A Wor of Art

Stepping from the carriage, Melissa looked at the tumbled down cottage that was the home of the most renowned artist in the district, probably in the entire country. How a man with such ability could live in these conditions was beyond her understanding, something about staying in touch with the real world. Still, who was she to question how another man chose to live his life. It had taken her almost a year to get him to agree upon painting her portrait, and she wasn't going to loose this opportunity by being judgmental. Lifting her skirts to step over a small puddle left from last night's rains, she made her way to the door and knocked lightly.

Dale Stevens was a very private man, and guarded his personal life very closely, only allowing others into his home on such occasions of business. He was already irritated by the fact the Melissa Christian, a high born brat and social butterfly, was fifteen minutes late for her sitting. He was a busy man and much in demand, not one to be kept waiting idly by while upper class ladies took their leisure. He opened the door and glared at her, startling her slightly. At 27 he still look like a youth. Strong and well built, handsome in every sense of the word, his dark eyes deep and penetrating hidden only by the long strands of sandy blond hair that hung lose over his face. He looked nothing like she would have expected an artist of his stature to look, nothing at all. He gave her an arrogant look.

"You're late." With that he turned his back on her, walking back into the cabin, leaving her to follow. She was still in a state of shock from this man's mannerisms when he pointed to a stool against the wall and grunted, motioning for her to sit. She plopped to the stool, her eyes welling up with tears and her bottom lip trembling. Never had she been so disappointed, or so offended.

Dale took one look at her pouting features and threw his arms in the air despairingly.

"Madam. When I paint, I paint perfection. Now unless you intend for me to paint the perfect sulking child, I suggest you smile."

Melissa's tears spilled forth in a fountain, jumping up and running for the door, his strong arms capturing her before she was able to flee. Pressing her face against his chest, he stroked her hair, hushing her like a child.

"I am sorry little one. I did not mean to be so harsh. I am tired and wrought with frustration and I am afraid it has given me leave of my senses. I beg your forgiveness." He kissed her forehead softly; lifting her chin with his finger to gaze into her pale blue eyes. She was a beauty. Soft and pale, perfect in structure, a work of art in her making. There was hurt in the watery depths of her eyes, hurt and something unexpected, desire. No doubt her husband had no idea what beauty was his to hold each and every night. Marrying for money and social standing, never giving thought to love and passion, and what was life without love and passion? It was empty. Empty like this young woman's heart.

Her eye's looked into his, locking onto his soul and pleading with him for the passion she so desperately lacked in her life. How could he deny such an impassioned plea? He could not. His mouth met hers in a hungry kiss. His tongue pushing through her soft pouting lips, reaching forth to explore the inner reaches of her exquisite mouth. Her lips closed around him, sucking him deeper into her mouth, moaning softly with her desire. His hand found her supple breast as his mouth found her throat, kissing and squeezing her tender scented flesh. His hands reached for the laces on the back of her bodice, loosening them to allow him the privilege of setting her ripe, rounded breasts free from their silken prison. How perfect and full they were. Wasted on a man who no doubt knew nothing of the true pleasures of a woman. He pressed them together, burying his face between her soft and tender mounds of perfection. Pushing them together and sucking both of her pink, hard pebbles into his mouth. Flickering his tongue back and forward between them. Worshiping them as they should be worshiped, teasing and tantalizing them in just such a way as it should be done.

Melissa's head was thrown back; her slender fingers buried deep in his thick hair, her flesh burning beneath his scorching lips. Never had she felt such desire, such pure animal lust, such wonton need. Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her to his bed, lying her down with tender reverence. His eye's absorbed every inch of her perfection, her unblemished skin, her proud breasts, her heated panting breath. He could not leave her thus. He was not beast enough to leave such a creature of perfection unpleasured.

Lifting her skirts, he reached for her, delighted to find her delicate juices already flowing free from her exquisite feminine center. T'would be a sin to waist such sweetness. Reaching out with his tongue, he sought to taste her, devour her. Delight in the magnificence of her womanhood. He felt her body shudder as he stroked her love bud with the tip of his strong masculine tongue. Rolling it, shaping it, worshiping it with his tender attentions. She was a work of art to be loved and admired, sculpted and crafted for the sweet perfection that was her pleasure. Driving his tongue deep into her divinity, stoking a sinful fire deep within her loins with his unworthy fingers, he strived to teach this vision of loveliness, this angel, how to spread her wings and fly. On and on he worked, the master of his craft, gifted in just such the art as he practiced at this moment.

At last she was there, flying high on the wings of her pleasure, rewarding his humble mouth with the gift of her sweet nectar. He would not waist a drop of her sweet honey, licking and devouring every glorious drop of dew on her soft pink petals. Pulling her into his strong embrace, his lips found hers in a kiss that pleaded for his own fulfillment. Pleaded for her to worship the perfection of his form as he had worshiped hers. Her eyes told him yes.

Standing back from the bed that was the pedestal for this perfect sculpture of womanly grace, he pulled his shirt free of his rippling torso, his breath heavy as this goddess before him raked her fingertips over his chest, pausing to play and dance amongst the thick hairs that covered his dark flesh. Her lips burned into him, torturing him with the intensity of their heat, burning their mark on his soul. He groaned as her hands reached for his belt buckle, his loose pants falling into a pile of disregarded fabric around his ankles. She gazed upon him in all his glory, his splendid example of masculinity extended hard and ready before her sensuous eyes. She licked her lips, her slender tongue moistening the object of his desire, making them glisten and shimmer in the pale light of his disheveled cabin. He came to her, standing with all of his manhood at her tender mercy.

Wrapping her porcelain fingers around his thick shaft, she leaned forward to bless his throbbing head with a delicate kiss. Her lips were like rose petals folding around his throbbing stem, licking the pollen that was his pre cum from his perfect mushroom shaped head. He groaned in his heat, that a goddess such as this would find him worthy of her voluptuous mouth. Slowly she sucked him deeper into her melting cavern, running her tongue over him, rubbing him against the back of her throat. Squeezing his tender jewels in her other hand, he watched as she worshiped him, pleasured him.

She wanted something more from him, something she had never had. Turning on the bed, she climbed to her hands and knees, lifting her skirts high and presenting him with her greatest treasure. He could keep himself from her heated glory no longer. Climbing onto this pedestal of pleasure, his thrust himself deep inside her. No longer and artist, but an animal mounting a female in heat, thrusting and groaning, pounding into the very depths of her femininity. She was the goddess of love, heat and fire, using the powers of her divine beauty to milk him of his sturdy seed. Feeling her heat swell and pulse around him, he could wait no more, flooding her heavenly womb with his hungry seed. Holding himself deep within her milky depths until he was drained of all he had to offer.

He lay on the bed, holding this supreme work of art to his sweating chest, kissing with tenderness the glory that was she. Returning to the easel, he began to paint, praying to the goddess that his hands would do justice to the already perfect image before him.

A month to the day, Melissa returned with her husband to that very same tumbled down cottage to collect her image and pay her dues. When Melissa gifted her husband with the work of art that was her lovely face, immortalized on canvas, never did he imagine that sweet and loving smile that adorned her beauty, that soft sparkle in her eyes, was meant for any but him. Nor did he for a moment guess that the child that blossomed within his dear wife's womb was any but his. Little did he know, that babe was a work of art.