Logical Lust

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0 height="100%"><tr> <td valign="top" width=260 BGCOLOR="#000000" TEXT="#F7F7FF"> <div> <IMG SRC="158bee80.jpg" border=0 width="190" height="232" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="LeKnight at Bluewater"><U><I><B><IMG SRC="1b723230.jpg" border=0 width="35" height="35" ALIGN="LEFT" HSPACE="1" VSPACE="0"></B></I></U></A><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#99CCFF" FACE="Arial" ><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="LeKnight at Bluewater"><U><I><B>Debaucherous Tales</B></I></U></A></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="LeKnight at Bluewater"><U><I><B>Directory</B></I></U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <A HREF="http://www.blue1water.com/spa/" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://www.blue1water.com/spa/"><U><I> Spanish .</I></U></A><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#FF6633" FACE="Arial" ><A 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Door</U></A></div> <div> <IMG SRC="005f4010.png" border=0 width="500" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> Logical Lust</div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="http://www.blue1water.com/id18.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://www.blue1water.com/id18.htm"><U><B><IMG SRC="1b420200.gif" border=0 width="32" height="32" ALIGN="LEFT" HSPACE="2" VSPACE="0">back to Main Directory </B></U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="LeKnight at Bluewater"><U><B><IMG SRC="1b610110.jpg" border=0 width="16" height="17" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"> </B></U></A><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#33CCFF" FACE="Book Antiqua" ><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="LeKnight at Bluewater"><U><B>back to</B></U></A></FONT><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="LeKnight at Bluewater"><U><B> </B></U></A><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="LeKnight at Bluewater"><U><I><B>Debaucherous Tales</B></I></U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> Logical Lust<FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#FF66FF" FACE="Book Antiqua" > . . .</FONT><FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#FF66FF" FACE="Book Antiqua" ><I>by mdg._</I></FONT></div> <bR> <div> <I>He stroked her hip, cupped her breast,</I></div> <div> <I>aroused anew, to sounds of morning birds,</I></div> <div> <I>she straddled him, again he rigid swelled,</I></div> <div> <I>in the grip of desire . . . . . </I></div> <bR> <div> <I>He returned to the cabin, with a brisk step, a warm early summer's morning, the sounds of nature surrounded him.  Each day a new world opened to him, life smiled upon him, and all the things of life.  He questioned only those who dared to say that lust and love are evil. They have spat in the face of nature and the creator, on their impure alters. To him, lust and love are the first and last greatest mysteries of the universe. That was the subject of his art. It was time for him to get to work.  The walk had oriented his thoughts for the day.  They would be arriving soon, his models that is, from ads and agencies, from all walks of life, of so many different ages, builds, and features.  It never mattered to him.  He saw mysterious beauty in all the women he painted. </I></div> <div> <I>To normal man, who looks for flaws, or looks for the beauty he seeks, it is difficult to find the qualities which make each woman a beauty in her own right. He is not normal, he is an artist, who recognizes her qualities, and ignores her flaws. To him, beauty without flaw, is a flaw in itself.  He paints more of what he feels, rather than what he sees. He has learned that you can not paint, that what you can not touch in you mind.  </I></div> <div> <I>She was sitting on the porch of his studio cabin, patiently waiting for his return from his ritual morning, coffee in hand walk.</I></div> <div> <I>"Good morning," she said as he approached the steps, </I></div> <div> <I>"Good morning," he replied, studying her immediately with quick, subtle, scanning glances.  He had not met her before.  A bit to the "chunky" she was, well rounded figure, and a cheerful personality to match. </I></div> <div> <I>"Would you like some breakfast, coffee, ?" he  asked</I></div> <div> <I>"Coffee sounds great," she replied, "it is a fair walk up that trail to your cabin from the main road.</I></div> <div> <I> He spent as much time getting to know his models as he did painting.  His was not simply painting form or body.  He had always believed that,</I></div> <div> <I>"How can you paint the sea if you have not felt it's force, how can you paint a woman if you don't know her thoughts." His was a continual inner struggle to put to canvas the different and continually changing sensuality which woman radiates.  <IMG SRC="163f5ac0.jpg" border=0 width="245" height="172" ALIGN="LEFT" HSPACE="8" VSPACE="8">At times so obvious, other times so subtle, yet not any one thing which one could immediately recognize. </I></div> <div> <I>"Well let's go inside, have some coffee, and I'll show you the sketches of what I would like to start today,"  he said, leading the way in.</I></div> <div> <I>"Where can I change into my robe," she asked</I></div> <div> <I>"In that room over there. Is it warm enough in here for you?" he asked</I></div> <div> <I>"Yes it is, thank you," as she was putting on her robe. </I></div> <div> <I>He got his sketch pad and charcoals ready, canvas to easel, a large one, larger than he normally painted nude studies. Some rough sketches he made days before of what he intended laying, loosely scattered on his work table.  </I></div> <div> <I>She began sifting through his sketches while he was still getting himself organized.</I></div> <div> <I>"I really like this one," she said, turning it on the table for him to see.</I></div> <div> <I>"Interesting," he said, "that is what I had hoped to start today." as she quickly took the pose to show him. </I></div> <div> <I>"Exactly what I was looking for," he thought, "as if she was in my head, expression and all."</I></div> <div> <I>That she could come to the pose, facing the light as he had thought, expression, without him having to direct her, fueled his energy instantly.  Her well rounded figure, turned as he had thought, to reveal the softness, slight folds of flesh, the contours, the flowing soft continual "S" curves and lines which flow through a woman's body.  This was going to be an energetic, great day to paint.</I></div> <div> <I>Her enthusiasm, awareness, understanding of what he hoped to accomplish, and of course her cheery charm.  All the ingredients for success.  She took her pose, comfortably on the model's table, and immediately made a few subtle and a few not so subtle changes in pose, and angle to his view, which normally would have upset him, to change his predetermined mental conception.  She, for some reason was able to make suggestions to him, without a word, to his approval and liking.  Was he determining the outcome of the painting, or was she? That thought started racing through his mind.  Each subtle change in pose and expression she made from his original sketch drew him in deeper.  He felt as though she were placing herself on the canvas, not just the paints from his palette to the canvas.  As many models as he has painted over the years, she was coming alive with each brush stroke, as though she were coming out of the canvas to him. </I></div> <div> <I>He always painted with a lively brush, quick strokes, furiously between palette and canvas, quick scanning glances to model, the eye back to the canvas. Surrounded by a haze of smoke as he lit another cigarette, several still smoldering in an over flowing large ashtray, which he had forgotten as he again got involved in concentration. A static model well posed, the animated artist not a moment motionless. He was being drawn into the canvas by whatever she possessed. It was not an image coming from the canvas as all his works in the past, it was as though the canvas was sucking HIM in. The more he fought to retain control, to paint with his dynamic style, the more serene he became, as his brush seemed to caress and stroke her contours, folds of soft flesh in her torso, and her tender gaze which seemed to guide his hand and thoughts. Of course his instinct was to resist what was against his manner and style. But it was a vortex, a whirlpool sucking him in against his resistance. It was as though she were coming to him from within the canvas. </I></div> <div> <I>It is every artist's intent, with any painting, to want to arouse the viewer, no matter what the subject.  Yet here, the painting, barely begun was arousing him. </I></div> <div> <I>"Let's take a little break," he said, time for his coffee, "you must be ready to move around a little,"</I></div> <div> <I>"Actually I was very comfortable and relaxed," she said </I></div> <div> <I>"Well, let's have some coffee, and then we'll get back to work when you're ready,"</I></div> <div> <I>Resting his forehead on his hand, deep in thought, a sip of coffee, another cigarette,</I></div> <div> <I>"What are you thinking so hard about,?" she asked</I></div> <div> <I>"I'm not sure," he said, "but it's as though you are coming out of the canvas at me, rather than me painting to the canvas."</I></div> <div> <I>"REALLY,?" she said with a soft, self satisfied, cherub smile, which confused him even more.</I></div> <div> <I>"Are you ready to get back to work,?" he asked</I></div> <div> <I>"Whenever you are," pulling her robe as she stood and walked back to her place to pose.  He sat there for a few seconds, watching steady, confident, walk back, before he got up, picked up he brushes, palette, studied what he had done so far, looked at her, eyes back and forth quickly between canvas and her several times, getting his bearings again, where he left off, where to continue, brush quickly to palette, back to canvas. </I></div> <div> <I>As keen as his eye was for detail, he felt he was missing something here. Something wasn't registering in his mind, between her pose and what he had on canvas. The more he studied his progress, her pose the more disoriented he became. He continued rapidly painting, as he had always done, brush quickly to pick up color from his palette, changing brushes, holding several in his palette hand at a time, back to canvas, palette, moving all over the canvas, never concentrating on one small area, rather working as working on all at once. </I></div> <div> <I>Suddenly it grabbed him, it was her playing with his mind, and not simply a model who was impatient holding a pose too long. Her pose, she had ever so subtly changed as he was working, his eyes scanning her, painting, scanning, painting, he didn't notice her gradual, minimal opening of her fleshy thighs, her hand, farther up her thigh, from top of upper thigh to more sensually holding her inner thighs, indenting he fingers in her soft pale flesh, it had all slipped by him. The harder he tried to retain control of his work, the more her change in pose took control of him. Was she intentionally trying to tease or arouse him, was it her own arousal by the pose, being studied with continual scanning eyes, or just a coincidence as she became more relaxed in his presence?</I></div> <div> <I>He brushed this random, interfering thoughts from his mind as best he could, continued to paint, again with brush racing around the canvas. But her glistening moisture between her thighs was drawing his attention more and more, impeding his concentration on his work. He was now well aware of what disturbed his command of control, making him quite uneasy to the point of arousal.  Not just mentally as he needed to paint, but also as much physically which hindered his progress with his work. Her subtleness now completely distracted him from his work, and it was obvious that she was aware of his uneasy loss of control in his work, yet her hand continued it's crawl up her thigh, which now he could not help but notice, nor keep from scanning to it more and more. And she was well attuned to his uneasiness and loss of control, as  she raised her head for the first, since she began posing, looking directly into his eyes, and with the slowest, most alluring motion, slightly spread her moist mons veneris, and slid two fingers deep in her pussy, with a gentle roll of her head back, closing her eyes with a soft pleased smile, then looked directly into his eyes,</I></div> <div> <I>"How can you paint the sea, if you can not feel it's motion, smell it's salinity, taste it's spray to your lips?," she said  spreading her thighs slightly wider, delicately, now deeply probing with her fingers in her pussy, barely rocking her hips forward. His quote as he had said so many times before. Never had any model taken such bold action or charge of his controlled environment before. It was as though he were standing on the shore watching, feeling, smelling the waves of a storm crashing on  the shore before him, rolling to within inches of his feet. </I></div> <div> <I>She never stopped looking straight into his eyes, as he set down his palette, brushes, stood, but still uncertain what action if any to take as he walked slowly towards her. Not one word spoken, not her, not him. The closer her he came, the slightly more animated her hips rolled, her fingers more firmly probing, slightly more spread of her thighs with each step closer he took, till he was standing within arms reach, staring down at her, as she slid her other hand firmly, kneading flesh, down her stomach to her clit, massaging, never loosing eye contact with him. </I></div> <div> <I>"Know me, as I am, a sensual, desiring woman," she said in such a hypnotic voice, as she leaned back slowly on one elbow, raised her knees and spread her thighs wide, fingers digging deep in her very wet pussy, "THEN paint what you feel," waiting patiently for his response, which was not coming quickly enough to her impatience.</I></div> <div> <I>"I paint what I feel," he said, still not sure how to react to this,</I></div> <div> <I>"No you don't," she said, "you're painting what you are looking at, but you don't see, and NOT what you feel."</I></div> <div> <I>"And what makes you an expert,?" he asked, slightly arrogant,</I></div> <div> <I>"Because I see what you do not see,"</I></div> <div> <I>"Well then show me what I do not see," he said, a bit impatient now, pointing to his work,</I></div> <div> <I>She got down from the table, took a scarf from the props shelf, and started to cover his eyes.</I></div> <div> <I>"What are you doing,?" he asked as he stepped back slightly,</I></div> <div> <I>"Are you afraid of me,? she teased</I></div> <div> <I>"No of course not,"</I></div> <div> <I>'Well then trust me, and I will teach you to paint what you feel," as she pressed <IMG SRC="16ab1dc0.jpg" border=0 width="177" height="220" ALIGN="LEFT" HSPACE="6" VSPACE="6">the scarf to his face, to cover his eyes and tied it tightly, walking him backwards into his "think chair" as he called, knelt between his thighs, taking a firm, but guiding grip of his wrists. </I></div> <div> <I>"My hands will only guide you," she said, "but you will not remove the blindfold until you can paint me in your mind without your eyes,"</I></div> <div> <I>"You smell so fresh, soft," he said</I></div> <div> <I>"Could you paint that?"</I></div> <div> <I>"I don't know," he said, but so quickly realizing maybe she knew something worth trying to understand. He could feel his heart beginning to race at her scent, her hold on his wrists guiding his hands through her hair, trying to imagine how her hair looked.  By the touch, the scent, the softness, it's length, he realized he had been painting lines, not anything he now felt in his hands. Guiding his hands to her cheeks, the smooth warmth, yet such pronounced cheek bones, he had not noticed before, and her moist, rich sensuous lips. She took his fingers to her mouth, and slowly licked his fingers, to trace with the moist tips down her neck, along her shoulders, so soft, well rounded, such tender feminine flesh. With the flat of his hands pressed to her chest, slowly massaging her breasts, over her pert nipples.</I></div> <div> <I>"My breasts you painted as if carved from stone," she said, "is THAT what you feel,?" </I></div> <div> <I>"No," he timidly said, "their weight is soft, pliable, moving with my hands,"</I></div> <div> <I>She would not let him linger, as she pressed his hands down slowly along her stomach, around to her fleshy waist, behind her back across the soft cheeks of her ass. </I></div> <div> <I>"I have missed the moist dew, every gentle fold and crease of her flesh," he thought, as she pressed his hand firmly between her thighs, tight to her soft moist, smooth mons veneris, along her thighs, his finger slightly in her pussy for him to feel its wet heat.  </I></div> <div> <I>"Does that feel like marble," she asked</I></div> <div> <I>"No," he said, beginning to realize he had been painting her as if she were made of plastic, her scents now getting stronger, or he was more acute with his senses.</I></div> <div> <I>"soft, warm, moist, softly dimpled folds, and I seem to sense a glowing sweet humid scent, radiating around me,"</I></div> <div> <I>"Didn't you say that you read somewhere, that art which does not arouse the viewer, is either, not art, or false morals?" as she firmly wrapped her hand around his bulge in his jeans. "Is THIS what you feel when you look at your finished work,?" leaned over him, rubbing her breasts to his lips, from one nipples, along her cleavage to her other nipple, back again, pressing harder to him with each pass. She was not teasing, it was for his mind and all his senses to explore her body, his arousal, his awareness to every subtle delicate change from first touch to wherever she was taking him. </I></div> <div> <I>His hands she solidly placed on the arms of the chair, pressed them tightly flat,</I></div> <div> <I>"Don't move your hands," she said with authority, boldly, quickly unbuttoning his shirt, to his jeans which she swiftly undid, with quick vigorous jerks pulled his shorts and jeans to his ankles, spread his knees wide, her hands flat to his chest.</I></div> <div> <I>"And didn't you once say," feeling his heart racing at her touch, "that an artist must know how to manipulate and retain the viewer's attention,?" Taking his hand, placed solidly around his now well aroused cock, "AND, didn't you say, that if it is not moving you, how can you move or inspire the viewer?" as she turned around, rubbing the cheeks of her ass slowly from his chest, pressed to his stomach, to barely touching the erection he held in his hand. His hands she took and wrapped them around her, pressing them deep into the soft flesh of her stomach, leaned her back to his face, wiggled,  slid herself down slowly on his cock, deep into her sweltering depth. </I></div> <div> <I>"is THIS the understanding with which you paint,?" she asks, rolling her ass pressed tightly to his thighs, feeling his cock pulsing, throbbing in her, so close to releasing all with in her, as she slid herself off slowly, taking his hands from around her waist, stood up, walked back to the table, resumed her pose,</I></div> <div> <I>"W_e_e_l_l_l," she said, are you just going to sit there, or are we going to get back to work,?"</I></div> <div> <I>He still wasn't sure what that was all about, but he pulled off the cloth covering his eyes, stood, pulled up his pants, over his still erect cock, now bulging in his jeans, back to his stool, palette, brushes in hand and a slightly different feel of the brush in his hand. He was not painting her breasts, her thighs, her neck, he was caressing the soft, warm, moist flesh to the canvas. The diminishing, yet aching throb between his thighs felt as though it could only be gratified by his brush stroking the soft gentle curves, folds of moist flesh along her waist, her meaty thighs, soft rounded shoulders, full firm breast, indulging, pampering, fondling her from the canvas. Not that he was completely aware, he was now satisfying his desire to feel her soft, sweet scented bare flesh to his. </I></div> <div> <I><IMG SRC="17488dc0.jpg" border=0 width="136" height="220" ALIGN="LEFT" HSPACE="6" VSPACE="6">"Of course, " he thought, "how could Rubens or Zorn or Titien have  done such sensual justice to the women they painted, had they not intimately known or experienced their luxuriant pleasure,"</I></div> <div> <I>It was as though he was beginning to praise her soft sensuality, rather than simply creating an object on the canvas. </I></div> <div> <I>"We'll have to stop for today," he said, "this needs to dry some before I can continue," putting his brushes and palette aside.</I></div> <div> <I>She stood, looking over his shoulder at what he had done,  as he cleaned his brushes, not a word.</I></div> <div> <I>"Would you like something to eat, some tea, wine,?" he asked</I></div> <div> <I>"Yes I would, and wine would be nice," putting on her robe, leaving it open to simply drape her. </I></div> <div> <I>"Who was it that said," she questioned, "that in order to be great, an artist must suffer,?" gently running her hand along his thigh to the slight bulge in his jeans, as he's pouring their wine. </I></div> <div> <I>"I believe it was Michelangelo, who said that," he answered, "is this where we leave it for today,?"</I></div> <div> <I>"I had hoped not," she answered, a sip of her wine, gently kneading the bulge in his jeans to protrude to her warm sensuous hand, "Shall we eat? I'm starved," leaving him standing there more bewildered than before.</I></div> <div> <I>By the time he had oriented his sense, sat down on the bench at the old wooden table beside here, she was well into munching, like a hamster on the bread, cheeses, sausage, washing it down well with wine.  </I></div> <div> <I>"You need to learn to paint in your mind before you put it to canvas," she mumbled with a mouth full of bread and sausage, wine glass in hand ready to wash it all down, "the brush is only an extension of what you feel,"</I></div> <div> <I>Her half naked body, legs crossed sitting on the bench, turned towards him, stuffing her face with such a cheerful spirit made it hard to take his eyes off her, studying every expression, motion she made. as hungry as he was, it was a token effort slicing his bread, ripping off a piece of sausage, beginning to forget his manner, as she was displaying. But his food seemed to taste better, putting etiquette to the side, also now unconsciously mimicking her, washing his food down with large gulps of wine, that he did not notice her sliding closer until her hand was well planted to his crotch. Her glass in one hand, elbow on the table, groping with her other hand, with the same devouring appetite as she ate her bread and sausage. With trembling hand he gulped his wine, to near choking on it as she grasped and groped with such zeal. Looking down at the bulge in his jeans, she quickly set her wine glass down, on her sausage, spilling all, yet never a second thought to that, and quickly unzipped his pants, and struggled, with his confused help to slide them down to his knees. One hand firmly groping between her thighs, her fingers deep in her pussy, vigorously working in and out, her other hand working his now hard cock so quickly along it's length, in rhythm with her.</I></div> <div> <I>"oohhh mmmmyyy, oooooggghhh, ah, ah, ah,oooohhhhhh, yeaaaaa," as she came, still working his cock that he came, releasing all, over him, to the edge of the table, to his thighs, her hand still playing with his juices, and such a pleased look on her face.</I></div> <div> <I>"pphheewwww," she sighed, "I needed that. Sitting there naked all that time watching you paint me, got me all worked up." wiping her dripping hand on his shirt. </I></div> <div> <I>"Well I better get dressed and get home," she said, as if an after lunch masturbation  was simply the thing to do. "shall I come the same time tomorrow,?" got off the bench, got herself dressed, blew him a kiss as she walked out, leaving him sitting there, table as if a cyclone had passed, his pants still to his knees, wine from her spill now dripping to his sticky legs, his head resting on his hand, now completely confused. </I></div> <div> <I>"She knows what's she's talking about," he thought, "but has a strange way of presenting her thoughts, no inhibitions and no fear of taking the initiative."</I></div> <div> <I>Cleaning up the mess, and himself, he was now eagerly looking forward to his work tomorrow as he had never done before.  Her manner was energizing him. </I></div> <div> <I>This morning he was up and walking around with coffee and cigarette in hand much earlier than usual, planning his work on the painting with so much more enthusiasm. He was beginning to feel more than just a two dimensional object coming from the canvas in his imagination. </I></div> <div> <I>Right on time, as she had said, walking up the narrow path to meet him on his way back to the cabin.</I></div> <div> <I>"Good morning," she said, "what a wonderful day, isn't it?"</I></div> <div> <I>"Yes it is," he replied, "would you like some coffee, something to eat maybe,"</I></div> <div> <I>"Just some coffee would really be nice now,"</I></div> <div> <I>Not a word mentioned of yesterday as they sipped on their coffee, talking about art, artists, and those who pretended to understand the minds of artists. She was one of a very few models he has had in the past posing for him who understood. </I></div> <div> <I>"How can anyone say they understand the intent of the artist in his work, when he himself can rarely explain in simple words all that his eye and mind sees."  she said, "why can't critics and viewers imply say the like or don't like a work, rather than poorly attempting to analyze with lame or crippled words.</I></div> <div> <I>"Well, are you ready to start,?" he asks</I></div> <div> <I>"Whenever you are," she said, getting up from the table, quickly without fanfare peeling off her clothes, another swallow of coffee as she hand them over the chair, her bra and panties she just placed on the table.</I></div> <div> <I>"So pleasantly comfortable with her naked body, and not the body of a Goddess as so many feel they must paint, her slight chunky waist, nicely proportioned, but hefty hips and thighs, neatly symmetrical modest breasts, favoring towards a Ruben's figure," he thought, "yet never flaunting, as comfortable undressed as dressed," </I></div> <div> <I>"Take of your clothes, " she says as he's organizing his paints and brushes,</I></div> <div> <I>"WHAT?," he blurts, </I></div> <div> <I>Nose to nose, hands firmly planted on her hips, staring hard into his eyes,</I></div> <div> <I>"How can you possibly paint that what you can not feel in your loins, " she says in a such an emphatic, brash voice, "I am not made of porcelain, and that is what you have there now, yes or no,?"</I></div> <div> <I>"Oh well, why not,?" he thinks, "let's just see what comes from the canvas," as he sheepishly strips off his clothes, if for no other reason than not to appear cowardly in her presence of want of being more adventurous.</I></div> <div> <I>Again the patient model she posed herself on the platform, as much to the pose and light as the days before, waiting for his instructions for change to match his work, if any. </I></div> <div> <I>Brush to palette, to canvas, to palette, to canvas, with studying quick scanning glances at her pose. He had forgotten he was sitting nude for a moment until a slight unconscious arousing, rising erection appeared. He could feel the arousal  slowly glowing, from his loins as he scanned her pose, brush and eyes back to the canvas, yet so much in his work now, he had forgotten she could study him as much as he studied her. For more than an hour he feverishly worked, beginning to  feel her warm, soft flesh in his brush, in his mind.</I></div> <div> <I>Waiting for a pause in his efforts, so as not to interrupt, </I></div> <div> <I>"Could we take a break," she asked softly, "I'm getting a bit stiff,"</I></div> <div> <I>"Good idea, " he replied, setting his palette, and brushes aside as he also stood, to stretch himself. A modest erection, he had no way to hide, and just stood back, a studying look to see the progress in his work. </I></div> <div> <I>"Much more warm and feeling, " she said standing by his side, shoulder to shoulder,</I></div> <div> <I>"You could be right,"  he said, looking a bit more pleased with what he had done, no thought of his erection, as she slowly put one arm around his waist, took a firm grip of his cock, kneading, fondling, sliding her hand back and forth along its more rising length.</I></div> <div> <I>"You arouse the viewer, beginning with arousal here," she said, moving herself, slowly around to his front, brushing his cock to her thigh, then pulling herself tighter to him, teasing its shiny soft head to between her thighs, thrusting, grinding her hips to him,</I></div> <div> <I>"Is this another lesson for me to learn," he asked, difficult now to remain unmoved,</I></div> <div> <I>"No," she said softly as she kissed his neck, then too his chest, "I'm just so horny, I'm almost ready to rape you if you don't fuck me right now," </I></div> <div> <I>After yesterday's quick play at the table, all night for it to ferment in his thoughts, more than an hour studying her sensual pose, he felt a racing flash of heat rush through his body, from her hot little gripping hand around his now rigid cock to the top of his head, by her soft explicit words.</I></div> <div> <I>"Come with me," he said, taking his arm from around her waist, then lightly by her wrist, leading her out the back door, "</I></div> <div> <I>"Where are we going,?" she asked,</I></div> <div> <I><IMG SRC="17aa0c80.jpg" border=0 width="160" height="200" ALIGN="LEFT" HSPACE="6" VSPACE="6">"Right here," as he stopped at the edge of the porch, looking down over the rolling hills. </I></div> <div> <I>"Isn't this an arousing view," he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, "and feel the warm breeze playing over your bare flesh,?  placed her arms crossed, as if posed resting on the  railing, and slid his hands to fondle, slowly, caress her breasts, to her belly, a firm groping search between her warm thighs, and coax her to spread her legs, again the same path back to her breasts, one hand remains, teasing her rising firm nipples, one back between her thighs, his fingers searching to spread her dripping soft puffy pussy lips, his rising erection grinding to her thighs, </I></div> <div> <I>"is this the view and pose you had in mind?" he asks, pressing his fingers deep into her twitching pussy, his groin tightly pressed to the soft flesh of her ass,</I></div> <div> <I>"better than I expected," she said arching her back, in trembling, awaiting voice, wanting more than just his fingers in her now.</I></div> <div> <I>His fingers digging deep in her pussy, searching, all her hot inner fissures, with slow steady pressure, withdraws her hot moisture, to her clit, firm rolling teases to its most sensitive tip, again, his fervent, more ambitious fingers rammed into her ever hotter, wetter pussy, bolder with each groping stroke in her, to her clitty, firmly rolling her nipples between his fingers, kneading her breasts in his hands, nibbling, with slow licking kisses along her back,</I></div> <div> <I>"oohhhh tthaatttss nice," she coos, in quivering soft voice, drifting in mind to nature's subtle sounds, scents, with his determined roaming hands, quivering more and more to each thrust with his strong fingers in her.</I></div> <div> <I>She was well beyond the limits of this cabin, as he started rubbing his hard cock between her oozing, quivering pussy lips, kneading, fondling the cheeks of her soft ample ass, grinding, rocking tighter to his groin. His cock, throbbing, aching at the feel of her sweltering soft pussy to its eager to penetrate head. </I></div> <div> <I>"OhhhhmmyyyGhhhooddd," she moaned, "stop teasing, put it in and ff-ffuukk meee, p-p-plleeaaase," </I></div> <div> <I>Her pleading moans, swaying, grinding ass to his groin was more than he could endure. In one ardent, daring, shameless move rammed his thumb in her butt, his aching cock deep in her hungry hot pussy, driving harder and deeper in her, feeling her greedy flooding heat sucking him in deeper with each thrust to her. </I></div> <div> <I>"aaauuuufffff, d-d-donnt s-s-st-stopp, i-immmm, aaahhyyeeeeeeeee," she squealed, screaming for all of nature to hear, as she came, quivering out of control, his thumb digging in her butt, as he kept ramming his cock harder, faster, slamming his wet with her flow groin to her as he came with convulsive jerks. </I></div> <div> <I>"hhuuufffff, yyeeooww," he barely moaned, trembling to her inner heat around his throbbing cock, "is this what you had in mind,?" he weakly asked,</I></div> <div> <I>"wwooow," she replied, "your finger in my butt drove me over the edge,"</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>  </I></div> <bR> <div> <I>  </I></div> <bR> <div> <I>to be continued /</I></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>