0 comments/ 25383 views/ 3 favorites Paint By: Cosmic The Cat My sister Becky says I have the easiest job in the world. I'm paid fifty quid a day to stare into space, to dream, to doze, to fantasise. Fair enough, I have to take my clothes off sometimes, but not always. Today, I'm naked, sprawled across a chaise-lounge, one leg draped elegantly over the edge so my foot rests lightly on the floor. Almost like Manet's Olympia, one hand is placed on my belly, the other draped across the back of the settee. A brocade cushion supports my head, my hair all over the place as he arranged it. It was wet when I came in, thanks to the rain. I asked if he wanted me to dry it but he likes it like that, falling in ringlets he says he can pose it better. My face is turned towards him - Ben. I've been here an hour already and I've only just realised this is the first time he's posed me so that I can actually watch him while he paints. He has done my back several times, had me sitting with my head turned away, painted me in profile too, but this is the first time he's painting me full on. I wonder whether I'm going to be able to recognise myself in this one. It's more than a job to me, this… it's my future. I'll be famous one day, a muse like Lizzie Siddal – recognisable as a beautiful young woman long after I'm old and grey – long after I'm dead, too, probably. "No smile." Ben's voice is abrupt and almost makes me jump. It's been so quiet for ages, no sound except the swooshing of the paint on the canvas, and the pattering of the rain on the huge skylights above my head, his voice feels like a brutal interruption of my world. I can't reply – I'm not allowed. So I allow my face to drift back into the expression he gave me at the start – waste and void, waste and void. That's what he wants… space and peace. I'm not used to watching him – this is a rare treat for me. I'm well accustomed to staring at a patch on the wall, a picture, a focus, something to stop my eyes from wandering. This time I get to look at Ben. He's truly very tasty, in an intense sort of way. He keeps his black hair cropped close so that it doesn't flop in his eyes, which are dark blue and almost frightening if you don't know he's an artist. The way he looks at you. He frowns while he paints, looking up at me constantly, expressions chasing each other across his face. Outside the rain is smattering against the windows, in here it's getting very hot. He stops and swigs from a bottle of water, moving out from behind the canvas to walk slowly around me. I know better than to move. I'm thirsty too, but I'm too professional to show it. It seems to be getting warmer in here, I can feel my skin getting damp. I don't need to tell Ben, if he notices the sheen on my skin he'll probably throw open the window to cool me off again. As he moves around the room he stops at my feet. I can't see him because I'm facing the canvas, and I wonder what's fascinating him there. He's standing almost next to my knee – I can see his shape at the edge of my vision. I realise he's looking at my pussy, exposed as it is. Suddenly he's back in my view again, stripping off his white, paint-splashed tee shirt and discarding it like a rag on the floor. His back is tanned and muscly, sweaty too, and I can smell him – masculine tang, deodorant, soap – something like that. He's stripped off his top before but never where I can watch him. Now, as he returns to the canvas, I'm suddenly distracted from my quiet dozing and nothingness. "What are you thinking?" he asks. Am I supposed to reply to that, or not? I glare at him without moving – I'm not going to speak or he'll be cross with me. He's looking me steadily in the eyes, comes round from behind the canvas and squats in front of me so I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. His eyes stare right into my soul. I feel my cheeks flush. I'm used to being naked in front of him, but I'm not used to him being this close. His face creases into a broad smile, revealing his even white teeth. He's unnervingly beautiful when he smiles like that. "Your eyes give you away, Sally, your eyes tell me no lies." "What do you mean?" I ask softly, trying not to move, trying not to breathe. He cocks his head on one side and says, "you watch me. Watch." He rocks back so he's sitting on the floor in front of me, his knees up. His eyes are locked on mine. "Ready?" he asks. I'm still not moving. With one hand he unbuttons those dreadful grubby cargo pants that sit loosely on his tanned hips, one button after another, until his flies are open and I can see he's wearing no underwear. At first there's just a dark fur of pubic hair, then I see that he's hard as hell, his cock revealed in all its glory just as he laughs. "I knew it. Your eyes. Your pupils are dilating. How can I paint like that?" I can't tell if he's angry or turned on, or laughing at me for revealing my lust. I'm entirely passive here, but under my skin I'm fuming, and unbearably aroused by the glimpse of his impressive cock. He springs back up to his feet and saunters back to the canvas, swaggering a little, holding those cargo pants up with his left hand, his paint brush in the other. Then he stops, turns and looks at me again with his head on one side, regarding. "I want to fuck you, Sally," he says casually, as if he'd asked me to turn my head slightly. He drops his brush to the table and picks up another, a sable-hair one he uses for watercolour sketches. "You can leave if you want," he says, his voice low and throaty, "you go now and there will be no problem. You stay here, I'm going to fuck you." I'm going nowhere. He lets go of the waistband of his trousers and they drop to the floor, where he steps out of them and leaves them where they fell. His body is lovely, tanned and hard and solid, and his cock stands straight up, challenging, unashamed. I can't help but let out a little gasp. He squats in front of me again, meeting my eyes, and I almost jump out of my skin as I feel the sable-hair brush touch my belly. He paints a leisurely line up my body, across my chest, circling my nipple which springs into hardness as if by command. The pressure is so light I can scarcely feel it, the tip of the brush grazing the valley between my breasts, down my middle, circling my navel, then down, swerving left onto my thigh, all the way down to my knee. His eyes leave mine and I watch them travel down my body following the path of his brush. I still haven't moved, as if moving will break the spell, but when I feel the brush moving inside my thigh I close my eyes and suck in my breath in a long gasp. The brush dips into my wetness as if into hot paint and as it trails back up my body it leaves a line of moisture on my hot skin. There's a clatter as the brush drops to the floor and his tongue is following the path it made, tasting my juices on my own skin, following the trail down my thigh and inside. As his tongue probes my pussy I can't help moving, opening my legs to give him access. Not quite cheating yet. When his fingers move gently inside me I move my hand at last, to the back of his head, to guide him as he moves against me. I think he's been waiting for me to move, it's a kind of signal… He scoops my bum with both his hands and pulls my bottom round so I'm sitting on the edge of the couch, upright. He lifts his head and kisses me, I can taste my juices on his wet face. His tongue explores my mouth then licks across my face, tasting my eyelids, my cheekbones, my nose… He's holding his cock in his right hand, rubbing his hand slowly up and down the shaft, until at last he guides it down to my pussy before thrusting himself inside me with force. Outside the rain continues to pour, drumming against the skylights in time with the drumming in my head, the pulsing of his body against mine, the low buzz of the lights. I've forgotten all about being his muse, his Lizzie Siddal, and suddenly I am just a tangle of nerve endings and throbbing sex. He devours me, my face, my neck, biting, sucking, chewing at my skin. When he comes he cries out against my throat and throws himself into me one last time. His whole body spasms against me and he lies very still. I've gone back to my policy of not moving in case it spoils the moment. Reality floods back and I notice a moth is fluttering around the lamp, damaging itself, shedding moth powder in little clouds with every crash. My heart is thudding hard but slows, my breathing returns to normal. I'm waiting for him to move. I can feel his cock subsiding inside me until it slips away. At last he raises his head and regards me again with that inquisitive pose. "Don't move." He commands, as if he was still posing me. Taking care not to disarrange my tangled limbs, he stands and takes three steps back. I can almost see my reflection in his eyes. My lips puffed from those frantic kisses, my cheeks flushed and damp with exertion, my chest pink with that sex flush I get when I'm aroused. My nipples are still hard and wet with his saliva. My legs spread, showing him my proud cunt, open and sated, with a slow trickle of our combined liquor running lazily down one thigh. He smiles, retrieves the paintbrush and runs it slowly up the inside of my thigh again, wetting it with the juice. Then he returns to the canvas and continues in silence, using the added moisture with the paint, just a slow smile remaining as evidence that he's enjoyed himself. Hours later, he tells me he's finished for today, and allows me to dress. For a while I've been wondering what this new development means. I'm wondering if his sudden sexual release might have stoppered up his artistic creativity. I am, after all, just his model. I can't pretend to be any more. He used me just as he might have used a plate he'd painted as a still life. I'm not offended, or even disappointed. In a way, I'm proud. Proud too that there is more of me in that painting than people will ever realise. When I'm dressed he allows me to see the painting, and even at that one glance I can tell it's one of the best he's ever done, certainly the best one he's done of me. He has captured the desire. I look at the canvas and up at his face. His eyes are shining with exhaustion and excitement. "Can you come again tomorrow?" He asks, his voice hushed. I find myself smiling at that wonderful double meaning. "Of course," I reply, "if you want me." Fifty quid, I think, walking out into the rain, and a whole lot more besides. Paint Elle was frustrated with her painting; no matter how hard she tried she couldn't make it look exactly like the still-life set up in the middle of the classroom. Honestly art just wasn't really her thing. But everyone at the college had to take at least one art course no matter what their major and she had chosen painting. She had stayed late today with a plan to really buckle down and finally get this painting right. So far, not so good. She was tired and tense and frustrated and the painting looked just as stiff and wooden as ever. She wasn't alone in the art room today. Another student from her class, a boy named Skye, was there as well. Actually he stayed late after every class. Not to fix his awful paintings like Elle, but because he loved painting, it was his thing. He was really good, too. His still-lifes didn't just look like the things they were supposed to, they were graceful and poetic. Elle couldn't figure it out. She put down her paintbrush and sighed in frustration, pushing her hair off her forehead. "Having trouble?" Skye asked, looking over at her from behind his easel. "Can you tell," she replied, sarcastically. "I just can't seem to get it right. No matter how hard I try something is always off. I might just start over again." She sat down on a chair and stared morosely up at her painting. Skye came around and stood behind her chair, looking at the painting. "It looks stiff," he said. Elle nodded her agreement. "I think you're trying too hard. You're like, all wound up, trying to control this thing. You have to let go and let the painting work with you." Elle snorted and shook her head. This was exactly the kind of artsy bullshit she hated. "Ok here, stand up and lean on me," he said, moving to stand behind her. "No I'm serious, lean on me, relax your shoulders and try to open up. Feel your chest just open up and let out all the emotions that are bottled up in there. " Elle shook her head, what nonsense. But seriously she needed the help. Elle tried to relax. She closed her eyes and leaned back against his chest. She tried to concentrate on the emotions in her chest but all she could think about was the feel of him, pressed up against her. He was so warm and his strong arms brushed against hers, holding her up. She was trying to figure out what he smelled like, like a warm bed but not so innocent. "Ok," he murmured, right by her ear. "Now feel your chest just open up and let all the emotions out, concentrate on them." And for just a moment she could almost feel it. It wasn't a powerful rush of emotions but it was something, something beautiful and delicate, unfurling from her chest where it had been tightly curled up for her whole life. She sighed, relieved and amazed that the exercise had worked. "Now," he breathed, watching her peaceful face, "What did it look like? Don't tell me! Paint it" and he released her back onto her own feet. Without thinking about it at all Elle picked up a clean brush and mixed a lemon yellow with the tiniest bit of warm red, softening it, and began to paint on a new canvas. She painted a delicate golden ribbon, curling and wafting over the blank canvas. She tried to think about what she had felt like and translate that into an image. She worked silently for a long time, carefully drawing out her feelings on the page. When she felt like she was finished with the golden shape she looked at the picture and decided that what it needed was blue. She cleaned her brush and started painting blue. She painted for a long time, quietly concentrating but in a state of calm reverence. She wasn't worried about it tuning out right because there was no right or wrong in this painting. After a while Skye went back to his own easel and Elle gave him a grateful smile. Eventually Elle realized that it was getting dark outside. She put down her brush and flexed her cramped fingers. They had been working for hours. She took a step back and looked at the painting. It was certainly different from her other work. It was playful and full of color but at the same time very graceful and refined. Skye came over to see and stood looking with her. "Wow," he said. "Who knew all that was locked away in here." And he gently placed one hand on her chest, between her breasts. Elle's heartbeat quickened at his touch. She placed her hand on top of his and looked into his eyes. "Thank you," she said with complete sincerity. "You have no idea how much you helped me." He grinned at her. "I knew you had it in you. You just need to loosen up! You know..." he said, taking a step towards Elle, invading her personal space. "Despite our little therapy session you still look a little wound up to me." "I do?" she asked in mock surprise. Her heart was pounding and she felt her skin flush. Skye must surely be able to feel it with his hand still pressed to her chest. He took another step and brought his other hand up to cup her face. "You know what I find to be very relaxing?" he asked, stepping still closer. "Meditation?" she asked, still trying to turn this into a joke even though she knew what was coming, craved what was coming. Skye grinned and shook his head right before he kissed her. His soft lips caressed hers and she inhaled the scent oh him. His smell made her feel like she had just woken up in bed next to him. As his tongue darted into Elle's mouth, he snaked an arm around her waist and she relaxed into him. Elle kissed him back, and slowly, carefully she explored his body with her fingertips. Under his soft flannel shirt the muscles of his chest were warm and taut, barely yielding to her caress. She felt the rippling muscles in his arms as he shifted to hold her better. She brushed her fingertips across the stubble on his strong jaw. And the whole time all Elle could think about was painting. She wanted to paint him; but not the way he looked, just the way he felt and the way he made her feel. The hot rush of blood to her clit was like a red swell with purple edges his warm breath on her cheek a pink wash. Elle felt drunk with this newfound release of emotions and she just wanted more. She wanted to experience more feelings with Skye and watch as they bloomed as colors, textures and patterns behind her own eyes. She snaked her fingers into his hair and pulled gently, kissing him hard and biting his bottom lip. Skye growled against Elle's mouth and grabbed her hips, pushing her back onto the big wooden table behind them. She lay back on the varnished wood, covered in hundreds of gobs, spatters and smears of dried paint, accumulated over countless years. Elle tousled his hair as Skye broke their kiss to bite her earlobe, her neck her collarbone. She sucked in gasps of cool air and thought about ice blue swirls of paint. His hands were everywhere, touching her in a hot fury, squeezing her breast and pushing up her skirt. Now who needed to relax? Elle sat up and grabbed hold of Skye's searching hands. She gave him a slow, languid smile to show she wasn't angry. He was breathing hard, his breath coming in huffs against her neck from his wet, open mouth. Elle kissed him slowly on the mouth, keeping hold of his hands. She tasted him thoroughly, feeling the textures of his lips and tongue. He groaned and kissed her back, pressing himself between her legs so she could feel how much he wanted her. Elle released his hands and traced her fingers down his neck, following them with her lips. She inhaled his scent, tracing the tip of her nose down the line of his neck to his shirt collar. Skye encircled her gently with his arms and stroked up and down her back, his head bent forward beside hers, enjoying the attention. Resting her forehead in the crook of his neck, Elle ran her palms down his chest, feeling the ripples of muscle beneath his shirt until she reached the top of his jeans. She wriggled two fingers inside and deftly undid the button. No going back now, she thought. Skye sighed and bit her ear, sending hot yellow needles of excitement through her brain. Elle leaned back so he could kiss her lips as she slowly, slowly unzipped his pants. She could feel his hot, hard member pulsing through the cotton of his boxers as Elle undid the zipper. Skye shuddered when she touched it with her fingertips and he tightened his grip on her hips. She could feel the slick wetness between her own legs now and she longed to be touched there. As she lightly ran her fist up and down Skye's erection he carefully laid her down on the table again. He unbuttoned her blouse, kissing her skin as more and more of it was exposed to his lips. When her shirt fell open he ran his hand down the unbroken strip of smooth white skin, making her shiver. He nudged her shirt aside with his nose as his eager lips sought her nipples, taut little peaks just aching for him. When he caught the first one in his mouth and flicked an expert tongue over the tip she almost cried out at the sudden burst of pleasure. She managed to stifle it to a soft groan. He smiled wickedly up at her and moved to her other breast. Elle tried to let herself relax like they had been talking about earlier and just feel. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensations Skye was producing on her body and the emotions they elicited from her. She stretched her arms above her head and pretended she was painting with these beautiful sensations. His tongue flitting down her chest was teal feather-strokes, she would use a small brush; his warm, rough hand on her thigh was a bold block of burnt umber. When his thumb stroked over her clit beneath her damp panties she whimpered at the beautiful sharp shapes of pleasure in her mind. Skye carefully removed Elle's panties and stroked a finger through her thick silky folds. Elle moaned and stretched. She felt amazing. He wiggled a finger into her hot, tight hole and flicked his tongue over her swollen clit. Elle shuddered and squeezed his finger. She felt so ready. He pumped his finger in and out a little and was pleased when she responded by opening up and resting her foot up in the table edge. Skye stood up and gazed down at the beauty before him, squeezing her perfect little tits again. She reached down and stroked him, pulling him towards her, wanting him inside of her. He bent forward to kiss her again and let her little hand guide him inside. She broke the kiss when he entered her, gasping the blue air as he slowly pushed inside her slick tight tunnel. He filled her up and all she could think of was yellow and a burst of red when his cock hit that special spot deep inside on every stroke. She pulled her legs up to take him even deeper and she kissed him as he slid deep into her again and again. She knew something big was coming she wondered what her orgasm would look like as a painting. It was getting closer and closer, every thrust nudged her clit a little bit, sending a lightning green spark through the yellow pleasure. When she was almost there Skye suddenly bit her lip and pushed into her hard, his own orgasm exploding inside her. Elle came in a brilliant flash of green light. Her tight walls contracted around him holding tight to the source of her pleasure. Golden waved rolled over her as Skye kissed her lips and her neck, pushing in and out of her a few more times. Finally they both lay spent; sweaty and panting on the painting table. Skye groaned pulled out of her, standing up. "Oh my God," Elle breathed, staring up at the ceiling. "I have so much I want to paint." Skye chuckled. "I told you you needed to relax. Maybe I should charge a fee." Elle cast an exasperated look at him and hopped up to grab a paintbrush. Paint I had finally found the perfect apartment. Even though it was a bit more than I wanted to spend, I knew as soon as I walked in that it was mine. I moved in full of decorating ideas and motivation, hell bent on starting my "new life" the right way. Then I slept for a week straight. Then I went back to work. Six months later and I was still living out of boxes. Then it hit me again; the motivation. I was coming up on another much needed week off of work, and decided that it was finally time to make this apartment my home. It really was in a perfect location, and the building had some fantastic perks. The apartment across from me was vacant; the owner not wanting to live in it but not wanting to be rid of it, either. Next to me was an older couple that traveled often, visiting with family all over the country. When they were home, Mrs. Graham would bring me homemade blueberry muffins and bread that was absolutely delicious. The apartment above me housed a small family, but they were relatively quiet except for the occasional pitter patter of little feet running around. And then there was Ben. Living in the apartment diagonally from me, he always seemed to be handy whenever I was carrying something heavy. The first time he helped me was with groceries, and when the handle broke on one of the bags and my pack of chicken fell to the floor of the hallway that separated our apartments, he picked it up and commented on how he made an amazing chicken alfredo. I commented that I was a horrible cook, thanked him after he deposited my groceries on the kitchen counter, and then he took his leave. The next time, I was carrying a small end table that someone had left out with the garbage. He came out and took it from me, commenting on how he had once saved an entire living room set from the garbage man and restored it to it's former beauty. I had planned on painting it and putting a plant on it, and told him as such. He came in and placed it in the corner I asked him to, I thanked him, and he took his leave. In the six months since I had moved in, Ben had enlightened me on many of his skills, be it plumbing, art, how fast he could read a book, downing beers, and even how well he could wrap a present. It came to no surprise to me as I walked towards my door with two gallons of paint and a bag full of supplies that Ben presented himself, reaching for the paint that I had already began to hand to him. "Let me guess; you're a genius when it comes to house painting?" He grinned at me as he fell into step beside me, allowing me to dig in my purse for my keys. "Why, yes. How did you know?" I chuckled as I unlocked the door, entering the room and holding the door open for him to come in, since it tended to close all by itself. He made his way into the living room while I turned to the kitchen to deposit my purse on the counter. "Well, my oh my. Looks like someone is finally going to make this place a home." I walked into the living room and flung my jacket over my plastic covered furniture, all cluttered in the middle of the large room. I stood beside him and put my hands on my hips, looking up at the high ceilings and letting out a sigh. "It's time." "Well, I have a prior engagement this morning, but I'll be back around three-ish to give you a hand," he said as he made his way to the door. "Oh, Ben, no. I mean...wait...you know what? I would love the help. And it's about time you show me some of these skills you keep going on and on about." He had turned around at the door when I had started to speak, and smiled when I agreed to take his help. "Might be closer to three thirty-ish," he said over his shoulder right before he closed the door behind him. I smiled, and then turned back to my high ceilings and the three windows I needed to tape up. I could feel the look of determination take over my face and I turned towards the bedroom to change. I put on some old jeans and a tank top, but it was still a little chilly since it was early spring, and found my favorite, old Alice and Chains long sleeve shirt that had seen better days. I had finished a lot of prep work the night before while I couldn't sleep, so I was able to get right to taping up the windows. I opened them, and then went to the kitchen to get the tape. I grabbed my MP3 player and put it on random, placing it in the boom box looking speaker set my sister had given me for my birthday. I smiled as the first song boomed through, heavy and fast paced metal that instantly got me pumped up and ready to conquer. Before I knew it I had all the windows taped up, the tarps placed on the floor, and I was working on painting around the third large window. It had warmed up as the day progressed, and had to take off my long sleeve. I was singing along to a song in full gusto when I heard another voice join in the chorus and turned around. Ben was crouched down and stirring the gallon of paint I had opened, smiling at me as he sang along in a loud and clear voice. I came down the ladder and went over to the boom box, turning the volume down just enough to make conversation possible. "Good at singing too, eh?" I smiled, and he smiled back while shrugging a little. "What can I say?" He pulled out a paint pan and started putting together a long arm roller that he must have brought over with him. He was dressed just as messy as me, his jeans stained with paint and oil and his shirt matching. I had an unfortunate weakness for forearms, and I could see the muscles of his working as he put the roller together and had to turn my gaze elsewhere, otherwise I would have become utterly distracted. He poured some paint into the paint pan and I knew he was ready to get down to business. I turned the music back up and went back to my ladder. We spent the rest of the afternoon painting our asses off. We worked well together. My music went back and forth between metal, 90's rock, and female angst. There were many times I heard Ben laugh at a song and I would look over at him and he would be looking at me, shaking his head. Other times he would be singing along and bobbing his head along to the beat. As the sun started to set we were finished, and Ben took the pans and brushes down to the basement to rinse off. I tidied up everything else, and when I had finished he had returned. I was looking at the room, turning in slow circles to take it in. I had chosen a deep red; not too dark and not to bright. It was perfect and I smiled. "It really is an amazing color, Marie. Especially with the sun coming through the way it is right now." I was standing in the light of one of the windows, and looked over my shoulder to smile at him. He smiled back, and then looked around at the walls again. "So, I am pretty sure I owe you dinner for your labor," I said. "Should I order Chinese? I don't feel like going out with paint in my hair." I made my way to the kitchen, and heard him follow slowly behind me. "If we are getting Chinese, then I insist on going to pick it up from a place I know. It's the best." I laughed a little and dug into my purse to get him my credit card. When I turned to hand it to him he was right behind me, and I was startled for a moment by his closeness. I held the card up between us, and looked up slightly to make eye contact with him. "Just tell me it isn't too far. I'm starving." Being this close I could notice the flecks of green in his eyes, and a few little dots of paint on his face. "You've got red on you," I said while pointing at his face, quoting a line from Shaun of the Dead. He chuckled, reaching up and rubbing the side of his face, looking down at his hand to see if it had come off. I took the opportunity to shuffle away from him, and made my way out of the kitchen. "Get some booze!" I yelled over my shoulder and made my way to the bathroom for a shower. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, listening to hear him close the door before I started to undress. This may have been one of the most enjoyable afternoons I had spent with a man. The closeness of him had completely thrown me off, and I had to remember that Ben was just a nice guy, helping a neighbor out. I took a hot shower, soaking for a bit and getting as much of the paint off as my patience would allow. When I was in the bedroom I heard the front door open and Ben's voice announcing his presence. I finished dressing in pajama pants and a tank top, throwing a thin sweater on and putting my hair up in a messy ponytail. When I came out Ben was taking the lids off of the carryout food that he had laid out on a tarp we hadn't used. He must have ran home for a quick shower before bringing the food over because his hair was still wet and he had on clean sweat pants and a t-shirt. "Awwwwww...well aren't we romantic," I said before thinking, and he grinned as he reached behind him and presented a bottle of wine. "We are celebrating," he said while he pulled a wine opener from his pocket. I went to the kitchen and got two wine glasses out of the cabinet and headed back to our indoor picnic. I sat Indian-style across from him, and as I looked around for a fork he handed a package of chop sticks. "Ooooh, spiffy," I said as I pulled them out of the pack and snapped them apart, quickly digging into the food as Ben poured our wine. My eyes rolled into the back of my head when I took my first bite, and I gave him a thumbs up as I stuffed a pot sticker into my mouth. We sat in silence for a short time, just stuffing food into our mouths and making mmmmm sounds at each other. Finally, my initial hunger stuffing was satisfied, and I was able to talk. "I feel like I should be thanking you for dinner instead of the other way around. This is amazing!" He nodded, finished his bite, and then took a drink of wine. "I always find the best food places. Call it a gift." I laughed at him, and then took a sip of the wine. "And the wine, too. Let me guess...another gift?" He shrugged, and I laughed a little more. "Is there anything you aren't good at?" He took another drink of his wine and looked off into the distance, like he was trying really hard to think of something. "Nothing is coming to mind at the moment. I would rather talk about the things I am good at, anyway. Do you like card tricks?" I laughed again as he pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket and started to shuffle them. I got ahold of myself and sat up a little straighter. "Go ahead, then. Amaze me." Ben spent the next hour amusing me. He did a few card tricks, which I had to admit were pretty good, then he said the alphabet backwards. I tried to see him fail by asking him the few riddles I knew, but he figured them out. He then told me some of the dirtiest jokes I had ever heard. When I got up to get another bottle of wine from the kitchen, he ran to his apartment and came back with a guitar, with which he started to play the song More Than Words, which had me erupting with even more laughter. Then we played five hands of poker, he won 4 of them, and I'm pretty sure he rigged the cards so that I won the last one. I was still laughing when Ben stood up and extended his hand to me. I put my wine glass down and grabbed his hand as he helped me up. "What's this about?" I asked as he pulled me up, and he led me to a part of the living room not occupied by plastic covered furniture and tarp picnics. He turned me so that I was facing him and placed his arms at his sides. He looked at me, and I looked back at him with a look of puzzlement on my face. He looked up at the ceiling, and said "I don't know how to slow dance." "Ha!" I snorted, and he looked at me a little offended. I started to walk away, shaking my head as I did so. "Oh no, sir. Nope. I'm not falling for that one." "Not falling for what?" he asked, and I turned and looked back at him. "Seriously? So the plan isn't that I start to teach you, and then we move in close...our bodies close together...and then somehow Unchained Melody comes in softly through the windows...and then we kiss...and we move to the floor...and we are magically naked...and we make sweet love on the floor..." At some point during my rant I had been rolling my eyes and looking at the ceiling, but by this point I had turned my gaze back to him, and he was standing there looking at me with giddy amusement displayed plainly on his face. "I mean, I can make that happen if you want, but I was seriously just confessing something I couldn't do to you. You're the one that mentioned all that other stuff." "Oh." That was all I could say. I pulled my sweater closer around me and looked uncomfortably at anything other than him. "Well, then." "I mean, we could..." "Could what?" "Do...that." "Do what?" "That other stuff you mentioned." "Oh. I mean...do you want to?" He looked at me like I just said the stupidest thing he had ever heard. "I'm a guy, Marie. And you are a very attractive woman. There would be something wrong with me if I didn't want to." "Oh. Right." "Do you want to?" he asked, looking a little apprehensive for a second. "Now?" "Now, tomorrow, next week...I mean in general. Do you want to...with me?" "Well...yes...I suppose so." "You suppose so..." "Yes...I mean yes. I do want to." "Well, ok then..." I blushed a little, and looked away. "Alright." I said, turning my gaze back to him. We stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and Ben's expression started looking less amused and more serious. I took a tentative step towards him, and he quickly closed the space between us, startling me slightly. We hadn't broken eye contact, and he stood just a few inches from me, not touching. He looked down at my lips, and started to slowly ease himself towards me, but I was too impatient for that. I flung myself at him, throwing my arms over his shoulders and pulling him hard against me as our lips met. He let out a surprised sounding "Umph," as my body collided with is, but soon after his arms were tight around me, our kiss quickly escalating from just a contact of lips to tongues and teeth and moans. He had turned me and started to back me up against the wall, but I broke away just long enough to mumble "Paint!" before his mouth was on mine again. He turned me in the direction of the hallway, and hefted me up so that I could wrap my legs around him as he walked quickly down the hall to the bedroom. He took only a few steps into the bedroom before he ran into a barricade of boxes and tried to make his way around them without breaking contact with me. I started to chuckle against his lips and he broke away to look down and around him. "What in the bloody hell, woman? How difficult are you trying to make this for me?" I laughed loudly now, unwrapping my legs from around him and sliding down the front of him to place my feet on the floor. "It wasn't like I had this planned!" I turned my back to him and bent over to push some boxes out of the way and make a path to the bed. Before I could slide the boxes two feet I felt his hands on my hips as he pulled me back against him. I felt the hardness of him against me, and a surge of heat went through me and collected at my center. I pushed back against him and shifted up and down slightly. His grip on my hips tightened and he let out a deep sound; something between a moan and a growl. He bent himself over me, sliding his right hand down the front of my pajama pants while the left slid under my tank top and wrapped around me to cup my right breast. He straightened himself while bringing me with him, his fingers starting to roll my nipple and making me jolt against him and draw a quick intake of breath. Ben started planting light kisses along my neck, making his way up to my ear. "Did you think that sweater would hide that you were braless? Or did you do this on purpose?" He released my nipple and moved his hand to my other breast, letting it fill his hand entirely before he began to knead it. I couldn't talk. It was all I could do to control my breathing so I wasn't panting like a dog. He lightly scraped his teeth along my neck as he started to roll my other nipple between his fingers, and I felt my legs start to go weak. I reached up behind me to grasp the back of his neck for balance, and the hand that had started to make it's way under my pajama pants started to slide lower down. I could feel how wet I was, and I couldn't wait for him to feel what he had done to me. His middle finger slid easily between my lips and directly found my clit, making me tense up and my hips thrust forward reflexively. He made a deep and satisfying sound into my neck as he slid his finger back up, and slid two fingers back down. I let out a loud moan, louder than I had expected it to be, and those two fingers moved up and down slowly...achingly slow...torturously slow. They would linger on my clit as they moved, and after about the fifth or sixth pass I was utterly on fire. And then the fingers were still, forcing me to move against them to keep the sensation going. Ben's arm around me tightened as I moved, pushing me against him so I could feel him getting harder and harder against my ass as I moved up and down. I hadn't noticed I was making frustrated noises until he removed his lips from my neck long enough to whisper "Shhhhhhh," into my ear. As I calmed down he began to move his fingers in a circular motion, and I started to see stars. I had never come standing up before, and I suddenly had a fear of collapsing on the floor. "Ben..." I whimpered, feeling the orgasm building inside of me. His arm wrapped even tighter around me, making me feel confined, helpless, and completely safe, all at the same time. "Shhhhhh," he whispered again, as the circular motions stopped and he began sliding is two fingers very fast up and down my clit. I called out, digging my heals into the floor and leaning back against him completely as tremor after shattering tremor exploded over my body. The warm, liquid feeling of my orgasm engulfed every muscle of my body, and soon I was a glowing ball of dead weight that this man was somehow holding up. I got my feet back under me somehow and slowly eased myself away from him. I slowly turned myself around to face him, and before I could say it, Ben said "That was amazing." I placed my hands onto his chest and moved them over his shoulders as I pulled him against me, kissing him deep and slow. His arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me even closer to him, and soon our movements started to get frantic and impatient. He had ripped my sweater from my shoulders right before I broke away from the kiss to pull his shirt over his head. I took my own shirt off before slamming back into his body, our flesh hot. I grabbed the waist band of his sweats and started to pull him back toward the bed, kicking boxes aside that held nothing more important to me than having him inside of me at that moment. I must have been moving fast because when the back of my thighs hit the bed, I sat abruptly. I took the opportunity to lay back and lift my ass off the bed to take off my pajama pants. Ben used it as well to take his sweat pants off, and when he did, all I could do was stare. He was big, thick, and veiny, and I felt a wave of fresh juices flow from me at the thought of him burying himself inside of me. I spread my legs wide, but instead of climbing on top of me, he knelt down. "What...what are you doing?" "I need a taste...just a taste..." and he buried his face between my legs. I was still very sensitive from the last orgasm, and as he moaned with delight against my folds, his tongue lapping at my wetness, I felt a very strong orgasm come out of nowhere. My hands went to the back of his head as I arched against his face, my moans reverberating off of my undecorated walls. I felt like putty. I vaguely remember him climbing on top of me, but every part of me awakened as I felt him start to ease his beautiful cock inside of me. I didn't open my eyes as the first inch entered me, or the second; I could only mumble "Yes...yes...yes...yes," over and over. Deeper and deeper he went, slowly, and right when I thought he couldn't go anymore, he went even further. My eyes opened wide and I looked up at him with my mouth wide open in amazement, and just a little delightful pain. Paint He pulled out slightly and slowly thrust himself back in, and my hands went to his back and my nails took hold. He pinned me down with is weight then, and locked his lips onto mine. I could taste myself on him, and I moaned deeply into his mouth. I met every thrust of his with a thrust of my own, at least as much of a thrust as I could muster with his weight pinning me down. At one point he thrust into me very hard and deep, and I let out a yelp of surprise and pain. He eased up off of me, obviously concerned that he had hurt me. "I'm sorry...are you okay?" The concern evident on his face. I slide my hand down his back and dug my fingers into the cheeks of his ass, pulling him towards me and deep inside of me. The little bit of pain made the pleasure even more pleasurable, and he could see it on my face. He thrust into me hard, and my yelp this time ended in a moan. Something changed in his eyes, and he reached behind him to remove my hands from his ass and pinned them above my head. When he pulled out and slammed himself back inside of me, I could tell I was the wettest I had ever been. As he entered me roughly, over and over, our sounds turned from sexual to something animalistic, and when I came for the third time I screamed into his shoulder as I bit down, and he released my wrists as his body collapsed onto mine, load after load pumping deep inside of me. We were both out of breath, but I didn't want him to move. I moved my arms from above my head and wrapped them around him, dragging my fingernails lightly up and down his back as our breathing slowed. He let out a contented sigh, and I let one out as well. "Have I ever told you that..." "If you say anything other than 'I make an amazing sandwich,' I don't want to hear it." Paint a Picture "I've been thinking about you a lot lately." "Yea? Have you been fantasizing?" "Yea. I keep thinking about how you'll look in your military uniform after boot, all the things we can do with your BDU belt." "What else?" "I've been thinking about how much this all turns me on: the sneaking around, the text sex while I'm at work. It makes me so hot that this is so bad. Do you think about it? Do you think about how bad you want to pin me against a wall, or the sly grin on my face when you walk in a room?" "I think about a lot more than that, but why do you want me so bad? Doesn't your man keep you satisfied? I know you think about me when you're with him." "It's different. You tell me I bring out the animal in you. That's exactly what this is: carnal. Forget love. Forget right and wrong. This is nothing more than lust, and you bring out something I don't want to suppress. I don't want soft tender kisses from you. I want to see all the raw, primal aggression I feel when I'm near you. I don't want you to promise me forever. I want to be carried away by the magnetism between us. I want you to snatch me away from the comfort of my morals and scare me. I want it to scare me, I want it to be uncomfortable, I want it to be hot. Above all, I want it to be bad." "Are you sure that's what you want? Don't test me. Once I go for it I won't stop until I have what I want. You do bring out the beast in me, and I like it. I can definitely scare you. Do you really want that?" "I told you what I want every time we said things to make each other blush. I've fantasized with you in graphic detail. But there's one fantasy that comes to mind when I think about you in your uniform, the one I lust for the most, but you have to visualize it. Shall I paint you a picture?" "Absolutely. I want to know exactly what's got you so excited." "Picture this, and try not to blush tough guy: I'm sitting on your bed, undressed, legs crossed. You're in a white shirt, BDU pants, and boots. You slam the bedroom door shut behind you and walk towards me. With one hand you grab me by the back of my neck, pull my head back, and kiss me hard and deep. Your savage aggression has me going. Still gripping me tight, you push my legs apart with your free hand to play with me. You've stopped kissing me long enough to catch the evil grin you love so much play across my lips. I'm wet, and you know it's because I've been waiting for you, thinking about you. You kiss me again, and I'm holding myself up with one hand and undoing your belt with the other. I finally reach your zipper but you remind me you're the man and we're doing this your way by thrusting your hand hard into me. I gasp, surprised at the sudden force, but then I look into your face and grin. So you want to play rough? You don't want me to see how hot I make you. You don't want me to know how badly you want me, but even though I take the submissive role, I know I make you crazy. You stop playing with me and put my legs around your waist, pushing me down onto your bed with your hard body. I'm getting more and more excited, but you're moving so slowly. I wonder if it's because you're teasing me or because you're enjoying the moment. It's probably both. Now I'm on my back, and you straddle me, a knee on each side of my hips. Pulling my hair with one hand, you keep the other on my torso as if to remind me that you're not letting me up. You hold me down tight as you kiss and bite me. I squirm underneath you in anticipation, but you want this to last. I suppress my anxiety because the more excited I get, the slower you move. You're enjoying the slow and steady torture. You nibble and bite down my neck to my chest. There, you stay biting, pinching, grabbing, biting, till I'm nearly begging. Make me beg. You inch your way down my torso, stroking my belly on your way down. Finally, you slide yourself off the edge of the bed, grab my ankles, and pull me toward you. Slowly, you tease me by biting my thighs, stroking my legs. I'm struggling not to show you how badly I want you. I feel you dip into me slowly, first with your hand, then with your mouth. I'm near hysterics, but I can't show it. I rub my legs on your back through your t-shirt and try to pull your hair, but you pin my wrists onto my stomach with one strong hand. Just a moment ago you were moving so slowly, but now you're getting more and more eager. We're heating up, and you're barely restraining your movements. I feel you move faster and faster inside of me until I'm sweating. You manipulate me and torture me to remind me that you're the man, but I never forgot. Suddenly, you stand and say 'Play with yourself.' I follow your orders as you watch, undoing your zipper. I feel the heat rise in my face as I watch you pull yourself out through your open zipper. This broad shouldered, uniformed man is what I've been lusting for. You step toward me and I move my hands from myself to you. I stand to kiss you, never taking my hand from your hard length. I press my body against you and turn you so that your back is to the bed. You indulge me for a moment and sit down, but I want you against the headboard. You pull me down on top of you and scoot back. I straddle you and your hands grab my ass. Your breathing quickens as I stroke your length, fast, slow, faster again. As I bite your ears, your neck, you grab me harder. You put your hands on my shoulders and press me against you. I get so excited that I think I might break the skin on your shoulders. The feeling of your muscles between my teeth sets me on fire. I want to feel you in me, but I know I can't rush you. We're doing things your way. I stroke faster as I bite harder, but you've had enough. You smack my ass hard and pull my head back by my hair, kissing and biting my throat. I can't take it much longer, so I pull away slowly and trace my way down your torso with my fingertips. I follow your happy trail with my tongue down to your pants, but you don't let me pull them down. I go down and tease as much as you'll let me. With every stroke your body becomes more tense and I become more eager. Soon you grab me and roll me over, pinning my arms over my head. You come down over me and push my legs apart with your knees. I feel you dip inside me slowly, barely entering, slowly pushing in and pulling out. My entire body is shaking with desire. I want to scream for you to take me but before I have a chance you pull me to the edge of the bed and tell me to get on my knees. Now you're standing behind me, and I can tell you're sweating too now as you put one damp hand on my hip. With your free hand you guide yourself in. I can hear you exhale hard as you push in deeper. I gasp, still trembling. Your hands travel now to my chest, rubbing, squeezing, grabbing harder as your excitement grows. Your hand moves down, lower, lower, and you stroke me in rhythm with your thrusts. My breathing is rapid now and I think my legs will give out, but you grab my hips and hold me up. Faster, then slower, then faster again, you grind against me till I think I'll explode. I didn't scream before because I didn't want you to tease me, now I don't scream because I don't have the energy. You pull yourself down over me and I feel your chest on my back, your head between my shoulder blades. I spread my arms out in front of me and dropped down onto the bed, flat on my stomach. You come down on top me, still pressing in tight. I feel your pants rub against my thighs. I think about you in your uniform, picture your strong body, feel you thrusting into me, and I grin because I know I am your weakness. I feel you inside of me, think of you, and drown in a sea of white light, feeling nothing but the seizure inducing explosion you brought on, and your heavy body still moving in me. I probably screamed and barely noticed, but now I hear myself shouting your name, scratching the arm you've wrapped around me. I feel your breathing become more labored and your thrusts getting deeper and faster. Finally you groan and shudder, relaxing your grip on me. Instead of rolling away from me you lay there, head between my shoulder blades, kissing my perspiring back. You pull out and roll away, pulling me with you and holding me tight. I pull away and straddle you. I pull your shirt off first, then your boots. I just want to lay my head on your chest. How was that for a picture?" "Give me a second. My face is still burning."