Pretty As A Picture

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The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature – do not read any further!

This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.

* * * * * * * * * *

This story departs from the “Birthday” series, following the first two Klymonn chapters. Mr. Marcus is summoned when Anna submits a problematic project to her art teacher. All parties agree that beauty is in the [insert body part here] of the beholder.

* * * * * * * * * *

I just crossed the threshold of my house when it started.

“Harvey!” The shriek of my wife’s voice. No ‘Welcome home,’ no ‘How was your day.”

“Yes, Harriett.”

There’s a message for you from Anna’s art teacher.”

“She’s taking art? I thought our idiot neighbors voted down that school district referendum.”

“Where have you been? Not at school. It’s a Park District program she started last month. Remember?”

Not a clue. “Oh yeah, sure.”

“She wants you to come and see her tonight.”

“Annie? Is she upstairs?”

“No! Her teacher.”

“Damn it, the Bears are on tonight.”

“Watch your language. Besides, it’s preseason, isn’t it? It doesn’t count.”

Harriett didn’t get it. Watching gladiators in hand-to-hand combat was a great way for me to purge the venom I accumulated all day. And, it kept my thoughts and me out of Annie’s friend’s panties.

She handed me a scrap of paper with the address, time, and teacher’s name. Bourgeois. Wasn’t that a kind of red wine?

“Can I eat first?”

I kicked off my shoes and dropped my coat on the floor. Harriett handed me a plate. I wolfed down a lukewarm casserole with anonymous ingredients. Then it was back to the car to one of the scattered Park District buildings. Only one car, a Chrysler convertible, remained in the lot. I pulled in beside it and headed inside. The receptionist’s desk had been abandoned at a reasonable hour. The building directory said the art rooms were in the east wing.

“Hello?” My own voice echoed the question. “Is anyone here?”

A lanky woman with black hair, black blouse and long black skirt came into the hallway. “Mr. Marcus?” She carried herself straight, almost stiff, with an accent that was either French or Hungarian.

“Yes.” I completed the hike up the hall.

“My name is Ms. Bourgeois. Follow me, please.”

I entered the classroom after her, an art studio complete with easels, stools, half-open cabinets brimming with supplies, a raised modeling platform and the teacher’s desk at the far side. Paintings and sketches decorated the walls, and sculptures sat on side tables along every wall.

“Please, have a seat.” I slid a stool closer. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice.” She put one buttock on the edge of her desk and crossed her legs. Close to a dozen gold chains adorned her otherwise flat chest. A slit in the skirt allowed it to open like a theater curtain. Her legs were long and well shaped, as if a master had sculpted them. I was staring at them when she cleared her throat. “You’re wondering why I asked you here tonight. You, instead of your wife.”

I had no idea I had been singled out. Didn’t Harriet have a previous engagement? Isn’t that why I was here?

“Yeah, sure. Something about Annie. She’s in your class.”

“Correct. Anna shows great promise. She could move on to bigger things.” She smoothed a strand of hair back over one ear. It waited under her hand returned to her lap, then fell forward to its original position. “Depending on how she does here, with me, there could be a scholarship for art school, no?”

“Yes. eryaman bayan escort My wife told me about that.”

She leaned forward. “Anna is one of two candidates for the scholarship. It has been difficult to decide. However, Anna’s last project put her in jeopardy. Unless you can satisfy me, I’ll have no choice but to award the scholarship to the other student.”

Satisfy her? Does she want to fuck? No, she’s too formal and proper. I glanced back at her legs. Her movement had parted the curtain even further. The tops of her stocking peeked out. No pantyhose for this woman. Good old stocking and garters.

“Let me show you.” She leaned back. The slit was now open to her upper thigh. The garters were exposed, as well as the edge of her lacy black panties with significant pussy hair showing on the edge. When she straightened up, she had grabbed an easel pad, with a cover over it. She tugged once at her skirt, which barely moved. “The last class assignment was a still life, drawn from something real from the student’s experience. Something that had a significant impact on them.” She pointed to a series of drawings hanging up for display. “As you can see, some chose objects; others chose family members.” Sketches and paintings of cars and dogs and parents adorned the wall.

I pointed at the object in Ms. Bourgeois’s hand. “Is that Annie’s?”

“Yes, and the source of the problem. Anna chose to draw an unusual, uh, family member.” She threw back the covering page. It was a life-size drawing of my penis, will a full erection.

For the first time in a long while, I was speechless. It didn’t last long. “I’m so sorry. Of course this subject matter is completely inappropriate. I’ll speak to Annie at once. She’ll draw something else, as a make-up assignment.”

“The due date is past, Mr. Marcus. No other student got an extension or a second attempt. Anna will get no special treatment.” Ms. Bourgeois stared at the image, running her jewelry through her fingertips. Even though it was a picture of me, I felt blood flowing, both to my face and my crotch.

“I have no problem with the subject matter. The work is quite good, actually.” She traced the wood end of a brush along the canvas. “See the details, like this vein that runs the entire length of this cock.”

That was a word I didn’t expect. She seemed to be caressing the image of my penis with the brush handle. I wondered what she’d do with the real thing. No, not the proper Ms Bourgeois.

“Annie has quite an imagination.” I fumbled a forced chuckle.

She looked deep into my eyes. “Anna has no siblings, correct? So, this is your cock?”

There was that word again. “I guess so.” No reason to agree too forcefully. “You said it’s good, right? So, what’s the problem? Give Annie an appropriate grade.”

“You clearly don’t understand my grading method on this assignment. It was to be a realistic still life. For each student, I compared their work to the subject matter.” She pointed to a sketch of a dog on the wall. “I visited the Hampton’s to see their Labrador Fritz.” Her finger directed my attention to a watercolor of an SUV. “And I went to the Bernbaum’s to examine their Lexus.”

My forming erection withered. “So you’re telling me you need to look at my -“

“You have a simple choice, Mr. Marcus. Allow me to examine the subject of Anna’s portrait, or I will fail her on the assignment. That will reduce her grade so that she will no longer be a scholarship candidate.”

“Not to be dramatic, but what if I can’t get it up? That hard, I mean?” My dick was thick in my pants, but nowhere near what Annie had drawn. It must have been when I was with her, Janie and Jake. Janie’s bare pussy had me hard as nails.

“Precisely my point.” She tapped the illustration with her brush. “A cock of this magnitude must be Anna’s fantasy. In which case, she fails.”

No art teacher was going to call my Annie a liar. I stood, unbuckled my belt, popped the snap on my pants and unzipped.

“Come now. It’s been a long day, I really must be getting to bed.” She uncrossed her legs as she stretched and yawned. I could now see both silk stockings and both garters. A few inches more, and I’d have direct view of her cunt.

I grabbed my pants and escort sincan jockeys, then pulled them to my knees with one swift tug. My semi-flaccid penis waved in front of her.

“Perhaps Anna does not have such a vivid imagination as I thought. The vein is there.” She ran the paintbrush along my dick. The bristles tickled, and I started to grow firmer. “My goodness, this is quite amazing! Please, sit on the desk so I can get a better comparison.”

We swapped places, me sitting on the edge of the desk, Ms. Bourgeois crouching in front of me, face at crotch level, legs spread. I got even harder at the display of bare thighs. Now her black lace panties were in view. Either they were unraveling at the edges, or her pubic hair was sticking out. I didn’t get much harder than this, precisely as Annie had drawn.

“Let me see.” She turned and twisted her head, getting ever so close to the object under consideration. Her breath was warm, and my prick lurched with each exhale. “Yes indeed. Tell me, under what circumstances did Anna see this formidable organ?”

“I don’t know.” My pulse raced. “Maybe when I got out of the shower -“

“For this level of precision, Anna must have had a good, hard look.” She tapped my erection with her paintbrush with the word “hard.” “Perhaps she has seen you in bed?”

My face was burning.

“Or been in your bed, hmm?” She stood, hands on her hips, legs slightly spread and mostly covered by her long skirt. “None of my business if you enjoy the company of young girls. Even your daughter.”

“Are we done here?” I stood and reached to pull up my underwear and pants. Ms. Bourgeois held them down with her brush.

“Not yet. If Anna is to have the scholarship, I must assess her artistic pedigree.”

It sounded like Ms. Bourgeois was asking about some dog.

“Are you or your wife artistic? Does Anna get her talent genetically, or is it some random accident?”

“Annie’s mom isn’t much for art. I used to draw cartoons back in college.” Not real art, but perhaps enough to convince Ms Bourgeois that Annie met her genetic criteria.

“Show me your skills, Mr. Marcus. You have a fine tool there. Let’s do something non-traditional.”

Fuck in other than missionary position?

She waddled to the cabinet and brought back a palette, a smock, some paint tubes, and a blank canvass. “Remove the rest of your clothes. You wouldn’t want to get them stained, would you?”

“What is this? You confirmed the drawing.”

“This will be the final verification, I assure you. Please cooperate or you jeopardize Anna’s future. She is so close.”

I got completely naked, while Ms. Bourgeois donned the smock. It barely covered her blouse and most of her long skirt was uncovered. “Oh my, this will never do. I hope you’ll excuse me.” She placed the smock on her desk, then calmly unbuttoned her blouse and unwrapped the skirt from her hips. She left her necklace chains on. The flimsy black bra was barely necessary, with breasts that small. Those fabulous legs were better, fully exposed. The garter belt and stockings made this otherwise skinny woman very hot. My prick bobbed in anticipation of something wicked.

Ms. Bourgeois squeezed blobs of color onto the palette, red and blue, and a touch of yellow.

“Now, paint me something.”

“Uh, could I please have a brush?”

“No, no, use the tool with which God in Heaven has blessed you.” She tapped on my dick with her brush. “Dip it into the paint, and use your hips to make broad strokes.”

This was the wackiest thing I’d ever done with my dick, but it seemed harmless. “Okay.” I followed her instructions, dipping my dick into the pant, and then twitching my hips back and forth, dragging the head of my prick across the white canvass.

“Good. Good. With more feeling.” She took my prick with her thumb and forefinger, like she was picking up an hor’dourve, and pressed my prick hard against the taut surface. One curve, then another. She was drawing a pussy! Over and over, she pressed the head against the material, as if she wanted me to bust through the painting’s maidenhead. I couldn’t help it, and spurted cum onto the canvas. A thread of semen dangled from my prick as she pulled it back. “There, it elvankent escort bayan is your masterpiece.”

I examined the results. Not back for a prick of a painter. “How much do you think I could get for this on eBay?”

Ms. Bourgeois pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. So much for techie humor.

“I must help you clean up. Follow me.”

Her hips swayed and her ass jiggled a little as we went into a side room. There was a washbasin for art class clean up, surrounded on both sides by floor to ceiling cabinets. She grabbed a multi-colored washcloth and held it under a running faucet. In a flash, she was crouched in front of me, running the cloth up and down my penis. Her strokes were firm, just like the strokes she made on the canvas. I was getting cleaner but more excited by the second.

“There, all done.” She was right. The paint was all gone, but the erection persisted. “You’ll be pleased to know that I’ll be awarding the scholarship to Anna. But please make that our little secret. I want the pleasure of telling her myself, in person.”

I was happy but frustrated. There’s one thing I never like to waste, and that’s a boner.

“You may get dressed now.” I had been dismissed. My services were not required. I skulked back into the classroom and picked up my underwear. I raised one foot to step into my jockeys when she called out, “Help!”

I ran into the side room. She was standing, bent over, long shapely legs terminating in full, round buttocks in those lacy black panties. My dick nodded in acknowledgement of the view.

“Thank goodness you did not leave yet. My necklace got stuck on the faucet. I can’t get untangled. Perhaps you can assist?”

The washbasin was no wider than her hips. Tall cabinets on both sides surrounded it. There was no access except over the top.

“Okay, let me see.” I stood directly behind her. She was so tall, I had to go up on tiptoes. My groin pressed against her ass. As she described, her gold necklace chain was wound around the faucet and handles.

“My neck and my back, they hurt. Can you untangle me?”

“I’ll try, but it’s hard to reach.”

“Good.” One of her hands snaked back to touch my penis. ” Oh my! It hasn’t gone down, has it?”

I fumbled with the metal strand, both of my arms over her shoulders. She continued to hold my inflating member.

“Your tool, it is ready for another masterpiece, no? Or perhaps, just a piece?” She maneuvered my erection between her thighs, pulling her panties to the side. Her wet outer lips greeted the head of my dick.

“Demonstrate your broad strokes, Mr. Marcus. Long, deep strokes.”

It was almost impossible to concentrate on freeing her from her predicament, as our genitals collided, over and over. I dropped the necklace and ran my hands up under her bra. If I was going to fuck her, then I wanted to explore more of her body. Her tits were almost flat, with eraser top nipples.

She began squatting at each of my thrusts, taking me all the way in. “Don’t stop. Please fuck me. Oh, fuck me with your talented cock.”

I hung on for dear life. Somehow, I was approaching another orgasm. I was about to withdraw when I felt something at my asshole. It tickled, then stung. She’d taken a paintbrush from the sink and jabbed it up my ass. There was no opportunity for escape, so I pressed forward and tightened my loins, spurting cum deep inside her. When she withdrew the brush from my butt, I knew she’d finished.

With a simple counterclockwise motion of her finger, she was untangled, necklace good as new. She stood, bra hanging from one shoulder, a bare breast visible. “Thank you so very much. I could not have done it without you.”

Damn right, unless you wanted to fuck that paintbrush.

# # #

When I got home, Harriett came down the stairs, Anna close behind. “What did Anna’s teacher want that was so important?”

“Anna has considerable skills with a brush.” I winked at my daughter. “She must get it from my side of the family.”

“How nice! Perhaps we can frame her best work and hang it in the living room.”

I didn’t think a portrait of her well-hung husband was what my wife had in mind.

“I’ll paint a nice landscape, Momma. One that matches the furniture.”

I’d save Anna’s drawing of my erection for my private collection, if Ms. Bourgeois ever returns it.


An Original H M Tale

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