… for her ART’s sake Ch. 07-08

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Chapter 7

Once inside her bedroom, I closed the door behind me, leaving us in relative darkness. ‘Once you’ve stripped off, lie down please.’ I instructed as I too began to get out of my own – making sure I first removed the thing I’d pocketed during my browsing.

When I knew she’d settled herself I bent over her, finding her face with my finger-tips, bending lower so I could kiss her, then spoke in what I hoped was a soft, low voice. ‘You’ve been busy painting for most of this week, so now’s the time for you to relax – right now it’s time for me to do some painting. I may not be terribly good at it, but I’m going to do my best – our roles are reversed now, this time it’s me that is going to paint you!’

Then, as my eyes adjusted to the dimness, and using the medium-sized, but still very fine-pointed and ultra-soft sable paint-brush I’d pocketed, I started to do just that – at first doing no more than trail it slowly over her face. Her eye-brows, her eye-lids, using the tip to gently separate her eye-lashes.

At first the feel of the brush obviously startled her – I felt her tensing as she drew in a short, sharp breath – but as she quickly understood what I was actually doing, she sighed, then gave herself up to what was probably a totally new experience.

I took my time, interspersing mainly long, slow strokes with a few quicker, but much more delicate ones.

Having ‘painted’ her eyes I moved down each side of her nose, tracing the outline of those cupid’s-bow lips, then moving up to do much the same to her cheeks – then each of her ears. Only when I’d ‘painted’ the entire surface of her face, moving down past her jaw-line and on to the softer curves below; her neck and shoulders.

I spent even more time on those probably much more sensitive areas. Using mostly the tip to tease and perhaps tickle her neck, but then the body of the brush to trace much longer, more sweeping lines along and over each shoulder – finishing with a short, more flourish-filled one that went just a short way down the upper part of each arm.

Having treated each side in turn, I started trailing the brush up and down the length of one arm – pausing to twirl its tip in the softer portion at the inner elbow, and hearing her gasp softly each time I did that. Then, lifting her hand, I treated each separate finger to its own share of my ‘painting’ – paying particular attention to the sensitive area in between and at the base of each.

Having done each arm, instead of – as perhaps by then she expected or hoped I would – I ignored her body, instead giving each leg much the same treatment her arms and hands had received.

Although initially – other than her one, sharp ‘hisss’ of indrawn breath when I started, and the softer gasp when she felt the brush on her neck – she had lain motionless and all but silent, but that changed dramatically when she felt the sable hairs moving lightly, but apparently purposefully up along the upper length of one of her thighs.

And when that long, smooth brush-stroke finally reached the lower surface of one of her breasts – then circled it and slid effortlessly around the outer ring of its nipple – she gave a loud, almost grunt-like gasp, and I felt her pushing herself upwards – for all the world as though she was straining to reach more of this, until then, feathery insubstantial lover.

Now of course I had no idea what her thoughts were, but if she’d considered that what I had done until then was in any way tormenting – the time I took on each breast, and its nipple, might well have driven her to the verge of insanity. But I was unrelenting – taking my time, treating each to innumerable strokes. Some were long, following the voluptuous curve of each pillow of flesh – some somewhat shorter, teasingly exciting each – already stiffly engorged – nipple, and the dark circle of roughly puckered skin that circled it.

Her only relief from that – if indeed it was relief! – were the occasional forays my brush-work made lower, down to her navel, where I repeated the same ticklingly twirling I’d given to the inner part of her elbows.

Given the length of time – and the detailed treatment I’d given each part – I spent ‘painting’ her, perhaps I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was, when, finally slipping the brush down between her legs – lightly stroking the pronounced ridge of her clitoris – she came, and came virtually instantly!

I relented – immediately moving down and burying my head between her wide-splayed thighs – and as her crying shrieks went up off the scale – and while sucking as hard as I could, I repeatedly thrust my stiffened tongue in and out of her already violently spasming pussy, in between taking quick gulps of air, sucking as much of her free-flowing juices as my mouth would hold.

To Annabelle the next period was probably timeless, certainly I made no effort to even try to keep a count of the number of climatic peaks she reached as my mouth and tongue worked her over – but she certainly demonstrated she was remarkably güvenilir bahis multi-orgasmic.

However, even she proved to have her limits, and, after one particularly strong orgasm, one that left her sprawled and softly mewling, I felt her hands finally pushing me away. ‘Enough Phillip! That’s more than enough – at least for now it is, though you do that so beautifully I’m sure I could lie here all day for you.’ she said, weakly.

I rolled to one side, sliding one hand up to cup her still pulsing pussy – feeling the trickling flow oozing warmly between my fingers – and rested my head on the heaving swell of breasts.

Although I felt her fingers tousling my hair, it was a few minutes before she spoke again. ‘There’s a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge, and glasses and corkscrew in the cupboard beside it – I think we could both do with something to drink now!’

‘Lovely.’ I said, sliding off the bed and padding – with my erection bobbing about in front of me – out to the kitchen area. But by the time I had found the bottle, the corkscrew, the glasses, it had subsided at least a little, and hung – thickly but still no doubt confrontingly, and somewhat impatiently – pointing mainly downwards.

She turned to watch as I returned, her eyes dropping downward as she said. ‘We’ll need to do something about that, once I’ve got my wits together again. I’ve already said that you are a most considerate and potent lover – now I’ll add the word ‘creative’ to that list. What you’ve just done for me, was, to say the very least, absolutely amazing Phillip. I’m sure I’ve never experienced anything like that before. You made me feel as though every single nerve ending was electrified. It was utterly fantastic!’

‘We aim to please.’ I responded with a little bow.

‘Well you certainly did that – and a whole lot more.’ she answered as she took the brimming glass from me.

Chapter 8

Then we lay, propped up against the headboard as we talked and drank awhile; my eyes feasting on the swelling abundance of her breasts – and, at least some of the time, trying to imagine what it might feel like to have my cock sliding back and forth between their creamily silky fullness.

Of course, in between those disturbing thoughts, we chatted about her painting, and I took the opportunity of asking her how the one of me was progressing. ‘It’s actually very nearly finished now, Phillip. Mainly just the highlights still to do – and you’ll be able to help me with that part of it.’

Now of course I was curious as to what part I might play with the final, finishing touches, but she would do no more than smile – perhaps a touch mischievously – and tell me that I would just have to wait and see, then skilfully changed the subject.

We drank a second glass before she slid herself off the bed and I watched her generous buttocks jiggling as she too went out into the kitchen – returning a minute or two later, holding a jar of some dark, amber coloured substance.

Having put my empty glass aside, she knelt and straddled me. ‘Now it’s my turn to make a fuss of you Phillip – we can’t leave you with all that accumulated semen bubbling away inside you. But first, a question – do you like the taste of caramel?’

‘Oh yes, yes I do! Why?’

‘I thought so – most men do – and to answer your question, this is why.’ She answered, holding up the amber coloured jar.

‘This is honey, but a rather special one – from the Bloodwood gum, ‘eucalyptus dichromophloia’, to give its proper name. One of its properties is its pronounced caramelly taste, another its viscosity, its very much more sticky than most other honeys, especially when its aged a little – as this jar has.’ As she explained the properties of the honey, she was unscrewing the jar, pushing something down into it, then pressing the honey covered spoon against herself, over the tips of each breast, and especially over and around each of their nipples.

‘You made it very obvious, last time, that you enjoyed yourself with these – maybe this will add a little something extra to your pleasure.’ She said as she set the jar aside, then bent forward so her breasts hung temptingly over my face.

Of course her offer was far to good to refuse – I still remembered the pleasure, and the excitement, I’d got from suckling her the previous Sunday, and with the prospect of repeating that – along with the bonus of the honey added – I grasped the nearest breast and started licking, then sucking it.

The honey was all Annabelle had said it was, both thickly glutinous, and with a strong caramel flavour, and even without the delightful way it was being served to me, I would have thoroughly enjoyed the taste of it. But the coupling of that with the firm, fleshy fullness of her breasts – was simply fantastic!

After allowing me several minutes of fondling, licking and sucking her – by which time both nipples had become both swollen and stiffly jutting – I felt her reaching around behind herself. Of course by then my cock had become re-excited, türkçe bahis rearing stiffly, then jerking as her fingers closed around it.

‘Ah yes – I thought so.’ she said softly as she lifted herself, pulling the breast I’d been enjoying, away from me.

Then I watched as she reached for the jar again, gathering an even larger spoonful than previously, then sliding back until she could smear it all over my by then glossily bulging cock-head. At first I thought she was going to further excite me by sucking it – but no, instead she lifted herself, then slowly pushed her pussy down on to it.

I groaned as the still wet tightness of her engulfed me, then again as she held herself firmly down; her grindingly wriggling, making my cock twitch and tingle as the stickily clenching walls of her cunt grazed it.

Of course I then presumed she was going to fuck me – though why she had first smeared me with the honey was a mystery – but again I was proved wrong.

Having held me inside herself for a minute or so, she slowly rose again, then as she twisted herself about, she said. ‘Now we can both enjoy the taste of homey Phillip. That is if you are prepared to do just a little more pussy-licking.’

Then I understood – she had swung herself around into the classic sixty-nine position, and while I licked and sucked her honey-smeared pussy, she would do the same thing with my similarly coated cock. Of course I was more than prepared to return to licking her, and the prospect of her sucking me while I did that was enough to set my heart pounding.

Now I needed no incentive to resume licking her – arousing a receptive woman that way had always been a favourite activity – and even if it hadn’t been, what I could feel her already doing with my cock was more than enough stimulation to fire me – but with the addition of having my mouth filled with the strongly honey flavoured juices, I was inspired. So I didn’t do just what she’d asked me to – lick her – I ate, I devoured her. Gorgingly guzzled her. Slurping and eagerly swallowing the ever more freely flowing fluid she produced as my mouth and tongue feasted on her lusciously fleshy sex.

Of course with my mouth jammed so hard up against her pussy I couldn’t make more than what were obviously muffled sounds of pleasure, and as hers was either busy sucking strongly, or had it stuffed absolutely full with the bulk of my cock, Annabelle was similarly hindered. But I don’t think either of us was right then looking for confirmation that we were each giving the other the maximum amount of pleasure, at least I certainly wasn’t. The sensation she was giving me were so mind-numbingly powerful, I frankly doubt I would have had the mental capacity to care about anything but processing them – my cock, and what was happening to it seemed to have become the centre of my entire universe.

When she wasn’t applying her maximum suction to it – even as she did so, somehow managing to continue pushing her tightly-gripping lips up and down the shaft – her fingers were maintaining the almost excruciating pleasure for me by the skilful way they slid, coiled, stroked and pumped it. Somehow building the pressure seething inside me by subtly changing both the speed and rhythm of her stimulation.

My cock became so ultra-sensitive that I would swear I could even feel the semen bubbling up into it – rising like a too swiftly heated thermometer. Maybe Annabelle could feel the changing tension in me, maybe that was what controlled the degree and intensity of her movements, certainly she seemed capable of timing when to slacken off, and when to re-start them.

So – at least to me it seemed so – the pressure inside me just continued building, until I was positive my cock would literally explode.

Which is of course exactly what it eventually did.

My entire body arched upwards – thrusting my super-heated cock even deeper into her vacuuming throat – then erupting more than half a dozen totally body-wracking times – each time pumping what felt like a truly phenomenally massive gout of semen.

Of course I was quite incapable of sucking Annabelle while that was happening to me, and – once she’d slowly milked me of the very last few drops and she swivelled herself around again – I had no idea whether or not I’d actually worked her through to a final orgasm. And when she turned, and I saw what she was holding, I was so bewildered that I then really ceased to care.

She held up a semen-swollen condom – grinning down at me as she expertly tied a knot to seal it. ‘Excellent!’ she said. ‘Considerate, potent, creative – and obviously, also a bountiful lover! One more like this will probably be all I’ll need.’ she added, cryptically.

Then, no matter how a cajoled and persuaded her, she would say no more than that – merely compromising by saying that she promised that, if I was equally bountiful the following Sunday, she would then be able to show me what critical use my contribution was to be put to.


So on the following Sunday, güvenilir bahis siteleri finding myself both physically excited and mentally curious, I was once again the more than willing subject of Annabelle’s stimulating caresses. That time she made no pretence that I was there for any reason other than to be milked of my semen – but, presumably because she wanted to ensure she received the maximum volume, she took her time in slowly and gradually increasing my level of stimulation.

At first, once we lay nakedly on her bed, she used her hands and mouth in what I found to be an especially bewitchingly proficient combination; sometimes slowly licking my cock from end to end, sometimes gently – and sometimes vigorously, sucking it, sometimes using just her hands and fingers – not merely stroking the throbbingly rigid length of it, but ensuring both my balls and my anus also received their fair share of stimulus.

But – exciting as all that was – I have to admit that it was when she moved herself further up over me, then took my cock between those incredible breasts of hers, that my excitement level soared up to a whole new peak.

It wasn’t just the silky smooth feel of those fleshy cushions that stirred me – though the sensations were absolutely unbelievable – but adding to the rising pressure inside me was the sight of the rawly swollen length of me slip-sliding up and down the valley between them. And of course my cock-head by then had become dark plum-coloured and glossily swollen – and super-sensitive, so each time her taut skin grazed it, I felt as though a bolt of electricity had seared right through me.

All that time I’d seen no sign of the condom I’d expected her to slip on to it – so the strength of the sensations were in no way inhibited – but just as we both felt the tension in my cock and body mounting, she – from somewhere – and almost magically, produced one, then quickly and effortlessly rolled it down over me.

She was just in time – a few seconds later I literally erupted, my roaring bellows accompanying each of the mind-numbingly powerful waves of ecstatic relief that ripped right through me.


Annabelle left me lying there to recover, scurrying away with the swollen condom of semen and it was only half an hour or so later when she returned with glasses of wine, then sat beside me on the bed.

‘I’ve finished know – well all but the framing – and so, once you’ve refreshed yourself, I can show you what an important part you’ve played in helping me with the painting.’ she said.

Of course my curiosity gave me sufficient incentive, so, having taken a large mouthful of wine, I quickly stirred myself.

‘I still have the first two attempted erotic paintings.’ Annabelle explained as she led me through the studio. ‘They’re still here because I was never fully satisfied with them.’ She added as she pulled out two unframed paintings. ‘Whilst the overall shape and colour were OK, it was the highlights I just couldn’t get right – and as that’s what should have truly brought them to life, they look dead to me.’

Looking at the paintings – which bore strong similarities to the overall format of the one I had bought, the two great arcs of colour, the scattering of highlights – I could see what she meant. Although the paintings had the same internal strength, the highlights – which in my painting had so vividly brought the underlying eroticism to life – were flat and lifeless.

‘Do you see what I mean?’ she asked.

‘Yes, yes I do. But that doesn’t explain what part I – and my ‘contribution’ as you so delicately called it – played in your latest one.’

‘Well just come and see the difference.’

She turned and led me to where she had been working – and there, in two great arcing swirls of ochre and olive green, I finally saw her work. There was just no comparison between the others and this one – whereas the other two had been flat and lifeless, even to an untrained eye, this one was searingly powerful.

Although the arcs were clearly separate, at one point they defied logic and strained towards each other, a dark magenta area seemingly forcing a link between them. But strong though the overall image was, it was the highlights – generally scattered, but in places more thickly splattered – that really gave the painting its extraordinarily powerful impact.

There was a semi-opaqueness, a translucency, about those highlights – an effect I remembered drawing me to the painting I had bought, an effect that somehow gave the impression that the paint was actually still wet. In fact that impression was so strong that on more than one occasion I’d taken the risk of lightly touching a couple of parts of my painting, just to ensure it wasn’t so.

‘You’re probably wondering how I finally cracked the problem of getting this effect with the highlights – the answer is, ‘Tempera’.’ Annabelle said.

Of course I knew what Tempera was; the technique developed in the pre-Renaissance period in Italy, when painters found that the addition of raw egg to their pigments not only increased the brilliance and vibrancy of the colour itself, but, by increasing its capacity to bind with the plaster on which it was painted, also greatly enhanced the durability of the fresco.

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