A Day at the Museum

You have the rare day off and you decide to nurture your artistic side and visit the Museum of Fine Arts. This being the Friday before a summer three-day weekend, it is particularly empty this morning. It appears as if the museum, knowing this will be the case, has a skeleton crew of guards on duty. You wander with the sensation that you have the entire gallery to yourself, carefree in your halter top and short skirt, feeling a little naughty in the knowledge that there is nothing else below your skirt other than your high-heeled slides (your mother always called them F-U-C-K ME shoes and forbid you to wear them when they were in fashion before); it was too hot to wear panties today, after all.

You visit the collection of old masters first, taking plenty of time as you stroll casually and examine all of the many details and features. Your sensation of being alone is interrupted by the sound of feet somewhere in the hall. You turn, but see no one. You continue to walk on, and the footsteps follow, but you still can't see their owner. Your heart begins to beat faster and you find yourself among the impressionists, with their flowers and peasant scenes; their bright colors and women dressed in flowing gowns. You decide to sit and listen – no footsteps. Yet, you now feel the presence of someone else. "Probably one of the guards," you think to yourself.

Suddenly, you feel a pair of strong hands on your shoulders and a masculine voice whispers in your ear, "Don't look around." Scared, you obey. The hands begin to wander down your arms ("Where are those guards?" you think to yourself) and on to your breasts; then inside your halter top where, to your great surprise, the soft hands find your nipples ripe and firm to their touch.

You start to turn again in protest, but stop when you feel a tongue enter your ear and quickly down to your neck. You begin to relax and lean back into the strong arms behind you. You still don't know who (or what, for that matter) is doing this to you. Yet, you realize that it feels very nice, especially considering how tense you've been from things going on at work lately. You admit to yourself that you want it to continue.

His hands have undone your halter top now and have taken your full breasts neatly into them cupping the underside while fingers continue to play with the nipples. You realize that you have spread your legs and feel the familiar moistness in your pussy as your breasts begin to tingle with anticipation of what might be in store. Your own arms have reached up, back and around a full head of thick hair, guiding its owner's lips around your neck, your shoulders and arms.

As you begin to squirm on the bench, your skirt rides up your hips, exposing your now-glistening cunt to all of those priceless paintings. Are those men in that one staring at the pink wet spot between your legs or is it only your imagination? Those strong hands find the spot, too and, both at the same time, begin to pull your pussy lips apart and plunge fingers inside. You begin to moan and your hips begin to writhe as the sensation you feel between your legs reaches all around your body. Beads of perspiration are now dripping down your forehead, your face, your breasts, destined to soon mingle with the juices between your legs.

Your prop your feet on the edge of the bench, and open your legs wide to the exploration of those strong fingers. You look up and see a handsome, darkskinned man, about 35, with a mustache. He is staring in your eyes. All at once you bury your tongue in his mouth, and he responds with a deep, soulful kiss as only two strangers in absolute lust could understand.

He moves to the other side of the bench and kneels in front of you. Without a word, he bends over and slides his tongue into your cunt and pulls back to start sucking your clit. Your hands have his head in them and you seem to guide every wonderful stroke and movement. You think, "I sure know which days to take off, don't I?" as your drenched pussy explodes in a terrific orgasm, causing you to scream out "OHHHHHH MYYYYYY G G-G-G-G-G-O-O-D!!!"

You look down at the stranger, who is wearing a smile and some of your love juices on his face. Glancing down further, you see a large bulge in his khakis (is that a wet spot you see?). You quickly look around, as if expecting a guard to show up ("surely they must of heard me scream?"), but there is still no one in sight. You look back and find yourself staring at a stiff, swollen cock which is peeking out from the stranger's pants. A quick dart of your eyes upward meets the strangers' and then back down, you reach out and pull his thick penis closer to you, rolling your tongue around the head, flicking the little crack and tasting his already-thick precum.

Inching a little more to the edge of the bench, you pull his full length into your mouth (well, almost full length – it's a bit larger than you expected) and begin moving your lips up and down the shaft, cupping his balls in one hand and playing a number on his scrotum with the other. Again glancing up, you see his eyes are closed and his head tilted back slightly, enjoying your every stroke. His large hands are on your shoulders as you bend forward, attempting to take ever more of him into your mouth and throat – you've never been this enthralled before, and you like it.

Soon, you feel his cock begin to swell further and pulse. He pulls his dick out of your mouth, reaches out with both hands, pulling you to your feet. Directing you to the Rodin statue, he turns you around and bends you over so that your hands are on the pedestal (why do you obey him blindly?). You feel him enter you from the rear, filling up every inch of your cunt, and you push back to meet his thrusts. His hands are on your hips, directing every stroke, deeper, deeper, deeper. You find yourself pushing back hard against him, feeling the end of his cock against your insides, and liking it. You don't want it to stop but, all at once, he reaches underneath to your clit and, stroking it, brings you to another climax – stronger than before. As the last wave subsides, you feel him pull out and shoot his load all over your ass and legs. You reach back and rub it into your skin.

Turning around you take his face into your hands and his tongue into your mouth and kiss him deeply, warmly. Then, without a word, the stranger pulls up his pants, looks into your eyes, turns and is gone. You watch him go, fix yourself up and sit back down on the bench. Looking again at the Renoir, you swear that everyone in the "Boating Party" is smiling at you – for you.

You smile back.