Svana loved to paint. She used to love fucking too, but when she was twenty-three she turned sex into her main source of income and the passion for it diminished quickly. So, painting became her treasure, one she vowed to always protect from the evils of societal economic persuasions.

All of her works were displayed in the living room; sparse furnishings accompanying them throughout. An old and dusty TV sat unused in the corner, rarely providing any entertainment value. The paintings were Svana’s escape from the banalities of her life.

Many a night, Svana would pretend her apartment was a museum, where strangers would come and admire her art. Some onlookers in her dream would stay quiet in silent applause, simply bathing in the aesthetics. Others would try to interpret the meaning of each piece in loud whispers, to sound important.

It was nearing 1:30 AM. His shift washing dishes in the restaurant had ended and he would be arriving soon. Svana liked him.

She didn’t want for much so she only needed to keep a few select customers. Barry was her favorite, one of the quiet ones. She thought of him like a stray she’d found at the local shelter. He belonged to the world, but Svana liked to think that the piece of it they shared was hers to hew and mold.

“Why do you like painting those shapes?” Barry asked as he was removing his coat. He smelled like a mix of scouring powder and greasy diner food.

“They’re called fractals,” she replied, “and I like them because they are pretty. Each piece of the shape is dimensionally proportionate to its whole.” She was already unfastening his belt. “The pattern repeats over and over, getting smaller, rounding out the edges, making them smooth.”

“That one looks like a sea snail,” he chuckled.

“That’s a nautilus.” She pulled down his pants and boxers allowing him to step out of them. His cock was spongy and flaccid. 

“How many customers do you have?” he said with a child-like inquisitiveness.

“You always ask me that, Barry.” She was kneeling, slowly pulling on his penis, speaking into it like it was a microphone. “My answer is the same as it was yesterday, and the day before that.” She sensually kissed the head and it began to swell.

“Someday...” He took a breath as she began to suck. “Someday, I am going to own the restaurant. We can move to the coast and you can paint sea snails for me.”

It had taken some time before Svana was able to get Barry to loosen up. The first three visits he didn’t want her to touch him, they would just sit fully-clothed and talk. At first, Svana thought he was simple, but Barry’s mind was actually quite sharp and capable. Most of it. There was one area he shied away from and she knowingly never ventured to press.

Barry would tell her stories of growing up. There was a single mother with vises that led her to become property of the state. Grandparents who stepped in but knew very little about how to raise a boy like Barry.

He would hang out in the park for most of the day. The days eventually turned into loitering about at night and Barry would watch the park transform. Swings that were normally filled with daytime children’s songs, would provide folly for the ladies of the evening and their Johns.

The stories of the park always faded at the exact same point. Svana learned how to divert his attention and by the fourth visit, Barry kissed her.

“Do you know what an operculum is, Barry?” Svana spat on her palm and began slowly stroking his hardening shaft. Barry let out a sigh as he sat down and sank into the couch. “It's the snail’s trap door. A hard cover that can be pulled shut as they retract into their shell when faced with danger.” Svana tugged her panties down, her pussy was swollen and slick with arousal.

Barry was definitely her favorite.

She slid to straddle his lap and whispered daintily into his ear. “Push your fucking cock into me, Barry.”

He swallowed hard. The abruptness in her voice was a contrast to the delicate nature of her appearance. She used this to her advantage knowing he liked being told what to do.

Barry placed his rough calloused hands on her hips. She lifted her skirt to feel them against her skin. The length of his rigid cock was nestled up behind her, pressing its tip on her tailbone. With his worker’s hands, he guided her to raise up until his dick fell with a  slap to his waist. Then he settled her back down letting her lips envelop the sides.

He pushed and pulled her deftly, gliding her wet texture along his shaft. She could tell by his breathing that he was already close. Svana pressed forward, even as his hands were trying to guide her backwards. She arched the small of her back, hitched the head of his cock with her opening and then let Barry thrust her onto him.

Her scream echoed off the paintings as his penetrating thickness filled her cunt with cum.

Barry’s hands still held tight on her hips as he sat with a blank look in his eye, staring at the nautilus. She wondered about his thoughts. Was he rounding the edges to make them smooth? It didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything that made her want him more or less. She knew which part of Barry’s world was hers.

Svana slumped her body to rest her head against his broad chest. He still had on his t-shirt, yellowed to a tone of sepia from the smoky kitchen. Her auburn hair lay here and there, absorbing the smell of scouring powder.

“I want to paint sea snails for you, Barry,” she whispered loud enough for him to hear.

She felt his cock throb safely inside of her, still rock hard.