The Gallery

A had been in London for a week: an extended stay after 4 exhausting days stuck in contract negotiation. It had taken it out of her. So it hadn't been a major decision to postpone the return flight and have a look round one of her favourite cities.

She'd bought Time Out like a good tourist and consulted on the best shows, concerts and exhibitions to visit...she'd ticked a fair number off and had saved potentially the best till last...a small gallery just off the canals at Little Venice. She'd enjoyed lunch in a bijou waterside cafe watching the boats bob past and the collective mass of Londoners wander, head down in the hazy afternoon sun (she'd been lucky!).

Dressed in a simple Paul Smith dress she'd picked up yesterday in Covent Garden (knee length cream cotton, with a turquoise hem and slim brown leather belt) she strolled her way to the exhibition entrance. A square white building, not much bigger than a terrace house didn't bode particularly well...but books, covers etc...

She rang the small silver bell to the side of the sturdy looking ash door. After a worryingly long wait, it eased back. A man, about her age, looked out, eyes wincing in the afternoon sunlight. Like all gallery folk he was dressed a little eccentrically; a plum cotton blazer, white tshirt, jeans and some trainers straight from a running track...but he wasn't bad looking. A smiled her best tourist smile "Er, hi...is this the place where The Woman is?"

"Um...yeah...(a little shy and awkward)...we closed 5 minutes ago though...I'm just locking up". Silence. "Oh shit" she thinks. She was assuming it was 4 and it was 5; she always ended up having a late lunch on vacation.

"Oh no (turning on the *charm* smile) I'm heading back to? tomorrow. I really REALLY wanted to see it (head to one side, cute, employing those piercing eyes). Please...I'll be quick?"

He checks his watch. A thoughtful pause. "Yeah...no problems. I'll have to close up behind you. I'll let you out the back in 5, yeah?" A steps into the cool dark room and he locks the door behind her with a thud. He points to the painting ahead of her. "Please..." and with a slight blush returns to his open plan desk.

I think he likes you...a little twinge of pleasure turns in her tummy. Her flat white sandals (Burberry) slap on the grey concrete floor. She self-consciously treads a little lighter as the echoes in the deserted room are deafening.

The room is indeed impressive; better than she would have assumed from outside. Square, white, high walls topped by narrow oblong windows (that only let in a modicum of light) surround a single painting, 10ft by 8 ft., hanging from the ceiling.

The lack of light was mandated by the artist, Emmaline Parry, a young British artist who wanted the audience to get up close. It's quite breathtaking. A reworking of Picasso's masterpiece. The pain had gone, replacing it was pleasure; a head thrown back in unadulterated ecstasy. The teeth bared...the hair flowing...the eyes unfocussed...not looking...only feeling.

A looked at it and lost herself in it. The colours. The lines. All made her think about the last time she'd felt that. Between a job that required travel and a broken down marriage, well, it had been a long time ago. But somehow the memory stirred something deep in her; starting in her tummy...working down the front of her thighs and back up her again. It felt wonderful. She became aware of the warmth hovering around her groin. Instinct told her to touch herself but she refrained...maybe later...

It was only then she became aware if him next to her again. About 6 feet away, close but not close enough to invade her space. She glanced over: he seemed to be lost in the woman's face as well. Out of the corner of her eye she took him in...over 6 foot...brown scruffed-ip hair...blue eyes...nice lips...and an obvious reaction to the painting in his tight jeans. She looked away, embarrassed for him and herself. But that abated and was in turn replaced by curiosity and something else: a desire to see all of him.

"Good, huh?" she said straining to keep her eyes above his waist. (Distracted) "...hhhmmm? Oh...yeah...(smiles shyly, blushing again you think, hard to tell in this light). I look at it longest at this time every day...the best light...really...brings it all out."

"Yeah, I noticed." you tease, but he doesn't take the bait.

"I've..g...got to close up now" he mumbles. OK, she admits defeat, but he's going to have to tell her the way back to the tube. She steps to him, tube map in hand but the damn thing slips to the hard floor. She goes for it, but (British, chivalrous to the end) so does he, and a slight collision of skulls occurs...

"Oh Jesus, I'm so...sorry." Doing a best effort impression of Hugh Grant he begs forgiveness while hunched down on the floor as he tries to recover her papers. She can feel the aroused nervous energy coming off him and it strengthens her resolve to do something about it...she does what comes natural to her in life...she takes control.

Her knees bend, and she lowers herself to his level. Her arm extends and places a hand on the soft material of his jacket; she squeezes his shoulder but says nothing, just holds his gaze...let's an almost imperceptible smile play across her lips and her other hand passes her fingertips down his jawline. (In hushed tones) "Its ok...it did the same to me"- she cocks her head at the painting hovering over them.

His eyes pass from hers to her lips and back again. That's when she swoops. Her lips push against his. She feels his inhalation of shock but he isn't going anywhere, and he relaxes into the kiss ("that's better" she thinks). Their mouths widen, his hand drops the paper and moves to cradle the back of her head. Her boyish haircut, spikey to the eyes is soft to his fingers. Tongues meet now as they explore each other, tasting each other.

She breaks the kiss to briefly look up at the bright paint on the canvas. His heart jumps like a rabbit thinking she has seen the error of her crazy ways, but she takes him by the wrist and gently moves the palm of his hand up her dress and onto her silky thigh. "Ah...are you sure?" he breathes, not quite able to follow how quick she's moving, but she's sure what she wants...she wants to be like the woman above them. "Of course: touch me."

His fingers cautiously move to the plain white cotton thong adorning her. His fingertips graze across the soft material and he can feel the shape of her raw flesh underneath. Her arms flung round his neck, she holds him tight urging him to go on, further. "Pull them to one side please," she says, lust catching in her throat. His fingers do her bidding, trembling with excitement.

He touches her, for the first time skin to skin, and it feels like electricity shooting up her. Her feels her wetness...there since she really looked at the painting. The inside of his knuckles pass over her clitoris and she moans at the change in texture and pressure.

She purrs quietly into his neck and her lips press against him looking to taste his flesh as he sets hers on fire. He slips his middle finger into her now and she whimpers, tensing. He feels her soft flesh tighten around him...she feels wonderful.

"Stop..." She directs him and again takes him by the wrist. This time the destination of his hand is up to her mouth; his gaze is held by hers as she unflinchingly takes his fingers and sucks her juice from him. Her eyes shut tight at the exquisite taste of herself. "Sit back" (he looks like he needs a rest, his face set in a mask of awe at this...creature). He rocks back and sits on the concrete floor examining her. On all fours she crawls to him and makes no pause in undoing his flies.

She looks him in his bright blue eyes, their faces about a foot apart as she puts her fingers into his pants...searching...wrapping around his already half hard member. Her eyes fall now: she wants to contemplate the almost obscene sight of his dick being pulled out. Her teeth dig into her lower lip; it's a nice size...very, and as it falls in her hand and feeling its satisfying weight, she wants only one thing: to feel it in her hungry mouth.

She brings her eager face to it and kisses the bulbous head. She savours the silky texture, passing it back and forth across her lips, over her chin and up over her cheek...teasing him mercilessly. She wants to devour him as much as he wants her to and eventually she opens up, slips her tongue under his head and takes it in.

She feels it throbbing and growing to its final size. Not sucking it yet, she just senses his shape, sliding her tongue up, exploring his hole, stretching it. Her hand slides down and reaches to caress his balls; this causes him to tense and she loves the sensation of his cock fighting to free itself from her control.

Its now that she wants to suck him...the muscles in her mouth tense, drawing him against her. "Ahhhh..." he cries, moving his hips involuntarily towards her (she's been told before that she can suck a little TOO hard). And then after the first few full sucks she settles into a rhythm. Just taking him in an inch or two, releasing and sliding back down.

Saliva begins to collect in the corners of her mouth, and she begins to taste the unmistakable tang of his precum. He's ready, although she could carry on doing that forever, she wants him in her...now. With a wet *smack* she relinquishes his dick. Again she slides the head slowly across the soft skin of her face leaving a slight trail of combined fluids.

OK...no words required now. Rising and taking him by the hand she leads him to his minimalistic desk. No need to do the dramatic sweep of office detritus! Hands moving up her dress, she removes the thong, sits on the table and leans back. Opening her legs and lifting her dress she exposes her shaven slit to him; her hand passes down and gently teases her swollen labia open. He can see her glistening even in the half light...

"Now" she commands. He doesn't demure. Taking his head he pushes against her entrance...he's a little big for her and hesitantly tries to gently work his way in. But she wants it, so she reaches around his waist and encourages him to thrust; with one powerful movement he's fully in her and she emits a small scream. She smiles again and relaxes her head back on the table. He can start now.

Slowly he enters and slides out, enters and slides out. She feels like he's filling her to capacity, her walls being stretched every time: it feels overwhelming. "Harder" she says, leaving him in no doubt. He rolls his hips faster, each time he retracts she thinks he'll exit completely but at the end of every repetition he drives into her again. Each time she wants to scream.

He's fast now, banging into her and her body begins to hum, that familiar feeling of the very start of an orgasm. She clenches her buttocks, feeling her own juices leak and slide down past her ass. His tight grip on her hips heightens her pleasure and this is magnified even more as she ventures a finger down to tease her clitoris.

More than anything the sight of her touching herself begins his orgasm. His legs begin to feel weak, tension rising from the knee to the thigh. His skin prickles...he can feel it passing from his legs and up his back. She too feels it now. Every molecule of her concentrates its attention on the energy building between her legs.

He reaches the point of no return and whilst still thrusting, he doubles over, onto her. He twitches, feels his lower half almost give way and he unloads his hot come inside her. His hips jam up hard against her and she can feel him filling her up: this triggers her final moments of climax.

Lifting her knees up and raising her ass off the table, tightening the vice of her legs around his torso. She bucks a few times, her pussy tight, ringing every drop from him. In that moment she resembles the painting...freed of everything...becoming only a vessel for pure pleasure.

And with that they collapse. Spent. He leans and places his head on her shoulder, plants a soft kiss on her neck. He smells her perfume mixed with the musk of recent sex. She places her arms around him again and pulls him closer. Feels the comforting weight of his body on her as she leaks their thick mess onto the desk. But she cares not...this was an unexpected end to the trip. A happy end.

He turns his head and smiles mischievously. "I forgot to tell you it's £5 entry..." She rolls her eyes and nips him at the waist...then kisses him gently on the lips.