by J. KRAMER
Daily now, she wished he’d paint her again so she’d have the opportunity to entice him, to get him in just the right mood. Then and only then would she tell him her real age. Excitement surged through her at the thought of his ardor breaking free of its reins, of his cock inside her, his mouth on her nipples, on her cleft.
Dreamily she gazed out at the ocean; the boat momentarily forgotten until his voice interrupted her fantasies.
“Okay, I’ll go check it out,” he said, fear entering his heart.
“I’ll go with you,” she offered halfheartedly, as she always did and she knew his answer ahead of time.
“No, you stay here just in case I miss it.”
He knew full well that the boat was probably far away and he didn’t want her to see it. His half erection bobbing as he strode down the beach, he headed for the rocks that would hide him from her. He heard the motor too. It sounded quite a distance away. When he climbed over the rocks and knew Becky couldn’t see him anymore, he sat down and waited for a while. The sound of the motor drifted away, back to the mainland. The danger was gone so he head back.
Becky sat on the beach cross-legged when he returned. “It was too far away, Becky.”
“Oh. Okay. Guess you’re stuck with me a while longer then.”
“Becky, you’ve grown since you washed up on the beach. Eh—I don’t mean in length,” he grinned. “I’d like to do some more paintings of you. You’re becoming a woman.”
“I’ve noticed,” she said wryly. “About time, too.”
“The sun’s healing rays can work miracles,” Lucien smiled. “I’ll go and get my stuff. I’d like to paint you just relaxing on the sand.”
“Bring the sunscreen with you, too? Actually, I’ll come with you. I’d like a drink,” she decided and started to get up.
“I’ll bring that, too. You go for a dip in the pool but don’t get your hair wet. By the time you get back, I’ll have everything set up.”
Becky felt happy that he wanted to paint her again. Her wish would be granted. The last months they’d gotten to know each other. Lucien had told her all about his past, the woman who had jilted him at the altar, and they had become very close, as close as brother and sister—except that’s not what she wanted from their relationship. She’d not confided to him what happened to her parents and how she came to wash up on his beach. Soon, she’d have to tell him and tell him her real age. But she waited for just the right moment. She longed for his touch, to press her body against his. At night she squirmed with the passions that consumed her. Several times she’d offered for him to sleep next to her, but he always politely refused and slept on the floor in his sleeping bag.
She didn’t languish in the tepid water too long. Anxious to get back to the beach and to Lucien, she swam, careful not to wet her hair and after she felt clean, she hurried back to him to find him ready, his easel set up.
Lucien handed her the brush. “Here, brush your hair. It’s tangled,” he said. He loved her blond curls, now longer and almost silver thanks to her being in the sun constantly. Her body had taken on a golden hue, her eyes a startling blue against her tanned face. She was beautiful, his Becky, she was his goddess come to life, a mermaid tossed from the sea. He adored her, but couldn’t tell her now. Could he keep her on the island until she was at least nineteen? Was it possible? Was it fair to her?
Becky tossed the hairbrush back to Lucien. “There, is that better?”
“Yes. Your curls shine as if they’re made of spun silver,” he said. “I have another idea for a painting. I’d like to paint you by moonlight. It’s a full moon tonight.”
“How do you want me to pose for this one?”
“I want you to lean back, rest your elbows in the sand and gaze out at the sea.”
“Like this?” she asked while leaning back.
“Yes. Pull your left leg slightly up and move the right leg outward. That’s it. A little more. Yes. That’s good.”
A little smile played on her lips. Last night, when she saw a falling star, she’d wished for him to paint her again, and her wish had been granted.
“Keep that thought and that smile. Stay exactly as you are,” he said excitedly wondering at her thoughts and the expression on her face.
He moved the canvas so he could see Becky and part of the sea, too. Her breasts jutted out at him like small ripe melons, the nipples much larger now and hard as pebbles. The aureole around them had spread too, and had darkened from the sun. He gazed at her cleft and the pubic hair that had sprouted over the last months. It was blonde to match her hair, as was the hair under her armpits. To his disappointment, he couldn’t see her clit properly now. “Becky, can you open your legs wider?” When she did so, the cleft parted a little but the blonde curly hair still hid too much. “I think you need to shave some of it off,” he sighed. “But I can’t ask you to do that.”
This caused her to sit up and look down between her legs. “My bush has grown quite a lot, hasn’t it? Must be living in nature that suddenly made me develop.”
Suddenly he realized her voice didn’t sound like a child’s. It was a woman’s voice, husky, sensual. Becky was no longer a teenage girl. Though she could only be about seventeen he guessed when examining her face, her eyes, looking at her now and her sudden development, she had become a complete woman.
“I’ll shave it, but you have to tell me where and how much.”
“Okay, let’s go back to the cabin.”
“Why don’t you go and get the shaving cream and your razor and I’ll do it here.”
Lucien soon returned with a bowl of fresh water, a towel and his shaving equipment. He set it down beside her. “There you are. Go ahead. I’ll work on the background in the meantime and the rest of your body.”
Becky gazed at the razor. “I can’t use that. I thought you’d bring me an ordinary razor. That thing is razor sharp and big.”
“I don’t have an ordinary razor. I left that stuff behind when I left society,” he grinned. “Where would I buy new blades?”
“You could always get enough to last you six months. Well, you’ll have to do it for me,” she said her heart beating a staccato rhythm in her chest at her bold suggestion.
“Are you sure? You’ll have to lie down and be very still.”
“Yes. If you can’t paint me with my bush, it will have to go.”
“Lie down then,” he ordered.
Becky relaxed back on the sand and closed her eyes.
“Spread your legs as wide as possible and pull them up.”
He put the towel under her buttocks and poured some water over her cleft. Then he set the pot with the cake of shaving soap in it between her legs, wet the brush and liberally lathered her bush. He brushed both sides of her cleft and just below into the crack of her buttocks. He opened the razor. With his left hand he pulled the skin of the lips upward, tight, and carefully started to shave the hair off with his right hand. Every now and then he washed the blade in the bowl of water. The edges of the lips were the most difficult to shave. He pulled one lip so hard it was almost flat against the bone behind it and her vagina became clearly visible. He feasted his eyes on it for a moment, on the juices that flowed liberally to the crack below and felt his cock rise to the occasion. He gave the other lip the same treatment then carefully rinsed off the soap. Between her legs she was as smooth as a newborn babe, except for one area, just above her clitoris there was still a tuft of hair hiding the bud from his eyes. He lathered the top of the cleft generously and pulled the skin taut just above the throbbing bud. The hair grew very close to her clitoris. He wielded the knife carefully, trying to get the hair out of the triangle above the hard little knob. Finally he was done and last of all he trimmed the top and the sides until she only had a small triangle of fine, blond curls left. He rinsed the soap off again and inspected his handiwork. It looked perfect now. He put the knife in the bowl, put everything aside and pulled her cleft apart to inspect it once more. He ran his fingers over the baby
smooth skin, then couldn’t help himself and entered his finger into her inviting vagina.
A sigh escaped Becky’s lips. She had her eyes closed but was very much aware of what he was doing and loved every second of it. Arching her hips, she pushed against his finger. She felt him feel gently explore, while his thumb played with her clitoris.
Lucien glanced at Becky’s face. “It’s perfect now. Do you want to see? I’ve brought the mirror.” He forced his hand out of that forbidden area and reached back for the mirror.
His semen had spilled onto the sand and for the moment he felt released. But for how long? This young girl did things to his body that no woman had ever managed to do before. He craved her, she had invaded his heart, his mind, his soul, and he wanted to make her his. But it wasn’t possible. Not yet.
“Yes, let me see,” she said in a husky voice. She’d come twice while his finger explored and wanted more. But if she dared to pull him toward her, she’d also have to tell him about herself. This was not the right moment. When she told him about her age, she wanted it to be perfect. Not while they were engaged in wanton sex.
He handed her the mirror and held it between her legs. She sat up and gazed into it. “You did a good job,” she complimented sending him a sensual smile.
“Thanks. It’s rather an unusual job for me. I’ve never shaved a woman before, especially down there.”
“Let me see,” she said and opened her legs wider. “It feels strange. I’ve become used to having hair there.” Her fingers pulled the cleft apart and she gazed at her vagina for a moment. She fingered the now larger flaps of purplish flesh and looked at him. “Wonder what we need these for?”
“They’re there to protect your vagina from invasive things, like sand or dirt that would cause you to get an infection.” He was amazed at her lack of shame. Had he taught her this wanton behavior?
“This is all new to me. I’ve never really examined it this closely. I’ve felt it, but not used a mirror. It’s rather a weird feeling. I can almost look into my vagina. Look, Lucien.”
“Eh, yes—I see.”
“How can a man’s cock ever fit into that small hole? Or a baby come out of it?”
“It does. Believe me,” he said in a gruff voice. “Okay, I’ll get rid of this stuff. Take your pose.”
She posed as he’d instructed her before. Languishing on the warm sand, she spread her legs wide for him and gazed out at the sea, her dreams of nothing else than having his cock inside her.
Lucien never touched her again that day. The painting near finished he put it away when dusk set in and he fetched another canvas from the cottage. “Time to have some dinner, Becky. After dark I’ll paint you in the moonlight. They’ll be rough paintings. I can fill in the details during the day, but I want to take the opportunity of the full moon tonight.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dinner was the same as usual, fish, vegetables and fruit. The island had plenty of wild fruit that Lucien had taught her to find plus the melons and strawberries he grew. The vegetables came from his garden. Becky had to admit to herself that at times she longed for a juicy steak or a burger and fries. His food was tasty because he seasoned it with herbs and spices from his garden. The eggs, she’d found out shortly after she had landed on the beach, came from the chickens he’d brought to the island. He kept them at the back. She sometimes wondered how come he didn’t have a cow as well, but milk would sour quickly without a fridge and there was virtually no grass on the island.
“I’m stuffed,” she told him while pushing her plate away and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Good. So am I. Shall we go?”
He had her pose just where the waves rolled onto the sand and receded into the sea again. One foot forward as if just stepping from the sea, in walking position, her face held up to catch the moonlight. Lucien didn’t like the pose. He repositioned her. This time he had her stand on the rock, her hands held up above her head as if she were worshipping the moon. Her head flung back, her feet just slightly apart. The full moon sent its beams down to the calm surface of the sea painting a silvery path to the horizon. The sand resembled crushed pearls and the rocks had taken on a pinkish hue. It was a picture from a fairytale, a myth, a legend—it would become his masterpiece.
He painted like mad. This painting would be the greatest of all his artwork. The oil lamp stood beside him on a stool so he could see what he was doing. The moonlight wasn’t enough and tended to distort the colors. A wave crashed against the rocks, spraying her, the droplets reflected the moonlight and clinging to her nipples and small mound of pubic hair. He drew in his breath. This was just the effect he’d waited for. Just the faintest hint of her cleft was visible, the small bud protruding just the slightest. She looked wanton, abandoned in her worship of the sky, the stars and the moon. She was a goddess come to life. Her hands were held up, reaching for the sky, almost as if she were trying to catch a star. Her full lips were slightly parted, her eyes luminous dark pools reflecting the indigo sky.
After he roughed in the painting, he wanted another and rushed back to the cottage to get the canvas. He needed to catch her expressions that night, the moonlight on her body. “Time to celebrate,” he announced and handed her a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice then poured some vodka into his own. “This painting will be my masterpiece.”
“I thought the very first one was your best. Can I have some?” she asked.
“No. You’re too young for liquor. The first painting was of a child. This painting is of a young woman who has blossomed.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Thanks to you, I finally have. Lucien, when we quit for the night, there’s something I want to tell you.”
“Okay. Let me just get this one done and that’ll be it. We can sleep in tomorrow. No one here to push the time clock but the birds.”
He had her sitting on her knees allowing the waves to roll over her legs. Her knees slightly parted, he asked her to bend down a little and play with the foam as the waves rolled in. Her breasts looked even fuller as she leaned forward, the nipples pointing at the water now. “Gaze at the water, not at me,” he ordered.
But that wasn’t the last painting. He wanted one more. “Get your T-shirt and throw it on the sand,” he said.
Becky ran to the cottage to get the T-shirt. It was getting very late and she so wanted to confide in him that night. Lucien worked that evening as if possessed, almost as if he was afraid that any day now she’d have to leave the island. He painted just like he had done those first two weeks. She didn’t mind, but she wanted him to stop thinking of her as a teenager.
“Drop the T-shirt on the sand, then come running towards it and bend over as if to pick it up, but don’t stand up. Just hold the T-shirt with your hand and then look back at me,” he told her when she returned to the beach.
“Like this?” she asked looking back at him.
“Yes. Now spread your legs a little. No, further apart. That’s good. Can you hold that pose?”
“I guess so, though I don’t know for how long.”
“Bend a little deeper. Yes, just so.” Her buttocks were spread revealing her pink anus. It opened slightly, as did her vagina. This was the first time he’d painted her in such a position. Something was missing. He gazed at her for a little while and suddenly realized what he had to do.
“I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move a muscle.”
“Where are you going?”
“I need to get something from the cottage. Don’t move.”
She saw his stiff cock bounce as he ran past her and smiled. Tonight was the night. He was back within seconds, in his hand a tube. “What’s that?”
“You’ll see.” He unscrewed the lid and squeezed some of the lubrication gel onto his fingers. He spread it liberally into the crack of her buttocks and around her anus, then squeezed the tube in between her cleft until a large glob of jell nestled there. He smoothed it with his fingers and watched as it became warm and trickled d
own her inner thighs. “Yes,” he breathed. “That’s great.”
“What was that stuff?”
“Lubrication. It makes your anus and cleft shine in the moonlight.”
“Oh. It felt rather nice. Soothing. I’m starting to itch a little where you shaved me.”
“Want me to scratch?” he asked jokingly, though within he was serious.
“You could rub me a little,” she replied in a husky voice.
“Later. I don’t want to rub that stuff all over you. It would spoil the effect.”
He painted till the early hours of the morning. When he finally put the paintbrush into the jar of turpentine, he felt the strain on his eyes. “You must be stiff as hell, Becky. I can finish these during the day now. It’s quitting time.”
Becky stood up and stretched. “Boy, I’m itchy,” she murmured. “You promised to rub me with that cool stuff.”
“So I did. Let me just put my brushes in the jar and cover the palette. I don’t want sand to get into it.” He couldn’t wait to do as she asked. Quickly, he covered the palette and put the rest of his brushes in the jar. Later, he would take it all back to the cottage.
Opening the tube of lubrication again, he squeezed a large amount onto the palm of his hand. She bent over for him and spread her legs.
“Mm, that feels good,” she said as he started to rub her cleft slowly.
“Yes, I can imagine,” he breathed as his fingers spread the lips and ran up and down between the folds. He applied some of the lubrication to the crack between her buttocks and ran his finger up and down it, stopping at her anus briefly. She bent down further, her anus opening up. He gazed down at it for a moment, the moonlight picking up the glistening lubrication. Carefully he inserted his finger a little and watched her reaction. It was tight. Very tight. The pink rim hugged his finger. Becky didn’t pull away from his hand. “Relax your muscles,” he told her in a husky voice. “Does it hurt?”