Dots and Dashes of Color Ch. 02

Three thuds on the metal door startled us. We stopped in mid fuck. "It's the police. Are you all right in there?"

"Oh, thank god," shouted Harriett.

Annie's breathless voice drifted in from the other side. "We're fine." What had Annie and Ms. Bourgeois been doing all this time?

"Be patient," said the deep masculine voice. "We're looking for a tool to get this lock off."

"Get your rocks off," said Patrice.

She made a series of quick bounces, but the presence of police just outside erased my enthusiasm. "The jig is up, my dear." I lifted her off, my penis bouncing between her thighs. "We can't be caught like this." I buttoned her blouse.

The glare of light brought my arm to my face. The warmth of Patrice's body departed. I stumbled as I stepped out of the cabinet.

"Harvey! Oh my God!" shrieked Harriett. "What were you two doing in there?"

How did she know? Had I left my penis hanging out of my pants? No, I'd stuffed it back and zipped up. When my eyes acclimated, Patrice stood there with red paint stains on the back of her skirt and on her blouse. Splatters of blue decorated her face. I couldn't see my face, but I was red handed. Patrice's hands were green, as was the crotch area of my pants. If anyone in the crowd remembered the game of Twister, we were in big trouble.

"It's going to expensive, shipping your artwork to showing across the country." Annie giggled. Others, including Harriett, laughed out loud.

One of the policemen broke a smile. The other's eyes slid, back and forth, first to me, then to Patrice. Was he matching up the colors? This kind of thing should be circumstantial evidence.

I looked back at the cabinet Patrice and I had shared. The inside was awash with waves and swirls of color that documented our vigorous coupling. Open tubes and bottles were still dripping from the bent shelf.

"See, you do have a talent," said Ms. Bourgeois. She winked at me. She knew. She'd been there.

Annie and Ms. Bourgeois stood near each other, their clothes in disarray. Looked like they had their own private celebration in their cabinet.

"I'll need your statements," said the smiling cop. "A description of the thief and the stolen goods. Then you'll be free to leave."

I stepped forward, leaving a trail of rainbow footprints.

"If you would be so kind as to remove your shoes," said Ms. Bourgeois. "Charles probably won't be cleaning up tonight, and there's already sufficient mess. You should clean up before the paint dries any further."

"We'll take their statements first," said shifty-eyed cop.

Smiley cop escorted me to a student desk. Ms. Bourgeois handed me a paint rag, which I placed on the chair before I sat down. Patrice was preparing to sit in another chair, smoothing her skirt as she lowered. There, on her upper thighs, were two red handprints. The shifty-eyed cop was facing her, already seated. Dodged a bullet there.

I told the officer everything I remembered about the fake janitor, and the painting he held.

"Thanks for your co-operation," he said.

I stood, waiting for Ms. Bourgeois, Harriett and Annie to give their statements. Patrice and I stood at opposite sides of the room. Finally, everyone had been interviewed and the police left, but not before shifty-eyed cop looked back at me over his shoulder in the doorway. I pretended not to notice.

"I'm so terribly sorry for what you went through this evening. It was supposed to be a celebration, and instead -" Ms. Bourgeois choked and dabbed her eyes with a crumpled hankie.

I patted her shoulder, and then walked over to Harriett. "Let's go home."

She put her hands on her wide hips. "You're not getting in either of our cars like that. Anna and I will go home, it's not far. You two clean up and we'll bring back fresh clothes."

Ms. Bourgeois heard my wife's demand. Folks within a block probably did, too. "I have plenty of clean-up to do here. The boys' and girls' locker rooms are down the next hallway. I can show you."

Patrice and I walked behind Ms. Bourgeois, whose hips refused not to shimmy despite her emotional state. "There should be towels inside. I'll let you know when your wife arrives with the fresh clothing."

Patrice hopped over to the door marked GIRLS, her stained skirt swaying. I tried to picture her naked ass as I entered the BOYS facility. It had been decades since I was in a locker room like this. Everything looked smaller - the lockers, the height of the mirrors. I had to bend over to see my face. The blue splatters matched Patrice, including the smears around our lips. I stripped off my paint-stained pants, shirt and socks. Some of the paint had soaked through to my underwear. I stole a garbage bag off one of the larger trashcans and threw everything in.

The shower room had eight heads and an ice-cold tile floor. Turning the first water control yielded a dribble of freezing liquid. Goosebumps formed all over, including the painted areas. The trickle increased, sputtering to a full flow. The temperature warmed enough for me to enter the stream. I wet my hands and pushed at the tiny metal knob that disbursed liquid soap. After twenty punches, I had a tablespoon of slippery pink goop. At this rate, I'd never get clean.

"Hey there!" Patrice stood at the threshold of the shower area, naked and clean.

"How did you get the paint off so quickly?"

She held up a frilly mass. "Somebody left this loofa behind. It scrubbed the paint off in no time. Need some help?"

My penis needed no help in reacting to the lovely nude body in front of me. I was stiff and throbbing before she could join me under the spray.

"We never did finish, you know." Her hands worked the blob of pink into handfuls of lather. "Stand still so I can wash your face." She stood as tall as she could, reaching the loofa towards my face. She was so close that my prick bumped against her belly. "Lift me up."

I squatted. She put her legs around my torso, and I held her ass. When I stood, she passed the foamy cloth over my face. "There, much better. Now, rinse."

I faced the stream, soaking Patrice's backside. She was getting slippery, as the suds washed down over her back. I hefted her up higher, putting my erection dangerously close to her pussy. Pussy lips-ki, to be precise.

"One of her hands reached down and guided me back in. She was more slippery now, either from soap or self-stimulation. I let her slide down, until our groins were united and her weight was all on my pubic area.

"You are one horny dude," she said.

"Takes one to know one," I replied.

"In the Bible, 'knowing' someone means you've had sex with them." Patrice was an expert, going to Catholic school and all. "So, are you going to get to know me better, or what?"

I moved forward, pinning Patrice against the wall. I needed leverage if I was going to deliver a standing fuck to this young lady. And, was I ever! My balls were demanding a release, and Patrice was my vehicle. So much better than my hand, which was my plan before she surprised me. After too many lifts and thrusts, my arms and legs were fatigued. I lowered Patrice to the tile floor. "All fours, darlin'." Patrice turned over and shook her butt at me. I positioned myself between her thighs and reentered. As a bonus, I reached around and took her breasts in my hands.

Ms. Bourgeois's voice drifted into the Boys' locker room. "How are you doing in there?"

"It's hard to get the paint off," I replied, increasing my pace and the pressure on Patrice's nipples.

"Yes, very hard," said Patrice.

"Your wife and daughter have returned, and I need to go home. Come out soon."

"Cum, come on, cum," Patrice urged.

My balls compressed as I pulled from Patrice's cunt. She swiveled and took the tip of my dick in her mouth as I shot once, twice, I don't know how many times.

Patrice let the water wash off the unswallowed residue. As we headed for the benches and towels, Ms. Bourgeois stepped out from behind a row of lockers. In her hand, a rough sketch of the two of us, intertwined.

"Don't worry," Ms. Bourgeois said, "It's our little secret." She glanced down at my still-inflated penis. "Well, perhaps not so little."

(To be continued)

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An Original H M Tale

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