Painting a Fox Ch. 02

Kindest Thanks to Sapphos Sister for her editorial touch. I welcome your comments and your votes.

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Angie wrung her t-shirt out and then spread it on a sunny rock while I searched downstream for my jeans. After five minute of fruitless endeavour, my bare feet began to hurt and I returned to get my shoes. Angie had put on her sweat pants and my white oxford shirt. With the shirttails tied around her waist, the sleeves rolled up and the buttons undone, she looked like an exotic pirate wench,. I tugged on my shoes and, in order to preserve some semblance of modesty, I tried to tie Angie's wet t-shirt around my hips for cover, but I only succeeded in making Angie laugh.

"I can't hike through the woods completely naked! What if someone sees us?" I exclaimed, a hint of anxiety in my voice.

"Why not paint a pair of jeans?" Angie said, fingering my paintbrushes.

For a moment I was confused but then it hit me. By painting Angie and other animals I seemed to have made them appear. Why not paint a pair of jeans and see if they show up too.

"That's a great idea! You're a genius," I told her with a kiss, grabbed a tube of blue paint and squirted a smear onto the palette. I mixed in some black to darken the shade a bit and then looked at my landscape to see where I should put the jeans.

I decided to put them in the foreground, beside the stream, and began painting. Angie watched me intently while I carefully applied the blue paint to the canvas and then added tiny dabs of white to make the stitching on the seams and pockets. I was so wrapped up in what I was doing that I completely forgot that I was still wearing nothing but my shoes. I looked up at the stream. No jeans in sight.

"Nothing?" I sighed. My shoulders fell in disappointment. I set down the brush and palette.

Angie picked them up and said, "You're doing it wrong."

"I better take another look," I began, but she put her finger to my lips and then with the gentle touch of her fingertips closed my eyes.

"I'll paint your jeans for you, Rodger," she whispered, "and then we'll be able to hike out of here with no problems, okay?"

Keeping my eyes closed, I nodded my agreement and wondered what sort of magic she was about to work.

I heard her rummage through my paintbox and then squirt paint out of a tube.

"Now keep your eyes closed, or this won't work," she said.

I squeezed my eyes closed tightly like a little boy making a big wish.

"What size jeans do you wear?" she asked. I felt her hands resting on my hips, as if she were sizing me up.

I thought a moment, and answered "34 waist, 34 inseam."

Her hands slowly moved from my hips until she held the front and back of one thigh. Her hands were warm and slightly moist as she caressed my thigh and buttocks before calling out, "I'd say your thighs are 26 inches around."

She let go and moved to my other side. I could hear her kneeling beside me and then felt her warm touch on my other leg. I imagined myself in a clothing shop and she, a sexy tailor, sizing me with lustful attention to detail. Her palms cradled and rubbed every inch of my hips, my ass and the tops of my thighs. I gasped as I felt her hands slide up between my legs.

"Relax," she said. "I'm almost done taking your measurements. When I'm finished, you'll have the best fitting, sexiest jeans ever." She gently lifted my balls in a cupped hand, as if weighing them, and slowly stroked her hand forward to my shaft, catching my balls in her other hand while she inched her curled fingers down the length of my shaft, calling out "one... two ... three...four ... five... "

My breathing quickened as I felt myself begin to grow in her hands, forcing her to widen her grip.

"... six ... seven ... eight ... mmmmm yes, I'd say eight inches." I thought I heard her lick her lips as she let go of my balls and stroked my hardening shaft with her other hand, twisting and squeezing the tip.

I smiled and exhaled deeply, relishing her every touch. Just then she let go.

"Okay, keep 'em closed now," Angie ordered, a slight laugh in her voice. I heard her walking around me in circles. Then she seemed to be fishing around in the paint box again.

"This may tickle, but don't open you're eyes," Angie told me.

"What are you doing?" I asked, but she hushed me and then I felt the lightest touch on the side of my hip. "Mmmm, that feels good," I told her.

"I'm nearly done. Keep your hands up behind your head, until I say so."

I raised my hands as she had demanded. Her light touch traced slowly down the side of my hip to mid-thigh, then completely around my thigh. She moved to my other leg, blowing playfully on my bare skin while she traced the circumference of my thigh and then up my opposite hip. I squirmed a bit when I felt her light touches on my ass, seemingly tracing a slow circle on one cheek and then the other.

"You have a beautiful body, you know that?" she asked.

I grinned involuntarily. "Thank you. You do too," I told her as she moved around the front again.

"Nearly there," Angie announced and I felt her light touch on the front of my hip, tracing more small circles. I knew her hands were near my cock, but was still surprised to feel her light touch (it was wet - was it her tongue?) dotting down the length of my shaft while she held my length in one hand. I felt myself getting harder and harder as the steady wet touch... touch... touch worked its way from base to swelling head. I could feel myself throbbing in her hand. She let go, saying I should just relax, while she painted.

"But keep your hands behind your head," she commanded imperiously.

Holding my hands up was difficult. My cock was begging to be touched. A few minutes later her task was complete.

"Okay, you can open your eyes," she said.

As things came into focus, I saw she was holding my painting right in front of my face. I backed up a step and took it into my hands.

"Wow!" I was impressed. Angie had painted over the jeans I'd added to the picture, inserting me into the painting. I was standing with my hands clasped behind my head, with nothing on but a pair of cut-off jeans. I looked down at myself and saw that she also had painted cutoffs onto my bare skin, complete with pockets and a fly stitching down the length of my cock! All that touching - her hands must have been covered in paint.

I put the painting back on the easel and admired her work as best I could.

"Here, try this," Angie said, fishing a small mirror out of her backpack. It was amazing. It really looked like I had on cutoffs unless you got close or I got excited. I still felt naked, but at least, I figured, I could hike through the woods without causing trouble. Angie put her t-shirt in her backpack and I folded up my kit.

"Try not to touch the paint until it dries," Angie warned me.

"I won't," I promised.

"Now, I know what they mean by blue balls!" Angie quipped and spun on her heels to lead the way. I hiked behind her, enjoying the view of her perfect ass clad tightly in her tan sweats, the top triangle of her green thong peeking out. My balls were swinging with each step and after 30 minutes of hiking, Angie had gotten a bit further ahead, so she stopped and waited for me to catch up.

"Come on, slow poke," Angie called out, "you must be dry by now. Let's have a look."

I picked up my pace, striding quickly to where she stood. With each step, my cock slapped against my thigh, growing fully erect by the time I reached her.

Angie motioned for me to turn around and then crouched to inspect her work. I felt her lightly touching my ass and then the firm grip of both her hands on my hips, turning me back around to face her. She bobbed her head back to avoid my cock as it swung around.

"Uh oh," she said.

I looked down and saw what she'd noticed. The paint on my shaft had mostly peeled off.

"We'll have to touch this up a bit," Angie said with a smile, while pulling up on my cock with her left hand. "At least your balls are still blue. Come on, we're nearly there."

Angie retained her grip on my shaft as she stood and began walking, pulling me firmly by the cock as we hiked slowly on.

After a minute or two of clumsily bumping into each other, we fell into a smooth rhythm, my hard cock sliding in and out of her loose hold, her fingertips occasionally grazing my balls. Her teasing touch felt so good, I completely lost my bearings and all sense of time.

"Here we are," Angie said, letting go of me and taking a few steps before stopping. We had arrived at the edge of the woods, beside a public park I'd never seen before.

"Where are we?"

"Brookdale Park. Haven't you been here before?"

"Never heard of it," I replied. Nearest the trees where we stood was a small exercise area, a bit further from us was a macadam jogger's path. The exercise area had some monkey bars and a wide balance beam that was about three feet off the ground.

People were jogging on the pathway as Angie walked along the balance beam. I froze just inside the woods.

"Put down your stuff and come here with me, Rodger. Let's have some fun," Angie called to me.

"I can't go out there like this!" I hissed, clutching my kit.

"Oh, yes, you do need some touching up in front, but the rest of you is well covered," she said. "Come stand up here and I'll re-paint you."

Not wanting our fun to end, but scared of getting arrested, I walked over to where Angie stood, carrying my easel and kit for cover. Angie took my stuff and turned me round, my back facing the jogging path. She set up my easel with a canvas and took out the palette.

"Okay, Rodger, climb up there," she said. Doing what I was told, I stood on the balance beam, facing her.

Angie posed me like a model, and to any passersby it would have looked like she was making a painting with me as her subject. I had my legs spread in a wide stance, my hands on my hips and my head tilted to one side. For her part, Angie pretended to be painting on my canvas and periodically walked over to me with gobs of blue paint on her brush. With people jogging or walking past just feet behind me, Angie stood coolly before me simultaneously teasing me and painting me.

"There, there, Rodger, don't get too excited. I'll I just blow on you a bit to speed the drying," Angie whispered and then followed her slow brushstrokes along the underside of my cock with her hot breath. With each stroke of her brush, she brought me to the edge of cumming. It took all my concentration just to keep from falling off the beam.

Whenever anyone approached on the path behind me, Angie would calmly return to the canvas, leaving me naked and twitching, just feet away from God knows whom.

"Are you almost finished?" I asked, trembling with nervous excitement. As far as I could see, every inch of me was denim blue.

"Yes, Rodger, but don't move just yet. I can see some friends of mine coming, and I don't think you'll want to attract their attention," Angie said with a mischievious smile.

I could hear the voices of two women approaching from behind. I held my breath and tried not to move in the slightest. I felt my erection begin to subside and was thankful as the voices moved behind me and then grew fainter as they continued along the path.

"They've gone past," Angie assured me as she stepped close to test whether the paint had dried.

"I'm sure they're quite lovely," I said, my voice cracking as she blew lightly between my legs.

"They are lovely, and they'd adore you!" she said, looking up into my dreamy gaze.

"I'll bet," I said, and with that, she called out to them.

"Sally! Claire!"

I turned to look down the path and the two women had stopped about fifty feet away from us and turned to look.

"Don't move, Rodger," Angie commanded. "Remember, you're a model and you're wearing cutoff jeans."

"Angie?" one of them called as Angie walked toward them, placing herself between them and me.