The Artist Pt. 01

Work at the gallery was fun. She liked meeting creative people and the people that loved art. The rich ones that just wanted to look cool, she could do without, but hey, it paid the bills. All in all, it was an okay job.

There was a new artist bringing work to the gallery today. She hadn't heard of him, but she would let the art speak for itself. The day passed normally and right after lunch her assistant let her know he was there.

"Hi!" He confidently approached her and gave her a kiss on both cheeks. Hmm, European, works out, great eyes, she started doing a mental appraisal on him from the limited clues she had. Awesome suit.

"I'm so glad to see you and I'm happy you chose our gallery." It was unusual that he told her this was the only gallery in town he was considering. Usually artists try to act like everyone in town is clamoring for their work.

While he set up his work, she closed her eyes. She wanted to see them up on the easels in the viewing room so she caught their full effect.

"They are ready."

She looked up and was impressed. Modern, with large streaks of color that blended together to somehow be almost impressionistic, but less hazy, almost cubist.

"The colors are all from natural sources, fruits, berries, bark, roots, etc... You could eat the whole thing if you got hungry enough." He smiled. Wow, nice teeth too.

"The subjects are scenes from nature but the paintings contrast the differences between how man perceives them today and the way they were seen in the past. Today men approach nature with a "What can I take from this" attitude where as before it has always been "Thank you for giving to us."

"I make my own paper and I use my body to apply the colors. Each work is literally my path, my interaction with that bit of nature." Hmm, he said body, not hands. She couldn't help herself as she imagined the streaks of color and how they might have been applied. Broad stripes, vivid patches. No way.

Maybe?

They quickly made an agreement for her to show them for a limited time and see what kind of response they received. He also invited her to his studio to see the process. She was curious how he made the pigments and the paper, so she agreed.

That evening, she went to his studio, and he welcomed her in. His studio was very clean, not at all the spattered mess she saw in most artists studios. His was nicely appointed with elegant furniture in the waiting areas and you could tell a great deal of money had been spent decorating his loft. Hmm, someone must appreciate his art to fund this lifestyle.

He took her into the studio area and she saw a large walk-in refrigerator filled with dozens of clear containers in various sizes. He opened the door and removed a container of blueberries. He removed one and held it to her mouth. Mmm, they were very ripe and sweet. It gave her pussy a tingle to eat from his hand.

He showed her fresh strawberries, kiwi, cantaloupes, and with each of them, fed her a sample. They mashed and strained them and set them out to warm to room temperature. The process was fascinating and she quickly became comfortable with him.

He sat her down at the easel and let her try his "paints". She gingerly traced a few lines with her index finger. She heard and sensed him draw closer behind her. His body lightly brushed her back. He leaned down to speak over her shoulder and she could smell the exotic flavor of his cologne. It was just right, not overwhelming, but enough to pique your interest. Ooh, her interest was piqued, she grinned.

He encouraged her to be bold and reached around to guide her hands. He reached into the slightly warm goo of color and made a stripe with her. His large hands were tanned and contrasted with her paler skin. Of course now, they both were covered in blueberry paint and it felt oddly erotic. She felt his muscled chest press against her back and she leaned back into him unconsciously. Their hands began to work as a duet, dancing across the canvas, plunging into new hues, and blending together into new ones.

The experience overwhelmed her and she turned in his arms and crushed her lips to his. Their hands were covered with "paint" and it quickly spread all over them. Their shared experience in painting had exploded into a desire to share more.

Their clothes were quickly removed and a new canvas was revealed. He made faint pink stripes with a strawberry over her body and down her long legs. Slices of kiwi were squeezed onto her, running in sweet streams down her sides. She painted him in turn. They admired their creations briefly before they blended them together into something new. Their focus was on the creation of the art, not the art.

This was a temporary work of art that she didn't intend to create, but they both knew it was one that would be painted many times in the future.

-Next Day-

She woke to the smells of breakfast. Oh dammit, she had fallen asleep at his place. Now it's going to be all weird.

Her fears were baseless as he was nowhere to be found. The still-warm something was covered in a nice linen and waiting on her in the kitchen. A rose was on her plate and a nicely written note was folded nearby.

"You looked too beautiful to disturb so I let you rest. I look forward to seeing you again." His handwriting was very clear. What a surprise, one more thing he does well.

She took one of the flaky croissants from under the covering and walked around his loft. He had plenty of work in progress and she was doubly excited at his professional possibilities. This was very good. It showed his sensitivity but in such a strong way. That kind of dichotomy was beginning to look like his trademark in everything he did. Memories of last night echoed through her mind. Yes, he was certainly in control of his technique.

One quick look at her watch told her she had tarried long enough. She would have to wear the same clothes to work today. She ran through a very short list of possible explanations. Like any explanation other that "I had sex all night and barely hauled my ass to work" was going to be believed.

Her mind reminisced about their night and the day passed quickly. When lunch approached, she was surprised to find a messenger at the gallery with a beautiful package. All eyes were on her as she opened it and found a container of fresh blueberries. Her blush wasn't understood by anyone there, but they knew it had a meaning to her. When she left their sight, she savored the taste of each one and licked the juice from her fingers.

At the days end, every brain cell was saying "Stay away, be cool." Every emotion was saying "Run to him." She soon found herself on his doorstep.

The door was open. "Expecting someone?" she sarcastically asked.

His deep brown eyes met hers. It was different than how she had looked into them last night. Last night she was a visitor. Tonight she was home. He took her hand and led her to the studio.

The "paints" were ready but there was no canvas. She found out that she was to be the art tonight. Tonight their art would be more deliberate. Sweet, sticky, aromatic juices were everywhere. He slowly undressed her and led her to a prepared area in the middle of his studio. He blindfolded her.

A shudder ran through her body when she felt his first touch. Something warm, traced along her shoulders making wide arcs extending down her side, a hand? Lips?

Something dotted her backbone from top to bottom. Something soft, this must be his lips? She imagined the colors he was using, the intensity of the hues, the saturation. How many layers of color on color would he use? Where would he use them?

Something under her chin- too brief to tell. Something slightly rough, soft, large, oh, how hard it was to tell using only her sense of touch, of being touched. Was it his hair? Their art went on until she thought she could take it no longer.

Something hard and warm. Mmm, this one she knew. Was she getting better at identifying his artistic "tools" or was he making it obvious for her?

She felt the blindfold being lifted gently from her head. He was naked along with her and she saw the harlequin splashes of color on his body and the matching areas on her own. Artistic interest wasn't her first thought. Nor was it her second.

She looked to the side and saw the camera that was pointed at her. On the huge video screen next to it she could see the scene he recorded. She watched herself being led into the studio and the tantalizing process she had enjoyed.

He told her she could have a copy of the tape or destroy it, but he hoped he could keep one. If an artist can create beauty on a blank canvas, how much more so when he begins with such a beautiful canvas as her? After they had watched the whole creation, he began to remove the paint from her body with kisses and licks.

It didn't take much for her to cum when he turned his attention to her clit. She had endured more than enough foreplay to make her ready.

She caught her breath then smiled. It was her turn to be the artist and his to be the canvas.

She began by rubbing her hands along his body. It was hardly an artistic effect, but she longed to feel him. His body was lightly tanned, the kind of tan you get when you enjoy being outside, not the kind you get from sitting in a box. It was one more way he was all about natural coloring.

Darker here, smooth there, a muscle here, a small scar or scratch there. She took inventory of her canvas. She must know it perfectly before she made her art. Turning him around, she explored further.

She knelt down in front of him and traced a line down his thighs with her cheek. The small hairs brushed against her. She planted little kisses on them, breathing deeply. Rubbing her shoulders against his shins, just delighting in the unusual combinations of textures and sensations. Touching her breasts to the tops of his feet.

Could he tell what she was doing? She thought back to her own blindfolded experience and the titillation she had received at the mysterious touches.

"I'll be right back." she said to him.

She took the remainder of several of the purees they had prepared and microwaved a couple until they were very warm. A few she put in the freezer to rapidly cool.

She delighted at the way his body tensed when he felt the first drops of hot juice hitting his skin. She had tested it with her finger and it was right at the limit of what would be bearable. The vivid color of the pomegranate juice stained his back. She knew how it tickled when it ran like that. Each millimeter of movement set the nerves of her body to jingling. She saw his toes curl and knew that he was feeling that same thing.

Dipping both hands in another container, she thickly coated his chest. The sticky juice clumped to his hairs and they stood up stiffly. Her fingernails traced patterns in it. Tiny detailed patterns started to show. She would wipe areas clean, lick other areas, blend juices.

This time she was more deliberate in the art she created but again she enjoyed the creating much more than the creation. She swallowed every drop of his hot cum when it was time for the cleanup. She liked to think it painted her throat.

It had been a long four days. He had left town for a business trip and had not called. She tried not to be jealous as it was insane to imagine ownership of him, but their time together had been so intense, it magnified the duration in her mind.

Lately she found herself powerfully aroused at the fruity smell of a drink or a fragrant whiff of a flower. He had added a whole new dimension to her repertoire of sensory stimuli. She laughed as she wondered who else got rock hard nipples when they drank a smoothie? The guys at the drink store really seemed to appreciate her new experience as well. Her tongue sought out the straw and she gave it another sip, Hell, let 'em watch. It only made her nipples harder.

Her eyes closed and a shiver ran through her. Much more than a cold chill, this was bone deep. She longed to touch herself and give some peace to her sensation-riddled body. As her body shifted, the slide of the fabric across her breasts set her teeth on edge. He needs to get home fast!

-A few days later-

"Come by my house tonight and bring something dark to wear to work tomorrow. Better bring a jacket to wear also."

Was he taking her somewhere cold? She didn't even address the way he had just told her what to do, assuming his wish was her command or something, she was too excited at hearing from him. The hours seemed to drag along until she could finally close the gallery and run home for a change of clothes.

When she arrived, the door was open, as was his habit. She loved the mystery of walking silently into his loft awaiting her discovery. What would she find tonight?

Tonight, she found a large inflatable swimming pool filled 6 inches deep with raspberries. He stood behind it in a white terry cloth robe. He was glad to see her, she could tell.

She ran to him and they kissed deeply. Her hands tried to tear the robe from him but he gently parried her. "To the berries."

He eased behind her and began to undress her. She leaned her head back against him and felt him take charge. She could undressed in 10 seconds the way she was feeling but he was in no hurry.

When she was completely naked, he turned her to face him. Her hands went into the folds of his robe and separated it. She saw his athletic body just as it had been in her dreams the last few days. Hard, tanned, and quivering erect.

He picked her up and stepped into the pool. His steps liberated the scent from the berries and it began to fill the room. He gently lowered her into the soft cool berries and she felt them squish underneath her. Some rolled aside, but most squirted their juices onto her. It was a fruit bukkake as they coated her in wetness.

As he lay beside her, she rolled over to kiss him again. The room was warm and the smell of the fruit was heady. Her breasts crushed against him and she wrapped a leg over him. Everywhere was the sound and smell of raspberries.

"Don't touch our necks or faces."

It was a simple enough rule. One she didn't question.

When he touched her, it was with a purple raspberry-stained hand that left a trail everywhere it went. Gone was the artistic rendering from before, this was passion. She grasped him and loved the feel of her slick, sweet, juice-coated body against his hardness. Her hand slipped and slided with just the right amount of control.

They rolled and writhed until they were purple from head to toe. Their lovemaking was hard and demanding the first time. The second time was lingering and slow. Raspberries oozed between her toes as she curled them into tight balls.

Dessert was exquisite.

When their lusts were sated, they stepped from the pool and left their marks on a few canvasses. She couldn't wait to hang these in the gallery and see strangers look at them wondering at the technique. How could the artist make these thick long brush strokes or these large round patches? Oh, they were going to enjoy their secret techniques!

After the art, she went toward the shower. He called to her and she turned. "It's already stained pretty deeply. You'd have to scrub yourself raw to get it off in a hurry." She wondered what he was suggesting.

"Wear it to work under your clothes."

Now she knew why he had suggested she bring the dark clothes- so people wouldn't see purple cleavage showing under her white blouse tomorrow. She would take his dare and be a secret Smurf tomorrow. After all, he was going to be purple tomorrow also.

"The good news is you won't need any perfume either." She smiled.

Their days had been filled with experimentation and variations on these themes. He was wonderfully creative and sensitive. He could spend 30 minutes licking her breasts. First long slow licks, then overlapping circles, tiny little dots, his repertoire of techniques was amazing. He took note of which ones she particularly liked and would come back to them. She loved him for caring about her when he was lost so deeply in his experiences with her. She wasn't just art to him, she was the reason for his art.

He asked her to keep the next three nights available but didn't bother to tell her why. He wasn't inconsiderate, he just loved surprising and delighting her. She hoped her enthusiastic response and creativity had been appreciated by him as well.

She had not only kept her copy of the recording he did, but she had encouraged him to make more. She enjoyed the amazing sex they had, but she also felt like he might truly be one of America's new great artists, and anything he painted needed to be preserved. If it was an hour long film of him slowly dropping warm caramel on her breasts, then so be it. That had been an especially erotic night for her. He took a tantalizingly long time adding drop upon drop of the sweet sticky caramel to her boobs and was delighted when he lifted the hardened mass off in one piece.

She had been expecting sex but when she saw the perfect cast of her breasts, she was fascinated and watched as he inverted them into beautiful bowls that he filled with ice cream and topped with cherries. They looked like tanned boobs on one side and pale white boobs on the other. "Do you want to taste your nipples?" he asked her.

Her face lowered down to them and her lips parted. She gently picked the cherry up with only her lips and squeezed it. She was rewarded by a little dribble of the bright red juice that ran down her full lips. He licked it up for her. They shared her nipples that way.

It was so interesting to see the exact size and shape of her breasts. They made nice little cups. I'm going to have to make a hot dog plate, she thought wickedly. I wonder what I could use?

She replayed all these thoughts and was very warm when she got to his studio. Her time with him was precious to her. He was a very thorough lover.

Tonight she saw he had buckets of an unfamiliar grey substance arranged in a semi-circle. She tried to visually identify them, then leaned low for a sniff. Nothing, now she felt it. Very thick and gritty. Hmm, now a taste. Nothing. Puzzled, she finally turned to him for an explanation.

As usual, his explanation consisted of removing her clothes and kissing her. Oh well, she could live with that answer.

"Stay very still." She took his command to heart and stayed motionless. She had modeled for art classes and a few artists before, so it wasn't that unusual a request. He reached into the bucket and filled his hand with the grey paste and spread it across her buttocks. That was a particularly sensitive spot for her and he knew that.

Her eyes glanced around and she was rewarded to see the familiar cameras recording their every move. Another handful went across the small of her back, then to her sides. She felt it clinging heavily to her body. He was applying a very thick layer of it. He worked on her back and then circled around her to begin the front.

As he knelt in front of her, he kissed her gently between the legs. The temptation to change her position or spread her legs evenly slightly was overwhelming. He smiled up at her and saw her determination. She didn't mind, she knew her patience would be rewarded. One thing she never had to worry about with him was being left wanting.

It tickled in some places- between her toes, behind her knees, under her arms, and others. She was surprised at the weight of it on her. Looking into the mirror, she could see he was making a statue of her, a living statue.

He was very careful with her face applying the thick coating evenly and with a purpose. He cleared two little nose holes for her to breath through and left.

He returned soon with a hair drier that she knew by it's sound and of course the familiar heat. He was careful not to let any spot get too hot but soon she could feel her covering hardening. She could feel his touch as he lightly traced areas on her, muttering to himself. "Yes, that's quite nice. Hmm, maybe a little thinner material here." and otherwise critiquing his technique.