Brushed (2 page)

They shook hands, hers nearly vanishing inside of his warm and comforting grip.

“Come on over to the table,” he said. “I have samples of your colors laid out for you. Feel free to choose what kind of mood you’d like it to be. Whatever it is you’d like to feel in your kitchen, we can accomplish with the right colors.”

They walked over to the table that was made from one giant slab of wood, but she had no interest in seeing the color patterns laid out for her. On the wall in back of the table were paintings of women in various states of undress, all with looks of extreme pleasure on their faces.

“Did you paint all of those,” Piper asked, admiring the work as well as the emotions that were screaming off the canvases.

“I’d like to think that I painted all of them with the help of the subjects,” he said, smiling. “Would you like to pick a color for your kitchen?”

“I could give a damn about my kitchen right now,” Piper said, walking up and down past all the paintings, the movement of her legs from her shoes stimulating her even more. Perhaps she shouldn’t have started up in the elevator. Every one of her pleasure receptors was going off. “Did these women pay you for these or did you pay them?”

“I never accepted a cent from any of my models,” Finn said, picking up the half a joint that was sitting on the windowsill and lighting it up, taking a puff, then handing it to Piper. “All of those exchanges were mutual.”

Piper hadn’t smoked since college, but she took no hesitation in taking the joint. If nothing else it was another excuse to touch Finn. She took a deep inhale and let the smoke out, watching as it moved towards the ceiling. The sound of her breath mixed with the rain that had started up again and was now hitting the window.

“What do you do with the paintings,” she asked, moving her hands over the canvasses that were raised with paint. “They must sell for quite a bit.”

“I’ve never even tried to sell one,” he said. “They’re my inspiration. When I look at them, I relive the memories when they were made. Sometimes, the women come back and sit here and like to relive them with me. It’s a private world that only a few are allowed into. With all the exposure to everyone’s every detail these days, I find people need some privacy.  Some sense of intimacy. Don’t you agree?”

“I haven’t had that for years,” Piper said. “How would you go about supplying that to me? I’m curious.”

“Sit here,” he said, bringing her a stool to perch herself on. “I’ll be right back.”

Piper climbed on top of the stool and crossed her legs over and over again, looking down at her shoes, then to the paintings of the rest of the women on the wall.

When Finn returned, he carried with him a blank canvas. There were brushes everywhere, so he reached for one and pulled a pallet of paint close to him on the table next to him. Holding the canvas with one hand, and the brush with the other, he started to paint Piper without even asking.

“How do you want me to pose?” she questioned, wishing he would tell her exactly what do to. “I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

“I want you to do as you wish,” he told her, looking at her from over the canvas so that only he could see. “What you want to be, I can create. Don’t think while you’re here. Why not just try feeling for a bit. See what happens. You haven’t even taken off your coat yet.”

She realized he was right
and took off her coat, feeling the weight literally lift from her body. Once she took one piece of clothing off, she felt restrained by the rest of it. It had been so long since another man had seen her naked, and here was this painter documenting each of her moments, appreciating the subtleness of her womanhood. She started unbuttoning her blouse until it was fully open, then reached behind her back and undid her bra, but didn’t take either of them off.

Finn continued to paint on the canvas, and Piper could hear the sounds of his brush moving. She felt each one as if they were finding the loosened pieces of her body. The rest of her outside world fell away.

She moved open her legs so that he could see where her stockings ended and her real flesh began, revealing just a hint of her panties. Finn loved the freedom Piper was into, but instead of grabbing her, he continued to spill everything he was feeling onto the canvas, keeping it between the two of them. It became obvious why the women on the wall had such ecstasy on their faces.

Piper wondered how aroused Finn was behind the canvas, but she let that wonder move from her insides and burn through her inhibitions. She moved the skirt off of herself, kicking it free with her new shoes that now felt like they were part of her awakened freedom and passion. She realized she was only in her shoes, panties and undone shirt, and loved every bit of the woman she still was. The bra lay open. Her breasts were tender, waiting to be touched and caressed, but the brush occupied his hands.

She started moving back and forth on the stool, realizing that her panties were getting wet and the movements alone wouldn’t satisfy her. She slowly got off the stool and removed the blouse and bra, then walked towards Finn and the canvas, her shoes moving across the polished wood, and her panties starting to hold the weight of her moisture.

She was now standing directly
behind the canvas and rested her breasts on top of its edge, begging for him to suck the nipples that were hard with anticipation and the hint of something new about to happen. Instead of using his mouth, he raised his brush up and stroked each breast, allowing the wetness of the bristles to act like a tongue, leaving a perfect streak of paint as proof of its power.

She reached down into her panties and moved her own finger inside of her, moving in small
circles to match the motion of his brush strokes. Piper realized at that moment that she was actually the one in control, and could do whatever she felt. There were no boundaries of right or wrong. No vows that had been read by someone who had no idea of the coldness she dealt with on the other side of phone calls where she reached out to be caressed with a few kind words. She was starting to spill onto her own hand, when she realized that her new shoes gave her a few inches on her height. She used her new length to peer over the canvas and get a look at what Finn had going on. He had taken his pants off without her knowing, and there, behind the canvas and underneath the passionate brush strokes, was his incredible piece, thick but not overly so, and a length she knew would fit inside her with perfection.

She walked slowly to the other side of the canvas and stood behind him, removing his shirt that he’d left on and allowed her hand to start rubbing his defined stomach, settling her fingers in to run through all of the grooves. Finally, she slid her hand down and grabbed his piece and just held it, pressing her breasts on his back and holding him while he painted away. She looked at the canvas, at what he had been painting, and it was
her, only not literally. He had managed to capture what was inside of her wanting to explode out. The colors and movement of the paint were everything she wished she could express but could never find the words for. Perhaps there were no words.

She rubbed her panties against his back, then slowly pulled them down, so that her bush moved against his back muscles as they flexed with each stroke of his brush. She continued to pleasure herself with her finger, but it wasn’t enough. She moved between him and the c
anvas and backed into him, rubbing her now wide-open and moist lips over his dome piece. She grabbed his hands, which never let go of the brush, and moved them up to her breasts, which he started to squeeze with one hand, and still kept the other moving over the canvas.

She reached behind her and moved his tip to her point of entry and
slowly slid down his magnificent length. Her hands dropped his and grabbed the top of the canvas for balance. Finally, he let go of his brush and stood up, keeping himself inside of her, knowing she had better hold on for what was about to come. The rain was hitting hard on the windows. She was elevated perfectly, still in her shoes, as he moved in and out of her, over and over again. Piper grabbed the canvas so hard that she made grooves in the top of it. She let go like she never had before, dripping down his thighs as he left and entered with the perfect amount of force and tenderness.

As she came over and over again – the canvas in front of her revealing everything she was feeling. She felt him vibrating inside, about to explode himself. With the last bit of strength she had, she moved herself off of him, grabbed his shaft and finished him with her hands, until he exploded onto the canvas, his cum mixing with the image of her that he had created with his brushes. She screamed as it continued to gush out, determined to make sure
she drained him so that his cum would mix with her colors, until there was nothing left.

She climbed on top of him, both of them heaving in exhaustion. He carried her with her arms and legs wrapped around him, over to the couch and spooned her while he lit up the rest of the joint, then blew the smoke that he’d inhaled into her mouth, which she took in and exhaled.

The rain against the window had stopped and sunlight warmed the studio.

Finn fell asleep with his arms wrapped around her, while Piper stroked his forearm and looked at the painting with amazement of how he saw her.

When he was asleep, she slunk out of the chair and made her way to his shower, taking off her shoes for the first time since she’d bought them. She watched as the paint washed away from her body and moved down the drain. Taking her time to make sure she’d left no trace of the experience on her body, she stayed in the shower for a good half hour, feeling herself and allowing the memory to stay with her, but sink deep enough into her skin so that nobody else would find out. When all the physical evidence was gone, she got out of the shower, toweled herself off, and walked back into the main room of the loft, where Finn was still asleep on the couch.

She found her scattered clothes all over the floor, put them on one by one, except for her panties, which were too wet to wear, and got dressed slowly. She looked at Finn, and then at the painting he had done with her, and smiled, soaking in the memory she knew would be hers and hers alone.

Piper reached for the shoes and was about to put them on, when she realized that they no longer belonged to her. She laid them on each corner of the canvas and walked out silently, knowing that all of the physical happenings of her day would remain in that magical loft in SOHO.

Down into the elevator and out through the main entrance, she walked over the still slippery cobblestone streets back to the store where she’d left her ordinary shoes that would carry her home.

As she moved freely through the city, she was sure she’d missed a spot of paint, but nobody she knew would look close enough to notice.

                                                        The End