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The Artist

By: Greg_Body



Melody had been the curator at the gallery for nearly fifteen years. During that time, she had seen artists come and artists go. Some gay, some straight but all seemed to be bogged down with emotional baggage of some sort. Maybe that was the reason she was never attracted to any of them. So when she stopped to take a long, hard look at Michael, it came as quite the surprise to feel her heart quicken when he looked back at her with those crystal blue eyes.

Forget it,” she thought out loud, but even from a distance, he still found a way to raise her pulse. Quickly she went back to work, praying that her feelings towards a man fifteen years younger were not exposed.

Melody casually strolled around the floor. For an off-season viewing , the gallery was quite full. Some of it was due to a great deal of marketing but the rest was due to Michael’s work. Every canvas spoke, as if in the middle of beautiful story, he’d taken a snapshot...frozen that exact moment in time. Each were unique in their own right. She stopped in front of her favorite piece: Angel Eyes. A fantastic painting, it stood four feet tall by six feet wide. Michael had mixed a variety of pastels with dark hues to create a sunset of such contrasting colors that even God himself would have to take notes. 

Within that sunset Michael placed a woman high on a cliff, covered only in a flowing mane of blonde hair. Her arms and the wings on her back were lifted into the heavens as she basked in the scene of the cloud-filled sunset that draped her naked body in a cloak of prismatic colors. But to Melody, it was neither the sunset nor the perfect shape of the woman that drew her into the picture, but rather the soft, serene face of that woman. When she’d questioned Michael about the woman, he said he had painted it two years before he arrived in Santa Clara.

His agent had attested to that fact, but still the likeness was uncanny. “Melody, I watched him as he worked on this one,” he’d said. “He was obsessed. He barely ate or slept for three weeks. He said the girl in the picture haunted him. I would tell him to work on something else but he said the vision of the girl plagued his every thought even to the point where he claimed the other unfinished works in his studio refused to be painted until Angel eyes was done.”

At the time, Melody figured Michael was just another whacked-out artist. But when she saw the work, she understood his feelings. 

“Quite the piece.” A voice sounded behind Melody, drawing her back from her study of the painting. “Excuse me?” Melody said coming out of her daydream. She turned to face Ms. Valerie Fitzgerald, a major contributor to the gallery.

“I said ‘quite a piece of work’. It is amazing what he can do with a paintbrush. I can only imagine what he is capable of with his hands.” The smile that shone on her face oozed into a comfortable country club affectation.

“Yes, he is quite the artist.” Melody shook off the crass comments of older women. “But if you will excuse me, I need to make sure his work is admired by everyone.” 

“No problem, my dear. I will go see if that handsome lad needs an assistant to hold his ‘brush’.” She turned her back to Melody and strutted toward Michael, who was in the midst of a crowd discussing one of his sculptures.

Melody turned away angrily not wishing to show her jealousy towards Ms. Fitzgerald’s boldness. Even at her age, Ms Fitzgerald was still prowling for men. It only got worse after her husband died five years ago, leaving her with free time and a substantial sum of money. 

Melody scolded herself. “You shouldn’t care what Michael does. He is a big boy. Besides you aren’t involved with him nor should you get involved with an artist. They are too flighty and this particular artist is ten years younger. You need someone that isn’t some fly-by-night-boy-toy with bulging biceps and a trim waist.” 

Melody continued her canvassing around the room, straightening perfectly straight pictures, ordering about the well disciplined wait staff and for all general purposes fussing over things that normally she would have left alone. After ten minutes she had migrated within earshot of Ms. Fitzgerald and Michael.

“Oh Ms. Fitzgerald. I would love to come over and see your bedroom etchings, as you call them. But I am a jealous lover and you are too sensual a woman to be held captive in the bonds of just one man. It would not be right for me to take you and hide you away from the bouquet of pleasures that you so longingly desire.” Ms. Fitzgerald blushed openly at Michael’s remarks.

“You darling boy. How right you are.” She rubbed Michael’s tight buttocks with her left hand then gave him a loving pat along the back pocket of his black slacks. 

Melody snickered quietly to herself. Michael had masterfully called a woman of Ms. Fitzgerald wealth and power, a harlot and still come out smelling like a rose. 

Ms. Fitzgerald content on finding new prey moved off towards two young men standing at the far side of the Gallery.

“Strikes two and three,” Melody said under her breath as she watched Ms. Fitzgerald approach the handsome young gents. “Those two are gay.” She then approached Michael just as he turned around to reposition the sculpture. 

“I see you met Ms. Fitzgerald.”

“Yes she is quite charming. She said she would buy Angel Eyes if I came over to hang it and look at her private collection of sketches.’

“So are you?”

“No. I didn’t think it would be appropriate.”

Melody stood in amazement. Michael had just said no to a $4000.00 paycheck and a chance to have his work seen by every dignitary that ventured into the great hall of the Fitzgerald estate. 

“Besides,” Michael continued, “I have room in my heart for only one passion.” As he said this he looked directly into her eyes than quickly averted his glance away to the painting behind her.

Heat rose into Melody’s neck and cheeks. “Excuse me,” she stammered, “I need to check on the champagne.” 

Melody quickly exited, tripping over Michael’s foot as she passed him. For the rest of the night she avoided Michael. Not because of what he’d said or how he’d said it, but because of what she’d felt. She dared not fall into the charms of this well built artist with his broad shoulders, tender voice and quite confidence. A man years her junior with a dimpled smile and bright eyes, even if the mere mention of his name made her mind swirl in a hazy fog. She sighed heavily as her daydream of Michael flitted away.

The next morning Melody knocked on Debbie’s door. Debbie was Melody’s assistant, a girl of 25 years, who had graduated with a degree in art. Debbie was an up coming prodigy destined to either replace Melody or move on to a gallery of her own. “She has more energy ,”Melody had convinced herself late last night as she tossed and turned in her bed unable to get Michael’s gaze out of her mind. Deb would make an excellent rep for Michael’s work and her bold ideas would allow his talents to be showcased in such a manner that he could help but get the acclaim he deserves.

“Yes,” came a sweet voice from within.

“Debbie,” Melody stuck her head through the door. “It is high time for you to take on a little more responsibility. Therefore I am putting you in charge of Michael’s next show and all the viewing of his work there after. You can call and tell him today.” Melody quickly closed the door as the tears streaked down her cheeks. 

Weeks went by and Melody acted the constant professional. Cordial in every way toward Michael, but all the while her heart tugged at her mind’s stubbornness. She wanted to be with him. Him and only him. But she dare not even harbor such thoughts. Melody had done her best to distance herself from him, but offering his account to her apprentice had done little to ease her troubled spirit. 

Michael, she felt returned her politeness. He smiled at her when he came to the gallery. He continued to work hard and produced some marvelous work and, as Melody predicted, gained the attention of some high-ranking people in the industry. 

“Oh Melody,” said Debbie the morning after Michael’s show. “You should have seen their faces. The people from the San Francisco Museum of Art. They were here you know. Last night at the show. They loved Michael and his work. It is a shame that you haven’t been feeling well. You know that is the second show you missed this month.”

Melody just smiled, hung her coat on the rack, and went into her office. Behind closed doors she sighed heavily and sat at her desk. And there propped on her day calendar was a hand written note written on the back of a Gallery Invitation. It read: “Good bye, Angel Eyes”

Melody’s heart raced. Was he leaving? Going away? She rushed to Debbie’s office. “I got this note from Michael” she panted outside the doorway “Is he leaving?”

“Yea, tomorrow” came Debbie’s bubbly reply. “He is going to San Francisco to do a showing. Most of his work is being shipped today except the four pieces he sold yesterday and the large panting of the sunset. That one he donated to the gallery as a thank you.”

No, thought Melody. He can’t just leave.

She rushed back to her office and flipped open her Rolodex. She dialed and waited. The phone rang and rang but there was no answer. 

Her mind in turmoil, she grabbed her purse and flew out of the door. Debbie called after her but she made no attempt to slow down. “Just hold my calls,” she shouted without turning around.

Weaving through traffic in her BMW, Melody raced up the narrow streets of downtown Santa Clara to the warehouse district. She had been to Michael’s studio only once but she remembered that it was an old warehouse downtown. As she enter the area she searched frantically for the words Anaconda Steel written on the side of the building. It appeared in faded black on the tin building at the end of the row. There it was... Michael’s studio and home. Above the main floor, Michael had converted the upstairs office space into a studio apartment with the living quarters separated from the bedroom by glass blocks. 

Screeching to a halt, she jumped from her car and rushed to the large steel door. She rang the doorbell. It wheezed out a tired buzz but no reply came from inside. Melody checked the door. Locked “Damn.” Where could he be? He should be here packing. She thought

Then from an open window on the second story, she heard the splash of water hitting concrete from a shower faucet. Melody tugged on the door again and then went to the window around the side. She pulled hard and the window yielded slightly leaving a 12-inch gap. Without thinking, she squeezed herself into the open space and fell onto the concrete floor. 

Melody righted herself and slapped the dust from the floor off her black sport coat and skirt. Above her she could hear the sounds of a male voice whistling above the gentle splash of a shower. She walked quickly across the floor towards the sound, her high heels clicking loudly against the bare concrete.

As she headed up the stairs, she could smell the faint fragrance of an incense puck burning in its holder. The sweet fragrance drifted down the stairs and partially masked the damp odor of the old building Suddenly the shower stop. Melody froze with fear. 

What if this wasn’t Michael, but somebody else? The thought of the trouble she could be in suddenly hit her like a truck. 

“Melody you’re acting like some teenage schoolgirl. What are you thinking breaking into a man’s house and what’s worse it maybe the wrong house.” She turned to go, but froze with embarrassment as she heard his voice.

“Hi Melody. Did you come to say good bye?”

Melody looked up to meet his eyes. Her heart jumped again. He was dressed only in white overalls with his long damp hair flowing along his shoulders, taking her heart and making it soar.

“I am sorry to intrude. I was just leaving.”

“Please, Melody” his cheerful voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Stay. I want you to.”

Melody raced up the stairs like a fleeing sparrow and rushed into his outstretched arms, meeting his lips with full force.

Michael’s strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her into his soft mouth. His tongue gently slid past her lips as it searched for hers. Inside, a wave of emotion swept through her body. His kisses were like fine chocolate that she could devour every day for a lifetime. She clenched her arms tight around him pressing her lips further into his mouth. Their tongues intertwined as their mouths engulfed one another. 

She felt him pull away and her heart sunk slightly.

He whispered into her ear. “Let me paint you.”

“Okay.” She replied without hesitation, unsure of his meaning but not caring as long his was touching her.

Effortlessly he scooped up her body and carried her into the loft apartment. Inside the door along the floor in the corner lay a mattress covered by a single white sheet. Beside the mattress resting in a cup were three paintbrushes of various sizes and a white rose, next to them lay a bottle of oil. An unopened bottle of wine, two glasses and a corkscrew occupied the other side of the mattress. 

Michael lowered them both to the floor and Melody lay back against the bed. She pulled Michael into her again and their lips fell together. She could feel his heart pound into her chest as his body lowered down on top of her. 

He lifted slightly from her body and Melody could feel his nimble hands release the buttons on her jacket, blouse and finally the plastic clasp of her brassiere. His hands traced the curves of her breasts and shoulders, then pushed the loose clothing off her arms.

Michael kissed her again then slowly moved his mouth down her neck across her shoulders. She could feel his wet tongue roam freely about her body as it went, sending nerve after nerve into a passionate quiver. 

Finally he reached her firm breasts. 

“Hmmm” she moaned arching her back and shoving her mounds into his lips. 

Michael licked and massaged each breast in turn and then suckled the nipples. Melody closed her eyes, immersing herself in the pleasure his kisses brought. 

“Oh God” she moaned. 

Under the spell of passion, a month’s worth of the pent of frustration released without warning. It all bombarded her senses and she came, drenching her undergarments with her excitement.

Michael pulled away from her body again, sitting up beside her on the bed. He looked into her eyes, smiled, and warmly, slowly removed her skirt and panties from her waist. Michael leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips and whispered into her ear. “Melody, you are so beautiful.” She could feel the kind words against her skin and she relaxed her arms.

Feeling awkward about being naked, she blushed and moved her hand to cover herself. She could feel the wetness from her climax beneath her fingers.

Michael reached up and opened the wine. He ran the moist cork over her lips allowing her a tiny taste of the bottles’ contents. Then he grabbed her arms and placed them above her head, palms facing upward towards the tin roof. He placed the two glasses in her hands, one he filled with wine, the other he filled with massage oil. 

He grabbed a paintbrush form the cup along side of bed. With gentle strokes he ran the soft tip along her brow, down her nose and across her lips. She could smell the clean bristles as it passed. With teasing strokes he dotted gently the nape of her neck and the soft flesh behind her ear. She trembled and twisted as the bristles tickled the base of her neck. 

“Careful” he joked. “ Don’t want to upset the wine.” 

He took another brush. This one had a thinner tip than the first but was just as soft. He dipped the end in the wine and passed it over her lips, allowing several drops to race down the pink skin and into her mouth. He traced her lips with the brush and then kissed away the excess wine with a slow, long kiss. 

“Mmmm” she mused as he pulled away from her. 

He dipped the brush back into the wine and traced her breasts with the brush. The drying wine on her nipples caused the flesh to stand semi-erect. With gentle strokes, he teased them further until they jutted outward. Then again he took them into his mouth sucking the wine from her body. Her nerves were on edge again as he toyed with her and she arched her back to meet his hungry mouth. 

Next, Michael placed the wine-soaked brush back and took the rose from the cup. Dipping the full blossom into the oil he lubricated its white petals. Then with bold strokes he coated her body, starting at the legs then working his way across her stomach and along her arms. On the next pass he parted her legs with the rose and ran the soft petals along her wanting mound. Her lips swelled from the excitement, exposing the soft nub of her clitoris. Michael stroked the tiny bud with the rose until she shook from the pleasure. 

Melody moaned softly as Michael raced the petals up and down her sex, the silky feeling arousing her more with each pass. 

With his free hand Michael grabbed a third brush. This one had a tiny bristle head but a large bulbous shaft rounded at the end. Placing the rose down on Melody’s trimmed blonde pelt, Michael parted Melody’s now steaming flesh with his fingers, exposing her ripe clitoris. Michael quickly flipped the brush in his hand and proceeded to work Melody’s protruding flesh with the rounded wood handle. The oil from the rose continued to flow downward adding lubrication to the already soaked bud as he danced the wood handle along the hood of her clit. 

Melody moaned again as her passion rose. Moisture seemed to flow from her body in a steady trickle. She twisted back and forth at her waist trying to keep her hands still. But he was teasing her every nerve now and the pleasure was so intense that she could barely keep still. 

“Oh God” she screamed as Michael continued to play with her engorged sex. His fingers stroking in and out of her now. No longer relegated to teasing just her clit. She arched her hips and Michael slid his fingers deep inside of her, running his fingers along the roof of her womb, stroking her dripping sex like fine guitar. “Oh please make love to me now” she heard herself cry as her mind a body departed from each other.

Not missing a stroke Michael undid the buttons of his jumpsuit with a free hand, releasing his taunt flesh from its material confines. Melody let loose the glasses, which clattered along the concrete floor. She reached for his hard shaft, wanting to feel its girth before it penetrated her lusty crevasse.

She felt Michael quiver as her hand met his flesh. Her hands ran up and down the long pole of his penis and then down the underside caressing the warm fuzzy skin of his testes. 

“Melody,” Michael whispered her name beneath her breath “I want to feel you.” And he straddled her waiting body.

Melody guided Michael’s flesh into her. She gasped as Michael’s thickness completely filled her. Still, he continued to press further into her. She had never felt such size inside her, yet her body greedily devoured him until at last she felt his hips press against her. Michael paused allowing Melody to get use to the feeling then in slow long rhythmic movements Michael began to move in and out of her.

The waiting and longing quickly came to a head and again Melody came. This time, coating Michael’s firing piston with her nectar. As her body recovered Michael picked up the pace, thrusting faster now and pulling himself further into her. 

“Yes baby!” She cried as a third climax built up inside her

Michael again varied his thrusting with short fast strokes followed by several slow long ones. Melody arched her hips to meet his thrust as he pushed into her, wanting to feel more of his wonderful tool. This time it was Michael who cried out in ecstasy as his tip ran along the top of her slippery flesh. Sensing that he was on the verge of exploding, Melody wrapped her legs around Michael’s hips and he quickly began to move faster inside of her. With each stroke he pulled himself deeper into her until she felt him along the back of her sex. 


The Artist



Tina was an artist. At 28, she owned her own art gallery in a posh area in the city. She was smart, outgoing and overly confident. Tall, brunette, blue eyed, she could melt a cheese sandwich from across the room. 

I met her on opening night. The company I worked for was having a Christmas party and it was to be held at Tina's gallery. It was a great atmosphere. Tina soon became everyone's acquaintance. Everyone I worked with knew Tina. 

She'd even dated a few executives that worked under me. It wasn't until the 14th of February, Valentines day; that we truly got to know one another. I was on an abysmal date with a woman I'd met on the Subway. She was like a cold fish. She didn't laugh at any of my jokes and didn't seem to care about anything I said. 

After my date was over, to clear my head, I decided to go over to Tina's gallery. I was the only one there. There was something eerie about being alone on Valentines day. 

It was then that I saw her, Tina. She didn't expect anyone to be in her gallery at this hour, alone. "I know you." she said in a playful manner.

"Yes, I'm Tim Summers. I come in here from time to time." 

"What are you doing alone on Valentines day?" she asked.

I told her about my date and the troubles of finding someone to connect with. This lead to a conversation about relationships, which led to dinner, which led to a kiss, which lead to her saying, "Wanna come up to my place for some coffee?" 

I was in heaven. She lived in a studio apartment, very posh... and of course, she wasn't interested in having coffee. As soon as we entered the apartment, she jumped me. She led me over to the sofa where we proceeded to made out like teenagers. 

As we continued to fondle each other I could feel my bulge pressing up against my trousers. My pride was so hard, it hurt. I was literally ready to burst. I was enjoying her: her every scent, her every kiss. She was just so damn intoxicating. 

Eventually, she pulled herself off me and sat back. She let out a sigh and just smiled at me. 

She removed her left shoe and proceeded to rub my crotch with her foot. I moaned as she giggled at my response. 

Then she said something that took me completely by surprise. "Can I paint you?" 

I was taken back by that. "What? You want to paint me?" 

She giggled again. "I think you're a beautiful man. I'd love to have you forever. Who knows, I might even put you up in my gallery next Saturday night" 

Suddenly, I was overcome with anxiety. I would be on show, to everyone I knew, helpless and exposed. I was loosing my erection, overcome with extreme nervousness. She could sense my discomfort and continued to giggle at my expense. "It will be fun." She reassured me. 

I had to act fast. If I refused, chances were that I would not get to fuck her today; when will I ever have another chance like this? "Okay" I said without thinking. 

"Great!" she said leaping from the sofa. "Why don't you get undressed and I'll be back in a few minutes." 

As she left the room, I immediately regretted my decision. But it was too late, it was the point of no return. If I backed down now, I would loose all credibility. What would she say? What would she think? What would she tell people if I refused to get naked in front of her? 

As I slowly began to disrobe, I began to feel colder and colder. Any sense of excitement and arousal was now gone.... I know how I look when I'm flaccid; and its not at all flattering. I began to think; 'what would be worse? If she saw me in my flaccid state or if I refused to expose myself to her?' 

I had stripped down to my boxers when she waltzed in the room with all her utensils, all her brushes, paints and buckets. "Ready?" she asked. 

I nodded yes and asked her where she wanted me to stand. "Why don't you sit on the bench in the center of the room baby?" 

I anxiously walked over to the bench and awaited further instructions. I stood there, like a helpless child watching her set up. It seemed as though she was taking forever. "Well?" she asked.

"Wa..Wa..What?" I said in a high-pitched voice. 

"All the men I paint are naked. Take your boxers off." She said with hungry eyes. "The best part of the painting is the penis." She said grinning from ear to ear. 

As I pulled my boxers down; she shrieked! I think I gave her the shock of her life! "eek! Ohmygod!" She covered her mouth and turned her head the other way. She was obviously embarrassed for me. I quickly covered myself with both hands, it was instinct. 

Her face went beet red, embarrassed. Obviously, I could tell that she now saw me in a different light. Without facing me, she asked "Are you cold?" 

"No, just nervous. I've never been painted before." I admitted. 

She regained her composure and said, "Nothing to be embarrassed about. Penises are funny little things. So unpredictable..... can I see it again? Can you move your hands out of the way?....."

I was reluctant to.

"Oh come-on. I'm not like other girls, I won't laugh at you, I promise." 

Slowly, I let my hands fall to my sides. She took a good long look. "hmmm. I think I'll call this painting 'the frightened turtle'" she let out another giggle as I covered myself once again in utter embarrassment. 

"You said you wouldn't laugh!" I pleaded with her

"I'm s..s..sorry. Really. I don't mean to laugh. You just, just look so silly covering yourself like that. You look like a frightened turtle. Like a little boy!" 

After several minutes of her giggle-fest, she finally started to compose herself. "Okay baby. Can I get you to sit on the bench?" 

Following her instructions, (still covering myself) I sat on the cold steel bench in the center of the room. "That's good.... Umm, try to strike a pose for me."

I had no idea what she wanted me to do, "How to you mean?" I asked. 

"Firstly, let go of Mr. Pinky Dinky.... Let go of him" A smile came across her face as I opened my hands again. "Okay and put your arms behind your back... lean on your arms."

"Like this?" I asked as I leaned back.

"Yep.... And arch your back."

I felt kind of silly as I arched my back as best I could. I kept my legs closed, in an attempt to conceal my shyness. 

"That's good baby..... but, can I get you to just spread you legs a little bit?" 

I slowly opened my legs, exposing myself to her. "A bit more, open your legs up all the way." 

I stretched my legs wide open, exposing my pink 2inch stub and my plump, tight little balls to her. I felt so pathetic and helpless. Although I was flaccid, my pathetic member jutted out: pointing up at her. It must have looked like a tube of lipstick! I could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. Her face was beet red and she was grinning from ear to ear. 

"That's good. That's very good." She said as she continued to giggle to herself. 

45 minutes passed and I was getting cramps. I was so uncomfortable. Not just because my penis was almost definitely getting smaller, but because my back was killing me. I must've looked so silly. The whole time she had that large grin on her face. She was taunting me. She knew what she was doing to me: to my ego, to my manhood... and I didn't find it funny at all. 

The prospect of fucking her was gone. I was no longer a man in her eyes. I would be something that she'd taunt or tease; not to my face, but behind my back; which is worse and far more demeaning. I had gone from being the object of her affection, to a dickless pathetic sissy boy. Of course, these thoughts only made me more anxious and even smaller. 

"Finished" she finally said after what seemed like an eternity. 

I quickly reached for my boxers and put them back on. "Can I see?" 

"Sure" she said as she turned the painting around. 

I was in shock. She couldn't possibly be thinking of showing this in her gallery on Saturday night along with her other paintings. The painting was perfect, she had drawn me so precisely.... but without a penis, or at least what you could see. 

"You, you forgot something." I told her. 

"No, that was you. That's what you looked like." She said.

"But, I have no penis!" I said on the verge of tears. 

"Its there, but you need to look closely. See?" She pointed to my crotch on the painting, "there is your little dinky, poking up, pointing to the sky and there are your little testies" 

My eyes watered up, "That's not fair! That's not me! That's not me at all!" I protested. 

"You gotta change it!" I yelled at her in desperation.

"Sorry, I don't do that. Sorry.... I think this will be a big hit at my gallery on Saturday."

Suddenly, I lost all control. I burst out into tears, I fell to my knees and begged. "Ohhh! Please no! God no! Please don't! Please! It will ruin my reputation! My life! Please no! God no! Don't expose me like this! Please!" 

Moments later, I was sitting in her kitchen, fully clothed drinking a cup of tea she had made me. "Are you feeling better?" she asked. 

"uh-huh" I responded, still sobbing. 

"Look, I'm sorry about the painting. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I had no idea you'd react that way. I've never seen a guy cry before." She seemed somewhat sorry for me, but obviously disgusted. 

I finished my tea and left. She assured me that my secret would be safe with her. As I left, she said, "Sorry things didn't work out between us hun, bye."

I began to think, 'If I hadn't cried like a little sissy bitch, would she still have fucked me?' Probably..... but then again, probably not. 

Saturday came, and although I didn't bother to go to her Gallery opening, I heard that it went well. The big hit of the night was her painting titled, 'the frightened turtle', which was the painting of a faceless man with a really tiny penis. So, she clearly kept her promise: she got her painting, and I got to keep my shame a secret.... but it was a secret that would come back to haunt me later on.

Six weeks later, I was out on a date with a woman I had met at my gym. Her name was Claudia. Claudia was a gorgeous woman in her late twenties. Tall, athletic, blonde and leggy. 

I'd been gawking at her for the past three weeks before I gathered up enough courage to ask her out; to my surprise she accepted. The evening was going well until Tina bumped into us.

Tina was there with a couple of friends having a few drinks. She spotted me, dining with Claudia and decided to come over and say hello, she was a little drunk. She took me completely by surprise. 

"Hey Tim!" she busted out. 

I sorta lost my cool once I saw her. "Oh, hi Tina."

"What's goin on here?" she said in a nosey tone.

"I'm on a date, this is Claudia." I told her

Claudia said hi and Tina went in to shake her hand, "This is a great guy! A nice, sensitive guy. Very sensitive. You're a lucky woman!" she said.

"Oh really?" Claudia responded.

"Is this a first date?" Tina asked. 

"Yep, yes this is. Claudia and I are on our first date." I said, in an attempt of get rid of her. 

"Well, I'd better go then. I'm cramping your style.... It was good seeing you again Tim" She said. 

Tina turned to walk away. Unfortunately, she was behind me, so I couldn't see her. "It was nice meeting you Claudia" As she said 'Claudia' she did the small dick sign with her thumb and index finger. 

In astonishment, Claudia's jaw dropped. She immediately burst out into laughter. I looked behind me, only to see that Tina was gone. "What's so funny? I asked. "Oh nothing, I just thought of something small that happened the other day...... listen, can you excuse me for a moment? I need to go and powder my nose, I'll be right back."

Of course, she never came back. The rest of the night I could hear Tina and her friends taunting me from their table. After a half hour of embarrassment and humiliation, I decided to leave. 

Thereafter, Claudia spread the rumor that I was the man in the 'frightened little turtle painting'. The rumor quickly spread like wildfire, I soon earned the nickname 'Tiny Tim'. 

Everywhere I went I heard giggles and whispers, mostly from women. 

That's why I moved. 



The Artist



The aroma of marijuana scents the air. Sean takes another puff of his joint and gently hands his camera to me.

"Hold the camera steady, Aria. The world needs to watch the artist work, baby." He grabs the bucket of magenta house paint and walks over to the tarp covered terrace. Sean pours the bucket of paint over his head, the magenta paint cascading down his face, picking up pace as it flows down his chest, over his genitals and pools at his feet.

"I need help with my back Aria." Sean says as he clears the paint around his mouth.

I let out a loud sigh and put down the camera. I go to the bedroom to find the roller. It is not always like this. Sean was once warm and caring. Now it seems as if all he cares about is his artwork. I would understand this if it wasn't for the fact that Sean is not an artist. He is just a guy that got lucky.

Three months ago Sean's poor attempt at Paint by Letters drunk was discovered by his brother, Simon. Simon thought it was a genius non conformist piece of work and should be a part of the next showcase at his art gallery.

During the night of the showcase many of the hipsters thought the painting was "brooding" and "deep." I spend the entire night at the snack table drinking wine. They can not be serious, it is a bad Birthday gift I gave him when I was in a rush! 

An older man stops by his painting. He is good looking with light flecks of gray through his jet black hair and a very handsome face. He couldn't be more than 40; but he was so damn sexy! 

He chats with Sean as his gaze keeps switching from Sean to the ugly painting. The good looking male glances toward the snack table. His gaze stops when he sees me, his green eyes linger on me. The man leans towards Sean and whispers something to him. I see Sean say something to the man followed by him approaching the snack table. He does not even greet me, he just grabs my arm and says " Graham wants to meet you." I stumble on the bottom of my teal dress. I wobble as I tried to regain my balance.

"Get it together, stop behaving like a fool. It is about me right now, not you." Sean hisses sharply. It is the very first time he spoke to me in that tone. I am too close to crying but I did not want anyone to notice.

"Graham this is my girlfriend, Aria."

"So this is the woman that started your art career. It is my pleasure" Graham states as he kisses the back of my hand. I try my hardest to stifle a smile. He continues to hold my hand, reluctant to let go. I see him glance at my cleavage as he finally let go of my hand.

"Nice to meet you,Graham. " I say lowly. Graham furrows his eyebrows at my greeting.

"Aria, that is an interesting accent you have, where are you from?" Graham asked.

I am shocked, Sean has never bothered to ask me that in the three years that we have been dating. I look at Sean and he continues to stare at his painting, mesmerized by the bright neon paints that he stole from his job at the Domestic Depot.

"Well My family is from India but I was raised in Scotland." Graham nods his head, Sean did not show the least bit of interest.

"Well it is lovely." Graham tells me as he returns to the painting. I drink the rest of wine in my glass and grab another as a server passes by with a tray.

He gives Sean his card and says he loves his artwork. "Very contemporary, I want in on the Sean Holster art experience. Call me when your next piece of art is ready."

Overhearing this I become nauseous; but it is okay. Another glass of wine will steady me. I head back to the snack table; as I reach for another glass the server gives me an abashed look.

"Ma'am, I think you have had enough." The server said.

"Bullshit, I'll tell you when I have had enough." I slur to the server. The server leans into me making sure that no one else could hear her.

"But you have had enough glasses to equate a bottle and a half of wine." 

I smile and point my glass to Sean's paint by letters on the wall.

" I am dating the guy that created that." I slur, pointing my glass with so much emphasis that a bit of wine spills on my hand. The server looks at the painting and sighs. Someone walks over to the painting and places a red sticker next to the description; some idiot actually purchased it! She pours two large glasses of wine and hands one to me.

" Wine cures all sins." The server says as she downs the entire glass of wine.

*****

"Aria, roller now! I'm drying up here." Sean yells from the terrace, snapping me out of my flashback.

I retrieve the roller and head back to the terrace. Sean is trying to smear the paint on his back with his hands.

I throw the roller on the tarp and go inside. I am sick of his narcissism. He clearly does not care for me anymore. Instead he would rather douse his body in paint and grope himself on canvas.

" Thanks Babe. Wait do my back!" Sean yells back as I retreat to the bedroom. I plop onto the bed. I can not believe how selfish Sean is being. He did not even bother to come back to the room to see how I am doing.

As I lay here brewing I hear a loud thud. I run to the terrace to find Sean rolling around on the canvas. He continues massaging his body to " spread the paint around" but it is his excuse to feel up his wiry frame. Sean starts to stroke his cock then looks at me, seeing the look of disgust on my face.

"What? Its just for the painting." I leave in disappointment. It seems like Sean next artwork exhibit revolves around rubbing his phallus on canvas.

" Aria, wait! Cobalt Blue is next!" Sean yells. I hear a moan followed by silence. I assume that he is done with magenta. 

I return to the bedroom and grab my gym bag, I stuff it with my night gown and toiletries and some work clothes. I just can not spend another night with this narcissistic shell of my boyfriend. I'd rather rent a room at a hotel chain on Queens Boulevard than share a bed with a magenta tinted asshole in Sunnyside. I love him dearly but he needs to get through this phase on his own.

*****

I stay at the hotel for three nights before Sean comes to my job and begs for me to come back.

"Baby I'm sorry. Having you paint my back at 2am is highly uncalled for." Sean said blankly.

" I do not think you are sorry, I think you want me to do something." I say. 

"I did not come all the way to Aww Kitty if I didn't mean it," Sean cupped my face and looked into my eyes. " Aria, I am truly sorry, I was very very disrespectful to you and I should work on caring about your feelings."

" I work at Awn Kittah Awn. We make awnings, why is that so hard for you to remember?" Without waiting for a response I head back to my desk and try to finish designing the awning for Ma Po's Family restaurant. Sean takes the hint and leaves, slamming the door behind him. If he is sorry then he should have tried harder.

When I return to the hotel four dozen white roses greet me. I lean over and sniff them. There is a card gently placed in between the second bouquet.

I REALLY ENJOYED MEETING YOU, ARIA. I HOPE WE CAN MEET AGAIN SOON ~ GRAHAM.

"I really enjoyed meeting you, Aria. I hope that we can meet again soon. I really enjoyed meeting you, Aria. I hope that we can meet again soon." I can not help but read the card over and over again. I finally turn the card around to see that there is a number on the back of the card. I hesitate, do I call the number? What if it is him? What if he just wants information about Sean? What if he does not want to talk about Sean? I need to think about this before I make a huge mistake.

I take off my clothes and head to the bathroom. The downside to these hotel bathrooms are the narrow and freakishly tall bathtubs. I practically climb into the tub and turn the water on lukewarm. A shower would be a great way to clear my head.

I stand underneath the shower head trying to figure out what to do. Graham seemed so charming and caring but he is almost twice my age. Sean's ego has made him so immature he only has time for covering stolen paint on canvases he can barely afford. 

Graham was devastatingly handsome, I could see his broad shoulders through his suit. Sean's thin frame was favored by hipster chicks; I sometimes find my self wanting to have sex with the lights off. At the moment the thought of Graham holding my hand again sends tingles down my spine. I look for my loofah and pour some of the hotel soap onto it. It barely lathers but I do not care, I am too busy weighing my current options.

As I scrub my back I come to a realization. I love Sean, but I am not in love with him. As corny as it sounds, I just do not see myself in a long term relationship with him. He is just a taker, he never gives me anything. I used to think that it was cute and symbolic but now I realize that it is just selfish and immature. I can not remember a single time that Sean offered to pay a bill. Here I am in a hotel room and he is on my terrace feeling himself up!

The loofah makes it way down to my abs where I slowly scrub in a clockwise motion. I wet the loofah to rise the soap out. I drop the loofah and detach the removable shower head. As I spray my hair, I try to get the image of Graham out my head. I lower the shower head to my abs to wash away the soap. I move the shower head even lower, to my mound. The feeling of the lukewarm water is powerful enough for me to sit down on the shower floor.

I slowly move my hand down to my shaved pussy. My lips are already dripping wet; and it is not from the water! II rub my clit until it is peeking through my lips. I set the shower head to pulsate and let it run over my dripping wet flower. I tilt my head back and allow my imagination to flow.

I imagine standing in the shower with Graham behind me. I lean against his chiseled chest as he nibbles on my ear and squeezes my breasts. He lowers his hands until they are touching my lips. He kisses my neck and whispers in my ear " I love these tight lips of yours." He uses one hand to keep them open while his other hand traces my labia. My labia blooms in anticipation of what will happen next. His fingers move upward until they meet my button. I moan loudly as he rubs me to a screaming orgasm.

I open my eyes to see that I dropped the shower head. Juices escape down my leg from the intense orgasm. Just to think that came from thinking of Graham. I stand up and leave the bathtub and head over to the night stand, still dripping wet from the shower. I pick up the card and turn it over. I hesitate, what if he loses interest in me when he finds out that I am no longer involved with Sean? I look down at my thighs, practically sticking together from my juices. I pick up the phone and dial the number.

"Hello, Graham..."



The Artist



My heart was beating faster; it was difficult to conceal my anticipation. I was dressing to meet my lover and I was doing it in front of my unknowing husband. That was adding to my excitement. The thrill of the affair, the anticipation of feeling my lover's lips on me and his cock penetrating me practically had me cumming as I prepared myself for our assignation.

It was all I could do to put on the plain white panties and bra. I really wanted to wear the deliciously naughty lingerie I bought at Victoria's Secret the other day but there was no way I could have explained to Harvey why I would wear them to work.

Fifteen years after I married Harvey Shelton I had returned to the work force. I had a part time job in a small art gallery in the Soho area of New York City. I had worked there briefly when I had graduated from college with a degree in art history. Now I was back working Tuesday and Wednesdays from nine to four.

Our children are adolescents, a twelve year old daughter and fourteen year old son, and I really don't have to be home for them now. Harvey is the principle of our nearby high school and is readily available should any emergency arise. It is because I have so much free time that I took the job this past summer.

I was a receptionist. I sat at a small desk and I directed whoever came in to the gallery to whatever party on the staff could best serve their interests. I was there only a month or so when Eric came in. He was a handsome young man, mid twenties I estimated, exhibiting a boyish charm that caught my interest. His muscular physique and deep blue eyes stirred something deep within me. I couldn't keep my eyes off of him.

I watched him as he wandered around the gallery, partly because that was part of my job and but mostly because I was taken with his almost feline grace and his physical attraction. His full chest and slim waist were set off by the tight tee shirt he wore; it was actually possible to see the outline of his pectorals and the bumps of his nipples. His smile, when he caught me staring at him, was as bright as direct sunlight and it caused me to blush like a school girl.

Maybe he noticed my embarrassment and his smile broadened as he approached me. "My God," I said to myself, "he is gorgeous. He looks like a young Viking." 

He was a Viking, for when he introduced himself; he had a Scandinavian name, Eric Hanson. He was an artist, one of the many who rented space in one of the old loft buildings in the area. He was trying to sell some of his work or at least place some for exhibit on consignment. The person who was in charge of that part of the business was not in at the time.

I don't know why, but I told him that the few paintings he had with him were not enough of a sample for us to commit us to represent him. He pleaded with me to come and look at what he had in his studio. There was too much, and some of it too large, to bring in for us to see. I would have to come to his studio to see more of his work. Even though this was not a part of my job description I readily acquiesced to his invitation. Not admitting to myself why I wanted to get to know him better, I told him I would see him there after the end of my work day.

I called Harvey at his office. My side of the conversation went like this.

"Hi honey, you and the kids are on your own tonight for dinner.

No, nothing at work. 

No, No, a couple of new boutiques opened nearby and they are having Grand Opening Sales. I might be spending some of your hard earned money.

No, I won't stay in the city too late. Don't worry I'll be careful. I love you. Bye." 

I hung up the phone and I sat there wondering why I lied to my husband. I had never done that before. Why did I not tell him I was going to an artist's loft to look at his paintings?

What was I trying to hide?

I realized why when Eric answered my knock on his door. He was bare chested, wearing only a pair of spandex gym shorts that delineated every muscle in his thick thighs and the large bulge at the top where they came together. I was rendered speechless as he greeted me.

"Irene," he said, "I was afraid you wouldn't show up. I wasn't sure you were really serious about seeing what I had to offer."

I just stood there.

"Come in, come in. Excuse my informal attire, I have no air conditioning and it is so hot in here."

I still couldn't move. He held out his hand and I took it. He drew me in through the door and closed it behind me. 

"You really didn't come here to look at my work, did you Irene?"

I didn't answer him. 

"You can't see very well what I have to offer with all this hair in your way." 

He reached out a brushed back a lock of my hair that had fallen across my eye. I shivered and let out a soft moan.

"I saw you watching me as I walked through the gallery today. We both know you didn't come here to look at my paintings. You're a beautiful woman Irene. You're a bit older than I usually like but you exude a sensuality that attracts me and these are world class."

As he had been speaking his hands had been unbuttoning my summer blouse and now they were caressing my large, soft, bra clad breasts. 

I never moved, I never said anything, but my breathing gave me away. It became ragged and rapid and that, along with the stiffness of my nipples, told him all he needed to know.

"Reach behind you Irene, open your bra. Take it off and let me see the real beauty of your tits."

My hands went behind my back and did what they have done thousands of times before, they released the hooks and I shrugged off my bra. I didn't do it for myself, I didn't do it for my husband. I did it for a man I had just met today. I did it because he told me to do it. 

He fondled them and played with them. Then he rolled my nipples between his fingers and stretched them. All the while I never moved. I never put up an iota of resistance. I just let my eyes close and my head fall back as I luxuriated in his manipulations. 

"I love the feel of your tits, Irene; they're so big and soft. I've got something you want to feel, it's big but not so soft. You want to feel it don't you Irene? It's big and hard now, go on touch it, you know you want to."

I couldn't move, I wanted to, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. This was going where I didn't want it to go. Or did I? His hand came up and brought my hand to his crotch. I felt his ball sack through the spandex and the two testicles inside and then the long thick tube extending up across his belly.

"This is what you want to feel, isn't it Irene? This is what you wanted to see. This is why you came here, isn't it, Irene?"

I didn't answer him but my hand did. It slowly stroked the spandex covered cock. Finally, I was able to utter a sound, "Noooooooo." I whispered. My traitorous hand continued its caress.

"Yes it is Irene; we both know you want to see it. Go on, kneel down and peel down my shorts. Peel them down and hold it in your hands."

I knelt before him, my bare breasts swaying and bobbling on my chest. My adventurous hands peeled down his shorts and there it was in front of my face. It was magnificent. My hands reached out and caressed it, stroked it and teased it. I was mesmerized, I was in a trance.

"This is what you want, isn't it Irene?"

I couldn't answer; my conscience was catching up to me.

"Answer me Irene, or go home."

"Yessssss." I hissed.

"Not good enough." he insisted.

"Yes, I want it." My barriers were falling.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

I hesitated, I struggled, I capitulated. I said, "I want you to fuck me."

I wish I could say it was good. It wasn't just good, it was incredible. I came moments after he penetrated me and again and again before I finally felt him cum in me. I was in orgasmic heaven. I had never experienced a climax that was in the same world as what he gave me. 

He didn't make love to me, he fucked me. He took what he wanted from me and I gave it to him willingly. He used me like I had never been used before. He turned me this way and that and he made me cum harder and longer than I had ever experienced.

When I left him to catch the 8:52 train home my feeling were in a jumble.

What had I done? I just had sex with a man that I hardly knew. More and better sex, in a shorter time, than I ever had with my husband. And my husband, what about Harvey? What about my children? I just put my marriage in jeopardy. Was it love or lust? What difference did it make, it was wrong.

I sat there on the train throughout the forty minute ride, these questions and many more running through my mind. I felt guilty when I thought of my husband, the man that I had loved for so many years, the man I still loved. I didn't want to give him up; I still loved him and my children. I didn't want change that. I would show them I still loved them and I would be extra affectionate and solicitous when attending to them.

And Eric? My pussy still tingled. Guilt or not, I knew I wanted more of what he gave me this afternoon. I knew I shouldn't see him again, I knew this was forbidden pleasure but I couldn't resist the joy of it. The illicit thrill, the sheer delight of the orgasms he gave me. Oh God, I wanted to touch myself right there on the train to see if I could repeat it before the memory faded. What has he awakened in me?

It was almost ten o'clock when I walked into the house, almost our usual bedtime. Harvey was just preparing to go to bed. 

"Take your time undressing lover," I said to him, "and don't bother putting on your pajamas. I'm gong to make love to you until you beg for mercy."

"Wow," he exclaimed, "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing yet baby, but as soon as I get out of the shower, hopefully it will be you."

Normally, in our love making, I am the recipient of his ardor, but tonight, I was the aggressor. I licked him, I sucked him, I teased him, and I brought him to the edge of his orgasm and then backed off. My lips, my tits and my pussy rubbed every part of his body that they could reach until he could stand it no longer and he came spraying his cum all over my body. He watched amazed as I caught the last few bursts in my mouth and swallowed them.

"Ooooooh," he groaned, "Who are you and what have you done with my wife?"

"I'm still me honey, I just wanted to let you know how much I love you. I just wanted to make sure you will keep me around."

"Don't you worry, I won't let you go." he said, "My only worry is that if you keep this up, you may kill me first."

"No, I won't kill you," I declared and I snuggled up against him, "I love you too much." 

I fell asleep in my husband's arms........ And I dreamt about Eric.

He was never out of my thoughts throughout the weekend or Tuesday morning when I returned to work. All day Tuesday and Wednesday I watched the door of the gallery and he never came in. I had no way to contact him, he didn't have a phone. I squirmed in my seat, I walked around the gallery, and I needed to see him. I needed him. I had sampled my drug, I needed it again. I needed my fix, I needed him again.

When I got home from work Wednesday evening I told Harvey that the gallery needed me to work on Thursday. Of course he put up no protest. Dear, dependable, trusting, Harvey. I loved him but I left in the morning at my usual time. 

At nine in the morning I knocked on Eric's door. Nothing happened. I knocked again, harder, and then again a third time and the door opened. There stood Eric, a sleepy Adonis, in jockey briefs, slowly scratching his crotch.

"Unh," he grunted, "Hi Irene," he said as he walked away scratching his ass. His greeting was as if my being there was the most natural thing in the world. He turned and leaving me standing in the hallway, observing the view. "Come on in," he called over his shoulder; He dropped his briefs and kicked them aside while he walked. 

"Oh God, even his ass is beautiful," I thought as I stepped inside. I closed the door and stood there mutely. Then I gasped as he reached what looked like a janitors tub and pissed in it, all the time talking over his shoulder to me. 

"The toilet and shower for the tenants on this floor are down at the end of the hall and I don't have a robe to wear on the way there." He turned on the faucet above the tub, rinsed off his face and then taking a bottle from the shelf above the tub, and rinsed his mouth with some of its contents. 

Then he turned to me and leaned back, naked, his behind was against the tub. He said to me, "This is why you are here, isn't it Irene?"

I still hadn't uttered a word, but yes, that was the reason I was there. It was right in front of me and I stared at it. It was flaccid, it was limp, and it was framed in blonde hair. It was beautiful, and I wanted it. It was his cock.

"But it's of no use to you like it is, is it Irene? It's of no use to a horny little suburban housewife if it's hanging there all limp and droopy, is it? You know how to make it useful for you Irene. Go ahead, do what you know how, to make it the way you want it."

I let out a soft moan as I sank to my knees, fully clothed, in front of a naked man a dozen years younger that I was and I caressed his balls. I kissed them and stroked his cock and I exalted as his cock grew and his balls swelled from my attention. I sucked on his cock and it tasted delicious. I was the cause of his arousal; it made me proud that this magnificent man wanted me.

"You have me nice and hard Irene, now what do you want me to do with it?"

'What is this?' I thought, 'Am I always going to ask him to do it?' But I had no pride left, so I answered, "I want you to fuck me."

"But I can't, you're wearing all those clothes." he replied. So I stripped as fast as I could. Jeans, blouse, bland undies, everything went onto a pile on the floor and he bent me naked over the tub, the tub he had pissed in.

My hands were on the opposite rim, supporting my torso. I could smell the mouthwash and the urine that still remained in the tub until he entered me. When he penetrated me from behind all my other senses shut down. The only thing in the world that mattered was the feeling in my pussy. My first orgasm was earth shattering. Whatever I saw, was exquisite. Whatever I smelled, was mouth watering. Whatever he wanted from me was what I wanted to give to him. I had no pride left; I had no will of my own left when I was with him.

He fucked me for six hours straight, from nine o'clock when I arrived, to three in the afternoon. Something my husband had never done or thought he could ever do. Eric fucked me in every position I had ever experienced before and some I never knew existed. He fucked me in ways and in places I had refused to do with Harvey and I exalted in every way he used me, until finally, I begged him to stop.

"Please," I pleaded, "please stop, I'm exhausted. I love everything you did to me and I want to do it again and again but I can't take anymore today. I promise I'll come back but I have to get home at my regular time if we are to repeat this. My husband thinks I'm at work today. I have to clean up. I'm covered with your cum and mine. Where's your shower?"

"I told you this morning," he said as he handed me a skimpy towel, "down at the end of the hall."

"But it's a public hall. Don't you have a robe?"

"I told you I don't have one. Just wrap the towel around your waist like I do."

"What if I meet someone in the hall?"

"Just smile and keep going. Artists live here, people expect that kind of behavior."

'What have I gotten myself into?' I thought as I padded down the hall in my bare feet, 'He's a poor, struggling artist living in a one room studio. He can't even afford a robe or even a second towel. He's as close to my son's age as he is to mine and we really have no future together. Why am I risking my marriage and my family for this? I have to give this up, this is madness! Yes it was madness, but it was divine madness.'

As I washed my body my fingers lingered on my nipples. It made me think of how he sucked them. When I washed between my thighs I touched my clit and I thought about how he stimulated it. I knew I had to do this again, besides I had promised him I would. One more time I promised myself, that's all I thought, one more time, hoping I could keep that promise.

Halfway back to the studio it happened, a man stepped from a doorway almost right in front of me. He stood stock still, staring at my naked breasts. 'What the hell,' I thought, as I pulled my shoulders back and thrust out my bosom when I walked past him, 'he might as well get a good look,' and I continued down the hall to Eric's door. I don't know what possessed me but just before I entered, I stripped the towel from around my waist and I wiggled my ass at him.

I was laughing at my newly acquired wanton boldness as I bent to retrieve my clothes from where I had tossed them on the floor. I didn't know it was there until I pulled on my bra and I felt it. It was on the underside of my left breast. A huge red hickey.



"Jesus, Eric, what have you done to me? 

"Just marking you as my property."

"Your property? I don't belong to you; I have a husband, a family. You don't own me. Why did you do this to me?" I was crying as I completed dressing. "How can I explain this to my husband?"

"Your husband is not my problem." he shrugged, "and I marked you because I want you back. You're a great fuck Irene."

"But I promised I would be back."

"Yeah but now I'm sure."

"Well don't be so sure because I won't ever be back," I shouted as I slammed the door on my way out.

I calmed down as I rode the train on my way home; I had to face the first problem which was how to hide the evidence of my infidelity from Harvey until the hickey disappeared. The second problem, that of my infatuation, would have to wait. As it turned out, I didn't have to solve either one of them.

When we sat down to dinner my twelve year old daughter was all excited. "I made the only goal today in our soccer match. It made our team first in our league. I called you at work today Mom, to tell you all about it but you weren't there, so I had to wait until now. Everybody was so proud of me; they carried me in their shoulders."

I froze for a moment and then I glanced at Harvey; he just went on eating his soup. I was relieved that he had missed what she had said. My relief was misplaced, I found out later when we were preparing for bed. I had put on my night gown and was seated on the side of the bed; he was still standing in his tee shirt and boxers.

"How was work today? You usually don't work on Thursdays, was there anything unusual?"

"No, nothing unusual."

"Funny? After Sarah couldn't get you at work she called me with the good news of her goal. I thought she might have called the wrong number so I called you too. I found out that you were not only not there, but that you were not supposed to be there. So where were you Irene and why did you lie to me about being at work?"

I didn't answer him. I couldn't, I didn't know what to say.

"Why did you lie to me Irene?" he continued. "Why, I wonder? If you wanted to go shopping, you would tell me that wouldn't you. Oh, but that's what you told me last week and I believed you. You couldn't use that one again so soon, so you used work for your lie. But you got caught in your lie. Now again, why would you lie? Could it be that you have a lover?"

My paralysis enveloped me. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I just looked at him helplessly. I could see my marriage ending, I could see my disgrace.

"Do you have a lover Irene? Are you in love with someone else? Am I loosing you to another man?"

Then the unthinkable happened. His chin began to quiver and I saw a tear run down his cheek. "Don't you love me anymore Irene? Are you going to leave me?"

His whole manner had changed. The accuser was gone, replaced by a supplicant. My strong husband was suddenly begging me to assure him that I loved him and would not leave him! A tide of relief washed over my body and carried away my fear. 




The Artist



'He's afraid" I thought. 'He's afraid I might have a lover and I might leave him.'

"No honey," I assured him, "I'm not going to leave you, I love you. I want to be your

wife forever."

Even as I spoke those deceitful words I could not bring myself to confess my cuckolding of him. I could not admit to my infatuation with Eric or my relief that I didn't have to admit to my wanton behavior today. But as I said them, I knew they were true. I did love Harvey and I did want to remain his wife. But with it, I also knew, I wanted Eric with a desperation I could not explain to myself. I had to control the situation here at home.

I reached out to my husband. "Come here sweetheart. Come; let me show you how much I love you." 

My hands reached behind his thighs and I pulled him to me. I nuzzled his crotch through his shorts before I pulled his hardening cock out. "I love you. I love you. I love you." I repeated and repeated as I licked the length of his shaft and sucked on the end. Harvey just groaned.

I pressed down on his hips; I wanted him kneeling in front of me. His head was now a little below mine, I was in the superior position. I kissed him as passionately as I could and then said, "Eat me Babe, and make me cum with your tongue."

I lay back onto the bed and raised my heels to the edge and Harvey dove into my pussy. I grasped his head and pulled his face in as deep as I could between my wide spread thighs. My God, his tongue was good; I could feel my orgasm building within me. 

"I love you Harvey," I screamed as I rose to the peak of my orgasm, and I squirted all over his face. "I love you, I love you, I love you." I repeated again and again as I came down from the mountain peak.

"I love you too." he said as I sat back up on the edge of the bed, "That's why I was so afraid I was loosing you."

"You'll never loose me, I won't let you go." I assured him as I pulled his wet face to my bosom. "Oh yes baby, suck on Mommy's tittie." I gave him the marked tit to suck to keep him from seeing the underside. I felt so daring, so in control, I decided to go for broke. "That feels so good. You eat me so good, much better that than you imagine he does."

I felt Harvey's body stiffen and I clutched him tighter to my breast, he stopped sucking. That's what you think isn't it Harvey. I'll bet you spent the day thinking of him with his face buried in my pussy just like yours was. Did you think about how I must have cum for him when he fucked me with his big cock? Did you, in your imagination, hear me scream in pleasure when he made me climax?" 

I pulled him up so that we were eye to eye with each other when he asked me, "Do you love him?"

"No, he's only in your imagination, I love you."

"Then why........" He couldn't finish his question

"It's all in your imagination Baby. Do you think I am a slut for him? Do think he does me better than you? I can feel a how hard you are now when I tell you about him. Are you one of those guys who thinks about his wife with another man? I never knew that. Are you Harvey?"

I could feel him tense up when I said that. I felt that I had struck a nerve. 

"But I don't........." He started to protest but I pulled him up on top of me. I reached down between us and slipped his cock into my pussy.

"Yes you do. You've been thinking that for the last two weeks and trying to out do him in bed. Now you think I have been seeing him on Thursdays when I told you that I was at work. Just like today, and you like what happened tonight. I think you're harder and bigger now than you ever been. Now pound me with that big cock of yours and make me cum for you."

He did make me cum, that night and every night for the following week. Maybe he was trying to impress me with his masculinity. Or maybe he was stimulated by the thought of my affair. Or perhaps he we trying to out perform his unknown competitor. We never discussed it, even the next Thursday morning when I dressed to go to work. He watched me.

"So you're going to work today?" He asked.

"Yes," I said, "I told you, I'll be working every Thursday from now on." I stared at him. Challenging him.

His eyes met mine and then he broke, his body seemed to shrivel within himself and he asked, "Will you be home the regular time?"

"Absolutely my love and I will be looking forward to just as good a time as we had last Thursday night." And with that blithe declaration, I kissed him on the cheek and went off to meet my lover. I felt I was in control of my life. At least I did until I stood in front of Eric's door and he opened it.

He stood there, in his jockey briefs, blocking my entrance. He answered my bright good morning with the command, "Get naked Irene and never knock on my door again unless you are undressed."

"But.....it's a public hall and there's a man over there."

"Yeah, that's Hector; He told me you wiggled your ass at him last week. He wants a better look."

"But........"

"But nothing Irene," he interrupted, "Strip, or go home."

Strip, I did, thinking all the while, why am I doing this? If only he wasn't so beautiful. I was so much in control at home this morning and here I was just a pawn, a submissive little slut. If only he didn't fuck me so good. 

Why does this excite me so much? Why am I so wet? Why not give them a show?

So I looked over my shoulder at Hector and gave him the sexiest look I could and then I pumped my ass once, hard to the left and then to the right. Then I turned towards him and hunching my shoulders forward, I shook my tits at him. Reversing again I turned my back to him and I bent at the waist, with my legs apart, and reached for my clothes. He got a good look at my pussy as I took my time picking them up and again when I placed them just inside the doorway before I closed the door.

I was excited and the adrenaline was flowing when I said to Eric, "You knew that would turn me on, didn't you?" he just smiled.

"You know just what buttons to push, don't you?" I continued. The smile got broader.

"You want me to show the world that I am hot and horny slut for you, don't you?" He laughed.

"Well you got your wish, now fuck me, damn you. Fuck me hard and fast."

He did, for six hours again. Just like last week only this time he also took my anal virginity. Harvey had tried to once but never tried to again after my vehement refusal. I gave it up to Eric with complete acceptance then begged him to repeat it. This man could have anything he wanted of me. I had surrendered my body to him completely.

He finally heeded my pleas of exhaustion in time for me to shower before I left for home. He said to me, "Hector will be waiting, give him a good show."

"What am I, something for him to jerk off to?"

"Probably," Eric said, "but he's the building super and I want to stay on the good side of him so make sure you show him plenty of tits and ass."

So going and coming back, out in the hall, I didn't bother covering myself with that minuscule towel as I exaggerated my hip sway and made sure my tits bounced like rubber balls. I even did a bump and grind in front of Hector and then I stuck my tongue out at him before I closed the door behind me. I was giggling as I walked back in to Eric's studio. 

"You knew it would, you bastard. You knew it would turn me on, exhibiting myself like that. What are you doing to me, why an I so excited again?"

"I'm just letting the real you come out." was his smug reply.

Later, on the train, when I had a chance to reflect on the day, I asked myself, 'is this the real me?' I knew I was infatuated with Eric. I knew I reveled in everything he made me do. I loved every minute of it and I wanted more. And my new relationship with my husband? I loved that too, I even loved him more than before. As much as I submitted myself to Eric, I wanted more power over Harvey. Indeed, what have I become?

That evening, at the dinner table, Harvey was quieter than usual and it wasn't until we were preparing to retire that he brought up what was on his mind.

"How was work today?" He timidly asked. He could hardly get the words out.

"The same as usual." I answered, not offering any information.

"Were you..........were you with.......?" he could complete the sentence.

"In your imagination did yon think I was with a lover? Is that what you're trying to ask me Harvey?"

He just stood there mute. He couldn't ask what was on his mind. I reached out and drew him to me. 

"Did you spend the day imagining that I put my arms around his neck, like am doing to you now? Did you imagine I was rubbing my body against his like this? Were you thinking about how hard he got, just like the cock I am holding now? Were you imagining me, on my knees like I am now, worshipping his cock like I am sucking on yours now?

Did you imagine your slut wife sucking him off like I am going to do to you and then swallowing his cum like I will yours?"

He came. He came in my mouth and for the first time in our marriage, I swallowed it all, except for the last burst. Then I stood up, with it still in my mouth, and fed back to him when I kissed him and told him I loved him, and only him.

"I love your imagination, Honey," I told him between kisses, "I love how hot it makes me and gives me new ideas to use in our love making."  

"Now I want you to eat me Baby," I demanded as I lay back on the bed. "I want you to eat and imagine it's my lovers cum you are eating out of my pussy."

He ate me like he had never done before and when I came it was almost as good as when I came for Eric. I realized as I clutched my husband head in my crotch how much I did love him and how my newly acquired power over him only made me appreciate him more. 

Several weeks went by with my home life and my Thursday liaisons becoming more routine. I was in a continuous state of heat. I had more and better sex in those few months than I had ever had in my whole life. I was floating on air; I existed in an endorphic haze, suspended between desire and completion, between husband and lover.

Until the Thursday I got to Eric's and when to door opened to my naked body I was greeted by Eric and a grinning Hector. I was so accustomed to Hector watching me arrive that it didn't even register that he was inside the studio this morning instead of in the hall. 

"We have a problem." was Eric's salutation as I straightened up after depositing my clothes on the floor inside. "I don't have the rent money for this month."

"How much do you need," I asked. "I don't have more than thirty dollars with me."

"Five hundred," he answered, "or I have to get out by five tomorrow."

"What are you going to do?" I asked him.

"Do you want to see me have to leave here and go back to Minnesota. Right now it's up to you." was Eric's reply. 

Hector's grin became much wider, turning into a leer...

"What do you mean?" was my reluctant query knowing the answer before I asked.

"Hector says that if you give him a fuck every week when you come here, that will cover the rent."

"Are you crazy? You want to pimp me out to pay your rent? You want me to be a whore?" I was furious. 

Hector's grin disappeared.

Eric just looked at me, disappointed, and shrugged. Then he turned to Hector and said, "There's your answer Hector, I was hoping she would go for it, but that's how my luck has been going. I'll remove what I can today and I'll be out by tomorrow at five."



"Too bad Irene," he said to me, "I was hoping you liked coming here enough and you would do it. You're a great piece of ass but last week was our last fuck. I don't have time for you anymore today, I have to move out. You might as well get dressed and go home."

I stood there dumbfounded, naked and uncomprehending, it had happened so fast. My happy world was ending; one end of my sexual axis had become unhinged. I was about to loose my lover! 

I didn't want that, I needed him! I didn't want to go back to the vanilla life I lead before!

"Wait." I shouted. My anger had vanished, replaced with the inevitability of my hunger.

Before I could think, before I could stop myself, before I could change my mind. Both men turned back to look at me. 

"I'll do it." 

Eric smiled, Hectors grin returned. In fact he danced with joy. 

I lost myself in Eric's arms as he kissed me. It was where I belonged, where I wanted to be and then I felt another pair of hands on me. Sliding up and down my sides, fondling my buttocks, a finger violating my asshole, penetrating me. 

It was something I had never experienced, four hands caressing my body, squeezing my nipples, rubbing my clit, entering my pussy, finding my g-spot. A cock against my belly, another against the small of my back, it was more than my emotions could handle. I came, sandwiched between two men; I came so hard that it was a good thing they were holding me up. My legs could not support me.

Eric had magnanimously offered Hector first dibs on my pussy and since I was still pissed off at being used as a whore to pay his rent, I was determined that Hector would get no pleasure or any enthusiasm on my part in our coupling. So much for my determination. His cock slid into my well lubricated pussy with the ease of hot knife into butter. It did a Rumba inside of me that soon had me responding to his Latin rhythm in my own version of the dance. He soon had me urging him on in what I thought was Spanish, even though I couldn't speak the language.

When he pulled out, Eric, not wanting to enter my cum filled pussy, chose to take me anally. God, how I loved to have him back there! I eagerly got on my hands and knees for him, not knowing what he had in store for me. When I was thoroughly impaled by him he rolled over onto his back with me lying on top of him, face up. Hector, immediately realizing the possibility, lay down on top of me and slid his cock into my leaking pussy. The Rumba became a Mambo. 

It was my first time experiencing double penetration, I went nuts. I came so hard that they both had trouble remaining plugged into me. We filled the air in that small studio with screams of joy and I was hooked on MFM. 

Hector was shorter than Eric but taller than me. Not as well built as my lover but wiry and strong. His Latino coloring was a contrast to Eric's Nordic fair complexion and his equipment was just as impressive. His Latin emotionalism was the opposite of Eric's stoicism and it made the day even more exciting, I spent the whole time satisfying two demanding stallions and completely exhausting, as well as satisfying, myself.

I rode home on the train that evening with a throbbing pussy and anus, looking forward to that night's recitation of me telling my husband what he imagined me doing that day. The telling was becoming as exciting as the doing, 

I delayed my bedtime preparations until he was already in bed, propped up with a couple of pillows against the headboard, reading a book. I made my entrance wearing only the top a sexy baby doll night gown. 

"Did your imagination run wild today?" I asked him as I climbed on the bed and straddled him, "Could you have imagined that my lover had a twin." I continued.

The book fell to the floor.

"Yes there was two of him. Can you imagine two men in bed with me? Well you did today, you surprised me. Two men, each with a big cock. Your imagination is so good Honey, you have no idea how much it excites me. Oooohh, look it excites you too."

I moved up on his body, my pussy was now in front of his face.

"Yes Baby, kiss me there. Yes, you do that so good. I'll bet that you imagined both of them fucking me there, didn't you? Both of them fucking your horny wife at the same time, leaving their cum inside of me. Lick me there, that's right. Can you tell if it's two different flavors?"

I continued my recitation of the day's activities, pressing my advantage over my clueless husband. I had the power now. "I think you imagined them fucking my ass too? You must have because it feels funny back there too. I feel like I'm leaking there also. Lick me there and see if your imagination was right. Oh God, Harvey, you're going to make me cum! Oh yes, yes. I love you Harvey, I love you, I love you so much and I love your imagination."

I showed him how much I loved him when I sucked him off before we went to sleep. My pussy and my ass were both too sore from the day's activities for me to let him use me there. I fell asleep so proud of myself that I could enjoy not one, but two lovers now and still keep the love of my poor deluded husband. I had it all!

It is said that 'Pride goeth before the fall'. I never really understood the phrase until the evening of the following Thursday. I now know it to mean, don't be so proud of yourself that you can't imagine your world falling apart around you. That's what happened to me that day.

I got to Eric's at none o'clock as usual. Hector was waiting in the hall. I gave him a bright smile and a greeting as I stripped, "Hi Hector, I see you're here on time to collect the rent. Last week was a real blast; you rocked me with your horizontal Mambo." I raised my hand to knock on the door.

"Nobody home." he said as I rapped with my knuckles.

"Nobody home?" I repeated stupidly as I knocked again.



"Nope, he's gone. Evicted, Last Friday. Moved out."

"Gone? Moved out? Where? Why?" I couldn't believe the words.

"Yep. Evicted for non payment of the rent. Gone back to Minnesota I guess."

"But I thought........I......you......"

"Come on Irene, you can't be as stupid as his is. Did you really think my boss could deposit the fuck you gave me into his bank account? Hey, but since you enjoyed it so much, we could go down to my office for a repeat performance."

I was sobbing as I pulled my clothes back on. I managed to gasp out, "Fuck you, you lying bastard, fuck you!"

He was laughing as I ran away, "That's exactly what I want you to do Irene. Why are you running away?" It's a good thing I hadn't put my heels on yet or I might have tripped and fallen as I ran. I couldn't rein in my emotions even after I was settled on the train to return home. I cried silently until I got to my destination.

I spent the afternoon mourning the loss of my lover and the pleasures he gave to me. There was no way I could contact him, he could never afford a cell phone. I was going to miss his beautiful body and that glorious cock. I wonder where he is now and if he misses me as much as I miss him. And that prick Hector, after what he did to me, after turning me into whore to pay Eric's rent, he reneged on his deal. I could kill that lying bastard! Thank God, Harvey never knew what was going on.

I was to find out otherwise before the evening was over. Harvey was in bed, reading as usual, when I came out of the bathroom wearing a flannel night gown. "That's unusual," he said.

"What's unusual?" I parried.

"The night gown." he stated, "The past few months you have been wearing sexy stuff on Thursday nights. You're not going to tell me what I imagined you doing at work today?"

"No not tonight Harvey. It wasn't a good day."

"Not a good day, huh? Then let me tell you what I imagined. I imagined you had a really bad day. I imagined that when you got to work there was nobody there. The door was locked and you couldn't get in. I imagined that you loved your work so much and you were so disappointed that you left your work place crying your eyes out."

A chill went up my spine.

"Do you remember what my brothers do for a living Irene?" The abrupt change of subject caught me unawares.

"What? No..... Yes.... Something to do with real estate."

"They run a management company; they manage buildings, commercial buildings, apartment houses, loft buildings. Buildings owned by corporations, by shareholders who can't be bothered managing the buildings they own."

My blood was running cold.




The Artist



"There are about two dozen major companies like that in New York and they have a sort of informal association that meets for lunch about a month to keep them up to date on various business developments. Like deadbeat tenant scams, security problems, you know, unusual occurrences."

I started shivering.

"Did you know that a lot of the commercial building have security cameras now, in the elevators and hallways, just like the hotels do? They say it helps prevent break ins. About two months ago one of the guys brought in at CD of a woman running around practically naked in the hall in one of his buildings. He said that she could really shake her tits and her ass. Can you imagine my brother's surprise when he watched that CD on the TV screen over the bar in that restaurant?"

My blood froze. "Harvey," I croaked.

"Wait," he said, "There's more. 

"It seems she was banging some artist who was living there in his studio and the building super knew all about it. The super was clearly visible in all the hall videos. Did you know that it's possible to takes videos through a wall now? Well not exactly through the wall but they drill a hole and slip a fiber optic cable through and they can record everything that goes on, on the other side. So with the super's help that's that they did last Thursday. Would you like to see the recording of that Irene?"

"Noooo," I groaned

"Good." He said, "I would have been embarrassed showing it to you. Would you believe that she took on two guys at the same time? It was the slutiest thing I ever saw, more than I ever could have imagined.

Them he turned and left the room. No accusations, no shouting, no questions, no nothing. Not much conversation either over the weekend. Nothing beyond what was absolutely necessary for next five days. I didn't know what to expect and I certainly didn't want bring the subject up. 

I was served with the divorce papers at work on Tuesday. 

"It didn't take you long to get these drawn up," was my greeting to him when I got home.

"I had months to prepare for this and you made it so easy for me. I suspected something was going on the night you came home late because you were shopping. You were all over me and the guilt was written on your face. I just wasn't sure exactly what was going on, so I played along with you. And the next Thursday, for God's sake Irene, you brought home a hickey, on your tit. Did you really think I didn't see it or that I believed your telling me about my imagination? I just decided to wait until I had some hard evidence before I took action; I wanted more leverage in our divorce settlement. And, boy oh boy, do I have it now." 

"But Harvey, after all our years together........."

"Yeah, all our years together and what did they mean when you whored yourself out to pay his rent. No Irene, look at the papers. Accept 'Irreconcilable Differences' and you get twenty grand. One lump sum, enough to start a new life and that's all. Go somewhere, faraway from us, or I file for 'Adultery' and your parents and friends and the whole world gets copies of the DVDs."

I took the money, and my sorrow for what I had done, and I left the world that I had destroyed.



The Artist



Thoughts before the actual story, I honestly don't know why I am sharing this, I just am. I guess my kinky dirty side will never die even if I keep it under wraps to have a normal relationship. However, please know this story is completely true, but what I share is in no particular order. Each "true" story posted is for a specific person(s) (multiple only if multiple people were involved). The only thing that is false is the names. I am not looking to be a writer or a story teller so save your grammar/English corrections for someone that gives a shit. 

*****

The artist will be called "Dolly" for quite frankly I treated her like a sex doll. She later showed to me she is a sexy woman and you could do whatever you want to her much like a sex doll. We met online where I met 99% of my woman since my divorce. Trust me when I tell you there are a lot of horny woman on that site that say in their profile they are looking for more than just sex but when it's all said and done they will fuck your brains out. Dolly was no exception; while she didn't fall into the MILF category for she was young and not a mother she later had other assets that fall into the incest and bondage category which you will learn as you read.

We first met at a restaurant that was designed to appear that you were aboard a ship. The location is irrelevant but thought I should start somewhere. When she first walked up to me I wasn't impressed, she had this plain dorky look to her: no glasses, hair pulled tight, and a weird thing in her hair. I was immediately turned off just by the presentation and as we were walking in all I could think about was: 1hr I will get rid of her and then go have a smoke. However, an hour into the date and talking to her I was intrigued; there was just something about her that caught my interest and my original plan of ditching her was voided. 

It's safe to say after dinner we went out and got some smokes: turns out she was a former smoker and thanks to me smoking again. From there we bar-hopped hitting multiple unique and expensive bars but by the end of the night we had a kiss/make-out session that would give an old man a chubby. While she didn't dress to kill her kisses sure did. I was interested.

Not sure if it was the next day or a few days later I invited her to my condo. Now understand my condo was setup purposely for convenience for myself as well as a mean to get laid. My living room I turned into a storage area due to it being small enough that it earned its name of the bachelor pad. Because of that my generous spacious bedroom allowed me to have all the items I needed to live a comfortable life as once again a single bachelor. The key to the setup was in front of the TV you had 2 choices: the recliner or the bed. Well let me tell you if you have a conversation with a person of sexual interest while sitting on a bed will make seduction that much easier. With Dolly it was even easier than I could ever imagine. What I didn't mention earlier with all that we discussed in our first date she informed me a few things; the most important are listed below and they are a big reason to the games and fun we experienced that many jerk-off to:

1.She made it clear she is bi-polar. On medication and been hospitalized for it. If anyone knows anything the crazier the girl the wilder the sex.

2.She couldn't get her previous boyfriend to be adventurous; he was missionary boy. So she was interested in experimenting wonder what that could have been.

3.She experienced incest/exhibitionism with her father.

Like I said I invited her in and we took comfort on top of my bed discussing many things but it didn't take long before we started to kiss. Picture it: me with my back against the wall due to the position of the bed and her in doggy position kissing me. Not sure why I did it but I slid my hand from head, to neck, to her back right to her ass and what a nice ass it was. So nice I just couldn't help myself and slapped it. If I did anything right it was slapping that ass on that very day. Turns out this girl has fetishes and secrets that she wanted to share with me but in time; slapping that ass was like turning on a power switch to her hormones and that wait went from several dates to several seconds. Before I knew it she was attacking my pants like her life depended on it and engulfed, not kissed but ENGULFED my cock. I haven't had a woman suck my cock like that since my first girlfriend after my divorce who I challenge ANY female porn star to suck it better. 

Dolly was working to be a great contestant for the best cock sucker title and she was definitely earning it. Between being horny, not getting some pussy for several days I decided to test her boundaries: turns out she really didn't have any. While she was yet to be skilled in the art of deep throating she learned it that day and I spent several hours and multiple times face fucking her. Dolly just couldn't get enough; it got to the point while we took a break from the action by looking at erotic/exotic art by an artist that I can't recall for the life of me I decided to put on the movie "The Ugly Truth" with Katherine Heigl. You know that scene where she has time to kill and decides to try the butterfly panties and later a kid gets his hand in the remote and she has a HUGE orgasm in front of people at the table and everyone else in the restaurant. Yeah that movie! 

Anyway, so picture it, I am sitting on the bed with Dolly next to me trying to watch the movie; granted I didn't pull my pants all the way up but I didn't see why bother being "decent" considering how she let me treat her mouth like a Fleshlight or a well lubricated hand. Not even 15 minutes into the movie she has this look in her eye and without even asking for permission just crawls up to me which was a short distance and just starts sucking my cock..again. Who was I to stop but I wanted to watch the movie so I tried; keyword is I tried. She wasn't making it easy for me to concentrate. Well using the movie as a measure of time she sucked my cock at least 2 more times, swallowed my load on both (and it takes a lot to make me cum via BJ you have to be one hell of a cocksucker to do it) and at one point she tore off her pants like she had ants in her pants and said and I quote "Just do it. 

I can't take it anymore, just put it in I am so fucking horny." Well I aim to please so I did, and pounded that pussy to make sure she walked with a gap between her legs. Due to all the BJ's and orgasms she gave me earlier that pounding she took was a long one for it took a lot for me to cum again! But thankfully that worked in her favor for I can't tell you how many times she came and her pussy squeezing my cock like a vice grip. It truly was an amazing second date. Oh did I mention she was supposed to be at her second job? LMAO What can I say I have that effect on woman.

From there it only got worse but in a good way. She would come in any time of the day that I was there and just submit to my demands and I mean just that she truly submitted. She was true to the word a submissive. I later learned if I told her to come back to my place with a woman she would. If I told her to help me trick her sister into fucking me she would. If I told her to help me fuck her mom she would. This girl did anything and I mean anything I told her and I have to tell you it was fun. I spent an entire month of having fun with this. One time I had someone in the condo while she and I were laying on our sides, her resting her head on her arm while I face fucked her and the person walked in on us. That was very interesting. 

It wasn't till after the break-up that we fucked one final time and I learned all her secrets. The reason for the break-up was I got a taste of what a true bi-polar episode is like, and I wasn't interested in dealing with that for the rest of my life. Bad enough I wasted 11 years of my life being married to the wrong woman, I wasn't going to deal with someone flying off the handle over imaginary shit in her head. No thank you!! I am sure this offended some readers and you know what get over it. It's called life. We are not obligated to please everyone and that clearly includes you.

But stay with me here, this is where her story gets interesting. After all the times of kinky sexy which most of the time she was being choked by my cock and loving it oh and eating out my ass just because I can get her to do it I really had fun with her on our last and final fuck. We worked things out but I told her this is strictly sex, but the rules are the same: I am completely in charge and you do whatever I say no questions asked. If you say no to anything the game is over and take your shit and go home. I asked are you sure you want this and she confirmed yes she is. I said fine. Come to my condo and meet me outside for I will be in the car waiting for. 

About 15-minutes later she shows and man I had second thoughts about dumping her or/and better said not-getting back with her for she was dressed to kill. She had this long length black skirt from ankle to hip with a slit all the way up to her ass. She was wearing at least 3-inch heels if not higher, and black thigh-high stockings. Oh it gets better. For the top she was wearing button-down white suit shirt with enough buttons to see her huge cleavage that was clearly emphasized by her black push-up bra. Oh and her jet black hair was flowing in the wind and sexy as all hell. 

While I was admiring this thing of beauty or better said a present that was made just for me I had my pants push down and stroking my cock. I had her come into the car to which she saw I was hard and had it presenting and I asked her one simple question: "Are you sure about this?" As soon as she said yes I grabbed a handful full of her hair and shoved her face into my lap and said "SUCK MY COCK YOU FUCKING SLUT!" Like a good slut she did as ordered and proceeded to drive to the adult store.

Yes I had plans for this one and she didn't even know where we were headed; all she knew was her job was to suck my cock and cover it in the ruby red lipstick she was wearing while I drove to our destination. During our trip she tried to take a few breaks but I told her no breaks and shoved her fucking head right back where it belonged and like a good slut she obeyed. 

Now some of you might be bothered or disgusted by this so far and that is fine. Clearly this aspect of sex isn't for you. But for her and I, we fucking love it! Jumping ahead I pulled into the parking lot but decided to sit there for a few minutes allowing her to continue to service me as she was instructed to do so. At some point I had the idea of showing up in the store with a huge bulge in my pants and her dressed as she was. So using her hair as a tool to control her actions I pulled her off me and said that is enough for now, more later. She wiped her mouth and waited for her instructions to which I instructed her to get out of the car and go into the store with me. 

I will save you the details of the store but let me tell you, it would make most sluts cream in their panties when they walk into it. It's truly a place for the members of Literotica. When we were done window shopping and obtaining stuff we left with a couple of porn DVD's and 2 pieces of bondage tools: non-adhesive bondage tape and a strap that I will later explain.

Getting into the car with our purchases we set off to my condo, and yes you guessed it her head was in my lap sucking away at my cock. When we arrived in-front of my place I had her to continue sucking hoping the couple that I heard fucking many times through the floor would come out and see her sucking away but no such luck. Eventually I made her stop for I wanted to get into the real fun.

One can't help but think: how she got this way? Could be because she is bi-polar or could be her is wired this way. She confided in me that she has a fetish for incest and she experienced it...sort of. Years ago when she was 18 she and her father were messing around: not sexually just playing around and for whatever reason he tied her up. That turned her on like you wouldn't believe just like when I slapped her ass and her hormone switch was turned on like that. She informed she maneuvered her hands just right and start fingering her pussy. Her father refused to watch, but refused to leave the room too. In fact she finger cunt and rubbed her clit to a mind blowing orgasm. They did this another time and possibly more times that she hasn't told me. After learning this I told her my fetish for incest and especially mothers hence are the ones I primarily date/fuck. I also used her fetish for daddy to my advantage; for instance when she was throat fucking me or better put me throat fucking her I would say things to her like "Suck daddy's cock" and she would just moan and attack it more vigor. Good times!

Going back to us returning from the store. After we walked to the flight of stairs to my condo I led her in and instructed her to remove her heels to avoid further complaints from my neighbors; it's weird though I never got a single complaint from them about the woman having screaming orgasms in my place. Whatever! What she didn't see as she was removing her heels was I was taking off my belt, looped it through the belt buckle, and as soon as she turned around I looped it around her neck, tighten it to which she replied "You got to be kidding me" and dragged/pulled her to the bed. Roughly putting her onto it, laying on her back, having her head hanging off the bed, making her open her mouth as wide as she can and face fucked her till I came down her throat, into her mouth , and the rest on her face. 

When I got my first pop of the night I let her up but didn't remove the belt. I needed that to remind her who is in charge tonight and every other night. Following my instructions I had her get on my bed after leading her to the room. Once on the bed I removed the belt, slid my hands up her legs, and slid her panties off. Then having her lean forward I instructed her to put her hands and wrists together to which I locked them together using the non-adhesive bondage tape. From there I slid her skirt so it was pushed back past her ass and had her lay-back. Using the strap which the concept is simple and easy to make I looped her right ankle, then ran the strap around the back of her neck and the other end of the strap was another loop to her left-ankle while having her hands/arms raised about her head. Picture it, a sexy brunette bondage into the missionary position and there was no way out of it.

TIME TO PLAY

From there I took my time and had my fun. First I toyed with her pussy which was shaved bald: she really knows what I like. Between my fingers and using my tongue I had the clit so hard it was clearly sticking out and the juices were flowing. Being with her for a month I knew the signs when she was about to cum and I didn't let it happen. I would bring her to the brink and then just stop leaving her gasping for breath begging for release and I wouldn't give her one nor would I reply. I just enjoyed the show.

Look I am not a complete bastard I was going to give her an orgasm but I wanted her to have many orgasms where I would save my energy for the big event. Stay with me and you will know how I did both soon enough. So once I thought she had enough teasing it was time to let her release. First taking my time leaving her like that I went and grabbed one of the movies and put it in the DVD player and started it. I first sat there watching the movie as the woman were getting it on. When I finally saw the movie had Dolly's complete attention I started the preparation that will bring her an orgasm: 6 to be exact. First plugging in the extension cable for I didn't want to be limited by the length of the cord and then into the extension cable the Hitachi Magic Wand. For anyone not familiar with this product, Google it and buy it. Woman fucking love it to the point they will try to steal it from you; trust me I know. 

With her bonded in missionary I told her to watch the movie. Setting the Wand to slow I toyed with her pussy and clit; watching the lips pulsate, the juices slowing, her chest rising and lowering, and listening to her breath. Just when I got her to where I wanted her I changed the setting from slow to fast and pressed firmly onto her clit. It was literally only seconds later that she came and she came hard. In fact I think she squirted. When that orgasm was done I kept the toy there and just watched the movie. 

It was several minutes later 4 additional orgasms after which added up to 5 she was crying and begging me no more. Being the sadistic male whore that I am I said "One more honey". Even though she was shaking her head no and tears running down her eyes I continue to use the toy on her clit and she reached orgasm #6. That one really did her in to the point she passed out a few seconds which later when she came to she admitted she never felt anything like that before. 

What she didn't realize I wasn't done yet. But first I needed a big hard on to accomplish what we discussed on our first date and other times together: anal sex. For those not into anal feel free to stop reading. Those that want to learn the proper way to introduce someone to anal keep reading. First things first I had to clean-up so leaving her there to catch her bearings but keeping her bonded I grabbed a baby-wipe to clean the toy, wrapped up the cord, and tucked it again. Then positioning myself so I was sitting on her chest I told her that her next task simple. I want her to suck my fucking cock but don't get me to cum; her job is to get me hard...REALLY HARD.

Using what she learned and her god given skill she accomplished her task as instructed. Once I had the proper firmness I then repositioned myself on my knees in front of her pussy. Between rubbing my cock up and down her lips and going in and out a few times here and there I pulled out and positioned my cock at her anal love hole. That is when the realization kicked in. Her eyes bugged out and she just stared at me wide eyed. I was like yes, we are done talking about anal, time you do it. Giving a little pressure feeling the resistance my head popped in. She panicked shortly after screaming "It's too big take it out take it take it out" but she never used our safe word so I screamed "No". The obedience immediately kicked in and she just stared into my eyes as I further said "Just let your ass adjust. I will go very slow." Going an inch about every minute I finally got all 7-inches in her and she just stared at me in disbelief that she has a cock in her ass and it's really not hurting. 

I started to slowly pump as she continued to stare at me wide eyed with her lips making a big O. Once I felt her asshole loosen up and she didn't flinch I started to really give it to her and pounded that ass. That was my grand finally and finished and left a huge load in her ass. It's official, she has been fucked by me in all 3 holes. Later after I released her from her bondage we went out for a cigarette and she kept saying over and over again "I really like anal". Turns out she tried anal before me only once and the person sucked at it. I learned anal with someone else new to it years ago to which how I developed the skill to do it right. She wasn't my first to break into butt sex and she was also not my last. Many have learned how good a buttfuck can be if done right.

Things after that night between us went to shit and we went our separate ways. I can't help but wonder if I had feelings for her past sex where would we be today. Would I have fucked her sister? Would I have fucked her mother? Or better yet, would I have had her fuck her father? Who knows. I would be okay with just about anything.

By the way she knows about this site and can figure this out that it's about her based on the details. Feel free to reach out to me; no hard feelings. But you have to prove it's you. Message me something that only you and I would know. For instance, what brand cigarettes were we smoking when we were together?



The Artist



Poppy was up early, even though it was a Saturday. She had so much to do before she left the house. She'd already picked out her clothing last night, after hours of agonising over every item. She had laid out the little make up she had on her dressing table. She'd even had a practice with it, knowing how long it was since she had last used it.

She was glad she had allowed herself so long to get ready. Normally she was the type of girl who got up, threw some clothes on, brushed her teeth, and headed out. But not today. Half an hour in the shower, ages brushing her long brunette hair, making sure it was just right, so long in front of the mirror, trying to get her make up perfect.

Today, for the first (and almost certainly only) time in her life, Poppy was going to be a life model.

***

It was all Sarah's fault. Sarah had been Poppy's best friend since school, and they told each other everything. A few months ago, Sarah had told Poppy something that had shocked her - she had volunteered to do some life modelling.

"You mean - naked?" Poppy asked, sure she had misunderstood.

"Yeah," Sarah said, a little nervously.

"In front of a load of people?" Poppy asked incredulously.

Sarah was almost as shy and reserved as Poppy - although the two of them had been on holiday together plenty of times and shared a room, even Poppy had never seen Sarah fully naked. The two of them would always get changed in the bathroom.

"No, just one guy," Sarah replied. "He's called Toby."

"Where?" Poppy asked.

"In his flat," Sarah said.

"So you're going to go to a strange guy's flat, take all your clothes off, and sit there and let him draw you?" Poppy asked, sure this was some kind of joke.

"Yeah," Sarah said. "I know what you're thinking, but he's a friend of a friend, he's OK."

"But why?" Poppy had asked, still thinking Sarah was winding her up.

"I just think it would be nice, I'm so insecure about my body, and I just thought it might help. I still only let Jake have sex with me with all the lights off, and it would just be good if I was confident enough to, you know, show off for him a bit," Sarah explained.

Poppy felt the usual jealousy she did when Sarah mentioned Jake. Neither Poppy nor Sarah had had boyfriends at school, and they'd both only had short relationships since, never long enough for either of them to think about having sex. But a year ago Sarah had met Jake through a dating site, and things were going great for them.

Sarah had started sleeping with Jake a few months ago, and shared all the details with Poppy. Poppy would go home and fantasise about having sex, imagining that she was Sarah and that Jake was there, doing the things to her that Sarah had described. It was weird, and she'd never told Sarah she did this.

Poppy had never thought that Sarah would go through with posing as a life model, but she did. She came back and described the whole thing to Poppy. The guy had been lovely, made her a cup of tea, got her comfortable, and drawn a really great picture of her. He'd given her a copy, which Sarah offered to show to Poppy.

When she did, Poppy could feel herself going bright red with embarrassment. It was only a drawing, but it was fantastically detailed, the guy was obviously extremely talented. He'd spared no detail, and Poppy could now see all the parts of Sarah's body she had never seen in real life.

If the artist was to be believed, Sarah had a fantastic pair of boobs. Poppy had always been jealous of Sarah's boobs - both had been pretty flat chested in their early teens, then Sarah's had suddenly got huge whilst Poppy's had settled at a B cup. But seeing them bare, even only in the drawing, made her even more jealous.

What really surprised her was Sarah's bare crotch. The artist had added not a single hair, and had added just the slightest mark at the point of the triangle her closed legs formed, which looked to Poppy as if it was Sarah's cooch just peeking through. The two had discussed girls shaving their private area before, and both had been against it.

"I know, I know," Sarah said, when she said Poppy looking. "It's just... I got embarrassed about Toby seeing me with pubes. I know it's silly..."

That night Poppy went up to bed early, as she always did when she was planning on playing with herself. She undressed and climbed into bed naked, pulling the covers over her. For some reason, even though she lived alone, she still felt the need to cover herself up before she touched herself.

She spread her legs and put her hand between them, feeling her cooch nestled in her thick untrimmed pubic hair. She started to rub gently, starting as she always did with the lips, denying herself her clit until she was more aroused to tease herself. She immediately started to relax as the gentle pleasure started to warm her body.

Before Sarah had started sleeping with Jake, Poppy hadn't masturbated that often. It had just been an occasional thing. There was a time of month, the last few days, when her hormones made her a bit horny, and she would usually have a bit of a play with herself a couple of times.

But since that time that Sarah had described to her in detail exactly how she had lost her virginity to Jake Poppy had found herself naked between the sheets far more frequently. She was starting to get really good at it. She'd even had her first ever orgasm a few weeks ago. She'd told Sarah, of course, but left out the fact that she'd been fantasising about riding Jake cowgirl at the time.

Poppy's lips swelled and moistened as she gradually rubbed them harder, her whole body starting to become aroused. She imagined herself walking into an artist's studio, drawings of nude women adorning the walls, the guy sat there with his pencil and paper, her undressing in front of him, him admiring her body.

Poppy let her fingers find her clit, loving the boost of pleasure that always came from giving in to the ache and touching her pleasure button. She had got a lot more confident and experienced with playing with it recently, and it rewarded her handsomely. Her arousal meant that the idea of being naked in front of a strange guy seemed not only doable, but enjoyable. She loved imagining him looking at her completely exposed body, seeing the bulge start to grow in his trousers.

She imagined being handed the picture of her naked body, the permanent evidence of her exposure, all of her private parts captured in permanence. Perhaps the artist would take the drawing to bed, start to fantasise about it. She imagined him slipping out his cock, starting to thrust it in his hand as Sarah had described Jake doing to himself. Her thinking about him thinking about her...

Her whole body was warm and tingling, her lady parts aching with pleasure, insatiably begging to be rubbed harder, faster, all over. Her hand was out of her control now, working her clit, sliding down her wet lips and back up again, and on her clit again now, close, so close, his cock was in his hand and...

Her whole body shut down with the pleasure, her mind blank, her hand still rubbing, his lips so sensitive, every nerve ending tingling. The orgasm filled her and she held onto it for as long as she could. As her pleasure slipped into comfortable wellbeing, she felt sleepy.

Her senses returned, and she remembered she was in the house alone, with nobody to give her a cuddle and kiss. Sighing she got out of bed, had a pee and cleaned her teeth, then climbed into her pyjamas and went to sleep.

***

Poppy hadn't thought about the artist again until a couple of weeks ago. It was the last day of the month, her prime time for needing a bit of sexual relief before she went to bed, and sitting watching TV she could feel a twinge between her legs calling for her to take an early night.

When she got between the sheets naked, her mind wandered around, looking for something to focus on. Prior to Sarah starting to sleep with Jake, Poppy hadn't usually fantasised when she touched herself, but now it felt weird to masturbate without thinking of something at least vaguely sexual or arousing.

Jake had been away for a few weeks so Poppy hadn't been hearing stories of Sarah sleeping with him, and accordingly she hadn't been having much between the legs action herself recently. It was weird to think how closely linked her own arousal had become to Sarah and Jake's sex life. It wasn't a good thing. She needed her own boyfriend.

Her cooch reacted in the way it tended to do these days when it had been neglected for a while and was already moist in anticipation by the time she could get her hand down there. The waves of pleasure that even her gentle initial rubs gave her told her that her sexual parts were delighted to be back in action again, even though it was yet again a solo session.

With no Sarah and Jake scenario to imagine, her mind returned to the idea of posing nude for that artist. In her fantasy, it didn't seem so bad. It wasn't like she knew him, and it wasn't like she ever had to see him again. To him she would just be a body to draw, another work of art for his collection.

She felt her bare boob, her nipple hard. Guys loved boobs, but she always kept hers covered up. Why shouldn't she get them out and let a guy see them, enjoy them? She was insecure about her boobs, but he might like them, get more benefit out of them than she did. How exciting to have her boobs out and nothing covering them for once.

She let her clit join the action, her hand sliding easily as her juices moistened her. She imagined where he was now, maybe in his bedroom, fantasising over some other girl he'd drawn, maybe Sarah. He'd had those huge boobs of hers out on display for hours, taken his time over picking out every detail. What guy wouldn't wank over those breasts?

And Sarah had done it; she'd actually done it for real. Taken all her clothes off, sat there naked, kept her hands out of the way, let the guy admire her body at his leisure, capture the shape of her nipples, the shadow of her boobs, that feminine v that disappears between her legs, hiding the very parts Poppy was now rubbing so furiously, that a guy would so love to get his hands on, get his cock inside.

Poppy's whole body was now focussed on one task, pushing herself over the edge, giving herself a fantastic orgasm, a wash of pleasure. Her hand worked her clit furiously, giving it no option but to push her closer and closer, not giving herself any relief from her arousal. Her breathing quickened, images flashing through her mind - the artist was looking at Sarah's boobs, no Poppy's boobs. He ran his eyes down her body, towards her crotch, and she did nothing to stop him...

Poppy released her hand from her clit, seconds away from her climax. Her whole body ached and complained in protest, her clit demanding that she return her hand immediately, given herself completion. But she just laid there, the frustration building and filling her body like never before, every ounce of her aching to go back to rubbing herself. It took all her power to keep her hand by her side, to keep her legs slightly spread rather than trying to rub them against each other.

As her body slowly calmed down, the pleasure and frustration sweating themselves out of her body, her genitals finally getting the message and ceasing their urging, she made her resolution. No orgasm, no more masturbation even, until she'd posed nude for Toby. When she came back from posing for him, she'd come up to bed, get naked again, and work this all out of her system.

***

So this was why Poppy had found herself on a Friday night sat on her sofa, bottomless, legs spread, with a pair of scissors and a mirror in her hand. Sarah had had the whole thing removed, every last hair. She wasn't going to do that. Her bush was a part of her body, and she didn't want to be bare down there.

Besides, she was worried that if she was her lady bits would peek from between her legs, as Sarah's had done. The idea of sitting there and realising he could see her cooch, even just a tiny bit of pink, was too embarrassing for words. Sitting there with him staring directly at it, not allowed to cover it up, watching as he carefully marked it on his drawing - she'd die of embarrassment.

But she was feeling really self conscious now about how hairy she was down there. She'd never had to think about it before; no one had ever seen her pubes but her. Her bush had always been safely concealed under her clothing. But now she was going to not just show it off, but have it carefully examined. At least she could make it look neat.

She spent ages and ages trimming, trying to get it just right. She had no idea what a neat lady bush looked like, having just let it grow as it wanted up to now. She assumed that most girls removed all the hair anyway, so seeing a girl with a crop of curls down there would probably be a novelty to the artist anyway. She just hoped he didn't see it as a problem.

After spending such a long time focussing on such a private area, and with her mind on her naked posing the next day, Poppy slipped her clothes off and was about to get under the covers naked, knowing that her cooch had already started to get moist and was asking for attention. But then she remembered her rule.

Disappointed she slipped on her pyjamas and got into bed, taking ages to fall asleep because of the frustration she was feeling. Tomorrow, she told herself. Pose naked, then you can touch all you like.

***

Poppy knocked on the door nervously. This first bit was going to be the worst. She couldn't believe she was thinking this, but the quicker she could slip off her clothes and start posing naked in front of him the better.

It seemed to take ages for him to arrive, but eventually the door swung open. Oh shit. He was hot.

"Hello, you must be Poppy?" he smiled. He had an amazing smile.

"Um... yeah," Poppy stuttered, too shy even to look at him.

Sarah hadn't told her he was hot. It shouldn't have been a problem, but Poppy was always nervous in front of guys she fancied, and the idea of spending hours alone with him, with her completely naked and him fully dressed and staring at her body, sounded excruciating.

"Hi, I'm Toby, come on in," he said, stepping back to allow her to enter.

You promised yourself you would do this, she told herself. Just get on with it. She went in.

Toby led her into the living room and made them both a cup of tea. They sat there in silence for a few minutes. It felt so weird; it was so normal, having a cup of tea, except that in a minute or two he'd be asking her to take all her clothes off. In any normal situation, that would be a cue to leave immediately and probably to call the police. But today she'd do as she was asked.

"Thanks so much for coming and posing for me," Toby said. "It means a lot."

"That's OK," Poppy said, wishing she could think of something more interesting to say.

"Have you any life modelling before?" he asked casually.

"Um, no, first time," Poppy replied.

"OK, well it's really not as bad as people think," Toby said. "After the first couple of minutes it will just feel normal, and you'll wonder what you were worrying about."

"Yeah," Poppy said, trying but failing to seem convinced.

"Are you nervous?" Toby smiled. That amazing smile.

"Yeah, a bit."

She decided to tell him.

"I've never been naked in front of... well, anyone, really, before," she said, looking away from him.

"You're a virgin?" Toby asked, sounding a bit surprised.

It was a very personal question to ask a stranger, but she had invited it.

"Yeah," she said, still not looking at him.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Toby asked.

"Um... yeah?" Poppy said, confused.

"Me too."

Wow. How on earth had a guy like that failed to sleep with a girl? Poppy would have thought they'd have been queuing up for him, that he could have a different girl every night if he wanted.

She sneaked a glance at him, but he was looking away now.

He looked back at her.

"Well, thanks for making your first time in front of me," he said.

There was a pause. It was time.

"Do I just... take my clothes off here?" Poppy asked.

"No, you don't have to undress in front of me," Toby replied. "Go and undress in the bathroom, wait until you feel comfortable, then come back in here and we'll go into my studio."

Toby pointed Poppy in the direction of his bathroom. As she headed off he said "Poppy?"

She turned to face him.

"I know this is a big thing for you, so if you don't feel totally comfortable being naked, just keep your undies on and I'll draw you like that. Not all my models pose naked."

Poppy nodded and continued down the corridor. Once in the bathroom she closed and locked the door. It felt a bit silly given that she was going to be going out without her clothes on anyway, but for now she valued the last remnants of privacy.

It felt weird enough stripping off in a stranger's bathroom as it was. She took off her jacket and draped it over the side of the bath, then pulled her top off, exposing her black bra. She'd gone out and bought new undies especially, just in case she had to undress in front of him. She stepped out of her shoes and removed her socks, then unfastened her jeans and let these fall to the floor, picking them up, folding them carefully and piling them on the floor on top of her top.

Poppy turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She thought about what Toby had said. She didn't have to get naked. He could still draw her if she was posing in her underwear. Why did he need to see her boobs and pubes? She could just walk out there now, start posing for him, and forget about all the embarrassment of being naked.

But no. She'd come here to pose naked. She'd put on these undies this morning to remove them. If she didn't go out there without a stitch of clothing on, she hadn't kept her deal with herself, and her clit was permanently out of action. The bra and knickers had to go. She reached behind her back and let the clasp go, then let the bra drop from her chest and arms. She added it to the pile of clothes.

Knickers were last. If Sarah had done it, why couldn't Poppy? Time to lose them and go out there and stick to her end of the deal. She dropped them as quickly as she could before she had a chance to change her mind, and added them as the final item on the clothes pile.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Pretty small boobs, firm enough though, and cute nipples - she'd always thought she had cute nipples. She was slim enough, though could still do with losing a few pounds. Her pubes looked well groomed, which was a change. Well, it would have to do.

Taking a deep breath Poppy flicked the lock on the door and walked out into the corridor. Moving as confidently as she could she walked down the corridor towards the living room. As she walked in he turned to look at her. His face lit up with a huge smile when he saw that she completely naked.

"Wow," he said. "You really didn't have to... but thanks!"

He ran his eyes slowly up and down her body, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was doing so. It was Poppy's natural reaction in these circumstances to cover her body, but she knew that wasn't appropriate. She'd just taken her clothes off for the sole reason of showing her body off to him; in fact, it was the whole reason she was here.

"You're beautiful," Toby told her.

Poppy could feel herself blushing.

"Thanks," she said, not looking at him.

Toby led her through into an adjoining room, which was obviously his studio. The walls were covered with his drawings; everywhere Poppy looked were incredibly detailed, almost photorealistic naked bodies. There were plenty of boobs, but lots of cocks too. The models ranged from people around her age up to much older people.

Poppy looked around in wonder.




The Artist



"Have all these people posed for you?" she asked.

"Not all of them," Toby admitted. "Some are just based on photos from the internet. I don't advertise for models, so it's just word of mouth really. Sometimes I don't have anyone pose for me for ages, so I find a good photo online. It's not the same, though. All my best drawings are people who modelled for me."

Poppy noticed the drawing of Sarah in the corner. The model got a copy, but Toby kept the original, that was the deal. Soon Toby's future models would be looking round and seeing a drawing of Poppy's naked body on the wall. Still, it gave her some comfort to know that, just like she was, they would be stood there naked, waiting to have their whole bodies represented on paper to themselves be added to the gallery.

Toby had put a large rug on the floor, and he asked Poppy to lie on it. It was a little itchy, but comfortable enough. He talked her into the position he wanted, calmly, confidently. He knew what he was doing, and Poppy felt safe, despite being naked for the first time ever in front of a guy, and a stranger at that. She already felt like she was starting to get to know him.

Toby had some rather expensive looking lighting equipment which he positioned expertly, illuminating Poppy's body just how he wanted it, making sure there were no awkward shadows, making sure he could make out all of the detail of her body. He talked to her throughout, explaining what he was doing, making sure she was comfortable, that the light wasn't in her eyes.

Having all of the lighting focussed on her made Poppy feel particularly self conscious. Her body was going to be the centre of attention for the next few hours, which was so strange for her. But she felt strangely relaxed. Toby seemed so in control, so comfortable, so conscientious and caring. He seemed like such a lovely guy, the kind of guy in other circumstances she'd have loved to go on a date with.

Eventually Toby had everything exactly as he wanted it, and sat down in his chair, picking up his pad and pencil, readying himself to start drawing.

"Are you OK for me to start to draw you?" Toby asked, and the tone of his voice let her know she was under no pressure at all.

"Yeah," she smiled.

"OK, just try to stay as still as you can," he smiled, examining the blank sheet of paper then looking back at Poppy's body, before returning his eyes to the paper. Poppy could tell that he was visualising how the drawing was going to look, preparing it in his mind before he applied pencil to paper.

Toby ran his eyes up and down Poppy's body, a thoughtful look on his face. Poppy kept looking at him, not wanting to look down at her own body, not wanting to see what he could see, to know that her bare boobs and her neatly trimmed pubes were completely exposed to him.

"So... erm... do you work full time as an artist, or do you have another job?" Poppy asked, hoping that he wouldn't mind chatting to her.

"I'm an architect," Toby replied, his eyes meeting hers for a few seconds, then returning to her body.

"In the week I draw buildings rather than bodies," he said, holding his pencil slightly more firmly now, ready to apply it to the paper.

"And which do you prefer drawing?" Poppy asked.

"Oh, I just like drawing," Toby said. "Ever since I was a kid. I used to draw cartoons and cars. It great that I get to do what I love doing for a job."

"Do you not... get turned on by life drawing?" Poppy asked, surprised. She was certainly going to enjoy fantasising about this tonight. Surely he was not equally attracted to buildings as he was to naked women?

Toby did not reply immediately. His face was screwed up in concentration. He started to apply pencil to paper, moving it in long, curved lines, clearly capturing her outline.

"When I was at university," he said eventually, "I was in the art society, but too embarrassed to go to their life drawing classes. The idea of having someone sit there naked and having to draw their private parts, I just couldn't imagine doing that."

His eyes ran over Poppy's body again, and it was clear that he had got over these reservations as they hovered around her chest area.

"One day the guy who organised the life drawing classes decided to try to get more members, so he managed to persuade the hottest girl on campus to pose. As you can imagine, there were guys who had never even drawn a doodle who were queuing up to attend." 

"I have to admit, I turned up mainly to see her bits."

He blushed.

"I'd never even seen a girl naked in real life then. The idea of getting to stare at a hot girl's boobs and..." his eyes moved down to Poppy's crotch, "crotch for an hour was too exciting to resist."

Poppy could feel herself going red. She may have come partially to give herself material for fantasies, but it felt weird him admitting that it was also part of the reason he drew.

"When she turned up she realised how many guys had turned up just to see her tits, and she refused to pose naked. She eventually agreed to pose in her undies. Most of the guys, including me, were disappointed, and a lot left."

Toby was sketching again, his pencil caressing the paper, his eyes moving from her body to the sketchpad in front of him.

"But like I say, I like drawing. So I drew her. And it didn't matter that her private parts were covered up, not that much. Her whole body was beautiful. I'd never really looked at a woman like that before - like most guys, if I looked at porn, my eyes went straight to boobs and pussies."

Poppy watched him looking at her. Sure, he was spending plenty of time looking at her chest and crotch, but his eyes roamed all over her body, down her legs, over her stomach, to her face. He followed the curve of her body with his gaze, drawing then erasing then drawing again, a true perfectionist.

"I had an hour to just admire her, to try to make something as beautiful as she was. To capture her curves, her light freckles across her chest, a little scar she had on her side. To really look at her face, her expression, capture the shape of her eyes, her nose, her mouth. She was trying so hard to look neutral, but you could tell, when you really looked, that she was a little bit nervous, presumably about all of us looking at her so closely. It was so subtle, but I knew I had to capture it."

Toby's voice was almost hypnotic, his words drawing a picture just as expertly as his hand did, Poppy transported back to that room, to that hot young woman, modesty protected by her underwear but feeling completely exposed under the eyes of the artists. She wondered what Toby saw when he looked at her; what did her expression tell him about what she was thinking? What imperfections might he be noticing?

"She came round and looked at all of the pictures when they were done," Toby continued, smiling at the memory. "She loved mine, and asked if she could keep it. I was so shy round her, felt so awkward that I'd just been staring at her body for an hour, I couldn't say anything, I just nodded."

"She came and found me later and asked if she could pose for me again, in private. Of course I agreed. She came round to my apartment and went into the bathroom. I thought she was just stripping to her undies again, but she came out totally naked. I couldn't believe it. The hottest girl on campus, and she was totally naked in front of me."

"I couldn't believe my luck. I got her to lie on the sofa and I started to sketch her. At first I was too shy to even look at her boobs, never mind draw them. I left her chest and her crotch 'til last, plucking up the nerve to look, hoping she wouldn't mind. It was silly, I know. But when I finally did, finally started to draw the curves of her breasts, the shape of them, her soft nipples, I saw them in a different way to when I looked at porn. Saw her true beauty."

"So... did you two end up together?" Poppy asked, the romantic in her hoping for a happy end to the story.

"Together?" Toby asked, surprised.

"You know, she's coming round to your apartment, taking all her clothes off...?"

"Oh... oh no," Toby said, quickly. "I finished the drawing, gave it to her, and she left."

Poppy suddenly remembered what Toby had told her before, that he was still a virgin. Having heard that story, she was hardly surprised. What kind of guy has a beautiful naked girl in his apartment and doesn't try anything on with her, doesn't even think to ask her out on a date?

"Do you not think... maybe... she was interested in you? You know, in dating?" Poppy asked, intrigued.

"No, why would she be?" Toby asked, confused, looking up at her face and stopping drawing for a second.

"Well... she's coming round to your apartment, taking all her clothes off for you, why would she do that if she didn't want to sleep with you?" Poppy asked, raising an eyebrow. How could he not understand that?

Toby held his hands out in front of him, gesturing at her body. It suddenly hit her that this is exactly what she had done. And now she'd told him that any girl who came round to his apartment and took all her clothes off for him wanted to sleep with him. 

"Erm... I didn't... I mean... it's different!" she protested, desperately trying to think how. She didn't want to sleep with him - did she?

He raised an eyebrow again, then burst out laughing.

"It's OK Poppy, I know what you mean," he smiled. "Yeah, OK, I got a bit excited drawing her, kept hoping she wouldn't look down at my crotch, realise just how much I was enjoying it."

Poppy looked down at Toby's crotch. There was no obvious bulge on this occasion.

Toby laughed again.

"I don't get an erection over drawing a naked body anymore," he said, reading her mind. "It's just a mindset; you've come here for me to draw you, not for me to have sex with you."

"So... you don't fantasise about having sex with the girls who model for you?" Poppy asked, surprised. She didn't know much about guys, but she'd have thought that if a guy had spent hours staring at a naked woman, she would be certain to feature somewhere in his fantasies.

There was another pause before Toby answered.

"I don't have that many girls my age pose for me," he said eventually. "It's usually guys or older women. And even when it is girls my age, it doesn't necessarily mean I fancy them."

He was avoiding the question.

"So you don't fancy me?" Poppy asked, realising she was pushing it but eager to find out.

"I didn't say that," Toby said evasively.

"So you're going to fantasise about me tonight, then?" she asked, starting to feel embarrassed about how the conversation was going, but wanting to find out. As far as she was aware, no guy had ever fantasised about her before. She realised that she was totally comfortable about Toby fantasising about her. She wanted him to.

"Are you going to fantasise about this tonight?" Toby replied, still not prepared to answer the question.

"I asked you first," she shot back.

"I have a rule not to fantasise about girls I draw," Toby admitted eventually. "It would make it awkward if I was drawing you now, knowing I was going to be jacking off over my drawing of you tonight."

Although this should have reassured her, Poppy felt disappointed.

"Couldn't you... make an exception?" she said, barely able to believe she was actually asking a guy to fantasise about it. "I... I wouldn't mind - it would be OK."

Toby didn't reply, just kept sketching.

"It would be kind of a thank you for drawing me," Poppy said, hoping to convince him.

"Are you going to fantasise about posing for me?" Toby asked again.

"I will if you will," Poppy replied. She could feel herself starting to get aroused. She'd never spoken to a guy about fantasising before. She was so glad that her cooch was hidden between her legs so he couldn't see it starting to moisten. But then she realised that her whole body was on display to him; even if her skin started to redden, or her nipples started to harden, he'd know. She looked back at his crotch. Was there a hint of a bulge in his pants?

"OK, deal," he said.

The conversation ended there, both clearly too shy to push it any further. He continued to sketch her, and their conversation moved on to more mundane small talk. To her relief, her body started to calm down, and didn't seem to have betrayed any hint of her arousal to him.

They talked about life, their jobs, their families. Toby seemed like a great guy, and had this been a date, Poppy would have been very keen to see him again. But it wasn't a date; the agreement was that she would pose for him and he would draw her, and he had already made it clear that he didn't like getting involved with his models.

They had agreed that she would pose for two hours, and the time flew by. Eventually Toby looked at his watch and said, "wow, the two hours are nearly up, I have to let you go and get dressed in a few minutes!"

"It's OK," Poppy said, "take as long as you need. I'm in no rush."

She didn't really want this session to end. She was having such a great time with him, felt so relaxed in his company, she was more than happy to stay. She no longer felt any embarrassment about the fact he could see her body. They chatted about TV as he stared at her breasts, carefully reproducing them on the paper in front of him. She told him about her holiday in America as he focussed on her crotch, applying plenty of dark pencil to paper to illustrate those dark, thick, curly pubic hairs.

Toby accepted her invite and took another half an hour drawing and redrawing, adding details and flourishes, not moving on until he was absolutely happy with what he had drawn. He refused to show her the picture until it was finished.

Eventually, after a lot of looking back and forth from Poppy to the sketch pad, some frowning and a last mark or two, he was done. He signed his initials in the corner.

"OK, I'm done!" he smiled. "There's a clean dressing gown over in the corner if you want to cover yourself up now."

"Oh no, it's fine!" Poppy said. "You probably know my body better than I do. I'm not going to get shy about you seeing it now! Just let me see the drawing."

Poppy walked over to Toby, not feeling remotely bothered about the fact she was naked even though she was now standing close to him.

It was stunning. Poppy was convinced Toby must have used vast amounts of artistic licence in drawing her. She couldn't possibly be that slim and well shaped. Her boobs weren't that round, weren't that firm, her nipples not quite that central, surely? Toby had drawn her smiling, and she realised she must have been, given how much she was enjoying his company.

Her hair fell just perfectly, and she was so glad she had spent so much time on it this morning. He had captured every mole, every mark, but not in a way that made them look like imperfections, but in a way that made them look like part of who she was, that made her look real.

"It's perfect," she breathed.

Toby smiled.

"You're OK with me keeping the original and displaying it in here?" he asked.

That was the deal. Poppy looked round at all the other drawings. She'd be in good company.

"Sure," she smiled. "As long as I can have a copy."

Toby went off to make a copy for her, and Poppy disappeared to the bathroom to get dressed again. It was weird to think that a few hours ago she'd been in here taking her undies off, so nervous about him seeing her body, but now her clothes just seemed unnecessary. What did she have to hide from him?

Once she was dressed again she went to join Toby in his office, where he had printed off a copy of the drawing as promised. He turned to look at her.

"You look fantastic wearing clothes as well," he smiled.

"Thanks," Poppy said.

He handed her the drawing.

Would he take his chance now? Invite her over again on the pretext of drawing her dressed? Ask her out for a coffee? She'd say yes in a heartbeat.

"I'll walk you to the door," he said.

"You could make me another cup of tea first," Poppy said. She was helping him. She wasn't going to outright ask him out on a date, but she'd give him as much opportunity as she could.

"Erm, yeah, OK," he said, seeming surprised, but doing as he was asked.

Poppy looked around his office. As he came back in carrying two mugs of tea, she was looking through a sketchbook she had found, drawings of landscapes. Was there nothing he couldn't draw?

Toby looked nervous when he saw what she was doing, but relieved when he noticed it was landscapes she was looking at. 

He handed Poppy her drink, then picked up two other sketch books and went to put them in a drawer.

"What's in those?" Poppy asked, suspiciously.

"Nothing," Toby replied, unconvincingly.

"Let's see then," Poppy said.

Toby looked like he was going to refuse, but eventually he relented. He passed them to Poppy.

Poppy started to look through, and was amazed by what she saw. Page after page of what were clearly cooches. All different shapes and sizes; big lips, small lips, dark lips, light lips, surrounded by hair and bare. Poppy had never even really looked at her own. She'd seen diagrams of them in text books at school, but had never realised how varied they could be.

She'd always thought girls' genitals were ugly and should stay hidden between their legs where they belonged, but somehow Toby had made them look beautiful. She hadn't realised how different they could be, and started to wonder what her own looked like; she'd have to have a proper look when she got home.

"Do girls... actually pose for you like this? With their legs open?" Poppy asked, surprised.

Toby laughed.

"No, of course not. I can't imagine there are many women who'd sit there with their legs spread in front of a guy they didn't know and let him draw their bits," Toby replied.

"So... you've never actually seen a real cooch?" Poppy asked.

Toby went a bit red.

"Well, no. I just get the pictures off the internet. Not off porn sites; there are sites where ordinary women post photos of their vaginas anonymously."

"But you don't show anyone these?"

"No, I've never shown anyone," Toby said. "People would think I was a perv, sitting in here, drawing pussies. But I think they're beautiful. I don't know why women are so embarrassed about them."

"Would you like to draw one for real?" Poppy asked. She couldn't believe what she was saying, still not sure exactly where she was going with this.

"Well yeah, I suppose," Toby said. "But I could hardly ask a girl to pose her pussy for me."

"Can you say cooch? I don't like the word 'pussy'," Poppy said.

"OK," Toby smiled. "I can't ask a girl to pose her cooch for me."

"Would you like me to pose my cooch for you?" Poppy asked before she could stop herself.

"Really?" Toby asked. "I wasn't... I mean..."

"I know you weren't asking," Poppy said. "I was offering."

"I'd... I'd love that... if... you want to," Toby said.

"Same time next week?" Poppy offered.

Toby nodded.

The two finished their drinks as Poppy flicked through his sketches, then Toby showed her to the door.

"Remember you're fantasising about me tonight?" Poppy said as she left.

"Yep."

"But only my body, not my cooch. That's next week," Poppy said, turning and walking away before she could see his reaction.

***

Poppy waited until that evening before she was finally ready to relive that day in her mind. Her body was aching for satisfaction all day, but they'd agreed to fantasise about it tonight.

At 10pm, her phone chimed. It was a text message from Toby.

"About to fantasise about you now."

Poppy turned the TV off and raced upstairs. As she did she replied:

"Wait 5 so we can do it at same time. Remember, no cooch."

As she got into the bedroom, another text came in.

"OK, deal, cooch next week."

Poppy still couldn't believe that she'd actually offered to model her cooch for him. It was one thing being naked, quite another having her legs wide apart and him looking right between them. Still, that was something to worry about later.




The Artist



She threw her clothes off, returning herself to the state she had been in earlier in Toby's house. Instead of getting under the covers as she usually did she stayed on top, spreading her legs, exposing herself to the empty room.

She looked at the display on her phone, imagining Toby in his bedroom doing the same - would he be naked too or would he have just put his hands in his pants? Would he be thinking about her, thinking about him?

Her cooch tingled in anticipation; it'd done without the faintest brush of her hand since she'd decided two weeks ago to deny herself until she'd posed for Toby. Now it was out and ready, knowing that it was going to be the full focus of her attention in just a few moments.

Finally the number ticked over and her hand was immediately on her lips, feeling their moistness, refamiliarising herself with the touch of her fingers, with the sensation that her soft, sensitive pink lips could give her, her whole body quickly warming up and starting to tingle.

She thought about unclasping her bra, uncovering her breasts, stepping out of her knickers, things she could never have imagined doing in a guy's house before, knowing that she was exposing herself deliberately to show off to a guy she didn't know. The way he looked at her when she walked into the living room, the way she didn't try to stop him.

She let a couple of fingers slide inside her slightly, something she hardly ever did unless she was extremely turned on. Her body was aching for more than her clit could give her, for her to be filled up, for her to be completely taken. She slid herself just an inch inside, exploring the opening to her passage, the tightness that came of being a virgin, wishing she and Toby were not in separate beds tonight.

She remembered their conversation about arousal, that bulge in his pants. She'd never given a guy a bulge before, not that she knew. But surely she was now? As she explored herself, her body encouraging her to pinch and rub and stretch and squeeze, she imagined him now, cock in hand, rubbing it whilst he thought about her.

Poppy thought about him chatting away to her as he looked at her pubes, that patch of hair she would normally have been so determined to keep concealed, that her hand ran through now as she moved it up onto her clit, panting with excitement and pleasure as it rewarded her more than ever, making up for lost time.

Her phone beeped. She didn't stop touching herself, but picked it up and looked at the display.

"Done."

Done? He'd have to last longer than that if he was having sex with her!

She rubbed herself harder, delighted that she'd given him an orgasm, remembering that hot girl in the picture, remembering that that was her, or at least how he saw her. Her free hand found her left boob, and it felt more perfect than it did normally, firmer, rounder, the hard nipple in just the right place. Her nipple sent a jolt of pleasure to her brain as she touched it, joining with the pleasure that was washing around her body coming from her clit.

She pushed herself towards climax, teasing herself for just a few seconds as she came close, slowing her hand just enough to stop herself going over the edge, to keep herself at the top, before giving herself a last good thrust of her hand down her lips, letting her fingers enter her just slightly, and her body jolted and filled with delight, and it was a good minute or two before she could text back "done too".

***

Poppy told Sarah all of the details about her day of posing for Toby, including the cooch drawings and even the fantasising afterwards. It was good to for once be able to be open with her friend, rather than pretending she hadn't fantasised so that Sarah didn't realise what most of Poppy's fantasises were based on.

In the cold light of day, the idea of posing with her legs open for a guy she hardly knew seemed a bit stupid, and she was trying to talk her way out of it. But Sarah seemed keen on her going through with the idea.

"He's a hot guy!" Sarah told her. "If I wasn't with Jake..."

"But I don't think anything's going to happen," Poppy said. "He didn't ask me out on a date or anything."

"You both fantasised about each other!" Sarah said. "And he's invited you round to show him your coochie!"

"Yeah, well, I kind of invited myself round," Poppy smiled.

"He didn't say no."

"Maybe he just wants to draw it," Poppy said.

"No guy thinks like that," Sarah retorted.

"Toby does!" Poppy said, and told Sarah the story about Toby and the hot girl from university.

"Well, you'll just have to make sure it doesn't end up like that, won't you?" Sarah smiled.

***

Poppy decided that if Toby was going to draw her lady parts properly, she'd have to do something about her pubes. She actually quite liked having pubes, but they did get in the way of him having a good look at her cooch. Normally the privacy they afforded would be a good thing, but on Saturday she was going to fulfil her end of the deal. She was going to show him what he wanted to see, and hopefully she might get what she wanted too.

On her way home from work she called into a salon she regularly passed. She was approached by an attractive young blonde woman who asked how she could help.

"I... can you do... I'd like to have my, you know, pubes waxed," Poppy said, knowing she was blushing.

The woman smiled reassuringly.

"That's no problem," she said. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Erm... no, can I make one?" Poppy asked.

"Are you free now? I've had a cancellation."

Poppy hadn't expected to be offered the chance straight away; she thought she would at least have a day or two to mentally prepare herself.

"Um... will it still be OK for Saturday if you do it now?" she asked.

The woman smiled.

"Yes, of course," she said.

The woman took her to a side room and showed her in.

"I'll be back in a minute or two," she told Poppy. "Just get your bottoms off and get on the table for me."

It was the second time in a week for Poppy to be stripping off somewhere that wasn't her own bedroom, and she felt even more awkward this time than she had at the weekend. But she'd promised herself that she would do this for Toby.

By the time the woman came back Poppy was bottomless and on the table, with her legs together.

"First time?" the woman smiled reassuringly.

Poppy nodded.

"It will be fine," the woman told her. "I'm Bryony, by the way."

Poppy smiled. At least now she knew the name of the lady she was just about to show her cooch to.

Bryony got Poppy to spread her legs, then set about trimming the hair in much the same way Poppy had last week, but this time removing as much as she could. It felt strange having another girl's hands so close to her bits. Poppy hoped it wouldn't get her aroused; the last thing she wanted was for all the hair to come off to reveal a moist puffed up vagina.

"So do you want it all off, or do you want me to leave a bit, a landing strip or something?" Bryony asked, her tone still calm, reassuring.

Poppy hadn't really thought about it.

"The main thing is... I need my cooch to be easy to see," she said, before she could even think about it.

Bryony smiled.

"Treat for your boyfriend?"

Poppy couldn't tell her the truth.

"Something like that."

"OK, so, bare cooch and... maybe a heart shape above?" Bryony asked.

It seemed a bit forward, given that technically she was just going to model for Toby. But he needed all the hints he could get.

"Sounds perfect," Poppy smiled.

The waxing wasn't as bad as Poppy had expected: the warm wax actually felt soothing, but the pulling out of the hair stung a bit.

Bryony chatted away throughout, talking about the parties her and her friends had been to recently. Poppy mainly just listened. Eventually she was done.

Poppy thanked Bryony, who left her alone to put her knickers and trousers back on, then paid at the desk.

"Hope he likes it," Bryony smiled at her.

"Me too," Poppy smiled back coyly.

Back at home Poppy had a proper look at herself between her legs for the first time ever. It looked really weird, devoid of hair, but after looking through Toby's sketch book the previous week, she didn't feel as negative about it as she might otherwise have done. It wasn't weird or alien, just a part of her body. She wasn't sure she'd ever see the beauty in them that Toby did, but as long as he liked it, that was the main thing.

***

On Saturday morning Poppy was knocking on Toby's door again, nervous but eager to show him what she had specially prepared for him. She had something a little extra in her handbag this time, a foil packet that she hoped would come in useful.

When Toby answered the door, she gave him a big hug. It was largely spontaneous; she'd missed him all week and couldn't wait to see him again. But it didn't help to give him yet another hint of what she expected from him.

He made her a cup of tea and they sat chatting about their week, neither of them mentioning what had happened last Saturday night, and Poppy leaving out her visit to the salon. That was to be a surprise.

Eventually they had finished their drinks and Toby said "time for me to get drawing?"

He wasn't getting away with it that easily. He had to ask properly.

"What is it you would like to draw?" Poppy asked.

Tony went red.

"Your... cooch?" he said, sounding like he was hoping she wouldn't change her mind.

"Ah yes, that was it," Poppy said, and headed into his studio.

Toby followed her.

"Don't you need to go and undress in the bathroom?" he asked.

"No, it's OK, I can undress here," she said airily.

"Do you want me to be naked or just to take off my bottom half?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Oh... erm... well, if I'm only drawing your... cooch... I only need you bottomless," he stuttered.

"I didn't ask what you needed, I asked what you wanted," Poppy said, a little impatiently. Here she was offering to strip off for him completely, and he was just thinking about what was artistically necessary.

"Oh, OK," he smiled. "Naked then."

"That's the right answer," Poppy smiled.

She stepped out of her shoes and relinquished her socks, then tugged her top off over her head, handing it to him. He looked like he didn't know what to do with it.

"Fold it and put it somewhere safe," she prompted. He did as he was told.

She removed her skirt and passed that to him too, standing there now in her underwear. It wasn't going to be easy to take her undies off for him, not with him watching, but she wanted to; this was why she had come round, after all.

Poppy reached behind her back, releasing the clasp, then letting the straps slide slowly down her arms, teasing him, making him wait. Even with the straps gone, she held the fabric to her chest, only letting it slide off slowly, making him wait for ages before her soft pink nipples came on display, before he got a proper view of her bare chest. She'd never teased a boy like this before, but she already felt like she was becoming a natural, judging by the look on his face.

It felt much naughtier than last week, the stripping in front of him, doing it slowly to turn him on, even the fact that she had no actual need to show him her boobs and was doing it just to turn him on. She handed him her bra, and he seemed in no hurry to discard that. Now she had to lose the knickers, and this week there were no pubes to protect her modesty.

She turned to face away from him, pulling her knickers down at the back, showing him her bottom. He hadn't really got a proper look at her bottom last week, drawing her from the front, so she made sure he got a good look now to make up for it. Then she finally turned back, easing the fabric down at the front, seeing his eyes widen as her soft, shaven crotch came into view, as that pretty heart shape Bryony had made was revealed.

Poppy dropped her knickers the rest of the way then stepped out of them, passing them over to Toby. He held them carefully, as if holding something valuable. Poppy was keen now to get her legs open, get it out of the way, let him have a proper look at what she had brought to show him.

Toby had brought his sofa into the studio, and she assumed she was supposed to sit on that. She walked over to it, wondering how best to present herself to him. She settled for lying on her back, legs hanging over the arm of the sofa, as far apart as she could. She looked down her body. Yes, Toby had a perfect view.

As before, Toby had no consideration for protecting her privacy and instead focussed his lighting equipment to illuminate the most intimate part of her body. She watched what he was doing, seeing the shadows dance across her crotch as he moved the lights, her pink lips go from sharp relief under the bright lights to a softer, cuter look under his soft lighting. By the time he was finished, she had to admit her cooch actually looked quite pretty.

Toby moved his chair into a good viewing position, then sat down, taking a good few minutes to look closely at her cooch and visualise it on his blank sheet of paper. At first Poppy could feel herself flushed red with embarrassment; after all, she'd never even really imagined showing it off to a boyfriend, not like this, never mind to a guy she'd never even kissed, a guy who was about to draw it for his private collection.

But the look on his face was one of concentration and admiration too. He had a slight smile which belied his usual professional detachment. She could just imagine what was going on in his head now, what he was imagining for her cooch. Now if only she could convince him to turn that fantasy into reality, she would leave here a very happy girl.

She started to think about how she might persuade him, what she would say when he was finished drawing, what it would be like to be touched by a guy for the first time. How would she persuade him to take his own clothes off, so that she could examine his private parts just as he was now examining hers? She imagined his boxers coming down, his cock hanging there, ready for some attention.

"Um... Poppy... you're starting to get a bit... you know..."

Poppy looked at Toby, then down at her exposed lady parts. It was subtle, but they definitely looked a bit different to how they had looked a few minutes ago, a little bit redder, just a little bit swelled. She'd only had a proper look at it the other day when it has been unaroused, in its normal "not in use" state, so she had no idea what it looked like when she was really turned on, but it was pretty obvious to her that the changes were as a result of her sexual thoughts.

Poppy could feel herself going bright red; she was so embarrassed. Normally girls had the advantage that they could get excited without anyone knowing; there were no embarrassing bulges at crotch height. But with her legs wide open, with Toby's attention focussed entirely on her sexual parts, there was no way of keeping her thoughts to herself; her body was betraying her.

"I'm sorry," she said, shyly. "I'll try to calm down a bit."

She looked away and tried to think about other things, trying not to remember where she was, why she was there. Her body slowly started to calm down again, the tingling that had started between her legs subsided. She looked back and her lips had folded themselves back into their usual everyday state, betraying nothing of her arousal.

Toby started to draw, and Poppy tried to engage him in conversation, talking about anything other than what he was doing, what he was seeing. It was strange, because this wasn't exactly something Poppy would have picked as a date idea, but being in such an exposed position actually made her more open with him. It's hard to keep secrets, pretend to be someone you're not, when the person you're talking to is staring straight at your most intimate area.

When he was finally done, he walked round to show her the drawing. Poppy closed her legs, feeling weird to have her cooch hidden again, and looked at the picture. It felt so strange to see a part of her body that until earlier this week even she hadn't seen properly represented so perfectly, so accurately on paper. But she had to admit, she could see now what Toby saw in lady parts. It could have been a beautiful butterfly or flower, but it was her cooch.

"So, do you want to get dressed and I'll make you a cup of tea?" Toby asked.

No, she didn't want to get dressed.

"Toby... erm... seeing as you've just drawn my bits, I think it's only fair I get to draw yours," she said.

"Um... OK... what? Now?" he said, seeming a little confused.

"Yeah, if you want to, you know, just take your clothes off," she said, barely able to believe she was asking this.

"All of them?" he asked.

"Fair's fair," she said, gesturing at her own completely exposed body.

Toby looked her up and down. Poppy covered her bits with her hands.

"Clothes off," she said, more confidently now.

Toby started with his socks, and Poppy admired his bare feet, hopefully only a small part of the skin she was about to see.

Next he pulled off his shirt. Wow. He may spend plenty of time drawing, but he hadn't got a body like this just from moving a pencil over paper. He clearly also worked out. A lot. Poppy couldn't stop staring at his chest and toned stomach. She could feel herself starting to get excited again, and was glad that her legs were back together... for now.

Next he dropped his trousers, leaving him stood there in just a pair of boxers. As her eyes tore themselves from his stomach down below his waist, she saw was she had been too distracted to notice before. He had a huge bulge in the front of his boxers. Poppy had never had a guy stand in front of her in his boxers before, let alone one who was just about to drop them.

Toby seemed a bit nervous about taking off his last piece of clothing, taking ages to fold his trousers, then fiddling with his boxers, rearranging them around his waist rather than dropping them as Poppy had been hoping. She started to get a bit impatient. She'd waited 23 years to see a cock. That was long enough.

"Drop your boxers and I'll move my hands out of the way," she said, looking down at her still covered body.

She had designed an incentive scheme that couldn't fail.

His boxers came down immediately, his cock springing out, fully to attention. Poppy hadn't seen a cock before, not for real. She wasn't one to look at porn, so she only knew what they looked like from the biology books at school. It was bigger than she expected, and she wondered whether he was really well endowed or if they were all like that. She suddenly got very nervous about the idea of fitting it all inside her.

As she took in the sight of his exposed manhood, his thick crop of pubes resembling hers before she had removed them for him, the head peeking out from the retracted skin, his hairy ballsack hanging below his manhood, something she never really thought about in her fantasies, it suddenly felt very real. She dropped her hands so that they were equal once again, two naked people, both aroused, both alone together.

She didn't really want to draw his cock. She wasn't an artist; it would look like a crude scribble rather than the beautiful works of art he created. She had a totally different use for it, and she was hoping that his erection suggested he was intending to put it to the use she had in mind.

Toby handed her his sketchbook and went to sit down. What else did she need to do to give him the message? She inexpertly manoeuvred some of the lighting so that it was now focussed on his crotch rather than where hers had been, then, taking a deep breath, approached him as confidently as she could.

Reaching out she took hold of his erect cock, pretending that she was just positioning so she could draw it. It was warm and squidgy and nice, and she let her hand linger on it.




The Artist



Seconds later Melody felt Michael’s hips shake and he closed his eyes. With one more thrust he penetrated far into her and released a geyser of cum. The warm wet fluid pulsing into her was too much to bear and for the third time she erupted. 

When the passion subsided, Michael collapsed beside her on the mattress. Melody rolled atop his naked form. He pulled her close and kissed her lips again. 

Looking into her eyes he said. “Melody, you are the girl in that painting. I know it and I feel it. I left it at the gallery because I don’t need it anymore. For in my arms I hold the real thing. Promise me you will never leave me, my Angel Eyes.”



The Artist



It goes like this; you find inspiration where you can get it. 

I'm painting. 

It is here that I am most myself, here where I gain the substance and meaning of life. This is my best reality.

I am absorbed, deep into the slide of the paint, probing and revealing an inner world that hasn't been visited until now. She's there on the canvas, in a bed of stars and waves of color; a goddess of pearl and gold with her arms outstretched as if to greet me. This gigantic figure of woman is an admission of mine, made holy through this journey of slick and spreading light. Her eyes are blue as the Mediterranean Sea. Her hair flows like a dark inky wine. Her breasts are the perfect breasts of the Song of Solomon. In paint they are the lands from which all favor and good flows. I have to stretch to reach them with my brush, but here, in this world of color I may and can.

In life they are unattainable. 

She's a woman I know in my day job, which funds this habit of mine. Okay, I don't actually "know," her. She is the boss, the woman in charge, and the one who is rich beyond my wildest imaginings. If I had that kind of money I would never be in an office again. But still, I recognize her when I see her and it like to makes me faint with want. Every time. I have no idea what it does to her. She always is the picture of composure to me.

I find it difficult to breathe, much less think, when she is around. Thank God she is from upstairs and me a lowly peon in her kingdom of the geeks. Her visitations come upon us suddenly, surprising, as if she were the risen Son of God. I've never seen anything like it. If she were the leader of an army they would chant her name and fall on their own swords for her.

I understand the impulse, but I let the others flock to her. 'I have things to do,' I tell myself. It's better that way.

Cubicles can be numbing, but you can hide behind them too. I doubt she even notices. But I watch her carefully.

Then I flee if she moves in my direction. It is a necessity if I want to keep this job. I am not coherent when she is near. I'm barely coherent knowing that she is floors above me and can descend any time to this fluorescent hell.

But I am a junkie when it comes to art. I will do anything, including work, for the right canvas or color when I need it. It helps that I am passable handy with a computer. I can 9 to 5 with the best of them. Knowledge I have gleaned from the deep keeps me employed.

"Solar Incorporated. May I help you?" The customers love me and I them. I may be oddly shy in real life, but on the phone I am an amazon queen and fearless. I can talk my way through almost anything they have to challenge me with. Since they don't see my face, I can be anyone, even a computer expert.

It's worth it. This last month I bought 6 new brushes. Brushes may be expendable, I can wear mine down to the nubbin, but they can also be expensive.

I would be perfectly content to stay on the help desk. But, I am the best-kept secret of Frank, the manager, and his ticket to success. We've been friends a long time gone, since our parents met and colluded to have us married. But neither of us was the marrying kind; at least not to each other. He was the one who lured me to this job when an opening came up. He plots to scale the ladder of corporate success and take me with him whether I will or no. "I'm an artist," I tell him. But he just gives me that charming grin of his.

"Yes, you most certainly are," he'll tell me. It's because he knows a grand secret about me.

For some weird reason, I understand computers. I can't add worth shit, but I compose programs as if they were songs. Literally. They sing in me, demanding to come out, like my paintings. I sometimes find myself reading the code aloud in priestly chant to hear the rhythm and make sure they are right. It doesn't matter which language, as long as the program sings.

Naturally, given this oddity, this is best done at home, that is, when Frank needs me to proof his latest push towards ascendancy. He forgives any changes I make as long as the program does what is required. So, while I spend most of my time at the office, I also spend time where my voice won't shatter the complacency.

I am not sure how Frank explains it or if he even says anything at all to the higher ups. I guess that as long as he comes up with the miracle they don't ask questions. I know I wouldn't.

While we are many things to each other, I do not have a painting of Frank. The programs are my portraits of him - good, solid and trustworthy. I doubt he realizes this, but that's what you get when you're friends with an artist. We make odd connections in our thinking.

Early this morning Frank disturbed my sleep with a video phone call. "This is it," he told me, all excited. "We're this close." He held his thumb and index finger together, moving them as if pulling a thread forward through a needle. I rubbed my eyes awake and rolled out of bed.

He's seen me naked before. He can stand it. 

I could have abs sharper than blades and he would be oblivious. He is a man's man. His eyes slide to the side though and he moves as if he wants to hide his screen from somebody. "I've sent you a file, triple encrypted." Aha. We're playing Secret Squirrel. Frank is funny that way. "You'll have to send it back that way. It's huge, but I know you can do it. The description of the function is in the e-mail. We're going places you and me. Don't worry about coming in to work today, just work on this and we'll be set."

Uh-huh. He'll be set. Fortunately for him I love him. 

I slept-ate through breakfast and poured caffeine into my system. Wake up. Wake up.

I have this belief that I should at least be conscious when I code. 

I barely bothered dressing, there was no one here to see anyway. Today's choice was a pair of frayed jean shorts and a torn yellow T-shirt with pooh bear on the front. It is sprinkled with multi-hues of paint.

I opened the porch door to let some fresh air in. The sky was pink, turning to blue. It was early and already I could tell it was going to be a hot one. My feet welcome the cool floor on days like today.

I didn't bother switching on the light and went ahead straight for my "office."

Really the small room is a land of stacks and stacks of books. I am a voracious reader. The shelves have long since filled and given up keeping hold of it all. But the table I use for a desk is an island of visual quiet. An old brown clipboard of yellow lined paper sits under an ivory cup filled with pens and pencils. A white electronic timer sits proudly upon the large beige computer monitor. I have to have it there. Time disappears when I'm coding.

Like painting, it takes me to a whole different realm and sometimes, when I'm free from its call, I wonder at myself. I wonder where it is I go and why this particular act demands such careful order.

According to Frank's email I had until 2 in the afternoon. There was a hint of desperation in the letter. Come on Frank, you've been in worse places than this. I smirked and shook my head. He may be on a schedule, but it wasn't mine. Still I'd see what I could do for him.

Hours later, but much earlier than scheduled, I finished. For once his code was tight, amazingly clean. I hardly added anything, just an enhancement to make the program go a little faster, something to make it a little more handsome. Then I sent that boyo off and gave myself a stretch and found that I was hungry.

My stomach assaulted me with noise; the gurgle of feed me. This was not a problem. I kept plenty of food in the refrigerator. I am a fan of food.

I don't paint every day. There are other things in life to attend to. But sometimes when I pass by the door to my studio, I can practically hear the paintings. "Come to me. Come to me."

I think I was eating a turkey sandwich, when I turned my head and looked into the room. And there she was, so tall and beckoning. I swear I heard her voice, a sexy contralto full of promise.

I'm not even sure now where I put the sandwich or even if I finished it or even if I really started it. Did I eat?

I don't remember. I don't care. 

The problem with being an artist of any kind is that the steps to compulsion are very short. We fall all the time. Fortunately for us, there is a limit, a natural set of stops or some that we've made for ourselves to keep us grounded.

It occurs to me later that I forgot to set the timer. Thus it is I lose myself and enter the fantasy completely.

I wear an apron over my shorts, to cover my thighs and provide pockets for the once clean brushes. My shirt is a mess already and I'm thinking it's almost useless now. I pull pooh-bear off and toss it to the side. It is an easy sacrifice. I pull a clean cloth from a pile of them and wipe my face and arms. I glance out the window. It's dark outside, bright inside. All my lights are clapped on.

I hardly thought about it. A secret smile rests upon my lips. Soon she'll be done and I can rest.

I swear I can hear her call my name. Do I answer? Of course. "I am here. I am here painting you." And I turn to the canvas, pick up the stick once more.

"May I come in?" 

She sounds so far away for someone who is as close as this crimson brushstroke.

"Come in, come in," I chant. "Enter, O Goddess, the Holy Land. I am yours." I pray. My meditation is at hand.

Then there is a sound, unfamiliar. A gasp? A stumble? "Oh sweet Gods." Whose breath is that? Not mine. But the voice, this time, is all too real.

Shivers roll down my spine as I straighten up. Iron drops in my belly and makes me want to gulp. My hand has gone very still.

Stern words fall like stone into the air, "Don't move." 

I close my eyes against the trembling that suddenly takes over my legs. Oh she is mad.

No. It is obvious from all that surrounds that is I who am mad. 

What is she doing here anyway? 

The house is making familiar shushing noises, which under other circumstances would be soothing or ignored. Now the sound grates as I listen for anything, anything from her.

She is moving. I hear a soft thud and then another. 

In my mind I can see her expression as one of ire. It is much different from the serene inviting gaze, which looks down upon me from the canvas. I want desperately to turn around, raise my hands above my head and flee from that heavenly glance.

Truth can be so hard to face. 

I wonder, briefly, what she is wearing. I guess it must be something businesslike, almost formal, something bright or dark. Is she in powerful red or masterful black? She stands so close I can feel the fabric of her blouse shift with her breath. Silk, I think. It is so very smooth.

Her words slide like hot butter into my ear. "Do you know how I feel, seeing this now?"

I wince and feel helpless. The brush trembles in my hand. My mind conjures words: mortified, embarrassed, deadly.

She touches me, and those words spin away fast. Long fingers, with perfectly groomed nails, slide up along my side, from apron to the slope of my breast. I gasp. "Paint." She says. "Paint and don't stop. Not until I tell you."

I don't know how it even happens, but as her hand covers and cups my nipple, my arm reaches and the brush touches the canvas.

Now I pray for strength, for she is melting me with a quick burning fire. My other breast is covered with her other hand. She presses against me, kneading and pinching softly as if they were fonts meant to pour rivers. She delivers fine kisses along the skin of my neck and shoulders. They ring like brass.

How do I mix color like this? How? 

I give up all thought. Her will be done. The Goddess, she surrounds me. 

Front and back, her hands they move and slide down me, under the apron. I feel the buttons of my fly release and stroke of a tongue slides a long line down my back. My shorts are drawn down my legs. Her hands firm my stance as she helps me. "Don't stop," she reminds me.

How can I? How can I not?" 

Move arm, move. I feel dizzy with color. I can smell her, like flowers. I smell like paint. Is this power?

I feel small stinging bites, her lips upon my buttocks. Her teeth marking me. She is claiming me.

Me! 

She holds me in the palm of her hand, pressing and making me gasp. Her fingers tease a dance along my edges then slip in with a long stroke, making me sway and buck. "Yes," she says.

She moves deep and at one point she is so buried in me the brush in my hand snaps. There is a pause, as if she is as surprised as I am to watch the pieces crackle to the floor. There is a smile in her voice, a mercy. "You can stop painting now."

I cry out my thanks and grab the edges of the easel and hope that it is stronger than my grip. My toes are curled into the canvas tarp on the floor. I am sweating now as she takes me with her hands, her mouth, and her body.

When did her clothes leave? I see them tossed carelessly to the side. That expensive blouse and suit is now as lost a cause as my yellow T-shirt. Black. She was wearing black.

She is talking to me and it's all wet blaze. My hair is streaked with sweat, it's normal golden red color changes with passion. The easel is swaying, and the canvas is rattling. My head is thrown back and I am drowning in the azure gaze, the pool of her waters.

The coil is wound as tight as it will go in me. Something must give. "Please. Please."

"Now." She says in benediction. The painting's lips seem to move. 

I roar. Her name shatters from my lips, my body. I am bathed by her stars, by the waters of her night. All that we can be flows through me and it is good.

As I float down, she holds me in her arms, tight. Her tears are on my neck. Her kisses are upon my cheeks and then, as I turn to her, my lips. She tastes of salt and me. Our kisses are long and savory and familiar. 

My legs feel like rubber. I start kneeling despite myself. 

She lifts me up, into her arms, and carries me out of the studio into the bedroom. I am not surprised. She is who She is.

She lays me gently upon the bed, smiling at me as she wipes my brow. Then she slides in besides me. Our bodies fit and it pleases me. I turn so my hand rests upon her hip, so I can look into her lovely face.

All that shyness in front of her is gone forever. I yawn unintentionally. "Sorry," I apologize. I want to stay awake longer with her.

She smiles and caresses me. "You've had a busy day." 

It's not a question. It's a knowing. How long has she known? Always? Poor Frank. He must have been sore afraid. She can be that way sometimes. "Yes." I counter with a question. "Stay?"

Her smile deepens until her eyes shine, "Oh yes." 

"Good." I say and snuggle in close. We move as natural as the wind. I rest my head upon her shoulder where it is supposed to be.

"When did you get so smart?" She asks, but I'm too close to sleep. It's an answer that will wait. Tomorrow begins the best of my life.



The Artist



(Adult materials. Must be 18 or older to read. Read at your own discretion.)

He wanted to paint her. 

That's what he had said at lunch yesterday. 

He had said that she was beautiful and he would be honor if she allowed him to paint her. 

In the nude of course.

So that she would feel more comfortable she could choose when and where she wanted it done. Anytime she was ready; she just had to call him. 

He asked at he beginning of lunch. She answered him at the end of lunch. 

Tomorrow. Her place at six in the morning. 

Morning is her best time of day, when she feels at the zenith of her power, if she was going to be painted nude, the morning would be best.

He had smiled that smile of his that made her body tinkle and agreed. 

She hadn't slept that night, and she had thrown his card with his home number in the trash at the restaurant so she wouldn't lose her nerve.

She had hated herself throughout the night for that.

At four o'clock she had began to prepare herself mentally and physically for the painting and the other things that would come with it.

She shouldn't be worried. Her friend had told her that he was a wonderful artist, and we worked with semi nude to full nude female models all the time. He had slept with any that she knew of, so he must be gay.

Five thirty in the morning, she was staring at herself naked self. Loving and hating it all. The Carmel rich soft skin that cover a body with no square angle or sharp points. It was all large smooth curves. Large heavy breast above a well-rounded rebesquense stomach, broad ample hips and strong calves. Her face was pretty, and full of character. It was a body loved in a forgotten time of the past.

The doorbell rang out, announcing in merry chimes of her guest arrival.

With heart pounding she covered her naked body in a red silken robe and walked to the door whispering silent prays for the choice she had made. 

When she finally opened the door her prays were forgotten as her body started to remember.

He seems to be made from the same cloth as the night sky. 

His black hair shined in the lingering moonlight as it fell in loose curls around his face. He dark blue eyes watched her, his full lips surrounded by a trim black goatee quirked up in a smile. He filled her doorway with his tall lean muscular body dressed in a black turtleneck and paint stained jeans. Under one arm he carried a canvas and easel, a backpack peeked out from behind his back. 

Hello, he said in a deep masculine voice that sent vibrations down in the secret places of her body. 

Hello, she whispered, her mind yelling at her body to keep control.

She led him and watched him closely as he took in her dwelling.

They talked very little as she led him around. Letting him choice the best place to beginning. 

Her most inmate of places was decided the best place to begin.

He setup, while she ran to hide. 

She prepared coffee for them while she paced, once again praying for her heart to calm.

She couldn't hide forever. He was waiting. 

She returned and manages to get three sips of coffee before she was placed in the chair. 

He was close. Very close and touching her, placing her hands, asking her to move here, turn there. 

She could smell him. Clean and male is what he smelled of. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath when he wasn't looking. 

She felt her stomach melt and wetness pool between her legs.

A blush spread across the landscape of her body as she thought of the wet spot that was begin formed on the back of her silk robe. 

Do you want me to disrobe now? She asked in hopes of some salvation as she looked up into his eyes.

He stepped back and looked at her for several moments. His eyes seemed to be drinking her in. 

She blushed again as his eyes traveled up and down her body. 

He reached over, without a word and opened robe revealing her to his eyes.

She sat there like a statue, afraid to move as her robe lay wide open unveiling everything in the lamplight of the room. 

He didn't say anything or show any disinterest in her nude form. Instead he stood over her, continuing to drink in more of her. 

She looked around trying hard not to think of his eyes on her as her nipples harden to small stony peaks and the trickle of wetness, increased to a flood between her thighs. 

She should have looked harder elsewhere, but her eyes were in league with her body and fell where they pleased.

He was not gay.

It stood out strong and proud in front of her, straining against the zipper of his jeans. 

It seems to give permission for her to turn off her will and to follow her need. 

She didn't remember sliding out of the chair, kneeling in front of him, or undoing his pants.

Her memory started at seeing a pink glistening head of his member before her eyes and feeling the thick shaft belonging to it throbbing in her hand. 

Without a single thought she half closed her eyes and slipped the pink head into her mouth, sucking on it as if it was a melting Popsicle on a hot day, letting the hot sweetness of it fill her mouth. Not wanting to let a single drop get wasted. Moans and gasp met her ears as hands buried themselves into her hair. 

A minute. 

Maybe two. Time seems to mean nothing in the world she was in. The only thing that matter was the taste of him, the feel of him in her mouth. 

Enough! Cried out into the air above her. Hands that once cradle her head, now gently pulled her away. 

With tousled hair, full glistening lips, she looked up at him her eyes doleful and questioning. Her red silk robe hung off her shoulders and opened wide showing off her ripe body proudly.

His dark eyes stared down at her with many different emotions crossing his face. But one emotion on his face made her body burn hotter. 

Lust.

He took off his shirt. Revealing hard lean muscles, a rich tanned darken ivory skin, and midnight black hair covering his chest and funneling down to his navel and beyond. 

She wanted to run her hand through it and marvel its texture. Looking, she wondered how it would feel with its pressed and rubbed against her harden nipples.

He made quick work of the rest of his shoes and pants. Soon he was more naked than she was. She had a robe at least.

He reached down and grabbed her by both arms, raising her to her feet. 

Standing in front of him, her head came only to his neck. 

He leaned forward and kissed her on her forehead, then her nose, her eyes, her cheeks, then he slowly caressed her lips with his own. His hands were causing mayhem with her body. Caressing her breast, sides, stomach, butt, and hips. Then back to her breast were they pinched and plucked the hard nipple, making her cry out with pleasure against his lips. 

Her body wanted more. She wanted more.

Kissing and sucking her neck, while one hand teasing her nipple to madness, the other went in search of pure pleasure. Down her stomach it slide, diving deep into the bush. Passion slip fingers parted her lips, then proceed with wild abandon to drive her to the brink of sheer pleasure. Teasing and pinching the little nub of flesh sending her body into convulsion of painful pleasure. She was panting as her hands gripped his shoulders to try and keep herself standing. 

Just when she was going to collapse, he stopped. 

He turned them around and on the chair, pulling her with him. 

She was astride his lap. His hand guided her hips, stopping only when the head of his penis pressed hard against her sopping wet entrance. Her hands gripped his shoulder, her head rolled back as a deep husky moan escaped her lips when he gave a hard thrust up of his hips, and buried himself deep within her.  After that point she took over, riding him hard and fast. He squeezed and sucked her nipples as she rode.

She was close, so close to coming; she could almost reach out and grab it with both hands. 

It was too soon for him. He wasn't ready for it to end. 

With a sudden move, he was gone.  A cry of frustration came to her lips as he stood her up and then bent her over the chair. 

He was back buried deep in her from behind, but this time he was in control. 

He set a smooth rmythic pace, taking his time to enjoy each stroke. 

She wanted it hard and fast as before. And pushed her hips back to change the pace.

He smacked her butt. 

She paused, stunned by the action.

No, he said. This is our first time together and I want to take our time. Your pussy feels to fucking good to rush it. 

Her vagina muscle contracted violently at hearing his words. 

So you like it when I talk dirty? He said as his strokes slowly started building speed. He stopped suddenly. Answer me now if you want my to continue fucking you hot pussy?

Yes, she moaned. Thrusting her hips back a little to get him to continue. 

Leaning into her, burying himself deeper into her. He put both hand on her hips holding her steady, he begin to deep stroke into her hard. 

She felt as if she was losing her mind as her hand gripped deeper into the back of the chair. 

Look into the mirror, he told her.

She turned and looked, almost fainted at the image it presented.

That's my favorite picture. He said in her ear as leaned over her. I love seeing me all over a voluptuous dark beauty as yourself, with my dick thrust deep in and out of your dark pussy. Ahhh! I'm going to cum! 

There she was in the mirror her back arched her sweat cover Carmel skin contrasting against the tan ivory body behind her plump rear. She watched in awe at the sight of his pale penis thrusting in and out of her dark brown and pink entrance. Even as she watched a bead of sweat roll down his forehead and land on her back, she felt herself get closer to her orgasm. 

He was losing control. She was going to make him pay for making her wait. She clinched her muscles in her vagina and released them only to clinch them tightly again around his penis as it moved in and out of her. She thrust her hips back with every thrust forward he made. With each thrust becoming harder and faster she cried out and grind herself against him as she came hard and intense. 

She was at the end of hers when she felt him thrust deep a few more times and then he threw back his head and groaned. 

An hour later she got to see how it felt to have his chest hair rubbing her nipples.

A week later at lunch her friend asked her how the painting session went. She could only smile and say that it was a truly enlightening and tiring session.



The Artist



You have been painting all day. I can hear you in the other room. I long to be close to you but didn't want to interrupt you as my presence would be no doubt keep you from your work. So I contentedly sing and play my guitar in the other room hoping you can hear me and know that my songs of love are for you. I smile to myself as I remember you calling me your muse and hope that is true. 

You finish for that day and come to me, we embrace and I consume your sweet flavor, an aprodisious cocktail of your bodily pheromones combined with the odors of your artistic endeavor, intoxicating me to the very cellular level of my being. I nuzzle closer to enjoy the feel of your body against me and slip my hand gently behind the waistband of your panties and rub my fingers lightly between your hungry lips, You beg for more but I remove my hand and suckle my fingers, dying for a taste of you.

As we kiss, I pull my fingers away to feel your full tongue in me. I am so aroused, hard and ready but we must wait as we have a full evening of passion planed. 

I have cooked you a wonderful dinner( one of my specialties ) shrimp champignons with honey roasted shallots and red peppers in a creamy Godiva liquor sauce. I pour us a glass of champagne and we move to the next room to enjoy our meal in front of the fire. We are naked as I feed you and eat using your body as my plate, sucking shrimp from your breasts and between you legs and everywhere else imaginable. Savoring you even more than the meal, licking the sauce from your navel and neck, you glow with desire. I enjoy the taste of one last shrimp from between the cheeks of your lovely derriere and than lead you to the bathroom where I have prepared a sumptuous candlelight bubble bath for our pleasure. 

You step into the tub, silhouetted in a reflection of candlelight as I drink in the curves of your body. You moan as I start to lovingly soap your neck, under arms, back and breasts, working my way down lower and lower to your thighs, knees and calves and back up again until my hands rest at the edge of your labia. The tips of my fingers tease you softly, the kiss of a butterfly. The water seems to warm a few degrees from your heat and the air crackles with animal lust as I climb in beside you. 

You run your soapy palms up and down my body, touching me all over, squeezing my slippery nuts with your firm grip. You grin as you stick your fingers inside me, spraying warm water from your mouth over my penis. While pushing your fingers deeper inside me, you kiss the head of my cock. I have to grab my self hard to stop the cum from exploding into your mouth. But I do, knowing that the best is still to come.

We exit the bath, slowly dry each other and glide to our boudoir. I lay you down and start simultaneously rubbing and licking your toes and feet. Slowly working my way up your body inch by inch kissing and rubbing, loving every inch with my mouth, hands, teeth and tongue I lick your sweet slit as my penis brushes against your feet.and my pre-cum drips on your ankles, my fingers deep inside you and my tongue fluttering on your clit. I roll you over to rub your back a bit, deep and hard starting at the base of your spine and working my way up as I spread your lovely cheeks and kiss your sweet ass button. I continue to touch your back, up and down, the length of it until I reach your buttocks to caress your beautiful flesh. I slowly roll you onto your back and press my head between your thighs to drink in the aroma of your musky womanhood. Your juices are so copious they nearly drown me in joyful fluid. I kiss and lick and suck as you moan with delight until you can stand it no longer and beg me to fuck you. I can wait no longer either so I spread your legs and pull you closer to me, rubbing the head of my shaft slowly around the out side of your sex. You whimper in delight as I stick the tip in just slightly at first then deeper and deeper, in and out slowly a half an inch at a time. In and out, up and down, with thoughts of anything else stripped from my mind until I am buried deep inside you and my balls are resting on your ass. I put my full weight on you as we breathe together speaking our own private language of love. While our hearts beat together, I look into your eyes knowing this is where I have always dreamed of being, deep inside you. . after what seems like an eternity of bliss we start moving together. . slowly at first. .



The Artist



The spring internships were about to be announced, and most of my classmates were buzzing about Jackson. Jackson this, Jackson that. If I believed everything I heard, he had single-handedly saved the avant-garde American art scene from its inevitable irrelevance.

Truth be told, there were several local artists and studios which took interns from our academy each spring, and I was excited about the opportunity to work with any of them. It just seemed that Jackson was the fascinating character who most captured the imaginations of my young peers.

"Did you read the New York Times' review of his MoMA show?"

"Did you know, every intern he's ever chosen has gone on to a successful career?"

"Did you hear, he has work in his loft that nobody has ever seen?"

"Haven't you ever seen him walk on water?"

OK, so I made that last one up, but it's not much of a stretch. Me, I wasn't getting caught up in all the fuss - I just felt lucky to be at the academy. I would be happy with any internship placement I got, because it would mean my first steps towards becoming a professional artist. It's all I'd ever wanted to do since leaving behind my small town life, my small-minded family.

The morning the internship announcements were to be posted, I calmly sat down on a bench at the end of the hallway outside the academy's main office, my coffee cup in hand and my art supplies resting at my side. The rest of the students gathered in a bunch outside the office, the guys trying to look cool and the girls nonchalant, as they watched out of the corner of their eyes for the director to emerge with the single sheet of paper which would reveal the next few months of their future.

After fifteen or so minutes of tense silence, the office door opened, the academy director emerged with the paper, weaved his way through the throng of eager students, pinned the paper to the bulletin board outside his office, and as quickly as he could, retreated again into the safety of his office, closing the door behind him.

I waited and watched as the other students dove in, pushing each other aside to get to the information, some of them crying out in excitement, and others just crying. I jotted down a few quick sketches in my notebook of the mob before finally getting up myself, walking towards the bulletin board as others walked away, and moving my eye over the page until I finally saw my name:

Tatiana: Jackson

Wow. Without any lobbying, without any political maneuvering on my part, Jackson had chosen me. In just a few days, I'd be meeting the notorious character, completing whatever tasks he saw fit to expand my potential as an artist, starting on my way towards my dream career. I could only smile as a few jealous students gave me dirty looks on my way out of the building. I'd worked hard, I'd put in my time, this was the reward.

******

I was just a little bit nervous as I knocked on his door at the appointed hour on the appointed day. I'd done enough research about his quirks to know that it was vital that I arrive on time, professionally dressed and ready both to show him samples of my previous work and answer any questions he might have about my background. Anything less would be disrespectful to someone of his standing in the art world: successful, but also mysterious and unpredictable.

I expected an assistant to open the door to his loft studio, but instead I was greeted by the man himself. Jackson was a handsome and athletic man in his mid-late forties, and was dressed in the uniform of a self-confident artist - clothes which were at one time expensive and tailored, but which were now untucked and splotched with oddly shaped stains in various colors of paint.

He took my outstretched hand in both of his, gripped it firmly, and with a smile but no words, motioned for me to have a seat on a sofa at the far end of the huge room, while he returned to his work of the moment. I sat down and watched as he added stripes of red to what was already a multi-layered and multi-colored canvas, an abstraction of incredible depth. I soaked in the whole environment, not just his artwork but also his slow, even movements, the eclectic mess of the large room, even the view out the windows of the top-floor loft.

He didn't speak a word for at least an hour, occasionally stopping his work to look towards me, but always seeming distracted, as if he couldn't begin to acknowledge me fully until he'd finished the artistic thought on the canvas. When he did look in my direction, it wasn't just my face he studied, but also my body, and that in a way that cut right through me, making me aware of every inch of my skin.

I had no way of knowing whether he was seeing me as a grouping of lines in motion, as any great artist might, or whether he was ogling me as a beautiful young woman. My mind wandered, wondering how many students had sat on this sofa before me, whether he'd looked at them in the same way, whether they'd felt as self-conscious as I did now.

I uncrossed my legs and sat up straight on the edge of the sofa. My petite 22-year-old frame was dressed in what I'd spent a few hours deciding was the ideal aspiring-artist-meeting-the-great-artist outfit: perfectly fitted jeans (classy but not afraid to get dirty) and a white blouse (professional but reminiscent of an artist's smock). I'd left my long brown hair down that day, so it cascaded down past my shoulders, framing my face, as I continued to study Jackson with my big hazel eyes.

After a few more moments, he looked towards me once again, this time finally speaking in a voice which surprised me with its combination of affected British accent and kindness, "Don't just sit there, make yourself at home, look around."

Chuckling to myself at his impatience with me - that he was somehow disappointed I hadn't made myself at home, snooping through the loft of a world-renowned artist, I nonetheless obeyed. I stood up and walked slowly around the room, stopping every few steps to admire some new discovery - from works of art which were familiar to me from my studies to a conglomeration of dirty dishes in the sink, remnants of days' worth of meals enjoyed by a man at once king of his genre but also unable to perform basic household tasks.

I looked back at him once again, and finding him still engrossed in his current project, walked further towards one end of the room, where my attention was drawn in by a section of wall covered with what looked like old-fashioned poloroid photographs. From a distance, the content of the photographs was mysterious. As I came closer, I could clearly see that they were photographs of naked women - primarily torsos, focusing on their breasts, but also the occasional face or curve of a hip or leg - each caught in the perfect light and adorned with a design in some sort of white paint.

In any other setting, the dozens of pinned-up photos would have struck me as pornographic, perhaps even disturbing in the sheer number of women depicted. But in this room, in the studio of this great artist, I was tremendously intrigued. Each picture was perfectly staged, perfectly lit, and I studied them each individally and as a collective, unable to quite ascertain a pattern or purpose, but fascinated nonetheless.

After some time, I became aware that Jackson was standing immediately behind me, observing me observing his works, and I started as I turned to find him nearly touching me.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Tatiana, I didn't mean to interrupt your observation. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Well, um, yes. I didn't know about this aspect of your work, I've never seen it before. I mean, um, but it's wonderful. Could you tell me more?"

"Certainly, darling. This is really a special project of mine, one I'm afraid the public isn't quite ready to understand, so I keep it just for myself. What would you like to ask?"

"Well, um, what is the meaning of the painting on each of their bodies? What is your inspiration?"

"The meaning is a difficult question to answer, of course. That you might have to discover on your own. But the work touches you, yes?"

"Oh yes, absolutely. It's very powerful. It's hard to explain, but I can't tear my eyes away from it. And the paint, how do you achieve that particular textured opaque white?"

"It's a technique of my own, I call it casein unfiltered medium."

I'd heard of casein, a paint base in which milk is the glue, creating an opaque watercolor texture. But I'd never heard the term he used. "Um, excuse me? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that?"

"Of course not, dear, it's not something they teach you at the academy. But I'll be happy to show you if you're interested. I usually refer to it by its acronym."

"Um, OK, so casein unfilterted medium would be c, u, m... um, CUM?"

"That's right."

It suddenly dawned on me that I'd just said 'cum' to one of the leaders of contemporary American art. My eyes darted back to the photographs on the wall, and it was suddenly clear to me. These were snapshots he'd taken of beautiful young women after covering them with cum. His own, I could only assume. I blushed hot and red.

"I see that you understand now. You see, it's quite frustrating to me, this genre of cum art being that which I consider my greatest achievement, yet one which the outside world simply views as pornographic."

"Oh," I said breathily, attempting to regain my composure, "but they're beautiful!"

"Thank you. You see, only at the point of orgasm do I feel truly free in my expression. Any other genre - paint on the canvas, clay in my hands, I feel the constraints of academia, of centuries of art history. It is only at this point of release that I feel I do my best work."

"Can I... um, help?"

"Ah, so you'd like to be one of my models?"

"Yes, it would be my pleasure."

"Ah no, it would be mine. You are a beautiful creature. Please, step over here, take off your clothes."

He guided me towards the light of the windows, and I quickly stripped down to my matching white lace bra and panties in front of the city view, my skin illuminated by the light from outside.

"Beautiful," he said, smiling, as he too took off his clothes, tossing aside his silk shirt and slacks, stepping out of his boxers, revealing to me his impressive cock, long and already erect.

"Let's help you out of these, shall we?" He stepped closer to me, pulling me into his embrace and unhooking my bra, tossing it aside, fondling my breasts for a moment before moving on to my panties, bending down as he pulled them down and quickly passing his hand over my clit and pussy lips before standing up straight again.

He was at least eight inches taller than me - six foot to my just-over-five-three, and with an athletic build to contrast my petite body. I quickly fantasized about the delightful challenge of taking his hard cock into either my mouth or my pussy, and could barely contain my excitement, a mood which I clearly projected.

"Calm down, my dear. We're going to take this nice and slow."

He hoisted me onto a nearby table, spread my legs with his strong arms, and began kissing first my toes, and then gradually moving up my left leg until he had finally reached my dripping pussy. Kneeling now, he focused his attention slowly and gently on my pulsing sex, combining fingers and tongue to pleasure me as I moaned and writhed beneath me.

After several glorious minutes of this attention, he abruptly stopped, and I looked up to see him walk a few feet to another table, where he picked up his camera and brought it back to where I lay before him, and began snapping pictures. With any other man, I may have felt self-conscious, worried about his motives in capturing images of me in such a vulnerable position, but with his man, Jackson, I simply felt beautiful, felt his saliva and my pussy juices glisten against my skin.

He set the camera down and motioned with his finger for me to move towards him. I climbed down from the table and knelt before him, taking his stunning cock into my hands, my long fingers wrapping around it and beginning to stroke up and down. I looked up at him with a naughty smile as I shifted my hands so that just one remained on his shaft, while the other cupped and fondled his balls.

After a few moments of enjoying this, he whispered down to me, "Take me into your mouth."

I didn't hesitate to do as I was told, and after a few moments of wetting his cock with my tongue, I began a slow motion up and down, taking his full length deep into my throat with each stroke. Once I had settled into a rhythm, he wrapped his fingers through my long brown hair, forming it into a tight ponytail, and began to guide me, moving me first to a faster tempo, then once again to a slower one, until I felt that he was moving closer to his climax.

Just as I thought the time was near, however, he stopped and pushed me away. I looked up at him with a hint of disappointment, but I quickly realized he simply wished to prolong his climax and enjoy another position. He helped me onto the table once again, where I again spread my legs wide for him, as he rubbed the head of his cock tantalizingly against my pussy lips.

I desperately wanted for him to enter me, but he seemed to enjoy this teasing, asking me to hold my own ankles as he reached forward to squeeze my breasts and pinch my nipples while he continued to rub back and forth against me. Finally, he too succumbed to the inevitable, pushing into me with one strong stroke, and then holding in that position, deep inside of me, as I adjusted to his size, panting and gasping for air.

Once I signaled with my eyes that I was ready, he began a steady in-and-out rhythm. I continued to pull my own legs back as far as possible, creating an intensely satisfying position, as he wetted his fingers in his mouth and began rubbing my clit. I wasn't able to hold back much longer, and after just a few more moments, watched him reach for the camera as I came, screaming out in pleasure as wave after wave of sensations rushed through my body.

After snapping a few quick photos of my moment of climax, Jackson slid out of me and knelt beneath me once again, lapping up the juices which still trickled from my pussy. After allowing me to recover, he helped me down from the table and again down to my knees, where I too had the opportunity to taste myself, with no option but to lick my own juices off of him as he clutched me by the hair and forced me down onto his cock.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Tatiana?"

"Oh, god, yes. That was the most amazing orgasm of my life!"

"I'm glad to hear it. Are you ready to help me reach my climax, to be part of this important artistic moment?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Alright, I want you to take me into your hands, stroke me, and tell me how dirty it makes you feel to be fucked by such a great artist."

I took his cock and balls into my hands, gently stroking as I carefully considered my words, being sure to play exactly the part that would get him off. I looked up at him with lustful eyes, and began to speak.

"I knew when I came here today that you were a great artist. I'd seen your oils, your watercolors. But now that I know you're also a cum artist, I want nothing more than to be your dirty little cum slut. I want you to climax just as hard as I did, and cover me with your brilliant cum."

"Yes, Tatiana, that's it, keep going."

I increased the tempo of my motions, fondling and tickling as balls as I firmly jacked him off. "I know you can't get enough of my beautiful breasts, that you're still remembering the sensations of fucking my tight little pussy, feeling my cum cover your cock. Now it's your turn, I want you to cover my sexy chest with your cum. Shoot it all over me, cover me! I want nothing more than to be your filthy cum whore!!"

"Yes, yes, I'm almost there, Tatiana, keep going!!"

I tried to speak once more, but before I could, Jackson once again clutched me by the hair and forced me onto his cock, bottoming out deep in my throat and holding himself there as I gagged and fought for air. He released me for a moment, and I quickly began a rapid up and down motion, before he pushed me away for good, and I let myself fall to the floor beneath him, a blank canvas for his latest work.

He held his cock in his hands, and I looked up into his eyes as he jerked with pleasure as his orgasm arrived, and stream after stream of cum shot from his cock, splattering first across my breasts, then on my face, then down towards my belly. I lay, still and content, knowing that I needed to wait for him to recover, reach for his camera, and capture the moment for his collection.

His hot cum oozed slowly across my skin, dripping from my cheek, sliding down from my nipple, coming to a rest in my belly button, as I looked up into the camera. Poloroid after poloroid dropped to the floor around me as he continued to click the shutter, before he finally stopped, setting the camera down and letting his own weight drop into a nearby chair.

My eyes wandered from the wood beams of the ceiling to the view out of the windows as I pondered my contentment. Not only had I experienced the best sex of my life, I'd also been witness to the purity possible in art - expression in its most basic form. Not acceptible to the gallery-going establishment, perhaps, but a wonderful inspiration, nonetheless.



The Artist And Her Horny Male Model



The nineteen year young man stood naked before the female artist who was about to paint his naked form onto canvas. 

The artist, named Sophie is a divorced, thirty eight year old self-made success story, a successful painter who recently decided to try painting the human body and having found this gorgeous young man on the street paid him $50 to model naked so she could paint him.

She had watched David as he stripped off his clothes looking shy as though he'd never been naked in the presence of a woman before. He had a stunning body like a Greek God in some ways. Slim yet well defined; broad shoulders, smooth chest, flat muscular stomach, V shaped torso leading to a narrow waist. 

He turned away from her so she could study the best angle to paint him, allowing her to admire his taut, hairless buttocks and strong thighs.

She decided the best angle was from the front and partly side on. She wasn't intending to concentrate on his genitals but now she had a full view and liked what she saw. 

David's flaccid penis was average size but his testicles looked unusually large and full and hung like ripe fruit surrounded by light coloured pubic hair.

As he stood there, David began to wonder what Sophie's body was like under her jeans and t-shirt. He guessed she was about mid thirty's and that didn't bother him; he always has an attraction to older women. That was why he agreed to model for her in the first.

David's penis began to swell and harden and in thirty seconds was fully erect at about seven inches long.

He looked embarrassed but stood still, watching her. She glanced at his erection and back up to his eyes saying, "That's very distracting; can you do anything about it?"

He said "I'm trying to take my mind of it but usually there's only one way to get it to go down"

A couple of minutes went by and he still was fully erect.

Sophie sighed and came over to David, asked him to lie on the nearby bed then she wanked him off quickly, her hand stroking up and down his shaft. He came in thirty seconds spurting copiously over her hand and his own chest and stomach, groaning loudly. She cleaned her hand and told him to clean himself up then they got back to work.

David was soft for only about ten minutes before getting another hard-on. He was trying to think of anything to make it go down.

The artist looked up and couldn't believe her eyes when she saw his hard cock again. This time she couldn't take her eyes off it and she felt herself getting wet.

Sophie decided to help him out again but this time she didn't want to waste his semen. 

She came over to him and this time got onto her knees and took his cock in her mouth sucking and licking and rubbing her tongue around his swollen head and slit, bringing him to a powerful orgasm in two minutes swallowing his huge load.

She hadn't sucked a guy for a long time and she had forgotten how much she loved not only the power she had over men while doing it, but also loved the pleasure it gave them and her reward was a mouthful of sweet, salty sperm which she eagerly swallowed..

David's cock went soft and stayed soft for the remainder of the painting session much to her disappointment because by the end her cunt was dripping wet and longing for sex.

As she finished the painting, David was about to get dressed when she came over to him and kissed him. His cock immediately hardened. 

Sophie slowly took off her t-shirt and jeans, giving David his first view of her stunning, well toned body. Generous breasts, flat stomach, slim hips. She was wearing sexy, lace panties and bra which she soon discarded and stood naked before David. She was pleased to see that David obviously liked what he saw as his erection was enormous and oozing pre-come.

They kissed passionately and wetly, their tongues exploring each other's mouth

She lay him down on the bed and straddled him sitting upright giving David a fabulous view of her full breasts which he eagerly played with gently squeezing and massaging. Sophie rubbed her hands up down David's smooth chest before moving her sexy ass back towards his rock hard cock. She pulled his penis up and slid onto its full length. They both moaned with pleasure. She rode him like a horse back and forward, up and down feeling full and impaled on his hard tool. 

This went on for several minutes and being on top, she could control his rising desire to pump her full of his seed but the time came when she needed to be fucked hard and fast so she lifted off his cock, turned her back to him and got on her hand and knees presenting her wet, pink slit to him.

David entered her from behind and held onto her slim hips as he thrust his cock into her again and again. His balls slapped against her with each thrust and he felt the suction on his cock each time he pulled back. Sophie needed it over fast and reached between her legs lightly touching his heavy, swinging sac. He groaned deeply as the extra stimulation and pleasure caused him to orgasm almost immediately, He grunted and ejaculated deep inside her, pumping his hot, thick cream, filling her hot, steamy slot. She felt him explode inside her and then she had her own powerful orgasm. 

They both fell onto their sides as their orgasms subsided and their breathing returned to normal. His penis lost some of its hardness but stayed inside her as they fell asleep.

When David awoke some two hours later; he had a raging hard on again. He kissed Sophie until she woke and then began to suck her nipples and fondle her breasts which made her moan with excitement. 

She spread her legs and pulled him onto her so he was on top and could fuck her hard and fast. This time she wanted to see his face as they fucked and watched as he smiled down at her then closed his eyes and concentrated on the intense pleasure coming from his groin. She had several orgasms as he pumped her and when finally he came, his orgasm started in his balls then seemed to move into his spine before finally he spurted another huge load into her, this time emptying his balls.

Sophie couldn't believe a guy, even one so young could come so often in a short period of time and also how much semen he ejaculated each time- no wonder his balls were so large she thought. 

David withdrew his flaccid penis and it was like unplugging a dam. A torrent of semen poured out and onto the bed sheets. She didn't care- she knew she'd just had the best sex of her life and she loved the feeling of being filled to overflowing with hot, young semen.

The young man got dressed and left with his $50, empty balls and with a huge smile on his face. The artist decided she had spent long enough without sex and vowed to find another young man or men to fulfill her sexual needs.