The Art and Science of Love
6
Christening
I GRADUATED FROM COLLEGE with an MFA in Visual Arts and a real estate license. It was my father’s fault.
He was always supportive of my art career but he was a realist as well. He didn’t tell me I’d need “a real job” in order to survive.
“Few art careers get launched straight into success. You’re good, Dimitri. But becoming known can be a long slow process. It’s unlikely that in this society you’ll find a patron to support you. You’re going to need a way to earn a respectable living during the time before you’re famous. You also need something that is independent and flexible so you aren’t too exhausted to paint.” His solution was real estate. He promised to pay for my schooling, all the way through the MBA, if I got my real estate license and had made at least one solid sale before I graduated.
It was brilliant. At age 25, I had banked enough commissions to buy a nice house in a good neighborhood. It even had room for my studio. When I moved in, I was the youngest homeowner in the community. The neighbors were friendly and I invited everyone to a party the day my furniture arrived.
The lower level family room was on the north side of the house and had terrific light for painting. The house was on the edge of the development with a wooded greenbelt behind it and the windows were high, so reasonably private. Of course, there were a few close calls when the neighborhood kids romped through my yard on their way to the woods and got curious but, to my knowledge, none ever got an eyeful of my models.
The surprise was, I actually liked selling real estate. Oh, I didn’t love it like I loved painting, but as far as earning a living went, it wasn’t bad. I had co-workers who loved to party, met a lot of interesting clients, and occasionally, I really helped someone on their life journey.
That was the case with Allison.
She’d become the trophy wife of a corporate executive when she was in her early twenties. When she was thirty-five, the bastard traded her in on a newer model. She’d convinced herself that she really loved the guy and not just his money, so the divorce was bitter. The financial settlement of half of everything he owned took a bit of the sting out of it. It turned out that he owned a lot more than she was aware of, but her attorney located assets the court awarded to her. And because he tried to conceal assets, the court also made him pay all the attorney fees and court costs. Still, it took a big bite out of her self-confidence.
“It’s funny,” she said as we were touring houses looking for a new place for her to live, “but I couldn’t imagine anyone younger or prettier than me being willing to sell herself to that old bastard. I thought as long as I was careful to keep my looks up and always be willing to satisfy him, I’d have lifelong security. I know, I’m a poor little rich girl, but it still hurts.” I sympathized and dug further into the kind of life she wanted now, so I could match her up with a new house.
I admit to my prejudices. When I first met her and heard the story, I compared her to Sheila Monroe. Here’s another of those beautiful women who think that’s all that matters and everyone should worship her because she’s beautiful. As we worked for a few weeks on matching her up with a new house, I got a very different impression. Allison was smart and funny. She had a credible self-understanding and knew what people as prejudiced as me thought of her. Her attitude convinced me she wasn’t as high maintenance as I expected. As she got more caught up in her search for the perfect home, she developed a sense of relief that she didn’t need to maintain the pretenses she had adopted as a CEO’s wife. She wanted a much simpler lifestyle.
I finally found the right house for her.
It was a beautiful house, but much smaller than I expected to sell her. It was on a large lot that was mostly wild with very little lawn to maintain. It was in a good neighborhood and had enough room to entertain but not so much she couldn’t clean it herself in a pinch. The day she closed on the house, I was sad that I would no longer be seeing her. We’d been together touring and negotiating at least twice a week for over a month. She was very nice company.
“I can’t believe it’s mine!” she said as we left the escrow office. I lifted my hand to give her the keys and she did a little happy dance on the sidewalk. “Come over and help me celebrate,” she said. “I just need to stop by Costco and pick up a few things on the way. Can you come by about six?”
“I’d love to celebrate with you,” I said. “Why don’t I bring a bottle of champagne?”
“I’ll see you then!”
I had plenty of time to stop by a wine store and pick out a decent but not overpriced bottle of bubbly and some flowers. I didn’t mind spending fifty bucks on a house-warming gift. I’d just made about $10,000 in commission on the house she bought. I was celebrating, too!
I stopped back home to check my messages. There was a very brief message from Rita saying tomorrow was the big night. She was going to try to seduce Alex back and try out her newly-learned skills. I sighed. We’d been ‘rehearsing’ this for a few weeks. Whenever a new question about the art of loving struck her, we’d end up in bed together. She was an enthusiastic pupil and I was going to miss her when she got back with Alex. I still thought it was a bad idea, but I couldn’t really start competing with him. It just wouldn’t be right.
That poor guy, I chuckled to myself. He didn’t stand a chance against her powers of seduction.
I arrived at Allison’s door with the champagne chilled and the flowers fresh.
The door was standing open and I raised my hand to knock when she flew out the door and almost knocked me over. I caught her as she stumbled into me and the flowers went flying. The champagne, I managed to keep a grip on.
“Oh my God! What a rush!” she laughed as she clung to me for balance. “Sorry! Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I just have a few more things in the car. I was trying to get everything in before you got here. Go on in and I’ll be right back.”
I stooped to gather up the scattered flowers and glanced up to see Allison leaning into the backseat of her Audi. She’d changed clothes since her closing and was completely relaxed in a pair of gray yoga pants and a red crop top T-shirt. When she leaned over, the pants hugged her shapely ass. The bottom hem of the T-shirt dropped away from her body and I could see up to the lower curve of her left breast. From the distance, I couldn’t make out detail, but it was obvious she definitely got comfortable before I dropped by.
I straightened up as she approached with a box of supplies apparently just purchased from Costco, and followed her into the house.
“Is there anything else I can get from the car?”
“No, this was the last of it. How about rolling this out in front of the fireplace and lighting the gas jets. Then you can open that champagne.” She busied herself in the kitchen opening cupboards and pushing boxes into them, apparently at random. A couple of boxes she opened and began emptying onto the counter. I watched with one eye as I took the rug she pointed to, cut the cords, and rolled it out in front of the living room fireplace on top of the already thick plush carpeting.
Allison was a beautiful woman. If she had a mind to go out and conquer another rich executive, I had no doubt it would be easy for her. But during our conversations, she made it clear that she’d made her millions and she didn’t need to sell her body to the richest exec she saw. She was tall—easily five-eight—with shoulder length blonde hair that showed about an inch of reddish brown at the roots. She’d said she was through with the bimbo look and would be her natural color soon.
She was well-endowed physically as well as financially. There was a gentle sway that confirmed my opinion she had no bra beneath the T-shirt she wore. But while dressed in the epitome of casual wear, it also looked like her sweats had been tailored to show off her superb ass. I leaned against the breakfast bar and worked on the champagne cork as I watched her move. My thoughts weren’t all that lascivious. I thought about how I’d paint her. She was Winged Victory, Aphrodite, and Rosie the Riveter all rolled into one. I thought I’d like to catch her before her hair finished growing out. If I could make it stand up, it would look like an angelic halo around her head. What a mass of contradictions.
Aside from the rug I’d just thrown on the floor and the champagne glasses she set on the counter, there was no furniture in the house. As we chatted, our voices echoed in the way that only an empty house can create.
“Isn’t this great? I have my own place. No one can tell me to pick up my socks; no one can tell me what to wear; no one can dirty it up and expect me to clean it. No one except me.”
“It sounds like a dream come true.”
“You’re a man. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m a man who has lived alone in my own space with no one to tell me when to come or go for the past fifteen years,” I said.
“Okay. Maybe you would understand. But you’re still a man.” I poured the champagne and handed her a glass.
“So, are you swearing off all men then?” We clinked our glasses together.
“Here’s to my new home,” she said, downing the first glass of champagne in one long swallow and refilling her glass herself. “No, I’m not swearing off all men. I’m swearing off all relationships and entanglements.” We took the bottle and our glasses and settled down on the new rug in front of the gas fireplace. I’m a coward. When I sense a woman ready to vent, I clam up. I sat there silently, waiting for her to continue and hoping I didn’t become a stand-in target for all the people who had controlled her life. But she seemed to settle down immediately.
“I chose the life I lived. Jacob was good to me, but let’s face it: he married me on the rebound after his first marriage went sour and I made the most of the opportunity. I convinced myself I loved him and sold my youth for a lifetime of security. I got it, even in divorce. With half his wealth, I’m not going to squander it or run to another sugar daddy. I don’t need to live that way anymore.”
We were sitting on opposite sides of the rug and she was now on her third glass of champagne as I drank from my first. She kept up with her impromptu lecture.
“Let’s say I want to go to Hawaii for a week to go parasailing. I can just do it. If I want to sit in an expensive restaurant and eat a meal just to enjoy the food, I can do it without feeling I need to impress my husband’s friends and associates.” She set her glass down on the hearth and rolled up on all fours. She started toward me like a cat. “Suppose I want to seduce my Realtor and get royally fucked. I can just do it.” Her face was inches from mine as she stopped in front of me.
“At what point does the Realtor get to say if he does or doesn’t want to fuck you?” I asked.
“At any time before his cock is actually buried in one of my holes. From then on, it’s too late. So, think about it quickly, because you don’t have much time to decide.” She closed the gap and pressed her mouth against mine. It wasn’t just her lips. Her mouth opened, expecting nothing less from me. I opened my mouth in defense, hoping not to be devoured. There was nothing romantic about the kiss. It was a raw probing of each other with our tongues. I barely got my glass set down on the hearth before she had pushed me completely back, covering my body with hers.
“You had to know I wanted this when I invited you over to help christen my new house,” she said.
“I suspected you might.”
“And you showed up anyway.”
“You are pretty tempting.”
“Your silver-tongued negotiating got me a great deal on this place. Now I want you to put that tongue to work elsewhere.” With that she stripped off her T-shirt and fell on top of me with her beautiful right breast pressed against my lips. It would have been ungentlemanly of me to refuse to pay attention to it. I raised my hand to cup her other magnificent tit and found her own hand already busy at the nipple, pinching and twisting. “Bite,” she commanded. I nipped at the nipple in my mouth and was rewarded by her moan of pleasure. “Harder!”
I’ve always had an irrational fear that if I got carried away with a woman, I might bite her nipple off. Stupid, I know, but it is one of the things that makes me a gentle lover. I don’t like to hurt people—or be hurt for that matter. But Allison had let go of her own tit, relinquishing it to my fingers and had slid both hands up under my polo shirt to begin tweaking my nipples. She wasn’t being gentle and I had to assume she was giving what she wanted to get. I bit harder.
“Oh yes!” She twisted my right nipple hard and I bucked up against her as she ground her crotch against my cock. She dragged her right breast away from my mouth and shoved her left tit in. “Again!” I swear that when I bit down this time, her body went rigid in climax. She rolled off me and I raised myself up on my elbow facing her as she caught her breath. I scanned down her body, feasting my eyes on her perfect breasts. The nipples looked raw and red from my biting. The breasts didn’t flatten out when she was on her back, which told me they’d been enhanced. I had a feeling as I looked closely at her, she’d had several bits helped out over the years—her perfectly straight nose, shining teeth, even her piercing dark eyes. She’d invested heavily in her body.
As I looked down toward her waist, narrow against the flare of her hips, I could see the crotch of her sweats darkened with moisture. I felt her pulling at my shirt and looked back into her eyes.
“Lose it,” she ordered. By the time I’d pulled the shirt over my head, she had shed her sweats in one quick move and lay there completely naked. Her hands deftly unbuckled my belt and lowered my zipper as I stroked down her body and dipped a finger into the wet cleft of her pussy. It was impossibly smooth. The dark brown hair of her landing strip was neatly trimmed, not so short as to be prickly, but the rest of her delta was smooth. This was no shaving job. My cock throbbed as I imagined the beautician who had stared at this slit as she (or he) stripped the wax off. I realized my cock was throbbing in her mouth as she continued to push my jeans down my legs.
I rolled to my back so I could lift my legs and finish stripping off my jeans, briefs and socks at once. Allison rolled with me, never letting my cock out of her mouth. Taking the dominant position again, she drove my cock into the back of her throat and swallowed repeatedly, working her throat muscles around the head. She needed no instruction in the art of blowjobs. Firehoses be damned. This girl could suck the chrome off a ’57 Cadillac. I was rising fast—much more quickly than I normally do. She lifted up and planted her smooth pussy over my mouth in a 69.
“Just bite on my clit when you come,” she said. “I want your spunk shot directly into my stomach. Don’t hold back. I want you to be able to last for the second round.”
I couldn’t answer because my face was buried between her legs and my cock was once again down her throat. I kept telling myself I wasn’t into rough sex, but her dominance overwhelmed my resistance. She didn’t need to wait long before I was spewing my load deep in her throat. I bit her clit just as I erupted. In fact, I bit it hard. Her legs shot out straight and her body went rigid, collapsing all her weight on my face and chest and driving my cock even deeper into her throat.
I gasped for breath, barely able to get my nose far enough out of her pussy to get air. She wasn’t moving. As my cock began to soften, I felt no lingering action in her mouth. I rolled her off me quickly and as she hit the floor, the air exploded out of her lungs and she began coughing, flecks of semen spitting out of her mouth as she regained consciousness. My heart was thudding in my chest as I realized she’d suffocated herself on my cock when we came. Her eyes fluttered open and tears streaked down her cheeks as she continued to cough. I poured a little champagne into her glass and held it to her lips. She swallowed it, coughed again, and looked at me with a shit-eating grin.
“Oh god! That was good!” She hauled my head down and drove her tongue into my mouth, mingling her fluids in my mouth with those of mine that remained in hers. Her hand was back on my cock and, to my surprise, I found I was regaining my rigidity. It usually takes me a while to recover, but her hand was very persuasive. It left my cock for a moment and I broke the kiss to look down. She was collecting her own pussy lubricant all over the palm of her hand and when she returned to my cock, she smeared the slippery surface and stroked some more. She pressed her mouth to my left nipple and bit it. I screeched and pulled back, popping loose from the suction of her lips. My cock was rigid and I was just a little angry. I really don’t like being hurt during sex. But my cock didn’t seem to know the difference.
“Time for the main event,” she said, rolling over onto all fours. “Shove that cock into my pussy and make sure it’s good and slippery.” I knelt behind her. God, what an ass! Her narrow waist flared out around the curve of her hips and tapered into thighs toned by God knows how many hours in the gym. Her butt was soft and full enough to belie the firmness of her thighs that were so tight they didn’t come close to each other beneath her pussy. Her cleft and her rosebud were on clear display from this view. I was captivated by the vision in front of me. “I didn’t ask you to paint it,” she said impatiently. “Fuck it!”
I leaned forward and drove my rigid pole into her waiting and willing snatch. It was good that I’d just come so hard or I would have spewed out as soon as her pussy muscles gripped me inside. I began pumping in and out, reaching my right hand around her waist to play with her clit and my left hand forward to capture a breast. At least by now, I understood she liked it rough. I pinched the nipple hard between my fingers and was rewarded by her howl of pleasure and her butt slamming into my stomach. A fresh load of juices drenched my cock and the hand on her clit as she spasmed around my prick.
While she was still shaking from the orgasm, she turned her head back toward me and hissed, “Now. Shove it up my ass.”
I pulled my cock reluctantly out of her pussy and placed the head against her very wet rosebud. Our earlier couplings had provided ample lubricant and I dragged my hand up through her pussy once more to smear her ass. I pushed gently against her back door, trying not to rush the experience. I knew from past lovers that ass-fucking is something that is done to please the man and most women don’t get that big a charge out of it. It was a gift Allison was giving me.
I was wrong again. As soon as I’d begun to penetrate, she shoved back against me hard, taking the head and a couple inches of my cock inside in one move. At the same time, she yelled out in pain. I started to pull back, but she followed me with her ass, not letting me withdraw. “In! Push it in! All the way!” That’s truly unusual. Even women who enjoy anal sex typically only want enough stimulation at the sphincter to get off. Having had my annual physical and getting probed with the Sigmoid device told me there were places up there that hurt when they were pushed. But Allison was relentlessly pushing back against me. She caught me slightly off balance and I rocked back on my heels. She used that as an opportunity to rise up on her knees and simply sit down fully on my cock.
“Ah! Ah! AH!” she screeched. She turned her head over her shoulder searching again for my mouth. As I kissed her, I tasted the salt of her tears streaming down her face. She was panting for air and as the kiss broke, she returned to her hands and knees and whimpered, “Now fuck it. Hard!”
Hard she wanted it. She was driving me crazy. How can I do something that would intentionally hurt her? But the more she pounded back into me, the more I lost track of who was in control. If I backed off, she slammed back against me with another screech. I hunched forward, wrapping my arms around her waist and began hammering at her ass. She was incredibly tight and I was feeling some of the pain of dragging my cock in and out of her rectum. At the peak of every stroke, I could feel my glans hit the bend at the top of her rectum and she screamed in pain each time. The same bouncing pressure at the end of my stroke was progressively driving me closer and closer to coming. It drove my head further away from reason. I no longer cared if I was hurting her. I no longer cared if she had an orgasm. I was simply going to dump my load in her ass. My hips, with a mind of their own, drove harder and harder against her butt, burying my full length in her.
I reached forward with both hands to find her perfect breasts, drove my cock deep one last time, and pinched her nipples as hard as I could, twisting them left and right as my cock unloaded. The scream that tore out of her throat was almost drowned out by the bellow from my own. They echoed through the empty house.
That instant froze time. I was petrified in position with my cock buried to the balls, the scream from each of us seemingly endless. Spasms wracked both of our bodies. My cock drained the life out of me. We collapsed forward onto the rug, the action seeming to take forever before I came down solidly on her back. She lurched with her left elbow, driving it into my side so I would roll off. My cock dragged painfully out of her ass. She curled into a fetal position and cried.
I was devastated. I’d never hurt a woman. I stroked her shoulder. I leaned forward and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” In all my life, I’d tried never to say those words to a woman. Her shoulders shook and I thought she was sobbing more. As she rolled toward me at last, I could see that despite her tears, she was laughing.
“You would be. You’re sorry you gave me what I wanted? Do you think you broke me or something? Do you want your come back? Well, help yourself. There it is, dripping onto the rug. You idiot.”
“But I lost control. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You like to be in control, don’t you? A man like you never voluntarily gives up control. I had to make you lose it.”
“But hurting you…”
“Don’t you get it? Pain is just another kind of pleasure. You’re such a fucking romantic. You wanted to make love. I don’t need love. I don’t want love. Don’t be sorry for me. I felt something so intense it doesn’t have a word to describe it.”
“I’m not used to this kind of love.”
“It wasn’t love. And don’t get used to it. I know you’re an artist, Doc. I’ve seen your work.” That surprised me. I couldn’t imagine where she’d seen my work… unless she was friends with one of my clients. That would explain a lot. “Maybe someday, after I get furniture and have finished christening my house, I’ll invite you over and you can show me what making love is like.” She stood and I could see a big puddle of my come staining the new rug. I stood to get a paper towel from the kitchen to clean it up.
“Leave it,” she said. “That’s what I bought it for. I’m going to christen every room in this house with a different man or woman on that rug. Yours is just the first paint on my canvas.”
I guess not all art is pretty.
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