The Art Dealer

A client who I write for fairly regularly emailed me with a story request. I'm going to start sharing some of the stories I write (with the client's permission, of course!). If someone has a boner for a scenario, odds are that someone else out there does as well.
If you don't know, I do erotic writing on commission, making people's fantasies two dimensional. Just got over a busy time of year (what, V-day doesn't stand for 'Vagina Day'?!), so I have a whole treasure trove of hot, wet stories to put up here when I'm too busy fucking to post.

The Art Dealer
There was a man who I knew, he had a business delivering fine art to and from galleries, people's homes, and dealers. Jon was in his thirties and an artist himself, so he appreciated the daily contact with the industry. He was tall with curly brown hair and a strong profile. He'd begun his career as a graffiti artist, and still had the lean physique from those days of running from the cops, and though he was much more mature, there was still that boundary pushing manner about him; bold, playful, determined.
Jon had his favorite clients, and he would often stop and chat with them for a bit, have a cup of coffee or a glass of wine if it was the last stop of his day. One of these was Mrs. Von Klausen, a woman in her fifties. On a Tuesday around noon he delivered two eighteenth century oil paintings. Mrs. Von Klausen was a dealer, and she'd recently acquired them from a seller on the east coast.
"Bring them into the gallery room, Jon" Mrs. Von Klausen said when the maid let Jon in. The gallery was in the front of the house, a large climate controlled room with a large desk facing two oil portraits of her bewigged Dutch ancestors, family heirlooms that were meant to emphasize her connection with the art world. Art was in her blood, the paintings said.
Mrs. Von Klausen sat at her desk, wearing reading glasses. Her hair was thick and black and lustrous, cut in an expensive bob. She was petite and always wore black dresses that showed off her long neck and her milky white shoulders. When she stood, her dress clung for a moment to the chair and Jon saw the top of her stockings.
He set the paintings carefully onto the display table, and gently removed the plain brown paper from them. Both were nudes of tender-bellied nymphs in the woods, unrestrained by clothing or morals. Uncharacteristically, Jon blushed, aroused by his close proximity to a woman who seemed the opposite of those free spirits. Mrs. Von Klausen took off her reading glasses and stared at them thoughtfully, touching her chin. Finally, she nodded.
"I quite like them," she said, and looked up at Jon. "I wonder if you might be able to help me, I've been working on my memoirs and I can't get the margins quite right."
"I can have a look," said Jon, relieved to walk away. The maid came in with a fresh vase of white tulips to place on the desk, and Mrs. Von Klausen followed her out to have a word with the florist. Jon fixed the margin problem in a moment, and when his client didn't come immediately back, he scanned the page. It was quite erotic, an account of Mrs. Von Klausen getting fingered under the tablecloth of a fine restaurant while her husband, now deceased, chatted with Francois Marcel. Jon couldn't stop reading until the page ended, and then he stepped quickly back.
Mrs. Von Klausen walked back in and shut the door. She had brought him a cup of tea, and they chatted for a moment about an upcoming gallery show at Soir. Then she said to him, "Would you like to see where my stockings end?"
It was so nonchalant. She was at least twenty years older than him, but he felt powerfully drawn to her. To him, it felt perfectly natural to get down on his knees behind her and flip up her skirt as she stood at her desk, slightly bent.
Her legs were long and strong and she wasn't wearing any underwear, just the garter belt wrapping tautly around her ass, so wide and soft and slightly dimpled. Jon was reminded of a month he'd spent in Southeast Asia, when the woman at the marketplace guided him away from the firm green papayas and towards the yellowed ones, the rinds speckled with mold. The ones past their prime were the sweetest, the juiciest, the most golden.
Jon buried his nose against her fruity little pucker and tongued her labia, already swollen and wet. He reached in front and tangled his fingers in her silky bush, tugging at the hard little bud that protruded from the tip of the cunt. He ate her buttery pussy, and she stood silently, composed, his cock pushing hard against the front of his jeans, his balls already tightening from the fragrant, alluring smell of her crack and the obscene slurping noise of his eager tongue in the soft fuckhole.
He stood, and unzipped. Still, Mrs. Von Klausen didn't move, just braced herself firmly on the desk. Jon wanted to kiss her, but her matter-of-fact manner and her perfectly applied fuchsia lipstick didn't encourage it. Oh well, he thought, as he shoved his rock hard rod into that small hole. He didn't even have to spit on it, it just glided in.
Her pussy seemed to flutter around his cock, and he realized too late how close he was to blowing his wad in her cunt. Every inch of his penis was being stimulated by the clenching of her amazing softness, it was like being stroked by slippery hands. In vain, Jon looked up at the portraits facing the desk, but in his feverish mind he combined them with the women of Mrs. Von Klausen's new acquisitions. Before him arose the image of the stuffy men gasping in ecstasy as naked servant girls and mistresses slobbered over their knobs.
Jon came. He pulled his sodden cock most of the way out and flooded Mrs. Von Klausen's cunt with semen. The pleasure came in waves as his come gushed. Stricken with guilt, he once again knelt behind Mrs. Von Klausen and slurped his jism from her sodden folds. Eagerly, he rooted deep inside of her cunt with his tongue, cleaning up every drop of his tangy come, sipping it from her hair, licking it from where it dripped from her clitoris.
"Yes," Mrs. Von Klausen said firmly. "Yes, here it comes, oh yes. Oh yes. Ohhhhh yessss."
A shudder went through her body and she ground her pussy furiously against Jon's come-smeared face. A small amount of liquid seeped from her fuck tunnel. Jon was hard again, and before she had time to recover her composure, he was once again balls-deep in her gash, gripping her butt cheeks hard as he slid in and out rapidly, evenly, driving her to a second orgasm that he experienced inside of her, her cunt contracting around his piston as he too exploded, come spurting far up her hole.
They stood there for a moment, Jon gently rubbing her ass as they recovered, He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and pulled his drooping cock from her pussy, gently placing it back in his underwear and zipping up his fly. He licked his fingers clean and pulled the skirt of her dress down over her pink rump.
Mrs. Von Klausen straightened up and went over to the door.
"Thank you Jon," she said. "I'll see you next time?"
"Absolutely," he said, and whistled on his way to the next client.

Goodbye Cheri, part two

We went back over to the bar. The Manhattans that Brian made were almost as stiff as he was, and I was feeling it a little. After he served us- another round for Cheri and I, a beer for Garrett- he gave us a wink and went over with a damp bar towel to take care of the table. And the wall.
"I'm going to miss you, Cheri," I said. I'd said it before, and I hoped I said it enough. It was true. She was my best friend, and she was moving to San Francisco.
She put her head on my shoulder. "You'll come visit. I'll come visit."
"You'll come, alright," said Garrett. When Cheri and I lived together he would come over and they would smoke weed. She'd make dinner, and we'd sit around and watch documentaries on Cheri's laptop. He was handsome, a year or two older than us, and from Cheri's hometown on the East Coast. His type was firmly of the nubile-sporty-young girl, so it never crossed my mind he might be interested in either of us.
Until that night.
"I think I might take him home for one last dance around his huge May Pole," said Cheri, sipping her Manhattan. She looked pointedly at Brian, who was bending over the table. I was a bit disappointed, having looked forward to one last slumber party with Cheri.
Either way, it was my cue to cut out of there, so after I finished my drink, I got up. Garrett did too. The bar was closing in a few minutes anyway. We set our glasses down, and Garrett and I gave Cheri a big hug and a kiss.
"Call me as soon as you get there safely," I said. I put on my coat and walked on out of the bar. I was definitely tipsy, but not drunk. I was mostly sleepy, and not looking forward to a ride back. Garrett offered to let me sleep at his place and drive me home in the morning, on his way to work.
I yawned. "That sounds good."
"Come on then, miss," he said, offering me his arm.
He had a sweet little apartment, part of a complex built in the 1950s with a courtyard. It was a two bedroom, and his roommate was in the other one. His roommate was weird, so I was uncertain about sleeping on the couch, but Garrett had a king and he offered me half.
"I do fart in my sleep," he said, as a warning. "Or so I've heard."
"Maybe they're all liars," I said, sitting down on the edge and taking off my heels. I was excited about the way this was going. I doubted it was innocent. Garrett turned off the light and we undressed in the dark. I hung my dress over the back of his chair, and found a t-shirt. Behind me, I heard the creak of the bed, and Garrett clearing his throat as he got in.
"Fluffy pillow or flat?" he said, as I pulled the covers over me. His hand brushed against my back as he scooted the flat pillow to my side of the bed. "Is that my t-shirt? I hope it's not the my come-rag one."
"Gross," I said, and laughed, punching his shoulder, just so I could touch him again. Then I turned my back to him. I really was tired, too tired to make a move, although I wanted to. He pulled me close. "Is this ok?" he asked. I told him yes, and he began feeling up the front of the shirt. "I'm just trying to figure out what t-shirt it is."
His hands found my breasts, feeling first over the t-shirt, rubbing my rapidly swelling nipples. He gave my neck exploratory kisses. A moment later, he slipped his hand under the shirt and grasped my nipples, rolling them between his fingers, pulling them, lavishing all sort of attentions on them. His right hand dug between my waist and the bed, sliding down my hip bone and right to the edge of my panties.
I kept perfectly motionless, getting off on the sensation of being molested in my sleep. At some point, I expected him to flip me over and kiss me on the mouth. His hand slid over my shaved mons, index finger pressing into my slot. My clit was already swelling, Garrett's slow movements only made it stiffer. He played with it slowly and lightly.
It was close to two in the morning by that time, and I was exhausted. I've always been a morning person, and my brain was shutting down from tiredness. Garrett's erotic manipulations gave the feeling that I was in some hot, wet dream. I ground my ass against his now-hard cock. It pressed up against his belly, and he wedged it between my ass cheeks.
Still, he worked my nipples, pulling them now, giving each of my tits equal attention. A few times he dug his thumbnail in, just hard enough to make all my blood flow to my pussy at the sudden sweet, sharp pain. My whole pelvic area felt tight, and then Garrett slid his fingers down into my gash. It was sopping. He worked two digits in and out of my messy hole.
I reached down and hooked thumb into the edge of my panties, twisting out of them. Garrett stopping touching me for long enough to pull his briefs down, and I felt the hard, fleshy heat of a big cock. It stuck on my soft ass. The tip was slobbering enough to leave a damp trail down my right cheek as he slid its blunt head between my legs.
We humped for a few minutes, the friction of his cock thrusting between his legs bringing me closer and closer to coming. He had a hold on my hips, and the shaft jammed in and out, my pussy lips and clit clinging to it for dear life, drooling thick creamy juice. A few times, his bell end nosed upwards to the entrance, and he pushed it past again at the last minute.
Finally, Garrett let go of my hip and actually pushed my clitoris down so it touched his penis, sticking to it in his motions, and it drove me over the edge.
"I'm coming," I whispered, my body jerking, my whole pussy areas tightening, and then releasing. "Ohhhhh. Ahhhhh. Ohhhhh."
Then came that hot sensation, the wet sensation of my pussy exploding. Garrett didn't give me a chance to relax, he grabbed my hair and pushed my face into the pillow. My body followed, and I could tell he wanted me from behind, but when I tried to get on my knees, he pressed my hips back down into the soft mattress.
"Like this," he said. "Oh, please."
He heaved his body onto mine, and finally he thrust his fat thing into my tunnel. He groaned loudly and long as it buried its fat red head, rooting around in my wet inside. He was so strong, lifting and sliding his body on top of mine, his chest mashed against my back as he fucked me. I was being pressed into the bed, violated, and it was driving me towards another explosion.
His cock seemed to touch every inch of my pussy, exploring my slick folds and engorged clit, sliding back and forth, back and forth. At the same time, my body lay helpless. Because of the way I lay, I literally couldn't move, every sensation was concentrated on my lower body.
"Where do you want me to come?" he whispered, and that did it. My hips began to shake uncontrollably, and Garrett sped up.
"I want you to come all over my ass," I said. "Come for me, come all over my big ass."
At the same time that I pumped out another wave of wetness, he pulled out, slapping his dong between my butt cheeks, pressing my throbbing clit hard into the sheets. He grunted and stilled, and felt a warm sensation as he glazed my buns, each spurt filling the air with the sweet smell of come.
"Oh my god," he said, rolling off me. "That felt good."
I knelt, and he helped me to pull the t-shirt off and wipe down my back.
"Now it's the come-rag one," I whispered, and he laughed, wrapping his arms around me, and we fell asleep that way.

Anyway, I hope that doesn't ruin our friendship. I know Cheri always had the hots for Garrett, so she'll be jealous he fucked me, but not for long. I think I may start working on a story for a contest. It would be good to take a break from the novel, but the end is in sight as far as that goes, and I may totally finish it first and then let it sit for a month before I edit.