Medusa

Also available in German
Medusa

A thousand images were floating around in my head when I first met her. Things I wanted to do to her when she stretched her busty décolleté towards me to kiss my cheek. Her kiss was fiery and wet; I felt she wanted to mark me on purpose because this kiss was like a stamp, the red color lingering until dawn. I was confused about her intentions; obviously, she was flirting with me even though she was at my opening accompanied by David, who is an excellent contact in the art scene. Everything about her screamed for sex; the way she meandered through the crowd with wide hip swings and skin-tight cocktail dress to get another glass of Chardonnay, how she brought the cigarette to her pouty lips and blew the smoke very slowly to the ceiling, and how she plucked her red strands from her face in a coy gesture. She was aware of her charisma, there was no doubt about that, and I was ready to engage in this seductive cat-and-mouse game. So I joined her while she stared at one of my abstract paintings and casually mentioned Kandinsky. I was impressed; she seemed to know me better than most people here. Without exchanging many words, I handed her a napkin with a note on which I left my address in addition to my suggestive idea of spreading her legs wide and fucking her into unconsciousness. She blushed, which surprised me. Then she smiled briefly, turned around on her 4-inch heels, patted David on the shoulder, and left the atelier. I would have doubted my sanity if she had not given me another obscene and particularly promising shoulder glance.

Days passed, and I began to incorporate this wondrous female figure into my art. I couldn’t focus; all I could think about was her feral scent and the salty sea taste as I brought my lips to her cheeks. I wonder what her cunt would taste like? My paintings changed; there was no Kandinsky there anymore. Madly, I mixed crimson with black to obtain the dark red of her hair and magenta with various shades of yellow to perfect her lips’ red. I would see her again; it was only a matter of time, I was certain about that. This woman was hot-blooded, she seemed embarrassed by my note, but my gut told me that this was exactly what she longed for. She needed to be conquered. I’m sure she liked being abused in every way possible. If she walked in here, I would possess her body and spoil her rotten until she forgets who she was and stands at my verge every day begging for my cock.

It was hard for me to leave my studio; after all, she could show up at any moment, and I didn’t want to miss that. So I had drinks and food delivered and postponed all meetings to unpredictable times. That evening, I drank the last sip of my Merlot, smoked a Gauloises, and said goodbye to another unfulfilled day to the sounds of Debussy. With a deep sigh, I looked at my paint-smeared fingers and the wall-sized portrait of the woman I would probably never see again. My eyelids ached, and I fell asleep on the couch, as I do almost every night. When I opened them again, I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or if this wondrous female figure was standing in front of me. She looked down at me; this time, her gaze turned black, her whole demeanor piercing through my ego. Still half delirious, I leaned forward to touch her thighs and smell her lap. But she pushed me back. My eyes gradually became more alert, as did my mind, and I inspected her. She placed her hands on her hips and grinned mischievously at me as she slowly opened her trench coat. Underneath, she was buck naked, and for a moment, I thought I was going to cum right in my pants; so incredibly arousing was this sight. She had lush curves like those of a Rubens painting. Her flesh was soft, her skin was bright, and her mons veneris framed by a dazzling fire of pubic hair. She reminded me of a warrior goddess; instantly, I felt ashamed. How foolish to accuse this woman of submissiveness; she would eat me alive.

Dancing back and forth between my thighs in soft, wave-like motions, she dropped her trench coat, nudging my legs further apart before going down and unzipping my pants. My spear was unleashed and thrust up its full length in front of her dusky eyes. She licked her voluptuous, red-painted lips, and I began to fear. It was a strange mixture of fear and excitation. Had she put a spell on me? My glans pulsated heavily, and the first drops flowed down my cock to my testicles before she even touched me. She pulled my pants down further and stood in front of me again. From above, she looked at me, caressed her plump breasts, slowly wandered over her belly, and paused between her thighs. I wanted to touch her, no, I wanted to overwhelm her, but my hands and whole body were numb. I was trapped; the only spark of life focused on my boner, which grew bigger and bigger and pumped harder and harder as she inserted her fingers, one by one, into her glorious cunt to present me with her glistening glory. Behind her, the mural I had drawn of her enthroned in incredible dimensions. It unfolded into a 3D duplicate of her veracity. Undeterred, she continued her aphrodisiac dance. She staggered around in a trance as if possessed by her own juices, alternating her fingers between cunt and mouth and then stroking her breasts with gentleness as if she were making love to herself; this was pure torture. My cock wanted to be in her, in her mouth, in her cunt, and her ass, but she punished me by withholding her delicious body from me and continuing her tormenting game.

She pranced around the room, taking the paint tubes from the table and splashing crimson and magenta all over her body. My vision blurred, drops of sweat rolled into my eyes, and I thought for a second I would pass out when she came back and touched my face. She smudged the color on my cheeks and slid down my neck to my cock, which now looked like a blood spear. I begged her to take it in her mouth or at least touch it briefly with her tongue, but she was merciless. She just grinned and took a big bite from my right thigh. I cried out in pain. My damn hands, my damn body, I have to tame this wild witch. “Well, look at you. I thought you were going to fuck me into unconsciousness.” she announced as she circled her sex just a few inches above my cock. “But maybe it’s me who’s doing it for you.” The tip of my glans touched her wet labia, and I was about to go crazy. I would knock her to the ground and pierce all her holes if I could. She was having great fun with this tragedy and was seducing me in every way possible.

I remember feeling like I was melting into the couch, and I don’t mean that metaphorically; I was melting into an inventory like the colors in my paintings melt. I pleaded over and over again that I wanted to feel her, that I missed her since we first met in the atelier, and that I yearned for her, that she enchanted me, and that my body belonged only to her. As the last words spilled from my mouth, she dropped, impaled herself, and I moaned loudly. Her wet cunt enclosed my throbbing spear while she fucked me without restraint. She changed not only the rhythm but also her position. She looked deep into my eyes as she turned around and took my entire length into her cunt from behind. It seemed like a blood slaughter, as if my red-stained cock pierced her swollen wound. Damn, that was the best thing I’ve ever felt, heard, and seen. She was so incredibly juicy; my skin was burning with tension, the smacking sizzle as she fucked me brought me to the edge, and the view of her delicious ass bouncing up and down, swallowing my boner was doing the rest. I came as I’d never cum before. The entire contents of my body emptied into this nymph while I was still squatting on the couch, pinned down. Her feral scent flooded through me, and when she suddenly pulled away from me, turned, and towered above me to give me a tender kiss, I could taste the world of the seas.