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Damn you Victor! I shot my husband of almost ten years an accusatory glance. Why did he have to mess this up for me? The worst part was; he was doing this in good faith, the sweetie. I mean, how many wives wouldn't want their husband to hire an artist to paint their portrait?

But, I wasn't just any wife. Portraits and other art I had solicited littered the house and bedroom already. These paintings were by artists I picked out. They were all slim, delicate, pretty boys I picked up from the art shows around town. It wasn't really cheating. They were just dalliances; only lasting as long enough for them to realize their potential. It wasn't sex. I thought of it as my contribution to the arts.

And this new artist, Thomas, was so sexy I could eat him up. His hair was a little shorter than I liked, but he kept it wild and unruly, which more than made up for its shortcomings in length. He was slim with dark eyes that seemed to drink in all the surroundings as if he were seeing everything for the first time. His skin was pale from spending too much time in the studio. His clothes and hands were marred by brilliant blues, oranges, and yellows. His fingers were long artist's fingers I yearned to feel on my body.

I should have been seducing him. Instead, I was sitting primly. Posing- while my husband watched from the corner of the room. I fumed and stewed, all the while wishing there were some way to get my husband out of the room so I could seduce this little pretty. Sitting there, I imagined half a dozen ways to do it. If my husband would go out for lunch, I would have given the young artist a blow job before he returned. I wanted much more than that of course, but the thought of it, of doing it under my husband's very own nose with an artist he selected, was making me wet.

I was so turned on, that my nipples were pressing out from the thin silk robe I was wrapped in. I had to hold my pose, so I couldn't move. I glanced at my husband out of the corner of my eye to see if he'd noticed. Oh God, he was staring right at them. Yeah, he'd noticed alright!

"You know Thomas," my husband said. "I think this pose you have her in, seems to be lacking something that's in the other paintings of my wife."

"I don't think so." Thomas glanced at the other pictures then back at his canvas. His look was haughty and dismissive. No artist wants to hear someone say their work is inferior.

Victor stood up and walked behind Thomas, looking at me over the young artist's shoulder. "Yes," he said. "I'm quite sure. Something's definitely missing."

What was going on? Did he know? Had this all been an elaborate ruse to expose my infidelity? I could feel my face growing warm as Victor came behind me and tilted my chin so that I stared into Thomas's gray eyes.

"Now arms up and run your fingers through your hair," Victor encouraged. "Great . . . keep them there. And only one last thing."

I couldn't believe what he did next! He moved in front of me, took my knee and placed my leg over the arm of the chair, fully exposing my sex to both he and the artist. My husband stood back, framed my body between his fingers and said, "Perfect. I think we've captured what was missing now. The 'I'm seducing the artist' look." To Thomas: "Don't you Thomas?"

I felt dizzy and my face was beyond warm, it was hot. There was only one explanation. He had found out. This was exactly the pose I used a few months ago with Pierre, the last artist I seduced. I was scared, mortified, and yet I was also wet. I took a deep breath, exhaled in an attempt to relax, steeling myself for whatever lay in store.

Victor stood behind Thomas, watching the young man paint. And Thomas, the poor kid was oblivious to our interaction. He should have suspected something was wrong . . . but all he cared about was the painting.

Victor stood there for a moment, started tsking, and then shook his head and muttering, "Something's still not right. The bottom of your robe should be open more."

I moved to reach down, but he stopped me. "No, honey, hold your pose. Thomas, be a good fellow and open the bottom of her robe a little more."

"But sir, I. . ." Thomas stuttered, clearly uncomfortable.

Victor took the brush from his hand and gave him a little push. "Be a good fellow now."

Thomas walked slowly. He was slightly stooped and the reason was quite obvious, judging by the bulge in his pants. Not touching me, he carefully pulled the bottom of the robe apart.

"That's great Thomas," Victor said. "But drape the upper part against her hips so it's a little more seductive and less obvious. This is going up on the wall, and I don't think I want the world to think my wife is a slut."

The part of the robe Victor was having him move, was inches from my crotch. Thomas tried, but the slick material of the robe kept sliding down. His trembling fingers weren't helping matters either.

"Having problems," Victor asked, causing Thomas and I to both jump. My husband had moved so quietly and quickly behind Thomas, that neither of us had been aware of his presence. "There's a trick to that you know."

Victor reached around Thomas, trapping the small framed young man within his huge arms. He delved his thick finger in my sex, causing me to gasp. Victor smiled and withdrew a wet finger from my sex. Drying his moistened finger on my pelvis, when he put the robe in place, it stayed. Thomas was doing his best not to look, his scared eyes darted around the room.

"You seem stressed Thomas," Victor asked, hiding the young artist shoulders beneath his palms. "Be a good fellow and stand up for me."

Thomas blushed and stood.

"Dear," Victor said. "Why don't you help Thomas relieve some stress? I know you know how."

I knew quite well, but I had no idea what kind of game my husband was playing at. He was clearly in charge of this, that much was certain. After undoing Thomas's pants, I pushed them and his underwear down to his knees. His balls had drawn up, so I pulled at them until they lay cradled in my hand. His beautiful smooth cock was hard and begging for my touch. I couldn't resist sticking my nose into his pubic hair and smelling his spicy scent, momentarily forgetting where I was and the situation with my husband.

"I'm much larger, you know . . ."

It was Victor whispering in my ear. He didn't sound mad . . . just curious. And it was obvious he knew of some of my prior dalliances. It was time to come clean.

"I know honey," I said. "But, just look at it. It's perfect." And it was. It was smooth and slender, and fit easily in my hand. Its purple plum shaped head was bared with no foreskin to protect it. It had a delightful curve. "It's so hard to take you in my mouth, and I can't take you all the way. But with this . . . it's just the perfect size. I can do anything with it I want. Watch. . ."

I took the plum shaped head between my lips and sucked, teasing the underside with my tongue. And then I grabbed two handfuls of Thomas's smooth tight buttocks, and then pushed him all the way in my mouth. The curly dark hair of his pubes tickled my nose and the head of his cock rested gently against the back of my throat. I could have sucked him all day. A living lollipop. I went up and down his shaft a few times and he grew harder in my mouth. When I popped it out of my mouth, it stood at attention like a good little soldier.

"See," I told Victor. "No way could I do that to yours."

Victor didn't look mad at all. Instead he looked amused by the whole thing. "I believe my wife loves your cock," he said to Thomas. "Are you enjoying your little blowjob?"

"Yes," Thomas replied, his voice husky and wavering.

"Yes, sir..." Victor said.

"Yes . . . sir," Thomas stammered.

I resumed working on Thomas's cock, determined to bend it to my will. The poor young man was grunting even louder than I expected, so I stopped sucking his cock for a moment to investigate.

It was strange. Thomas was still grunting, even though I had stopped my oral ministrations. I looked up and instead of the look of need and lust, painted on my artist's face, it was wincing with anguish. And then I saw the source of his anguish. Victor spooned up against the handsome fellow, attempting to shove his large cock up Thomas's ass.

"Stop it Victor," I said. "You're hurting him."

I resumed my young artist's blowjob. Teasing his tiny peehole with my tongue and wrapping my hand around his balls. I licked my other index finger, getting it wet, and then pushed it against Thomas's tight asshole.

"Fuck," he moaned, his cock growing harder in my mouth.

I teased his long thin cock, licking the underside, nibbling on its bulbous head. All the while, I wormed my index finger all the way into his ass. Each time I pushed it in, his cock would bob in response.

"You like that Tommy?" I asked. "You like my finger in there? Fucking your ass?"

The look on his face said he was in heaven. His cheeks were slightly flushed.

I spit on my fingers again. This time I pushed two fingers inside him. I spanked his cock against my tongue. He was harder than ever.

"You do like it," I said. "You like it in the ass, don't you. Are you going to be my fag? My little fag artist?"

I reached between Thomas's legs, grabbed my husband's thick meaty cock, and pulled it forward so that one was under the other. Lifting Thomas's cock out of the way, I showed him my husband's.

"It's big isn't it?" I asked. "I remember when I first saw it; I thought; no way was that going inside me."

I spit on Victor's cock, making sure to get it good and wet. I went down beneath Thomas's legs, pulled his bottom cheeks apart, and spit on his tight asshole for good measure.

"But don't you worry baby," I said, grabbing Victor's cock, and steering it to Tommy's entrance. "You've got me here to steer it right in. I'll make sure Victor is gentle with you."

Victor's large fingers wrapped themselves around Thomas's narrow hips for support. I moved the head of my husband's cock around in a tiny circle at the entrance of Tommy's ass.

"Here we go," I said, wrapping my hand around Victor's cock so that only the head was free. "It's going in now. It's going in that tight little artist's ass."

Victor pushed forward. My hand only allowed the head to go in.

"Ow-ow-ow-stop-" Thomas cried. "I'm not going to be able to do this."

"Sure you are," I said. I reached up and pinched his nipples and sucked his cock back to hardness. "Just relax."

I moved my fingers back, exposing more of Victor's cock. Thick cock that Victor forced into the artist's tight ass.

"Oh," Thomas cried. "I can't - I can't!"

"Fuck he's tight," Victor said, his voice raspy from arousal. "He's so fucking tight."

"You're not relaxing," I warned. "Don't fight it. If you must fight it, try to push it out from here." I tapped his stomach muscles to show him where.

That must have worked, because Victor was now halfway in. His thick head and even the thick middle were now buried in Tommy's tight ass.

My artist's unruly hair was matted and damp from sweat. His cock was deflating, only at quarter mast.

"Oh no you don't," I said. I rolled his balls around in my palm and sucked his cock all the way into my mouth. I felt it stirring again.

"That's it," I urged. "Get it hard for me again baby."

I kept working until it was hard enough to go inside of me. I sat back in the chair, scooted to the edge, and spread my legs, each one dangling over the armrest. I grabbed the curved and perfectly shaped cock of my new artist and guided it to the entrance of my hot sex.

"Push it in him Victor," I said. "Push it all the way in."

Thomas gave a cry of anguish. His face screwed up in pain. I pulled at his nipples. He began fucking me, or more like Victor began fucking him, and through him, me.

"Oh fuck," Thomas cried. His arms flailed about and grabbed at the back of the chair and armrests for support. If he tried to escape his anal deflowering by my husband, he plunged deep in my cunt. If he tried to pull back, his ass was filled with cock. Seeing the helpless look on his face and knowing that he was literally between a rock and a hot place pushed me over the edge.

My orgasm poured through me like molten lava. I wrapped my legs around Thomas, placed my feet on my husband's hips, pulled him forward and pushed him back. Driving my husband into my pretty artist.

"Oh fuck- oh fuck" Thomas began to repeat. He was no longer trying to escape his violation. On the contrary, his body began to slip into a rhythm.

They were so sexy, my husband and my lover. Our lover. I took him by his chin and tilted his head back. I caressed my husband's rough cheek, and turned him toward Thomas. My pretty artist gave a guttural whine. His pouting lips parted.

Victor was not quite as eager. He looked at me, his eyes questioning. I never said a word, but in my mind I was thinking kiss him you big galoot. Kiss him. Kiss him. Oh please kiss him.

I would like to think it was telepathy. My will overwhelming my husband's reticence. But, more than likely it was his own desire from the fires of his loins.

Victor kissed him. He kissed my pretty artist. Pushing his tongue into his mouth. Biting his plump lower lip. His face screwed up in pleasure. He broke the kiss. "Fuck oh fuck!" he exclaimed. Victors hand grabbed the back of Thomas's neck, pushing him down on top of me.

He was pounding Thomas. Really pounding him. I could feel through Thomas and I could feel his cock twitching inside of me.

"Are you coming lover?" I asked. I tightened my pussy around him. Felt his cock jump in response. "You are coming, aren't you?"

"Now squeeze my husband, just like I squeezed you."

"Oh I can't. It's too much." Thomas gasped. "I just can't."

"Yes you can."

He bit his lip. His brows knit in concentration. "Ouch" he panted.

"Goddamnit- fuck - fuck" my husband cried. "I'm coming. Fuck I'm coming."

I grabbed Thomas's ass. Each hand grabbing a handful of his sexy bottom. "Again," I urged.

"Owww. . ." he cried.

I could feel his cheeks beneath my palms. I could only imagine what he would be feeling right now, with my husband's big cock up his ass, pumping him full of come. I had tried to take it before, but it was just too painful. My ass was now off limits.


My breath was driven out of me as Victor slumped down on top of us. I stroked his sweaty muscular back. I could feel Thomas's come leaking from my pussy, ruining my chair. The joints in my legs ached. I was satisfied, and still feeling tingly from my orgasm and the hot sex. My heart was brimming over with love for my husband.

Oblivious to my intense feelings of love, my wonderful husband, my big strong man, and my new lover, both of who were in the process of crushing the life out of me.

"Get off," I wheezed. "Get off - you're killing me."

We did manage to extricate our tangle of bodies from the chair.

"Do you happen to have an extra canvas?" I asked Thomas.

"Yes," Thomas said. "I have one in my car."

"Would you mind getting it?"

He winced several times while dressing. His poor ass must have been killing him.

"Did you plan all this?" I asked my husband.

"Not everything," Victor said. "But some of it. I mean, here I am paying for all this art and not getting anything for it. It's an expensive hobby."

"Baby," I said, kissing him, and unbuttoning his shirt. "We help to support the arts, but this isn't charity. These paintings are worth much more than we paid for them. Trust me, one day people will be fighting to put them in a gallery somewhere."

I unfastened Victor's belt, and began to slip it out of its loops.

"What are you doing?" he asked, catching my hand.

"You picked this artist," I said. "It's only right that you pose for him."

"But. . ."

"No buts," I insisted. "You picked him out. You fucked him. You shoved your big prick into his tight little ass. He'll never be what he was before. He's a different person that when he walked in here today. And now you are going to sit still and let him paint you."

"But I don't. . ."


The finished painting was wonderful. It was one of the best of our collection. I was right about Thomas painting my husband. He captured him in that moment - so powerful - yet so serene.

I was also right about galleries knocking at our door. Twenty-five years later and now my paintings hung in several galleries - enjoyed by thousands. Besides, I didn't have room for them anymore, now that I moved into a smaller house.

Victor passed from a heart attack many years later.

I still have his painting in my bedroom. I sit and stare at it sometimes and think about the memories.

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