Paint Job (3 page)

It’s a little while later and we’ve spent ourselves. We’re
lying on our backs, resting. I’m holding hands with Leena and playing footsies
with Randall. I ache sweetly all over. I listen to the strains of classical
guitar and think,
I could stay here forever
.

Randall turns on his side, props his head on his hand and
regards me and Leena. “You know, this thing, the three of us, it’s working
really
well
.”

I smile. I’m too tired to talk, but I agree.

“Mmm-hmm…” murmurs Leena, “it’s just right. With you, Gabby.
You’re wonderful.”

I squeeze her hand.

“You should see yourself,” says Randall, tracing a finger
lightly over my stomach, following the blue edge of my new bikini. “You look so
sexy.”

I want to see. I sit up and study the new painting on my
body. It’s just the undercoat, I know, but it is a lovely shade of blue and I
think that if I had to leave right now I would be satisfied with my new look. I
run my hand over the blue skin on my breasts. It doesn’t feel any different
than my un-painted skin. My nipples are blue too, which catches me by surprise,
even though I remember very well the pain of having them painted. A thin line
of angry red edges the blue—my skin is still irritated.

They’re watching me. Randall’s eyes are hooded. Leena licks
her lips.

“It’s red,” I say.

“That’ll go away in a few hours,” Leena says. “Maybe sooner.
We’ll eat, we’ll shower and when the red is gone we’ll start on the next part.”

“Speaking of which,” says Randall, getting to his knees and
pulling a sketchbook off the supply table, “I have some ideas for you.” He
takes out colored pencils and starts sketching. “Green. Jungle colors. Leaves
and branches and vines interlaced, right? Maybe a butterfly or two? How about
this?” He holds up the sketch for Leena and me to see. It’s a rough drawing of
my right breast, pretty much life-sized. It’s covered with lush leaves, like a
jungle in miniature. I’m enchanted. “I love it,” I breathe. “It’s even prettier
than I imagined. Can you actually
do
that?”

“Of course we can,” says Leena, sounding irritated. “We’re
artists, remember? That’s just the rough idea—it’ll be better than that.”

“Lighten up, Leena,” says Randall, patting her leg.

We’re all sitting up now. I stretch. “So, you two,” I ask,
“are you a couple?”

They look at each other. “Um,” says Leena, “sometimes.
Sometimes not. Mainly we work together.”

“And play together!” adds Randall.

“We bring out the best in one another.”

“I noticed,” I say, blushing.

“Leena’s really
good
at this, Gabby. She creates
masterpieces. You’re lucky to have her. One day she’ll be famous, just wait and
see.”

“You’re good too, Randall.”

We hear a quiet knock on the door to the hallway. “Dinner,”
says Randall. He gets up, ties a towel around his waist and collects the food.
He has it all arranged on the coffee table in front of the couch by the time
Leena and I arrive in the sitting room. He lets the towel fall to the floor and
the three of us are naked but for our Paintinis. I’m one of them now, nude but
not naked. It feels right. My eyes keep wandering down to gaze at my new paint
job. I look at the lacy scroll work on Leena’s breasts and want to touch one,
want to roll her nipple between my fingers. I smile as I fill my plate with
roast chicken and herbed potatoes—I’m sure that before long I’ll have the
chance to feel her up all I want. Who knew I would ever behave this way with a
woman? Or with a woman and a man together? At the same time and strangers, no
less? It makes my heart beat faster just thinking about it.

We set upon the food as if we’ve never eaten before.

“Okay,” says Randall an hour or so later—I’m guessing it’s
about midnight. Our plates are empty and everything is gone, even dessert.
We’ve showered together, scrubbed each other and copped playful feels but
haven’t made love, not even close. When we’ve moved back into the fun room, as
I call it, and I’m again posing on the platform for my two lovers, and Randall
is staring at me with a tilted head, I’m charged up and ready to play again.
“The red’s gone,” he says, “we’re good to go. You okay, Gabby? You all right to
start up again?”

My insides shiver. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m going to do the base work,” Randall informs me, “and
Leena will do the finish work. All the details. We’ll use smaller brushes this
time.”

Leena is busy mixing paints. “It’ll take all night. You
ready, Gabby? This will be a marathon the likes of which you’ve never
experienced.” Randall stifles a laugh. She looks up, paintbrush in her hand,
its tip pale-green. “It’s my favorite part—I
love
detail work.”

“I’m ready.”

“Good.” She steps toward me, brush at the 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 still burns like hell—they flip me onto
my stomach and start in on my butt. I lose track of time. Perhaps I doze. Then
Randall whispers in my ear, “Get up on all fours.”

“What?”

“Just
do
it, Gabby.”

I do.

“Reach back and spread your butt cheeks.”

I do.

He enters me from behind with one huge push. I gasp. I put
my hands on the mat again, on all fours, like he wants. His cock feels bigger
from this position, filling me, stretching me, making me press back into him
because I want more, more,
more
. “Move your arms further apart,” he
says. I spread them and now Leena is there. She is on her back, sliding into
the tight space beneath my belly, grinning, threading her legs outside mine,
her stomach teasing my stomach, her breasts flattening against mine each time
Randall pumps me from behind. “Hi there,” she says, and kisses me.

I get a quick glimpse of my own green-painted breast, and I
almost come.

“Now lay down,” Randall says, breathing hard, “lay down on
top of her. Now. Do it.”

I let myself collapse onto her long sweet body and our tits
mash together. I feel her under me, her pussy warm and wet, straining and
pushing against me. She wriggles her hand between us and finds my clit and I
know she is pleasuring herself too.

“Gabby sandwich,” Randall says between pants, pumping me,
pumping Leena, fucking us both at the same time. His hands are tangled in my
hair. Leena’s free hand is on Randall’s ass. We’re moving together, the three
of us, together, together, our motions perfectly synchronized. Arms, legs,
hair, juices—all intertwined and fitted perfectly together. I moan, a long,
drawn-out sound.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” whispers Randall. “This is it.
The last fuck. Your time is almost up. We’re going to sign our painting…and
then it’s over.”

My breath catches. I cry out, “No!”

“You are one
hell
of a woman,” says Leena, kissing me
hard, our teeth clicking, her pussy pushing up into me. “No one else has ever
turned us on this much. Ever. In all these years. Only you.”

I’m crying now.

He’s still pumping us from above. “Take it in the ass?” he
asks. But he doesn’t wait for an answer. He’s suddenly straining at my asshole
and I think,
what the hell
? He’s pushing, pushing, forcing his way
in—the pain!—and now he’s in me and I’m screeching with hurt and surprise and
I’m begging for more ass dick,
deeper
ass dick, and it’s the best thing
I’ve ever felt and I’m writhing all over poor Leena. I put my finger on her
clit, then slide it into her vagina. “Yes, Gabby!” she says, “Oh…oh!
Yes
.”
She comes with a rush of warm pussy juice, her muscles spasming around my
finger, and she goes limp. But only for a moment, because now she has the
dildo—where did that come from?—and she’s pushing it into my pussy and I’m
stuffed with pussy dildo and ass dick and I’ve never in my life felt like this
and I yell aloud and buck up and down, and I’m coming, coming,
coming
.
Randall lets out a full-throated moan and I know he is coming too.

And then, just like that, it’s over.

Randall pulls out of me with a wet
pop
. My asshole
feels stretched and sore. Leena climbs out from under me. They’re both
breathing hard. Leena stands. “Get up, Gabby,” she says.

I look up at her from my collapsed position on the floor,
feeling the last pulses of my orgasm wither away.

“I said,
get up
.”

I get to all fours, feeling my asshole burn, then I stand in
front of them, shaking. Leena has a paintbrush. “Turn around and bend over,”
she says.

I do. She spreads my butt cheeks and I feel her burn a trail
of paint right next to my hurting asshole. Tears are falling from my nose, from
my chin. I don’t bother brushing them away.

“My signature,” she says.

Then it’s Randall’s turn. He tells me to lie down on my back
and to spread my legs. Leena spreads my swollen labia for him. He signs his
initials right by my clit. I gasp. When he’s finished, I sit up, burning with
pain and humiliation. I’ve just been branded and I know it. I stare at the mat
under me, racked with shuddering sobs. My tits feel smashed. My asshole feels
like it’s been split in half. My pussy feels used. How fast things have
changed. Only minutes ago I was a Gabby sandwich and now they’re signing off on
me. I cry harder. They stare down at me.

“You’re ours,” Leena says. “For the next year. Ours.”

“Every time you see yourself in the mirror, you’ll
remember,” adds Randall. “We
own
you. No sex will ever be as good as
this.” Randall is smiling, a satiated, self-satisfied smile. “It
was
great, wasn’t it?” He’s pulled off his condom and is rubbing his banana dick
with a hand towel. His dick looks utterly ridiculous, I realize with a start.
How did I think it was cute? “You’ve got a tight little ass,” he says, an
afterthought. “
Real
nice.”

“Up and at ‘em,” says Leena, reaching for her clothes.
“You’ve got half an hour to shower and get out of here. You
were
good,
you know? No one else ever made me come like that.”