She knelt before me, ebony skin gleaming in the candlelight. Her lips worked with slow passion on my straining cock, fingers squeezing at the base of my testicles. She felt me quiver, and pulled my rod free with a wet popping sound. "Paint me," she said simply.
I raised an eyebrow. "You said what?"
"Paint me," she said again. "You've done my portrait enough times, and I loved what I saw. Now I want something different."
She turned her face up, cupped her breasts with her hands, squeezing and lifting them. "Here's your canvas, artist. Paint me."
Moaning softly, I began working my cock feverishly. I'd been so close to the brink when she stopped that it wasn't long before I was near explosion again. Her gaze moved ceaselessly from my face to my hand on my shaft and back to my face again. She began murmuring softly, encouraging. "Come on, baby. Splash me with your love. Give me that creamy white load all over my tits. I want your Titanium White dripping down my body, coating my face. Mix your palette on me, swirl that pearlescence around. Paint me with your brush. Paint me with your cum. Do it now! Now!"
Throat locked and straining, I did as directed. A thick, splattering jet burst out of my cock and onto her upturned face. She opened her mouth to catch the next spray, which shot down her throat with such force she nearly choked. Recovering, she thrust her shoulders back and raised her tits once more, catching the next few spurts, pearly white splashes landing on that dark, dark skin in an almost-shocking contrast. Growling deep in my throat, I kept pumping my shaft, shaping and squeezing each spurt, making her my canvas, turning her into the painting she'd requested.
Eventually I ran dry and surveyed the damage. My glistening cum ran in rivulets from the corners of her mouth, dripped from her chin, collected in the hollow between her breasts, trickled in thin streams around her nipples, pooled in thin splashes and splatters and droplets from chin to navel. She looked at me calmly, not saying anything.
Trying to catch my breath, I strode to the nearby workbench and grabbed my camera. A turn, a click, and this artwork was frozen forever in celluloid. The flash of her white teeth in the darkness of that face outshone even the glittering silver-white strands I'd painted her with. Very contented, that smile.
I offered her a towel and she shook her head. Her hands moved in slow, sensuous circles over her body, without haste, smearing my cum to a thin glaze, spreading it. She dipped a finger into the deep pool on one breast and drew slow spirals down to her nipple. Dipped another finger and tasted, then sighed in deep satisfaction.
"I may not know about art, but I know what I like," she murmured, hands still moving lazily, lazily, nipples now standing proud and tall. I couldn't bear it and leaned over for a taste, my own scent sharp in my nostrils, coloring my sensations with the salt tang of my own cum. She moaned softly as my mouth closed over her nipple, and her hands went to my cock, a paintbrush still dripping with its last glaze. "So glad I joined your life drawing class."
I couldn't help but agree.