StrokeMe (2 page)

“This is quite the cornucopia of entertainment,” she said of
the club’s multiple offerings. “Though you keep mentioning art and I’m still
not seeing any!”

Other than Eric, of course. His sculpted face and hard body
definitely made him a work of art. Was that what Yvette meant? Was she
referring to the men in the club when she said there was art to be viewed?

“I told you,” Yvette said. “Keep your eyes open.”

Sure enough, a few moments later, the curtain on the first
stage cut into the west wall rose, revealing the “body scene” on display.

“Would you look at that?” Annabelle was instantly
captivated. “I’ve never seen a person painted from head to toe.”

“That’s because they don’t have hedonistic art in the
polite-society ’burbs of Connecticut,” Yvette said. And she was right. “By the
way, the models are completely nude under all their paint.”

Of course Yvette would feel compelled to point that out.

Onstage was a man covered from neck to toe in matte-black
paint. His head was two-toned, the right side painted red and the left side
painted blue. His legs were pressed together and his upper body curved forward
at a slight angle. A woman with matching paint—except with her face painted
silver—stood in front of him, the back of her legs almost touching the front of
his. Her arms at her side, she was also bent forward, sharing the same graceful
arc as the man.

Annabelle’s brows knitted together.

“They’re a kitchen faucet,” Yvette offered. “He’s the base
and the handle, she’s the spout.”

“Exactly how does that constitute ‘hedonistic’ art?”

Yvette grinned. “Take a closer look.” She pushed the
complimentary pair of theater glasses toward Annabelle.

Lifting the mini binoculars to her eyes, Annabelle took in
the painted human scene. The platform on which they stood slowly rotated,
revealing every angle to the viewers. She gazed at the models from their toes
to…almost their heads. She stopped midway and gasped in surprise. She dropped
the spectacles and sat back in her chair, stunned.

Yvette snickered.

Annabelle’s gaze snapped to her friend. “Are you shitting
me? Those two people are…joined together.”

“Cock in Ass,” Yvette said with a sparkle in her dark brown
eyes. “That’d make a great title for the artwork, don’t you think?”

“Yvette, they’re…screwing onstage!”

“Oh good Lord.” Yvette waved a gloved hand in the air.
“They’re not fucking. They’re just…”

Annabelle lifted an eyebrow. “Just
what
?”

“For God’s sake! It’s art!”

Before Annabelle had a chance to respond, their well-built
waiter appeared at the table. Annabelle’s eyes bulged. Upon close inspection,
she discovered the waiter’s “uniform”, which consisted of nothing more than
black pants and a bowtie, was also painted on.

“Okay, that one’s not totally naked,” Yvette said after he
took their drink order. “He’s obviously got something on under the paint in
order to keep his cock from distracting us from the artwork. And poking you in
the arm when he delivers our free drinks.”

“Oh my God.” This wasn’t exactly what Annabelle had had in
mind when she’d taken her college roommate up on her offer to spend a weekend
in New York City. Freshly divorced after nine years of country club living with
a stuffy banking executive had left Annabelle a bit…conservative. Or downright
frigid, depending on one’s point of view. This might be a bit much for her
first night in town. Along with that brief, yet highly arousing encounter with
Eric.

The first man to make her pussy wet in years.

“First of all,” Annabelle said, trying to get a handle on
the situation, “the drinks aren’t free. We paid fifty bucks to get in here.”

“Then we’d better drink up!”

Annabelle could certainly use a few to relax. Was infinitely
grateful when the waiter returned with the cosmopolitans they’d ordered.

He placed a glass in front of each woman, then turned his
smile on Yvette. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Samson.”

“Nice to
be
seen,” Yvette cooed. She pulled a ten
from her purse and folded it in fourths. “Remind me where I’m supposed to put
this when you’re not wearing any clothes?”

He laughed. Annabelle rolled her eyes again. She should have
known this was the kind of weekend she’d end up having with wild-child Yvette.

The waiter grinned as he said, “On the tray is fine.”

Feigning disappointment, Yvette sighed. “If you insist.” She
dropped the bill on the tray and the waiter sauntered off. Yvette watched him
go. “That’s an ass you could bounce a quarter off.”

“I thought that phrase referred to making a tight bed.”

“Tight bed, tight ass. Whatever.” She licked her scarlet
lips and said, “Makes you want to spank a cheek, doesn’t it?”

“If you’re into that sort of thing,” Annabelle muttered
under her breath, though in all honesty, she felt the same way about Eric.
Hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of his ass, but she had a feeling it was even
nicer than the one she’d just eyed.

“Oh come on!” Yvette said as she reached for her cocktail.
After taking a sip, she added, “You’ve really got to loosen up. In fact,
you’re
the one who could use a thick cock in her tight, high-society ass.”

Annabelle’s mouth gaped, though she had no valid retort.
Unfortunately, her friend was right.
Again
.

Her gaze slid back to the faucet people, but the curtain had
already dropped on them. “What are we doing here anyway?”

“We’re going to buy you a piece of art. For your new condo.”

The ink was still wet on the escrow papers, but the mere
thought of owning her first home sent an excited thrill down Annabelle’s spine.
“A house-warming gift. Wonderful. But…what does that have to do with this
place?”

Yvette handed over the fancy-looking program provided with
the theater glasses. “Once a month, artists display their body murals here. By
invitation only, you can view works on Friday and Saturday nights. Each scene
is professionally photographed and, on Sunday, the framed pictures or the
commissioning of paintings of the scenes are auctioned off over a stellar
brunch. It’s fantastically competitive! The champagne gets flowing and the next
thing you know, half of New York society is bidding outrageous sums of money
for naughty nudes!”

“Only you would know about a place like this.”

“Are you kidding me?” Yvette scoffed. “Take a look around.
This club is packed. And this evening is the tamer of the two nights. Wait
until tomorrow.” She picked up the program and fanned herself with it. “The
artists get extremely creative in joining body parts.”

“I’m sure.” She turned her attention to the second stage as
the curtain rose. A man in a pike position and painted to look like a piece of
light-colored wood with flashes of metallic-silver paint stood in front of a
woman lying on her stomach on a raised platform, her head level with his
crotch. Her body had been turned into a beautifully crafted bottle of
Chardonnay. Her head and neck were painted to look like a cork. The man’s erect
cock was in her open mouth.

Annabelle had to chuckle. “He’s a corkscrew.”

“Cute, isn’t it?”

The applause that erupted indicated this particular piece
was a crowd-pleaser. Annabelle had to admit, it was creative. Not to mention
erotically stirring, because she couldn’t help but wonder if, when the curtain
fell in another two minutes, whether the cork really would get screwed. Would
the male model pump his cock in and out, fucking his partner’s mouth until he
came? Would he reciprocate, orally pleasuring her?

As the lights on the stage dimmed and the drapes moved back
into place, Annabelle realized the music and the din of the crowd were at just
the right decibel to drown out any moans of ecstasy that might come from behind
those velvet curtains.

Shifting in her large armchair, Annabelle felt her slick
folds press together then slide against each other as she crossed her legs. The
crotch of her lacy panties added friction that caused a little prickle of
desire along her clit. Christ, she was actually wet. Thinking about what went
on behind those closed drapes had her pulse racing and her mind whirling with
all sorts of possibilities. Adding to the arousal Eric had sparked.

She couldn’t help but think of the liberation the models
must feel, being completely naked under that paint. And the naughtiness of
being on public display, with a hundred pair of eyes taking in every inch of
them!

Annabelle was suddenly the one needing to fan herself with
the program. She couldn’t say what turned her on more. The blatant,
unapologetic joining of body parts or the idea of what it’d feel like to have
that creamy paint applied to her naked flesh. The long strokes of the paint
brush on her skin. The gentle prickle of the bristles on her nipples or along
her labia as she spread her legs wide for the artist…

She let out a low moan as a sharp, throbbing sensation built
in her cunt, once again making her painfully aware of how long it’d been since
she’d gotten laid. So much longer since she’d had dirty sex, like the kind she
was thinking about now.

“You’re not enjoying this,” Yvette said with a frown.

With a strained laugh, Annabelle said, “Quite the opposite. It’s
brilliant!”

“So you really can take the country club out of the girl.”

“So it would seem.” Though sparing a glance at her crossed
legs, Annabelle had to cringe at her very proper appearance.

Yvette had played dress-up for the occasion, but Annabelle wore
a simple black sheath and a strand of dainty pearls around her neck. Extremely
conservative compared to Yvette’s sexy Marilyn look.

Annabelle had pulled her shoulder-length, chestnut-colored
hair into a low ponytail, securing it with a gold clip at the nape of her neck.
Her legs were bare and the warm air inside the club made her skin dewy. Or
maybe that was a result of the rise in her internal temperature as more erotic
body scenes were revealed. She sipped her cocktail as she continued to envision
the models taking advantage of the various positions in which they were
entangled.

How could they not get it on after their curtains dropped?

“Takes art to a whole new level, doesn’t it?” Yvette said as
she leaned close. “It’s like a naughty game of Twister in the nude, without the
board. Just painted body parts and stick-it-wherever-you-can combinations.”

As if Annabelle needed one more visual to arouse her! She
already had a head full of erotic thoughts she’d never imagined conjuring.

When the final curtain rose, she gasped. “That’s the one I
want for the condo!”

The scene was gorgeous. Three men stood side by side, with
their feet in line with each other, their bodies fanned out as they gripped
each other’s forearms to steady themselves. The man in the middle created the
center point. Their legs were painted a vibrant sapphire color. The rest of
their bodies were perfect renditions of peacock feathers, with the addition of
complementary headdresses that completed the look. A woman stood in front of
the man in the center, her body also covered in sapphire, her head painted to
look like the head of a peacock.

Another “Cock in Ass” scene. Once again, Annabelle couldn’t
help but wonder if the female model would end up being fucked by all three men.
Couldn’t help envisioning it in her head, the bodies naked and sans paint. Only
in her mind, it was Annabelle who was being pleasured. A cock in her pussy, one
in her ass, the third one in her mouth.

Wriggling in her seat again did absolutely nothing to lessen
the thrumming deep in her cunt. She was responding to the risqué murals like a
horny teenager. And the wicked thoughts drifting through her mind had her
pea-green with envy that she wasn’t one of those women, experiencing the
hedonistic gratification implied onstage.

Sipping her Cosmo, Annabelle was confronted with the
unsavory realization that it had been years since she’d engaged in anything as
sexually arousing as what she was mentally envisioning. “Vanilla sex” had
become her mainstay. Hell, during her nine years of marriage, she’d only ever
been on top once and that had been fleeting because Barry had quickly remedied
the situation, rolling her onto her back and fucking her in the missionary
position. It’d been a control thing. She could see that now.

Perhaps that was why she was so turned-on by the artwork and
the way she fantasized about the models finding pleasure in each other’s bodies
when they were in private.

Three men. One woman
.

Oh Annabelle was definitely jealous!

“As I suspected,” Yvette’s voice cut into her errant
thoughts.

“Huh?” Christ, was Yvette on to her? Did she have any idea
how wet Annabelle was? How tight her nipples were behind the lacy cups of her
bra? How much she wanted to know what was going on behind those closed drapes
right
this very second
?

Yvette consulted the program and said, “I had a feeling the
peacock was Finn’s doing.” She dropped the ivory-colored cardstock on the table
and added, “He’s absolutely brilliant. A true body art visionary. I’m going to
bid on the peacock on Sunday. A painting, not just the photograph. It’ll look
stunning in your new condo. And it’ll set all those stuffy country club biddies
you hang out with on their ears!”

“Yvette, a painting would probably cost a fortune.”

“Oh believe me,” she said, that mischievous sparkle in her
eyes again. “It’ll be worth every penny. Invite me over when you unveil it to
your friends and I’ll get my money’s worth!”

“You are so bad.”

“No,” Yvette said as she took a quick sip of her Cosmo. Then
she smiled coyly and said, “You want bad? Here he comes. Finn Griffith, the
devilish artist himself,” she added as two extremely good-looking men descended
upon them. One light-haired, one dark-haired.