The Artist's Studio

I feel pummelled with her painting approach, and my flesh is some vivid and colourful thing in her hands. She slaps the paint onto my flesh like a drape of meat, as if my skin is being peeled back. Her wet paint feels visceral, as if she draws blood, and wounds me. It is the strangest sensation, as if she is feeling below the surface of my skin and touching the contour of my muscles, and the wetness spreads over me.

But now there is real strangeness in the touch of the drawing women, and I start to feel a weight on my limbs, and even a movement in the way I am lying on the couch. One of the women, and I think it must be Sophia, must be drawing me in a different pose on her paper. Both of my legs are being moved by the force of her forceful shading, so that both of my feet are now on the ground, and my legs are now spread. My groin is open and exposed, and there is a new weight on my thighs.

Sophia has completely altered the pose of me in her drawing, and she must also be drawing a new figure in her image, a figure placing weight on my thighs, and a new body placing fleshy weight into my hands. I realise that she is drawing a woman sitting on my lap with her back against my chest and the taut weight of her ass on my legs. My cock feels the sensation of my belly and also the heavy press of a back, holding it in place between two bodies.

Nicola and Sarah have both stopped their own drawings, as Sophia's new pose of me on the couch means their painting and drawing are done. What they have captured on their canvas and paper is no longer the view they see in front of them, and their work is complete now. They both come over to see what Sophia is drawing.

"Sophia, are you drawing yourself into the picture, sitting on his lap? Your gaze in the drawing, it is piercing, and staring directly at me. It's such a good portrait of you."

Nicola tells me with these words who is being drawn into heat and flesh in front of me. But surely Sophia cannot be drawing herself into her vision of me? Surely the weight on my lap is from some other source of imagination, and not a portrait of her self emerging?

"Sophia, the breasts you are drawing for his hands to press to your chest, they are formless and misshapen. Surely, if this is a drawing of you, they would be more beautiful?"

Sarah is offering honest critique, clearly something does not look right in Sophia's portrait of herself, on my lap.

"It's because I can't see my breasts without a mirror in front of me, and I can't feel them enough to draw them. There's no sensation in my breast to be drawn."

From her words I realise that, just as the artist can affect the model, by drawing or painting a new shape which transmutes to the flesh of the model, so too can it work the other way. If the flesh of the artist can receive a sensation, then that sensation can be transferred to the canvas.

Sarah comes to the same conclusion. "I can solve that for you, I can give you the sensation you need to transfer to your canvas. I can shape your beautiful breasts, and you will feel them in my hands, and can paint them into your portrait. And A will feel their weight through your painting, and you'll be magnificent."

And Sarah moves behind Sophia, and is careful not to block the hand which holds the charcoal. She reaches around Sophia's body and undoes the buttons on her blouse and unpeels the garment from her arms. Sophia drops each arm in turn to help the other woman strip her, and she stands proud, her uplifted breasts clasped in a plain bra, cotton white. Sarah reaches around the tall blonde's slender body and takes the weight of those lovely breasts in her hands.

"Take it off, get rid of this bra," commands Sophia, and with no hesitation the other woman unclicks the strap on her back, and again Sophia shrugs off the slip of cloth. Her breasts are full and proud, tipped with hard brown nipples, and Sophia gives a low moan as her tits are held firm and pressed to her chest. Sarah caresses the tightness and pulls up the nipples between her fingers, and now that Sophia has a strong sensation on her own orbs, in all their fullness, she is able to draw the feel and softness and heaviness of her flesh onto her paper.

By doing this, she draws herself, naked breasts peaked and full, and now my hands can feel a ghostly weight in my palms. I can feel the same erect nipples that Sarah can, and her fingers become as one with my fingers, and I know that the image is taking shape on the easel just as I feel a tangible heaviness and fullness in my hands. The drawing, charcoal dark and sweeping dust on Sophia's fingers, the drawing must be erotic and sensual.

The drawing of her breasts is not enough for Sophia, and she is drawing my fingers down to a wetness that is her cunt lips and her fair triangle of hair against my palm. But again the image is from Sophia's imagination, for she is standing tall and proud, and her long legs are sheathed in blue jeans, and there is no sensation, other than the tight fit of cloth, against her groin. But again Sarah has the solution. With one hand still firm and pressing on Sophia's hardened nipple, her other hand drops to the button and zip on Sophia's jeans, and they are undone.

"Nicola, come over and peel those jeans down her long legs," says Sarah, "and take your delight in what you find there."

Sarah has been watching the younger girl these two days, and knows that another woman's flesh is the young woman's preference.

Nicola is no longer shy and wants to influence this picture being drawn in bold, charcoal swept curves and angles. Sophia is drawing the long angular planes of my male body, and she is now adding the curves and softness of her own female form. But there is the hardness of my prick between my belly and the ghostly length of her back, and her phantom ass is heavy on my thighs as she sits on my lap in her picture, facing away from me. Her cunt is drawn open and wet, and she draws my fingers into the wet depths of her.

But Nicola, with her feather light and delicate approach, Nicola has another idea. Ah God,I feel a slow tight hotness develop over the hard, purple head of my prick, and I cannot at first make sense of what is happening. But as time passes and Sophia's drawing responds to new sensations in her body, and she is able to transfer them to her drawing, and through her drawing, I am able to feel them on my body; I figure out what Nicola is doing.

She is the perfect, delicate thing, and her gentle hands take the taut tightness of Sophia's ass cheeks into her hands, and she separates them. The brown star of Sophia's asshole is exposed to the light breath of Nicola's hot mouth, and the girl blows on the woman's hot pucker. The asshole contracts and ripples, and the sensation is just upon the tip of my cock, through the drawing.

Nicola crouches behind the teacher, and further spreads those taut cheeks, and then she places her own delicate tongue tip right on the centre of that tight, rich scented star, and penetrates. And the penetration of the woman by the delicate girl becomes a tight opening in the drawn weight on my lap, and the tip of my cock makes the same slow penetration into the drawn asshole that Nicola's tongue makes into the real one.

Sophia's ass is repeatedly probed by the hot wet tongue of the grateful girl, whose mouth is hungry and wet on that tight hole, sucking and licking, probing with her pointed, piercing tip. So the artist is penetrated, and her asshole filled with sensation.

And she is able to draw that sensation with a subtlety beyond genius, for her charcoal dust image doesn't show her ass but does reveal the impact of that tonguing in her portrait. And because the sensation is revealed in the portrait, for that is the power of art, the sensation transfers to my skin and nerves, and it feels as if my prick is sinking, inch by slow inch, into that tight ass hole, each movement a tight small thrust that magically echoes the repeated thrusts of Nicola's tongue.

So there in the studio is the elegant blonde artist Sophia at her easel, and I am the naked model stretched reclined on the couch, my feet planted on the floor, my thighs wide and my groin and heavy balls spread and the subject of a powerful portrait, my neck and head arched back in ecstasy, and my prick rigid and upright and strangely pulsing and thrusting.

And the artist has the slender young woman Nicola crouched behind her, and the young woman's tongue is thrusting and licking in the ass channel of the artist, whose legs are planted apart to give the girl access, and whose cunt is filled by three slender fingers of the girl, who is thrusting upwards, just as I am thrusting upwards on the couch before them.

Standing just behind the artist is the other woman Sarah, whose hands circle the full and heaving breasts of the artist, and the third woman's fingers descend in swooping circles over the belly and onto the clit of the artist, and there is rising swell of female pleasure scented strong in the studio. And the three women intertwine their sensations and start to overwhelm the artist and they are about to become an orgasmic seeth of pleasure.

And on the easel, I imagine that there is an incredibly erotic and powerful image, a portrait of a strong woman with a prick deep in her ass, and the portrait of the woman's face is enigmatic and sexual beyond description, and her legs are spread wide as she sits upon a hidden image of me. For I sense that the portrait, that started as a drawing class demonstration of a naked male, has morphed into a magical depiction of a primal woman embedding a long cock as her own pleasure thing deep into her ass, and the three women in the studio have rendered me their own, and I am spellbound.

I have no concern that I am woven into a spell made by this churning drawing which is raw passion and rich pleasure, for I can feel through the continued sensation of brush and charcoal and rubbing fingers, a rising in my own core and a tight grasp on my cock and a long pull of a deeply imagined ass channel and a tightness around me.

Sophia manages to concentrate still on what she is drawing, and captures the fullness of the real sensation on her breasts and belly, and in her wet cunt and in her tunnelled ass, and as she does so she weaves a sightless image into my head, and I feel every part of her strong, tall body, those high tight breasts, her tight long nipples, her exquisite grasp on my cock.

And in her drawing she depicts her own slender fingers swooping onto her raised clit and twisting it into heat and fullness and a rising throb, and Sarah is now crouched in front of Sophia and her tongue swirls over that clit just as before her wet brush and paint had swirled its wetness up my shaft.

My cock is throbbing and thrusting and the sensation of a tight, slick asshole gripping and tight is beyond pleasure now, and I want to explode with my every upwards thrust and oh fuck, fuck, fuck there is an exquisite sharp shift deep within me, and my creaming semen begins a pulsating spurt up my long shaft, hard and ridged and deep in Sophia. Ah fuck, the magical image squeezes and pulls and my come is drawn from me in long streaming strokes.

My eyes startle open and my mouth is an open moan of pleasure as I come, and I expect to burst white and wet into the air because I know it is only a phantom sensation around my flesh and in my hands. My cock feels like it is sheathed in a frictionless place, and my skin and eyes lie to each other, for I can see my pulsing cock but there is no wetness by from it. I am coming, hard, oh fuck yes, so hard, but my cream is not to be seen.

I look to Sophia, and her hand has dropped the charcoal, finally, and her body is bounced upwards as if with a final, hard fucking; and I see on her face the tight pleasure of her own orgasm. And she comes, there before me, and she comes.

The other two women have collapsed to the floor, and their tongues are deep into each other's mouths and their hands are grappling and squeezing the other's hard breasts, and they suckle in turn on each other's nipples, pulled without shame from their blouses, and I hear a low keening in the room, but cannot say which woman moans her pleasure.

And then I see, but cannot explain it, I see a white trickle of come seep down Sophia's leg, squeezing from her naked asshole, and it is my come which was lost into the air but real in her body.

Slowly the sensations ease from my body, for Sophia collapses to the couch beside me and is no longer drawing, and my cock softens and begins to coil smaller into my groin. Sophia reaches down and places a cool palm over my smalling shaft and balls, and just lightly holds me, a soft soothing caress, gentle now, and not at all like her fierce drawing. I place an arm around her shoulder and she rests her head against my shoulder and the top of my chest.

"I didn't expect that," she says.

"You didn't expect that?" I reply. "How do you think I feel? I've never experienced anything like that before, ever. So that's art...."

"Yes, that's art. It can be overwhelming, sometimes."

"But well worth it," adds Sarah, who has moved to be near us, Nicola's hand in her own.

On the easel, a portrait of intense, dark passion, womanhood and a hard fuck in the ass. That portrait was finished.

"I wonder," muses Nicola, "whose portrait will you do next?" But it was not at all clear who she was speaking to.