"I'm Not Bad, Just Drawn That Way"byMalePatternBoldness©
I've heard stories about news photographers who get shot because when they put the camera viewfinder to their eye, they forget that they're actually in a dangerous situation and think they're just watching something happening to someone else. It's like extreme voyeurism. I know it sounds strange, but I believe it. I believe it because it happened to me.
I'm not a photographer. I'm an artist. Well, I want to be an artist. I take my sketchbook everywhere I go and when I get "in the moment," I'm really transported away from where I'm really at to a place somewhere in my head.
So I'm sitting in the park -- you know, the one downtown where all the fountains are -- and I'm sketching the statue there in the center of the square, when I notice this -- I don't know, girl, woman, female, whatever. You couldn't NOT notice her. She was exceptionally well-built, if you gather what I mean. Very chesty. And her body was voluptuous in a very old school Italian Masters kind of way. She wasn't fat, she just had curves. Like a woman should look instead of these starving, rail-thin women who try to pass themselves off as sexy.
Her hair was a bright red, almost brassy color. Very shiny and shot through with streaks of black. She had real dark eyes, almost black, and she was wearing a variety of clothes that looked like they had come from an expensive vintage clothing store or a cheap thrift shop. You know the look I'm talking about.
Anyway, she sat down on the ground and leaned up against the statue I was sketching. She opened a book and started reading and I let my eyes kind of linger on her. Her breasts in particular.
The button-down shirt she was wearing wasn't buttoned up that much. I could see her black lacy bra very clearly. And on each breast top, she had tattoos. It wasn't a picture of anything, it was just a design mirror-imaged on each breast. I got to imagining how the tats must look on the parts of the breasts I couldn't see. So I started sketching her. Nude.
I imagined her full breasts with dark, silver-dollar aureole and a tattooed design reaching around as if to caress them. I imagined her mound shaved except for a thin landing strip of tightly trimmed pubic hair, another tattoo just below her pierced belly button. I imagined her so well, I got a hard-on under my sketch pad.
I got so involved in my drawing, I don't really know when she noticed me looking at her. I did notice when she closed the book, stood and started walking toward me. That was when I panicked.
You see, it's not unusual for people to want to see my sketches of them. Usually I comply, but this time I was rapidly trying to come up with some kind of excuse so I wouldn't have to show her. Unfortunately, my mind doesn't work that fast.
She sat next to me on the bench. Her perfume was understated but magical. My throat went dry. Her short denim skirt rode up on her thigh and I could see the garter clips holding her stocking tops. This woman knew how to dress.
"Can I see?" she asked. I had flipped the cover closed.
"Sure," I said. I opened the sketch book to a picture of the statue I had been working on before she had arrived.
"Nice," she said. "Very good. Now show me the one you drew of me."
"I...the statue... not..." My words weren't coming out too good.
She leaned over and put her lips next to my ear as one hand slid beneath the sketch book and cradled my bulge. "Pretty please?" she purred.
I flipped the pages. There she was, in all her imagined glory.
"Wow," she said. "Not bad. I thought you might be undressing me with your eyes. Guess I was right."
I'm sure my face was seven shades of red. "I'm sorry," I told her. I don't normally do that. It's just that you were...And I noticed the...And I started...imagining."
"Actually, you've got a very good imagination," she said. "But the tats don't come down quite that low around my nipples. Low pain threshold," she laughed. "See?"
She pulled her left breast from the black bra and ran her finger over the tattoo that ended right about where the bra had covered. I'd gotten the aureole right. It was large and the nipple resting in its center looked like a dark red gumdrop.
She giggled and tucked her breast back in the cup. "Guess I shouldn't do that out here. Just wanted you to see. I love the way you draw. Feel free to draw me anytime."
She gave my bulge another squeeze. "Thank you for this, by the way. That's some compliment."
"M-m-my pleasure," I managed to stammer.
She giggled again. She had a very musical laugh that came from somewhere in the back of her throat. We were sitting close on the bench and the sun was beginning to set, but I didn't want her to leave.
She surprised me again. Leaning closer, she pressed her lips to mine. She gently massaged my cock and I lowered the sketch book to try to cover what she was doing. Her tongue pressed between my lips and I let mine dance against it. She tasted like strawberries. I didn't know if it was her lip gloss or just her natural flavor.
She broke the kiss, looked into my eyes and giggled. She looked around as if checking the proximity of people in our immediate area. Then I felt her hand unzipping my jeans. She watched my face intently as she pulled my hard cock out into the evening air and began pumping me with long, leisurely strokes. "God, you are so fucking turned on," she said. She seemed to like watching my face as she gave me a handjob right there in the park.
"Mmmmm, do you like that?" She was smiling and I was sure anyone who got within a few feet of us would know what she was doing. I also didn't care at that point. Throw my ass in jail. It would be worth it.
She expertly manipulated my cock until she got my precum flowing and then massaged it back into my prick like the natural lubricant that it is.
She started looking at the sketchbook and pointing with her free hand like we were discussing the intricacies of my artistic talent. She lifted the sketch book away from my lap, peeked under it and made a sound like, "Whoo." Her cheeks flushed. "That's as impressive as your talent," she said.
She kissed me again and I put my hand on her cheek and slid it down her neck. I wanted so badly to feel those full, natural melons in my hand, to run my tongue over the sexy tattoo on her breast tops. But there was no way to do it out here.
She was breathing heavy when our lips parted. "Listen," she confessed, "I thought you were cute when I saw you here drawing and getting aroused looking at me. I thought I'd come over, give you a quickie handjob, and that would be the end of it."
She sneaked another peek under the sketch book. "Whoo. I'm so fucking wet right now. I would love to feel that inside me."
"My Jeep's right over there," I told her. She followed my pointing finger with her head to look at my Grand Cherokee.
"That'll do nicely," she said.
I started to tuck myself back in my jeans but she said, "No, leave it out. Cover it with the sketch pad."
I admit, I felt a little silly walking to my car with my dong hanging out. But I also felt incredibly aroused. The breeze was blowing over my hard, sticky flesh and it made me feel so fucking horny that I couldn't wait to bury it in the pussy of this unconventional little tattooed vixen.
I opened the door for her and she climbed into the passenger seat. Then, throwing caution to the wind, I chucked my sketch book into the back seat and walked around to my side of the car with my cock sticking proudly out and up.
As I slid into the driver's seat, my tattooed beauty giggled again. "Find us a place a little more out of the way," she suggested. As I pulled out onto the street, she leaned over and took my hard pole into her mouth.
It was difficult to keep my eyes on the road with that beautiful brassy-black head of hair bouncing on my cock. As she went up and down, her tongue went around and around and the sensation was better than anything I've ever felt before. There was only so much of my cock that she could get to with it sticking out of my jeans like that, but she took all of it deep into her throat and held it there as she swallowed, letting the back of her throat massage the head.
She slid the entire length out of her mouth and blew on the head. "God, that's a beautiful cock. I wish I could draw like you. I'd sketch that swollen dick," she ran her fingernails over my skin, "these gorgeous veins, that big purple head." She sucked me back into her warm mouth and moaned deeply. I never felt so appreciated in my life.
I drove to an area under the highway that I had sketched before that I knew was lightly traveled. Shutting off the ignition, I climbed into the back and reclined both of the seats.
"I like the way you think," she said, joining me in the back.
I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my jeans and underwear. My tattooed beauty had removed her blouse and was reaching to unsnap her bra when I stopped her. Pushing her back on the seat, I grabbed the bottom of her denim skirt and pulled it up over her hips.
She wasn't wearing panties. A garter belt held her stockings in place and there was no belly button ring or landing strip. She was shaved smooth with only a small heart tattooed on one hip.
I pulled her legs open roughly and buried my face in her snatch. She wasn't kidding. She was drenched. I let my tongue cup her essence from deep in her cunt before running it in slow circles over her swollen clit. She moaned and pressed the back of my head tighter to her snatch, moving her hips against my mouth. I curled two fingers inside her and finger-fucked her while I tongued her clit.
"Oh God! Easy Cowboy. You'll make me cum too fast."
I kissed the heart tattoo. "How many times can you cum?" I asked.
"I don't think the limit has ever been reached," she giggled.
"Fair enough." I went down on her aggressively, using my fingers, lips and tongue to work her juices into a lather. I was intent to make her scream.
And she did.
That was when I found out she was a squirter. It shocked me at first but then I got so into it I couldn't get enough. She drenched my face, her legs and a lot of the car seat.
With her legs still twitching in the air, I slid up and thrust my cock into her all the way. She squealed and wrapped her legs around me tightly, giving just as good as she was getting.
"Oh goddam, fuck me with that beautiful hard cock." I pushed myself up to look down at her and realized she still had her bra on. I was too turned on to take it off properly. I pulled the cups down and freed her tits which began moving on her ribcage with every thrust from my hips. Her nipples were hard and the aureole were puckered. I covered one with my mouth, sucking that gorgeous natural tit as far into my mouth as I could. She held my head tight against her and squeezed my cock with her pussy muscles.
Then she pushed my head away, holding it with both hands and looking intently at me with those beautiful black eyes. "Fuck. ME!" she said, in rhythm to our thrusting. "Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me."
The liquid sound from our loins and its aroma filled the inside of the car. Her stockinged legs were wrapped around me, her skirt bunched up over her hips. I looked at her hair, her face, her titty tats. "I could not have drawn you any more beautiful," I told her.
Her eyes narrowed, her mouth turned down and with a crying gasp, I was watching her cum face as I felt the warm spray from her pussy wash over my pubic hair.
"Oh God, give me your cum. I want to feel it," she said, when she caught her breath.
As much as I wanted to fill her cunt with my cum, there was something I wanted more. I fucked her hard and deep until I was about to explode. When I reached the point of no return, I pulled out and shot my white hot cum all over her tattooed breasts. I groaned as the pearly liquid splattered against the body art and pooled, dripping into her ample cleavage.
She raised up on one elbow and took my spent cock into her mouth, sucking the last remaining drop out and swallowing it.
"Who ARE you?" I asked as she slid her skirt back down over her hips and refastened her bra over those beautiful tits.
"I'm your muse," she said. She opened the car door and slipped back into her blouse. "Don't worry. We'll see each other again."
And she walked off into the darkness.