The Portrait of Doreen Gray Pt. 01

Dorian was inspired by the sound of the shower running in the master bathroom. It was Thursday night. His wife was obviously getting ready for another class at the art school! She had become busier in recent months. She usually had two classes a week now, but sometimes three or even more assignments if one of the artists asked her to model privately on the weekend. When the bill for the portrait came due, she had belatedly bartered with the artist rather than ask Dorian for the money. The limited gig to pay off her debt had evolved, becoming more than just a housewife and mother's part time job.

Dorian took his key ring from his pocket as he approached the special display case that he had mounted on the back side of his closet door. Doreen had only reluctantly allowed their children to see the portrait when she nervously presented it to him on his fortieth birthday. However; she had been fearful that their two eldest, adolescent children's friends might show the portrait to their friends. Doreen had not objected to strenuously when Dorian proudly displayed her portrait to a few of his friends. However; she still wasn't enamored with the possibility of teenaged boys actually masturbating to her portrait.

In recent months, Dorian's fingers had become adept at identifying the distinctive shape of the key by touch alone. He slipped the key into the lock of the four foot tall by three foot wide by half a foot deep cabinet. He had lovingly built the cabinet out of genuine oak, not cheap plywood. His method of mounting the portrait cabinet on the back of the door that was narrower than the cabinet had been ingenious. He was thinking of patenting it. He slowly swung the cabinet door open to reveal the portrait.

The oil painting was reminiscent of the portrait that was so crucial to the plot of the movie Titanic. The divan that Doreen was reclining upon was certainly very similar. However; the perspective was subtly different and the pose was a dramatic contrast. The artist had been at the foot of the divan. From that perspective he had been able to emphasize the fact that rather than keeping her thighs pressed demurely together to Reveal only a hint of her pubic hair, Doreen was posing with her thighs parted provocatively to flaunt her sex.

The artist had not been content to paint a simplistic, dark triangle that would only begrudgingly acknowledge Doreen's pubic mound. Somehow with just a few brushstrokes, he had captured not just the curly, dark whirls of her pubic hair, he had captured the essence of her prominent labia which seemed to be swollen and distended with lust. The painting even alluded to the possibility that her vagina was dilated as if to proudly convey an aurora of fertile, fecund, femininity and sultry, seductive sexuality. Doreen's portrait seemed to be inviting an admirer's penis to enter her. Just looking at the portrait evoked Dorian's vivid memories of her aroma and flavor as well as the exquisite sensation of actually being inside her.

The artist had portrayed Doreen as she truly was. He had made no effort to conceal the fact that she was almost two decades older than Kate Winslet had been when she starred in that movie. The artist had candidly emphasized the fact that Doreen was more voluptuous that Kate Winslet. However; Doreen's wider, maternal hips compensated for her thicker waist, giving her a classic, hourglass figure. Doreen's breasts were also much larger than the younger Hollywood starlet's. She had not yet weaned their toddler when she posed for the portrait. Her swollen nipples surrounded by enormous, dark brown aureoles competed with her sex for the attention of her admirers. The divan supported her in an almost upright position so as to emphasize the fact that her heavy breasts sagged naturally under their own weight because they were full and firm with mother's milk.

Dorian retrieved the sketchpad from its special compartment on the inside of the cabinet door. The sketchpad chronicled the gradual evolution of the sensibilities of a respectable, church going, housewife and mother. Doreen had stubbornly insisted on keeping her mundane, cotton bra and panty on for the first dozen sketches. Then she had somehow found the courage to pose with her panty slid seductively down her thighs almost to her knees to fully reveal her pubic mound. The artist had captured her facial expression perfectly. Her shame had been alloyed with intense arousal.

Doreen had posed for a dozen more, increasingly provocative sketches that focused unabashedly on her proudly displayed sex before she had found the courage to remove her bra. After half a dozen sketches of her posing with her arms positioned to coyly obscure her breasts, she had finally gained the confidence to fully flaunt her womanly charms. A half dozen more sketches of her reclining fully nude on the divan chronicled her rehearsals for the final oil painting.

Perhaps the most provocative of the preliminary sketches was the most innocent. That sketch portrayed Doreen as she was nursing their then infant daughter. She'd reclined with the baby concealing only the breast that it was suckling from. Her thighs were more innocently parted, as if she was only casually revealing her sex. The sketch inspired and seemed to invite an admirer to give her another baby. Dorian knew from experience that while nursing an infant delayed the resumption of a woman's fertility, their infant daughter suckling from Doreen's breast attested to the reality that it was a less than perfectly reliable form of contraception. Admiring the sketch evoked Dorian's memories of the prolonged, painful recovery from his recent vasectomy. Unfortunately; Doreen had been certain that the baby wouldn't have the appetite or the patience to pose for an oil painting.

Doreen had belatedly enlightened Dorian only after she had presented the portrait to him. She had spent an entire day posing for the sketches, gradually conquering her inhibitions. She had nervously confessed that she had become perpetually aroused as she spent many hours during the following week posing for the oil painting. The artists had made more sketches of Doreen whenever she had to take a break to nurse her infant.

Dorian had been astonished by the revelations that explained why his wife had been almost insatiable during the week before his birthday. They had been almost like newlyweds in the following weeks, with her surging libido struggling in vane with his waning virility. He had eagerly exploited the opportunity to make love to his wife without reservation or restraint until the lingering complications from his vasectomy asserted themselves again. They had been compelled to abstain for several weeks while he recovered.

Dorian's admiration of the portrait was interrupted when Doreen entered from the bathroom. She was fully nude, revealing a physique that had not yet fully recovered from her most recent pregnancy or even previous pregnancies, and probably never would. However; she had become utterly desirable to him. She was carrying a towel, a mirror, a comb, and two pairs of scissors. She blushed only a bit then smiled as she said, "the instructor asked me to be more overtly provocative tonight."

"Let me help you with that," Dorian offered eagerly.

Doreen spread the towel on the bed then sat upon it with her thighs parted casually. Dorian knelt before her and began to trim her pubic hair. He used the comb and scissors to shape her pubic mound and trim it shorter but not to short. He then used the thinning scissors sparingly on her dense growth so that her her labia were only barely obscured.

Doreen used the mirror to inspect Dorian's handiwork before she commented, "maybe thin it a bit more around my labia. I'm going to be modeling privately Friday and Saturday. The artist wants me to look particularly sultry." Dorian eagerly complied.

When he had finished with the grooming and used a damp washcloth to capture the trimmings, Dorian leaned forward to kiss Doreen's sex. His lips and tongue kissed and caressed her labia and clitoris until she climaxed. He prolonged her orgasm by plunging his tongue deep into her.

When Doreen's climax had subsided, Dorian stood up to drop his trousers and underwear then leaned into her. Doreen giggled as she said, "honey. We can't. We don't have enough time before I have to leave. Besides, I definitely don't have time to shower again."

"I could wear a condom if you like," Dorian almost pleaded. He was certain that he still had a few tucked away in his nightstand. The condoms were certainly outdated, but now they need not fear consequences if a condom broke.

Doreen almost grimaced in disgust. The prospect of humiliating herself by becoming an eager young bride had compelled her to grudgingly insist that Dorian use condoms during their engagement. In spite of their diligence, an early miscarriage had convicted her to repent and remain abstinent during the remaining months until their wedding night. Doreen had shamelessly exploited their lingering grief to persuade Dorian to not pack condoms for their honeymoon. She had been elated when the natural sensation had enabled her to finally climax during sex. He had been amazed when the often maligned pull and pray method combined with the equally disreputable rhythm method had enabled them to delay the conception of their first child until they were no longer newlyweds. Since then, condoms had been reserved for only when Doreen was in the middle of her cycle and Dorian might have been drinking to much to be trusted to restrain himself. Alternatively, he used condoms when she just didn't want to contend with having her sex or pubic hair soaked with semen.

"Just be careful," Doreen pleaded as she pulled Dorian into her. "Give me an orgasm, but don't cum in me or on me. I'll make it up to you after I get home."

Dorian eagerly complied. While having to forgo an orgasm could be frustrating, having sex for Doreen's pleasure rather than his own was a boon to his male ego. It took him only a few minutes before his penis combined with her fingers rubbing her clitoris succeeded in bringing her to a profound climax.

Doreen almost panicked when she looked at the time. She quickly went to her closet to retrieve a lacy peasant blouse and the matching, flowing skirt. She had only grudgingly agreed to allow Dorian to buy the outfit for her during a vacation in Mexico. She'd been embarrassed because the off the shoulder neckline precluded her from wearing a bra under the almost indecently thin, white fabric. Doreen had actually been less reticent about going commando under the skirt even though the overlapping layers of white lace were also a bit to sheer to be truly decent.

After refusing for years to wear that blouse and skirt again, Doreen seemed to have decided that it was the uniform of her new vocation. The simple outfit made it easier, physically as well as psychologically, to strip down to model nude. After slipping on the peasant blouse, Doreen rummaged in her lingerie drawer for a pair of nude, stay up stockings. Dorian admired the way her labia remained swollen and distended from their rutting as she sat on the bed to pull her stockings up her thighs. He knew that they would remain somewhat swollen and distended during her modeling session to attest to the fact that her husband had gotten lucky again. Doreen then pulled her skirt on, grabbed her purse, and kissed her husband goodbye. As she was leaving she coyly caressed his still rampant erection as she teasingly told him, "I'll understand if you succumb to the temptation to relieve yourself while I'm gone."

Dorian spent the first hour preparing dinner and feeding their children. Tucking in their toddler didn't take as much time. With his family duties tended to, Dorian retreated to the privacy of their bedroom. The sight of the portrait revived his erection.

Dorian dithered until a series of images arrived by text message. The students were working in charcoals rather than digitally. The artists who might be willing couldn't share their work with him simply by text or email. Doreen had used her phone to capture images of some of the students' works which she then texted to her husband.

Dorian found himself fixating on a series of images by different artists from differing perspectives of Doreen posing particularly provocatively. She was using one hand to lift one, pendulous breast to her mouth so that she could suck on her own nipple while she masturbated with her other, free hand. One of the more adept students had managed to convey the fact that Doreen had three fingers inserted deep to reach her gee spot while she rubbed her clitoris with her thumb. Perusing the sketches evoked memories from years earlier, not long after their eldest was born, when he had first caught Doreen in the act of masturbating. She'd been humiliated not just embarrassed. She'd not understood why the revelation that she masturbated had aroused her husband so. Her guilt more than her desire had compelled her to eagerly submit to his urgent need to make love to her.

Dorian felt his erection becoming more urgent in response to Doreen's provocative posing. The experience of posing nude had enabled the respectable, sometimes even prudish, housewife and mother that he had been married to for nearly two decades to metamorphose into an unabashed succubus. This latest evidence of Doreen's profound transformation revived the questions and doubts that had tortured and tormented Dorian during those first few weeks after Doreen presented the portrait to him.

Dorian returned his attention to the portrait. He used his smartphone to conjure up the artist's website. After typing in only the first few letters, the browser completed the address. The phone knew the website well. Dorian had visited many times in recent months. It took him only a moment to find the link to the artist's self portrait.

The artist was posing nude for his self portrait. The African-American gentleman with the pepper-salt beard was obviously in his sixties, yet he remained lean and muscular. Perhaps he was an avid, amateur body builder? The penis that dangled between his powerfully muscled thighs was neither flaccid or fully erect. Even in its partially flaccid state, that ebony penis was not just longer but thicker than Dorian's penis was when fully erect. The testicles that dangled in the sagging scrotum beneath that penis were even more impressive. Dorian understood that the artist might have been flattering himself, exaggerating the size of his genitals. However; he was convicted that the self portrait was not deceptive.

Doreen had spent a few days posing nude for the artist. Technically; she hadn't been alone with the artist. However; their infant would not have been a diligent chaperone. Doreen had undoubtedly taken her usual accruements for the modeling sessions. The portable playpen would have encouraged the infant to take her habitual naps. The naps would have enabled privacy. Doreen hadn't always been averse to making love while one of their infants was awake in the bedside bassinet anyway.

Dorian found himself asking the question that had tortured and tormented him. Did she or didn't she? Had the exhilarating experience of posing nude provoked such intense arousal that Doreen had, perhaps under a certain amount of duress, allowed the artist to seduce or coerce her?

The question of did she or didn't she had tortured Dorian for weeks, even months, after Doreen presented the portrait to him. However; pragmatism had eventually compelled him to quietly acquiesce to the possibility. If she hadn't, then confronting her with his fears would only damage, maybe even destroy their marriage. If she had, confirmation would certainly damage or maybe destroy their marriage. If she had and yet denied it, he would have no way of knowing that her denials were false. His questions and obvious doubts would only damage or destroy their marriage.

Dorian had eventually yielded to pragmatism because it was the only alternative that wouldn't damage or maybe destroy their marriage. It wasn't the first time that circumstances that were almost certainly innocent had provoked vague suspicions. Even if Doreen had cheated on him with the artists, she hadn't allowed her tryst to destroy their marriage. She hadn't left him for the artist. If anything, she had become an even more loving wife as well as more passionate with him. Although she had been several, agonizing days late menstruating that cycle, she obviously hadn't gotten pregnant. Whatever might have happened had happened and there was nothing that Dorian could do to change what might have happened. The only thing that he could do was not allow whatever might have happened to damage or destroy their marriage.

Once he had decided to acquiesce to whatever might have happened, Dorian's response to the question that had once tortured and tormented him had evolved. The question of did she or didn't she now tantalized and titillated rather than tortured and tormented him. His penis swelled to its full, five-and-a-half inch glory.

Remembering Doreen's suggestion that she wouldn't be upset if he masturbated, Dorian yielded to temptation. As he masturbated, he allowed himself to imagine the artist's massive, fully erect, ebony shaft plunging into Doreen's delicate, pink folds. He imagined that dark phallus ravaging her sex, bringing her to orgasm again and again, until he finally flooded her sex with semen and bathed her cervix with his potent semen. The thought of many millions of Negro sperm swimming around in Doreen's womb pushed Dorian over the edge. He captured his own, more modest, and sterile ejaculation in the palm of his other hand.

Once he had orgasmed, the question that had tantalized and titillated Dorian began to once again torture and torment him. Did she or didn't she? He tried to comfort himself with pragmatism. Doreen hadn't left him for the artist or any other man. She had if anything become an even more devoted wife as well as a less inhibited lover. He cherished the transformation even more than the portrait. He cherished the transformation so much that he had rationalized that Doreen's potential infidelities should be accepted and forgiven. What might have happened was safely in their past. He had vowed months ago that there would be no questions and no recriminations.

Dorian was surprised to discover that it was almost midnight when he awakened. He hadn't intended to doze off. He checked his phone to find that Doreen had texted him almost an hour earlier. She was going out to have a few drinks with the instructor and a few of the students. It was far from the first time that Doreen had gone out for drinks with the class. He wondered which instructor had been teaching the class. Was it the artist who had painted the portrait of Doreen or one of the others? Did that really matter? He quickly typed a belated acknowledgement.

As Dorian laid in bed, he found himself thinking about Doreen's attire. He had been the one who had coaxed and cajoled, almost coerced her into getting that peasant blouse and skirt. He had argued that it would be consolation for her refusal to let him buy her a bikini to wear on the beach as an alternative to her modest, one piece swimsuit. After she had agreed to the purchase, he had taken her out for a romantic dinner then to a club for dancing. Doreen had been even lovelier than Kathleen Turner had been in Romancing the Stone. They had made love without reservation or restraint twice that night then once again the following morning. She had been so overwhelmed with passion that she had relented by allowing him to buy her a bikini after all. They hadn't really been trying for another child during that vacation, but they had agreed that they wouldn't try to not have another child. They had been almost disappointed when her period started. Now Doreen was out at some bar having drinks with the instructor and students wearing that same peasant blouse and skirt.