You twist toward me and lean back on the chaise, while I approach your dripping pussy to lick up the leftovers. You reach for my head and drink in the harvest of your wetness, savoring our sticky kisses and drinking me in deeply to the point of intoxication.
“We don’t have to just drink this fun cocktail you know,” you chuckle, full of sex and more desire, “We have a rack of fine NW Pinots downstairs, with the pantry and the washing center. There’s an art studio there too!
“Great!” I respond, “because a masterpiece like you needs to be painted! Let’s clean up a bit and head down to make you a work of art!”
“I have other things in mind,” you say, mysteriously, “There are untold wonders downstairs to unfold for you,” You say with increasing excitement in your voice.
As before, you take my hand, and as we trip down the stairs together into the dark gaping maw of the basement, the hair on my neck stands up in alert, like a lamb being led to slaughter. A little fearful of this new power you have over me, I also know I can’t deny you anything, anything at all. If you were to completely use me up this afternoon and no part of me could ever step out of the house again, I willingly offer myself as a sacrifice to the rising tide of your desire and passion. As long as the sun stands still in the sky, I am totally and completely yours and yours alone! I relish that thought as we enter this mysterious crypt, not knowing yet if you will turn on any lights yet or reveal your intentions openly.
For this brief moment,, I am Erwin Schrödinger’s cat closed up in his box, not knowing if he is dead or alive until one opens the box and discovers whether the cat has broken the poisoned vial or merely eaten the good food left for him to eat. Both possibilities exist until one opens the box to discover the state of the cat.
At this point, I am a VERY alive, VERY aroused cat, highly anticipating what my mistress has in store for me as she leads me into the dark catacombs of her basement. When you catch me reaching for the light switch, your reaction is swift and harsh, slipping your hand from mine and quickly grabbing my balls as if they were your playthings by right, (which they are!)
“Don’t touch until I SAY!” You smirk an evil grin, “You are in my dark realm now and I am the queen of all you survey!”
You light a candelabra and place it on a side table. “This is my studio and inner sanctum, NO ONE comes here but me and my special guests, and I haven’t had a guest that has been worthy of a visit here in a long time.”
“It’s good you are already naked, that saves us so much prep time!”
You turn away from me, open a mysterious dark armoire, and doff a short artist’s apron that shows off your sweet ass so well…
“Eyes up! Mister!” You bark, “No peeking at the mistress without permission!”
You roll out a large 6 X 8 foot canvas on the floor, already primed and supple and ready for your next masterpiece, but I rarely painted on the floor myself unless… Uh-Oh!
Before I realize it, you make ME your canvas! You paint bright colors across my abdomen, up my neck and arms, down my legs, relishing the circles around my tightening balls and stiffening cock…
Then you turn your attention to my back: I felt like I am becoming a scarlet and blue Toucan from the Amazon forests, your bright palette leaving no inch of my body uncovered…
“Now, do me!” You giggle, “Use these colors so we contrast: Pointing to pots of green, purple, umber, sienna, colors that fought your lovely hazel eyes…
I take up the wide brushes and lather you up a masterpiece! You are Diana, the Huntress, the Queen of the Amazon Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death! You are a force of steaming sexuality to be reckoned with.
“Now lay down on your side very carefully,” You ordered, I don’t want you to smear the paint at first, that comes later!”
I lay down on my right side, this has my best profile if I am going to be immortalized in ART!!! You drop deftly on your side facing me on the canvas, smiling with delight.
“So should we just make a static print of our bodies?” I ask.
“Hell, no, Lover! This is where the fun begins!” We should fuck all over the canvas until every corner is covered!”
A rough and tumble game of twister like I used to play with my young cousins as a boy ensues. I haven’t had so much fun or done so much fucking all at once! You seem to know all the moves to play me to my fullest potential, and generous amounts of my cum shot all over the canvas, mixing in with the pigments as an eternal monument to our bodies clasped and rolling together.
We are both lost on the sliding of the paint and the nubbiness of the canvas and the slipperiness of our intertwined bodies. I lose count of how many times you or I cum on each other, or swallow each other, or which finger, vibrator or sex organ had pierces which hole or how deeply.
The whole afternoon is a festival of indulgent lust and passion neither of us have ever experienced, and somehow we know we can never repeat with the same artistry and masterful touches. We are complete, there on the canvas, as we feel the edges begin to dry and realize it’s time to step into the shower together and scrub the markings of coitus off our skin, letting it wash harmlessly down the drain.
I catch your hazel eyes in the shower, kissing you deeply, I say, “I hope you will still let me be your agent. I have a special rate for goddesses!” I smirk. You give my arm a right hook. “Damn! You move fast!”
Looking back with incredulity, I reply, “I always give my clients what they need, even before they know what they want!”
“So, now I’m just another client again?”
“You could never be just that again,” I answer gently, “I’ll be here as long as you need special attentions, even if it’s just a phone consultation. Call me 24/7 and I’m at your service. Very few of my clients get this platinum treatment.”
“Well I know you’re going to have to go soon, but is there anything else you want to say about the house? We have covered me extensively already!” You smile slyly.
“As long as you ask, I wondered about all that hideous modern art in the rest of the house? Are you married to that approach?”
I feel sad inside, my real life crashing back into this perfect afternoon, “Yes, unfortunately, I AM married to the modern art! The artist is my husband…”
“Ooops,” I whispered to myself, “You put your foot right into that flaming sack of dogshit!” hoping I am still talking with my inside voice.
“Well, it’s very Portland,” I go for the fast save, already upstairs and dressing before you hit me for my art critic skills.
“You’re very Portland,” you compensate with your lovely, dancing hazel eyes, “I’m sure I am going to need you over here several other afternoons to fine tune our presentation.”
“I’d love to, my dear, I assure you my full and complete attention whenever you call…” I say smiling.
You show me to the door, fighting the urge to pull me back in for one more round, but as I had said, I’m available anytime for your full and complete attention. This is one service you are going to utilize to the fullest!
~~ will continue with part four