve the tension on his penis. Deciding he was stretched far enough, she wrapped her lips around him, grabbing his ass to keep him in position as she sucked him deep.

Alarm bells went off in Jerry’s head, warning him of his rapidly approaching explosion. But the circumstance was familiar, and he knew how to regulate his response—at least in normal situations. Controlling his breathing and doing his Kegel’s, he asserted manual control over his instinctive reactions. Usually, this would signal his partner to moderate her activity, but Minerva showed no mercy, holding his hips to keep him from escaping.

Interpreting his gasps and whimpers, she finally relented and stood up. The way his balls burned and his cock twitched, he might have had a brief ruined orgasm. He had clamped down hard to suppress or terminate it. While he was trying to catch his breath, She bent and removed her panties, exposing a patch of brown pubes parted by protruding lips. With his eyes riveted to this revelation, he wasn’t expecting it when she raised the damp, black, fragrant fabric to his face.

The aroma was more pungent than the sample he had received on Tuesday. When she fed the soaked gusset between his lips, he practically chewed it to savor every drop. It occurred to Jerry that she was showing him that her excitement was equal to his.

Discarding the panties, she turned away from him and bent forward, offering her pink glistening foyer in a primal pose. Straining his knees and arms, he contorted his body to try to reach that goal. She somehow precisely gauged his limit. Just when he thought his throbbing cock could reach no farther, the tip touched her pussy. The feel of her hot flesh was like an electric shock. She leaned back just enough for the knob to breach her entrance—but only for a moment before retreating. That taste drove him to wrench his shoulders and twist his legs to try to penetrate her again.

He writhed in a frenzy, with no thought of context or mission, no sense of anything except the tiny area where his body had touched hers. By design or a similar loss of control, she startled him by leaning back, taking him deep, and absorbing him a handful of times before she abandoned him. Minerva looked back over her shoulder, her face glowing with lust.

Jerry stared at her most intimate anatomy mere inches away from his bulb that glistened with her glaze. Her fingers plied her slick folds, producing a moan that further taunted him. He yanked his arms and stamped his feet but could find no way to close the gap. In frustration, he pulled back to ease the stress on his joints, wiggling his limbs a bit before trying another foray. When he again focused on his prize, it was no closer—but seemingly no farther.

Testing this perception, he inched backward as he danced, continuing to squirm and yank on his restraints. Indeed, it appeared that she held herself just beyond the end of his flailing staff. It was hard to judge, but when he guessed he had retreated a foot, he suddenly lunged forward, closing the distance and piercing her to his limit. Before she could react, he had delivered three quick thrusts.

He continued, expecting her to move away. Instead, she bounced against him, making the rapid impacts louder as he sent ripples into her ass. Fearing she would once more withdraw, he pounded hard and fast, hoping her busy fingers meant she too was committed to completion. With feral urgency, his hips oscillated and his long moan grew louder and higher until his needle jolted past the red line.

He was beyond understanding or caring when she fell to her knees and then flat on the floor. The explosion had been detonated. Although his cock had been expelled from the rapturous grip of her cunt, it was too late to stop the gush that fountained from its nozzle. It arced through the air as wave after wave of ecstasy accompanied each subsequent spurt while his hips fucked her wake.

His cock twitched sporadically when his organs had no more to emit. Precariously extended on his weakened legs, he straightened up from his awkward posture before he could lose his footing and dislocate a shoulder. Only then did he see Minerva sprawled on the floor, streaks of his emulsion on her back, ass, and thighs. She seemed as dazed as he was from the experience. When the pleasure ebbed, he wiggled his distressed joints; the sound of his wrist hardware clinking seemed to break her reverie.

Getting to her feet, she hugged him, pressing her sweaty body against his, turning her face up for a kiss—deep, active, and long. She grinned breathlessly, remembering his restraints and quickly removing them. Jerry’s hands roamed her body, uncaringly smearing his jizz on her skin and his hands and arms as they shared a proper embrace. They rocked together to the continuing sound of the waves and wordless singing for long minutes.

“I apologize for giving you a ruined orgasm,” she soothed. “I really wanted to record your ejaculation without me in the way. If it makes you feel any better, I ruined mine as well.”

Jerry slapped her ass in mock consternation. “It’s hard for me to think of that one as ruined although it was the most work I’ve ever done for a climax.”

“Let’s get cleaned up,” she said, leading him to the bathroom.

They shared a shower then wore robes and carried their clothes to her house.

Between the buildings, Minerva paused and turned to Jerry. “It’s important that we leave the work in there.” She looked back toward her studio. “Once I start, I’ll disappear until it’s finished. The rest of this weekend is for you… for us.”

Dinner was stir-fried Szechuan. Jerry helped with the prep. If it were possible to erase the time they spent in the hotel room and the studio, it could have been a typical third date. After-dinner wine on the couch led to kissing and caressing made easy by the robes and to her leading him to her bedroom.

After weeks of her teasing and being in control, Minerva let Jerry drive. He slipped off his robe, then hers. Embracing and kissing her next to the bed, he realized that this is what he had hoped for when he first saw her at the reunion.

In bed, he tried not to reference the afternoon’s activity. Nonetheless, finally being able to touch her with his hands made him want to finger every surface, indentation, and feature. He took his time and a circuitous route as he kissed his way down her body to taste and explore her pussy.

Prone between her legs, he slid his hands under her butt and kneaded her loaves. Untrimmed brown curls were soft against his cheek and nose. Her thick wrinkled inner lips begged to be nibbled and tugged. Slurping her delicious flow, he skated his slippery tongue over and around her most sensitive spots. Her increasingly ragged breathing encouraged him to bring her to a conclusion.

He applied different techniques on her clit until she grabbed his head with an approving groan. Continuing those rapid flicks as her glutes tensed and released, he soon had her warbling in ecstasy. His gentle lapping continued until she quieted and lifted his head, welcoming him to move up between her legs.

“Condom?” he inquired softly, guessing that one might be closer than fetching his wallet from his pants in the living room.

She pointed to the nightstand drawer but grinned, “Probably not necessary today. I have an IUD.”

Remembering that he had been inside her earlier, he grinned back. His cock had been poking holes in her mattress while he ate her, so it was ready to go. Taking it in hand, he stirred her folds with the tip before pushing against her opening.

It was a tight fit but, taking his time, he worked his way inside. He chuckled to himself, realizing he was used to the smooth lubricated feel of a rubber. Once his pole was coated with her juices, he easily slid in and out. She raised and spread her legs, inviting him deeper.

Jerry looked down at Minerva’s face. Gone were the lines of serious concentration, replaced by a gleam he recalled from their dinner. She met his every thrust, her heels on his butt spurring him to go faster. Despite the magnitude of his earlier explosion, he had retained enough reserves to rapidly build quite a head of steam.

She seemed to understand his hesitation when he slowed to check her status.

“I’m good,” she advised. “It’s been a long day. Besides…,” she added with a giggle, “we have all day tomorrow.”

Returning to full speed, Jerry raced to his peak, grinding hard as he reached it, her hot grip igniting flames that spread from their intersection. A perfect orgasm overshadowed the more intense but flawed one from earlier. As he spurted, she pulled him down to her, wrapping her arms and legs around him as if trying to become one body.

Holding him tight, she kept his weight pinning her into the mattress while his pulse slowed to normal. His shrinking cock finally slipped out and they both dribbled cum onto the sheet. When the afterglow faded, they cleaned up and groggily brushed their teeth before returning to spoon themselves to sleep.

In the morning, breakfast was followed by more-active lovemaking, with face-sitting sixty-nine evolving through missionary, cowgirl, and reverse cowgirl into a doggie finish. After lunch at the marina and a walk along the beach, they dared to use their fingers to gratify each other, snuggling in a recess in the berm.

“I don’t want to mislead you,” Minerva confessed over a seafood dinner with a view of the sunset. “I enjoyed and needed these hours ‘crossing the line’ with you before I start work. But you won’t hear from me for months. When I’m done, I would love to see you again. You can understand that my process makes a long-term relationship unlikely.”

“I’m not looking to settle down,” assured Jerry. “If I had, I never would have been able to share this experience with you. When the opportunity arises to pose or otherwise spend time with you, I’ll be first in line to audition!”

It was almost six months before Minerva invited him back to her studio. Two life-size bronze figures were posed much as he had expected. Odysseus was bound to a rough wooden pole, his lower half awkwardly stretched as his erect penis sought his temptation. The Siren bent forward, looking back, offering herself, just out of reach. Although others might not see the resemblance in the patinaed bronze, Jerry saw himself and Minerva in the faces, bodies, and private parts.

“This one is for you,” she beamed, gesturing to the pair of scaled-down figurines on the table. “Both these and the full-size are designed this way, to allow them to be as far apart or as close as you like.”

She slowly moved the woman backward, pausing when they were barely separated, both figures looking desperate to close the gap. With a slight push, the man’s cock disappeared inside her, leaving them joined in ecstasy.