Amber from Marketing, Domestic Nirvana
What could possibly go wrong?
*
Author's Note
This little slice of life story with Amber and Dani comes from two suggestions. One was for Amber to relive a 60s art craze involving paint and naked bodies. The other was for Amber using her culinary talents with some seductive bare-assed baking. I think I've captured both of these ideas, but possibly in a way not anticipated.
If you have not read their other stories, the order is:
Free Gravy (aka Amber the Bubbly Blonde from Marketing)
Amber from Marketing, Social Justice Warrior
Amber from Marketing, Exotic Dancer
Like the rest, it's a short little tale around three-thousand words, but this one's a bit of a roller coaster.
*
Amber from Marketing, Domestic Nirvana
"Are you sure you're okay, baby?"
"Just give me a minute, Dani."
I watched my girlfriend's lovely, bare breasts jiggling as she squatted over my hips and fiddled with the head of the strap-on. Perspiration was already coursing down her face from our previous antics. Now she was insisting on something new.
She grimaced as she began to lower herself.
"Baby, it's okay, we can just keep doing what we were—"
"Dani," she hissed. "If I say I want you in my ass, you're going to fuck my ass, okay?"
"Okay, okay." I watched Amber biting her lip as she rose up and squatted back down. Over and over, picking up speed as she rode me. Soon, it was hard enough to shake the bed. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the sensations, but then a small tear appeared in the corner of her eye. It ran down her cheek.
"Amber, honey—"
"Shut up, Dani," she barked. "Shut up and fuck me. That's what you want isn't it? Hot stripper girl twirling on a pole. Grinding on your lap. Getting you hot."
"Amber, I—"
"Just fuck me. Fuck me, Dani." The tears were streaming from both eyes now.
"No," I said. I grabbed Amber by the hips to slow her assault and rolled her over onto her side. I slid out as gently as I could.
"You bitch," she balled up her fist and punched me in the shoulder. "I'm throwing myself at you." Amber sniffled. "Throwing myself at you, Dani. Anything you want. Do you know how many... God damn you, Dani."
I held Amber in my arms while she sobbed against my chest. I didn't know what else to do.
*
Five hours earlier
I awoke to what smelled like fresh blueberry muffins and the high-pitched whine of my cordless drill/driver.
I thought about what was in my fridge for a second. I didn't even know blueberries were on the list.
I shrugged on my bathrobe and shuffled into the kitchen, running my hand over the top of my head, in what was probably a vain attempt to tame my hair. And there was my ever-perky girlfriend, wearing an apron and nothing else.
Scattered over the kitchen counter were a mixing bowl, an open bag of flour, egg shells, baking powder...
Hmm, something else I didn't know I had in my kitchen...
and an empty carton labeled 'Farm Fresh Blueberries'.
"Amber, honey, do you know what time it is?"
"Breakfast time." She bounced over and grinned. "I made breakfast."
I shook my head and brushed a little smudge of flour from her cheek. Amber picked up my hand and dropped an egg timer onto my palm. It was ticking.
"What's this?"
Inside my head, Inspector Clouseau stepped up and said, 'A bem.'
Because he's French and that's how he says—
"Breakfast. Keep an eye on it."
"Amber, honey, do you know what time it is?"
"Five-thirty." I watched her bounce into the living room and pick up my cordless drill/driver. She stood on a chair and began backing out one of the four inch lag screws I had used to secure the pole for her strip-o-gram project.
"I can help," I offered.
"I got it."
Whirrrr.
Another lag screw came out. Apparently it was the last one, because the pole began to tilt. Amber caught it, but just barely, before it knocked her in the head.
"Baby, let me at least get you some safety glasses. Nobody wants to go to the ER, especially with the—"
"Dani, I've got it, okay."
"Okay. No more striptease, then?"
Amber jumped down from the chair. "Do you need another one, Dani?" Amber untied the apron she was wearing and wrapped it around my neck.
"Um... Uh..."
She began circling, with an exaggerated switching of her hips. Her breasts jiggled with each step. She held the tie of the apron in one hand and dragged it over my bottom lip. I shuddered.
"Amber did you ever work—"
The egg timer dinged, saving me saying anything stupid.
"Oh, Dani," Amber sighed, as she whisked the apron away, tying it back on as she sashayed past me and toward the kitchen. "You'd think after last night—"
"Last night was amazing by the way." I smiled at the memory.
Amber spun around on her heel, looked straight at me while pinching her nipples, and said, "I know. I'm good, aren't I?"
"Um."
What the hell happened to my girlfriend? Where's the cute, shy girl next door I invited over? Granted the girl next door has a great pair of tits... But, who replaced her with an alien sexbot?
While I was mulling this over, Amber reached into the oven with a kitchen towel to pull forth the most glorious-smelling blueberry muffins I had ever witnessed. In fact, it was probably the fanciest bit of baking ever to come out of my oven.
And then the towel lit on fire.
I ran toward the kitchen, but Amber had already dropped the muffin pan on the stovetop and thrown the towel in the sink. She was running the tap at full blast over its smoking remains.
"Are you okay?" I reached out to her.
"Fi—" That's all she got out before the smoke alarm started wailing. I assume she said 'fine', 'cause she looked unharmed. Maybe it was 'fire'. But 'fi' all I was going to get, because Amber was currently peeling the paper baking cup away from one of her muffins and stuffing half of it into her mouth in one bite.
I grabbed another kitchen towel—one not smoldering—and waved it at the smoke alarm in the hall. By the time it quit blaring, Amber had finished inhaling her first muffin and was now spreading a large painter's tarp on my living room floor.
"Um, Amber? Don't worry about the holes in the ceiling. I'll get to them later."
"Oh, it's not for your ceiling, Dani, but that is nice of you to volunteer."
Painter's tarp. Not spackling.
"Amber?"
Amber was busy dragging out another tarp—no, a canvas—and little quart-sized plastic bottles of paint. From where, I didn't see. It looked like mostly bright colors. She was dissecting and inhaling bits of another muffin with each trip she made between the kitchen and living room.
I really hoped she wasn't planning any of that paint for my ceiling.
And where the hell did this canvas come from? One overnight bag. I swear that's all she brought.
"Amber, it's okay. I've got the ceiling thing under control. Really. I even have some of the original paint. The contractor left it just in case—"
"Dani, Dani, Dani. This is nothing as pedestrian as home improvement I'm undertaking here." She had a look in her eye I had never seen. "This is art."
Naked Amber—a sight that I'm generally very happy to be seeing—opened one of the paint containers and poured it over her bare chest. I watched paint running down her throat, over the swell of her breasts, coating her nipples.
Oh, hey that's nice. Wow, Amber's nipples in bright red acrylic latex. A girl could get used to something like—
No!
"Amber..." I stood with my mouth open, not really knowing what I was going to say.
"It's art, Dani. Don't try to understand it, just embrace it."
Amber certainly embraced it. She opened two more containers of paint and poured one over her chest starting at her left shoulder and the other starting at her right. Then a fourth container came out.
Oh, she's using a quaternary color scheme, that's going to look really nice.
No!
"Amber." I walked two steps toward her and stopped.
She was down on all fours now, hanging her head and crawling over the canvas, dripping as she went. She lowered herself and began performing what I can only describe as an Olympic synchronized swimming event, but with only one person present, and no pool.
"Don't try to understand it, Dani. Just embrace it."
"Amber!"
"Dani, if you're hangry, have a muffin. That's what they're for." The synchronized swimming, in all its quaternary glory, continued on my living room floor.
"I'm not... Amber, do you know what time it is?"
Amber had flipped over now. Apparently, embracing art included doing the backstroke.
"It's probably about six by now," she said. Amber had snaked her right hand between her legs and was unashamedly masturbating as she scooted around the canvas in my living room. She lifted her hips into the air. "If you can hold out for another thirty minutes, I'll have a shower and then you can fuck me again."
Amber scooted and shimmied over the canvas, her back arching as she explored her folds. "Could be longer, though," she said. "You can't rush art. You have to embrace... embrace... oh, gawd... embrace it, Dani. Yes, embrace it."
My paint covered girlfriend brought herself to climax right there on my living room floor in coordinated four color glory.
I'm not sure if I should be turned on or furious.
