The Artist's Model Ch. 01

The Artist's Model part 1

"Move your head upwards, I want to see your chin better," Mrs. Brand said. She was behind her easel, and now and again she'd cock her head or just one eye my way over the canvas as I reclined on the bed. I heard light dabs of the brush on her painting going in little wet dab dab dab dab swishes like some butterfly was painting the scene instead of her hand. Now and again, the painter's knife would scrape out a scritch scritch scritch sound in the oils that I found utterly soothing. I mean UTTERLY, like I felt my eyelids flutter a couple of times as the scritches tickled my ears and lulled me. After a few minutes of trying to stay awake she caught me.

"Don't fall asleep," she chided, "I can't have my model drifting off and losing the pose." She then stopped and studied me, all pensive and thoughtful.

"That look, when your eyelids fluttered," she observed, "it is JUST what I'm looking for. Open your mouth a bit and give me that gaze like you are on the edge of consciousness. Ahhh see, now that's VERY GOOD!"

Edge of consciousness. Hah! That's a laugh. She wanted me to appear on the edge of blowing my load. For an hour or so she'd had me going back and forth between two poses, either sitting upright over some open glossy porno mag from Germany with my stiffie in my hand or lying back like I'd spent myself.

This was day two, and we'd worked out the basic poses she wanted; one with me in the act of wanking myself furiously and one with me having nutted hard and then fallen asleep with my junk out all waning like a knocked over sandcastle with a runny nose. The before and after were to be in two panels and they were from a commission from some lady performance artist or actress of some such person who apparently had an apartment someplace full of more lewd nudes than the ceiling of an Italian chapel.

I'd managed to keep myself hard with slow steady strokes. She'd told me to just imagine I'm alone watching really good porno and that I don't want to cum too quick. That helped, but sometimes my cock needed inspiration. The few occasions I'd glanced down to the shiny German porno book I got in "trouble." Each time without fail, Mrs. B. cleared her throat with a smile, and I shot back to my lifted chin pose; my mouth open like I was huffing out all my air.

By the fourth or fifth time she corrected me, she told me to glance her way as she'd a "surprise." She'd been wearing a green striped shirt for today's portrait session... and nothing else; no bra, no underwear, just a shirt buttoned up smartly, (at least for the start of the session). It was one of those overly long and big shirts of her husband's that had become ruined at some point and now been elevated to painting smock. Now, however, the shirt was open, revealing her form, oh and what a form it was!

She was a tall full-figured BBW of a woman; not unlike a Peter Paul Rubens nude. Blonde hair, when it wasn't in her face hiding painted lips, cascaded down over delightfully rounded flesh. Full buxom breasts, the lovely pillow-esque sort that ached to be sucked pushed up against the open shirt, parting it to show off silver dollar areolas and jutting nipples. She'd a round fertility goddess belly with a delightful donut hole of a navel resting atop decadently thick thighs and a sex shaved bare and clean as a hound's tooth, lovely meaty curtains dangling all pinkly from within. She was the epitome of luscious fleshy sex, all mammalian and curvy and full... and now she wanted me to focus my attention. Well, she had it in spades!

With bare feet set shoulder width apart she painted using a deft purposeful hand; all while fiddling her twat blossom with the other. In response my own hand put earnest strokes upon my shaft at the sight of this. My hair had been in my eyes since we'd started today and I attempted to head flip it out of my way, only to receive more playful rebukes as she stroked with both paintbrush and fingertips. She wanted my hair in my eyes; she wanted me to be an iconic scene of reckless abandon and self-abusive hedonism; all very animalistic and male - she'd said as much. Well- who was I to argue with her? I was getting paid, and as college jobs went this couldn't be beat.

My "interview" for the job was three weeks prior and I can tell you - I aced it! It began with me walking from my apartment on a quest for beer down the street. A car pulled up slowly behind me and her smiling face appeared from behind a tinted window rolling down slowly like some MILF drug dealer. She asked happily where I was headed and if I needed a ride.

A short time later... we were someplace else. It was her idea, but I was nineteen and all hormones. Sure, she was ten years older than me and I had no idea who this woman was but let's just say the whole idea was agreeable to me.

She'd driven us away from town onto the highway. It was clear it might be a while before I scored my beer, but my focus was elsewhere (up inside her cleavage to be exact), cleavage which was UDDERLY bankrupt of any brassiere, cleavage straining HARD against her dangerously flimsy white blouse. Three flimsy buttons were all that held back all that lovely Teutonic tittage and the fact that her nipples probed impatiently the fabric of her top, revealing their color contrast to her skin and their overall dimensions gave me a painfully raging hardon that ran down the left leg of my jeans.

It didn't help that she'd turned the conversation to sex or that she was flirting boldly with me, letting double entendre swirl about in the car like the wind roaring in from our open windows. Her maroon skirt that ran up slightly on her delightfully thick thigh as she moved her foot back and forth from brake to gas and back again. A split second later her hand found that wayward hem, but instead of pulling it back to her knees, she saw fit to sweep it back towards her navel; revealing a lovely, tanned crotch and a bald pussy shaved clean and stark like a cleft chin.

Of course, I saw all of this and what's more, I looked up and my gaze met hers grinning back at me before she returned her eyes to the road before deliberately parting those deliciously hammy thighs; giving me a better view and making my cock dew snot trickles against my boxers. Boldly, she shot out her hand and ran painted fingers up and down my inner thigh in light little strokey strokes as my cock throbbed to her touch beneath my denim.

"My husband is older," she said, "and he doesn't fuck me. I enjoy sex, I enjoy everything about it. It's a little like somebody hating sushi and me being ravenous for rice and raw fish. So what do you say?"

Having now felt out the dimensions of my cock down the left side of my jeans, she squeezed it firmly to emphasize the gravity of her question and what she was offering. She then set the cruise control before sinking her hand down between her legs for a little pleasurable self-abuse while she awaited my decision. She ran her tongue across her lips as the trees on the highway shot by us and the wind continued its wild roar through the windows.

"I think," started to say but didn't finish my sentence until I'd unbuttoned my jeans, slid them down to my knees, grabbed her hand to place it on my rigid veiny member; all before reaching over her bent right thigh to find her sex with fingers, "I could go for sushi any day of the week."

We went down the road for several minutes like this; cruise control set, my hand at her twat, her fist running up and down my shaft and bellend, using my pre-cum as wank lube. Eventually she saw her turnoff up ahead and patted my hand away as she kicked off the cruise controller and got us onto the off-ramp into a wooded road. Heading south for about fifty yards on this, we stopped and turned onto a sandy logging road that ran parallel to the main highway.

We bumped and skidded down this lonely access road with closely spaced pines to either side obscuring our view of anything beyond; that is until the road veered slightly left and through the trees to our left I could see the whizz of automobiles and semi-trucks passing us at great speed. We were next to the highway. A little further and we stopped with several gray and brown buildings visible through the pines.

I knew where we were. It was a highway rest stop that had been closed down and abandoned. When you drove along the highway, its off ramp over on the highway side was gated with red Keep Out and Closed - NO TRESPASSING signs. On the side where we'd come in, we were parked not far at all through the trees from the rest stop, but far enough back that the car would be invisible from the highway.

We exited the car, and she motioned to the buildings after looking around to ensure we were truly alone, she took me by the hand and we disappeared into the shade of the trees. Halfway across the little crop of woods to the rest stop, I heard the PIT PAT PIT PAT PIT PAT of rain drops. The sky had been threatening to rain since noon, but now it was done with idle threats, and we heard a faint roar off in the distance to the south and west as a downpour was coming and would overtake us soon. We stepped up the pace through the trees until we made the rest stop's picnic area and then bolted across empty parking lot to one of the waiting doorways.

We made the doorway just as the first sheets of rain began to fall around us. Big heavy drops they were. As luck would have it, the highway department had never locked the doors to the rest stop, and they'd never had the presence of mind to shut things off. I flicked on a light switch and harsh white lights hummed on... only to have her bat my hand and shut them off.

"Lets keep lights off," she corrected me, "as it is, we have windows that face the road and if they see lights on in this place, well anyhow, we have enough daylight peeking in from outside that we can see."

We were in a trucker's shower room and not thirty seconds later we were standing in the middle of the empty space, her purse with her underwear hanging out of it resting in one of the sinks far across the room, the remainder of her clothes and mine folded and resting in the sink next to it. She pulled me in for a kiss and at the same time grabbed my junk and began to wank me in a vigorous forceful handjob, fucking my mouth with her tongue as her palm worked my member into something throbbing, formidable, and stabby.

Satisfied she'd tugged me to sufficient stiffness, she dropped to her knees on the dirty tiled floor, her marvelously big ass resting upon her heels. She brought my stiffie to her pouty pucker, and making an "O" with her lips, playfully banged it against her mouth to make silly cork popping sounds with it; all before popping my veiny throbber through her lips for a good old-fashioned tonsil banging.

I immediately shut my eyes and ran hands through her hair and along her cheeks before lightly palming the back of her head. My hips began to thrust, but she put a hand forcefully to the flat of my stomach to cease the face hump - she wanted to do the work, and she'd made that abundantly clear. As if to reward me for keeping my hips still, she began to palm and fondle my balls as those lips and tongue greedily sucked and fed on me in a sloppy frenzy of gonad gluttony.

The sounds of her sucking and my gasps and shudders echoed off the tiles of that dingy, dirty space... that liminal space. Liminal... best way to describe it. Some folks find liminal spaces scary... but they are also sexy.

When you have sex in the lonely, abandoned places outdoors that our society has made and then forgotten, you are both secluded but still out in public. You are in a halfway world doing shameful things to one another and there is always that heart-pounding risk you'll be discovered that blue and red cop lights will approach the scene from the distance, or that a security guard with a flashlight will walk in on you and catch you in the act. It makes you listen carefully to everything and overall, it makes the senses so much keener. At that moment, there was no approach of footsteps or sirens; just the rush of traffic outside on the highway, the drips of water on shower floor, and the steady rhythmic gluck gluck gluck of an unbelievably sloppy blowjob echoing upon tile through the dim grey of the room.

She is an expert at fellatio... a blowjob Jedi master... well ermmm MISTRESS if you will. I was immediately overwhelmed by the excruciatingly pleasurable stroke of skilled tongue at the underside of my prick, making me suck in my breath and shiver as her greedy warm mouth worked its magic. I let out a barely audible 'OH SHIT' like I'd just touched a hot coal and she immediately doubled down with lips and jowls on my member; determined to milk me off with her mouth if it was the last thing she did. Of course, my involuntary blubberings were music to her ears and she now had one hand down between her legs, frigging away at her cunt like she was angry with it. The more I whimpered and shuddered, the meaner she treated her twat and the harder she poked my dong into the back of her throat, until her gags and sputters were in a sort of competition to see which could echo louder in the room.

She was now nursing on me like a calf at a teat; warm saliva running down my shaft and down over her chin, collecting on her bountiful jugs and the underside of my testicles. It was as if she were keen to spin the both of us in a comforting warm coat of spit like some slimy oral sex cocoon. It was serendipity for us, we both loved it messy nasty and unhinged, depraved even.

It all got the better of me after a few delirious minutes and I began to feel the pending tremor of a good hard release; the unmistakable rise of gorge in my shaft. My plaintive bellyachings now became frantic and desperate. I snarled 'SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!' to the ceiling which told her all she needed to hear. She grabbed the base of my shaft and pumped it furiously as her greedy cocksucker sent my piping hot loads splashing her tonsils. I howled and snarled and raged through my orgasm as she gulped and groaned, chugging my nut butter down the hatch. Then my ears picked up something else, something deliciously wicked and satisfying to me. Gagged by a mouthful of cock she half-mooed and half-roared; her hand furiously abusing her gash and while her other pulled at her nipple like a stuck doorknob, a second later and I heard a splashy piddling sound as hot dew hit my feet and ankles as it puddled beneath her parted knees and thighs.

It was marvelous what had just happened, all happiness and intimacy despite our situation. We were standing in a filthy abandoned building, doing what amounted to a misdemeanor for public indecency and trespassing at the very least, in the middle of a puddle of female ejaculate and it was PURE BLISS! As I gasped and choked through a whimper or two, she spat out my dong and hugged me in close; cooing and comforting me as her own chest rose and fell in great heavy breaths. She was all comfort and love and reassurance. Then she pulled me down to the floor with her, in the middle of her piddle puddle.

She began sucking my wilted member. I later learned this is a party trick of hers, to suck a spent cock back to vigor and then to use it for "round two." Lying in the middle of her quim splatter on that filthy floor, my biggest problem at the moment was I was too sensitive "down there," but despite my raising of hands in protest, she grabbed my wrists and held them in iron BBW MILF talons. She knew her business, and I wasn't the first boy who she'd coaxed and sucked into an encore performance. As I fussed and made like I was walking on Legos, she continued to coo and shush me in between long luscious suckings until my discomfort subsided and my stiffy began to rush with blood. Presently she had something firm enough to work with and she knew since I'd spent a load, she could take full advantage without me busting nuts too soon again. Oh she knew her business!

Now she grinned at me wickedly in the dimness of the room, crawling her way up my body and dragging her fleshiness along me. It felt marvelously warm and comforting, all that lovely round curviness of flesh and skin and my pecker became IMMENSELY proud and stiff as it slid from along the underside of her chin, neck and then in between the heavenly hug of her melon cleft. These were not tits, but proper jugs; a second set of rounded ass-cheeks that just happened to pack a pair of pinchable nipples! She sensed my excitement and paused cradling my prick between her tits as if she were warming a cold wet puppy, kissing the head and making cooing sounds. She then nibbled and raked the head with her teeth playfully; delighting in my shudders and breath suckings before she finally resumed her crawl.

Up my body she wriggled and pulled herself along... ever so slowly, until at LAST we were face-to-face touching noses and chins. Her grin melted into an open-mouthed press of her lips to mine. and instinctively our tons danced while I now rand hands up and down her shoulders, back and oh so desirable big bottom. She now bent one leg and then the other; pushing herself upward into a seated cowgirl position before then raising that ample bottom and with one hand, she seized my member and placed the head at the slickness of her sex-hole. Notching it against the portal, she sank her weight down upon my rod and in a wonderfully warm wet second, she impaled herself upon my pecker pole. Two sweet little sighs escaped our lips before she leaned forward and dangled those wonderfully voluminous breasts in my face.

"Suck my titties," she hissed desperately.

Who was I to refuse such a thing? Her breasts were gorgeous! the perfect balance of mammalian and Teutonic sex goddess qualities; hanging over my face like an adolescent boy's wet dream. I took a nipple in my lips and commenced chewing and sucking greedily as my other hand pinched her free nipple between thumb and forefinger. She let out a moan from deep down in her throat, sending it up into the ceiling and began to drive hips upon my shaft.

This was the beginning of our first fuck... there were countless more like it, but this one is burned in my mind. I can still recall that amazing sensation of "first plunge." We flipped back and forth between positions, first with her cowgirl for several minutes before I rolled us over into good old-fashioned missionary where she bent one leg over my back like she was trying to force me up her cunt for several minutes more. We then pulled apart and went back to cowgirl; first reverse, then with her spinning around to dangle tits in my face for a few minutes more; an act I found UDDERLY enchanting.

It was about this time she fell on me and in between soulful French kisses and purposeful grinding strokes of her hips, she began detailing her kinks in my ear; describing all sorts of rude lewd and creative perversions. Every manner of deviancy and position, combination and fantasy, pickle and spice, was laid out for my listening pleasure. Suffice to say I was more than certain I'd found a live one, which I indeed had! I mean think of it... here I was, a young man of eighteen, freshman in college, with a "thing" for both BBW's and older women of insatiable appetites, and there she was, bouncing on the end of my throbbing prick!

Among many wonderfully nasty things whispered to me, she confessed to a love of being messy; that is to say she loved being coated in sweat, cum, and sex funk. She also loved being taken and used. A total brat, she also enjoyed being manhandled and slapped around. Just to test the theory, I told her to sit ramrod straight upright while she stroked up and down me. No sooner had she done so then I popped a great arcing SLAP! across her tits, making those sweaty sex-udders SMACK! with a loud echo off the filthy tiles.

Stunned, she stopped Tigger bouncing and simply stared into my eyes. A spell had been cast. Her nipples became cherrystone-hard and her lips trembled in a breathy whisper of,

"Do it again!"

SMACK! came my palm, leaving a red streak across her DD dairies.

"Again!" she hissed, rocking her hips back and forth in a lascivious self-satisfying grind.

SMACK!

"Again!"

This time, my free hand rose up from behind her and found her locks, yanking her mane so as to send an electric explosion of blissful agony down her spine. At the same time, my hand landed across her face....

SMACK!

Again, my eyes were met with shock as everything stopped. The slap and the jolt to her hair roots sank in. Her hips now turned on and she commenced to bounce with new found rapidity. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! flew my hand, landing on tits and cheek, neck and nipples. Her eyes glazed over in the dimness and her mouth formed a perfect letter "O" with...

"OHHHHHHHH!" she howled as a cascade of hot girlie dew ran down my prick and puddled beneath my ass.

She stroked and hollered and cursed her way through her orgasm, calling me every nasty filthy name in the book, slapping my face, gripping my hair and biting me on the chin until her cum subsided. Then she sighed heavily and fell atop me, all kisses and coos and caresses. It was tender, it was intimate, it was magic. Then she paused.

"Wait," she said.

"What?" I asked, do you hear someone coming?

"No," she said, embarrassed, "it's just that... I have to GO!"

"You have to pee?" I asked, still hard as steel up inside her and wanting to nut again without spoiling the mood, vibe, or the sexual energy. She nodded sheepishly and silent, her face red with the print of my hand.

"So go," I said nonchalantly.

My ease at which I'd said it was totally artificial. I'd only read about a woman doing something like this online, but I'd never actually been party to it. Oh, but I wasn't going to portray myself as anything but well-seasoned, (little pretender that I was).

As I looked up at her stone-faced, she bit her lip and wrinkled her nose. Her nostrils flared and presently, a steaming hot trickle of ammoniated shame ran down my shaft and balls, adding to the great puddle beneath us. She'd never done this before; not with any of her lovers, and certainly never with her husband, yet here it was happening now. I began stroking hard shaft up into her piddling twat as she flowed and flowed and flowed, in sweet nasty release.

I rolled us and flipped her over on her back, down into that nasty piddle pond. Seizing her wonderfully hammy thighs up in my arms I jack hammered down into her for several strokes. She wailed and bawled plaintively at the ceiling as I drove in and out of her with frantic selfish rapidity in an effort to get mine.

I flipped her onto her stomach; head down in the swamp and ass high, entering her in the manner of two pit bulls in a frantic doggystyle breeding fest. As I plowed and rowed at that magnificent specimen of deliciously fat ass I reveled in the filthiness of it all, me fucking some strange woman I'd never met, who'd just picked me up in her car, seduced me, and was now letting me plunge out her pussy as her tits, arms, and face slid back and forth in all that wicked mess on the floor. It was all to much for me,

"AAAAAAGGGGHHH!" I roared, sending hot jets of boy batter into the farthest corners of her cunthole as she juiced and came on my cock with great shamelessly happy sobs below.

Two minutes later we were using one of the showers, grateful for the hot water and for an ancient bar of soap left in the bathroom sink by someone months or possibly years before. We washed off every last evidence of what we'd done, then we dressed as best we could. The trucker shower would become but only one of many of our regular public sex spots we'd use again and again as it turned out.

Possibly an hour later she was driving me back to my apartment. In the back of her car was my case of beer which she'd insisted on paying for (so I was able to keep my fake id in my wallet and not risk running afoul in with the law). As we drew closer to my place and I pointed it out to her a curious thing happened. She drove right past my door and kept going, right around the corner, through the hedge gate, and up to the long drive where my landlord lived!

"I figured," she said, "I could park in my garage, and you could walk your beer back to your place."

Wait, she was my landlady? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? We'd never met and when I'd signed the paperwork, she wasn't at home (with everything having been handled by her husband). I'd signed the lease and all the legal-ese and shook his hand and that was that, never having seen his wife - until now.

"Oh, and one more thing," she added as she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, "I have a job opening I need filled. You ever been an artist's model?"

"Is there anything I need to do to apply?" I asked stupidly.

"Honey, you just aced the interview! I own the rental you are staying in next to my studio. My husband just handles the paperwork for the leasing, but I say how much to collect each month. I think you'll be staying there rent free except for utilities and you'll get paid for your hours up in my studio. Do we have a deal?"

She reached over and grabbed my cock and balls through my pants and squeezed them. She was bold but I was far from innocent and replied with a hand up under her sundress. I found her bare twat and said with a naughty little finger wiggle,

"Deal!"

"Don't forget your beer," she winked as I opened the car door.

That had been so many weeks before and now here I was, posing yet again in her studio with my junk in my hands while she stroked MILF twat not six feet away. The scritching and scratching from her artist's knife and the SWISH!... Dab! Dab! Dab! of her brush in the oils heralded her progress on the canvas, seeming to be more rhythmically intense as my excitement built. It may have been my imagination, but I could have sworn the more excited I became, the more vigorous the strokes at her twat grew and the more that lovely Scritch! Scratch! Swish! Dab! Dab! Dab! was executed with increasing zeal.

On the walls her other works leered down at us, egging us on; nudes in intimate moments either by themselves or together in twos and threes most shamelessly, as though dozens of people who'd previously been caught up in their own moment of passion had suddenly stopped mid act to observe us. There were works of me up on those walls as well; charcoal sketches of me stepping from a bath, pencil sketches of myself disrobing. There was a pastel of me with a young woman, (one of her former students from the university I think, although we did not sit at the same time). She'd also painted us in acrylic post-coitus, sharing a naked embrace involving whispered sweet nothings in ears. All the art was now audience to the spectacle of me reclining and pulling blood through my cock, waiting to become one more voyeur upon the wall.

The fact she was now rendering me in oils I thought appropriate, as she'd had me grease my shaft up using a jar of Vaseline now lying next to me on the bed. She'd deliberately left the jar in the painting; lid off and with a generous scoop taken from inside. The idea was to capture the scene of me, all horny and bursting with sexual energy and painfully throbbing rage in my junk; having found myself alone in whatever house this happened to be and needing a good desperate wank with the help of grease, a German porno mag, and a right paw with knowledge beyond its years. I must have figured myself alone, or I wouldn't have stripped naked and begun a ferocious tugfest on myself, but I'd be profoundly wrong. Then again, that's getting a bit too far ahead in the story.

She'd not let me see the work thus far. The previous night she'd been up rather late-ish working items in the painting's periphery, and she'd been tight lipped about it. I knew, however, she'd been up to something. Normally at night, she'd either come to my apartment for a quickie, or she'd have us go on one of her walks and we'd end up having a nice dark standing fuck on some bike path or farm road, (just daring some car to come along and catch us in its headlights). That night however, she phoned telling me she was working on items in the painting not concerning me and that I should simply get some rest.

Now I was more than well-rested. In fact, I was absolutely rigid and throbbing in my own self-abusive strokes while just a short distance from me, Mrs. B bothered and teased her angry kitty, painting in lovely dab dab dabs; her shirt open and panties nowhere to be seen. Oh but her Scritch! Scratch! Dab! Dab! Dab! and her stroke stroke stroke now was having a cumulative effect upon the both of us. More pre-ejaculate ran down my fingers like glistening cock-snot while the sounds of Dab! Dab! Dab! began to be drowned out by a meaty squish squish squish, as her cunt began to juice and dribble, streaking her thick bare thighs in lovely rivulets.

"I'm nearly done," she gasped finally, "would you like to cum?"

"Yes, please!" I choked, having needed to blow a load for some time but had been bringing myself to the edge and then backing off for several minutes now.

Her brush, knife and pallet clattered onto a low table beside her and she lunged, closing the distance between her and the bed in a flash. Her hand batted mine away off my cock which was at once surrounded by the deliciously pleasurable warmth of her mouth while her other hand cupped and squeezed my balls as if checking them for ripeness. She'd only blown my manroot for a delightful minute's time when she ordered me to continue jerking as she repositioned on the bed, straddling my face so that I might suck clit and eat twat while she continued to cup and squeeze my testicles as I tug tug tugged at myself; observing the whole masturbatory spectacle just inches from her nose..

What was her game? It didn't matter, the sensation of my balls in her hand and the fact I now had a mouthful of Mrs. B's snatch was heady sex fuel for me. She sensed this and related a little story as her gash dribbled and dewed, my lips gobbled, and hand hand yanked.

"In this painting," she began, "you came home to a house you'd been staying in. You were all keyed up and in a frenzy of sexual frustration after you found a photo of the lady of the house in her bedroom. She was out and not expected back for some time, so you took it upon yourself to strip off your clothes and do nasty shameful things to yourself ON HER BED OF ALL PLACES!"

Her stern tone had an effect. I felt the shame the man in the photo felt yet the furious need for release she described. She sensed this and once again batted my hand away, putting her free hand to work on my shaft as if teaching me how a proper handjob was done. As her hand became a determined blur on my member and her squeezes to my balls became more aggressive, she continued with her story.

By now I was hardly listening; what with my mouthful of twat and the 'oh so nice rudeness' she was providing my manhood. I could piece together her bawdy tale though. It seems the moment that the painting takes place; my character had rubbed and tugged himself into an absolute frenzy. This was nothing new or far-fetched, for on many occasions back then I'd sought relief using my right hand after Mother Nature (for no good reason other than she is a cruel bitch), made my cock so throbbingly hard it ABSOLUTELY ACHED! Invariably in those instances, I'd rubbed one out in desperate blissful agony if only to find relief in a Kleenex, tissue, or tube sock. At any rate, her story rang authentic to these ears.

She then explained that under the bed I'd found not only a filthy German porno mag but also a shoebox containing nude photos of the lady of the house. These were scattered about the bed as though I'd been using them for inspiration, but there was something ELSE that had triggered this whole shameful scene. I'd found her diary and opened it, leafing through the pages until I'd come across something that for me was a match tossed onto a gasoline-soaked haystack. She now set her mouth to work along with her hand on my shaft in a sucking jerk jerk GLUCK! GLUCK! GLUCK! effort to milk out my load, pausing only reveal the story in short bursts,

"Whatever was in that diary it," *suck! suck! suck!* "has turned you into an absolute self-abusing beast. You've merged in your mind the woman of the house with one of the German ladies in the magazine and made the two women... one woman, a hybridized fantasy. You are now playing out a rude game with her in your head as you play with yourself," *suck! suck! suck!*

By now her juices flowed freely. I was back and forth between clit and twat and back to clit again. I could feel the gorge in my cock begin to rise as she said,

"You are oblivious to all things but your shameful self-pleasure. You never hear the person at the stairs. You never hear them come down that hall... down the hall and next to the doorway to watch you do the filthy thing. Oh but they are there alright! They are there as you cry out and spray sticky shame in your hands and all over everything!" *suck! suck! suck!*

That did it for me. I started to nut and as cums went, it was a big and strong one! Feeling my jizz rush in her mouth, she spat out my cock and sat bolt upright on my chin but continued to jerk out my load with her hand. She now furiously humped hips against my face; blubbering and sobbing her way through her own climax as her frenzied handjob milked generous cum ropes out of me. My nut butter landed in big gooey splashes across my belly, the bedspread, down her fingers and my balls as I choked with gratitude.

"Grab your cock back in your hand and don't move!" she said seriously.

This was all part of her plan. In a flash she was back at the painting like some BBW nympho ninja, seizing up the brush and knife with my cum still sticky on her fingers. She immediately began scritching and scratching with the knife and executing swoosh! Dab! Dab! Dabs! in with the brush that this time had an altogether soothing effect. This time, she didn't care if I drifted off.

"That's it!" she purred softly, "fall asleep JUST LIKE THAT with your head turned to one side and your mouth open."

I gave in to it totally, drifting off in a lovely nap in a state of exhausted stickiness, my cock still in my hand. I loved that job. Did I mention she wasn't charging me rent, just utilities?

Anyhow, it was a good nap. Now and again, I would wake and hear the scritch scratch Dab! Dab! Dab! and I'd drift back off into blissful nothingness as she painted. I don't remember it all that much, just that I was out for a good long time. I do recall that at one point, I heard her steps toward me and she knelt down to hock two big blobs of spit on my hand and cock before returning to her canvas. Then I was unconscious.

"Wake up, sleepy head!" her voice boomed out several hours later like she was some lewd naked nurse waiting on me to recover from an operation.

It was well into the afternoon. I'd been out for a good long while. I told her I needed to piss and as I stepped off to use a toilet down the hall from her studio, she announced happily she was done. An empty bladder and a flush of the commode later and I returned to see the work. I joined her in front of the painting, and she shot out an arm around me as she pulled me in close and we beheld what she'd done to me in oils. I wasn't prepared for what I saw.

Shocked doesn't come close or even cum close to describing that moment for me, but then again Ms. Becky's art is always able to make a person's jaw hit the floor. This time was no exception and as my eyes traveled over the canvas, I'm more than certain I resembled a goldfish with its mouth stuck in a perpetual letter "O."

It was me in the paintings alright. As I may have stated earlier, Becky had used oils to capture me in two panels; a before and after in which I found myself in a state of absolute desperate self-abusive frenzy in one panel and in the other spent and exhausted, having fallen asleep. It seemed that my nap came at the perfect time, and she'd used that very real scene of me sleeping to paint this one of me having masturbated myself straight into dreamland.

I'm absolutely out cold in that second panel, having pulled and tugged myself to a ball-churning cum and my seed is EVERYWHERE. It's on the bedspread in little dark patches about me; it's puddled in little pale gray ovals on my flat belly (not so flat all these years later I might add). It's even running in sticky cock-snot trickles through my sleeping hand through my fingers, down my lifeless cock and running off my balls like ocean foam crashing on a rocky shore. It's interesting to note that she later confessed to using techniques for seascapes to paint my penis pudding running down my hand and junk as I snored away in the primal bliss post-nut blissful slumber. But wait, there's more in the telling.

On the bed in both panels was the German porno magazine, lying to one side and yet at the same time on the other side of me was an old black and white photograph of a nude and rather buxom woman. At the edge of the bed was a shoebox filled with more black and white photos of the same woman. I was having an illicit wank using a box of photos discovered under the bed, combining them with the heady intoxicant of German pornography. This would have been shocking enough, yet there was more in the painting to tell the sordid tale.

At the far edge of the bed basking in the light was a diary, an OPEN diary. On its pages the words were barely legible as diaries often are to those unfamiliar to the author's handwriting but even the most casual of observers could clearly read the words,

"DEAR DIARY, what should I do?" and "harboring shameful thoughts for this young man living under my roof..."

If this was not lurid enough, in the scene I'm not alone. In the first panel you can clearly see the lady of the house, having stuck her head into the doorway and observing my meat-beating in rather dangerous proximity to the threshold. I the second panel, having seen me blow the contents of my balls all over myself and my immediate surroundings, the woman has pushed further through the doorway and has one hand up beneath her skirt and one at her bare breast, a standing mirror in the corner of the room tattling on the fact that she's tugging her titty whilst being damned rude to her sex as I lie blissfully unaware a short distance away. The shocker is the woman's face, in the photos and on that of the fiendishly frigging MILF, is none other than Ms. Becky, artist extraordinaire, my employer, my landlady, and also tenured Art Professor at the University I was attending at the time.

The whole thing was done in a style not unlike that of Caravaggio, with a portion of the bed and closet being shrouded in darkness while on the opposite side of the room, afternoon sunlight, bright and jarring blasted through bedroom windows, tossing shadows across everything. It was a pair of paintings that might have found a place in any renaissance cathedral or chapel, had it not been a scene where some woman had come home and found me having cum over photos of her after rat-fucking through her diary. Even if not something for a church, I could see it adorning the state bedroom of one or two palaces in Italy. At any rate I was in shock at the masterpiece of masturbatory mischief captured in oils and executed with such lewd inspiration.

"You like it?" Becky asked.

"My toes aren't that crooked," I smirked.

"They are," she replied rubbing my ass, "and I like them like that."

"My cock's not that crooked," I observed.

"It was after you came," she replied. Strong female hands found my hips and spun me about to face her as she dropped to her knees saying, "but always I have ways to straighten it out."

She throated me back to full hardness; warm loving jowls working on me better than my hand ever could. I simply palmed her naughty noggin and moaned softly as though struck with a bellyache for several lovely minutes until she rose to her feet. Taking me by the hand she led me to the bed before pulling me down upon her luxurious nakedness.

"And now," she said, "let's explore what happened when the lady of the house roused the young man fast asleep in that painting!"

Settling in amongst the marvelously thicc hamminess of her thighs, I set to sawing away at her sex with my stiffie. I craned my head until my mouth latched onto her neck. She was at once all sighs and wheezes as the afternoon light pouring through the windows began to cast long dancing shadows that seemed to cheer us on.

"Don't worry about leaving a mark," she said, "my throat is your canvas. Make some art of your own on it and don't forget to whitewash my insides!"

"Best college job ever," I thought.

To be Continued...