tagExhibitionist & VoyeurPainting a Fox Ch. 01

Painting a Fox Ch. 01


Many thanks to Sapphos Sister for the editing.


Although I'm a lawyer by profession, my passion has always been for more creative and artistic endeavors such as painting and photography. Having received an easel and some canvases as a birthday gift, I decided I would bring my painting gear with me on my next hike into the woods. Surely there would be something interesting for me to paint.

I threw on my Lucky jeans and a white, long-sleeved shirt and set out early in the morning. The rising sun cast long shadows. Overhead, the light breeze ruffled the canopy of leaves, pelting me with dewdrops. In the forest there was a clearing with a stream that I liked to visit, and by the time I got there, my shirt was soaked. I peeled it off and hung it on the back of the easel in the middle of the clearing.

Water rushed over moss-covered stones in the stream while the sun rose above the tree line, warming my broad shoulders and back.

I began by quickly sketching the scene onto my canvas with a soft pencil. By noon, I had nearly completed the painting. Lots of green, some browns but no excitement.

"Something's missing," I thought. I looked around and wondered where the animals were. Normally, I'd see a squirrel, some birds, often deer and occasionally a fox. But today, nothing.

"Guess I have the place to myself," I thought aloud and began to add a couple of gray squirrels to the canvas. Just when I painted the second squirrel, I heard the rustle of leaves behind me. I spun around, shading my eyes to see who was there. The sounds got closer, and I knew before I saw, that there was a small animal coming toward me. Sure enough, two squirrels ran right past me and bounded over the rocks and the stream before disappearing.

I continued to embellish the painting, adding some small birds and a couple of chipmunks. By now, it was positively hot out, so I went to the stream and knelt to splash some cold water on my face and chest. Birds were twittering nearby and a couple of chipmunks squeaked and ran away. That's when I realized: everything I paint has appeared as if by magic. I cupped my hands full of water and poured it over my head. Refreshed, I stood and shook the water off my long, dark, curly hair.

As I walked back to the canvas, some water trickled down my back and my chest. The dripping water felt like light fingertips tracing down my abs, inside my jeans, then down my shaft.

"I wonder..." I said aloud. I began to paint a nude female figure, crouching beside the stream, cupping water in her hands. I gave her light brown hair, pale skin and a full figure. Wishing she too would appear for real, I painted her body in a three-quarter profile so you could see most of her ass but one side of her generous breasts. With my face close to the canvas, I carefully added fine details - the hint of a nipple, the glint of sunlight on her hair, the toned muscles of her shoulders and calves. She was beautiful, like a fairy without the wings. I felt my cock pressing against my jeans as I slowly stroked the tip of my brush between her breasts.

"My God, that's me!" a voice asked, making me jump and drop my palette against my hip. "Oh! Sorry!" she said as I turned to see who had snuck up on me.

"Oh, great!" I said, trying to scrape the paint off my right hip and the front of my jeans. "You startled me!"

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't want to spook you, but then I saw you were painting me, as if you'd seen me in the nude!" the woman of my fantasy spoke. I was trembling with excitement. Was this some sort of new-found magic power, or a dream?

I extended a paint-covered hand to shake and introduced myself, "Rodger Greene."

"Indeed you are," she said, declining to shake my green hand. "Angie Fox," she said, tilting her head to one side, "Have we met?"

"Not until now," I said, walking to the stream to wash my hand. Angie studied my painting while I rubbed my hands together in the stream, the paint shedding greenish clouds into the water as it rinsed off. I stood back up and examined my hands.

"You sure you haven't been spying on me?" Angie asked with a smile.

"I'm a good boy, honest," I replied with my most innocent smile. "Why, do you often crouch naked beside this stream?"

"Not when there's a boy around, no matter how good!" she teased. "You know you've still got paint all over your hip and your jeans. I hope that washes out."

"It's acrylic, but it should wash off with water as long as you don't let it dry," I explained while wetting my hands and trying to wipe the paint off my hips and lower abs.

Angie took a few steps closer and watched with amusement as I tried to wash myself. Angie Fox was aptly named. She looked to be about 24 years old, 5'2" and fit. She wore a white V-neck t-shirt and green sweatpants. Her hair was light brown, her eyes blue and her skin was fair. She looked just like the girl I was painting. Angie crouched beside the stream to fill her hands with water, giving me a glimpse of her breasts inside the V of her shirt. She wore no bra. Angie stood carefully and walked toward me with the water still cupped in her hands. I reached toward her hands thinking she was bringing it to me to help me clean myself, but then she dumped it all over the front of my jeans, soaking them.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?!" I yelped, as half the water ran down the inside of my jeans. I quickly kicked off my sneakers and pulled off my socks to keep them from getting soaked.

"Sorry, just trying to help clean up the mess I made," she said, reaching forward with her hands to rub the paint off the front of my jeans.

The minute her hands made contact with my leg, all thoughts of protest vanished from my mind. I stood still as Angie's hands rubbed the paint out of my jeans. Well, most of me was still. When she bent down to rinse her hands, I reached inside my jeans and pulled my hardon upright to keep from embarrassing myself.

"This may be a bit cold," she warned before pouring another handful of water onto my pants and then kneeling to rub the paint out. The force of her hand on the front of my thigh made me fall backward. Instinctively, she reached behind me with her left arm to catch me but ended up grabbing the back of my jeans, pulling them half the way over my butt while pressing her ample breasts against the front of my thigh. I reached down to steady myself with my hands on her shoulders. We regained our balance, her breasts engulfing my upper thigh and crotch, her right hand on my naked behind and her left hand gripping the back of my jeans. I hoped she couldn't feel my cock from throbbing against her.

Gingerly, Angie stood up just inches from me. She pulled the back of my jeans up, but only by an inch. I looked down at her shirt; it was smeared with paint, especially at her hard nipples. There was also some paint between her breasts which rose and fell as she breathed. I raised my gaze to her face and saw her eyes were cast downward. Looking back down, I was surprised to see the paint-smeared head of my cock rising over the top button of my jeans.

"You should take these off so I can clean them properly," Angie said softly without looking up. Her hands reached for my button fly, her fingers grazing either side of my cock and with one tug and twist, the jeans fell opened. "Lucky you," Angie read aloud from the embroidery inside my fly and laughed.

"I'll say," I thought. But I didn't say a word for fear of waking from what surely was the best dream of my life.

My wet jeans fell to my ankles and I stepped out of them. Angie tossed them into the stream and then pulled off her shirt and dropped it in the water. She placed a stone on top of her shirt to keep it from drifting away.

She took my hand and pulled me, naked, to the edge of the stream, her full breasts swaying in the dappled sunshine. Angie kicked off her shoes and then shimmied out of her sweats to reveal a light green thong, a perfect ass and slender legs. She then led me to a shallow pool in the stream. I stood smiling at her, my erection proudly pointing at the sky while Angie gently used the water to wash the paint from my hip and abs.

Soon the paint was off me everywhere except for the green paint covering the head of my cock, and she paused.

"It's okay. I can wash that later," I told her.

"You should wash it now, before that paint dries," she said.

"We must look like Adam and Eve," I said, trying to break the sexual tension.

"Well, from what I remember in Sunday school, Adam had a bigger fig leaf, or maybe you've just got a bigger . . . serpent," she smiled.

I wet my hands and rubbed at the paint on the head of my cock. At first, Angie looked on unabashed. The paint wasn't coming off easily. I then took my shaft in both hands, and placed the balls of my thumbs on the head and rolled them forward, rubbing and squeezing repeatedly. Angie, for her part, was now wetting her hands and raising them to her bare bosom, running her fingertips up between her breasts, then cupping and lifting them with her palms. What started as cleaning sure seemed to become something more.

"There... That looks like it's working," Angie said, releasing her breasts and stepping closer, the stream softly lapping between her legs. A drop of pre-cum formed at the tip of swelling cock. As I continued to rub, the cum mixed with the paint and dissolved it quickly. I bent at the knees, submerging my hands and cock, then rose, glistening and paint-free, or so I thought.

"Um, you missed a few spots," Angie said with a serious face.

"On me?" I twisted to look at side. When I turned back, Angie had closed the space between us, smirking.

"Yes, on you," Angie gingerly knelt in the stream and wrapped her fingers around my cock, lifting it up against my stomach, to reveal paint on the underside "...and on me," she continued, pulling my shaft down and brushing the tip between her breasts, "and I think you have just the thing we need to get it off," Angie hefted my swollen balls in her left hand to emphasize her point and continued to slowly brush the tip of my cock up and down between her breasts while massaging my balls in her other hand.

"Ohhhh, yes, you naughty, dirty girl," I grunted. At the top of each steady upstroke of my cock, Angie brought her mouth down and swirled her tongue across my wide purple head. I leaned back slightly to see her breasts as she plunged my cock down between them. Stroke after stroke, as she dragged my head down between her breasts, the tender skin felt hot like a match being struck.

"I am a dirty girl, Rodger, so cum on me and make me clean," Angie whispered, looking straight up into my eyes. Her right hand was now sliding up and down my entire shaft, the sides of her thumb and forefinger banging against the rim of my head with each tug. My balls tightened in her left hand, and Angie stroked faster and faster, tightening her grip on my shaft. My breathing became shallow and fast, I closed my eyes and tilted my head back on my shoulders as my hips began to thrust forward. I inhaled sharply through my nose and felt the rush of semen as she tugged downward on my pulsing shaft to shoot streams of hot cum onto her breasts.

"Oh ... my ... God!" I grunted as her cum-slick hands slid all over my balls, my shaft, and breasts, in a frenzy of orgasmic bliss.

"See?!" Angie laughed and leaned back, holding onto my cock with one hand while running her other across her breasts, "we're all clean now!"

"I guess I'll save money on paint remover from now on," I smiled as she let go of me.

Angie lifted the rock off her shirt and it was soaked, but paint-free. I turned to look for my jeans, but they were nowhere to be seen.

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