In The Haze

bymaster_chay©

The pretty student with the short purple bob was struggling with the large glass entrance door of the gallery. She was carrying an untidy bundle which was clearly a number of canvases held together with bubble wrap, and Mr Neville Richmond, the owner of the gallery, noted that his balls were giving a little twitch.

He grinned to himself, leaned back in the executive leather chair behind his desk and folded his hands behind his head.

The little student was wearing an impossibly short zebra print skirt, black tights and calf length black fashion boots with high platform heels. This did not help her with balance, and as the whole parcel of paintings threatened to slip from her grasp completely, Mr Richmond could enjoy a good view of her very round breasts falling forward and without hindrance in her sleeveless tank top.

He sat up a little straighter, ran his tongue over his lower teeth and stood up just in time as the flustered, flushed girl teetered towards his desk.

Mr Richmond was an older gentleman, a little on the portly side, wearing an unremarkable grey suit, white shirt and charcoal tie, with tousled grey hair that was receding slightly at the front, giving him a high forehead and the air of a scientist or a lecturer, the kind of man who might say, you can get undressed over there, pointing to a silk screen and it would seem normal, acceptable.

Now, he was struggling to control his grin as the petite student finally managed to pile her paintings on the corner of the great light wood desk which sat at the entrance of the Richmond Gallery.

It was a bright early morning, a Wednesday, just after opening; Mr Richmond's assistant had not yet arrived.

The flustered girl finally looked up at the older man, swallowed, licked her pretty bright pink lips with the tip of a pierced tongue and said, "Ahm, who I could I speak to about ... ahm ... possibly ..."

Mr Richmond smiled fatherly and held out his hand. She took it. Her hand was very cool and small, slim in his.

"You can speak to me. I'm Neville Richmond, the owner."

"Oh," she said, producing a perfectly round little mouth and Mr Richmond's balls gave another twist.

He could see an opportunity when an opportunity itself. Or rather, he thought to himself, I can feel it. I can feel it so very perfectly ...

He cleared his throat to mask a chuckle.

"I take it you have brought some examples of your work with a view to displaying them here?" he asked the girl who nodded immediately and started stroking the bubble wrap covered tower of Pisa with a small, thin hand, covered in silver fashion rings and many bangles.

"Alright," he said, "Let me lock up and we'll take them in the back so you can show them to me."

He went to the door, flicked the latch and walked past the girl, towards the end of the shop without looking back.

She picked up her stack of canvases in a hurry and clip clopped after him.

The Richmond Gallery was a large rectangular building that sat right on the beach front in a premier position; as the girl followed Neville Richmond, her eyes flashed from left to right, taking in the paintings on the white walls and the objects on the tall white square plinths. If only .... She gathered her canvases closer to her and crossed her fingers. Please, please, please ... she thought.

Richmond led the way into the very back of the gallery, where a large empty work room awaited. There was a run of trestle tables at one end and various x-frames and lighting rigs leaning against the walls, numerous types of partitions and more plinths.

"You can put them on here," Richmond said, pointing at the run of trestle tables.

The girl nodded and set to work immediately, taking the first canvas from the stack and beginning to undo the sellotaped ends.

Richmond stood back and looked at her lovely little arse; the super short skirt left very little to his imagination.

There really was no need to go very much further.

Finally, the girl with the purple hair was pulling the canvas from the wrapping.

Neville put his head to the side and looked at it.

It was actually quite interesting; an abstract in black and white, with a big red swirl in the middle. He liked it and knew he could sell it to trendy gays who were always looking for more interior decoration, easy.

The girl, whose head barely reached to his nipples, looked up at him. She was holding her breath, her bejewelled fingers twisting nervously and her eyes were big and wide. Richmond's balls were hot now, as were his hands.

He said calmly, "That's not bad. I might be able to do something for you."

Her wide eyes widened even more and she drew in a fast breath.

"However ..." Richmond now could not help to grin, showing his teeth, "As you can appreciate, this town is overrun by art students trying to get their work into a prestigious gallery such as this."

The girl nodded seriously, making her purple bob bob. Richmond nearly swooned but took control of himself.

"It is really very simple," he said to the girl.

"We can make an arrangement.

"You can give me a blow job, and I will hang one of your paintings for a week.

"Let me fuck you, and you can hang three.

"Be at my beck and call for a month, and you can have an exhibition at the end of that months' time.

"Just you. With full marketing support. It will make your name.

"Sounds reasonable?"

The girl had put one hand to her chest and her eyes and mouth were now open.

She shook her head. "You're joking, right?" she said uncertainly.

Neville Richmond smiled and gave a long, drawn out sigh that turned into a "Mmmhhh..." Then he said, "Those are the terms. It's up to you how much you want to sell."

The girl swallowed hard and stared at him. There was no doubt that the man was serious; she watched him slide his hand into his suit trousers and straighten his dick, which was clearly now fully erect.

She swallowed again and flicked her eyes back to his face from his pants.

"C-can I ... think about it?" she asked in a small, frightened voice.

"Certainly," said Mr Richmond calmly, with his hand around his dick. "Sixty seconds should suffice."

The girl flicked back and forth between his face, his crotch and then her eyes fell on her painting in black and red on the trestle table.

She took a deep breath and said, "If I choose ... the first option, can I ... up the ante later?"

Richmond wanted her bright pink o-mouth round his dick badly. Very, very badly. He wanted to see that pink bob bob.

"Alright," he said, his voice much lower and rough sounding than before, "One painting, one week, one blow job. Right here and now."

The girl nodded slowly. "OK," she whispered, "OK I'll do it."

Richmond blew out a long breath through pursed lips, took his hand out of his pants and said, "It's a deal. Go for it."

"Here?" The girl looked around the light flooded white walled warehouse with the concrete floor nervously.

"Here," said Richmond. "Now. The opportunity closes in 10, 9, 8, 7 ..."

The girl stepped up in front of him and slowly lowered herself into a crouching position before him. He watched her purple bob and closed his eyes, then gave an involuntary gasp as her small hand touched his cock through the material of the suit trousers.

She used both hands to get the waist clip undone, then she carefully pulled down the zip. Richmond was wearing plain white boxer shorts; she pushed the waistband down a little and the head of his cock sprang free.

This time it was her turn to give a little gasp. Mr Richmond was extremely well endowed; his prick was not that long but had the circumference of a soda bottle and would clearly make a real mouth full.

She swallowed hard and looked up at his face.

Richmond was extremely serious, so serious he nearly looked angry.

The girl, whose name was Hazel Manson but who liked to call herself Haze, looked back at the dome of his big prick that was beginning to leak a little glistening liquid from the top. She needed money, badly. She desperately wanted for people to see her art. She fucked most weekends when she was drunk enough and for much less important reasons.

I am an artist, she thought. Art is my life. This is my life. There is nothing else I want.

And with that, she closed her eyes, moved her head forward and kissed Richmond's prick.

At the touch, his hips rocked forward and he put a hand on her hair, his fingers flexing on her scalp. She pulled his boxers down further, then his pants too, pushing them off his hips down to his knees. Then, with a deep breath and resolution, she pulled his big dick forward with her hands and pushed the dome into her mouth.

Neville gave a low, throaty moan and put his head back, both hands now in the girl's purple hair, who had started to suck and flick her tongue against him. He pushed forward, trying to force more into her mouth, stretching her, choking her.

She drew back and stared up at him.

"It's too big," she said and swallowed. "It's too big. I can't ..."

"Yeah you can," Neville growled and took hold of his dick, pushing the tip towards her mouth again, "Just relax, breathe through your nose."

She opened her mouth and he pushed inside her, just the dome, pushing it in and pulling out in slow, short strokes that were becoming longer, deeper. The girl struggled to breathe through her nose but eventually began to relax a little; her tongue came back to join the game and she closed her eyes.

Richmond held her head by the hair with one hand and with the other, steadied his dick.

"Touch my balls," he told her whilst continuing to fuck into her lovely hot, wet mouth in slow, controlled strokes. She put her hands around his hairy balls, cool little hands, and he had to moan and fuck deeper into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat and causing her to gag which felt fantastic. Her hands tightened around his ball reflexively and Richmond started to tremble. He didn't know how much longer he could control himself when the girl pulled back and away, hard.

He let her go.

Her legs were trembling from the effort of crouching before him and she was gasping for air. She let herself fall back on the concrete floor and said, "I've changed my mind. I want three paintings instead."

Richmond, whose cock was in agony by now, looked at her black tights disappearing into that ridiculous skirt.

"No," he said, "A deal's a deal." He moved forward, restricted by his pants around his knees, and knelt between her legs.

"Get it done," he said to her, "Get it done now."

The girl sighed and put her head forward. This time, Richmond put his hand into her fine purple hair and took a firm grip. He was too excited now, no more nonsense. He pushed his dick into her mouth - thank God, thank God! - and just held her tight and fucked her mouth until he came, quickly, powerfully, explosively. He held her head tight until the girl had to swallow and finally, he let her go.

"Fucking hell," he said, sinking back on his heels, his prick slowly softening and the agony had been replaced by warmth, and relaxation, "Fucking hell. You've got one hell of a hot mouth, do you know that."

The girl was wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand and shaking her head. She looked defeated.

Richmond stood up, pulled his boxers up, arranged his big, limp cock inside them and gave a sigh of happiness. He pulled up his pants, zipped himself up.

"What's your name?" he asked the girl on the floor.

She looked up at him and said, "Haze."

He held out his hand to her. She took it after a short hesitation and he pulled her to her feet. She teetered and fell against him; for a moment, he put his arm around her and held her by the arse cheek, firmly drawing her against himself.

"We'll make a real artist of you yet," he said sincerely.

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