Black Sheep Ch. 03

"Why would you do that?" she said with a grin. "I've seen your dick. Might as well get yourself off right here, where I can see it."

"What? No!!"

"I could help if you want," she said, reaching out and touching my hypersensitive head (not the one with eyes). That sent an electric current through me and I involuntarily jerked away from her touch, falling in a heap on the floor. She giggled before helping me up to my feet.

"So you'd rather suffer than jerk off in front of me? Am I that hideously unattractive?"

"No," I blurted out. "I'm just not comfortable with it."

Katrina stared at me for a long while with her piercing gaze. Her lips broke into another wicked smile.

"Suit yourself, but the rule is this -- either spank the monkey in front of me or after the painting is done."

She puffed her chest out, letting her dominance hang in the air between us. I wish I could say I was new to women making such requests of me, but I am a Chandler after all. I knew what to do.

So I lay back on the couch and rested my hands on the wooden edge.

"I'm made of stronger stuff," I said bravely, hoping she didn't call my bluff. She calmly resumed her portrait, smiling at the increasingly pronounced spasming between my legs. Her naked form, curling against the subtle interplay of light and shadow, against the backdrop of the flickering flames all around was too strong a stimulus.

"All right," I declared, making the long overdue movement of my left hand to my shaft. "Let's get this over with."

Immediately, Katrina sat on the floor in front of me, her eyes fixed on my gripped organ. She had a look of wonder in her eyes, like a child in a planetarium.

I closed my eyes, creating the illusion of solitude, but I could still feel her hot breath on my shaft. With every stroke, her moans got louder, indicating I wasn't the only one whose hands were at work.

I dared not open my eyes until she screamed out loud. With a little more practice, she could surely shatter glass.

* *

"Can I see it?"

Katrina was engrossed in her work. She barely noticed my question. Her eyes were narrowed and sweat formed over her brow as she concentrated on the work at hand. I tried peering into the canvas, but the angle made it impossible.

Her strokes became finer. I only saw her wrist move minutely as she delicately sketched. Her brow furrowed with concentration. Some of the candles around us were dying, their weak flames flickering and causing the layer of sweat on her shapely curves to shine. Each time she turned, I stole a glimpse at her luscious breasts.

After a long time, she stepped back. Her eyes ran lengthwise and breadthwise over her creation before she turned to me and smiled.

"Come have a look."

Interested, I walked over to her and saw myself on the canvas. It was certainly well drawn, shaded differently in parts to mimic the effect of light and shadow. My eyes travelled down my torso, inwardly impressed at how she showed every minor contour. I chose to skip over the highlight of the painting and paid attention to the background.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I think you did a great job."

She beamed and put down her palette. There were a few stray streaks of paint on her face, but it did not mar her look of contentment.

"Thanks for putting up with it all," said Katrina, engulfing me in a tight hug. Her naked skin pressed against mine, causing an unwarranted reaction elsewhere. She felt the reaction against her thigh and winked at me.

"He seems happy."

"He doesn't know any better," I admitted sombrely.

Katrina doubled over in a fit of giggles. She held onto my waist for support. I helped her up, but she did not release my naked waist from her embrace. Her face was inches away from mine, her large, brown eyes looming over mine. She breathed heavily, her lips trembling in anticipation of the unknown.

I was frozen in place by this incredibly erotic entity. Her sumptuous red lips were very close to mine now. One of her arms wrapped around my back, pulling me towards her. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best.

A bright bolt of lightning lit up the room. The flash was succeeded by a crack of thunder which injected a dose of sense into my dormant neurons. I opened my eyes and simultaneously felt her lips graze mine.

Immediately, I took a step back. Katrina opened her eyes and looked at me with an expression of disappointment laced with longing.

"Someday," she said wistfully. "Some day."

* *

School passed me in a blur of colours and shapes. I found myself brooding on my artistic endeavour. The more I tried to focus on my work, the more the beautiful artist came back to me in vivid technicolour. I stayed in this haze, even when I was called to Steinberg's office and his secretary, Lori, "accidentally" dropped something in the exact spot where she would have to "accidentally" brush her hand over my rear to pick it up. The hand lingered, molesting my rear end for a good few seconds.

But I was far removed from it all. I stayed that way even as I returned home.

There was a festive air in the Chandler mansion. My mother had invited several members of her ladies' club over. I smiled, shook a few hands, endured a few more "accidents" of the aforementioned kind.

"Damien, darling," said Marilyn, kissing me on both cheeks and my forehead. "How was school?"

"The usual," I shrugged. "What's the occasion?"

"Something silly for us cougars," she waved me off impatiently. "You won't be interested."

"You're probably right, but I'd like to see it anyway," I said. "It's not like you can shock me any more."

"Fine," Marilyn said, leading me into the group of women. I was surrounded on all sides by incessant chatter and exclamations. We went to the far side of the crowd, to the focus of all the attention.

Adorning the whitewashed wall of the hallway, centred in a place where all could see, was the portrait of a young boy wearing nothing more than a flimsy fedora over his face. His faceless body reclined on a couch, subtly interplayed against a background of light and shadow.

"What do you think?"

The non-existence of a merciful God was further proved in that instance. No deity with the remotest shred of compassion in their heart would not have torn out my eyeballs. Time froze, all thoughts of the attractive artist were replaced by a feeling of overwhelming disbelief. I stared at my personal Medusa, yet fate would not allow me the luxury of turning into stone.

"I got this piece at an auction last night," Marilyn twittered on, oblivious to my horror. "My hormones have been on fire ever since I saw it."

I still could not find the words to express my shock.

"Just look at that hot body," she went on, killing a little bit of me with every word. "Who would not want to lick it all over?"

She was joined by another middle-aged woman. The stranger nodded in assent.

"I'm so jealous, Marilyn," she exclaimed. "Had I known this was for auction, I would have sold my car to get it. Who needs a car when you can stare at that lovely, hard cock all day long? I'm dripping wet just looking at it."

"It's too bad that we don't even know the model," Marilyn sighed. "I'd fuck him till his cock falls off."

"I think I need to go," I croaked weakly. Colour had completely drained off my face.

"See you later, sweetheart," Marilyn said. "I'm going to admire this extremely fuckable body for a while now. Fuck! I need to masturbate. I'm so turned on just by looking at this."

All around, people nodded and described what they would do to the cub in the painting if they got a chance. Suddenly, my only thoughts regarding Katrina involved ropes and a very dull knife.

I saw Lucy leaning against the vestibule entrance as I walked through. She caught my glance out of the corner of her eye and winked mischievously. The people around her failed to understand why she inexplicably broke into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

* *

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