Ultimate Curves

by Miranda Forbes

  We remain so engaged for some time, standing face to face, each gently soaping the other, neither saying a word. I continue to wash until the girl moans and starts to hump against my soapy hand. The Amazon, slightly taller looks into my eyes. I can only imagine what she is thinking, can only guess why she is attracted to me of all people. Yet she obviously is. My own mind is a ball of confusion. Why am I doing this? Besides the obvious pleasure I feel in having the young woman’s fingers coax my clitoris into the open? She smiles as if reading my thoughts, steps closer and draws me into her strong arms. Once again I feel her soft, soapy skin slide over mine, feel her breasts flatten against my heavier chest, feel her firm abdomen against my belly, feel the tickle of her wet thatch of pubic hair as she squeezes against my thigh. The Amazon starts to move, making small gyrations to ensure the transfer of suds from one body to the other. She rocks gently from side to side, pressing tit-to-tit, rocks back and forth against my thigh. I join her, mimicking her sensual movements.

  As the warm water cascades over us she covers my mouth with hers, holding my head in her hands. She tastes of mint. Her tongue thrusts into my mouth and I suck on it hungrily. Instinctively, my hands find the perfect globes of her bottom and I pull her tight against me, lifting her onto my thigh. After a few minutes sliding her wet, soap-slippery body against mine, her fingers spread my bottom cheeks and she pushes a digit against my rear hole. The sudden incursion has me squirming away. The Amazon puts more soap on her hands, rubs my crotch in a long arc from the top of my pubic hair back between my legs to the cleft between my buttocks. She deliberately presses her finger a little harder each time she skirts my anus. I feel more comfortable with her probing now. I know I am clean. She touches the hole gently with the tip of her finger and I feel my muscles clench. Yet, the soap makes her finger so slippery that when I relax the tip of the digit enters – just a fraction of an inch. She keeps her finger in the centre of me and wriggles, her other hand gently soaping my pussy, fingers sliding between the swollen folds. Amazingly, I begin to push back against the invading finger, encouraging, forcing a little more inside. The finger slips inside to the first knuckle. I tense again and squeeze, but the Amazon resists the pressure. Her finger remains lodged, edges deeper. I enjoy the sensation, turned on by her resolve, by her forcefulness.

  She slips a thumb inside my pussy. I moan contentedly, begin to move my hips in a slow, circular motion. The woman responds, wriggling both her thumb and the finger in my bottom. Just when I think it is too much she somehow manages to rub my clit. I feel inner muscles tighten around the thumb; feel my sphincter clench so tightly I am afraid I will snap off her finger. I begin to tremble, recognising the signs. She recognises it too. Suddenly, the young woman pulls the finger out of my arse. The sudden loss sends me over the edge. I come violently, clamping my thighs together and trapping the girl’s soapy hand with her thumb still buried deep inside me.

  The Amazon isn’t satisfied and after a few minutes of continuous worming, nor am I. Her undiluted enthusiasm drives my arousal to a new high and as another orgasm nears I cry out in encouragement. In response, the young woman slips two fingers inside my pussy and sets to work in earnest. I brace one hand on the cold tiles of the shower as she holds my hip and pumps into me. I am taken by surprise with the ferocity of the woman’s frigging. It verges on viciousness and at times I feel as if the strength of the girl’s fingers literally lifts me off the floor. I feel powerless to resist and something about the woman’s unbridled strength fuels my excitement. As the frigging gains pace my orgasm builds until I feel my legs wobble. I have to hold on to stop myself from falling.

  “Oh, God,” I moan softly, the sound barely audible above the spray of water and the echo of slapping fingers. Now, her frigging is almost brutal. Her fingers move with me, move against me. I drive my hips backward as she pushes forward, urging her to fuck me – harder, faster, deeper. My heavy breasts swing fiercely, slapping together with each powerful thrust. “Oh my God!” I repeat, my entire body shaking as orgasm sweeps through me. This time my legs buckle, but the Amazon holds on tight, keeping me upright as she pounds into me a little longer for her own gratification. When I eventually open my eyes her face is inches from my own. The eyes are intense, yet they are smiling. I can find no malice there.

  I pull the Amazon to me, shoving her against the cold shower wall, and press my exhausted body to hers. She gasps in surprise as her flushed skin touches the cold tiles, but I quickly place my mouth over hers, stifling any protest. Now, I am searching, probing. I want to give in return but have little idea what she wants. My fingers find her softness and I insert two soapy fingers into her. The woman begins to breathe harder as my fingers set to work. I am hungry now. I want to devour her. Like something possessed I finger her, all the while keeping her pinned against the shower wall with the weight of my body. I feel her shake as she approaches orgasm, wiggling and squirming against me as if trying to escape. I won’t let her. In a moment of inspiration I remove my fingers, take the showerhead off the wall and aim the spray directly towards her crotch. The Amazon gasps and opens her eyes wide as the hard jets of water catch her full on her most sensitive spot. She raises herself up on to her toes to meet the onslaught. Her eyes meet mine as the sensation overwhelms her. I soak up her look of adoration. For the first time in my life, I feel I am doing the fucking and not simply getting fucked. I like the feeling. I like it a lot. Even after she is spent I am reluctant to let the feeling go.

  The Amazon’s name is Helen. I decline her offer for a night of wanton debauchery. I’m not sure I’m ready for a lesbian lifestyle. As exciting as the encounter was, I crave cock too much. To change now would be a bit of a culture shock. I don’t hate men, I just hate the way they treat me sometimes. Helen smiles ruefully. I recognise the smile for what it truly is. She too is used to disappointment. I think of Roger who will be waiting for me, scales in hand, of his look of disappointment. This stunning young woman on the other hand had not judged me and it felt so good to be held like a person and not an object. Helen had also given me a bloody good workout. I think I’d expended more calories in the last hour than I had in the last six months. I am tempted to change my mind and go with her. I know I should be wracked with feelings of guilt for even considering Helen’s outrageous proposition. Surprisingly, I’m not.

  Painted Lady

  by Amelia Fox

  WANTED: Rubenesque woman to life model for artist, two hours a week.

  Virginia rang the doorbell and waited, still amazed at herself for answering the advert. She’d nearly chickened out twice, but her new resolution of seizing life’s opportunities when they came had held fast and now she was standing on the doorstep of a man she’d never met, her dressing gown in a carrier bag, about to take her clothes off.

  The man who opened the door didn’t conform to any of her preconceived ideas of a painter. He was tall for a start – easily six feet – and broad shouldered. This man certainly hadn’t been starving himself in a garret for his art.

  “Virginia?” he asked, holding out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Patrick. Please come in. I hope you don’t mind stairs.”

  She shook her head and followed him up what seemed like endless flights until he ushered her into his studio at the top of the house.

  “If you’d like to get undressed over there” – he pointed to an antique silk screen placed across a corner of the room – “and then come out in your dressing gown when you’re ready.”

  She pulled off her T-shirt and jeans, draping them over the top of the screen, and then hesitated a moment before adding her underwear on top of them. This man was going to see her naked, what did it matter if he saw her knickers as well? Though, as she belted her dressing gown around her, she wished fervently that she’d splashed out on something a bit sexier than her tatty old towelling robe.

  She padded back round the screen, the floorboards warm under her bare feet, and the smile Patrick gave her made a tiny pulse start jumping between
her legs.

  “I’m going to start with a couple of quick sketches until we find a pose you’re comfortable in and then we’ll get to work on the painting.” He nodded to a chaise longue in the centre of the studio. “Start by lying on your front, arms folded, head resting on them and turned towards me.”

  Taking a deep breath, Virginia let her dressing gown drop to the floor and did as he said. She watched him as his eyes flicked from her to his sketch pad and back again, connecting briefly with her gaze. Charcoal whispered over paper. Virginia’s nipples tightened as she felt his stare travel over her back, her buttocks, her legs.

  “God, you have a really amazing bottom,” he said.

  She blushed.

  “I meant to draw! To draw!” he said, turning as vermilion as one of his paint tubes. “But I like it on a personal level as well,” he added.

  Before Virginia could think of an answer, he became businesslike again. “OK, could you turn over for me, please? Arms above your head, any way they’re comfortable, right leg straight, left leg bent a little at the knee.”

  She rolled on to her back and, as her breasts moved from their warm nest on the chaise longue into the studio’s air, her already aroused nipples stiffened into two dark pink peaks. She heard him swallow.

  “Let me know if you’re too cold,” he said.

  She met his eyes and gave him her slowest, most sensual smile. “I’m fine.”

  He shifted a little on his stool, turned over a page in his sketchbook and began to draw her again. By the awkward way he was holding the pad, she could tell he was trying to conceal his erection, and she felt the first trickles of wetness start to flow inside her.

  After five minutes he sighed and put down his stick of charcoal. “Something about the arms isn’t working,” he said. “Try putting one by your side. No, that’s not it either.”

  “How about this?” Virginia suggested. She shifted up the chaise longue to let her head loll back over the rest, cupped one of her heavy full breasts so that the nipple peeked out between her fingers and let the other hand rest between her barely parted thighs.

  “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

  As he started to draw again, she closed her eyes, slipped her forefinger between her labia and began to circle it on her clit with the tiniest of movements. Her moist flesh felt like wet silk and her clit throbbed and swelled under her fingertip. She closed the fingers of her other hand, teasing her nipple, and felt a spark shoot down her body to her groin.

  She heard his sketching falter, then stop. Opening her eyes, she saw he’d put the sketchbook aside and was watching her, making no attempt now to hide the bulge in his trousers.

  She let her legs fall open, showing herself to him, and dipped her first two fingers inside herself before returning them to her clit. Lifting her head, she looked at him. “Come here,” she said.

  He didn’t need asking twice. Kneeling beside her, he took her other breast in his hand and drew her nipple into his mouth, first running his tongue around it and then sucking it until she groaned with pleasure.

  He kissed his way from her nipple down the swell of her breast, pausing to nuzzle for a moment in the centre of her cleavage. Virginia moved her hand out of his way, and he ascended the other breast, circling it with tiny kisses before covering it with his mouth as she cradled his head.

  He was stroking her now, his fingers slowly brushing over the deep curve from her waist to her hip, then onwards, down the outside of her thigh, across her leg and back up the inside, towards her still-rubbing fingers.

  “God, you’re wet,” he breathed, as he touched her. “You’re the most sensual woman I’ve ever met.”

  Gently taking both her wrists, he returned her hands to cover her breasts and then moved to the foot of the chaise longue and parted her legs further. Starting just above her knees, he pressed a kiss to the inside of each thigh, slowly working his way up until she felt his lips brush over her clitoris, and a shudder rippled through her whole body. One more touch, she thought, and she’d be coming harder than she’d ever come in her life.

  He stopped and Virginia almost screamed in frustration.

  “I want to paint you,” he said.

  “What, now?” She couldn’t believe it.

  “Yes. Trust me.”

  She watched as he quickly shed his clothes then picked up a palette and loaded it with paint. Rummaging in a jar crammed with brushes, he picked one out and dipped it into a jug of water before coming back to the chaise longue.

  Virginia was transfixed by the sight of his cock bobbing towards her. It wasn’t much longer than the average six inches, but its girth was impressive. She imagined how it would feel stretching her open as it nudged inside her, and her hands strayed downwards again.

  “Wait,” Patrick said. He was standing over her now, palette balanced in one hand, brush in the other. Before Virginia could ask him what he was doing, he touched the brush to her skin and painted a long curl of vivid blue, starting at her collarbone, swirling around her breast, over her stomach and coming to rest with a delicate flourish at the top of her bikini line.

  “There’s no finer canvas than a woman’s body,” he said, washing the brush and then mixing a brilliant green on the palette.

  Virginia lay there and let his brush stroke her, a thousand times more delicate than his fingers had been. The trails of cold paint brought her skin up in goosebumps.

  “There,” he said, stepping back to admire his work. “Come and take a look.”

  Taking her hand, he helped her up and led her over to the floor-length mirror in one corner of the studio.

  Virginia gasped. The swirling pattern he’d painted over her skin enhanced her figure, her hourglass shape glorified by its wrapping of painted ribbons.

  “See how beautiful you are?” he asked.

  Virginia nodded.

  He turned her round and kissed her, softly at first, then growing into something harder, greedier. Without lifting his mouth from hers, he pulled her back to the chaise longue and sat on it, positioning her astride his lap.

  Virginia felt his cock rubbing against the soft folds of her stomach and moved forwards and up, pressing against the hard shaft to open her labia and bring her clit into contact with it. She began to move her hips: up, down, towards him, away from him, using his cock to pleasure herself.

  He tipped his head back and groaned as she coated his cock with her juices. Virginia could feel the heat growing inside her, her clit pulsing as she ground it against his hot, hard flesh. Raising herself up, she inched forwards once more so the tip of his cock slid into the opening of her cunt.

  He groaned again and tried to thrust upwards, but she knelt up so that just the first quarter inch of him stayed inside her. “No, Patrick,” she chided. “It’s your turn to lie still now.”

  He stared at her and for a moment Virginia thought he was going to simply plunge into her, but after a few seconds he nodded and let his hands fall to her thighs.

  Virginia lowered herself a fraction further on to his cock and began to slowly move her hips, gently pulling his cock from one side to the other as she gyrated. She could feel her cunt stretching wide to accommodate him, running with wetness to ease his passage into her.

  She lowered herself on to him a millimetre at a time, a thrill spasming through her with every new nerve ending his cock touched, until finally she’d taken his full length and sat astride him, triumphant, his cock buried to the hilt inside her.

  Her cunt muscles flexed involuntarily and Patrick’s hands tightened on her thighs. “You can move now,” she said.

  He slid his hands up to her buttocks and cupped them, using his hands to indicate the rhythm he wanted her to move in. She picked up his tempo and slid up and down his shaft, searching for the angle she knew would bring her clit into contact with his body. She leaned backwards, arching her spine, thrusting her breasts forward. There!

  “Oh fuck, that’s good,” she gasped, as
her clit rubbed against him and his cock squeezed her G-spot with every stroke. The dry paint on her body was making her super-aware of every movement she made; it pulled at her skin as it moved, like a million tiny fingers.

  Patrick reached up to her breast, stroking the hard nipple with his thumb, while his mouth fastened over her other nipple, sucking, teasing, licking and sending jolts of sensation down her body to collide with the ones his cock was causing below.

  She could feel her orgasm building and rocked against him faster, riding him harder, wanting every last bit of that deliciously thick cock to be buried deep inside her as she came. She clamped her cunt muscles tightly around him, working towards the explosion she knew was imminent. He was thrusting now too, deep, deeper, deeper still, until finally, with one sharp cry, she went over the edge, the spasms radiating out from her cunt and through her body.

  She felt his cock start to pulse in response, swelling even more thickly inside her, and then he was gasping her name, pumping into her, as she shook with the last tremors of her orgasm.

  Sticky with sweat, paint and cum, Virginia lifted herself off him and collapsed beside him on the chaise longue. Patrick reached out and carefully brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.

  “I think you’re going to be a terrific life model,” he said. “Can you make the same time next week?”