Dildo Designer

"Are these your work?"

She looked more than slightly embarrassed, a flush reddening her cheeks.

"Yes, I do it on commission," she confessed softly.

I took the ones she had gathered from her hand and sat on the floor.

"These look really good, it must take hours."

She launched into an explanation. "No, I have sketches and I can do an easy one in an hour or so, some of the complicated ones can take all day." She turned and fetched a sketch book then sat beside me. She picked a photo from the floor and flipped through her sketches.

"This one took me three hours, she said handing me the photo and the sketch.

"You've got real talent; I hope they pay you good money for these."

"Yes, the money's ok, I get real enjoyment from doing it though; the body's a wonderful canvas."

"It's such a transient medium."

"Transient?"

"It doesn't last, it's washed off when the shoot is over, lost forever except for the photo's."

"That doesn't matter, it's here." she said tapping her head.

My admiration for her grew. Though I had known her only a matter of days I recognised a kindred spirit in her. She was a tease but there was an ineffable quality to her, one that appealed as no other. I was going to have to try to 'connect' with her. I'd have to invite her out again. Rarely had I gotten on so well, so quickly. Her painting me was my best connection; I'd volunteer for as many as she wanted.

"If you want I will pose however you want."

"Can I body paint you, I've sketched some ideas."

She was on her feet and scrabbling through the sketchbooks on her dresser. I looked at her; she was covered in dust like me. Her tight white leggings smeared along with her painting smock, and I felt the yearning of new- found love.

She brought the sketch pad over and sat next to me, leaning close as she proffered the pad. Her perfume smelt so nice. God how I wanted to take her and kiss her.

"This is one I've wanted to do since it inspired me."

I looked at the sketch; it was an Adam and Eve in the garden. The tree of forbidden fruit with the serpent, its tail reaching down with the penis as its tip.

"We'll have to shave your chest hair."

I looked at it seeing meaning. Adam was centre, Eve over my left ribs, and my nipple as the apple, the serpent curled down behind Adam then across my groin and into my genitals.

"I'm impressed, I love the imagery in this..., Yes, set it up; how long will it take- can you do it in an evening?"

"Ho, slow down, my airbrush and the rest is at the photo studio. I can do it on Saturday."

She stood, taking the sketch pad to the bedside cupboard. I leant forwards and started gathering in all the spilt photos and stacking them on the other sketch pad in a pile; she helped gather the last few and tucked them into a file.

"Do you want to continue with the pose?" She asked. Her bedside clock read 20:12, time enough to give her another hour or so.

"Yes, if you want, though you don't want a Tarzan like a dust monster."

She looked at me and chuckled.

"Right, I'm off home to get a shower."

"No, you must use mine; it's my dust that made you dirty." She came towards me.

"No, it'll be alright, my own is only across the passage."

"No, you can keep your jock on and I'll wash your back."

My heart leapt at the thought of the intimacy of the shower cubicle with her hands soaping my body, "With an offer like that how can I refuse."

She led me to the shower where she pulled the string on the loin cloth, letting it drop to the ground; my jock strap was a mere pouch, with thin straps between the legs leading to the support belt exposing my backside to plain view. She led me into the shower and, when I was in, turned the water on.

"Squat down so I can do your hair." I would have protested at the indignity but I had spent my protests earlier. She rocked me on my toes a few times with her vigorous massage, making me grasp her hips. I looked up to chide her. There before me, through the smock that was wetly pasted to her, were the full shapes of her breasts. Her nipples tenting the material and making it opaque again. She turned; I felt her hips swivel under my arms, before detaching the shower head and rinsing. She then had me stand, rubbing her hand over my back washing the dust away with the warm water. Re-hanging the shower head she began to soap my back. The soap's perfume smelt enticing, the rhythm of her hands was sensual, her soapy touch like silk on my skin, cramped in its pouch my penis began to respond. I tried the old adage of 'Doing mental arithmetic'. Tracing slow circles down my back she reached the belt. I was expecting her to stop but crouching she began to soap my buttocks. Running her hand first under the right strap then the left, she let her fingers trace down the valley of my gluteal cleft. Brushing them across my anus, I jumped with the sudden thrill.

"Sorry." she giggled. But that didn't stop her running her hand onto the fabric of the pouch, almost stroking my testicles. She worked her way down the inside of my thigh and then at the knee she shifted to her left and soaped back up the outside. I had my hand hiding my erection as she got to the top. I had worked the head under the waist band to collapse the tent. She shifted around me then repeated the routine with my other leg. My manhood was as hard as it had ever been. She then stood and used the shower head to rinse the soap off. The pressure was firmer without the film of suds but her caress was even more erotic to my senses. When she got to my crena, she split it with her finger and thumb, letting the warm water play on my anus. I gripped the base of my penis squeezing off the orgasm I felt coming.

"You're done." she said, opening the door of the shower.

As the door closed I nearly ripped my jock strap off, letting it drop to my feet. My engorged tool sprung forward as it was released. Looking round I could see through the frosted glass the outline of Ingvold stripping off her smock. Even the hazy image was a turn on. When she came to the edge of the cubicle to drop the wet garment in the soiled bin then bent and stripped her leggings off mere inches away; I wanted to thrash my cock to the orgasm that had so nearly erupted earlier. I opted to turn the shower cold instead; standing with it full on my chest and running down over my inflamed member I gradually cooled my sexual ardour. After a few minutes I warmed the water again and started soaping my body from the face down. By the time I rinsed off and pressed dry my hair Ingvold had disappeared from the translucent frame of the shower glass. Stooping to retrieve my strap and wringing it, I stepped from the shower with a cautious peek first. My loincloth was on the lumpy bed, not where I left it, alongside a rumpled towel. As I got to the bed a naked Ingvold threw back the bedclothes and grabbed me.

Pulling me over, onto the bed, she aimed me at her lips and delivered a passionate kiss. Still kissing her I climbed into the bed with her. We wrapped our arms around each other. When our lips disengaged she whispered in my ear "Do you like me? I like you a lot!"

"Yes, I like you a lot; I was going to ask you out again later."

She giggled again, "I accept," then she started to twirl her finger in the hair on my chest.

"Now come, let's make love, I want to know if you are my perfect man."

"Is that why you let me into your bed?"

"Yes." she laughed," You are my one. Du er min fyr . Du er mig ren fyr"

I looked obviously around the room.

"What are you looking for?"

"I was looking for the closing credits while the camera zooms out on our lovemaking."

She laughed and rolled astride me, nearly spearing herself on my resurgent manhood. Her pussy lips enfolding my stiff beef bayonet, pressing it to my stomach, her breasts dangling temptingly, inches off my chest.

"Come, you make no sense."

Her head closed to mine.

"Let's make love," she whispered in my ear.