Painting Drunk
2000 - 2003
By animus and Staine

This was one of our first efforts into the “mc” genre, written way back in 2000. It’s undergone a few facelifts since then, but has remained true to the original intent.
After a final polish, we’ve decided to re-submit.
Try to remember we weren’t all that old when we penned this, and enjoy.
-animus and Staine

Sam groaned.

Another thud sounded from above, followed by a squeal, and another round of giggling.

"Oh, Gawd..." He took off his headphones, resigning himself to the fact that nothing could block out the noise of four boisterous teenage girls at play.

Sam's younger sisters - twins - had invited a pair of friends over for the night, and the kids had been hard at it making a racket since early in the evening. With their parents out for the weekend, they had a free reign, and he didn't feel up to yelling at them just yet. Better to leave them alone, rather than face the wrath of four seventeen-year-old girls.

He looked to the clock at his bedside, and found the time to be a little after ten. They'd been at it for hours, but showed no signs of tiring. Luckily enough, he'd been able to take refuge in his room downstairs - a converted basement - and was shielded from the full force of the childish banter.

At twenty, he was basically self-sufficient, with a job, a uni course, and the huge room downstairs, which was big enough to be an apartment of sorts. It was times like this that made him wish he'd moved out for real, instead of opting for the easier (and cheaper) solution of living downstairs. Still, he had his own TV, VCR, DVD, stereo, and a small refrigerator, which he headed toward in search of a beer. He opened the door and found... nothing.

"Bugger," he muttered. He'd meant to restock the fridge after last weekend, but had forgotten. Now he'd be forced to go upstairs and pinch one of his dad's - and no doubt be accosted by the irritating youngsters at play. He knew they weren't children, but a group of girls in one place at the one time can sure act like it.

The first thing that he noticed upon entering the ground floor of the house was the noise, or lack thereof. It was quiet - a little too quiet. Sam grinned at the cliché and opened the door.

First port of call was the fridge. Sam opened the door and grabbed a stubbie - it was a light, but better than nothing. He opened the bottle, squashed the cap, and took a drink. Resigning himself to a night of sobriety, he grabbed a couple more and headed back downstairs. At least with the girls quiet he would have a chance to get some work done.

His easel was set up in a corner of his room, with shelves and a bench lining part of one wall to accommodate his art gear. He set the beers down on a stool, picked up a pencil and a preliminary sketch he'd completed earlier in the day and set to work on a new canvas. For the better part of an hour he worked furiously, roughing out the basic shapes, then adding detail until, finally, he was ready to apply some colours.

Sam sat back and admired his work. It was a cut above his usual standard, that was obvious, but normally it took ages, sometimes a full night, to get the details just so. Must be inspired, he thought to himself. Whistling a happy tune, he reached for a brush from one of the multitudes of jars on his bench.

He wondered what had become of the girls as he opened a tube of paint. With a gentle squirt, he made a small dollop of the thick goo, diluted it with a little thinner, and set to work. His head buzzed pleasantly, and he mused to himself that he should always paint drunk.

Humming merrily as he worked, Sam worked for a full twenty minutes before he realized that he wasn't drunk. He couldn't be. Three lights wouldn't have that effect on one of his sisters, let alone him, and he'd finished them ages ago. The painting forgotten, he set down the brush and concentrated on the feeling inside his head. If it wasn't drunkenness, what was it?

He groped for a word that would adequately explain what he was feeling. It wasn't real, or rather, it wasn't really his. It was... second-hand? Yes, that was it. It was as though the feeling actually belonged to someone else. Bewildered, he climbed the stairs and opened the door.

Again, silence. The feeling of drunkenness was stronger now, so he guessed he must be that much closer to whatever it was that was giving him these sensations. The kitchen was empty, as was the living room and dining room. He just started down the hall when his sisters' door opened, and the sounds of quiet giggling floated out. Kathie and Sallie and their little friends were getting pissed? He smiled. Sam himself might have been able to get plastered at their age, but his parents had a serious double-standard regarding drinking and the girls.

Patrice stumbled out of the bedroom, weaving a little as she walked. His sisters' friend covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing aloud.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," someone hissed from within. Another round of giggling followed. Patrice turned in Sam's direction and she froze, her jaw dropping. The girl exuded panic, not just from her expression and stance, but he could actually feel the emotion emanating from her.

Ohhhhhh, shit!

He heard it as clearly as if she'd said it aloud.

Quickly, he put a finger to his lips, grinning all the while, and motioned for her to close the door. She complied.

"What're you doing?" Sam enquired innocently. He knew damn well what they were doing, but he wanted to make this kid squirm a little. He could clearly see the fear in Patrice's pretty grey eyes.

"Ummmmmm... We're not, not doing anything. We're just in there talking," she said in a rush.

Oh, God. He's on to us. We're SO busted!

His grin broadened. "Bullshit. What're you drinking?"

She bit her lip. "We're not..."

"Bollucks," he cut her off. "I know you're drinking, and I don't care that you are. I just wanna' know what you're drinking, that's all," he promised. "Don't worry, I'm not likely to tell anyone." He experimentally tried sending feelings of reassurance in her direction. If he could hear their thoughts, then why couldn't he send her his, he reasoned.

Patrice relaxed noticeably, and the grin returned to her lips. "We've got some vodka and some Stollies," she giggled excitedly. "We're drunk!" She looked really cute when she was tipsy.

Sam smiled to himself. Leg spreaders. The type of drink you give to a girl if you want to get them drunk enough to get you laid. Come to think of it...

He looked her up and down. The girl was wearing a nightie - a long shirt, really - of soft cotton, which clung to her figure with amazing tenacity. He could see plainly that she wasn't wearing a bra, her rapidly developing breasts were free beneath the cloth, and her small nipples showed clearly.

"Ummmmmmmm, I've gotta' go pee, okay?" She blushed slightly, and traced a circle on the carpet with one of her feet.

"I'm not stopping you."

She hurried in the direction of the bathroom, and Sam admired her behind through her nightie. Her panties were clearly showing, and he found this to be an immense turn-on.

A plan formulating in his mind, Sam turned to the bedroom door, and tried to concentrate. He projected a feeling of sleepiness into the room. The echoing response of his effort floated outward.

There's no way it could've worked THAT fast! He thought to himself. With exaggerated stealth, he turned the knob and opened the door a crack. After a moment, he pushed it all the way open.

Kathie and Susan were snuggled together, fast asleep. Sam gave a laugh - you'd never catch guys doin' that, he thought. Sallie was curled up against the bottom bunk, cradling just under two-thirds of a bottle of Vodka.

"Wow," he said, "I'm impressed!" They'd managed to finish almost half the bottle. Sam stooped to retrieve the bottle from her limp fingers. "Thanks, sis."

"Awwwwww!"

He turned to find Patrice standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.

"They're asleep already? Grrrrrrr, I could just kick them!" She stomped her little foot, looking positively adorable.

Sending waves of happy compliance (he was really getting the hang of this now!), Sam said, "Forget about them. Why don't you come with me for awhile?"

Her features clouded for a moment, but then she brightened, "Okay!" she said enthusiastically. After picking up a couple of stollies from the floor, she grabbed his hand and allowed him to lead her down the hall, and downstairs to his basement abode.

"Wow, what a cool room!" Patrice released his hand and walked about, examining his room. "You get all this to yourself?"

"Yep." Sam took a sip of the Vodka, and leant against the bench. "All mine"

This was the tricky part. Flooding her with lust, he also sent childish infatuation. He wanted her to act the child, not the whore - it would be wrong to turn her into something that she might not become on her own. Apparently turning her into a horny little girl rather than just a regular little girl didn't bother him.

"Kathie said that you paint," she remarked, gesturing towards the easel, and taking a sip from her stollie. "Can I take a look?"

"Sure, go right ahead." Something didn't seem to be working quite right. Why wasn't she responding? It worked fine before. He stepped up the lust.

"Ummmmmm, that's pretty cool. What else do you paint?" So saying, she stepped toward the bench, and seemed intent upon the stuff he had drying there.

"Mostly just stuff from my head. I don't use models." He increased the pressure in her loins again, hoping to squeeze a reaction from her. Sam stood behind her, and allowed his arm to brush against her thigh as he pointed to one of his paintings. "I did this one yesterday, so..." The girl in front of him visibly shuddered.

She backed away a little. "Ummmm. I think I'd better go now, okay?" She stepped away from him as quickly as she could.

It took him a moment to realize why this hadn't been working. She was a GIRL, not a woman, and with his implanting the infatuation, rather than simply wanton lust, she was acting like a child in love... or as close to love as she knew, anyway. The fact that she was horny made her nervous as all hell around him. She was ashamed of her body's seemingly unprovoked reactions to his presence.

And he was ashamed to have done something so... wrong? He placed his hand on her shoulder, and turned her around, looking into her eyes.

"I want you to stay, but only if that's what you want, too."

"I should..." she began. He leaned forward, slow enough for her to pull away, but making his intentions very obvious. Eagerly, she met his kiss, and their lips connected. With almost frantic enthusiasm, she kissed him back. A little sloppy at first, but she calmed down a little after they got started. Sam was surprised (pleasantly so) when she opened her mouth wider and began to slide her tongue tantalizingly against his own.

She pulled back, and said, "I... I always had a crush on you, but I never thought anything would happen. I never... " She stopped talking and jumped back into it, kissing him with renewed fervour. He could taste the sweet alcoholic drink on her breath and tongue.

He let a hand trail up her thighs, over her stomach and gently cup one of her breasts. It was small, but soft, with a rapidly hardening nipple. She moaned, and pushed her chest out towards him. She dropped the stollie as his thumb rubbed her nipple. Patrice's legs parted a little, and she rubbed her crotch against his leg, the fabric of her nightie riding higher up her thigh.

He reached down between her legs, and as he did so, she opened them a little more. Pushing the material higher, he pulled the nightie over her head and off, breaking the kiss to allow it to pass over her head, then resuming.

Patrice gave a small moan, and pulled her head back again. "Sam, I... ummmmmm... I" She looked down, as if she couldn't meet his eyes. It seemed like she wanted very badly to say something, but didn't know how to go about it.

"What is it? You can tell me." He stroked her chin, and lifted it gently so she looked up into his eyes. He knew what she wanted to say, but he wanted to hear it from her lips. He kissed her again, tenderly. "You can tell me," he said again, softly.

"I've, I um, I never. You know..." Patrice seemed embarrassed. "I never let a guy..."

"That's okay, Patrice. You know that you don't have to if you don't want to. I understand." He'd long ago learnt that if you pushed a girl, you pushed her away. Besides, he felt just a little guilty about taking advantage of her. In fact, he felt alot guilty about it.

"Do you want me to stop?" Sam didn't think so, but just in case, he upped the lust, made it more insistent. Patrice's breath caught in her throat, and when he saw her eyes glaze over, he knew she was his. Making her horny was one thing, but he'd be damned if he'd force her. That sort of thing was just sick.

"I, ummm, no. I want it. I, I want to." She seemed unsure as to what to do next. He knew, though.

Sam leaned forward again and ever so gently ran the back of his hand across a nipple. She shuddered, her pale flesh breaking out in goosebumps. There was something so alluring about the untouched innocence before him that really got Sam going. He had to struggle not to take her then and there. He took hold of the soft flesh and kneaded it softly, rubbing his thumb against the hard nipple, eliciting a very sweet sounding groan that was more than just music to his ears. It was music to another part of his body, too, strumming his dick like a harp string until it throbbed between them.

Sam could hardly believe his luck. He'd never in his wildest dreams thought he'd have one of his sisters' girlfriends clad only in her underwear in front of him, letting him play with her breasts and feel her up.

"Patrice, are you sure you want to continue? You don't have to..." He didn't think that this was an option at this point, but if she protested, he'd just stop and let her go.

Patrice didn't really seem to hear him. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted just enough for him to see her little pink tongue. His mouth came down on hers, his tongue slipping between those sweet lips to duel with hers. When her eyes opened, he could see they were half-lidded and the pupils wide with lust.

He broke the kiss and went to work on her neck, sucking and kissing the warm flesh. Her hands wrapped around the back of his head, holding him to her. His mouth returned to hers and without breaking the kiss, he manoeuvred towards his bed. He lay her down gently and worked his way down her body, caressing her skin with his tongue. She was moaning softly as she ran her hands through his hair as his mouth explored her. Finally, with agonizing slowness, Sam eventually reached the last barrier between himself and what he now knew to be her untouched sex.

Patrice raised her bottom and then her knees to allow Sam to peel her underwear off. He could smell her now. The scent of her arousal almost took his breath away, if ever there was a chance that she could leave the room without getting laid, that chance was long gone. He lightly stroked that fine whisper of downy pubic hair. Patrice raised herself up on her elbows and smiled at him. It was the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen, a sweet, innocent smile tempered with what was unmistakably lust.

The scent emanating from between her legs was so strong now that Sam just had to get a taste from the source. His tongue traced around her glistening labia and he distinctly felt her go tense, her breathing quicken, and her thighs tighten around his head. Seeing that she was almost on the edge, as it were, Sam decided to go for the kill. Patrice groaned loudly as Sam's tongue found her clit. Keeping his lips and tongue lapping at her, his hand slid over from her thigh and slowly, gently worked a finger into her. She was exquisitely tight and he couldn't help but smile to himself as his finger came up against her hymen.

"Oh God, Sammy. Don't stop! Don't stop, pleeeease don't..." she wailed breathlessly as she began to thrash around uncontrollably. Sam had to struggle to keep her down on her back, his face pressed firmly between her thighs, his mouth still working on her as her hips bucked into his face. He kept going down on her as she slowly descended from the peak of her orgasm.

Sam literally destroyed buttons and zippers in an effort to get out to his clothing, and propped himself up on an elbow to watch her cool down. He was far from a virgin, but he had never seen anything so erotic in his life. Patrice lay panting before him. Innocent perfection, he thought, running a hand across her ribcage and cupping a breast. She raised an eyelid, and turned to look at him. There was something in her eyes... Sam couldn't describe it in words if he tried. It was so alluring that he held her pretty face and kissed her. As their tongues met, he rolled on top of her and placed himself conveniently between her still spread thighs.

Her petite hips were slowly rubbing across his belly, smearing the warm, fragrant evidence of her arousal over him. He didn't care, couldn't care. All that mattered now was the hot opening between those soft, yielding thighs...

He repositioned himself for penetration and carefully, more so than he'd ever been before, lowered himself into her hot, tight embrace. His mouth returned to hers as the head of his penis tenderly spread her apart and slid into her.

"Mmmmmmhhhh," she whimpered into his mouth and he instantly broke their kiss. It seemed criminal to hurt something so pure.

"Are you okay?" he asked anxiously, staring into her wide open eyes. She nodded weakly and pulled his head down again. Just before his mouth reached hers, he caught the most fleeting glimpse of that 'something' in her eyes that he still couldn't place. It never occurred to him to listen to her thoughts. Her hands had left his shoulders and were now pressed against his sides in an attempt to have at least partial control over penetration. She groaned loudly as he took her maidenhead.

He now had just over half his length embedded in her. As his hips tensed and prepared to push more into her, she squeezed his sides and tore her lips away from his.

"What's wrong?" He asked, there was no irritation or malice in his voice.

"Wait... just give me a second..." She breathed.

He looked into her watering eyes and nodded. "Whenever you're ready..."

After a few moments, she nodded weakly at him and he slowly, for fear of hurting her, eased the rest of himself into her. They lay panting in each other's arms with his entire length now in her warm embrace. He began a slow rhythm to get her accustomed to him. Her tightness and her scent drove him nearly mad with lust, but Sam knew that he could not bring himself to hurt her in any way. He gently continued to press into her. She was moaning louder now and she felt even tighter than before. Sam found the whole experience mind-blowing, it was easily the best sex he'd ever had. Soo tight and pure.

Slowly, so slowly that Sam had no idea when it actually started, his thrusts into her grew faster and rougher. There is a definite difference between making love and fucking, and he'd gone from the one to the other without the slightest inkling of what was going on. One second, he was barely moving against her and the next he was fucking her harder than he'd ever fucked anyone before. Patrice didn't seem to mind one bit. Her hips were rising to meet his thrusts as he buried himself into her quivering warmth over and over. Her body was trembling and her eyes plainly showed her lust.

Without warning her head slammed back into the pillows, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth wide open in a soundless scream. Sam tried to stop himself but her hips were still bucking against him, forcing his penis deeper inside her. He quickly lost himself to the wildly bucking body beneath him and felt her seemingly suck the fluids out of him. His mind seemed to go blank as he buried his face into her neck and groaned as he came in jerking, geysering motions. He think, couldn't breathe, the last thing he could do was stop. He just gasped and clutched at her as he blew his load deep inside.

They lay in each other's arms and waited for their breathing to return to normal. Patrice lay on her side with her back towards him, her gasping breath sounding like quiet sobs. He reached over to pull her towards him. As she turned to face him, Sam caught his breath as he looked into those beautiful grey eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered kissing her sweaty forehead. His gaze returned to her face, she was more than just beautiful he realized. Almost too good to be true. Then he noticed that something had changed... behind her eyes perhaps...

"No, thank YOU." She corrected him in a husky whisper, patting his head affectionately, with a mischievous grin.

The eyes were pretty and grey, and suddenly bottomless. Suddenly he didn't feel quite so in control anymore. Who had made this happen, anyway? Was it him, or...

Patrice smiled so sweetly and his fears melted away. She cupped his cheek tenderly with her soft hand and gazed lovingly into his eyes. "Hush now, baby," she whispered softly into his ear. Sam's head nestled against her neck and they lay down together against the pillow. The air was warm against their naked skin as they snuggled on the bed.

He realised sleepily that it didn't matter if he was in control. Just so long as he had...

His thoughts trailed off as slumber took him in its warm, heavy embrace and he knew no more. Patrice curled up against his sleeping form, her arms around his neck. Her eyes closed slowly as sleep claimed her, too.

-End