Body Painted

My wife brought home her calendar that Bette, the art teacher, had created of our last modeling session. The ladies were all tastefully nude and I was amazed at the look, considering that the ladies were definitely mature. She shared that all the ladies were thrilled with the calendar, even though a couple of them had said they would never be able to hang it up.

I told my wife that the best composed shot was either of Louise, our elderly naturalist friend, draped in my arms or of Kathy and Megan with flower wreaths in their hair and staring into each other's eyes with me in the background. She thought that the shot with Linda and I dancing was as good.

We flipped through the calendar a dozen times pointing out the details of each photo to each other. I told my wife how much I loved seeing her on her horse, Lady Godiva style. She blushed and muttered that she wasn't as beautiful as the other ladies. I reassured her that I found her very beautiful and that she was the one I had chosen to spend the rest of my life with.

I had just started kissing her when her phone rang. I couldn't make out who she was talking with, so I decided to go to the kitchen and get a glass of milk and check out if there was still a piece of apple pie left.

Finding a big piece of pie in the fridge, I cut it into two pieces and put them on plates and headed back to the family room. As I entered, my wife said goodbye and hung up.

"That was Bette," my wife volunteered.

"Anything going on? Pie," I asked showing her the dessert plate?

"Have you heard that there is a body painting festival next weekend in Pensacola?"

"No, I haven't," I replied. Handing her the plate I asked, "Someone interested in colorful paint on nubile young bodies?"

"Actually, Bette has a friend who wants to paint a couple of mature bodies for the festival" she answered. "Bette kinda volunteered us to be considered. Her friend wants four to six people to choose from and wants real people, not the usual young perfect bodies."

"Are you good with it", I asked? "I know that you are willing to join in with our nudist adventures, but this isn't something that someone should be volunteered for."

After a pause she said, "I don't think I'll be chosen, but I'm willing to take the risk. It would be something completely different than being naked with our friends, or in a situation where everyone is nude."

"Yes," I observed. "Whoever gets chosen will be nude while being admired by clothed people. The question is what will it feel like being nude except for a thin layer of paint?"

My wife reached out and slipped into my welcoming embrace. She felt my arms give her a squeeze.

"Let's do it," she whispered.

My wife called Bette back and gave her our acceptance, then she called Linda and arranged for a bedroom for the weekend. The following days passed quickly and soon we were headed to Pensacola.

We arrived at George and Linda's place in the late afternoon and found out that they were going to join us in the selection process. In fact, they had a lot more information than we did. We were to be at the festival at eight a.m. to find our artist's tent. There we would strip and wait for the artist to select which one of us would be the canvas. The lucky victim would get a complete body shave and then be painted. The artist would have two hours to paint and then the exhibition would run from eleven to two.

We enjoyed a light supper and sat on the patio sipping wine until the sun set. My wife and I excused ourselves and headed to our bedroom.

Lying in bed, I felt her hand creep across my hip and start caressing my cock and balls. I groaned with pleasure and my legs spread in hope of her continued touch. I felt fingers softly exploring my sensitive skin and in response, my cock started to swell. Her hand claimed my growing cock and encouraged its rapid swelling.

Reaching over, my right hand gently rubbed her breasts and felt her nipples harden into little pebbles. As her hand stroked my hardening cock, my hand dropped down her body to massage her pussy. Her moistness coated my middle finger as I wiggled it between her lips.

My wife's legs opened in invitation as my finger explored her womanhood. I felt her hand tug my cock toward her and without a word, I rolled over between her legs. She guided my cock to her opening, and I felt her pussy lips part for the head of my cock.

My rigid cock sank slowing into her as I looked into her eyes in the faint light. We fell into our normal rhythm as I stroked in and out while her hips lifted in matching motion. Our pace increased as she came for the first time. Moments later with our thrusts, she came again.

As she came, her juices soaked my cock and then as my cock got harder and my balls tightened, she muttered, "Yes," and my cum erupted into her. As my hot seed gushed into her, she came again and loud "yes" escaped her lips.

Cuddled up with each other in the wondrous afterglow, we drifted into slumber. The next morning, we woke early and showered. We dressed and joined George and Linda for breakfast before heading to the festival.

We arrived at the festival and saw a number of enclosed pop-up tents set up along a path. George estimated that there must be at least 30 tents on the path.

Bette met us in the parking lot and took us to one of the tents near the middle of the path. She introduced us to her artist friend. She was a gray-haired woman in her apparent 40's and introduced herself as Fran. She instructed us to go behind the curtain that divided the tent in half and undress.

The four of us went behind the curtain and saw the only thing in the space was an old picnic table on a carpet. We undressed and Linda suggested taking a group selfie before Fran made her selection as Bette came in.

We perched on the table as Bette aimed Linda's phone at us. A moment later without any warning, the table collapsed, spilling the four of us onto the ground. The two ladies were groaning, and George was holding his right wrist. My wife's lower back was hurting, and Linda's left thigh and hip were aching. My right shin was scraped but only stinging.

I encouraged my wife to stretch out on the carpet and started to gently rub her back with long strokes of my hands. I caressed her back from her neck down over her soft butt. As her pain was relieved by the warmth and pressure of my hands, my cock swelled until it was semi-hard. I've always enjoyed the sensations of bare skin beneath my hands.

My wife thanked me as she rolled over. Linda was still rubbing her hip, and with a smile, George asked me to give her a hand. I moved over to her and started massaging her left side from her knee up over her hip. As she was lying on her right side, I rubbed the back of her leg up over her butt cheek, as well as the front of her let to her hip bone. I massaged her leg and hip for about five minutes until she announced that it was feeling better.

George told us that he had sprained his wrist. Bette went out to tell Fran about the accident. A few minutes later, Fran and Bette came through the curtain and then stopped and looked at the four naked people in front of them.

Fran looked at my wife as she stood with a slight stoop and then shifted her gaze to Linda who obviously had a sore leg. Fran had a frustrated look on her face as she noticed how George was holding his wrist. Her eyes met mine and she just pointed a finger at me and said the others could get dressed.

I followed her through the curtain and Bette directed me to a corner where she switched on a clipper. She ran the clippers over my back, my chest, anywhere I had hair growing on my body. Bette finished with my upper body and started on my legs, working upwards.

My legs went quickly and then she asked me to bend forward so that the hair on my ass would be at the mercy of her clippers. The vibrations from the clippers were a new sensation between my ass cheeks. Then Bette ordered me to turn around and started trimming my groin. I didn't dare move as the clippers vibrated their way over my ball sack as Bette guided the blades.

When she finished, Fran directed her to shave my chest and groin. She explained to me that the thick stubble left there wouldn't let the paint set evenly. Bette got a bottle of shaving cream out of the bag of supplies and sprayed my chest and groin. She then picked a disposable razor out of a bag and dipped it in a pan of hot water.

Bette started with my chest, dragging the blade down my chest and then rinsing the razor in the hot water. She was quick but careful not to cut me. When she finished with my chest, she blushed red as she knelt before me and raised the razor.

Then she rose and handed me the razor and I accepted the task and started carefully shaving. I had never shaved down there, so caution was the best advice I could give. About halfway through, I realized that Bette was staring at me as I removed the shaving cream and hair. Even being slow, soon I finished and handed the razor back to Bette.

Fran came over, inspected me, and directed me to the center of the front of the tent. Using an air sprayer, she started to cover me with a white layer of paint. The air sprayed paint was cool as it touched my skin, and yet it did nothing to cool my excitement. My cock remained semi-hard as Bette joined in with a second air sprayer.

When the spray of white paint hit my cock, it twitched and for a moment, I was afraid it was going to jump to attention. Fortunately, as Fran sprayed the underside of my manhood, the cool blast counteracted the excitement.

Fran had me slowly turn around in a complete circle before she was satisfied that the white coat was even and complete. Bette had me hold my arms outstretched as the paint dried and kept me focused. Fran prepped her paints while I dried.

Finally, Fran directed me to the center of the tent and started applying paint to my body. I had no idea what the design was, but I was comfortable being part of her vision.

Time passed as paint was applied to my body. My cock had become flaccid when I felt fingers lift it and a paint brush stroked it. Once again it swelled to semi-hard. It was nearly two hours from start to finish, but once the paint was dry, I was given the opportunity to use the port-a-potty.

Fran directed me to stand in the center and slowly turn about. She dabbed a few strokes with a brush and then announced that her canvas was ready. Bette showed me my face in a hand mirror and it amazed me that I didn't recognize my own face.

The judges were the first to come down the path. They marked their scoresheets on their clipboards and proceeded to the next tent. Then the official photographer came in and captured a dozen or more shots. Finally, it was eleven o'clock and the public swarmed down the path.

For the next two hours there was a steady stream of people looking at the artwork that was me. Some stared at my cock while others wouldn't lower their eyes, but most seemed to enjoy the art of body painting.

During the last hour, in walked the elderly wife of our local pastor. She walked around me, all the while muttering to herself. She even bent over slightly to look at the detail of my cock. I was sure she would recognize me, and I was both surprised and pleased that she didn't seem to know who she was looking at. She left the tent with a pleased look to her.

When the festival ended, my wife was there to take a few more photos for herself. Bette brought me a tub of cream, that she assured me would remove the paint. My wife gathered my clothes and led me out to the car, where George and Linda were waiting. I got into the car and announced that when we got home, nobody was going to be wearing clothes for the rest of the day. And that is a different day's story.