Crush

We found ourselves standing in front of a painting I insisted Simone look at. She had gotten invited to a gallery opening and I was her plus one. I loved being her plus one because my only responsibility was to stay by her side, and as she liked to say, ”look pretty”.

The painting was the partial face of a woman with short red hair and alabaster skin; her lips were painted red, and her mouth was forced open by a red ball gag — a black leather strap crossed her cheek and disappeared under her hair. A long strand of drool fell from her lower lip and was lost in the luminescence of her skin at the bottom of the painting.

Simone nudged into me, “I really like it. I can feel her desire.”

“It’s simply mesmerizing. I can almost hear her pleasure and desire for more”, was my response as I continued to stare.

People would join us as we contemplated the painting but would rarely spend much time as it wasn’t to their taste or they were simply in a hurry as they made their way through the gallery. Our trance was broken when we heard a soft voice off to the side.

“This is my favorite”

A casually dressed woman of average height with shoulder length red hair had joined us; her skin was alabaster which made her green eyes even more dramatic, and as she looked at us, bright red lips parted in a lovely smile.

“It is beautiful”, I agreed.

“I just love the artist. I have quite the crush on him “, she replied and then a moment later added, “He’s hiding around here somewhere — he just hates these things”.

We went back to looking at the painting when Simone looked at the woman and with a smile of acknowledgement said, “You are the woman in the painting”.

“Yes, that’s me. As I said, I have a crush on the artist. Even after he told me what he wanted to paint, I said yes”

“Well, he captured your beauty and what I can only describe as your raw desire”, Simone replied.

She looked at Simone for a moment as if reflecting on what she said and then stepped in slightly. “I would say it is more raw pleasure. Along with the ball gag, I was wearing leather cuffs that held me between a doorway and my legs were held wide by a leg spreader. I was spread wide as he sat behind his canvas.”

She was quiet for a moment as she looked at the painting and then began to whisper almost as if we weren’t there.

“He stared at me from behind the canvas for a long while and then asked me if I was ready; getting up from his chair he came to me and softly began caressing my pussy. He didn’t go back to his canvas until I came for the first time.”

She paused briefly and her eyes sparked.

“It took him six hours to finish the painting and I don’t know how many times he made be cum; sometimes he fingered me gently, sometimes so hard I would be on my toes, and sometimes he would get down on his knees and fuck me with his tongue. Each time, after he made me cum, he would go back to the canvas to paint.”

“Muffled moans of pleasure, and of pain, would fill the room followed only by the sound of his brush strokes. My pussy was beyond sensitive, and my body was exhausted, and I wanted it to be over — although I also wanted more. He would stare intensely each time I came and even smiled once as juices flowed down my legs.”

“The last time he got up from the canvas he came over and kissed me on the cheek and began to release me from my restrains and caught me up as I collapsed into him. He held me for a long time before I asked if I could see the painting.”   

When she finished, she pensively looked at the both of us for a moment. “I should go find that crush of mine. Enjoy the rest of your evening”.

She winked and turned away. Simone and I watched her walk away and we then turned back to the painting.

W