Organization: St. Dismas Infirmary for the Incurably Informed
Renaissance by davis trell
Michaelangelo hated Leonardo's guts. All on accout of that precocious new artist in town, Raphael. Twenty now, and determined to be a name. He'd been lover to both older men, and aroused great great jealousy between the two.
Raphael had been the model for most of the ignudi on the Sistine Chapel ceiling that Michaelangelo painted. One model and a zillion poses. The expressions varied between orgasm and fear. Crotches open, inviting, and butts thrust out, expecting an imminent rape and anal invasion. But not one erection, as all the preparatory studies were made between sex-acts, Michaelangelo continuing to draw until Raphael was ready to cum again.
Leonardo had been shown the ways of men, two decades earlier in the atelier of Donatello, the famous sculptor and notorius sodomite. For an illustrious client, Duke Medici, Donatello cast a bronze, Leonardo, as David, naked but with helmet and sword, crushing underfoot the satyric Goliath, the portrait of the artist as an old man. It was the first nude that has a sinuous contour and erotic pose for the last thousand years. Leonardo was a perfect model for the sculpture both in body and temperament. With his bedroom eyes and hustler smile he conveyed the power and sexuality of horny youth.
Ironically, Michaelangelo returned to the subject, age conquered by a sexy juvenile, when he sculpted his "Victory", this time with Raphael as the model; and that's when the trouble began. They were the most two unlike peas in a pod. Small, short, stocky, broken nosed Michaelangelo, contrasted to the thinker, ten years his senior, effeminate, sensitive Leonardo.
You have to remember that sodomy was a death penalty crime; where you took your life in your cock. How things little change.
In fact Leonardo himself had once found himself on a buggery charge. He only beat the rap, by dropping his pants, the judge dropped the case.
Raphel always based his compositions on equilateral triagles, and enjoyed the menage-a-trois he'd set up. Him at the center, the older artist vying for his favors.
Their demands on his body differed greatly. Michaelangelo, the barnyard rooster; with his peasant manner he fucked the youth's butt till it was raw, so Raphael would move over to Leonardo's place, where he could do the fucking and give his ass a rest, till he got bored and returned to Michaelangelo and started the circle over again. He learned much from the masters but applied little to his own work. He painted Madonnas, breast-feeding infants with huge big eyes, which of course sold well, to the fat-chested signorinas who thought his art was cute.
Michaelangelo loved the boy and created the "Dying slave", a symbol of orgasm as the statue, holding up an arm to support his head, eyes closed tongue peeking through lips, the other hand petting a nipple, knees buckling, as his ejaculated down his thigh. Circumspection forcing Michaelangelo to miss this detail out. Self-censorship was better than execution, after all. But he'd made Raphael's dick too small, and exaggerated his butt, till it came out quite womanly.
Leonardo was also a mathematician and would combine drawings with graph-like notations of measurements. Raphael, apparently, was thirteen
penis-lengths tall, the unit of measurement Leonardo used. His arm eight penises long, the length of his thigh six, his buttocks three penises wide. Leonardo's ass was two penis wide and three deep. An erection is three penises long, in Raphael's case. The sex was too numerical and so Raphael left, back to his other admirer.
Michaelangelo left a statue unfinished, as Raphel walked in.
"I heard you were taking that shit, Il Sodoma to the unveiling instead of me." said Raffy, with his courtesan smile.
"But you've been away, mi amore,... with that screaming lily, of all people! He paints like a pansy and never hews marble!"
"Tish, so what? Anyway I'm back, and I want to go with you, or you don't get any more of this pussy!" He slapped his rump to emphasise the point.
"Yes, you have a right to see the ceiling, carrisimo, you were my most used model, your image is in every nook and cranny. Tell you what, I'll give you a sneak preview, better than seeing it from the floor, as my scaffold is still there and you can view it in close-up."
They had to lie on our backs up there, the same way he'd painted the three-years in the making, the homo-erotic masterpiece, with it's preponderance of male nudes in throes of sexual ecstasy some of it covert, some overt. Tongues would wag when it was shown. Raphael would look at an individual figure, and remember what had happened before, and after he'd held the pose. Michaelangelo rolled over on top of him, crushing him, and a pig-skin of lapis lazulae burst, covering his ass with the blue paint.
"So, sorry, let me lick you clean," he said with a blue stained mouth. Raffy knew what was coming. It was wonderful feeling the agony and ecstacy as Mike buried his cock deep in his ass. The scaffold shook, the earth moved, but they did not fall.
Il Papa, the Pope was worried. Savranola had written another letter. And ever since the misadventure in the Cascina Bathouse, Pope Julius had reason to be worried. A man in his position, had to worry about blackmail, so he thought he'd talk it over with Il Furioso, his pal, Michealangelo, so went into the Sistine Chapel, where he knew the great artist would be working, painting the finishing touches to the ceiling painting, al secco. He'd been portrayed as God, he with the fine long Grey beard and physique of a stallion, he especially liked the centerpiece of him trying reaching for the sublime Adam, reclinining, looking hot as hell. Blue paint dripped on his aquiline nose and he looked up. The scaffold was shaking, trembling. Il Quako! He ran out, looking for cover.
As usual, Michaelangelo began big and got bigger. Though small of stature he had a Belevedere torso and a cock as big as the one that threatened Lacoon (Where is the umlaut when you need it?). This mortal Jupiter threw forward a thunderbolt, and Apollo-like, Raphael took it into his quiver, liquid arrows of lust. Coitus over, Michaelangelo fell into a gloom, refused to speak and complained of a goiter.
I'm fucking going back to Leo thought Raffy, at least he smiles after sex.
Raphael crossed the courtyard, avoided Bramante with his peephole machine that he used as a drawing aid, walked down the Pont de Vecchio, slipped into the local tavern, drank some Umbrian wine and sauntered over to Leonardo's place. The older artist was into towers and so had rented this odd, almost gothic castle like apartment building down by St. Peter's square.
He opened the oaken door, went up the wooden stairs, all three stories, to the top of the building.
"I've built a machine, a glorious machine." said Leonardo excitedly. Raphael had seen of the madcap's drawings before, but hadn't actually heard of one going beyond the mock-up stage before.
"What does it do?" enquired the youth, bemusedly looking at the wooden slats, hanging cross-wise supported by chain-links of shiny metal.
"I call my invention, Il Butt-trap! Let me show you how it works!" Leonardo said excitedly. "Remove your vestments, quickly! Come over here."
Taking off his outer garments, and then the under ones, Raffy looked at the contraption. It was like a shelf array made of planks of wood, and gingerly he stood back against, as instructed by the inventor. A Brass shackle was locked around the youth's throat, and hands manacled to the sides. Ankles were similarly pinioned, and the back of his body was resting against leather straps which Leonardo, wrapped aroung Raffy's upper torso, midriff and separate thighs and calves. Leonardo moved to one side and rotated a silver wheel, connected to a series of pulleys, and the frame to which Raphael was attached, was turned into a horizontal position. Leonardo grasped yet another wheel, rotated again, and the frame turned again until Raphael faced the floor, hanging some three or four feet above.
"Sunny side up?....or down?" and rotated the wheel again, facing up,legs higher than body at approximately 35 degrees.
"Not high enough." and wheel turned again till Raphael's crotch reached head height. Another wheel turned and Raphael's legs were spread wide apart, just wide enough so Leonardo could stand effortlessly between and sniff Raphael's pubic hairs, or taste Raphael's trenchant dick, or stick a tongue between Raphael's parted buttcheeks. Leonardo alternated between these activities, as Raphael squirmed. This was not the usual way things went at Da Vinci's!
"Ecco, Umberto! Help me! I need you to turn the wheels!" he shouted to his dwarfish hump-backed assistant. "I got the idea studying Foucalt's Pendulum," said the white bearded, balding sage, who removed his cloak and showed a pronounced erection, that had been aided by yet another mechanical device; Il Penis-Enlarger.
Umberto, the hump-backed dwarf responding to his master's command, turned yet another wheel and the frame on which Raphael was ensconced, folded together, forcing Raffy's knees toward his chest. A wheel was spun, and Raphael was lowered backward into a perfect position for rear-entry.
"Mi, bellissimo! You always complain that I'm the compliant one! Today will be different, I shall give to you the pleasure, you've given to me for so many months!" And saying so, stabbed his enhanced dick into Raffy's puckered asshole.
"Umberto! Hit the lever!"
Cogs grinded, gears churned, chains on pulleys tightened, released, pushed, pistoned Raffy against the old man, and did all the work. Leonardo just stood there, occasionally clenching his buttocks and performed a perfect man-ram into Raffy's constantly moving body.
Umberto, having put the wheels in motion, rushed forward, stood behind his master, acted as a buffer, and took the buffeting shocks as Raphael swung back and forth, riding along his master's rock-hard erection, each swing more penetrating than the last. The tempo increased, the anal invasion became more intense as Leonardo buried himself deeper with every swing as the pace increased. Raffy began to moan, nay, groan, nay howl. Finally, Leonardo grabbed hold of Raphael, held him against the forces of the machine, stopped the motion abruptly and came and came into Raffy's hot insides. Trembling, held in an inertia he filled the boy's bowels with a liquid eruption and bathed his cock, the youth's insides, dripping his ejaculation, until he released, the boy swang back, they were disengaged. Raphael unshackled, knees buckling was taken to the bed chamber, to recover and was kissed lovingly on the cheek.
It was a re-awakening, a rebirth. Raphael decided that from now on he would be his own man, he started out hanging out in underground grottoes, fashionable haunts and sought striplings he could dominate, take home, service, subjugate, subsume, overpower, overwhelm and overcome. Sadly he caught a terrible disease and died.
Strange to relate the two older artists, only met once, at Raphael's funeral; they were polite, flattered each other, and went their separate ways. The Renaissance was over.
Savaronola was a religious homophobe burned at the stake; sort of like Jesse Helms on a spit.
God is a magician, Reality His trick, and it's all done with mirrors.