Filthy Jerk 3
Dorn waited impatiently.
Ilsa was long and quiet in the studio, but he knew she must have awakened. He could feel it. The fact that she hadn’t come bursting excitedly through the studio door shrieking superlative praise for the painting was beginning to irritate him until his hands started trembling. He wanted to storm into the studio and spank her naked ass crimson for being the one opiate from which he would never liberate his soul, but he wouldn’t disturb her now. He was determined to let her have this time to herself whatever her reaction was going to be.
The last two weeks had been the sweetest torture any man had endured in the history of torture. His desire for her had swelled to monolithic proportions. There was no way to see over, around or under it. Everywhere he looked – every direction there was to turn – there was nothing but pure Ilsa standing in the way.
He lost track of how many times he was ready to break over those impossible weeks, denying himself while he’d been painting. The way she’d devoured his passion using only her mouth and hands only made it worse. The memory of how she’d made him feel – the blinding freedom of his release – was there in the back of his mind as he studied the photos and sketches over and over again – bringing the image in his mind to life on canvas – Ilsa always there, watching, lounging naked in the sanctum of his studio – all had been a trial of self-control he started regretting by the second day.
He almost tried to convince himself he didn’t even care if she liked the painting, but that would have been a self-deception even he wasn’t capable of. The critics would only make him cringe no matter what they said. They would either condemn or exalt the work for all the wrong reasons, and he would force himself to remain silent, as always.
He made his fourth inspection of the refrigerator for stale food to throw away. When he realized he was throwing away fresh food, he started wiping down the table and counters for the fifth time. He stopped when he heard the studio door quietly open and click shut.
Ilsa went straight upstairs, without saying a word. She paused only briefly when he turned and saw her through the kitchen doorway, standing there in one of his threadbare, long sleeve work shirts, spattered with paint, hanging carelessly open. A few minutes later, he could hear the muted sound of water running in the upstairs bath.
A strange sense of calm came over Dorn just then. Tossing the dishrag he was using on the counter into the sink, he walked out of the kitchen and slowly stalked the stairs toward the master bath. His bare feet were silent on the hallway carpet, but he knew she could sense him in the doorway as she bent over to test the water with her hand. She didn’t merely sense him, she was expecting him.
The tail of the shirt lifted to reveal her pussy, squeezed between her upper thighs like a ripe fig, ready to split through its own skin. Then she rose up again, arching her spine and cocking back her shoulders to let his work shirt slide off her arms. Her strutting breasts were an insult to all the hopeless flowers. She was posing for him again, only this time she was following her own instructions.
Dorn inhaled, thinking of what an ideal model she’d been, what a sublime subject. He wondered if he’d ever go back to painting the way he had before she came, hoping at the same time that he wouldn’t. He wasn’t even sure he could paint another subject again. He felt the distinction begin to blur between seeing her as a man and seeing her as an artist.
Now that she was completely inside him, the line of distinction wasn’t even necessary. As far as artist and model were concerned – man and woman – everything had become everything.
Casting a slow, smoldering glance over her shoulder, she stepped into the tub. A bright glimmer of understanding passed between them that desire is a hungry dragon, just stirring from a century’s hibernation. The dragon awakens hungry. The more you feed it, the hungrier it becomes. Between them it was one and the same dragon. One and the same desire.
In the moment Ilsa turned away and sank down in the water, it was as if they suddenly existed in a field of super-charged ions. It was as if they were already touching, particles of electricity raining on them, setting their skin on fire.
“So I saw you finished the painting,” she said. Her hand pushed a wet cloth across her breasts, wetting her flushed skin. Fingertips brushed the pale rose tip until it gathered into a tiny knot of candied flesh.
Dorn’s eyes floated from her dripping nipples to her impudent pussy. Her thighs drifted wider. Teasing and taunting. His blood swirled with impossible heat as he choked back question upon question. He knew every look and gesture she’d made since walking out of the studio was her answer. He knew she was pleased and surprised, if not exactly how much, but it didn’t stop him burning to ask.
But he also knew it didn’t matter. Not even the painting mattered anymore. All that really mattered was what she had to tell him now with her body and her eyes.
“Help me wash?” Even her voice sounded wet, darkness and light crossing each other’s path behind her glittering eyes.
Dorn’s heart started fluttering like a bird of prey tethered to its perch. He forced an outward calm, but she caught the little bob in his Adam’s apple. The curl of her smile deepened and faded slowly.
He moved to kneel by the tub but she held up a finger to stop him. “You don’t wanna get those clothes all wet, do you?”
He nodded and began unbuttoning his shirt. His pants were next, pooling on the floor as his cock stood hard, his eyes running laps over the race track of her curves. Her eyes took a lazy roll across the shape of his rigid cock. He curled his fist around the shaft and stroked slowly, watching her watch him back.
Something in the air began to change and then change again. Everything else in the world began to disappear in the light steam from the bath. “You look at me too much,” she said, barely breathing, her conspicuous breasts rising and falling to the marked stagger of her breath.
She watched him slip his index finger around his bulbous dome as he fingered up the oozing sap. He stepped closer and held the moistened finger to her lips, smearing his froth across them as they parted for her tongue to flick out and taste.
“Push forward,” he said, stepping into the tub behind her. She barely moved as he sat on the ledge, planting his feet beside her hips while his stalk jutted upward, scant inches from the nape of her neck. He dripped liquid body soap onto his palm until it was dripping over his hand onto her neck. She pulled her hair forward over her shoulder on one side as he began to lather and massage her neck and shoulders. There was no name for the sound that rose from her throat.
“Yes,” she whispered as her head rolled in a circle.
His lathered hands slipped and glided. Shoulders, arms and back. Fingers down the knuckles of her spine. She lifted her arms and his palms slid over her tapered torso, waist and ribs, under her arms and forward to caress her slippery breasts. Large hands clutched and kneaded her satin flesh as she started to breathe in whispering gasps. Nipples puckered into knots.
Sure, careful hands of an artist. Long fingers like tentacles sank deeply in the flesh of her sumptuous mounds. Her body filled with deep breath without making the sound. She held the air a moment and uttered a delicate mewl.
Dorn’s cock began to steam with need as her breasts slipped in and out of his firm grasp. Ilsa’s body filled with more breath, audibly this time, as her head leaned back and her hair grazed his cock shaft. She turned her face to the side and her tongue lashed out in a rapid, teasing swipe across his shaft. She turned back and paused while his fingers tweezed her slippery nipples. She leaned her head back, her hair rubbing against his cock again as the shaft pulsed with aching for another touch of her tongue. He squeezed her nipples just a little too hard and the mewl from her throat betrayed the pleasure and sting.
Dorn thought back to the first time they met. Her punishment. He wanted to make her talk about the painting as much as he wanted to grab a fistful of her hair and turn her head so he could push his cock back against her mouth.
But he wouldn’t.
“The next time I paint you,” he said, “I’ll expect to hear what you think.”
He pinched and rolled her nipples again while she rolled the back of her head across his cock.
“Stand up,” he said.
She rose slowly, dripping water and suds. His hands slid upward along the backs of her thighs until his thumbs ground into the meat of her fruit sculpture cheeks. Her pliant flesh spread and split under his tight grasp. She took a sharp breath as he exposed the bud of her taut rim.
“You’ve already given me everything,” he said, “but I’m going to keep taking more. All your most delicate intimacies are going to be mine. But then you already know that. And you know I’m going to care for them like the precious things they are.”
He leaned forward and touched her rim with the tip of his tongue, just enough to let her feel the brief touch of his commitment. Then he kissed the puckered ring like a tiny mouth.
“Nnnn…” she groaned, not expecting it. “But I’m not a thing.”
She sounded breathless and half convinced. He put his hands on her hips and she turned at their urging. Her pussy faced him directly now, droplets beaded over her satin smooth mound.
“No,” he agreed. “You’re not a thing.” A long, slow wave of breath entered his body as his hand gently slid up the inside of her thigh. The side of his hand came to rest against her steaming lips while his thumb grazed her pouting V. He split her lips apart with his fingers, gently stroking her flushed petals while his other hand slid toward her breasts.
Her lips flushed hot and dripped honey as he massaged them. He looked up to catch her watching him. They exchanged a grin full of shared conspiracy as the unspoken moment hung in the air – the memory of how he’d spoken to her about her pussy in early moments of the first time they met.
“You feel every bit as slick and smooth as you look,” he told her.
“Just…touch…yes…and feel…oh yes…and stroke…ohh fuck… push your finger inside or I’ll die…”
His finger probed as her thighs began to part. Her breasts pushed outward with a gasping sigh, nipples flushing into hard knots of flushed candy pink. She winced into a half squat as his finger slid deeper, thumb circling her clit. She reached for the wall with one hand and whimpered as the second finger pried upward and in. She was slick and broiling inside as she rolled her hips and savored the stroke along her inner walls.
“It’s like you’re dancing on my hand,” he said, almost wanting to laugh, but needing air any way he could get it into his lungs. “It’s like you have brushfires in your eyes.”
He stood up and her hand moved from the wall to his shoulder. She mewled in complaint as his fingers slipped away from her pussy. He smeared her pouting lips with her own honey and leaned in hard to take her mouth. They kissed as if they were trying to lean into each other through the juncture of their hungering mouths, each of them acutely aware of sharing the sweet syrup of her seeping pussy. Ilsa groped for his cock and he groaned into her throat as her fingers curled around his solid shaft.
As she stroked his shaft, Dorn slid his fingers back inside her channel, pumping and wetting them with fresh dew. Then he smeared the fresh juice over her nipples and attacked them with his mouth, sucking each of them hard in turn and grasping her sumptuous spheres as she growled her approval.
Suddenly everything broke apart and he gripped her face in his hands as if he were afraid of never seeing it again. He kissed her hard and deep enough to feel lost in the swirling heat of everything she was made of. When they finally broke apart gasping, he took her hand and led her out of the tub onto the carpet.
“You need to fuck me,” she said, her face turning into a near-vicious sneer while her voice came husky and craven. “And I mean…”
“Sure,” he said, “but there’s just one thing.”
He gripped her shoulders and pushed her down. She understood and sank easily to her knees to face his strutting cock. She grasped his overheated flesh and held it poised by her lips to let him feel her breath across the hardness of his stalk. Her eyes twinkled with heaven and hell as her lips opened and took his flesh inside her mouth. She sucked his dripping stalk and caressed his balls with both hands.
Her tongue moved in swirls while time bent and warped. The sun could have gone down and come up again, but Dorn didn’t give a fuck about the sun. For those moments in time, all he could see was the dream of his flesh embedded in her wet, roiling mouth, setting off sparks in his brain.
Dorn was ready to lean all the way back into a better life and release a rush of cum straight into her mouth, but the air was redolent with her body’s intoxicating perfume and he pushed her back. His cock pulled away soaked. Only then did she look at him, a little breathless and confused.
“Turn around and lean forward now,” he told her. “Keep your ass nice and high and let your face touch the carpet.”
She did as he said, almost reminding him of the perfect flow she’d shown when she modeled for him, all but for the purr and devilish smirk she was giving him now. Her breasts pillowed against her knees as she pressed down, forcing her cheeks to split and reveal.
“Your ass is driving me off the edge of my own sanity,” he told her with an animalistic husk in his voice.
“Then fuck it,” she spat defiantly, her face pressed down hard while her nails scored lines in the pile of the carpet.
“It’s too fucking small, you know. Rubens would’ve rejected you. Lucky for you I took pity on you when I saw you sitting alone where no one could appreciate you in your slutwear flashing that bald cunt through your pantyhose.”
“Someone appreciated me so much he begged me to jerk him off all over my legs and boots. Someone said my pussy was perfect.” She rolled her hips, punctuating the point.
“Someone must’ve been struck by lightning and needed any kind of contact with you he could get,” Dorn muttered as he touched her, sliding his fingers up her wet slit and across her puckered rim. “Spread it for me. Teach me all about perfection.”
Her fingers appeared at her slit and spread her petals as Dorn stroked his shaft, still wet from her sucking. “Fuck, yes. But wider. ”
She growled into the carpet as her fingers splayed and massaged her swollen lips. She taunted him by teasing herself, her fingers raking and probing until they were lacquered in her own froth.
“God, you're amazing,” Dorn groaned. Gripping his cock, he suddenly cocked back the other hand and swung a hard, sharp spank across her ass. Ilsa heaved a sudden grunt of surprise and rolled her ass.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” she taunted.
He laughed and spanked her again. Harder. Three more times, each harder than the last. Already there was a pale rose flush to her skin, and he began playfully spanking her ass with his shank, lightly ringing cock-slaps across her cheeks and against her tender pucker. She rolled her graceful hips as Dorn ground the head of his cock through her slick petals. She pushed her sumptuous ass back even further, meeting him, welcoming, taking his burning meat inside by agonizing fractions.
“If I close my eyes,” he groaned, fighting to keep a steady flow of breath going in and out of his body, “I could just about believe your body was made for holding my cock inside it.”
“Then close your eyes and fuck,” she said. Her face was flushed an even deeper red than her ass as she nuzzled hard against the carpet. “Forget everything. Forget that fucking painting. Forget my soon to be ex-husband. Forget your pathetic groupies and fans and fuck me like you were made for it. Fuck me like I was made for you.”
He didn’t close his eyes, but drew his long, rigid cock backward until his imposing dome was nestled in the scarlet furrow between her glistening lips. She was burning him down with an abject sneer on her beautiful face. She became the sleek animal he knew had always lived inside her, yet until now he had only glimpsed in brief flashes.
“No,” he grunted, shoving his cock back inside her body as if it were about to scream. “I want to see you take this…me…” He drew backward and gave another hard, full length thrust. “I want to look at you until everything about you is burned onto the walls of my brain.”
“Fuck your brain,” she hissed, her voice driven with husky arrogance. “Fuck your crazy ideas about beauty and love and humanity and whatever else goes through that cluttered mind except whatever drives your need to own my pussy.”
His cock was swimming inside her while her honey dripped down his swinging balls. Her fingers drummed madly over her clit as he pulled back and thrust. Pulled back and thrust.
His lungs emptied out with a huff every time he pumped deep. Ilsa clawed up two fistfuls of carpet and ground her ass back against the hard, steady drive his fat shaft. The weeks of temptation and denial had been enough to set every pore of Dorn’s skin on a precarious edge. Part of him wanted to bellow at the top of his lungs and unleash a torrent of gushing cum deep inside her clasping tunnel. Yet somehow his body just kept careening forward, thrust upon hard, desperate thrust, until Ilsa was clawing up the carpet with her left hand and pounding her fist onto it with her right.
Dorn finally ground to a stop with a grunting rush of breath. He felt completely in tune with every twitch and undulation of Ilsa’s graceful body. The room was silent but for the private concert of their breathless huffing. He knelt behind her with his rod fully buried inside her, slowly but firmly running his hands over her hips and ass cheeks, kneading and pulling her body open wider and wider. He taunted her tight rim with the tip of his long finger.
“Touch your clit,” he said. “I know you want to.”
“Yes…yes…,” she said between rushes of breath.
Her hand tunneled down beneath her body until her fingers were in motion over the node of her aching clit. Dorn felt the movement of her fingers against the base of his pulsating cock. Without a word, he reached for a plastic bottle of lotion on the edge of the tub. He raised it high and turned it over, letting the viscous ointment drip along the split between Ilsa’s buttocks as it ran around the base of his cock and down his hanging nutsac.
Ilsa ground out a husky purr, as if she knew what was coming next. Dorn was sure she did.
He slowly drew his cock backward, pulling out of the snug grip of her pussy, then gripped his shank and pressed the tip against her rim. He slid his burning cock up and down her furrow, smearing the blend of lotion and body ooze along that tender groove of woman flesh. They each held their breath as Dorn pushed forward and Ilsa braced her body to receive him. He was insistent yet careful in the beginning, until he began pushing harder, aching to be firmly buried inside her.
His long, thick cock – pulsing with the rush of his steaming blood – was deeply embedded in her ass. He held still a moment, arching his back as he closed his eyes and lifted his face. His hands were moving in a slow, urgent knead over her cheeks and hips.
He felt as if she were gripping his flesh with her entire body, feeling a sensation of inner shivers down the overheated length of his shaft. Her body was heaving with the whimpers of quick, shallow breathing. Suddenly his right arm swung around in a wide arc and his broad hand connected in a slap on the back of her thigh.
She blew a sharp gasp while her channel spasmed around his cock. He opened his eyes and gathered her blonde mane in one hand, smoothing the raw sting where he’d smacked her with the other.
“This is what us means. It’s not you or me anymore,” he said, his voice turning more and more ragged as he spoke. “It’s not your ass and it’s not my cock. It’s not because I want to fuck you. I want to join you. Can you even tell whose skin is whose right now? Do you know which of us belongs on the outside and which on the inside?”
She yowled like a baby animal. He could tell there were thoughts and words roiling through her mind, but her jaw was gaping open and her mouth was nearly full of carpet while her eyes glazed over with something feral yet serene at the same time.
“And that’s why I’m in you like this now,” he said.
He leaned down, abs against the small of her back as he propped on one hand and curled the other around her to hold her at the base of her throat. He gripped only hard enough to support her as he began to slip his cock backward.
Her face was pressed tightly against the floor, her hard breath against the soft carpet. Spittle began to wet her lips as she exhaled. She turned her head slightly, as far as she was able in her confining position. Her dark eyes searched him out and found him.
“Pump,” she said. “Just…fucking…pump.”
Broiling rainforest heat rippled through Dorn’s veins as he pushed himself back into Ilsa’s taut channel. She was moving with him, taking him by the pound and giving herself back in return. He felt himself going down in flames and rising up through smoke and embers.
Her hand was in constant motion in and around her pussy, until Dorn couldn’t follow her movements. He just sucked desperately for air and lunged himself into her ass with mounting force and speed. He swore he felt a rippling inside her as she began to cum again, and everything about his emotional survival suddenly depended on diving hard and deep into the pool of her ecstatic contortions. He gripped her throat a little harder and howled as he bit down on her shoulder.
His cock leapt hard with spasms as he felt himself blossom inside her in a bursting shower of cum.
Soon there was nothing left but sweat-soaked bodies and pounding hearts. Somewhere a world away, a man’s cock slowly relaxed and slipped quietly from the clasp of his woman’s body.
He was spent, but primal, and very much alive. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. How he had loved her from the moment she turned her stoic face toward him that day two weeks ago and told him she was being punished. He hesitated because he was sure she knew already. He was sure she’d known what he felt as he narrowed his gaze on her that day, unable to bring himself to leave her alone.
He hesitated and hesitated again, knowing how the obvious never really needed to be said, except when loving someone was concerned. But he remained silent until Ilsa began to shift from beneath him. He moved aside and they stretched out together on the carpet, touching down the lengths of their bodies, facing each other. She touched his face. He kissed her long but tenderly, curling his arm around her body and holding her as if he was afraid she and the entire previous weeks might disappear.
“What was that?” she asked him quietly.
“That was us,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Her voice was full of lazy humor.
“Good,” she sighed.
“Listen,” he said – haltingly. “There’s something…”
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “Me, too. But…can we just lie here quietly a while? Later…we can…whatever.”
Dorn buried his face in the curve where her neck and shoulder met. He wanted to wash her body in a lifetime of tears. It was a strange new feeling, not caring if later ever came.