Sex and art combine to create a truly breathtaking masterpiece.
I’m looking towards the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows with views onto the stone skyline; slate roofs and chimney pots are silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. A shaft of golden light forces its way across the room; little specs of dust dance around in the beam and a warm breeze wafts through the open window.
It’s a huge, well-proportioned room with a dark wooden floor; spatters and blobs of colour are strewn across the marred boards. To the left stands a large Victorian writing table on which old chipped jugs house an assortment of brushes, charcoal, pencils and pallet knives. Rows of silver tubes line the worn leather top, some open with paint oozing, some squeezed dry and spent, others unblemished, rounded and untouched.
Around the walls in serried ranks stand canvases in many states of completion. Next to the desk is a huge canvas resting on a large wooden easel; it creaks and moves as if its surface is being stroked into submission by a beautiful, powerful angel.
My thoughts are drifting in and out. I have been lying in this position for several hours. Periodically, Joseph appears from behind the easel and looks intently at me, his face serious, stern in fact. This time I am determined to see his wonderful smile.
He looks so incredibly sexy standing there in his threadbare jeans, exposing a glimpse of thigh through the jagged tears. His dishevelled white-blond hair forms a halo effect around his angelic good looks. Intense blue eyes bore holes into my flesh.
He is looking at my feet, his head slowly tilting as his eyes travel along the contours of my body; our eyes meet, I smile warmly. First there’s a slight movement on his lips, the corners turn upwards, dimples form in his cheeks and then his lips part exposing his perfectly formed white teeth. A perfect smile; his face and eyes light up and I remember the first time we met:
The National Gallery, a Velasquez exhibition, was our first breathtaking meeting five months ago. We had been in contact by email and text for several weeks and finally, after many attempts, we both had a free day that coincided.
Feeling a little nervous I walked up the steps into the foyer to collect the tickets. I kept looking around for someone with blond hair but I couldn’t see anybody. Then as I handed over my credit card at the desk I heard someone call “Delice?” I turned. What a vision: it took my breath away. An angel, a perfect angel was standing in front of me; his blue eyes, his rosebud lips, his perfect smile. He stood there with his camera slung over his shoulder, a white, open-necked shirt casually buttoned, lightly tanned skin and low-slung jeans.
He leaned forwards and embraced me, wrapped his arms fully around me, and planted a kiss on my cheek. I felt a warm rush of excitement flush the entire length of my body.
Having communicated with him for some time the initial getting to know each other had been done. The barriers were down and I could sense that magical chemistry, that mystical energy, flowing between us.
Chatting and laughing, we began our journey around the paintings. He seemed very knowledgeable and together we discussed the incredibly inspiring images displayed in front of us. We devoured each and every scene, each and every brushstroke. The more we talked, the more the atmosphere between us became electric.
I let him amble along on his own for a few moments. I sat on a bench, watching him, pretending to be pondering a stunning full-length portrait of the Infanta Maria Teresa. I wanted him. I could feel the excitement rising inside me. How did this guy grow up to be so stunningly beautiful?
He was standing there, arms folded across his chest, legs strong and slightly apart. I imagined seeing his naked body, his wonderful, firm, round buttocks, and his slim muscular hips. Words raging in my head: I want him, I want him now!
He looked over his shoulder and smiled at me. I stood up and walked quickly over to where he was standing. I put my arms around his waist while we both looked intently at a reclining nude.
“The Rokeby Venus,” he whispered. “It’s a painting depicting Venus, the Goddess of Love.”
Her naked body is soft and voluptuous. Her back sweeps down to the swelling flesh of her buttocks. Her long legs stretch out on the silken bed. Her face is seen only in reflection in the mirror held by her son, Cupid.
This image was very powerful; it spoke to us both. We had a strong sense that there was someone else in the painting. In fact, there was a lot in the painting we felt but couldn’t see.
He turned again and this time kissed me. That was it, I could see it in his eyes, and feel it: a massive sexual energy was radiating between us.
Mona Lisa
I drop my eyes from his gaze. I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable and I want to distract Joseph from his painting. If I don’t, I know from past experience that he will paint until there is no more light, and that is a long way off.
So, in my naked Venus-like pose, I slide my left foot up, bend my knee, and expose my pussy. With my free hand, I reach down between my legs to massage my clitoris.
Looking up once more, I see Joseph unbuttoning his flies. He lets his jeans drop to his ankles, revealing the line of an erect penis bulging through grey Lacoste shorts.
Stepping out of the jeans, then out of the shorts, his erect cock stands proud. A massive wave of ecstasy floods through me. I can feel my pussy getting moist and swollen under my fingers as I circle and rub my growing clit. My nipples are swelling, deeply pink-red and hard.
Reaching down with my right hand, I roll my nipple with my thumb and forefinger, pinching excruciatingly hard. Looking up, I see Joseph’s parted lips as he gasps for breath. He is savouring every moment, eyes locked on me, hand wrapped around his cock, and hips thrusting forwards in a strong, rhythmic movement.
I glance around for something to use as a substitute for Joseph’s cock. Before me stands an exquisite crystal-glass dildo, a gift from Joseph to me, on our first date, for agreeing to sit for this portrait.
Origin Of The World
Grabbing hold of Joseph’s hand, I pulled him through the crowd and out into the main galleries. Where could we go?
Walking with determination, I glanced upon some black-and-white tape, restricting entrance to the North Gallery. On closer inspection, it read, “Gallery Closed – Hanging in Progress.” I looked around to see if any gallery staff were still in sight. Seeing none, we quickly slipped around the barrier and pushed through the door.
We were completely alone. The gallery was large, still and empty of any paintings. Hurrying to the corner of the room, out of sight of the entrance, Joseph pushed me against the wall, his lips hungry, his tongue searching.
In a frenzy, I quickly unbuttoned his shirt. He unbuttoned mine and slipped the silk from my shoulders. I was naked from the waist upwards. He bent down and sucked hungrily at my nipples. I reached out and unbuttoned his flies releasing his huge, erect cock.
Reaching down into his pocket, he produced a condom. Tearing the packet open with my teeth, and placing the circular disc with its rolled edge in my lips, I bent down and slowly pushed it onto his cock until it was almost fully unfurled and my mouth was full of his hardness.
He lifted up my skirt and ripped down my thong expertly. With both hands he scooped me up by my arse and impaled me on his huge shaft. With every thrust he slammed me up against the wall. With every thrust my breasts bounced and swayed. With every thrust his fingers dug deeper into the flesh of my arse. I could feel that delicious stirring pain: a serpent writhing deep down in mother earth.
Each thrust brought me nearer to the edge of oblivion. I was exploding. I could feel his thrusting build, getting increasingly wild. A low, guttural groan was forced through his lips. I could sense he was stifling his voice but he shouted out, “Aaaaah fuuuck, I’m coming”. I could feel his body tremble and tense as he pulsed his seed into me.
He lowered me down gently, cupped and massaged my breasts, and kissed me tenderly. Reaching down, he undid the zip on my skirt and let it fall to the ground. He looked at me standing there naked with only my delicate strappy sandals on. Up and down his eyes looked. He took in every inch of my body and then he asked if I would sit for a portrait of his own version of the Rokeby Venus. His would be a portrait looking from the other side, looking into her face and naked body. I agreed.
I still felt incredibly turned on. The knowledge that someone could walk in at any moment was very exciting. I hadn’t come yet and I wanted to badly.
Leaning back against the wall again and spreading my legs wide, I pulled my engorged lips apart exposing my swollen clitoris. He knew exactly what to do. Kneeling in front of me he placed his palms flat on my thighs. With his thumbs, he started to massage around my pussy. Then he put a finger in, then two, then three. He thrust them in and out, in and out.
Leaning forwards, he placed his beautiful lips around my clit. He sucked and circled it with his tongue. His hungry sucking bought on wonderful involuntary spasms. My legs began to tremble. My breasts and nipples throbbed. Gasps and groans passed my lips. I couldn’t control my movements. I felt like I was going to wet myself. My body felt out of control.
He pulled back and his cock was huge and swollen again. I pushed him onto the floor and stood astride him, looking him in the face. Now, on my knees, I lowered myself onto him. I cupped my breasts in my hands as I thrust my hips back and forth, while his strong, sensitive fingers pulled and squeezed my nipples. I was coming!
Joseph gave one final, masterful squeeze on my nipples. I could feel my pussy muscles undulating tightly around his hardness, sucking him into my depths. This was pure ecstasy.
I bent forwards to kiss him. He slapped my arse playfully. Laughing and with a sense of real connection we dressed quickly and left.
Venus
Picking up the dildo and now lying on my back, I spread my legs as wide as possible. I hold it in my right hand and gently place the tip into my pussy. Slowly twisting and pushing, I start to work it fully in. The cool glass is like ice. I pull it out almost to the tip and then plunge it back in again. I plunge it as far as I can take it. In and out, over and over, I glance at Joseph. I can see he is nearly there. His thrusts are frenzied, his groans uncontrolled. It won’t be long.
His moans get louder. My thrusting quickens. He comes. Slippery white come slides though his fingers. Watching me, he moves to the bottom of the chaise. With one hand he relieves mine and starts to massage up against my G-spot. He pushes it in, twists it, and then thrusts it in repeatedly.
He lifts my legs over my head so my arse is now fully exposed. I know what’s coming and know that it won’t be long before I explode into orgasmic glory. Still thrusting the dildo with his other hand he gently pushes his finger deep into my arse. Almost immediately, I am coming. I am trembling. I scream until the last vestiges of the wave subside.
Joseph reaches up to me and rests his head on my breasts and we lay there, arms around each other, for what seems an age, breathing together in rhythmic harmony.
He pulls me up. I can sense his excitement but he says nothing. The two of us, naked, walk around to the easel. What I see takes my breath away; it’s beautiful. I hadn’t realised that the portrait was finished, but here it is.
I find myself looking into my own eyes, into a gaze that would mesmerise anyone. I enjoy my curves undulating like a beautiful landscape, the exquisite smile on my lips, my rounded belly, the pink of my nipples, and the draped satin hanging in folds beneath my body. In my wildest dreams I never imagined that it could be so breathtaking.
