A Story Of One Painting

Who Is It?

Yet another bedroom, vast and luxurious but so featureless, so alien. You stand by the enormous bed feeling uneasy, almost trembling. Michael's muted steps reach you as he approaches slowly from behind. A moment later, his cool hands touch your bare shoulders, his dry lips planting swift kisses on your neck.

"I like what you are wearing," he purrs in your ear, "it's a crime hiding this perfect skin."

His fingers run down your arms, slip to your belly and scroll up your turtleneck with agile, spidery movements. You gasp at their cold touch on your heated skin. "Shhh, girl, keep still," he mumbles. Obediently, you freeze with your head tilted down. Your eyes catch a prompt motion, and next thing you feel is his finger circling in the hollow of your navel. You let a wheezing breath escape your chest as you feel his other hand moving up and cupping your breast inside the tightness of your bra. Uncontrollable heart pounding sends fire through your veins. It concentrates in a single burning spot when you feel Michael grazing his fingernail achingly slowly down and hiding his fingers behind the waistband of your jeans. You still, holding your breath in anticipation. He pushes the lace of your panties up and glides to the tiny throbbing knot down below. Instinctively you arch your back letting his whole palm be placed comfortably between your thighs. His breathing changes, becoming fast, rushed and full of expectation. Movements faster and sharper. The ruthless rhythm makes you squirm under his touch. Suddenly, your head feels heavy, vision blurred and you roll your head to one side, resting it on his shoulder. His lips are on your exposed neck, soft feathery kisses cover it once again. You groan and grind your behind against him, feeling his strong erection pushed against you.

"So supple... Oh, I love it so...", he breathes.  Oh! His fingers do not stop circling, making your knees go weak, almost fail you. It's a torture... In a second, he whirls you around, and you stumble at his burning dark gaze, hot lips and accelerated breathing. His hands fall loosely down, granting you full access to his body and you realize that it's your turn to guide him. You grab his T-shirt, and he grins widely, confirming your intention. Then he slowly raises his hands and in a second, the T-shirt is thrown on the bed turned into a shapeless clot. At last, your palms are on his chest, moving vigorously, skimming his skin. Michael is watching you closely; you bend over and place a swift kiss on his stone-hard nipple. His chest rises instantly as he inhales through the clenched teeth. You cover the nipple with your mouth and touch it mildly with the tip of your tongue. He throws his head up and groans, his fingernails scraping your back then reaching to undo your bra. It slips down your arms and falls to the floor at your feet. Your blood is burning your veins with fire. The movements of your tongue around his nipple become faster and harder, making him moan and grab your hair pulling it down mildly. You move your trembling hands down and hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, pulling the button undone.

"What will you do to me, Mary?" he looks down at you with a teasing smile. Sweet Jesus! Is it up to you to decide? Is he really putting himself in your hands, even if it is for a short while? There is no way to resist the temptation of feeling your power over him. You gather the remaining of your composure and courage and push him onto the bed. He lets himself fall then laughs boyishly, easily, blazing his eyes at you. You cannot help returning a wide triumphant smile: he looks amused, excited, content. Resting on his elbows, he watches you position yourself between his parted legs and reach out slowly to unzip his jeans. You run your fingers down his navel through the short bristly hair beneath it and hook into the tight underwear. He closes his eyes in anticipation and breathes out hastily.

"What will I do to you, Michael?" you mimic him, sliding your hand further down, fumbling in his hair with your fingers.

Eyes still closed, he grins widely, his chest rising and falling rapidly from the heavy breathing. Leaving him yearning, you squat and pull his shoes off uncouthly. The white socks follow them to the floor in a brief moment. Not bothering to stand straight, you finally pull off your turtleneck, and your hair falls freely down your shoulders curling at your breasts. You peek at him, and Michael is watching you tirelessly, greedily. The feeling of your complete power over him heats up your senses even more. What a feeling! Hastily you grab the tight fabric of his jeans and tug to it in an attempt of removing them. They cling to him so tightly they hardly move. Now this is awkward! You try again –same result.