The Modern Danaë

*They're selling postcards of the hanging...*

Trevor's true childhood hero hadn't been Lebron James, Will Smith, or even Obama: it had been Bob Dylan. He couldn't even remember how he had ended up watching that weird biopic, the one where the singer/songwriter was played by six different actors, but he did, and that got him hooked. Particularly because the first of these six happened to be a black kid, about the same age as he was when he watched it. In the picture, that boy was the nerdy one who wanted to fit in, without compromising his own identity... and this was exactly how he was feeling at the time.

In the end, Tre had managed to fit in, while keeping his true self indeed. Twelve years had passed, and the nerdy boy had turned to a 6'4", lean, handsome guy, eager to spend about an hour at the gym each day to sculpt his admirable physique. But the figure of Dylan had stayed with him all through the years, probably because it had shaped him intellectually. Those cryptic lyrics and references had led him to dive in poetry, mythology, philosophy even... and he had never looked back. Now, at 22 years old, he was focused in his Literature studies, on way to his Master's degree, which he would normally get next year. He was getting somewhere, though he was not too sure of what this somewhere might be.

On top of that, he was a guy that people loved to hang around with, one whose great personality drew kindred people like a magnet. He could thank his parents for that: they had taught him, every step of the way, that kindness and trust were the key words than a human being should live by, no matter what happened; and if it didn't pay off at first -- like they themselves experienced long ago -- that would make a difference in the long run. Tre had struggled with that idea for quite some time, but he had put it in practice anyway... and now, he realized that they had been right. He had tons of friends, some of his youngest cousins looked up to him as a role model, and he was making a few connections in the academic world too. Things looked like they were about to go great. He felt grateful and lucky.

Except... in that one department. Or, come to think of it, maybe that was the department where he got a bit too lucky.

The voice of Bob reminded him of it, this very instant:

*Everybody's making love or else expecting rain...*

He had always loved that line, but the bitterness of it stung harder this time around. It was Tuesday night, and up to an hour ago he'd been supposed to be be part of the former group, after two months of failed or aborted opportunities... but that one had failed, too.

As he hit puberty, his body started to change... and one part of him, in particular, began to develop quite dramatically. He thought nothing of it at first, but then he realized over the years, in the gym lockers, that none of his buddies had indeed transformed quite as substantially as he had. This was so much pronounced that, on his first viewings of porn, he had wondered what the fuss was about, since none of these guys in the videos had the kind of equipment that could match his own.

But the real downer came with his first sexual encounters. All through his high school years, he managed to date some incredible girls; and most actually seemed to care about him, or to find him genuinely lovely. He'd never had any problem finding them. But when they felt ready to "do" it, the same scenario repeated: they would recoil in shock as they saw the whole of him, uttering things such as "it ain't possible" or "it can't be" and ultimately not willing to go any further with him.

He tried to aim at college girls, who he felt would be more experienced at this kind of stuff, but that didn't make much of a difference... especially since his package continued to grow, up to the point where he eventually had to wear baggy pants most of the time, to prevent the bulge from becoming too obvious. He had to say goodbye to any kind of underpants, too: going commando had become the norm. Playing sports could also be a problem. Football? Those outfits were a little too tight. Tennis? Too revealing. Swimming? Even worse. It had reached a point where that thing between his legs was more of a liability than a benefit.

Maybe the worst part about it all, was that everything seemed to be in working order! He had no trouble getting a rock-hard erection, or even keeping it for extended periods of time; he guessed his healthy lifestyle and constant exercising contributed a great deal to that. He could cum perfectly too, though he had found out soon enough that it brought its own set of problems; and he would now wait until he was on his own to blow his load, usually in the shower. That last part wasn't really a problem for him, for two reasons: he always felt like pleasuring the girl first, and he had been blessed with that natural ability -- that, unbeknownst to him, very few men had -- to delay his ejaculation as much as was required.

Unfortunately, it wasn't like any girl he had known could have enjoyed it: very few even let him try to be inside them, and the brave ones who managed to accommodate him would usually be worn out after about 10 minutes. Tonight's girl hadn't been any different. She was from his English Lit class. They had been seeing each other for about 2 weeks, a wonderful red-haired buxom girl that made him feel quite special. He hoped she would be the right one... and got disappointed as usual. Umpteenth verse, same as the first.

Like so many other girls, she had been apologetic about it, telling him what a great guy he was, and she mentioned how his cock was "mesmerizing" (God, how many different adjectives he had heard about his junk over the years... he could have published a whole thesaurus by now) but she hadn't feel up to the challenge -- because that was one, indeed.

That started to take a toll on him. He felt like a diamond in the rough. There was so much pleasure he could bring to a woman, he was sure of it... but where was the one who was willing to receive it?

Because until it happened... he would still feel a bit like that nerdy boy of long ago. Unable to fit. And no amount of friends or academic success would make up for it.

*Was that some kind of joke?*

Well, since he had nothing better to do anyway, he decided to browse some "interesting" ads on Dougsfiles, one of his go-to sites in case of extreme sexual desperation. Not that he excepted anything from it, but maybe the idea of checking on some other lost souls, out there, trying to find their perfect match, however odd and specific it was, could bring him some kind of long-distance comfort.

He checked those within his area, from today... then from yesterday... then from 2 days ago... until one caught his attention. Probably because if was among the very few whose title was not painfully obvious.

It was simply named "The Modern Danaë".

He was familiar with the tale, as he had read it in Ovid's Metamorphoses. A king had locked up his daughter in a chamber because a prophecy had told him he would be killed by her offspring. Little did he know that it was Zeus himself who had decided to impregnate her, and no mere castle was going to prevent him from having his way; he simply turned into a golden cloud, passed through the window, and rained down on her. Now, how would such a tale fit into a Dougsfiles post? His curiosity was tickled: he clicked.

"Female, 26.

O Jupiter, of obsidian mold,

Shower me with mother-of-pearl, not gold."

That's all there was to it, but for Trevor, that was more than enough to fuel his imagination. It didn't take a genius to guess that the "obsidian mold" referred to that woman's preferred skin color, but he loved the poetic touch the pearl reference brought. The rest said all that needed to be said: here was a lady who wanted to be covered in her lover's seed.

Something he knew he would have absolutely no problem delivering.

That almost felt too good to be true. Her request, if he had indeed read correctly between the lines, fit him exactly to a tee. Now what was the catch? Because there had to be one... but he felt eager to know more. He was willing to follow that path, to plunge into that rabbit hole. After all, that was better than staying on Desolation Row.

He began to think of what would be the most appropriate answer.

"You want me to leave the light on?"

The voice came from the living room, distant, already in the past tense.

"Uh... No. Turn it off. Please."

"Alright. See you?" That last syllable hung, suspended in mid-air.

She let it linger. The door closed.

That had been Fiona's night fling, an all-around nice man she had picked during her after-work, as she did on most Thursdays. He had been good-looking, fit, considerate, and had looked absolutely delighted to score a chick like her as she brought him home, a reaction shared by many other guys over the years.

The lovemaking was just like him: all-around nice. He had been sweet to her all through, not hesitating to go down on her when she wanted to, and he had made sure not to cum too soon... and yet, even with all those boxes checked, she remained ultimately unsatisfied.

Though, she had to admit, it wasn't just a recent thing. Actually, she couldn't remember a single session which had not left her wanting, deep down inside. It's not that it was bad; just mostly average, and given how sex was important in everyday lives, she felt like she was missing out. This was probably why, at 26 years old, she had never settled with anybody, and wasn't about to. Unless, of course, she could find the one man that would make her feel ... if he ever existed.

It had taken her a long, long time to guess what she really craved for. Before that, she had made one wrong assumption after another. She had tried sex of the rougher variety, but being called a bitch or worse by her partner usually made her blood curl; she had even ended up kicking out a particularly rude asshole who had tried to manhandle her the wrong way -- that was how these dreaded boxing lessons had paid off in the end. Then, she had tried with a few women; it was... nice, but ultimately not what she was looking for. She had also tried mind games, and all that revolved around domination and submission, but she couldn't escape the feeling that it was all a big put-on; or at least that's how she felt about it.

No, what she needed was something else. Something... which would leave her like that painting.

It had happened a few months ago. She had to meet a client in St-Louis, MI, and as she usually did on a first-time travel, she had taken some extra time to be able to visit their art museum. Art was indeed one of the things she regretted having no talent at whatsoever, but she was fascinated by those who had, and who were able to transcribe their vision to the world. It was one of the greatest things mankind was capable of, and she reveled in it, any occasion she had.

And that was in Saint Louis Art Museum that she saw it.

The painting of Danaë by Artemisia Gentileschi.

It wasn't the first version she had seen of that particular story; the Titian, in Naples, came to mind, or the Rembrandt one she had browsed in a book... but none of these equaled the sexual power of the one right before her eyes.

She remembered very clearly how she had stood in front of it, for minutes on end, absolutely transfixed by the pose of the heroine. There was a defiance, an affirmation in the way she lied, that shook her to the core, long after she had left the museum.

And it made all the more sense once she found out that Artemisia Gentileschi was a woman; one of the few, indeed, who not only managed to be accepted as a female artist in the 1600's, but who even turned out a profit. One who was not afraid to use her own persona - and body - in her works of art. One who stood up for herself throughout most of her life.

In short, a true badass woman.

There was more, though; just before she reached 18, she was sexually assaulted by her father's friend and assistant. She nevertheless dared to denounce him, and against all odds, this led to his imprisonment. It was during that trial period, it seemed, that she had painted that Danaë, and because of the time frame, some art critics later read that artwork as an allegory of what happened to her, with Zeus, through his shower of gold, acting as the rapist in the story.

But this was not how Fiona had interpreted it. At all. The figure she saw in that painting wasn't a victim; instead, that was a woman who was claiming back her sexuality. The worst had happened, but that would make her all the more stronger; she refused to be kept a prisoner by her father, in that ivory tower. She wanted to follow her desires... and act on them.

And these desires felt strangely close to hers. There was, in the face of Artemisia here -- because that was obviously her own -- the expression of a woman that had been pleasured to oblivion; her eyes half-closed, her breasts swollen, her body offered to the most gifted of lovers -- Jupiter himself, from whom she had enjoyed the greatest of nights, and who was about to shower her with his own ecstasy.

That was how Fiona wanted to feel. Like that woman in the picture. In a state of total erotic abandon.

And this was what had led her, five days ago, back from her night out, a little tipsy, and still not satisfied, to send her Danaë ad, like a spur of the moment thing.

And right now... she felt like checking on it. She knew it probably was no use. If the man she had dreamed up did exist, he probably had a lot better things to do than to read about people's fetishes on Dougsfiles. But as a social experiment... maybe she would get some witty or interesting answers.

She first read her own message again. What struck her was the "Obsidian mold" mention, that she had no recollection of having written. Did she put it just to fit the meter? Or because she loved the way that word sounded? Or because of... something else? Well, she didn't feel like thinking about it too much right now.

She then checked the replies, all twelve of them. Most were dirty takes on the "Roses are red Violets are blue" routine, a few looked written by guys whose active brain cells were now in the single-digit department, some were just pics of a very lewd nature... but among that trash, one message stood out. It was written in iambic verse, like her own:

"I'll hover like a cloud at your window

And shower you with pearls from head to toe."

This one, at least, understood the assignment.

But there was more: a link, which pointed to a MP4 file. She clicked, ready for absolutely anything. Except she could never have been prepared to what was now playing.

The scene took place in what was obviously a bathroom, the camera pointing towards the shower. A black man stood, the frame only showing the body from his shoulders to his knees. His physique was absolutely overwhelming: a lean figure, but which seemed to be made of pure muscle, without an ounce of body fat. His pecs and abs looked like they had been chiseled from a Renaissance master, carved directly from that stone Fiona had quoted in her message.

And yet, these were nothing compared to the thing that stood up between his legs.

"Holy shit!" she actually exclaimed out loud, still unable to fathom the reality of what was on display.

That cock was just... unbelievable. The man was holding it with both hands, and it looked like he barely covered two thirds of its length. As for the girth, it looked like it beat her own wrist easily. But despite those mammoth-like proportions, there was something... entrancing about the way it looked. Despite its massiveness, it seemed perfectly proportioned. The pubes around it where shaved, giving it even more scope and majesty. And the texture of it made it look really inviting, in its own strange way. Here was a manhood that did not feel monstrous, but rather... godlike.

And then, he began to jack off with wide moves, so fast that his hands were practically a blur; he had quite a lot of practice in the matter, it seemed. As he went on, she could see a thing that seemed to bounce on the bottom of the screen, not grasping exactly what it was but--

Scrap that. She knew exactly what it was. Those were his testicles. How could these be real, though? They looked to be larger than tennis balls, as hairless as the rest of him, swinging in rhythm with the furious jerking of his hands. How on earth could such a thing exist? It had to be a prop, a strap, something like that. But then... how come it looked so realistic in that video? AI could do marvels in this day and age, she had seen proof of that but, still... this looked like a proper human being, without any weird artifacts of glitches.

She was still pondering about the reality of it all, when the guy suddenly started to erupt, and the word was not too strong here: the velocity, pressure and amount with which those bursts came was nothing short of extraordinary. She could not see where they landed (somewhere left of the frame) but she did admire the thickness and the whiteness of this semen that spewed out of his colossal rod.

And... it just kept coming, each explosion as copious and powerful as the last. By the end, Fiona was pretty sure he had shot at least twenty volleys of cum. Not only had she ever seen a thing like that, she was not sure she could have imagined it as well. That was the stuff of dreams, the kind of vision that seemed lifted from a straight-up fantasy.

Like... her fantasy.

So this was what it was about. That man was not just versed in iambic pentameter; he had managed to find, somewhere in the dark, sleazy corners of the Internet, a video that exactly matched what she had asked for in her message. She appreciated the effort, and she was glad to think that there existed one man, somewhere, who could make that erotic dream come true, even though he probably lived ten thousand miles away from her. Well, at least that was something to masturbate to when she would feel at her lowest.

But the video was not over. The black man was moving toward the right side of the frame, picking a sheet of paper that he now held in front of the camera. It read: 7753179419.

What was that all about? Did she have to replace numbers with letters? Did it make a particular word if she looked at it upside down? Did she have to convert it to hexadecimal code or other? All kinds of theories popped up her head... too many to count.

But then, she went back to her ad... The number on the bottom left...

God, that was her post ID! So this meant...

She thought no further, and immediately started on her reply.

It was Saturday, and Trevor was making his way to "Danaë"'s apartment. The heat was still going strong on that late evening in early June, close to 75°F, and he had opted for a simple T-shirt, and of course the inevitable baggy short pants.

They had started to exchange messages a couple days after his reply; they were all written in character, and he had been pleasantly surprised by the wit and charm that the other person had displayed through their words. That wasn't just somebody who had found a fancy way of portraying a dirty kink; that was somebody who had a real interest about art and culture, and not in an "holier-than-thou" way, rather eager to share their impressions about things. They found a common ground to explore, and that was the basis that had led to this appointment, obviously to act on the fantasy which had brought them together.

That being said, he had no idea what he would actually find there; maybe he was going straight into the lion's den. His doubts had been put to rest after their art conversations, but they had crept back once Danaë had decided to send a picture of "her". There was something fishy about all of this. The girl, in that picture, looked impossibly gorgeous. She was white, her face perfectly round, framed by shoulder-length dark brown hair, with high cheekbones that naturally amplified the breadth of her smile, so bright and gentle at once. Her wide eyes were of a light hazel touch, and they felt like a world of their own, inviting you to drown in them. Once again: too good to be true.

He had made a reverse image search on the picture, expecting her to be some kind of foreign movie star or model. Nothing had come up. But that didn't prove much: that still could be one these AI-generated faces, which had gotten frighteningly realistic over the past year.

So in the end, he had come with his backpack, ready for any type of situation. If it was a trap, or worse, he had what it took to defend himself; but if it turned out to be more pleasurable... he would be fully equipped to make it happen in the best way possible for the two of them.

He tried to keep it cool... but as he reached the apartment, a few minutes after 10 PM, he could feel the pounding in his chest, actually afraid of what he would find on the other side of the door. He rang the bell, feeling every second passing like an eternity...

... and as it finally opened, his heart leaped, and he did his best not to make a step back in shock.

She was the woman from the picture. Same age, Same hairstyle... and the same rapturous beauty.

She was in the flesh, all smiles, her bright eyes scanning his youthful face.

"My God," she said, "isn't it Jupiter? Please come in..."

Her voice was low, elegant, inviting without feeling sultry. She led him in, slowly walking down her the hall, barefoot, her pace light, but deliberate. He took off his shoes and followed on.

The place was dark, save for a few candles carefully placed at the right spots, to convey the quiet, intimate atmosphere that was required. To Tre, it felt like walking into a dream, and so far, he was willing to get lost in it.

He turned his attention to the girl again. She was wearing a red silk night gown that stopped around mid-thigh, revealing the perfect shape and tone of her long, slender legs. Her pose, her stare... everything in her seemed to be perfectly scripted, to the point of being intimidating.

She was still eyeing him, her smile on, like a mask.

"So, Jupiter... what lured you to my sweet abode?"

Christ... she had really thought this out, Tre realized. Did she expect him to act along?

"Er, well, um, I... Listen: I know we did the roleplay thing up to that point, but I'm not feeling up to do it... in person. I'm sorry..."

He looked at her, apologetic, as he saw the facade of her face cracking: her smile slowly faded, her eyes moved up to the ceiling, and she let out a sigh of frustration, her fingers scratching her forearm.

"Damn, I'm sorry," Tre stumbled, feeling he had blown the whole thing before it even began. "Look, I can try, I just--"

"No," she gently broke off, her smile back on, but honest this time. "You're right. It reads good, but it sounds stupid. It's my first time, you know, doing this... kind of thing."

"It's alright," he said, relaxing a little. "Same for me, actually."

Her eyes now grew curious, inquisitive even, as if trying to reconcile the boy in front of her with that man she had seen in the video.

"I'm sure that shows, uh?" Tre added, letting himself blush a little.

"I don't know," she replied, "it's just... I guess I didn't expect you to be... so..."

"So young?" he chuckled. "We're only four years apart, you know. I'm 22."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm OK with it, really. But... you don't write like someone who's 22!"

"Ha! Well Literature's my major, so... that explains, I guess. I'm Tre, by the way. When I'm not Jupiter, I mean."

"Nice to meet you, Tre," she said, a touch of amusement in her voice. And as she extended her hand, the back of it faced upward, she added: "I'm Fiona."

"Pleased to meet you, Fiona," he said, shaking the hand she had offered, much to her bewilderment, that she followed with a burst of laughter.

"What's that about?" he blurted. "Did I do something wrong?"

"I... rather expected a hand-kissing!" she replied, still giggling. "Haven't you read some chivalric romance in your studies?"

"Oh God," he said, shaking his head and laughing in return. "I can be so thick sometimes..."

At least though, his embarrassing gesture had broken the ice for good between the two. They were now longer acting in a predetermined scenario; they were two live human beings just enjoying each other's company, no matter how peculiar the reason that had brought them together in the first place.

She was smiling back at him, and Tre couldn't got over how strikingly beautiful she was. It was like her face was naturally glowing, creating an aura that shined all over her, through her smile, her bright irises, and her perfect complexion.

As for Fiona, she had to admit she was pleasantly surprised with him too. He was so different from what she had expected, not at all the domineering type that she normally reviled, but would have tolerated for the sake of her fantasy. She liked that. She just hoped that his youth -- and the lack of experience that she presumed -- would not make him bail out when things would get more serious. Bur right now, it was a comfort to be able to chat around.

"So, Tre... you've just graduated?"

"Not yet, but it should be next year. Master's degree."

"Great! We'll drink to that," she went on, moving towards the kitchen. "Is wine fine?"

"Sorry but I don't drink, so just water. Or... do you have tea?"

"Tea sounds good. I think I'll join you."

"Oh, I don't mind if you take a glass of wine! I'll just--"

"Naah, I don't feel like drinking alone. Come over, pick the one you want."

She opened up the drawer to let out a small leather chest, replete with tea bags of great variety. She then turned on the water boiler, before choosing a Red Berries for her own.

"Great choice," Tre complimented. "And that goes well with your gown, too."

"Mmh, quite the charmer, aren't you?" she teased, while touching him gently on the shoulder. "What's your poison?"

"Er, there's a lot to choose from... I think I'll keep it simple... here, Detox."

"There you go! I'll let you make it, I don't want you to think I smeared it up with some shit."

"That's alright, I trust you," he said, and he meant it. "Though to be honest, when you sent me that picture of you, I thought 'What the hell! Is this some kind of trap?'", he added, letting out a low giggle in the process.

"Oh yeah? Why is that?"

"I mean, you... you're so pretty," he answered.

"Too pretty to have that kind of kink?" she laughed.

"No, too pretty to... to exist."

She looked at him with the whole of her wide, bright eyes, and she could feel that he was really speaking his mind here. He bounced around a little, as if genuinely embarrassed! She loved his honesty, though. That was one of the things that were lacking in her world.

"Thank you, Tre, that's... really sweet. What can I say? I guess I was born with the right genes..."

And so were you, she thought, the image of the spectacular manhood from the video rising again into her mind. It was beyond anything she had ever seen or even imagined. Provided, of course, it really belonged to the guy in front of her... did it, did it not? The body matched, for sure; his T-shirt, clung tight to his skin, did little to hide how amazingly fit he was; he certainly did take care of himself, and Fiona liked that in a man. But as for the lower part, the baggy shorts he wore showed absolutely nothing. Then again, it was weird to wear that thing, with such a heavy fabric, on a hot evening like today. It was like he did have something to hide... something outrageously massive.

Anyway, she would find out in due time. The water had reached the boiling point, and she poured it into their mugs, before handing one to her night comrade.

"To our genes", she said, before pointing out at the sofa to continue their conversation.

"Can we talk about you?" Tre asked. "Like, what do you do, your job?"

"Sure! Though there's nothing too exciting here. I'm an event planner. For businesses. I set up team buildings on a large scale, corporate conventions... those kinds of things."

"Alright. Must be fun!"

"It has to be fun for them, indeed," she smirked. "But us, in our business, we get to see the backstage part... how the strings are pulled. And you realize it's all make believe. Those CEOs, those leaders... they're putting a mask on. Everyone has to look their best. But behind the mask... it reeks of dishonesty."

She took a sip of her red berries tea, her eyes still fixed on him, and she went on.

"Which is why I'm really enjoying your company right now. You're honest. I appreciate it a lot. That's really... refreshing. I hope you keep it, because that'll make you stand out. Like a prince."

"Well, thank you!" Tre said, genuinely smiling at her. "So I'm... like, a Fresh Prince, you'd say?"

She was now looking at him with a perplexed expression. "Are you sure you're 22?"

"Why, because I know the Fresh Prince? That's because of my dad, he never missed a rerun back when I was a kid. He was crazy about this show... still is, I guess, despite, you know... what happened."

"Why, you think he shouldn't enjoy it now?" she asked. "Would you say that a man's present actions should automatically stain his past glories?"

He seemed to ponder the idea. "No, that's true... you're right. I never thought about it that way. Thanks for that!"

"You're welcome, Tre. I'm happy to teach you all kinds of things," she teased, with a sly curve of her lips.

"Well, I sure wish I had you as a teacher last year," he played along, flashing a bright smile which made Fiona's legs quiver a little. He really was gorgeous, she had to admit. His face was not overly chiseled yet, maintaining a bit of a boyish look that added a lot to his natural charms. His dark brown eyes had a playfulness to them that she found entrancing the more she stared at them. And while he had been nervous at first -- but then, so had she -- he now looked perfectly cool and relaxed, like he probably was in real life. She loved that in a man, too.

The conversation went on, drifting on travels, art, and eventually getting to the message that started it all.

"You know," Tre pointed, "I really liked your turn of phrase... the mother-of-pearl thing. I thought that was really neat."

"I know, right?" she answered enthusiastically. "I don't know what came over me... it's like I had a stroke of genius or something!"

"Really? Like... you don't remember writing it?"

"Oh, I do! But using those words? I really think it came spontaneously. But yeah, that expressed exactly what I wanted. Like... you know what a golden shower is?"

He nodded, then she carried on, "I thought that if I just referred to the myth of Danaë, people would think that's what I wanted and... yuck, no. That's not my thing."

"But a man's seed", Tre interfered, "on the other hand..."

"Well... yes! I mean, it's about his orgasm, right? It's about the guy showing you how much pleasure you gave him... that's a great feeling!"

"And to be covered in it?" he pressed on, starting to feel a bit turned on by all this talk.

"Yeah, that too! And we're talking about Jupiter here: the greatest of lovers, the one that can take you to ecstasy, over and over again... that's the least you can do for him, right?" she laughed. "Lying down, yearning to feel every drop... and you know, it's not just a 'substance' thing; I think it's more about... that moment of surrender. Of mutual surrender."

The student was staring blankly at her, seemingly transfixed by what she had just said.

"You're alright, Tre?"

"Yeah, yeah... it's just... wow. You really have a way with words..."

"Ha, I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'd really make a great Lit teacher, now wouldn't I?" she asked mischievously.

"Oh, I bet. You're amazing, really."

"Thanks... and you know what? I'll be honest too: I feel so lucky to be able to live this fantasy with you. I don't think I could have found a better person," she said, and she meant every word.

"You're too nice... because, for real, I'm the luckiest of the two," he replied, his voice slightly trembling.

Silence followed. There was a tension in the air, obviously of sexual nature.

The time was ripe. Fiona sensed it. She went on with it.

"Shall we head to the bedroom?"

"Yeah," Tre muttered, already getting up.

"Just help me with these candles," she said, blowing them out one by one. Her companion took care of those on his side. She then extended her hand, and led him on.

A small red lamp had been put by the bedside table, its soft light gently permeating the whole room, providing an atmosphere both intimate and sensual.

She turned around to face him, and she could see a large grin on his face, almost to the point of laughter.

"What's that about?" she asked.

"Um, nothing... just trying to guess what's your favorite color," he joked, looking at the scarlet bed-sheets behind her.

"Oh, right," she giggled, but quickly composed herself by adding, "actually, I agree with you, Tre. There might be too much red here..."

And as she said those words, she put her hands to her shoulders, lifting the straps of her gown to let them rest over her arms, making the whole thing fall around her ankles in no time.

She then took a couple steps forward, getting rid of her garment completely, exposing her whole nudity to her special guest.

"Better?" she teased.

Now Trevor wasn't grinning no more. He looked dumbstruck, his mouth hanging open, not quite sure to believe what his eyes were showing him. He had seen quite a few beautiful girls' bodies at his young age, some stunning ones, even. But Fiona was in a league of her own. She was... faultless? No, that didn't cut it: the word was too mechanical, cold, lifeless, and her body was anything but. It was breathing with a pulse, an energy, a vitality that fueled his very own.

He didn't know where to begin. Her swan-like neck, giving such majesty to her silhouette. Her toned legs that he could now enjoy fully, up to her wonderfully-shaped and appetizing thighs. The way her small waist started to curve just above the belly-button level and flared into a wide set of hips, waiting to be touched, to be held. Her flat stomach, with the abs so subtly drawn, showing that she took good care of herself without overdoing it. Her breasts, rather small, but oh so tempting, the nipples pointing straight-up to either side -- east-west shaped, he had read once, and he loved the image. And there was her skin, too, so incredibly inviting -- free of any tattoo, smooth and waxen in all places, exactly like those Greek heroines would have been portrayed in Renaissance paintings. But whereas they would all be pale blondes in such artworks, here was a fierce brunette whose skin was perfectly and evenly sun-tanned on every square inch. There was nothing innocent about the way she stood here, and it was all for the better.

"Everything alright, Tre?" she asked equivocally.

"Uh... uh yes, yes. Definitely," he managed to blurt out. "You're just... wow."

"Oh yeah? But wait... you haven't even seen the best part yet..."

And then, she turned around, letting her guest utter a soft "daaaamn..." as he took the sight of the most tantalizingly feminine ass he had ever seen. Her cheeks were heart-shaped and bubbly, following a perfect curve that highlighted how firm they stood despite their size. They were simply... magnificent, and that didn't feel too strong a word. He just couldn't take his eyes off them.

But she eventually faced him again, looking at him with a genuine yearning, and she said in a low voice: "I think it's your turn, Tre."

There it was... The turning point of the evening. He took a deep breath, let the heat cool off... and started by slowly removing his shirt.

Now it was Fiona's turn to enjoy the show. She sat on the bed, reveling on every bump, every crevice of his incredibly muscular chest, the same one she had seen on the video indeed. What she admired the most was that it all looked perfectly natural. She had had her share of "jocks" who all were about gaining muscle in a minimal lapse of time, stuffing their body with protein powder -or worse -- and they ended up looking all the same: bloated, full of air, ready to deflate at any moment. Tre was the opposite: he wasn't bulky, but every single muscle seemed real, substantial, a display of power and strength, but without the aggression that often came along with it.

But what she was craving for right now had nothing to do with muscles. And as he brought his hands around the top part of his shorts, she knew it would be a matter of seconds before she would be satisfied.

He undid them at a snail's pace, like he had learned how to do so as not to scare the girl right away. She could see the root of it, incredibly thick already, exposing inch after inch... after inch, leaving her breathless, and more astonished by the second. It was already longer than any cock she had ever seen, and more of it kept appearing...

When he was done, Fiona didn't say a word. She couldn't have even if she had wanted. She was speechless. He wasn't soft, but he definitely wasn't at his hardest either, as it kept hanging down, swinging like a pendulum. She just couldn't grasp it, the magnitude of it, and what it meant about his measurements; for he was a tall man, easily a head over her 5'8" frame... and already the huge, dark, flared cock-head was brushing the top of his knee.

She was totally in awe of it. It was one thing to watch it in a video, and another to see it in the flesh, not fully aroused still, and yet already so beyond what she thought a man could be... What was funny was that it hadn't even been part of her fantasy at first! Or so she thought... Size had never mattered to her up to that point, but then again, she had never experienced anything even close to this. How could she have imagined, even in her wildest dreams, that men could be as fantastically hung as Tre? That was a thing that she didn't know could even exist.

And that cock kept stretching, expanding, lifting itself in the process, slowly revealing his massive testicles, as unreal as the other half of his virility, and yet as undeniable. This was such a package... but that didn't scare her. Not one bit. Quite the contrary... it turned her on immensely. Loins don't lie, she knew it, and what she was feeling inside her... it spoke volumes.

Maybe that was en ego thing. Maybe she wanted to see, if just for herself, whether she could handle one of the world's biggest cocks -- because this had to be, right? She knew that was a ridiculous boast, but she couldn't help to take pride in it.

Anyway, that wasn't the point... yet. For now, the most important thing was to enact her fantasy.

She let her upper body fall on the bed, and started to crawl back slowly, inviting him with her hand to come forward. He got closer to the bed post, facing her, almost fully erect now.

No words were exchanged. None were needed. Each knew exactly the part they had to play.

Tre, now completely naked like his partner, began to masturbate, very gently, his hand performing extremely long strokes over the impossible length of his cock. His eyes were roaming all over Fiona's body, in a way that was loving, not prying. She was looking enticingly at him too, trying her best to recapture the pose she had seen on the painting that had inspired her. She leaned her back on the bed-frame, lifted her left arm in a way that wrapped her hair, with her hand touching the back of it; and she crossed her legs just below her knees. That was it. She had become the character of Danaë, as if playing it on a stage...

And somehow, that killed all the fun out of it.

There was nothing spontaneous about it all. It looked like something that she had rehearsed a hundred times in her head... which she thought was what she wanted, but she realized now she had just been deceiving herself. That was a good lesson to you plot a fantasy, it stops being one. She just wished she'd found out a little bit sooner... especially since she had put so much effort into it. And she had brought this young, lovely man in it, too, who still seemed turned on by the whole thing, or so it seemed, as he kept stroking his massive member... it was too late to stop now. She just had to go with the flow, and maybe, she would still take some pleasure from it.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the shower to come... but secretly hoping that Tre would go off-script.

And soon enough, much to her delight, he did.

"Look, Fiona, this is... weird."

Oh, how glad she was... but she didn't feel she could show it openly, not right now at least. Trying to keep her cool, she slightly shrugged, and asked: "What do you mean?"

"Well, this is kinda... out of nowhere, what we're doing. I don't remember the tale by heart, but to me, the 'showering', it makes more sense as the climax... not the prelude."

She knew very well what he was getting at, and she agreed with him 100%. But once again, it would have been against type to admit it openly. So instead, she looked at him slyly, and said, "So what you're suggesting is... that if we had sex beforehand... that would make it alright?"

He was about to say 'That's not what I meant' but he backtracked, because he had to be honest: that was exactly what he meant. That massive ejaculation she craved for would make a lot more sense after a long, protracted session of passionate lovemaking. And she had actually alluded to that, when she had referred to Jupiter as "the one that could take you to ecstasy over and over again". So it felt only logical.

But he wasn't sure how to express it to her. He didn't want to sound needy. And his past sexual experiences were such that he could never imagine that she might want this as much as he did. Maybe even more than he did, in fact.

"At least... let me go down on you, Fiona," he finally tried. "Would that be OK?"

She couldn't help but laugh. Did he really think she would refuse that? She didn't say anything: she just uncrossed her legs and spread them slightly, not obscenely; just enough to get the point across.

That did it. He flashed a smile at her, and got to his knees, to be at eye level with her treasure, as free of hair as the rest of her body. He marveled at the outline of the red-brown lips, and took pride in the moistness that he thought he could perceive. She craved for him too, it seemed, and that gave him a boost of confidence.

He put his hands on her thighs, gently caressing them, confirming what he had sensed since she had dropped her gown. Her skin was incredibly smooth; and yet so alive. The heat he could feel, just from his simple touch, could only come from a creature of flesh, blood... and lust. He knew what he had to do, and he would take his time, just as he liked it... and as his partners usually did, too.

He began by kissing her left thigh, so softly, as his hands went caressing the rest of her legs, down to her delicate feet. He explored the whole of it with his mouth, dropping kisses by the dozens, only occasionally letting his tongue touch her skin. This had the desired effect; he could soon feel the goosebumps on her, and her breathing became a little more labored.

He kept on, getting closer and closer to the slit of her pussy... which he skipped, focusing on her right thigh instead.

"Oh, you're a tease," Fiona moaned, but for real, she loved that; when it came to sex, she'd always opt for the dragger before the rusher. Although, in the end, you'd have to get to the point; but she had no doubt he would.

He repeated his pattern on the other side, the tongue coming out a little more often this time, as if the taste of her made him hungrier along the way. Her skin had the right firmness to it, a proof of her dedication to keeping her body in shape; and he loved the feel of that. But he also knew what she wanted, and he couldn't keep beating around the bush.

There he was, his mouth not even an inch away from her slightly parted pussy lips, enjoying the view one more time before diving in. He felt great, for sharing this moment with such an amazing woman, but also because he knew this was the part he was very good at.

Practice makes perfect, they say, and Tre sure didn't lack any in that department. Since his cock was so much to handle for so many girls, his mouth and tongue had become his by-default way of bringing them to seventh heaven. And along the way, some had taught him how it should be done: to be creative, to keep changing things... and more importantly, to feel her and adapt accordingly. And judging by the reactions he got from many of his partners, it looked like he had mastered these key rules for a while now.

He plunged, gently licking the inside of her lips, taking his time to explore their surface, while his hands left her legs to caress the upper part of her body, focusing on her hips and stomach. Her breathing was getting a little heavier now, and he could feel her belly move up slightly every time she inhaled.

The tongue went deeper inside her, his nose almost brushing her clit as he swirled and danced around her vagina. Her exhalations started, at times, to give way to quiet moans, a proof, if he needed any, that he was doing it right. He moved his hands towards her breasts, feeling them, and as his eyes were closed, he let his other senses taking over. All at once, he was enjoying the heat of her skin, the sound of her low purrs, the taste and the smell of her, as his tongue tirelessly performed its erotic ballet... how did that line go, already? Oh yes:

*He went on sniffing drainpipes and reciting the alphabet...*

Not very glamorous, but it captured the idea: he was working on her pussy like he was hooked on it.

Fiona was feeling this. Here was a man that tremendously enjoyed what he was doing, who did not think of it as an obligation, or even a reward, but who was fully committed to the bit. And that made a world of difference. Of course, it helped a lot that he was good -- so good! - at it. Unlike many guys who just licked about in a senseless frenzy, each move and twist of his tongue seemed to have a purpose. That kept her on her toes, just the way she loved it.

And a big plus... was that he made it last. She couldn't count the number of men who stopped abruptly after a bare 5 minutes, thinking that'd be enough -- probably because it's about the same time they lasted themselves when she performed oral sex on them. But Tre had been at it for close to double the time, and he was still going, not dropping his rhythm even once. It's like he wouldn't stop until he made sure she had cum, as it should be.

And just as she thought this... he went up a gear. His large hands went back to her hips, and moved down to seize her butt cheeks, covering the whole width of them, marveling at their touch, while he dared, for the first time, to have his tongue brush up lightly on her clit, making her yelp in pleasurable surprise.

"Oh God!"

She had never been openly 'vocal' during sex, unless she felt it was needed to give some encouragement to her lover. But here, she couldn't help it; she was just enjoying it so much! And to think she had almost been worried about his youth... while he showed more experience in the matter than so many men in their 30's!

Tre worked back on her pussy, then on her clit, a little longer than the first time, and kept on switching, each time focusing a little more on her little button. Fiona was moaning openly now, her body writhing, so glad to be so well devoured...

Soon enough, she felt it. The burning, that recently would only happen during her solitary sessions. It rose, then built, up and up, as the pressure of his tongue got stronger on her... He was giving his all now, his thumb vibrating around her clit as his tongue went deeper than ever, feeling both her hands messing with his short hair as she mindlessly murmured: "Don't stop... oh God don't stop..."

It kept on rising and rising... until it took her, a wave rippling through her whole body, making her quiver with absolute pleasure; then she froze, her orgasm claiming her completely, as she let a long howl that made her partner shiver with pride and delight. Fiona was one of these women who sounded amazing when they came, and that turned him on a lot. His cock, which had been put to rest while he worked her out, was getting back to its full hardness.

He slowed down his movements, letting her catch her breath, until he went to a full stop. He opened his eyes again, contemplating the wet mess he had made, her pussy lips open as if ready to receive more -- though he wasn't sure how much more. His eyes went up, scanning her face, the way she was panting, looking down at him; as their stares crossed, she made a little gesture with her forefinger, inviting him to draw himself closer.

He leveled with her, and he could read joy... yes, a look of pure joy mixed with gratefulness, which made his heart jump and prompted him to go even further. He caressed her cheek and leaned for a kiss.

She kissed back, her tongue playing around his lips, and in mere seconds, they were embracing passionately, their hands exploring each other's body as they rocked sideways on the bed. Tre couldn't remember having so feel so elated with a girl before. Her absolute gorgeousness, the touch of her skin, so smooth and warm to him... and how much she seemed to be into it... all of this fueled his love and desire for her.

"Fiona," he finally said, breaking the kiss, "I really... really wanna make love to you..."

She looked at him, lightly brushing his hair, and she whispered, "Then do it, Tre. Make love to me. I want it."

And as their tongues intertwined again, she felt something coming up. A hunch, an intuition. There was something about this young, tall, beautiful, nice, muscular black man, that made her think she was about, right here, to experience the greatest sex of her life.

Why was that, she wondered? Possibly because of his behavior. Despite the passion he showed in their embrace, every gesture or movement of him seemed perfectly relaxed. Nothing was rushed, nothing seemed to betray the attitude of a man about to lose control. The way he took care of her pussy showed that as well. And there was a lot of promise in this, she could sense it.

But to be honest, there was one other thing as well... that slab of flesh, that she could feel pressed against her body, and which went way, way above her belly button as they kissed... the heat of it was incredible; it felt like a furnace against her warm skin. And the weight... it was almost intimidating. That cock was going to be inside her sooner than later, and while she was much more excited than worried about it, that would still require some preparation.

Thankfully, Tre knew hew to provide it. As his tongue kept twisting in her mouth, he began to rub her pussy, his right thumb circling around her clit while his other fingers massaged the sides of the lips. He did that for a while, and then inserted his ring-finger into her, moving slowly, but deliberately.

That got a reaction from her, as he could feel her hands grabbing him more intensely; they were also getting lower, enjoying the firmness of his butt, bringing him even closer to her, if that was ever possible. They locked in like that long enough, only pausing for one or the other to catch their breath; but he eventually had to push further, to prevent any unpleasant surprise later on. Thus, he brought his middle finger into her as well, making her moan openly in the process.

As he grew more daring, so did she, bringing herself to touch his manhood. My God, she thought, almost unable to cope with the whopping size of what she was now seizing. Her hands were by now means small, she knew that, and yet her thumb and middle finger were barely meeting as she circled it around the base. It felt so prodigiously heavy... so incredibly powerful... and despite the staggering volume, it was as hard as steel! How much blood would that thing need to keep up like this, she wondered? She was glad, flattered even, to make him so excited, but she also has that feeling that Tre was built different... and she wanted, more than anything, to try that difference.

But her young lover still had one more step to take; the one that would let him know how comfortable Fiona would be with him inside her. Without warning, he added the index finger to the other two, which led her to gasp in surprise; but as he made them move in unison, she eased up after a short while, and he could feel her body shake and writhe, seemingly won over by this sensation.

This bode well, the way she accepted, even enjoyed, that invasive presence. It looked like Fiona would be among those rare ones who could accept him. He just hoped she wouldn't wear out too soon.

He pulled out his fingers, and went back to caressing her face gently.

"You're amazing", he said, with genuine love pouring out of his voice.

"Thank you," she replied, and just like him, she could feel a connection to him like she never had before. If her last Thursday night's fling had told her these words -- and he probably had -- her answer would have been polite, but much less passionate. Tre made her feel so special... and he hadn't even entered her yet.

"You feel you're ready for more?" he asked, his voice pondered and reassuring.

"Yes", she said enthusiastically, "I'm ready... there's just one problem..."

"... Tell me," he uttered, preparing himself to be disappointed once more.

"I want it... so much... but... I don't think I have condoms that would fit you..."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "That's not a problem, Fiona. I brought my own. Let me get my backpack."

She saw him leave suddenly toward the living room. She heard some rummaging going on over there; he probably was trying to remember where he had put his things now that the place was dark. Then she heard him say "There you are!" and twenty seconds later, he made his entrance back, his massive erection actually preceding the rest of his body as he appeared, his pace calm and confident.

He opened the bag, and took a couple things out of it: a whole pack of condoms -- she couldn't read the whole label, but it had the number '72' on it -- and a large bottle that contained a viscous liquid, probably some lube.

"Wow," she exclaimed, "you're quite prepared! That's really your first time doing this?"

"As a hook-up? Yes, definitely, but it's not my first time, you know... having sex."

"I figured that out," she teased.

He opened the pack and tore up the wrapper of the one he had picked, revealing a rubber of a diameter she had never seen.

"Are these tailor-made?" she asked, only half-joking.

"No," he laughed, "but they're the biggest you can find online. So to me they're the best... or least worst, if you prefer."

He put it over the head of his cock, and began to wrap it, slowly... it was a tight fit, but at least it did fit. Except for the length: only about two thirds of his member were covered, but it wasn't like he was going to insert even that much into her, and they both knew it.

He moved toward the bed, lied down next to her, kissed her gently again. He wanted to let her know, if she ever doubted it, how much he was into her, and how he wanted it to be all about her pleasure. He hoped he would leave her deeply satisfied.

Because now was the moment of truth for both of them. Fiona's legs were spread wide open, as Tre held his cock firmly in his hand, keeping it at the right angle for an optimal penetration. The head of it was now brushing against her inner lips, and he moved it up and down, very lightly, the contact making Fiona's body buzz like in a slight electrical shock.

And then... he made his way in, as slowly as possible, kissing her left cheek and neck as he felt her body tense up.

"You want me to stop, say 'stop'. You want me to pull out, say 'pull'," he whispered. "Don't let me hurt you."

"I'm alright, just... keep going slow," she whimpered, not because of the pain -- there wasn't any, really -- but because she needed that time to process the sheer size of the pulsing rod that was now claiming her; and a claim it was, indeed, because it felt she was losing her virginity all over again, as he continued to insert himself into her, a tenth of an inch at a time it seemed. That man was pushing her boundaries, while being so kind and respectful, which made it all the greater... and somehow all the more overwhelming.

She couldn't help but look, as his cock-head finally got all the way in, already filling her up way more that his three fingers a moment ago. She spread out her thighs even more to enjoy the breathtaking view of his pillar of dark brown flesh -- so, so much of it -- continuing to make its entrance. He was taking his time, as if in complete control of that slow progression, no sign of nervousness whatsoever; and she admired that, because she could feel herself being quite agitated, and she was rather used to the other way around. But he had the right attitude, and she understood she had to match it, to appreciate it all the more.

She started to breathe deeply, to get her heartbeat to slow down, and put her hands on his gorgeous pecs as he kept stuffing more of this magnificent cock. He was almost halfway in, when she felt that was the most she could take.

"Okay, stop."

He obliged. "If you want me to pull out an inch or two--"

"No, that's alright. Just give me time to adjust."

She was trying to make sense of it, as the sensation was just... indescribable. It was like every single particle of space was occupied inside her; she was filled to the absolute brim with his manhood. She thought it would turn out to be suffocating, but that's not what she was experiencing at all; it felt, rather, as if it was meant to be this way all the time; as if Tre -- and Tre only -- was able to fill a gap that all her previous lovers had struggled against... which explained why her sex life had been so unsatisfying up to that point. It was just... amazing.

And this was amazing for him, too. He could not remember going so deep with another girl, and he was glad that she could take him so well. Fiona was special: he had sensed it by the way she looked at him as they chatted, even more when she displayed her breathtaking body, and now he had the confirmation that her sexual drive was beyond any of his previous partners. Was she the one he had been waiting for, he wondered?

He was marveling at the way her bright hazel eyes glowed, when she suddenly went into a fit of laughter.

"What's that about?" he grinned.

"Oh, nothing... just thinking about what you said..."

"What did I say?"

"I can be so thick sometimes..."

Now it was his turn to chuckle in earnest. He had used that phrase, indeed, over an hour ago, but it felt like so much had happened since then... and he hoped a lot more would in the very near future. He just had to make sure she would be enjoying this.

"Seriously though, you tell me if it's too much for you."

"It isn't, Tre. It feels great. For real. And I think you can start... to move in me."

He didn't need to be told twice. He smiled at her, and he pulled back, almost as slowly as he came in, until his cock-head was the only thing inside; then he drove forth, gently as ever, up to the point he had reached before, not an inch more, but not less either. And just like that, he set his rhythm, going with wide, ample hip movements, at a comfortable pace, and as smooth as could be. His hands, which he had kept around her waist since he first entered her, now began, one at a time, to scour her body, caressing her face, arms, breasts, stomach; and all the while, he kept his penetration tempo steady and assured.

Fiona wasn't inactive either; she would touch, rub, press the myriad of muscles all across her lover's upper body, front and back, her eyes never leaving his as he came and went deep into her, without any kind of rush. It felt incredible, as if she was going through the most fulfilling sex experience of her life up that point. She was moaning openly now, contrary to her habits, but she was so fully into that slow, majestic ride he was offering her. There was still, though, some concern left in one little corner of her brain: how would she react when he eventually decided to speed up? Wouldn't that be too much?

Except that... he kept going like this. Five minutes became ten... then fifteen... and still he moved with that long, fluid, gyrating cadence. With any other lover, she was sure to have been bored to death... but not with Tre. Most guys kept varying the speed, but did it randomly, and ended up in the same spot they had begun; he, on the contrary, was unflinching in his rhythm... but each and every single move had a purpose. He was taking her somewhere, and she now had a clear idea of what this place would be.

The heat she felt in her body... she knew it intimately. It was the rubbing of flint stones next to wood, it was what would set the spark igniting the whole of her, bringing her to a devastating orgasm for the second time tonight. And the thing was: it had never happened like this before. Clitoral stimulation had always been a prerequisite for her to come, and she hadn't touched it even once since he began to fuck her. Was the girth of his cock so massive that it could stimulate her G-spot better than any other? Or was it purely psychological? She didn't know, and she was past caring; it set her off, and that was the only thing that mattered.

"Oh Tre... oh God... OH!"

After the heat, came the flood; taking her, engulfing her in all its power, making her writhe and shake, growling in absolute pleasure, leaving her sweaty, panting... and so desirable.

"Damn, Fiona," he told her, "you look incredible when you come."

"Thank you," she whispered, still recovering from what he had offered her. She couldn't remember being so vulnerable while having sex before; and she meant it in a positive way, because she knew Tre wouldn't try to take advantage of that. She had absolute confidence in him, which was why she could let it all go, and enjoy this experience to the fullest.

She looked at him... here he was, a big grin on his face, still keeping his cool, not a bit flustered by his efforts. Could he be ready for more? Because she definitely was.

"You don't feel like cumming... yet?" she asked.

"No," he smiled, "don't worry about that. I can keep going for a while... if you want me to, of course."

He was delighted right now. He had never brought a girl to orgasm through penetration before, as his organ was usually a source of discomfort for them in the long run. But it didn't seem to trouble Fiona, who still looked absolutely delighted, and eager to go on. He waited for her approval, which she gave with a slight nod of her head.

He then kissed her gently in the cheek, and set his hips in motion again, soon going back to the same steady rhythm as before; and she understood, at this very moment, that this night was going to be spectacular.

Fiona was on her knees, in front of Tre, himself lying on the bed, his back on the wall, with his legs splayed out. His cock, now released of its condom, stood proudly between the two of them, a dark monolith of spectacular beauty and magnitude that the stunning brunette couldn't take his eyes off of. This wonderful member had brought her to complete satisfaction four times already: twice in missionary position, and two more as she straddled and rode him with slow, deep strokes, over and over again, as they kept touching and tasting each other's body.

And now, she felt like returning him the favor, by focusing entirely on his manhood, that she was gently caressing, both hands working on it -- which was how she found out that the two of them, one put in top of the other, didn't even cover half of his length! It was just so... mystifying. It stood there, so much longer than her forearm, quite thicker than her own wrist, as an artifact of absolute majesty.

There was him, too... how he was staring at her, and at what she did, with an expression that told her how much he was enjoying this, but which was free of any braggadocio, arrogance, of selfishness. He simply looked grateful... and God, how she loved that. How she had loved his attitude from the very beginning. What were the odds that one of the most hung guys in the entire planet would be such an angel, so kind, so caring, and never rubbing his incredible manliness in your face?

She had to take another step, to pleasure him as she felt he deserved it. She leaned forward until her face would be at level with the top of his cock, and started to kiss the deep brown bulbous head, on all sides, taking her time as he'd done previously, before licking it gently.

Tre had rarely been so happy; this was the high point of his sex life up to now... by far. These past few years had made him ponder, time and time again, whether his penis was to be seen as a blessing or as a curse... but Fiona made her realize it was definitely the former. She was his match, the one he had hoped to find for so long. And he was determined to bring her as much orgasmic joy as he could, before doing what she had invited him for.

Her tongue was covering as much as she could of the surface of his manhood, following his veins, wetting every square inch of skin... she got so turned on by it, that she decided to speak out.

"You like that, Tre?"

"I love it! What you're doing there... it's amazing."

"Mmh... I guess a lot of girls can't help themselves, uh? Worshiping you..."

She was back to licking and slurping on his massive cock-head, when he replied, "Some did, but only a few... You know, I think a lot of them were, well... scared of it."

That made her pause. She would have never thought about that in a lifetime. Of course his size was daunting, to the point of being intimidating for the more prudish ones, she guessed. But the shape, the proportions, the hardness, just made it look wonderful, in the literal sense of the word: something that arouses a feeling of wonder. She knew the phrase "monster cock" was being used so much in porn and erotica; but to her, there was nothing monstrous about the towering member that she was nursing at this very moment. If anything, his cock was... supreme. And that was her final word on it.

After a while, she felt like going even further: she put her lips on the flared top of it, and started to open them wide, in the hope of putting the whole head in her mouth. Unfortunately, this was when reality crashed in: there was simply no way for something so massive to fit in so small a place, without having a jaw-ache after mere seconds. She gave up after a couple unsuccessful tries.

"I'm really sorry", her voice really afflicted, "I really wanted to suck your cock, but--"

"You're kidding?" he replied with a huge smile. "You're doing so much already... you're fantastic, Fiona. I've never enjoyed this so much."

She felt glad... and proud. And there might be another way to take it to the next level, she thought. She just had to take care of the two things she had unjustly neglected up to now.

She kept masturbating him with just one hand, while the other started to crawl lower, slowly making his way across his scrotum, hoping to cup one of his massive testicles. But when she got to it... her body froze, unable for a second to process what she was sensing.

The orb was so hot... and unbelievably heavy. A few years ago, on a summer vacation by the French Riviera, she had seen some of the locals playing a game called pétanque. It was their own take on the bocce game, the rules being very similar, but one of the main differences concerned the balls they were playing with. Instead of being made from wood or plastic, those used metal or iron, and they were of a significantly larger diameter, too. She had been invited to try the game at this point, during a scorching afternoon, after those people had been playing it for hours: the balls had been for so long in the blistering sun, that she could remember the heat that radiated from them as she grabbed one, holding it in the whole of her palm.

That was the closest she had felt to what she was experiencing right now; with, on top, the thin, smooth texture of the sac, which made it even more inviting. The contact thrilled her, and she lowered her eyes to look at them, so ponderous, so wide, so magnificent in their shape and color. She'd never had any kind of particular appeal to that part of the male anatomy; they usually looked gross, wrapped in that wrinkled bag that belonged more to a Shar Pei dog. But on that field as well, her lover was defying all expectations. They looked perfect to her, like the ideal testimony of his exceptional character.

She started to fondle them, moving from one to the other to feel how similar, and how incredibly powerful they were. But after a while, this was not enough; and she eventually switched her focus on them as she brought her mouth to tongue to kiss, lick, suck and bite at them, while her hands went back to their relentless jerking.

Time passed... ages, rather. She got lost in the smell and the taste of him, moving back and forth from his cock to his balls, taking delight in the sound of his low moans and whispers... how long did she keep doing this? She honestly couldn't tell. She would usually hear her partner say "you're gonna make me cum" -- or he would just let it happen, if he was of the assholish variety -- and she would come out of her trance. But Tre just soldiered on, and as she eventually stopped, her throat as dry as ever, she really began to admire the stamina he had displayed up to that point.

"You're really... impressive," she croaked.

"Impressive? What about you, then? You are a queen!"

"Well, the queen is now super-thirsty... and I'm really talking about water here!"

"Oh! Yeah, of course! I'll go get some for you."

"No, you stay here, I know where to find it."

She ran to her kitchen, and picked one bottle from the fridge... then picked an extra one, thinking he wouldn't mind some water himself. And as she turned to make her way back to the bedroom, her eye caught the time that was displayed on the oven screen.

It read 1.17 AM... which just couldn't be. Had it gone off, had she messed up with it earlier this evening while she did her cooking? But then she checked the clock above her TV widescreen... and it displayed the same time exactly. So it wasn't wrong. And that meant they'd really been at it for over two hours already.

And Tre hadn't cum yet. It was extraordinary.

Another thing took over as she stepped once more into the bedroom: the pungent, permeating smell of sex all over. It was intoxicating.... and addicting. She looked at her prodigious lover, and saw the sheen of saliva she had dropped all over his shaft and testicles, proving how fiery she had been in her worshiping... and making her realize how much she needed him in her, right now. She could feel herself getting wetter by the second.

She gave him one of the bottles, took a big gulp out of her own, and said, her voice low and soft, but bluntly, "I want you again."

"No problem," he casually answered, lifting his backpack to pick another condom from it. Except she wanted to try something... different. Riskier. But surely he was the right man to do it.

"Can you hold back?" she asked.

"What?"

"Your cum. Can you still hold back?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied, as if it were the most natural thing to him; that got a giggle from her, and prompted her to be even more curious.

"How long, do you think?"

"Um... I don't know, really. To be honest, I've never had a girl last so much with me before. So... long enough, I suppose?"

That was pretty vague... but that would do. She wanted it anyway. She was willing to go for it.

"Then take me raw. No condom."

"You're sure about that? I mean, I'm clean and everything, but--"

"Yeah," she cut him. "Let's do this."

"Alright... this will help," he said, taking the bottle of lube and pouring a quite generous dose all over the length of his cock, before rubbing it all around with his hands, mixing it with Fiona's slobber to make it all oily and shiny... and all the more appealing.

"You know, I wish you'd let me take care of this," she teased, coming forward to him.

"Sorry, that was selfish of me... I'll let you do the refill when we need it," he smiled, before kissing her again.

He went all over her body, more aware now of her erogenous zones, and of how to tickle them in the best way. To touch that spot, on the upper lest side of her neck... To gently lick around the areola of her small breasts... To plant small kisses on her right upper thigh... All these little things, which he knew would turn her on even more.

"How do you want me, Fiona?" he asked, after taking care of all of the above.

She lied on the bed, her legs spread wide.

"Keep standing up. Take me like that."

He grabbed his manhood, ready to push it into her once more; but she needed one more bit of reassurance before letting go.

"It this ever gets too much for you... you'll pull out?"

"Of course Fiona. I'm supposed to cum on you, you remember?" he replied playfully, as the head of his cock started to make its way into her sanctuary.

She reared her head back as he entered. Without the condom, the contact was even more electrifying, the heat of his colossal rod radiating all over her insides like a furnace, the lube easing his progression, deep, deeper, far beyond any of her previous lovers.

"Oh yes... yes... oh God, you're so fucking huge... God, I love it so much..."

He put his hands on her hips, to keep their mutual balance, and he started going in and out, like a low-speed piston, as smooth as ever before.

With that position, she could appreciate the whole of her chest tensing, then relaxing, through every cycle. Indeed, Tre was among that rare breed of men who actually looked more attractive when they fucked; and she just let herself be lost in the sight of her pecs shifting ever so slightly as he moved back and forth. It wasn't just about his body, though; it was also about the way he looked at her. So many guys, as they did their thing, seemed to be in terrible pain judging by their faces: all tensed up, with wrinkled foreheads, their eyes forcibly shut. Where was the pleasure in that? No such thing for her 22 year-old lover: he looked so effortlessly cool, calm, and collected as he plowed endlessly into her, but his eyes and his smile still showed the same enthusiasm as when he had first seen her naked, hours ago now.

And, as he brought her to an orgasm, then another, and still went on, Fiona realized that what she had thought would be the finale was just the beginning of the second act.

"Unh... oooh... fuuuck... don't stop..."

Don't stop... This was angel's music to Tre's ears. Which made sense because he could swear he was in heaven right now; or was it Olympus Mons? His brunette goddess had her face buried in a pillow, her back arched in an upward curve so that her butt would point upwards; and he was right behind, up on his knees, his hands covering the whole of that most treasured part of her anatomy, reveling in its perfect hearty, bubbly shape and the firmness of her skin.

"I'm not stopping," he said softly. "I promise."

He had been taking her doggystyle for an eternity already, never altering the slow, deliberate cadence that was his signature, and which made her so much more delirious with pleasure than any vigorous fucking she had received, ever. It was not too late, at 26, to realize that her ideal sex course was not a 400m race, or even a 1500m race... it was the whole marathon.

This was it. This was the thing that had been lacking all the while, she understood it now. The feeling of being fucked tirelessly, over and over, for literal hours... that was the missing part of her fantasy. That was what she had read in face of Artemisia's Danaë, without knowing it. Or maybe she knew, because she had hinted to that several times, even in her conversation this evening -- how many eons ago was it? - but she had refused to accept it, thinking it would be too over the top... or fearing this would not be humanly possible. Which was the most rational attitude about it.

But Tre... he could make it happen. And he did.

Her Jupiter, of obsidian mold...

Why had she picked that word, again? She'd had her share of black lovers over time, and they had been just like the white ones: some were good, most were decent, a few were poor. So it had nothing to do with her past experiences. She wouldn't say it was a matter of visual experience either: she loved a nice body, regardless of the skin color, even if she admitted that the black on white contrast had a striking aspect that, with the right mood, could be really exciting. So what was that about? Was it just random? Or had she been guided, somehow, by a spirit, a force -- or a fairy godmother, call that what you will -- who made her write this because it knew this would make her cross paths with him? Now we were into the irrational... But to her, that's what made the most sense, because otherwise, this was just too good to be true.

It wasn't just about his terrifying stamina, or his supermassive cock. It was also about how attentive he had been to her, from the very beginning. This night hadn't just been non-stop fucking -- thank God for that -- they'd been cuddling, kissing, caressing each other repeatedly, and during these more tender moments, he'd made sure to grasp what turned her on the most, and to match the right area with the right gesture. He had read her body like a map, and he was using this information in the best way possible.

And there was also that thing about how they connected, physically... all the time. Except for when they stopped to hydrate, or for the occasional bathroom break, one of them was always touching the other, and usually it was mutual. She couldn't think of another partner she'd had such a close proximity to. And that made it all the more intense. His voice, too... deep, but never commanding, always reliable. And the things he said... how beautiful she was, how glad he was to be with her... Or how impressed he looked every time he made her cum -- and she had stopped counting a long time ago.

All in all, this was the best experience of her entire lifetime, and she wanted it to keep going. Which posed no problem at all for Tre, moving in and out of her with absolute ease, as if making love to Fiona was as effortless as breathing.

"God, you got such a wonderful ass..." he exclaimed, marveling at its perfection as he kept on grabbing and fondling her cheeks. This wonderment, which he still displayed after having enjoyed it for so long, prompted Fiona to encourage him doing something she would have never tolerated from another man.

"You can... slap it..." she mumbled, her voice too low to make him sure of what he had heard.

"Come again?"

"Slap my ass," she repeated, more intelligibly this time. "I know you'll... do it right."

He hadn't seen that one coming... Not that the thought had not crossed his mind. But, just like the idea of actually fucking her in the ass, he had filed it under "inconceivable". He couldn't have imagined her asking for it... but since she did, he would do his best to satisfy her.

A heavy smack was out of the question, he got that; the point was to be playful, not hurting. He decided to go lightly, with a gentle spanking that ended almost as a caress on the side of her butt. This had the desired effect, as he heard her moan suggestively; enough for him to do it again on the other cheek, leading to a similar reaction from her.

He went on like this for a while, not setting any kind of rhythm to keep her on her toes as his cock ceaselessly pumped in and out of her. He could feel her body shake and quiver more and more in the process; her moans grew louder, until one of them turned into a howl that Tre had quite gotten used to; he had brought her to ecstasy, again! He never thought this would have been possible, for one girl, to come so much... and for him to be the one to bring her to this. He remembered that feeling he had, about being a diamond in the rough; Fiona, this stellar woman, was the one who had cut it into a gemstone. And to think he'd had doubts about coming here tonight...

She was panting hard, recovering from her last orgasm. He felt the time was right to lighten up the mood.

"All that slapping... you really want me to be the Fresh Prince..."

She didn't get it at first; but when she did, she cracked up so heartily that her laughter became contagious, and Tre himself eventually collapsed on her, his cock kept warm inside, their bodies chuckling in unison.

Fiona felt so great at this moment; when was the last time something like this had happened? Laughing during sex, so much that it made you lose focus, and all you cared about was sharing this moment with your partner... Was there a better proof of how special their relationship was?

They were catching their breath now, and he was caressing her long brown hair, so glad to spend this whole night with her.

"You're incredible, Fiona. Simply incredible."

And with those words, he leaned to put a soft kiss on the lobe of her left ear, which set her heart to melt.

"I'm in love with you."

Her words had come out, just like that, blurted in a whisper, spoken so fast that Tre was not sure he'd heard it right.

"Can you say that again?" he asked, a genuine crack in his voice.

She meant those words, she knew that as sure as two and two are four. Maybe she hadn't mean to say these out loud... but it was too late to turn back on that. She started again, clearer this time.

"I... I think I'm in love with you."

"Oh Fiona..."

That just won him over. He pulled out of her, to let her face him; and as she turned around, she saw the purest, loveliest, most genuine expression of tenderness on a man's face she had ever seen.

They embraced, lips going everywhere, bodies trying to fusion as one, abandoning themselves to the full bloom of their passion. This was love, alright... but as it went on, it merged with their desire, growing more and more, until Fiona let herself be overwhelmed by it.

"Stand up."

He complied, curious. "What for?"

And, as she crawled on the bed to be at eye level with his colossal nut-sack, she answered, "'Cause I want to worship you again."

The vision in the bedroom mirror was stupendously erotic. Fiona and Tre's bodies were bathing in sweat, worn by a whole night of physical strain, focused as they were on pleasuring each other. The brunette was in the foreground, her back turned to him, straddling his gigantic manhood, as rock-hard as ever. Her moist, bronzed skin was stained with reddish marks on every spot where her partner had held her at some point, a sign of his perpetual adoration for her. She was riding him slowly, her thighs tensed up with the endless work-out they had been subjected to. His black hands were holding her breasts now, fondling them gently, while her own fingers were busy stimulating her clit. They both were looking at their reflection, admiring how beautiful and majestic they were as lovers.

But as she kept staring in that direction, Fiona thought she could perceive something through the curtains... except it didn't make sense to her. It didn't seem rational. But still... she wanted to make sure of it.

"Tre... would you... turn out the lamp... please?" she asked, her voice ragged and panting.

He obliged her, extending his arm to shut it down... and then she realized her eyes hadn't fooled her.

There was light coming through the curtains.

It couldn't be right. She needed to check it from another source. With him still inside her, she grabbed her phone in a hurry and put the screen on.

It read 6.19 AM.

This was true, then. Morning had broken. That was when it dawned on her that they had been making love literally all night long... and he still hadn't cum.

"Something wrong?" he asked, still moving in her.

She leaned back on him, her wide hazel eyes turning to meet his, a look of deep satisfaction mixed with genuine wonder on her face.

"You... you're a god..."

And she gave him a kiss on his lips, possibly the most tender of all they had shared tonight. She could not believe her luck. Here was a man who could give all she had ever dreamed of... and even go beyond that. She was certain he could keep going on like this for the rest of the day; his stamina probably knew no bounds. That was the magic of that slow rhythm he had used from the beginning; he could just go on and on and on with it. Like a sex god, indeed.

But Fiona, though she did feel like a goddess right now, wasn't one in real life; and she knew that sooner or later, such an endless lovemaking session would take a toll on her. It would be much better to end on a high note than to protract it until it hurt. She felt ready to take it to the last stage.

"Tre," she said as the broke the kiss, "I think it's time..."

"For the climax?"

"Yes..."

He pulled out, and laid her to rest on the bed, while he got up, ready to face her for the big finale.

"The curtains," she asked, "open them... I want to let the light in... to see you... to see us..."

He drew them, his shiny, sweaty, muscular body now in full display, from his perfectly sculpted calves to his broad shoulders. Beads of perspiration were dropping all over him, and she relished in that sight, making him look even more glorious. He fixed his eyes on her, more intensely than ever before, as if he was making a memory print of her silhouette one last time; then he grabbed his miraculous cock with both hands and started to jerk off at the speed of light, like she had seen him do in the video.

She just lied there, arms and legs spread out, no more pretense in her to play a part. That was no longer Danaë and Jupiter, this was Tre and I, and they were living their own fantasy, exactly the way this was supposed to be. She closed her eyes, a smile on her lips, eagerly waiting for his offering.

She could hear him now, how he moaned, how he kept whispering "you're so beautiful" and "you're the greatest" as his hands repeated their slick motion over and over... Then his voice raised, the words became unintelligible, and he finally let out a long, low groan that made her shiver as she tried to capture the intensity of what he was going through right now.

The groan was still going when she received the first drops of semen on her face. Though 'drops', as a word, was not really doing it justice; they were more like globs, thick and lumpy, the largest one covering a sizable portion of her forehead, the rest scattered around, a few landing on her hair. Not even a second later, she felt the second batch covering her nose and right cheek, feeling its heat and rich texture through every pore of her skin. The third one, somehow even bigger in size, crashed on her left side, a strand arching past her eyelid.

What impressed her the most, as the fourth rope exploded around her chin and mouth, was how his seed stood firmly in place: she had rather been used to a watery kind of sperm, which usually started to run a few seconds after it got dropped on her. But there was no such thing here. The substance clung to her body, like it knew where it belonged. And she was totally okay with that.

Also, she was in awe that with just four shots, he had pretty much painted a good half of her face. And she knew he was far from done.

She felt indeed the fifth one splatting audibly across her neck, while Tre's moans were still going on, letting go of the love and lust that had filled him up during all those passionate hours. A sixth soon landed toward her left shoulder, and she felt like tasting the chunk which had sealed part of her lips a moment ago. She moved her tongue around, gathering the material to let it flow in her mouth, almost chewing it -- yes, it was that thick -- to appreciate the full experience.

It would never be one of her favorite things, she was sure of that; there was too much of a salty flavor, like when you swallowed sea water by accident. But she had to admit the creamy texture made his cum much more palatable than any other she had tasted before; there was even a slight tinge of sweetness by the end, that she hadn't expected, and which made it kinda enjoyable.

And still, his ropes kept coming, each one as generous as the last; she had stopped counting them by now. They were landing a little lower each time, covering the area or her breasts and stomach at the moment, so Fiona felt it was now safe to open her eyes: she wanted to see him -- and her -- in what she had called that moment of mutual surrender.

She cleared the semen on her eyelid, and marveled at the beauty of him. His head was reared back, an expression of utter joy on his face; his body fully relaxed, enjoying this long-awaited release to the fullest; his massive testicles, now lifted high in his scrotum, finally unloading their overflowing supply; and this supreme cock, as she had called it, shooting astonishingly liberal amounts of the whitest, richest cum she had ever seen.

He had just covered the area from her belly-button to her hips with his last three batches, and he now was taking care of her thighs, spraying his plentiful seed on each one. It was like he was painting a map of a new world on her body, adorning it with pools of semen as if they were lakes, the strands connecting each one to the other being its rivers.

He proceeded likewise on her shins, the strength of his cumshots starting to subside by this point. They were merely a dribble when he arrived at her wonderful, light feet; and that was the moment when the shock of realization struck Fiona, running and pulsing through every fiber of her being.

His answer to her message... this hadn't been hyperbole. He'd done it.

He had literally showered her from head to toe.

The state she was in... it was like nothing she had ever been through before. Something was about to take over her. All it needed was a push. She knew exactly what she had to do... though she had no idea where it would take her.

Just a pressure... there. Above her labia. She could feel it vibrate from the inside. She just had to touch it.

She did...

... and everything around her shattered.

A blank. Or a void. Or maybe both.

She couldn't see, hear, smell, touch, or taste... but she could feel. And what she felt, down here, was like a billion neural connections on overload, saturating her brain, her heart, everything. It was so overwhelming it was actually scary.

But she decided to ride it... all the way up.

Beyond reason. Beyond consciousness. Her whole self a pleasure dome, wrapped in an orgasmic limbo, wanting this to never end.

A feeling... that could never be put into words.

(.........)

When she regained her senses, Tre was still here. His cock was a little deflated, which let her know that some time had passed; and he was looking at her with a stunned expression, his eyes almost coming out of these holes, his mouth agape.

"Daaamn... you okay?"

She was still in-between states of being, trying to readjust to reality. Moreover, she had no idea how she had actually behaved on that bed, after she touched herself, and that got her worried.

"Did... did I, like... freak out?"

"No! I mean... you were out of it, for sure, but you looked just... wow! I'm sure that was incredible for you."

He had no idea... But somehow, she was still glad to be back here, in the real world. Because she could at least share it with him. And right now, that was the one thing that mattered to her; to be with him, just a little more... or a lot more.

But first, she needed a good clean-up.

"I'm gonna head to the shower," she said.

"You want me to carry you there?" he offered. "If you're a little worn-out..."

"Let me... check," she smiled, first lifting up her back, then bringing her feet on the ground, and eventually standing up.

OK... she was worn-out alright, more than a little. But she could still put one foot in front of the other, and for the time being, that will do.

"Coming back up... wait for me", she said, walking as if she had spent the past ten years in a retirement home.

She was pretty much going on automatic now, like those first five minutes after the alarm bell rang and you had to get your breakfast ready. She got directly to the shower, turned on the tap, let the water rinse her body and mind, allowing her space to think back on all the things she had experienced since this evening.

What had started as a way to clear her frustration after too many average sexual encounters had turned out into a night of discovery. The discovery of a man, of course: Tre, the most gentle, generous, and gifted lover that she had met and would ever meet; but also the discovery of herself, of what she had really been looking for in sex. Something that would be extremely powerful and deeply romantic at the same time -- and incredibly long-lasting, on top. Quite demanding indeed... but she had found the man who could provide that experience. And she felt grateful beyond words.

As she dried her body with a pair of towels, she realized she had not even taken a look at her on the way to the bathroom; the image of her as a cum-covered lover was gone... too bad, but there would probably be another time, to do it all over again.

She wondered whether she would wrap the towel around her before joining him again to the bedroom, but decided against it. After all, he had already seen all of her. Plus, it was early June, and she used to walk around naked in her apartment at that time of the year, so why change things?

When she entered, Tre was standing by the side of the bed, checking his phone. There were still a few drops of sweat on his body, a testimony of the intense effort he had given, even if he made his best to hide it. His penis now lay perfectly flaccid, which meant it still towered over 99% of her previous lovers in their erect state. It really was a marvel of absolute beauty and potency.

"I'm back," she said softly.

"Hey! Oh, I took the liberty of changing the bed sheets; I haven't opened any drawer, I just grabbed those which were on top."

Indeed, the bed was perfectly made, down to the blanket and the pillowcases. This was a simple thing, but this genuinely moved her; probably because it was typical of the character he had shown up to now.

"You're a dream, you know that?"

"You're too kind", he smiled, almost shyly. "Also... you may not gonna like this but... when you... came, right after I did, I thought you looked so hot... that I took a picture with my phone. But I will remove it if you ask me to."

She had a reaction indeed... but this was not the one he had feared. Her face beamed up, and she leaned by his side asking, "Can you show it to me, please?"

"Sure," checking his gallery to display the pic, and holding his phone so that she could watch it.

"Oh God," she gasped despite herself. He had taken the photo from the side of the bed, with a top view angle so that her whole body would be seen. And it was like a whole set on constellations was displayed on it; the milky white of the seed in stark contrast with her flawlessly tanned skin. And it was everywhere, on her hair, face, neck, shoulders, breasts, stomach, hips, legs, feet. It was a scene of pure, deep eroticism.

And then, there was the way she lied, extended to her fullest, all spread, like a woman who had lost all prudishness... And the look on her face... She was not just happy, or even blissful: she was ecstatic, the wrinkles around her eyes and her lips morphed into the most incredible expression of joy. It was... transforming, in the purest sense: it didn't even look like herself! And yet, it was who she was, undeniably.

Fiona... the modern Danaë. Not just a submissive shell like the ancient; but one which claimed her pleasure, and did what was in her power to make it happen. The one that Artemisia had hinted at, centuries ago already; and now, she had turned into a woman of flesh. She was her, all of her.

And... there was him. Tre. The one that had made all of that possible. The one for whom she now expressed not only desire, or gratitude; but pure, unadulterated love.

She handed him his phone, and kissed him lightly on the cheek, while touching the other.

"There are two things that I'd like very much from you," she started. "First: that you send me this picture as a souvenir; second: that you sleep with me tonight. I mean, this morning," she giggled.

"And I'd like that a lot too," he answered. "I'll just head to the shower and--"

"You can sleep like that, it's okay."

"But... the bed sheets--"

"Then we'll change them again, it's alright. After all... who knows what we'll feel like doing when we wake up?"

That was quite bold on her to say that, considering how spent and wrecked she felt for the moment; but maybe, after a good nap, she would feel better... and if not, there would be plenty of other ways to have some fun.

"Picture sent," he confirmed.

"Thank you," she said, kissing him again. "Let's go to bed?"

"Um... yeah."

They both got in, removing the blanket that felt superfluous given the warmth of the day already, him on his back, her on the side, looking at each other amorously.

"Sweet dreams, Tre."

"You too, Fiona."

And she put her head on his muscular chest, joining her hand with his, feeling his slow breath lifting her ever so slightly, enjoying his scent too. That was the reason she hadn't let him go to the shower; she wanted to be wrapped in his manliness, surrounding her senses with it.

Soon enough, they drifted off, and both went into a peaceful, deep sleep.