Service Pets - Van Werff's Painting

Free Use Vignettes - All characters 18+

Kink warnings: sex slavery

These writings are purely fantasy, I do not wish to live in this kind of world, or for it to exist anywhere outside of our absurd imaginings.

If you enjoy these fictional pieces, I'm glad -- please leave a decent rating and some feedback. And if not, there's no need to spoil the fun of others with insulting comments.

Thank you! <3

*****

The little plaque propped up outside the ring of velvet ropes near the gallery entrance read "Misogynoir; seed on black canvas; performance at 12:15pm" -- Desi checked his watch. Just 15 minutes to go. He looked to his companion Jean, who was scrolling the gallery schedule on his phone as the rest of the crowd gathered at their sides.

"You know, I've heard that Van Werff abstains for months leading up to these little performances," Desi leaned in, the shoulder of his expensive sport coat pressing against Jean's own.

"Really? When ever does he have the resources to create his still imagery, then?"

"Supposedly in the wintertime, at his southern retreat where the canvases are stored. Although, I've also heard rumors that he pays other up-and-comers to imitate his style, and then sells those, splitting proceeds."

"I very much doubt that. One can tell when one is viewing an authentic Van Werff."

Desi arched his lips and shrugged, as the performance canvas was brought through the ropes and arranged on a drop cloth marred by the crisp spatters of past performances. The Nubian girl knelt there, heavy, dark breasts rising and falling calmly, palms resting on her ample thighs. Her close crop of tight, wiry curls puffed neatly around her ears and forehead, a sparkly little afro catching the spotlights from above.

"Ah, shorter hair on this one," Jean remarked, tucking his phone away and observing the canvas closely.

"Personally, I prefer the neat cropping -- so much of the display is lost in deep curls, or thick braids," Desi rubbed his bare chin with arms folded. The canvas's large, dark nipples stood out like scorched marshmallows in the gallery's chilly air-conditioning. The two connoisseurs could make out a light ripple of gooseflesh on her skin, but to her credit, she didn't shiver.

"Where do you suppose he acquires such marvelous materials for his work?" Jean wondered aloud, smoothing the auburn whiskers of his upper lip.

"Well the best stock, for black work at least, still comes from the motherland overseas. But he could well acquire them from high-end importers here, stateside."

"Most import stock, though, is marketed for breeding and recreation, I thought?"

"There are always niche vendors, you know. And niche buyers, of course."

A murmur rippled through the small gathering as Van Werff appeared in a close approximation of a monk's habit. A tall, gaunt figure with angular features beneath the drooping, dark brown hood.

"A bit dramatic, no?" Jean whispered.

"Hush, he is an artiste," Desi tossed a few fingers at his friend to silence him.

Van Werff stepped into the rope circle, bathed in strong light from above, and observed his canvas pensively for a moment. The girl kept her gaze straight ahead, vision then filled by the artist's dangling cock and balls as he removed his cloak and let it fall to the ground. Another collective murmur from the crowd. The Dutchman was lean with deep pockets of muscle around his shoulders and hips. He was pale, and mostly hairless apart from his short, pointed brown beard. His member, also hairless, was very decidedly not short, nor pointed.

The performance had officially begun, as he grasped his painting implement and roved the body of his canvas with oceanic gray-blue eyes. He slowly stroked the 8-inch, semi-hard slab of meat, and it grew steadily in his slender hand. It was a marvelous specimen, neatly collared and straight as a javelin, yet thick as a Polish sausage. The audience could make out a glisten at the flared tip, as his body primed one of its most ancient instincts.

"Now, the mistake most amateurs make is to tighten their limbs at climax -- a natural response, granted -- but observe how he remains loose and lets the release occur unfettered," Desi intoned quietly to his rapt companion. Van Werff inhaled steadily through his wide nostrils, and let the air out patiently through his thin lips. His long cock was rigid in his fist, and the glistening bead at the tip swayed down like a strand of spiderweb between the thighs of his canvas. He was deep in concentration, and Desi wondered what the artist's thoughts were like at such a moment.

"Mmph," the first sound the Dutchman made was a faint, deep grunt as his buttocks tightened briefly, signaling a final approach toward completion. He rested his pink-knuckled right hand on his hip, while the other hand maintained a reasonable pace in its pumping motion. He worked the sensitive frenulum with particular intent, and leveled the drooling slit at the girl's broad, dark features.

She was a beauty in her own right. A pleasantly rounded nose hovering above full lips, and almond-shaped eyes with chestnut brown irises, beneath a smooth, even brow. Her body was plump in a fertility-goddess kind of way -- rich and womanly in its definitive eroticism. Her pubis was shaved bare, and her belly was a field of rich, dark earth, beneath the twin teardrops of her oversized breasts.

The first heavy, thick rope of the artist's load split the facial features of his canvas perfectly, flopping across the top of her head and trailing to the bulb of her nose in a single, wet, white line. She scarcely flinched at the eruption, only closing her eyes to prevent their fluttering beneath the subsequent volleys. Van Werff ceased stroking and grasped his member the way an animal gently holds its young by the scruff of their neck. It thrummed in his fist as another thick spurt arced forward, but the rest of his body remained largely relaxed.

The second rope fell at an angle across the right brow of the canvas, creating a thin stripe over her eyelid and catching the top of her ear cartilage. It dangled there in the light like a pearly earring, thick enough in consistency that it didn't break before the remainder of the load was spent. Van Werff adjusted a fraction of an inch to match his work on the other side of the canvas, creating a near-identical arc over the left brow and forehead. Desi, Jean and the others marveled at his precision and control, even in the throes of an intense orgasm. It is what separated him from the bargain artists selling amateur imagery they made at home with their own third-rate materials.

His balls nestled up between his thighs as he splashed each corner of the girl's nose, where it joined her cheeks, before the precise splatters drizzled over her lips in twin white ribbons. They met and merged at the soft curve of her chin, swiveling down in a single, hefty thread toward her sternum below. The thread didn't break until Van Werff aimed another spurt at the bridge of her nose, between the eyes -- and that trickle merged with the creamy deluge, adding to her chin strand. The healthy dribble of slime dropped neatly between her weighty breasts, and traced between them to her navel, which it filled like a sacramental chalice.

Any normal man would have been long-finished by then, but the rumors of Van Werff's abstinence seemed to be proving true. He ambled slightly backward toward the velvet ropes and bent his knees slightly, giving his cock a few more rapid strokes of encouragement. Another couple of wet volleys jumped from his glistening slit, decorating the girl's shoulders in turn like graduation tassels. The pristine, ivory streams contrasted beautifully with her cocoa-colored flesh, racing down her shoulder blades behind her to kiss the dimples above her abundant ass cheeks.

With practiced marksmanship he spattered each of her deliciously erect nipples with diminishing jets, and they dripped onto her lap where her hands still rested obediently. Then, with the scarce remains of paint in his sack, he delicately graced her lax forearms with singular, gleaming stripes, which drizzled down the sides of her buttocks like warm pastry frosting. Finally spent, he released his deflating member with a long exhale and a slight stumble of balance.

The crowd would certainly have loved to erupt with cheers at what seemed an eternity of erotic entertainment, but only polite applause was encouraged inside the gallery. It was, after all, a civilized affair -- not some back alley Pet-mosh. Desi turned to Jean with a thoroughly impressed expression as they both clapped for the performance, and Van Werff stooped to retrieve his monk's habit, folding it over one arm. There were inevitably a great many questions and photo requests from fans in the crowd, as his latest piece dripped with semen in the background.

A gallery attendant was on hand to collect high-resolution images of the final product, before too much of the seed soaked in or trickled off. But afterward, once the display had passed its very brief "prime" -- the guests were invited to inspect and add to the work if they so chose. Van Werff generally donated his canvases to performance galleries when he was finished with them, anyway. It was his way of ensuring that art remained a "conversation with the community" rather than an exclusive display of snobbery, as he liked to say.

"Greetings gentlemen, you may select your holes," the attendant said as Desi and Jean approached, stroking their cocks through the zippers of their slacks.

"Oh, nothing fancy, my friend -- I think we'll share the mouth," Desi nodded to the young worker with a smile, and the lad nodded back. He and his companion took a moment more to admire the wonderful features of the canvas, as the additional layers of guest cum formed bubbles from her nostrils with her breath. Then they took turns bobbing her sloppy face along their shafts until they splattered their artful contributions over her head and chest, as well.