Chapter 7: A School of Performing Arts : Brodie models for Art Class

Brodie by now was enrolled at Biggelow Dickson School of Performing Arts for several weeks.

His body had changed a little, thanks to the well tested methods of the schools athletic department, according to his Uncles wishes, but the basis had been there in the first place.

His Uncle Brett had told him that Brodie was Uncles favorite nephew because of his sturdy, curvy, wonderfully muscled body and his exceptionally big dick. His bodies attributes did bring him to his Uncles attention, but there was always room for improvement, and Brodie had worked out a lot during the past few weeks, had eaten the perfect diet, and several Vitamin shots and some pills per day had made sure his body never lacked of the perfect amount of nutrition.

Headmaster Smyth-Carrington was supervising one of Brodie’s workout sessions in person today. The coach had made Brodie take a bar full of heavy weights and stand upright, the bar on his shoulders, legs slightly spread for a better stance, doing heavy squats. His Uncle wanted him to have powerful legs, and a round well muscled ass.

The Headmaster marveled at the ingenuity of the well experienced gym coach, Coach Petersen, a young Asian man born in San Francisco, who never seized to amaze. The Headmaster saw Brodie lifted another weight whenever his legs expanded, but Mr. Smyth could not really see how the weight was moved. Brodie was naked, as usual, but even the various cameras did not show in detail what was going on. The Headmaster saw Brodie’s dick was hard as steel and his nuts were swollen, but there was no parachute around his nuts to lift the weight, nor a tight rope or something else.

The Headmaster was curious enough to look in person, so he left his office and strolled down the hallway to the staircase leading to the first basement floor. The Department of Health, the Offices of the Coaches, and some more rooms were here. Another floor under this was always locked and housed the more secretive rooms. Rooms new students were told about, but nobody really wanted to go there.

As the Headmaster entered the gym, he already had heard the muffled groans and moans of Brodie, and he marveled at the good looking muscled boy that skin was shining from sweat as he worked out hard. The Headmaster knew he had to avoid the cameras, since the workout session was filmed for the website, and only the sexy, also well muscled gym coach was allowed to appear, but Mr. Smyth knew were the blind spots were. He watched Brodie pump, lift the heavy bar, work out his legs and ass, just as today’s plan told. By now he could look closely, even bend down. And he saw the miraculous way Brodie could lift the weight that dangled between his legs on a short chain.

Deeply embedded in his cute round butt was a plug he held with his sphincter. The chain, attached to the plug, holding the weight, wanted to pull the plug out, and Brodie had to concentrate to clamp his asshole tight. The school wanted their boys to have tight, muscular holes, but in full control. A boy needed to be able to relax at will, to open his ass fully, to take a fist or a doubledicking, while, at the same time, he had to be able to tighten his ass to really milk a dick and drive the fucker crazy.

And the gym coaches were responsible to reach those goals.

Coach Petersen what was one of the best in this field of expertise, and as Mr. Smyth-Carrington had pulled some strings to get the man out of prison, were he served a 10 year sentence for molesting boys he should be training, the Coach was more than glad and very loyal ever since. The steady flow of fresh boys to fuck were a nice extra for him, and the Headmaster saw a smiling coach, watching Brodie, his dick in hand. After the workout, the Headmaster was sure, would the Coach fuck the boy into oblivion. Brodie had no other appointments till later tonight.

The only duty was planned for the later evening, and Brodie was asked to attend a session of the Art class taught by Mr. Vernier. The french artist was famous for his realistic studies, almost always showing good looking boys and men, usually portrait in garments that made them look like painted in the old times. Vernier painted in the Renaissance style, influenced by great Artists like Michelangelo or Leonardo da Vinci, showing well muscled boys in their full glory. Like those great painters he was focused on detail, but he did not follow their example depicting pitifully small genitals. His boys were hung.

Another passion of his followed Da Vinci as well, since Mr. Vernier invented machines. No flying objects, no obscure devices to make gold, like depicted in fantasy films, no, his machines were practical, elegant, mostly surprisingly simple but also efficient. While Brodie would be modeling tonight, he would be riding Mr. Verniers newest machine, at first sight a simple bar stool, but equipped with a clever mechanism to push a dildo right into a boy’s ass.

Mr. Smyth-Carrington was looking forward to this sensation, since Mr. Vernier had told him the surprise was the possibility to change the devices size, in length and girth. Brodie would not have a comfortable ride, Mr. Vernier told the Headmaster chuckling nasty. The boys facial expressions would be a sight to behold.

Brodies Uncle could not attend, but the cameras would show everything in detail, on several channels to chose from, showing any possible angle. The sweating boy would be made to work his ass all the way, and he would be shown grunting and moaning, gritting his teeth and struggling on the chair. The artist had used several great nudes as examples, like the oil painting “Saint Sebastian” of the artist Agnolo Bronzinos, depicting the young lover of a rich man who had ordered the picture.

Mr. Vernier had developed the style, and now his paintings showed nudes of more muscular boys, not sitting relaxed but a little more determined. The new fuck stool was a perfect prop for the new picture, that much was sure. He sometimes even painted scenes inspired of the Spanish Inquisition, but not today.

And the other men, pretending to be artists as well, paid a huge amount of money to watch, and later, fuck the model. Business created business, and those men, paying to see Brodie struggle on the chair, would later maybe offer to sponsor a boy for the night, to be able to check the schools teaching techniques first hand. At least this was the way those things were called here.

It was a coincidence that the Headmaster just today had remembered a video file a good friend had sent him some time ago. Inspired by the new device that would be used first in tonight’s art class, he browsed through his files and found the video. It showed the two twin sons of a man who was sometimes working with the school, Percy and Zeus. They had filmed an encounter with a boy they had picked up at random, and the Headmaster jumped right forward to the scene he wanted to watch again. The boy Sammy would never be leaving the clutches of the boy’s dad’s company again.

The screen showed this:

The boys just reached and entered one particular room in their house, the Borgia suite, which was decorated in the style of the late 14th century Italy. In the middle of the room was a chair, or more a throne, made of black ebony wood, with inlays of gold.

“Wow whats that ... hell ... real gold?” Sammy touched the chair, and he was impressed.

“Man that thing costs a fortune huh? Can i sit in it?”

Percy and Zeus looked at each other as if they had to think and than nodded. “ Sure, why not?”

The chair seemed fragile but it was extremely solid. It could hold Sammy’s big muscled body without any problem. Actually, the chair was no original, but the original masterpiece was in their Dad’s house. This one was a cleverly constructed high tech device of carbon fiber, titanium and electronics.

Sammy grunted in surprise as his hands, arms and legs suddenly got trapped by rigid metal bands. Looking golden but made of pure titanium they could have held Hercules in place. Sammy had no chance.