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Forum Category: Erotic Stories
 Originator Date Posted 
   The Art Gallery  

8/20/2012 17:01
Posted By:  - WASILLA, AK  
Date Posted: 8/20/2012 17:01
You're concluding an evening at the art gallery, where one of your best shows just took place.  After years organizing art shows and charity events, it's become second nature. 
The large room, with the white walls splashed with paintings and scattered sculpture, is now practically empty.  You're finishing up the fine print with the last patron of the night, getting ready to bring down the bright gallery lights.  

It was to be a busy night, packed with celebrities, artisans, and wealthy buyers.  You organized it all, and it was all on the line.  

You and I got ready together in the hotel room suite, where I zipped up the back of your black evening gown and clasped the thin gold necklace--just enough, not gaudy.  You knew your audience, I knew what was going through your mind.  

I was taller than normal, with black cowboy boots and black hat accentuating my tuxedo.  You wanted me there with you for support, but wouldn't have even a moment to talk.  I knew we wouldn't interact much, so with the 'oil magnate' get-up I'd fit right in with the other eccentric patrons.  Or not, because with boots and hat I came in almost seven feet.  But a good fit, considering my physique and Armani fabric.  Fuck em if they don't like it.

Standing behind you, facing the mirror, I gently brushed the hair from your neck and kissed the back of your neck, one hand on your waist, as you inserted each diamond earring stud (they were waiting for you on the hotel pillow).  

"You'll do great...and it's time," I said.
"I know," you laughed, and grabbed your clutch to leave.
"Which part?" I asked but you just chuckled again.

An executive town car hurried us to the gallery.  En route, your fresh nails tapped nervously on the unused car ashtray in the back seat, your eyes gazing out your window, rethinking every minor detail of the event.  My hand was on your crossed knee, the one coming out the long slit of your gown, a la Angelina Jolie.  You know what you're doing, there's nothing more I could say.  So I was on the phone, looking out my window, reassuring a client.

The car dropped you off in front of the gallery, a red carpet waiting for VIP's.  You stepped out and, after looking around, looked back for me to join.  

Still hidden from any paparazzi's view, I called out, "This is your show, see you inside," as I hailed the driver to park around back.

Par for the course, your event goes swimmingly.  I mingle among the crowd and enjoy the art, or most of it, discussing their hidden meaning with elderly, bejeweled, widows.  One takes to my arm, another grabs my ass. Periodically, 'Sold' tags are added to various pieces, faster as the night flows, as does the champagne.  The crowd gets louder, and happier.  I find a wealthy, but elderly, rancher, attending the event with his new trophy wife almost half his age.  He likes my hat, and we compare 'real' boots.  He and I share disgruntlement with the talent, or lack thereof, associated with one or two of the more abstract pieces.   We laugh it off as the artist's obsession with vaginas, and turn to prospects of the upcoming hunt season.  Eventually he has enough champagne and I jokingly suggest he buy the abstract piece--for his den.  Still keeling over with laughter, the rancher pulls out his American Express and says "Do it!".  Another sale.

I look over to you across the gallery talking with a patron.  We haven't exchanged even a glance all night.  From behind the man's head, you catch my eye, and bite one side of your lip.  Your eyes suggesting, "Will this be over soon???"  I hold up the rancher's Amex card, winking with a smilee and nodding my head toward him.  Your eyes giggle and I see your shoulders relax...
Quiet now.  
"Ma'ame, I need to lock up," echos through the now empty gallery room.  All the party goers have left.
"Almost done, Bruce.  Just finishing with Dr. Armond.  Why don't you just leave the key and go home.  It's late, and you've got a family for cripes sake," you suggest.
"Yeah you're good for it," he smiles.  This wasn't his first event with you.
The good doctor signs the final credit card slip of the night and walks out with Bruce, the custodian.  You can hear his dress shoe heels echoing in the hauls along with the wheels of the mop pale. 
"Shewwwww," letting out the night's anxiety in a stage whisper that again echoes in the gallery.  A distant door shuts, and you plop onto to a baroque-era, cushioned setee along one one wall.  Your legs cross and heels come out of your shoes just slightly, but here is not the place to take off one's shoes completely.  Staring up, arms crossed, you close your eyes, lean back and smile wryly.   Success feels so good.

"Nothing sexier than success," echoes out of the blue and your eyes pop open.  
A slight chuckle in your voice as your eyes slowly reclose, arms still crossed, "You know what I was thinking didn't you?  And you scared me!"
I turn into the open gallery room from the shadowy hall.  We talk from across the room, our voices still echoing.
I lean against the entry to the gallery, hands in pockets.  The Armani tuxedo pants still draping perfectly over the black alligator boots.  

"Who, you?  And yes, I could tell from that smile.  Well done.  It was a good night."

"You helped.  And where's your hat?"

"Gave it to Mrs. Ellwinger.  Small price for talking her into the Lichtenstein.  Not sure which she'll remember more."

"You didn't!"


"Stop it!"

Next to my shoulder, against the corner of the gallery entry, is the dimmer for the gallery lights.  My eyes slightly squint at you, and without turning gaze, my hand goes up to the switch and brings down the gallery lights to half dim.

"Just what are doing," you ask, sitting up with both hands on the edge of the setee.  Legs uncrossed, heels back into the suede, jet black Manolo's.  The heels of my boots start echoing as I walk across the gallery to you.  My lips have gone serious, eyes shark-like.

Just as I reach you, you stand and put your hands up palms forward, "We-I-can't..."  

Your french cut nails contrast against my tuxedo as my arm comes around and pulls you against me.  

One of my boots slides in between your shoes and between your legs, slightly spreading your heels and legs outward.  Leaning in, but not whispering, I say "Tonight was your show.  Now this is mine."

"Oh shit," you whisper as my lips wrap around the top of your ear.  The wetness of my tongue on your lobe sends a shiver and I feel your back arch.  My other hand runs through your hair, gently tilting your neck to one side.  Your fingers stop pushing against my chest and instead clench around the suit lapels.  The hand around your waist slides down and pulls your ass and thigh against my leg.  

I was in no hurry earlier, but now I draw no quarter.  My lips come to yours and we exchange deep tongue immediately.  The kiss lasts for seconds, then minutes.  At one point you whimper, and at another you feel my adams apple growl.  Your nipples clearly swell, and you push them against my shirt studs.  

Coming up for air you gasp, "God that kiss on my neck in the room drove me crazy.  I think I was wet half the night."

I look back at the gallery entrance, more perfunctory than any real fear of being seen.  As I turn back to you, my knees bend and I french kiss your chest, moving down, kissing the sides of your breasts exposed by your dress.
"Oh shit," you whisper as I kneel further down.  You have one hand on the arm rest of the setee for support as your eyes gaze upward and close.  Both my hands grasp your torso just under your surging breastings and slide down, like sliding down a ladder.  Your other hand starts to grasp my shoulder.  I sense it pushing down ever so slightly. 
Your leg comes out of the long slit along the thigh of your dress.  I'm on my knees now, and my hand come under your exposed leg and lifts it so the slits of the dress fall away.  As I maneuver, a droplet falls from somewhere under your dress and onto my thumb.  Your wore a black lace thong tonight.  A little unusual you wore anything at all but understandable given tonight's formalities.  Your leg is rested on my shoulder, where it will stay for some time.  The hour glass of your leg, and high heel draped over my back, become accentuated.  I gently pull the thong off your clit.  It's soaking wet, so I blow gently over your pussy lips.  Your ass shakes. Your ankles flex forward.
"You ready," I ask, still not whispering.  My rhetorical question echoes in the gallery.
Looking down, "I'm sooo ready," and you gasp.
For the next few minutes my tongue circles gently around your clit, and up and down your pussy lips.   You whimper, trying desperately not to make noise.  The next few minutes my tongue traces the alphabet, one letter at a time, over your clit and pussy.  Periodically, my tongue slips into your cunt and you gasp.  Whenever my tongue goes inside, your hand slides closer from my shoulder up my neck and bald head.  
"You like your pussy tongue-fucked, don't you?"
"Jesus if Rembrandt only knew," as you shudder again.  

Your hands are both on my shaved head now.  Holding, pulling.  With each tongue insertion you let out an "Uhhh."  Each one getting slightly louder.  This goes on for another few minutes until it appears you may burst.
"You gonna let me cum on your face, the way you like me to?"
"Not this time," as I slide up your torso.  I'm careful not to let any pussy juice from my face get on your dress. Although you become so wet a little was inevitable.
No coaxing necessary and you take the cue and drop your ass back down to the setee, legs spread.  My pants were already unzipped and my cock half erect and taken out on the way up.  Your hands grab my ass, and I put my hands on my hips with suit coat swept back.  Your mouth starts to adventure the entire body and head of my cock.
"God I love this," you say as you french kiss the side of my cock.  It's like a long Snickers bar against your pale lips.  The blood starts to fill the shaft, and you work your tongue up to the head.  Just under the head, and where the shaft begins, you grasp with lips and tongue.  My cock is slightly thicker than average, and slightly longer, coming in at a respectable seven inches.  "Perfect cock," you whisper barely audible.
"Uhhhhh, my god, baby," as I moan and your lips slowly wrap themselves around the head, letting your tongue explore.  Still soft around the head, your lips slide slowly down over the rim and pause.  Then move slowly down. Then further until they feel the veign around mid shaft.  Still soft, your lips move up and down at that spot, then continue slowly down further.  Your lips reach the end, and I can feel the head of my dick at the back of your throat.  
Then, your lips tighten.  With a firm grasp, they start sliding straight back up my cock.  By the time they come back over the head, my cock is fully hard, and throbbing.  
"That's the way, honey."  And I put both my hands underneath your hair, and start guiding your head over the cock.  Sometimes shallow, sometimes deep.  Sometimes I fuck your mouth, sometimes I let your hands pull my ass into your face.
"Like that, baby," you ask?  Your voice no longer a whisper.  "That is incredible.  Stand up and turn around," I order.
You look up smile wryly again, the way you did when you felt the event's success.  
"You gonna fuck me?"
"Yes I am," I reply, with a smile of intent.
You stand and swing around, letting your hair fly over your shoulders.  One leg, pumps and all, rest on the setee.  Your hands reach back and stroke my cock as I pull your dress aside.  You guide my cock in.  Your pussy is so wet it is not hard to find or insert.  Your hands stay behind you, your thumbs locking with the cummerbund around my waist.
I lean over your arched back, pull some of your hair aside, and kiss your neck.  
You moan.  I say, "It's time."  With steady, moderate strokes, I push in deep.  I'm not interested in teasing.  You're getting it.  You're getting it good.
My cock swells.  Your pussy tightens.  From within I hear a guttural moan coming up from inside you.  The steady rise gives me time to slightly quicken my thrusts.  They go a little deeper.  I hold the cock inside just a moment before pulling out and thrusting again.  I spread my boots a wider so your thighs and legs and shoes spread with them.  Your hands leave my waist and grab the setee armrest in frong of you.  Your back stays arched, and one of my hands reaches around to play with your clit.  The other grasps your tit and nipple, still inside your dress.  It goes this way for a long time.  Or a short time.  Time seems to stop and we are lost in our rapture.
"Yes, it's time," I say.  Now my cock pushes harder and faster.  It's a hard fuck now, and I can feel the thigh which is upon the setee to shake.  My hands come around and forcefully grab your ass as my cock fucks in and out of you as fast as my hips with push it.  Your back is still arched perfectly.  I slap your once--hard.  You squeal.  I slap it again--and your guttural moan comes out of you like a dam being busted open.
"Uhhhhhhhhhh, arhhhhhhhh!!!"  I keep fucking and you moan and scream.  My balls slap against your clit with the force of each thrust.  Your screams echo throughout the gallery and museum.  Anyone in the building would come running.  No one does.  
Mid-orgasm I pull out and flip you around and down.  You are delirious and don't know what's happening.  I put you down on the setee, your neck and head against the arm rest.  Your dress is up over your waist, thighs soaking wet, shoes still on.  I come down and mount you.  I have the leverage of the other arm rest with one boot and hardwood floor with the other.  I'm back inside you in a flash and start rutting on and over you.  
"Hrrrgh!  Hrrrgh!  Hrrrgh," is what you hear over and over as I pump my cock as hard as I can into your tight wet pussy.  Each one of my grunts is met with one of your squeals, "Eeeghh!  Eeeeghh!  Eeeghh!"
Your heals come around and lodge into my ass as my final strokes come on you.   I am up and pushing my hands on the arm rest around your head, and pushing back with my boot heels, giving me maximum leverage. Your hands hold on to anything they can given the force of the fuck--my arms, back, neck, ass.
"Ohhhh baby come in meeeee!!" you scream in an adolescent voice.  The hardest and fast strokes rain down with my, "Aaaaaarrr!!! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Yea! Yea! Yea!"  
My cock convulses as I fuck you with streaming hot cum.  The cock keeps throbbing out my juice into you, and even my legs shake.  It keeps throbbing and I keep thrusting over and over.
"Uhhhh, fuck yea honey I love that cock and cum in me!" as I melt onto you and the sofa.  I'm still pumping you but slower with each stroke.  Head of cock still swollen, pussy still gripping.  Small bursts of jizz still seeping out.
Beads of sweat fall of my forehead as I rest on top of you.  Your arms around by back, gently stroking arms and shoulders.  Your legs are still wrapped around my ass.  Periodic 'after shocks' ripple through your inner thighs.
"Oh my god," I muster to say, "You ok sweets?"
"Mmmhmmm," you smile and kiss my lips.
Still resting on top of you on the setee, I come out of my orgasm-induced stupor, happening to look up at the walls surrounding us.  
"I feel like I just gave you a Jackson Pollock, and now I'm melting like a Salvador Dali."
"Stick to your day job, baby," you giggle.  
"Hmmm, which part?" I asked slyly.
"The part we just did," you laugh, "You did great."
"Hehe, I know."
The ride back to the hotel is quite again.  Your legs crossed, knee and thigh exposed out of your dress.  Panties stuffed in your clutch.  I'm talking on the phone to another late night client, "DWI, ugh," I motion with my lips.  But this time were holding hands.  You're looking out your window, but with a couple fingers up to your lips, tracing the outlines of our kisses, a slight smile.  This time the smile is not wry, but with a glow of having been through the perfect night.  Will it end?  

Strolling hand in hand into the hotel room, you throw your clutch on the dresser.  You look over, and the rose petals on the pillow give you your answer...

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