Paint Job Read Online Free Page B

ready.
    “Kiss me first,” I beg.
    She sighs, holds the brush well away from me and kisses me
hard. I clutch at her, reach for her breast, but she backs away, making room
for Randall. His kiss is accompanied by a quick friendly finger in my pussy.
“That’s all for now,” warns Leena. “To work, to work! We can play later.” They
begin to paint and the pain slaps me like a thunderhead. I suck in my breath. I
managed to convince myself it wouldn’t hurt this time around, with the base
coat as a protective layer. I was wrong.
    I concentrate on the music. I concentrate on not shivering
or shuddering or gasping or moving in any way at all. I concentrate on feeling
the paths of their individual brushes, the trail of hot burning they leave
behind, now on a breast, now on my butt, now in a thin line on my back. How
much time has passed? They move around me quietly and intently, murmuring, consulting,
mixing colors, painting. I feel as if I’m floating above myself—although how
that could be when it hurts so much, I’m not sure.
    Randall is in front of me when I return to myself—how long
was I gone?—and he’s kneeling, working on the area below my bellybutton. I
realize Leena has set down her brush and sidled close up behind me. She
whispers in my ear, “Don’t move, Gabby. Whatever happens next, do not move .”
Randall is biting his lip. He keeps painting. I feel something working its way
between my legs, something cool and hard. A flush of anticipation warms me.
“Keep very, very still,” Leena hisses. She is pressed against the length of my
back, one hand inching a dildo into me, the other hand reaching around my hip,
searching for my clit. Just as she finds it, Randal stings me with paint and I
try mightily to suppress a shudder. “Don’t move,” she whispers again, “or
you’ll ruin the painting.”
    The dildo is in me now and she’s slowly working it up and
down, up and down, up and down. “Ohhh…” I sigh, standing rigid and unmoving for
Randall’s ministrations while using every fiber in my body to keep from
writhing from Leena’s. How do they come up with this stuff? How do they do it? How do they know the exact combinations that will bring me to the edge of insanity?
    “Still!” he commands, “do you want to ruin it?” but
Leena pays no attention. The dildo is moving faster. The paintbrush keeps
working but the dildo keeps working too. I stand like that, on the edge of a
precipice, the pain of not moving magnificent in its intensity.
    Then I can hold it in no longer. I let out a strangled moan
and collapse to the mat, Leena on top of me, Randall setting down his brush. He
was ready for this, the bastard, he knew this was coming and now he’s
kissing me and kissing me and Leena’s riding my orgasm and I think the world is
spinning. I pant. Randall smiles at me.
    “That was…that was insane ,” I say at last.
    “Did you like it?” Randall asks, sounding delighted. “That’s
a new move we made up just for you.”
    “Wow,” I say. “It’s a keeper. Horrible and wonderful at the
same time.”
    “You’re welcome,” says Leena.
    They tell me to lie down. I do, yawning. They bring their
paints and pallets and kneel beside me. “Ready for more?” asks Leena. They’re
not letting me rest this time.
    “Sure,” I say.
    “We’re doing the detail work now. The fine stuff. With even
smaller brushes.”
    “Okay.”
    “It’ll take a long time.”
    “Good.”
    The tips of these minute brushes leave only the mildest burn
behind. It’s exquisite, almost not a pain at all.
    “Hussy,” says Randall, “you’re enjoying it now, aren’t you?”
    After several hours of intensive work on my front, the two
of them leaning over me in near-complete silence, I open my eyes and see
Leena’s scarlet-painted breasts, just out of reach and unbearably lovely. But I
can’t touch, I can’t move—I’m not allowed. After they spread my legs and paint
my delicate nether regions—and yes, it