She bought it from a roadside artist, whom she praised for some of his pieces. Then he told her that if she really wanted his best pieces, he could show them to her in secret. He didn’t usually show those on the street, for a whole variety of reasons.
When she visited his shop, she knew why he didn't sell his best pieces. They would have been called pornography by people in public. They were all very artistic, in spite of their intensely carnal content, and one among them, in particular, called to her.
She told only Lauren, her best friend, about the painting, and both women went through an exchange that was one part consternation and two parts lasciviousness, although they pretended that it was two parts consternation and one part lasciviousness, in the interests of decorum.
Then Lauren joined her with her secret, and they spent the next week enjoying a very weird and a very paranormal fantasy between them and the painting. Then, they had to tell someone else. It was just too much to hold in. So they told their book club friend Anna.
And so it went, until a whole coterie of women were ensnared in the most lusty of fantasies.
The painting itself was done in the style of the Renaissance, and it was a painting that was titled ‘Priapus and the nymphs’. It was a scene that screamed schizophrenia. It was binary as things get. The left half was set in the forest, and right half in an open palace room that opened into the forest.
A half dozen women with milk white complexions were in different poses on the richly brocaded silks that covered palace divans on the right. Some supine, some recumbent, some standing, and some sitting and leaning forward. They were amply proportioned, according to the tastes of the times. Beauty standards in those times called for women to be plump, with broad hips and enough flesh on them for their husbands and mother in laws to think that childbirth would be a safe proposition. A whole army of pink nipples winked back at the viewer from the right half of the painting. The women were all partly draped in garments of different colors, whose purpose in the painter’s mind appeared to be to suggest their impending absence. All the women appeared either astonished, or lascivious or both.
On the left hand side of the painting, in the untamed wilds of the forest, stood one man. His skin was a gleaming bronze, and he had a handsome, regal face, with a luxuriant black beard framing it. He had a curly black mane that made him almost look like a lion. He sported a wicked smile showing his gleaming teeth. His upper body was fully draped in what looked like a tawny colored animal fur. A few feral sheep and goats milled about around him, and a cloud of honey bees formed a halo behind his head.
From the waist down he was buck naked, shamelessly displaying his most distinguishing feature - his gigantic bronze cock. His cock was completely out of proportion with the rest of his body, and was erect, and pointed towards the palatial room on the right. It was at least as long as his legs, from the length of it. Two giant, hairy testicles were affixed to its base. It appeared to be the reason for the consternation and lasciviousness of the women on the right. Some would argue this was a good reason by any measure.
It was for his genitalia that February bought the painting. She took one look at that eternally swollen cock made from oil paint, and decided that she wanted this painting in her bedroom. It was good for the morale of her loins. It appeared to be whispering to her, asking her to purchase it.
When she got home to hang up the painting, she read up the subject of the painting, Priapus, and found out that he was a minor rustic fertility God who was supposed by some to be the son of Aphrodite and Dionysus. She heard that travelers used to gain the favor of Priapus by rubbing the cock on his statues. What works for statues works for paintings, she thought, and so she rubbed his penis in the painting, gently, in case the oil paint was ruined.
The next day, a Tuesday, she noticed that the painting had developed what appeared to be a fold. Like wet paper that has dried out, and has billows since the fiber within the paper has soaked in the moisture. February suspected that something similar was happening with the painting, even though it was on canvas and not on paper.
The fold appeared along the length of Priapus cock, the very portion of the painting she had rubbed. Perhaps it was the bloody moisture from her body. She was worried, because his cock and balls were the best feature of the painting. So she determined to herself that she would take the painting back to its painter the next morning.
The next day she realized the supernatural nature of what she was witnessing. Only the entire length of Priapus shaft, and his balls, were emerging from the painting. They stood out like a mid-relief sculpture, very three dimensional, and very deliberate, as if the artist had intended precisely this. February was filled with a mixture of awe for how magnificent the cock looked as it emerged from the painting. She rubbed it a couple of times again, and then held herself back, wondering whether her rubbing it could indeed damage the painting. Perhaps her rubbing it was responsible for the emergence of the cock and balls into the three dimensional world.
She didn't really figure it out, and put off the trip to the painter, deciding instead to witness what happened next. The next day, a Thursday, the cock was like a high-relief sculpture. It was still fully joined to the painting, but had emerged enough that she could see the pink head of the cock, peeping out from foreskin that was straining to restrain it. She rubbed the foreskin, and was surprised at how flesh like it felt. She rubbed it again, feeling her cunt heat up in response to the touch, and then decided that she’d await the full emergence of the cock from the painting.
On Friday, the needful happened. The entire cock had come out of the painting. It was hard, felt like a rigid cock, and was pulsing, and full of life. It was still parallel to the surface of the painting, and the balls were in high-relief now. February rubbed them also, wondering whether the God would emerge from the painting as the days passed. February then licked the head of the God’s penis with her tongue, marveling at its sheer size and the audacity of whomsoever dreamed up Priapus himself.
On Saturday, his balls were fully three dimensional, and February couldn’t restrain herself anymore. She came home in the evening from her day job as a pharmacist and ran into her bedroom. The cock was now pointing at a right angle to the painting, waiting to invade one or another orifice. She started, seeing that the dark God had turned and was facing her, his eyes glinting with salacious evil.
She felt a compulsion within, and wolfed the cock down. She took it into her mouth, and found that the head of the cock barely fit when she opened her lips as wide as she could. She strained and somehow took the head inside her mouth. She slid herself along its shaft, the best she could, but started gagging when she took a third of the cock inside. This cock was meant for the mouths of giantesses.
By Sunday she had spent nearly twenty hours with that giant cock. She had taken it in her mouth, and in her cunt. She had even been brave enough to rub her buttocks against it, but she knew that she would be bleeding severely from her anus if she even entertained the idea of anal penetration. So she continued using the cock of the God to scratch that ever present itch in her cunt. It barely fit inside her cunt the first dozen attempts, but she sat on it, and forced it just an inch deeper each time, and crooned in pleasure at how full she felt. When cock fills a woman, she indeed realizes the importance of size.
She wanted to make Priapus discharge his divine essence, but nothing really worked. She had been reaching orgasm for days with his cock, and while plenty of precum dripped from it, and it was always well lubricated, she could never quite make the God cum. So it became an obsession with her, and she labored every weekend with his cock.
She put in her hours at the CVS where she worked, but stayed only barely able to hold her attention together when working. The painting, and Priapus, filled her mind and called forth unbidden all manner of fantasies inside her. She wondered whether her co-workers could tell that she was perpetually horny, but she didn’t really have as much of a hold on her fantasies anymore, with the painting in her house, and that massive cock just waiting for her attention.
