The Origin of My World – A Tribute

"Fuck, babe. Yesssss," she exclaimed and drew in breath sharply with a hiss. "Use another finger too! Fuck me with your finger!"

He obeyed. How could he not? While his tongue slurped up more of her now creamy juices, savoring that very special taste, he inserted a finger and started to fuck her pussy that way. The finger slightly bent, the motions fast and alternating circles with straight thrusts. He went in as deep as he could, every now and then stopping to pull out the finger and holding it upwards. Sarah loved to taste herself, he knew, and so she arched and bent forward, until her mouth could lick his finger, the one that had just been drenched with all of her aroma. She dug that. It drove her crazy to lick her own juices. Her moans were so loud -- the neighbors would probably be rolling their eyes by now. That's how verbal she got during sex. She constantly shifted her body, trying to give in to him more and more, her arms flailing along the mattress, and she actually pushed the tablet off the bed. None of the two noticed. All of this just made him keep going and going, faster and harder. He wanted her to cum, to really enjoy this moment because it would make the painting more special. Had he told others this, they would think he was bragging, but he enjoyed giving pleasure more than receiving it. And who better to give to than to the love of your life. But his efforts of love and lust were suddenly kind of interrupted.

"Enough, Bran!" Her voice, quivering from lust, startled him and he immediately stopped his motions. For a short moment he feared she didn't like it. Her breath was very rapid. "I need you, need you now. Give me your cock."

Ask and ye shall receive, he thought relieved. So, he let his tongue and fingers part with her pussy and stood up. He couldn't help but laugh briefly as the -- by now very significant -- bulge in his rather too tight briefs struck briefly against Sarah's right foot which she moved while repositioning her leg. This caused him a small pain sensation and he got startled again. But it did not stop him.

He grinned the sensation away like a greedy teenager about to see his first cunt and quickly pulled down his briefs. His cock -- a solid and fine 6'3 specimen, not too thick but slightly curved, uncut and completely shaven -- popped out like a spring and as a result it briefly brushed against his belly and left a fad of precum there, as evidence. Totally controlled by his lust now, he grabbed his lover by her hips and mounted the bed, carefully moving over her legs. Mounting...that was exactly what he planned to do right now. Mounting her.

"The artist always follows his beckoning muse," he said, and it came out rather way too corny.

"Oh, shut up and fuck my brains out, Stud!"

The artist always follows this kind of beckoning of his muse he thought as he grabbed his cock in a tight grip. He let it smack against her creamy pussy a couple of times, giving her a very pleasurable form of pain. She cried out briefly with each smack, followed by a lustful laugh when he was finished. He then placed his pre-cum laden tip -- the foreskin drawn back fully -- against her slit and pushed it in. Both moaned in unison at that exact moment, moaned very loudly. The neighbors' eyeballs probably hurt by now.

"Gosh, you are so damn tight. That feels fantastic," he exclaimed.

"Then fuck me and wear me out, stud", was her reply.

Dirty talk turned him on even more! Bran started thrusting, good old missionary style. The artist in him probably would have loved to take his time, to look for interesting positions, to whisper niceties in her ear and to carefully caress every cell of her body. But right now, he just needed to fuck her. Fuck her good! Fuck her senseless! Fuck her until his cock hurt from all the friction that was there despite what was now a flood of juices. He didn't even bother with starting slow but instead kept hammering away at her. Her moans were perfectly in sync with his thrusts, his balls dangling with each stroke. He closed his eyes, taking in all the other sensations, her moans, the feeling of her creamy pussy on his twitching shaft, the taste of her sweetness on his lips and, while licking also his lips, the scent that reached his nose.

He opened his eyes again and looked down. What he saw was a good and solid portion of his glistening cock disappear and reappear again under a thick mat of auburn hair. Such a lovely sight!

Then he raised his gaze and he saw her. His muse! Sarah looked intently at him, not smiling, no. She had sort of a smirk of lust on her face, and with one hand she pinched her probably very erect nipple on her not too big left breast with its not too huge areola -- oh how he loved those breasts, how he loved circling the circumference of these areolas with his tongue before flicking it against the nipples. But not right now. Right now, he had to ram her. Her other hand, he saw but even more so felt down there, was now rubbing insanely quickly on her clit. Her moans became yells, her yells became screams.

And that. Did it. For him.

He felt that oh so familiar warm wave crash over him like a tsunami, his eyes closed, his head thrown back. So familiar and yet never, never getting old. His orgasm was quick and hard. He could hear himself moan, hear Sarah cry out in utter passion as she sensed what was happening. But he couldn't tell if she came as well or not. He had to be honest with himself though. At this moment, all the hormones dancing in his brain, he didn't care. He just wanted to savor this feeling, the feeling of his hot jizz spurting out. Men were men. He would care later, yes. He DID care about her and her needs. But only when his hormones let go of him.

The first load he pumped deep into her freshly fucked pussy. Had his eyes been open at that moment, he would have seen her facial expression that clearly showed how she liked the sensation of cum being shot inside of her most intimate places. However much he also liked that sensation, he quickly pulled out his cock because cumming on someone, especially on Sarah who adored cum with a passion, loved to play with it too, was his favorite pastime.

The second, third and fourth load he pumped into open range, and he barely noticed where all of his warm oozy cum went. Only when he opened his eyes again, he saw where it had landed. Both of them breathing heavily, satisfaction showing in their faces, their skin soaked with sweat and who knows what other fluids, Brandon felt his orgasm give way to utter utter happiness.

"I love you, babe!"

"I love you, too."

Both of them giggled and grinned like schoolboys, had those schoolboys been adults and just fucked their brains out. And Sarah smiled. Just moments later -- 'click'. The sound of a camera.

THE EXHIBITION

One week later. They were standing in their neatly tidied up bedroom next to the king size bed where they had made love -- and fucked -- oh so many times. Warm colors on the wall and curtains, cozy but elegant furniture. Everything in this room shouted "nice, friendly, innocent, normal". Apart from the picture hanging on the wall over the bed.

Brandon squinted slightly, then made a decision. He took a couple of steps forward, reached for the dark brown wooden frame and slightly tipped it to the left.

"There, it's all levelled out now", he assured.

Sarah just stood and looked, her arms crossed in front of her still not too big, but every so lovely breasts. Her posture a mixture of rejection and pride.

"So, what do you think?" he asked her anxiously.

"Someone might come in here and see it!" she insisted. "Remember your mom stumbling into our bedroom because she wanted to" -- here came her famous air quotation marks -- "check on the humidity in here?"

"We can lock the room when we have guests. Also...it is a very famous classical painting. Who could take offense to that. No one has to know.... Plus, you shaved all of the evidence away again, anyway." His grin showed only pride, no rejection.

"Not all of the evidence. I liked too much how you played with it. And a landing strip is perfect for that." She gave him a short kiss on the cheek. "By the way, didn't you plan on enhancing the painting just by changing the color of the bush to my auburn? And now this?"

He didn't really have to think long about his answer. Enhancing and changing up works of art was his forte and he was too much of an artist to tell her that he didn't really plan on any of what had happened during their session.

"Serendipity, babe. Serendipity," he assured.

She nodded but had one more thing on her mind. "What do you call it?"

He took a moment. „L'origine de ma monde. That translates to 'The Origin of m...'"

"Bran, I took a couple of years of French in high school, I know what it means." She paused for a long moment looking at the painting.

"It's perfect." She smiled at him as she spoke these words and it felt like bliss to him.

With his huge grin still elevating his face he grabbed her by the hand like the silly teenager in love that he still was sometimes and walked with her out of the bedroom and into the living room. It was probably going to be another 'streaming and chill' evening for the two of them instead of visiting that book reading that Tony had suggested.

Left hanging on the wall in the still friendly but now empty bedroom was Brandon Fullers masterpiece: A 20x20 inch painting on canvas that was an almost exact copy of L'origine du monde by Gustave Courbet...with two significant changes.

One: The massive bush of pubic hair did not have the dark black tone of the original but a fiery auburn color instead.

And two: All over that inviting patch of auburn delight were painted thick and long fads of white-creamy cum, glistening in the morning sun.

THE END