“Great,” I said. I loved the feeling of her round butt cheeks hugging my face. I got my tongue in as deep as possible and I squirmed it around, getting her moist and ready. I was rock-hard now, but I wanted to taste her tight hole for a minute longer.
I reached around and grabbed her cock. It was pulsing and warm and it fit perfectly into my grip. I tugged it up and down, feeling it grow and harden. I pulled it back, between her legs, so her tip was just under her puckering hole—and then I licked both. She giggled again.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” I said. My face felt hot—my whole body felt hot. I’d never been so charged up in my life. I sprung to my feet and then I rubbed the tip of my dick up and down the crevice of her butt, mopping up some of my warm saliva. “Ready?” I asked.
“I’ve been ready all morning,” she said. So I pressed my tip against her hole, I pushed, and a moment later, I penetrated. I sunk in deeper and deeper and it wasn’t long before she was groaning and her legs were trebling. I’m not sure how she managed to stand upright in those tiny heels, but she did a good job. I could feel her anal walls throbbing against my cock, begging me to go deeper. So I kept plunging in further until my pelvis was firmly pressed against her soft tush. Then I started pumping her with my raging erection.
She moaned and I just hoped the room was soundproofed enough so Alex and Sammy wouldn’t hear. I slapped her ass with my pelvis and watched as it turned redder and redder. I reached around and got a good grip on her solid rod. I pumped it aggressively, desperate to make her cum. I had to get her off quickly because I knew I wasn’t going to last long in that tight, warm butthole.
“Oh God,” she moaned, gripping the edge of my colouring table firmly.
“You’re so tight,” I said through clenched teeth.
“You’re so big,” she said. I loved the way her puckering hole felt along my rod. I couldn’t get enough. I wanted more—I needed more. I reached down with my free hand and pressed two fingers into her asshole along with my cock. I wanted to stretch her out. I wanted to make her scream at the top of her lungs.
She covered her own mouth with her hand to muffle her scream, which was probably for the best. She squirmed and then I felt her cock pulsing. I looked over her shoulder and saw that she was coating my desk with her white goo. Finally, I didn’t have to hold on any longer. I released everything I had and filled her tight hole with my specimen, and then I stumbled back and fell into a chair, out of breath. Her asshole was still agape with my cumshot dribbling out. She looked back at me and giggled.
“You’re cute,” I said between breaths.
“You’re big.” And there was that big grin that I was growing to love more and more. “You know, my bed at home is pretty big. If you wanted to sleep in it with me, there’s more than enough room for both of us.”
My heart sprung up high in my chest. I said, “Sounds great,” before I even thought about the fact that she was a millionaire, or the fact that she wasn’t even a biological woman. None of that mattered to me. I just liked her—regardless of what she had between her legs and regardless of what she had in her bank account.
THE END
COMMISSIONED
Will is a struggling artist, making ends meet by washing dishes at the Chinese food restaurant on the corner. But after a few months of scrubbing plates for minimum wage he decides it’s time to start taking his artwork more seriously. He starts a website, accepting commissions from anyone who wants them. And the first commission he gets is for a dirty drawing.
He does the piece, and it isn’t long before that image circulates the web and brings a special kind of traffic to his site. So he creates a fake name and opens up shop. Now, all of his commission requests are on the taboo side of things. But business is business.
One afternoon, he gets a request from a familiar face: a beautiful girl who lives in his apartment building. She wants a drawing of herself without clothes on. And the reference photo she includes in her request shows an extra appendage that needs to be drawn.
CHAPTER I
I liked drawing cute cartoon pictures. I wanted to draw cute cartoon pictures for a living, but sadly there wasn’t a lot of money in the cute cartoon pictures business—especially not when it came to original content.
But I tried anyway, spending weeks making a professional website, signing up for an ad service, hoping I would get enough web traffic to pay my bills. But after four months with my website up and running, I’d only made $16, and I had to make over $20 for the ad service to send me my first cheque. It turns out, making a living off of cute cartoon picture website isn’t quite so easy.
I needed money, so I got a job washing dishes at a Chinese food restaurant on the same block as my apartment. The first day on the job wasn’t so bad; my boss told me I could bring an iPod and headphones in to work, and I would get a free meal four hours into my shift. My second day on the job wasn’t quite so relaxing. My boss got fired and the new boss had new rules: no iPods, no free meals. I lost five bucks off of my paycheque for every smoke break I took, so my new adjusted hourly wage was something like six bucks an hour—not worth standing on my feet for eight hours while being yelled at by grouchy chefs. But I needed the money, so I stuck it out for the next three months.
And then I found myself with a sort of PTSD, afraid to leave my apartment for work every afternoon. As I would walk towards my front door, my hands would start to tremble and a nausea would fill my gut. I was constantly dreading spending eight hours in that dimly lit kitchen, surrounded by all of that horrible negative energy. I didn’t want to scrub dishes—I wanted to draw cute cartoon pictures.
So I started looking into artist jobs. I figured drawing for someone else wouldn’t be so bad. Sure, it wasn’t my dream job of drawing original content, but it would beat the hell out of washing dishes. Though no one was hiring. I even went to the animation studio downtown and dropped off my resume, which had instructions on how to access my extensive portfolio. But the receptionist who took the resume just laughed. “What is it?” I asked, feeling the colour drain from my face.
“I’ll pass it along,” she said. And I never figured out why she laughed. I assumed it was me—maybe there was something on my face, like dried toothpaste, or maybe my suit wasn’t as flattering as I thought it was. But after I got home and had a good look in the mirror, I figured it was probably just the reality of the gig. She probably wanted to be an animator and not a receptionist. Guys probably came in every single day with resumes and portfolios.
Searching online, the only artist jobs I could find required a minimum of four years of school and six years of professional experience. I didn’t have the money for school and I apparently had no way of getting professional experience without going to school. And even if I did manage to muster up enough money for a degree, I would still need to figure out how to overcome the minimum six years of professional experience hurdle. It seemed impossible, yet those job postings were being taken down within days of going up, so there were people out there who had it figured out. I just wasn’t one of them.
So I kept washing dishes. I kept dreading every new day. That nausea kept flowing into my gut every time I paid my bills and watched as my bank account drained back to empty, as if I hadn’t spent a single day in that damned kitchen, even though that’s where I was spending half of my waking life.
And then I got a message in the e-mail inbox I set up just for my website—my first message after six months of going live. “Do you do commissions?” the anonymous asker asked.
I didn’t know anything about doing commissions, though some of the big artists I admired did commissions for lots and lots of money. “I do. What do you need?” I replied as quickly as I could, as if I was worried the person would find another artist if I didn’t reply quickly enough.
“How much?” was his or her reply, an hour later.
And I found myself pacing back and forth, trying to figure out my own rate. After ten minutes of this, I returned to my
keyboard. “It depends on what you would like,” I wrote.
“I want you to draw a picture of this girl I go to school with. But I want you to draw her naked, in your anime style.” The request rubbed me the wrong way in more ways than one. First of all, my style wasn’t ‘anime’. It had a bit of anime influence, but every cartoonist since the 90s had a bit of anime influence. My style was far more western than anime—but that’s beside the point. The big concern with the request was what he wanted: a naked picture of a girl in his class. What if she was underage? Is it illegal to draw a naked underage cartoon girl? Is it illegal to draw someone naked without their consent? Maybe not illegal, but certainly amoral…
I assumed I was dealing with a fourteen year old kid who had maybe twenty bucks in his bank account at the most, so I replied, “I could do that for about $200.”
“Sure,” he replied to my surprise. “Can I transfer the money to this e-mail?”
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly. “Sure,” I wrote. And then twenty minutes later, my e-mail inbox dinged with a money transfer for $200. And a minute after that, there was another e-mail from the anonymous commissioner. It had a file attached: a picture of a young woman who could have been anywhere from fifteen to twenty years old. She was in a bathing suit, sitting on a beach. The image gave me chills, until I ran it through a reverse image search and found the girl’s Facebook page.
Her name was Danica Moore and she had just turned eighteen. She was a cute young lady with big eyes and long blonde hair. I flicked through her pictures, trying to create a mental image of the naked cartoon I would be turning her into.
An eerie buzzing overwhelmed me as I opened up a Photoshop file, ready to sketch out some ideas on my tablet. I wasn’t rushing this job—two hundred bucks was more than I made in two full nights washing dishes. This felt like my big break, even though I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of drawing naked ladies for hire. I’d never even drawn naked people before. An artist friend of mine was always begging me to go to figure drawing classes with him, but I’d always hated the idea of having to draw nudes.
But for two hundred bucks, I would have drawn anything.
I did about eight different sketches before I settled on a pose that I liked. I lowered the opacity of my sketch layer and I created a new layer, ready to do my inking. I had the picture of the barely legal teen up on a separate monitor. In the picture I was drawing, she was holding her bikini top out at her side with a single finger, and her bottoms were down around her ankles. She had her legs closed because I really didn’t want to be drawing stranger’s pussy, and she had her free arm covering her tits. I was halfway through inking when I realized this drawing was no good.
I mean—it was good. It was some of the better ink work I’d ever done, in my opinion. But my commissioner wasn’t going to like it. He wanted a naked picture of his classmate, and my drawing may have been naked but she was just as covered up as she was in the bikini reference photo. So I went back to making sketches. Now I was purposely making myself uncomfortable, drawing this Danica chick with her hands on her hips and her legs spread out wide. And each sketch was becoming more and more lewd.
As a joke more than anything, I sketched a version where she was on her back with her hands being held at her sides by an octopus that was coming out from the ocean. That same octopus was holding her legs open, so her pussy was agape. The picture made my heart stammer, but I knew deep down inside that this was the kind of picture my client was looking for. So I lowered the opacity and created a new layer, ready to ink.
And when it came to inking her tits and her pussy, my heart stared pounding ferociously—and it happened again when it came to colouring. I didn’t feel so good about myself when I flicked through Danica’s Facebook page and found a good picture of her with her mouth open: the closest photo I could find to an ‘orgasm face’. I used that photo as a reference as I zoomed in on my cartoon’s face and made sure the likeness was obvious. I was actually shocked by how impressive my likeness was.
Though I wasn’t sure if I was proud of myself as I sent the finished artwork back to my client. My heart was racing all night as I waited for him to reply. I couldn’t sleep, even though I knew that he was sleeping. I didn’t send the artwork until 4:00 AM—surely he hadn’t been waiting up for it. I never even told him that I would get to working on it straight away.
I was exhausted and running on nothing but coffee when my e-mail inbox finally dinged with a new message. I ran over to my computer and opened it quickly, desperate for my client’s approval. And I got it. “She’s so sexy,” he said. “And I love the squid. You’ve got a really dirty mind. Good job. Feel free to post it on your site.” First of all, it wasn’t a squid, it was an octopus. Second of all, I didn’t have the dirty mind—he was the one who paid two hundred dollars for a picture of his crush without clothes on. And finally, of course I wasn’t going to post pornography on my site. My head was already spinning as I tried to think of a way to tell him not to credit me if he was going to go around showing off the artwork. I didn’t want to be associated with it, even though it was one of the best pictures I’d ever drawn in terms of technical detail.
I actually liked the picture, even though I got goose bumps looking at it. It was cute and sexy and the composition and line work and colours were all good. It was almost a shame I couldn’t post it on my website.
But the commission gave me a renewed spark—the inspiration I needed to continue working on my craft, to improve my artwork and grow my portfolio. I knew I needed to spend more of my free time working towards being an artist, and the lewd commission was just the kick in the ass that I needed. So after a few hours of sleep, I sat down at my desk and started to work on some new pieces.
CHAPTER II
I used that two hundred dollars to upgrade my tablet. I’d been drawing on that same little tablet for five years, so the upgrade was a welcomed one, though it took me a few days to get used to the new larger surface. I posted some more photos on my website: drawings of dogs and characters from my favourite movies and TV shows. Over the next week, I added eight new pieces to my website, but my site’s traffic didn’t change. I was still only getting a handful of visitors every day.
So I tried branching out a little bit, looking into what other successful artists were drawing, and then going to draw the same things. I drew a series of video game characters—video games that I’d never played before because I didn’t own any video game machines. The pictures brought in more traffic than ever before, though they also brought along a slew of comments in my e-mail inbox: “That’s not what Mercy looks like! That’s not an Alistar pose!” I realized quickly that I was working out of my element. But at least I was on the right track.
I discovered a forum full of professional artists. There were lots of good discussions about how to increase traffic. Many of the artists were doing guest drawings for each other’s websites. “If you draw my character, I’ll draw yours.” So I threw one of my original characters into the ring and asked, “Does anyone want to draw my character? I’ll happily draw yours!” But my post got no replies, as if no one liked my characters. And it didn’t take me long to realize what was lacking with my characters: big tits, small waists, and lots of skin.
The successful artists were all drawing borderline pornography: slutty girls with large breasts and weapons that were unrealistically big. It seemed so lazy and uninspired, yet they were all bragging about how much money they were making with ad revenue and commissions.
On that forum was a section that was labelled ‘NOT SAFE FOR WORK’, where artists posted their legitimately pornographic pictures. The quality of artwork in this section was far lower than the quality in the other sections—yet for some reason, the posts got far more views. I was shocked as I looked down through some of the submissions. The body proportions were terrible—and I don’t just meant the tits. Arms and legs were all the wrong size. Heads were awkwardly large or hilariously small, and faci
al features were never quite right. I had the sudden urge to post the drawing of Danica, to show all of these amateurs what a real naked drawing should look like.
So I created a new account with a fake name and I posted the picture. My heart was pounding as I went to click on the ‘submit’ button. I was terrified someone would link that picture to my other work based on my style alone. But I knew that was a stupid worry, seeing as my other work had hardly been seen by anyone.
It was only a minute later when the first comment appeared: “Wow! This is amazing!” And then the comments started rolling in like a tidal wave. “So sexy!” “What programs do you use?” “Where did you learn to draw like this?” “Do you have a YouTube channel? Where can I see your tutorials?” I had to admit, it felt good, even though more than half of the comments were just ogling the drawing’s cartoon titties and plump pussy. “You’re amazing,” was probably my favourite of the comments posted that night.
And then I woke up the next morning to a new e-mail in my inbox. “I saw your octopus picture and was wondering if I could order a commission,” said the sender—a guy named Lewis.
My heart pounded into my ribcage for a moment and then it plunged down into my gut as I remembered that the only way this guy could have gotten my e-mail was on my website, which meant that somehow that octopus picture had been linked to my website, where I had my real name and my real picture posted in the ‘about the artist’ section. “No, no, no,” I said, suddenly worried that I’d accidentally posted that picture with my actual account on that website. I hurried over and looked and saw that I had in fact used my anonymous account.
And then I found myself scrolling down the comments, to see if someone had made the connection and posted a link to my website, but there were no outing comments. So how did this guy get my e-mail? “Where did you see the picture?” I asked him before getting any more details about his commission.
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