Cleaned 23

By timos111@hotmail.com


When Doug got home one evening from a busy day of 
corporate shenanigans, he found a deliveryman there in 
the apartment with clipboard at the ready, awaiting 
Janelle's signature.  This she provided with a 
flourish, then stood back, beaming at a pile of 
cartons and brown-paper-wrapped tall flat sheets 
leaning up against the sofa.  The deliveryman duly 
departed.

"What's all this?"

"Art stuff.  I been out shopping."

"Where we going to put it all?"

"I was kinda hopin' your study could be re-arranged a 
li'l."

He hesitated for a time.

"Let's go see what we can do."

They managed it, by bringing a bookshelf out into the 
hallway and turning Doug's computer desk around to 
face the other wall.  Janelle unwrapped everything and 
stowed it as neatly as she could, then got rid of all 
the packaging.

"So, what have we here?"

"Easel.  Canvasses.  Paints.  Brushes.  Sketch pads.  
The whole shootin' match!"

"How much did this set you back?"

"A tad.  But don’t-cha worry ‘bout that.  Instead, if 
you could worry about this ..."

She gave him a couple of sheets of forms.

Enrolment forms.

For a community college.

Art classes.

He glanced at the scale of fees.

"Yeah, okay.  No problem."

"Thanks, sweetie."

Janelle planted a firm set of lips against his cheek 
and went "Mooouuuaaahhhh!"

Next she started to get out a few things and set up a 
canvas on an easel. It sat there, blank and 
forbidding, while she messed around with a few tubes 
of paint and a sketch pad and pencil.

Doug left her to it and went to watch TV for a while.

After an hour or so, she appeared before him.

Quite observantly for a man, he noticed she'd changed 
her clothes.

Gone were her jeans and fashion top. 

All she had on now was a full slip.

White, shiny and smooth, with a broad lacy hem.  So 
clingy.  Such a contrast against her dark complexion.

Plunging v-neck, with thin straps over her otherwise 
bare shoulders.

The thin glossy fabric hugged her tits and tummyroll 
as if applied by a spray-gun, yet fell tantalisingly 
loose past her crotch and swirled about her legs.

She was holding out a tangle of velcro webbing.

Uh-oh!  Suddenly the area around his ears and the back 
of his neck felt hot and tingly.

"Is this how you reward a person that just bought you 
a shit-load of art lessons?"

"I need a subject."

"A what?"

"I want you to pose for me."

"Like how?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Oh fuck."

"C'mon!  It'll be fun!  Well, for me, anyways."

She knelt and in a trice his ankles were bound tightly 
to each other.  He put his wrists together in mock 
resignation and they soon followed suit.  Secretly, 
his heart was thumping.

"Slide forward onto the floor."

He did so, kneeling before her.  The table lamp 
situated behind her silhouetted her strong tapered 
legs through the slip.  

He found the sight of her very sexy. 

"Slump forward and extend your arms along the ground."

He did so, and this brought his head down between his 
outstretched arms.  He looked like a supplicant, a 
praying Muslim, a prostrated courtesan.  

She found the sight of him very sexy.

She sat in the armchair opposite with sketch pad and 
pencil at the ready.  Glancing up, he saw at once that 
she'd positioned her legs to give him a view straight 
up between those dark thighs to her snatch.

As far as he could tell, she had no panties on.  

Naturally.

She took her time about it.  He could hear her pencil 
scratching away for almost thirty minutes.  There were 
a few rubbings outs here and there, and she'd curse 
softly under her breath. 

He forced himself to be patient but, as the pain 
threshold in his aching back passed mere discomfort 
and approached borderline agony, he found himself 
suddenly blurting "How much longer?"

"Not long now.  You will be rewarded."

Finally she stood up, and released his arms.

"Lie down and roll onto your back."

He did, stretched out on the thick pile carpet with 
spine mercifully straight at last.

She stepped over and stood astride him, still holding 
the sketch pad.  Looking up, he could see her fuzzy 
black vulva peeping at him down a tunnel of sheer 
white fabric at him.

"Get your dick out."

Still fully clothed, he obligingly unzipped and pulled 
his boner out through his fly.

So far so good, he thought to himself.

Then white mists seemed to descend, and after that 
everything went black.

Black and fishy.

Crinkly and frizzy.

And so, so intimate.

He wasn't sure if she expected him to do anything, so 
he didn't.  He just lay with his arms outstretched, as 
though flying.  Her slip draped over his arms and 
upper torso like a landed parachute.  His dick stuck 
straight up, intermittently twitching.

Apart from that, he didn't move a muscle.

After all, he was quite happy just where he was.  He 
could breathe, though only just.  And he could never 
get enough of her pussy at the best of times.  Now 
here it was, firmly applied to his mouth, his nose 
nudging her anus.  

With all sight blanked out, his senses of smell, taste 
and touch took charge.  Pungent.  Salty.  Silky 
smooth.  Overwhelming, and totally erotic.

He could hear her pencil scratching away again, and 
wondered what on earth she was doing.  Still-life of 
Dick Rampant?  Trouser-scape with salient feature?

She wriggled her bottom against his face occasionally, 
but not enough to indicate that she was actually 
trying to get her rocks off by so doing.  No, she was 
otherwise engaged, and obviously concentrating hard 
because he again heard gentle swearing under her 
breath.

Finally her weight came off his visage and sight was 
restored to him again.  Most immediately, the sight of 
her rounded black butt as it gained altitude amongst a 
flurry of white silken clouds.

He sat up blinking, the smell of her fanny still heavy 
upon his face.

"Come and tell me what you think."

He freed his ankles and sat beside her on the sofa.  
He
immediately found his attention divided between the 
sketchpad on her lap, and the excellent view he had 
down 
that v-neck slip of her big pointy boobs.  She 
noticed, 
and folded her arms across her chest.

"Well?"

One sketch showed a humbled male form in the 
subservient pose he'd adopted earlier.  The other was 
a sketch of herself, graceful as a ballerina, with 
bits of him emerging from under artfully spread 
skirts. 
His anatomy was arranged in such a way as to make it 
pretty 
obvious where his face was.  His dick, implied by just 
a couple of deft strokes, was merely a vague 
background 
detail.

He wondered how on earth she'd contrived to pose 
herself for this self-portrait.  Then he realised the 
drapes were still open.  With darkness outside, the 
interior lighting was making the plate-glass of the 
apartment's living room window act like a pretty good 
mirror.

He thought her efforts were not bad.  Obviously 
amateurish, a little distorted in terms of composition 
and placement in the page, and with evidence of 
rubbings-out.  But definitely with artistic merit.  
Her lines were few and well-chosen, to suggest rather 
than spell out her subjects.  Perhaps a bit heavy in 
the use of shading here and there.

"They're rough, but you got something here.  You 
definitely got potential."

She thought about his remarks, then shrugged.

"I'm not happy with them.  I know what I want in my 
mind's eye, but its not coming out on the paper."

"At least you got something in your mind's eye.  If 
you asked ME to draw something, my mind would be a 
total blank!"

"Thanks, hon."

She sprang up and headed back to his study.  His gaze 
followed her white-silken and rounded butt longingly.

He got up and followed, leaning against the side of 
the doorway.

"Yes?"

She looked up from the Life-Drawing text she had open 
before her on the desk.

"Will ... will that be all?"

"For now", she answered simply.

"You don't want to ..."

"You mean sex?  No, not now, I gotta concentrate."

He felt suddenly foolish, standing there with his 
erection 
still poking out of his trousers.  If he were to paint 
a 
picture of his balls right now, it would merely be a 
question of what shade of blue to use.

In a quiet voice he asked "May I go masturbate?"

She looked up again, and considered.

"Lessee, when did you last cum?  Three days ago.  No, 
I'd rather you didn't."

"Okay."

"Can I trust you not to?"

"Yeah.  You can trust me."

She beamed at him.

"That's my boy!  And don't worry, I got plans for 
you."

With this she gave him a meltingly passionate look.  

Then she became suddenly stern.

"Now fuck off, and lemme concentrate."