She Painted

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He came to her door.
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I thought I understood guys, but Alex was different. It started one morning when he came to my house, knocking at the ancient wooden door. I was in my studio in the back and came to the front in my smock. I must have looked a sight, primary colors everywhere, but he smiled and said, "Hello, my name is Alex Weston. A friend told me you are one of the best young artists around. I would like to be your agent."

With just that many words, he stepped into my life. I was intrigued by his rough and ready looks and invited him in. "I don't know that I need an agent, but come in and tell me why I do."

We sat in my garden, and I brought two cups of tea, his white and mine plain.

"Where have you seen my work?" There were two galleries here, one in Hollywood and one in Santa Monica. One more, in Chicago, owned by my cousin.

He explained that he was from a Texas oil family, a very minor one in the social pecking order of Texas oil. Grew up mostly on the family ranch, but went to UT Austin and was captured by art and literature.

"I'm the black sheep. My brothers have MBA's, and my sister has a Master's in Computer Science. We don't communicate much."

We spent a moment staring at each other. He was tallish, probably six feet. Sandy hair and several days old beard. Body looked fit, as if he still spent time outdoors. Dark blue open collar viyella shirt to march his dark blue eyes. Pressed jeans and low boots.

"How long have you been doing this? How many artists? Why me?"

He didn't answer quickly. "Arnold told me you were very talented, but he didn't tell me you were beautiful. You look at me with those big dark eyes and I feel something going through me."

I waited to answer. There was a tingle between my legs. Since college, there hadn't been a man in my life. My artist friends called me too intense for words. My parents were successful professionals, and some of their determination had lodged in me. Making a living as a painter was hard. There are a lot of aspiring painters, but very few who make enough to live on. I gazed at those blue eyes smiling at me and wondered if I could relax enough to have a boyfriend.

"Do you flirt with every woman you ask to represent?"

"No. Only the ones who wear paint smeared smocks."

I made him wait again for an answer, trying on my best enigmatic smile. "If I was so foolish as to be interested in your proposal, what kind of arrangement would it be?"

He reached across the table and rested his hand on mine. The tingle got stronger. "A careful start, I think. Review your inventory and current projects. Talk about the marketplace. Would you like to do that over dinner?"

I tried to collect my thoughts. He was devilish. What he just said could be a terrible flirting comeon, or it could be a business proposition. Or both.

A sudden wildness made me answer, "Yes. Let's do that. Where and when?"

"Is tonight too ambitious? I know a nice place in Santa Monica. Not discovered yet."

"I suppose I should wear my little black dress?" I was completely turned on.

"With the black dress and your eyes made up, you could pass for a Keane model."

I frowned. "What a horrible thought. No black dress, and no eye makeup. What about my coed sweater set? It's still in the closet."

"Yes, with a skirt that finishes above your knees."

We walked to the door together, a soft silence between us. A hand on my shoulder and a gentle kiss on my cheek. "I'll be back at seven."

I got nothing done the rest of the day on an important commission. Every time I picked up a brush, my thoughts wandered to the awful vision of those bug eyed females captured by Keane. They faded, and I was seeing Alex's blue eyes gazing at me.

Finally, in frustration, I reached for a small canvas I had prepared only last week, and rapidly did a partial head portrait of my agent. The agent I didn't have yet. It was good. Sometimes inspiration flows from small things. I tweaked it here and there to lend an early 19th Century look. The viewer might think the young man on the canvas was freshly arrived in Cairo, following Napoleon.

As I showered in the late afternoon sun, a little voice wanted to know where this was going. Soapy hands felt good reaching for hard places and soft places. I didn't carry any extra weight, but there wasn't much in the way of breasts, and the hips were too boyish. What was there to attract a man's interest, I wondered.

Still bare, I sat in front of my vanity and changed my mind from the morning. Makeup and perfume were indeed required to make the right impression. After all, one didn't acquire an agent every day. The little voice reminded me I was hiding from a decision about bedding him. The obvious solution was to prepare for any direction that dinner and romance might take. Foolish girl, the voice said. I laughed and added a bit more eye shadow. The voice was that of my sexy mother, whose advice to guard my virtue had shifted to worry over lack of a man in my life. She had even been so bold, over a second margarita, as to describe her best orgasm, with the second husband, on a tropical beach. I had said, "Mother, one more story like that and I am going to tie you down and find my toys!"

He was prompt, wearing a nice jacket over a disreputable collarless shirt from one of the men's magazine collections. At the door, he looked over my shoulder with widening eyes. The fresh canvas was positioned on a stand next to the hall credenza. His lips kissed my fingers.

"You are even more talented than I thought."

My hand, with just a touch of scent at the wrist, caressed the back of his head and brought our lips together, and quickly apart. "You ruined my concentration. The client will be angry."

I waited carefully, and whispered, "Do you like it? Do you think a memento of the occasion is appropriate?"

He stepped inside, carrying me with him, and letting another kiss linger. "May I buy it?"

Instant heat ran through me from head to toe. The little voice was laughing hard. I breathed softly, "No. The payment has to be in kisses."

Holding me, he kept the portrait in view. His shudder matched my own as the idea of dinner faded.

He ventured, "Perhaps we could discuss an arrangement, and save the dinner out for another time?"

"You are inviting yourself to my unknown cooking skills?"

He was backing me, foot by foot, toward the deep sofa in my front room. Interrupted, of course, by frequent kisses. I hardly noticed his hands on my bare back, seeking the fastenings to the dress. "This has to go. We mustn't wrinkle such a fine garment."

Taking his hand, I guided us down the hall to my bedroom, which was a dreadful mess. "You will hang it up for me?"

He looked around. "This is where you relax? A counterpoint to the tidiness of your studio?"

I bent to pick some things from the floor. He caught me, fingers at the clip of my best lacy bra. "Stay, it is marvelous." I leaned against his front as my breasts were cupped.

"A marvelous mess, you mean."

"It talks to me. This is Alison. This is the litter of a creative soul. Every tiny bit an entrance to art."

I closed my eyes and let lust conquer my body. There was only a very wet and tiny bikini brief left of my modesty. "I suppose you will want an offbeat creation? A collage of bits of boudoir art?"

The briefs disappeared off the boyish hips as if by magic. "The collage I have in mind is in my arms and under my finger tips..."

I turned and was teary on his shoulder, my traitorous sex bumping on his erection. I knew what my body wanted and wondered dimly whether this was the end of any business partnership.

"Stand right there." His clothes came off. No hurry. Deliberate moves as his eyes absorbed the late sun in the room and across me. He threw the coat in one direction, and the shirt in another. I almost giggled. The agent building his lover's collage.

My mother, the expert on cocks, would probably say, "He is well hung, dear. Get ready for a great fuck!"

I did giggle, and he raised his eyebrows. I couldn't stand the suspense, and rushed him, taking both of us to the carpet. "You have to be nice. I don't have experience of grand seduction."

His fingers pinched my nipple, shocking nerves everywhere. "I didn't know giggles were part of seduction."

I had the hard, veiny shaft in one hand, and giggled again. "I had a horrible thought."

He pinched the other nipple and said, "Tell me, or it is torture for sure."

"My mother has been married three times. Her voice was telling me you are well hung and will be a good fuck!"

He rolled me on top, pressing my sex against his cock rising between my thighs. I suddenly realized that the guy I met this morning was about to drive that big thing between my legs, and I really wanted it.

I rolled us back over. The blue eyes were asking a question and I was nodding. "Yes, take me on the carpet. In the artistic litter."

I was still giggling as he drove home. He was big and filled me completely. My brain tried to remember the last time I had sex, and failed. It didn't matter. He wasn't holding back. His maleness was consuming, driving a deep need that rose from a hidden place.

Abruptly, he stopped and drew back on his haunches. "How do you expect me to make love to a woman who can't stop giggling?"

Oh my god. The giggles got worse as I pushed him back and took the giant purple head fully into my mouth and throat. Where no cock had gone before.

I fell back, delirious with joy. "Alex, I am terrible. You come to my door, give me a simple kiss, and everything falls apart. A shrink would tell me the giggles are hiding something, but I only know I love you and want you and am having so much fun!"

He stood us up and carried me to the shower. "No more sex for now. You are sweet and precious. You will feed me and talk business and I will sleep over."

Surprisingly, the giggles were gone. Another shock to my system. He was giving directions and I was liking it. This brand new lover with the big bad cock had paired up with the independent artist who didn't need a man. Who foolishly thought she didn't need a man until just a few hours ago.

In the kitchen, he declared we were having omelets for supper. He made a point of saying supper and smiled at me as I found the eggs and pointed to where the egg pan was.

I had offered a robe after our shower, but he refused and was now standing at the counter as my eyes devoured a version of Adonis. The cock was softer, hanging down temporarily. "Like what you see?" He glanced at me and then back to his work.

"You've invaded my space. All my spaces. What am I going to do?"

A fierce frowning look went with the harsh voice. "You are going to create art. I am going to help."

I had no reply. My brain was as scrambled as those eggs he was whipping. I stepped to his back, an arm around his chest. "I hope so. I really hope so."

Warm tears were dropping on his shoulder. He put down the utensils and turned. "Hey, none of that. Get a grip. I'm just a guy." His voice softened, "A guy who thinks he may be falling in love."

We hugged for a long minute before I released him to do his chef thing.

I fixed a tray and carried the simple meal to the still balmy air in my garden. He followed with the wine.

I had a shamelessly gauzy short cover on. Mother bought it for me on a trip to the French Riviera. It concealed nothing and Alex's glance rested on my high breasts and stiff nipples, which were all his fault.

Between bites of marvelous omelet, his hand kept bringing mine to his mouth. Every kiss and suck drove more liquid into my fresh briefs.

"I used to write for the college paper. I'm thinking of a short story idea I just had. The title would be, 'She Giggled Her Way to Orgasm.' "

I gave him a serious look, "But I didn't get there."

His strong hands were easing me to his lap. The husky voice said, "It won't last, will it? This giggly rush that has us acting like teenagers?"

My hands wrapped in his light brown hair worked his head back and forth. "I suppose you can tell I have never had an instant infatuation?"

"You've never had sex on your messy bedroom carpet before?"

I kissed his forehead and kept still for a minute. There was warmth spreading from our joined crotches.

"Do you suppose we could have one of those Lost Weekend things? Lock the doors, turn off the phones. Chase me for sex everywhere?"

Alex put me back in my chair and gathered the dishes. "Ice cream? Decaf or regular?"

I nodded and let my head fall to the table, feeling warm and dizzy. I wasn't there long before his arms were snatching me up and carrying me to the bedroom, pushing the duvet cover on the bed to one side. His lips brushed mine and he was gone again.

The little laughing voice said, "Alison! You are behaving like one of those girls in a romance novel, swooning all over him. This won't do!"

Yes. That's right. It won't do. By the time dessert arrived, there was a cleared path to the bed, and the artist was propped up on pillows, giving Alex her best sultry look.

Lying hip to hip under the sheet, I had trouble keeping my hand from straying to find out how hard he was. Concentration on the ice cream cooled me a bit.

"After this Lost Weekend you are planning, am I your agent?"

I poked an icy tongue in his ear and hissed, "That depends."

After we finished, he gathered the dishes and took me over his lap. "Somewhere in here, is there serious talk about art and dealers and buyers?" His hand came sharply down on my ass.

I thought I could hear the slap reverberating and wondered how many more would follow. Several thoughts raced through my silly head. Males were strong. Males knew how to subdue their women. Males could drive giddy thoughts away.

After the second hard blow, on the other side, I voiced a low noise of submission. "I'm sorry. This is all new."

Next, I found myself across his thighs, the big cock rising between us. The gauzy top had disappeared somewhere. He saw the smile and almost giggle. "My god, not again. With a sore bottom?"

I collapsed on his chest, crying and giggling at the same time. "I guess you'd better go. I've flunked the girlfriend test. Who ever heard of a woman giggling her way to orgasm?"

Which drove me into more shaking giggles as my tongue and teeth worked on his muscles and nipples.

His voice was soft and sweet. "I am revising my standard representation agreement. It will include giggle suppression therapy. Also, a new section on a requirement for intimacy therapy at least once a day."

I fell over, liking the hot look he was giving my bare tits. He raised his knees, bringing them within range of his mouth. "You are half serious, aren't you?"

"What would you do? You have this incredibly talented potential client, but she has a few minor eccentricities. Nothing that a few well chosen words can't take care of."

I batted my eyes at him. "Don't you mean a few strokes with a stiff cock, and a few blows to her ass?"

We were out of the bed and halfway across the room when he said, "That's just enough."

My back slammed against the wall at the same time the stiff cock entered with a thump of our pelvic bones colliding. Some part of me was trying to say, "You can't just take me..." but the cock couldn't care less. I'd never been given hard standup sex before and couldn't understand why the pain was overwhelmed with pleasure and I was screaming and coming.

Out on the patio, his big hands on the globes of my ass raised me and dropped me square on the impossibly hard shaft. Pinned to him, he massaged my breasts and whispered sweet things in my ear. "Your mother was right, you are a fine fuck!"

He rested his chin on my shoulder as we looked west into the last of the twilight. I twisted my head up for a kiss. "Can we buy a place with room for my studio and a view of the ocean?"

His body shook and I closed my eyes, feeling the deep twitches of his cock.

"I guess we could add that to the agreement. 'Client requires view of ocean.' "

"You feel awful nice in there. Please don't go away."

He must have thought so too, because in a few moments, without letting me off, we were seated on one of the loungers in lotus position. I was in a circle of his arms and legs, with a blanket around the outside. Every so often, he flexed the big cock and I answered with a squeeze.

"Sometime, we need to do this far out in the desert, where all the constellations blaze and you feel one with the universe..."

He hummed and kissed the back of my neck.

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5 Comments
ROBERTODAVOROBERTODAVOover 5 years ago

An enjoyable story. But everything does happen a little too quickly. Is this man a genuine art agent. Alison needs to find out more. And so do we readers.

Robertodavo a.k.a Robert Davidson.

tazz317tazz317over 6 years ago
PAINTING AND PANTING

a good start for any relationship, TK U MLJ LV NV

SierraSpriteSierraSpriteover 6 years agoAuthor

vi·gnette

noun

1.

a brief evocative description, account, or episode.

OvercriticalOvercriticalover 6 years ago
Ooops.

I didn't see the large inventory of your work - much of which is more complex. I'll give some a try.

OvercriticalOvercriticalover 6 years ago
Why Not

Literotica is for fantasy and this was indeed fantasy. I enjoyed it 4* worth, Maybe next time a little more complexity to the plot might be nice.

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