Stroke Me (Body Scenes 1)

“Cute, isn’t it?”

The applause that erupted indicated this particular piece was a crowd-pleaser. Annabelle had to admit, it was creative. Not to mention erotically stirring, because she couldn’t help but wonder if, when the curtain fell in another two minutes, whether the cork really would get screwed. Would the male model pump his cock in and out, fucking his partner’s mouth until he came? Would he reciprocate, orally pleasuring her?

As the lights on the stage dimmed and the drapes moved back into place, Annabelle realized the music and the din of the crowd were at just the right decibel to drown out any moans of ecstasy that might come from behind those velvet curtains.

Shifting in her large armchair, Annabelle felt her slick folds press together then slide against each other as she crossed her legs. The crotch of her lacy panties added friction that caused a little prickle of desire along her clit. Christ, she was actually wet. Thinking about what went on behind those closed drapes had her pulse racing and her mind whirling with all sorts of possibilities. Adding to the arousal Eric had sparked.

She couldn’t help but think of the liberation the models must feel, being completely naked under that paint. And the naughtiness of being on public display, with a hundred pair of eyes taking in every inch of them!

Annabelle was suddenly the one needing to fan herself with the program. She couldn’t say what turned her on more. The blatant, unapologetic joining of body parts or the idea of what it’d feel like to have that creamy paint applied to her naked flesh. The long strokes of the paint brush on her skin. The gentle prickle of the bristles on her nipples or along her labia as she spread her legs wide for the artist…

She let out a low moan as a sharp, throbbing sen

sation built in her cunt, once again making her painfully aware of how long it’d been since she’d gotten laid. So much longer since she’d had dirty sex, like the kind she was thinking about now.

“You’re not enjoying this,” Yvette said with a frown.

With a strained laugh, Annabelle said, “Quite the opposite. It’s brilliant!”

“So you really can take the country club out of the girl.”

“So it would seem.” Though sparing a glance at her crossed legs, Annabelle had to cringe at her very proper appearance.

Yvette had played dress-up for the occasion, but Annabelle wore a simple black sheath and a strand of dainty pearls around her neck. Extremely conservative compared to Yvette’s sexy Marilyn look.

Annabelle had pulled her shoulder-length, chestnut-colored hair into a low ponytail, securing it with a gold clip at the nape of her neck. Her legs were bare and the warm air inside the club made her skin dewy. Or maybe that was a result of the rise in her internal temperature as more erotic body scenes were revealed. She sipped her cocktail as she continued to envision the models taking advantage of the various positions in which they were entangled.

How could they not get it on after their curtains dropped?

“Takes art to a whole new level, doesn’t it?” Yvette said as she leaned close. “It’s like a naughty game of Twister in the nude, without the board. Just painted body parts and stick-it-wherever-you-can combinations.”

As if Annabelle needed one more visual to arouse her! She already had a head full of erotic thoughts she’d never imagined conjuring.

When the final curtain rose, she gasped. “That’s the one I want for the condo!”

The scene was gorgeous. Three men stood side by side, with their feet in line with each other, their bodies fanned out as they gripped each other’s forearms to steady themselves. The man in the middle created the center point. Their legs were painted a vibrant sapphire color. The rest of their bodies were perfect renditions of peacock feathers, with the addition of complementary headdresses that completed the look. A woman stood in front of the man in the center, her body also covered in sapphire, her head painted to look like the head of a peacock.

Another “Cock in Ass” scene. Once again, Annabelle couldn’t help but wonder if the female model would end up being fucked by all three men. Couldn’t help envisioning it in her head, the bodies naked and sans paint. Only in her mind, it was Annabelle who was being pleasured. A cock in her pussy, one in her ass, the third one in her mouth.

Wriggling in her seat again did absolutely nothing to lessen the thrumming deep in her cunt. She was responding to the risqué murals like a horny teenager. And the wicked thoughts drifting through her mind had her pea-green with envy that she wasn’t one of those women, experiencing the hedonistic gratification implied onstage.

Sipping her Cosmo, Annabelle was confronted with the unsavory realization that it had been years since she’d engaged in anything as sexually arousing as what she was mentally envisioning. “Vanilla sex” had become her mainstay. Hell, during her nine years of marriage, she’d only ever been on top once and that had been fleeting because Barry had quickly remedied the situation, rolling her onto her back and fucking her in the missionary position. It’d been a control thing. She could see that now.

Perhaps that was why she was so turned-on by the artwork and the way she fantasized about the models finding pleasure in each other’s bodies when they were in private.

Three men. One woman.

Oh Annabelle was definitely jealous!

“As I suspected,” Yvette’s voice cut into her errant thoughts.

“Huh?” Christ, was Yvette on to her? Did she have any idea how wet Annabelle was? How tight her nipples were behind the lacy cups of her bra? How much she wanted to know what was going on behind those closed drapes right this very second?

Yvette consulted the program and said, “I had a feeling the peacock was Finn’s doing.” She dropped the ivory-colored cardstock on the table and added, “He’s absolutely brilliant. A true body art visionary. I’m going to bid on the peacock on Sunday. A painting, not just the photograph. It’ll look stunning in your new condo. And it’ll set all those stuffy country club biddies you hang out with on their ears!”

“Yvette, a painting would probably cost a fortune.”

“Oh believe me,” she said, that mischievous sparkle in her eyes again. “It’ll be worth every penny. Invite me over when you unveil it to your friends and I’ll get my money’s worth!”