21-08-2019, 06:47 PM
She was gone and I was left with the smell of her hair and her perfume. It filled my nostrils for hours after that as I dreamed of her and eventually squeezed my fluid out into my shorts for a second night. ————————————— “You’re not serious?” Mom was aghast. “You don’t really think I’m going to let you smear that mess all over me, do you?” “But you’re the model. You look at yourself in the mirror as you work. It has to be on you.” “Why can’t you just paint the statues?” “Two reasons,” I explained. “First, nobody wants a painted statue.” “I guess,” Mom concurred. “And second?” “And second,” I continued, “it’s what you see that counts. You’ll see a different array of light and shadow and that will change what you create. Don’t you see?” “Yes, Mom,” replied, her fingertip in her mouth, eyes narrowing as she thought. “I do see.” Mom stood up. “Go ahead, then, paint me,” she said, holding her arms out at her sides. “Not here, and not wearing all those clothes.” “Where, then? You can’t put that on me in the house. It will ruin the floor if it spills.” “Right out there then, on the grass.” “On the grass? I’m not taking my clothes off in the back yard.” “Just your top, and your jeans.” “I don’t need to take off my jeans. I only do women sitting.” “Yes, but the tops of the thighs and the sides of the hips are showing.
They need to be painted too.” “What if someone comes?” “Who ever comes here during the day?” Reluctantly, Mom acquiesced. “Alright, but just down to my bra and panties, or maybe I should put on a bathing suit.” “No, Mom. We don’t have time. We need to be finished before Dad gets home. You can imagine what he’d say if he knew you were painting yourself.” Mom walked out to the middle of the yard, kicked off her flip flops and loosened her jeans, then pushed them down her legs. She kicked them off, undoing the buttons on her blouse and letting it fall to the ground as she sank to her knees wearing only a brief pair of panties. Not a thong, mind you, but a nice small triangular pair of black panties with narrow ears that rose up and over the swell of her hips. The fleshy part of her ass bulged out a bit under the edge of the black panties.
“What a woman must suffer for her art,” Mom chuckled. “Come on, get it over with.”
As I started rubbing the mix on Mom’s shoulders and back, she barked, “Ugggh. This better work.” I lathered the 'paint’ on Mom’s shoulders, arms, back, stomach and thighs, spreading it slowly with my hands and working it into her soft skin. I left the best parts for last: her breasts, the inside of her thighs, and the bits closest to her panties in the back. I did her breasts first because she was used to me touching her there and was less likely to object to my exploring fingers on that part of her body. By the time I finished coloring her breasts, Mom’s nipples were definitely erect. I moved to her legs but as my fingers pushed the paint between her thighs, Mom objected and closed her legs tight. “Hey, I don’t need this stuff there.” “If you don’t, you’ll be disconcerted by the line that shows. You should have it right over the tops of your thighs.” Mom reluctantly loosened her legs to let me apply the paint. I rubbed it up and down the length of her inner thighs but was careful not to get too close to her panties.
I sensed that a boundary existed somewhere around there and that my proximity to it was making Mom a little tense. I definitely didn’t want to spook her so I chickened out on my plans to smear the stuff over Mom’s ass, especially those intriguing bulges at the bottom. “Ok, you’re ready,” I said, standing back to admire my work. “Well, now we’ll see,” Mom said, standing. She walked awkwardly to the studio as if she was covered in mud and I supposed that’s what the stuff felt like as it dried. I stood as quietly as I could, out of Mom’s sight, as she worked on the next piece. She worked quickly and rarely stopped to examine her body. When she did, she struck a pose and merely glanced at the mirror rather than twisting and turning, preening, and peering intently as she usually did. Somehow, she was seeing immediately what she needed to see. When she was done, she started on another one right away. “Ben. Ben!” I ran to the bathroom. “Ben! Come here!” I opened the door, carefully peeking inside, ready to quickly yank my head out. “Come in. Quickly. And shut the door.” I stepped inside.
Mom was in the shower, the sliding door half open, her eyes closed and her hair full of shampoo. “This stuff isn’t coming off and your father will be home soon.” I surveyed at Mom’s glistening body. She had the stuff mostly off her front and the backs of her legs but it still clung to the backs of her upper arms and all down her back. My eyes drifted to her pelvis, the swell of her tummy and the tuft of hair below it. If she turned, I would see my mother’s pussy. “Ben. Get in here and scrub my back.” “What?” “Get in here. You put it on, now you get it off!” “Oh, ok.” I scrambled to get my pants and shirt off. “Leave those on,” Mom yelled when I pushed my underwear down. “What are you thinking?” I nodded, acknowledging my silliness. Mom pulled the shower door wide open and I stepped in behind her. She reached behind herself to hand me the soap and a wash cloth. I was staring at Mom’s bare ass, the one I had groped the night before and pounded my poor little dick all night over. Naked, it was even sexier than I had imagined it to be, firm but jiggling, the bulgy cheeks clearly separated. I dearly wanted to cup them in my hands. “My back, Ben. Scrub my back.”
They need to be painted too.” “What if someone comes?” “Who ever comes here during the day?” Reluctantly, Mom acquiesced. “Alright, but just down to my bra and panties, or maybe I should put on a bathing suit.” “No, Mom. We don’t have time. We need to be finished before Dad gets home. You can imagine what he’d say if he knew you were painting yourself.” Mom walked out to the middle of the yard, kicked off her flip flops and loosened her jeans, then pushed them down her legs. She kicked them off, undoing the buttons on her blouse and letting it fall to the ground as she sank to her knees wearing only a brief pair of panties. Not a thong, mind you, but a nice small triangular pair of black panties with narrow ears that rose up and over the swell of her hips. The fleshy part of her ass bulged out a bit under the edge of the black panties.
“What a woman must suffer for her art,” Mom chuckled. “Come on, get it over with.”
As I started rubbing the mix on Mom’s shoulders and back, she barked, “Ugggh. This better work.” I lathered the 'paint’ on Mom’s shoulders, arms, back, stomach and thighs, spreading it slowly with my hands and working it into her soft skin. I left the best parts for last: her breasts, the inside of her thighs, and the bits closest to her panties in the back. I did her breasts first because she was used to me touching her there and was less likely to object to my exploring fingers on that part of her body. By the time I finished coloring her breasts, Mom’s nipples were definitely erect. I moved to her legs but as my fingers pushed the paint between her thighs, Mom objected and closed her legs tight. “Hey, I don’t need this stuff there.” “If you don’t, you’ll be disconcerted by the line that shows. You should have it right over the tops of your thighs.” Mom reluctantly loosened her legs to let me apply the paint. I rubbed it up and down the length of her inner thighs but was careful not to get too close to her panties.
I sensed that a boundary existed somewhere around there and that my proximity to it was making Mom a little tense. I definitely didn’t want to spook her so I chickened out on my plans to smear the stuff over Mom’s ass, especially those intriguing bulges at the bottom. “Ok, you’re ready,” I said, standing back to admire my work. “Well, now we’ll see,” Mom said, standing. She walked awkwardly to the studio as if she was covered in mud and I supposed that’s what the stuff felt like as it dried. I stood as quietly as I could, out of Mom’s sight, as she worked on the next piece. She worked quickly and rarely stopped to examine her body. When she did, she struck a pose and merely glanced at the mirror rather than twisting and turning, preening, and peering intently as she usually did. Somehow, she was seeing immediately what she needed to see. When she was done, she started on another one right away. “Ben. Ben!” I ran to the bathroom. “Ben! Come here!” I opened the door, carefully peeking inside, ready to quickly yank my head out. “Come in. Quickly. And shut the door.” I stepped inside.
Mom was in the shower, the sliding door half open, her eyes closed and her hair full of shampoo. “This stuff isn’t coming off and your father will be home soon.” I surveyed at Mom’s glistening body. She had the stuff mostly off her front and the backs of her legs but it still clung to the backs of her upper arms and all down her back. My eyes drifted to her pelvis, the swell of her tummy and the tuft of hair below it. If she turned, I would see my mother’s pussy. “Ben. Get in here and scrub my back.” “What?” “Get in here. You put it on, now you get it off!” “Oh, ok.” I scrambled to get my pants and shirt off. “Leave those on,” Mom yelled when I pushed my underwear down. “What are you thinking?” I nodded, acknowledging my silliness. Mom pulled the shower door wide open and I stepped in behind her. She reached behind herself to hand me the soap and a wash cloth. I was staring at Mom’s bare ass, the one I had groped the night before and pounded my poor little dick all night over. Naked, it was even sexier than I had imagined it to be, firm but jiggling, the bulgy cheeks clearly separated. I dearly wanted to cup them in my hands. “My back, Ben. Scrub my back.”
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