Brushstrokes free porn video

Brushstrokes By Katharine Sexkitten The wisest human I've ever known explained it to me. Life, he said, was a painting. Each new experience, each new adventure, each new day, was a color, applied to the canvas. Some were barely there, whisper-thin, hardly noticed, applied by the Master with a deft and light hand. Almost invisible. Others were striking, important, broad and dark and heavy. It was the accumulation of all of it that creates our masterpiece. Life was brushstrokes, all of them added from the palette, in just the right mix. But, he added, make no mistake; some of the brushstrokes were more vibrant than the others, more powerful, more significant. Some of them were deep, and without them the entire painting falls apart, becomes just boring shades and shapes. Some of the brushstrokes are meaningful, above the rest. They're heavy, and cast shadows. They carry weight. The major ones in my painting are vivid to me now, even all these years later. An unremarkable kid, of slightly less-than-average size, and never any trouble to anyone, was I. Nothing to write home about, but nothing to complain about either. Growing up in a suburban/bordering on rural area, there was lots of nature, with little insertions of neighbourhoods. Middle class everything. At the age of twelve, I discovered something about myself. I found out I was a voyeur. Not that I knew what the word was, or what it meant. Purely by the freakiest of odds, I discovered that secretly watching other people behave, in the full myriad of life's opportunities, filled me with feelings I'd never imagined. It was like being the only person alive to witness something, anything, that the people involved had no idea was on display. I was on my way home one night, on a warm summers evening, quietly weaving my way through pathways and backyards, sometimes slipping down funereal-quiet side streets, practically deserted, and other times sneaking through back yards and properties. I grew up here, and I knew lots of different routes. I was like a ninja, stealthily making my way to my target, like the wind, whispering in and around people without them knowing it. A noise startled me, or drew my attention, as I was going through a quiet side yard, between two houses. My night vision was good, and many people didn't have fences, and most didn't have outdoor dogs, so it was nothing I hadn't done time and time again. But the noise was different. It was almost grunting, and almost heavy breathing, and almost pained, and almost frantic. I changed direction. Effortlessly. I moved like a cat, without thinking about it, and found myself up against the back wall of the house, next to a window. The drapes were closed, and there was light on inside the room, but there were gaps, in the curves and bends of the drapes that allowed me to see in, little pockets of vision, like looking at things through a big piece of dark Swiss cheese. I saw a carpet, and then the corner of a bed, as I got closer, and peered harder, and then I saw hair, splayed out, and then the head it was attached to, a woman, her eyes facing up at the ceiling, a bored, almost frustrated look on her face. Her body appeared to be rocking, back and forth on the horizontal plane. Another slight noiseless movement and I was able to see what was making her move like that. A man was on top of her, his head buried in between her breasts, which were large and pendulous, drooping off her chest to the sides towards the bed below her, gravity taking them down. More and more of the action became exposed, and it was then that I saw what was happening. They were having sex. The man was screwing her. I could see her legs, splayed and lifeless, and his penis, shiny and wet, going in and out and in and out of her. I couldn't actually see her pussy from my angle, but I did see a big forest of pubic hair. For a second, I thought it was terribly unattractive. The man was sweating, all over, and his sounds both scared me and attracted me. It sounded like this man was giving everything in his soul to this woman. Who looked like she couldn't wait for it to be over and done with. Who looked like she didn't give a rat's ass about the effort her lover was putting out. Like she'd rather be doing just about anything else, and who had absolutely zero appreciation for the honor being bestowed on her, the intensity of his work, and the purity of his passion. Which strangely enough made me mad. How dare she act like that? Didn't she have any gratitude at all? Never having had sex, I had no actual understanding of what he must be feeling, what he was going through, with all these rugged physical actions, his body working and toiling to move his pelvis in and out, to push his manhood in and out of her, to place himself, his body and soul, inside her. But still, it looked like it was rigorous, even exhausting, and she wasn't even showing the simple common decency of being involved in it. And I thought, if it was me that man was making love to, I'd damn sure be a willing, active, responsive partner. If it was me, I'd be giving of myself just as much as he was. I'd be moving with him, helping him, and increasing the passion and pleasures of the moments, for both of us to enjoy. If it was me. Then I snapped my head away, and thought, WHAT THE? If it was me? Looking back, it was a huge brushstroke. Massively important, in a bright color. I became an active voyeur. I would slip out of the family home, and silently meander all over, finding chances to peer into windows, front and back, of hundreds of houses. Most of the time, and I mean the vast overwhelming majority of the time, there was nothing to see. Every once in a while, I'd see people, moms and dads and kids just moving through rooms, or doing ordinary average everyday things that I did as well. Boring day-to-day stuff. My first masturbatory orgasm came from closing my eyes and remembering the way the man made love to her, the unappreciative woman. Every flicker of image, every sound, every smell, returned back to me, and I almost passed out when I came, gasping for air, my belly covered in a sea of white, creamy liquid. I came so hard I thought I might have damaged myself, somehow. When I was sixteen, I was still totally into being a peeping Tom. I had some sort of sixth sense about possible danger, and over the years had managed to never get caught, by anyone. I didn't take it for granted, and each night that I went looking for excitement I scouted my targets as if I was in the army, reconnoitering, and never entering anywhere I couldn't reasonably get out of unscathed. I was in a newer section of our area, a subdivision more recently constructed, but still sleepy and quiet and safe. And mostly dark. I slipped into one particular back yard from another, and initially thought nothing was happening, and planned on moving quickly through to the next yard, when I saw a light come on, inside a ground-floor room, behind some wood slat blinds. Wood slat blinds that weren't completely swung shut. An instant or two later, I was up against the building, my feet in grass, my back against the wall. I breathed silently, and moved my head to the edge of the window. I could tell immediately that there would be little horizontal slits where I would be able to see into the room. My calculating mind reasoned that standing in a certain place would give me a view with multiple horizontal slits in front of me, giving me a larger view of whatever was going on inside, and still be hidden in a wall of darkness. What I saw was beyond anything in any dream I'd ever had. I saw a pair of women's feet, in high heels. Really high heels, shiny black. They were open-toed, stilettoed, and I saw a bright red nail polish. Up the legs went, as they came more into my partially- obstructed view, and then I saw a foot stepping out of a shoe, and then hands holding a silky donut-shaped wad, and then a stocking being rolled up the leg. Then the hands disappeared from my sight. A minute or two later, the other foot stepped out of its shoe, and another stocking was slipped on. Another minute, and then both feet were slipped back into the heels. Then they turned, quickly, and moved out of view. Quickly searching around, I saw a patio set a few feet away, with what looked like solid wrought-iron chairs. I slipped ninja-like over, and quietly brought one back, testing it for weight, and then standing on the seat, giving myself another foot-and-a-half at least of height. For minutes on end, nothing happened. My thoughts became tinged with sadness. I'd missed out on something, I assumed. Just about ready to move on, I saw movement again. A man. Entering the room from the other direction. He was tall, and wearing pajamas. They looked like they were made of silk. A second or two later, a few buttons were undone and the top fell to the floor. The man was half-naked. Shirtless. A tanned, hairy chest, with large brown nipples that stood out, led to a flat stomach. Toned. He wasn't a body-builder, but he obviously was blessed with good genes, and probably worked at keeping himself in shape. My eyes scanned up, through the horizontal slits, and saw his face. He had salt and pepper hair, with more salt than pepper. My immediate impression was that he was probably in his fifties. His face was rugged, and freshly-shaved. He had blue eyes, and they seemed to glimmer. He had a huge smile on his face. I saw his hands come up to the waistband of the pajama bottoms he was wearing, his fingers undoing the drawstrings. I watched his lips move, his eyes searching out as he spoke, aimed at what must be the attached bathroom. I'm pretty sure he said, "I'm ready baby". Then he dropped his p.j. bottoms. Like nothing else, it instantly became a major brushstroke. A gigantic swath of color, deep and distinct. He had tanned legs, and big thighs. He had hardly any hair on his legs, and very little around his pubic area. He had a big cock, way bigger than my own, and he was only partly erect. Not that I'd seen many, other than in the limited amount of porn I'd seen online over the last few years, stuff that I found even with the filters my parents put on the home computer. His penis was thick, like a slab, and hanging down, almost completely covering my view of his testicles, his balls. They looked about the same size as tennis balls. His cock had a huge single snake-like vein on the topside. His hand casually slid along his length, stroking himself, making himself rise. He was getting more erect. Hard. Then he said something else, which I didn't get. Because I couldn't take my eyes off his cock. I'd never seen anything like it. Right there in front of me. A man, a tall masculine solidly-built man, tanned and muscular and strong, all the things that I wasn't, right there in front of me! Naked, his penis now standing tall and proud, like a flagpole. Standing silently just outside his window, I felt like I could almost touch it! My right hand actually started moving forward, such was my fervor. HIS COCK! RIGHT THERE!!! It became the textbook definition of masculinity for me, inexorably burning into the double helix of my genes. Virility. Strength. Assuredness. It all affected me, on an animalistic level. Then motion from across the room startled me, and I looked to see something that hit me just as hard. The textbook definition of femininity. A woman, middle-aged perhaps but still curvy and sexy, her hair full and down to her shoulders, a black bra holding up two very big breasts, a deep valley of cleavage leading the way, her belly with a little bulge to it, a black garter belt with straps holding up the stockings I'd seen her put on earlier, a wispy thin pair of black lace panties cupping her mound, her hands on her hips, her legs splayed, like a warrior woman, proudly showing just how sexy and strong she could be. She had the biggest smile on her face I've ever seen on a woman. Maybe on anybody. She was proud, and excited, and passionate. They moved towards each other, and met, her arms up around his head, his arms down her back, his hands gripping her bum cheeks, and their mouths met, in a wide-open tongue-duelling kiss. Leaning perilously close, I could hear some of the smacks and wet sounds as they made out, their breaths in snorts. I had to concentrate on not falling off the chair. Making any noise now would not only get me into trouble, but it might stop them doing what they were doing. And I couldn't think of any crime worse than that. They kissed for at least ten minutes, their bodies grinding into each other, his hands kneading her big ass, opening and closing her cheeks, rubbing herself on herself. She was squirming and wriggling in his grip. Finally, they broke their kiss, and I heard her voice, saying something that became the biggest brushstroke I'd ever known. "I want to suck your cock," she said, proudly, and determinedly, and sensuously, and seriously. She meant it. Slipping to her knees, she looked up at him, her eyes glowing with excitement, and then began kissing the head, the big purple helmet on top of his shaft. She was so completely open and honest about her desires, her passions, and her sexuality. It stunned me, and impressed me like no other moment had, ever. Her tongue snaked out, and she moved it around his shaft, up and down, all the way to his balls, and back again. Over and over she bathed his cock, in between kisses that looked wet and steamy. Then she opened her mouth, and swallowed him. The head of his gigantic cock, and more than half of the shaft. Her cheeks bulged out, and her eyes rolled up in her sockets, and I could hear slurpy-kinds of noises coming from her. That was the moment I had an epiphany. This was the sexiest thing ever. This was the sexiest thing in the history of the world. She was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. With every fibre of my being, at that moment I wanted to be that sexy. I wanted to be that brazenly femininely sexy. I was a plain looking kid, and no one had ever thought or said that I was sexy. So seeing her, my brain went numb, and every pore of my body ached to be her. Sexy. More than anything. For every second of my life. I wanted to sexual. Like her. I had a body-shaking orgasm. I came in my pants, without touching myself. I spewed my teenaged cum into my jeans. One drippy wet pulse at a time, my groin heaved and bucked, and I had to step off the chair, and lay down on the ground. I could hardly breathe. My pants instantly filled with wetness, and it began slooshing its way down my skin, rolling over curves and into crevices. When I regained my senses, I stood and looked through the slits again, and saw they had moved, and were now on a bed, in the corner of the room farthest away from me. He was lying on his back, his head propped up with pillows. She was on her knees, her legs either side of him, and I watched her sliding down onto his cock, her pussy lips stretching open slowly and sinfully, the enormity of him reshaping her body. I had a second body-shaking cum. More pulses, and throbs, and heaves. Without touching myself. Then he reached back behind him, and turned off the bedside light. I listened to them making love. I listened to their words to each other, both of them whispering and moaning intimate and provocative thoughts, both of them completely into it, consumed by their own wanton behavior. Unashamed, and unfiltered. I listened to them heat up, and speed up, on their journey of pleasure. It was excitement incarnate to me. It was earth-shattering in its effect on me. At one point, I heard him say that he loved being inside her, and she responded by gasping that she 'loved being filled with your cock, honey...of fuck, it makes me feel sooooo alive!!' She'd NEVER felt more alive. It was what I presumed life should be like. I knew it to be the most purest and noblest of pursuits, right then, right there. When they had reached their climaxes, I reached another of my own, with my hand inside my soaking wet underwear, covered in my own cum, furiously rubbing my cock, my foreskin ravelling and unravelling up and down in a blur. I actually lost consciousness for a few seconds, because one moment I was standing and the next I was on my back, on the ground. I must have fallen, while I was cumming, and my brain instantly went into protection mode, and I hurried away before someone came out of the house, if anyone had heard me. A couple of hundred feet away was a small grove of trees, and I snuck into their cover quickly. My left hand was holding my pants up and out, trying to keep them away from my body, away from all the cum I'd shot, hoping they wouldn't stain too much. My right hand was covered in it, some of it dripping onto the ground. Huge, mammoth, life-altering brushstrokes had already happened, with one more left to discover this particular evening. I thought about it for at least ten seconds or so, and then, reasoning that I had no choice, and then not being upset at that situation at all, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do I raised my hand to my mouth, and began licking off all my cum. Swallowing every thick salty viscous drop. A massive, massive brushstroke. Perhaps the biggest of all, really. Looking back, it's completely staggering how important and affecting that particular brushstroke became for me. I LOVED IT! The taste, the texture, the naughtiness of it. Every sensibility in my brain was being challenged and reshaped. Why hadn't anyone told me how fucking delicious cum was?????? My painting gained enormous form and color that night. From that moment forward, I have always eaten my own cum, every time I masturbate. I was a teenage boy then. I masturbated at least once a day. Every day after that found me consumed with just how mind-blowingly sexy that woman was, how deliciously feminine and alluring she was. I wanted to be that free, that open, that honest, and that sexy. I wanted to spend every second of every day revelling in her sensuality. I would remember the look on her face, the intense joy and concentration she showed as she was sliding a piece of male meat inside her own body, whether it was her mouth or her vagina. It seemed to me to make everything else in life pale and boring by comparison. Her wantonness, her wickedness, her flagrant sexuality. I wanted it all. And oftentimes I would think about the man. His body. His magnificent penis, his cock. So much bigger than mine. I'd think about his muscles, his hair, his huge ball sack. I couldn't think of anything more masculine, more rugged, more primal. Down inside me, I knew what I wanted. My soul screamed at me, day and night, to live like her, free of constraint, and look sexy like her, and to be with a man like him. Another part of me would then scoff, and say 'no way', you're a boy, not a girl, and boys don't do that'. But to be honest that part of me always ended up being drowned out, quickly and effectively. The rest of me would shout out, much louder and stronger. 'it doesn't matter what you are, she was the DEFINITION of sexy, and that's how you want to go through life, as sexy. And besides, just seeing the man, the naked man, his sex prominent and powerful and masculine, you want that too! You want to be dressed like her, sexy like her, showing off your own beauty, and you want to have sex and make love with a man like that, and have a man make love to you simply because you are sexy and feminine and dressed like that'. I looked at every girl I saw from that moment forward and would instantly try to figure out what kind of lingerie she was wearing. Most, sadly, seemed to go with boring utilitarian stuff. Even the vast majority of women I saw, in malls and on sidewalks and in parking lots, even when they wore skirts and dresses, seemed to favor boring panty hose and granny panties. I would find every chance I could to surf websites where I could see women in lingerie. Women in bras and panties and stockings and garters and corsets and nightgowns and slips and bustiers and camisoles and sexy heels and makeup and, well, everything! And then, in my online cruising, I found something I never expected, something that would alter my awareness of everything, and something that has fueled my life since then. The biggest, most profound brushstroke of all, to that point. I discovered guys like me, and grown men, who also wore those feminine garments. Many of them ROCKED those garments. All of them pushed open the envelope of middle-class propriety I'd been raised with. All of them shattered any 'norms' I'd been given. All of them showed me that there were alternative ways of looking at things, alternative paths in life, alternative roles to be played. My painting became an entirely new masterpiece after that. I became part of it, a key figure in it, the central part of it. And in my mind's eye, I was always dressed in female clothes, sometimes discrete and sometimes brazen, but always feminine, and ALWAYS sexy. Sometimes slutty, like the woman I'd watched. Sometimes prim and proper, like my mom and other relatives used to dress. Other people came and went, in the various images I'd see and feel when I closed my eyes. Sometimes it was people I knew, criticising and mocking me. They would quickly be erased from the frame, and replaced with people I didn't know. They were almost always sexy men, ruggedly handsome, virile, and usually naked. It was interesting to me, in my on-going analysis. I was always dressed, always in glorious lingerie, and yet the men were almost always bare. Showing off their strength, and their vitality, and their masculinity. Showing off their cocks, hard and throbbing and calling to me. I'd changed. I spent the rest of my school years playing the part of the teenaged boy, fulfilling the role society expected of me. All the while, however, inside I was the most special of women, wearing the sexiest of lingerie and heels and makeup and my hair would be long and flowing and lustrous. I would be a woman, with a clit much bigger than usual, and I would spend each day, minute by minute, doing what that woman did that night. Wearing lingerie. Kissing men, being held by them. Sucking their cocks. And finally, taking their cocks inside my body. Making love with them. Being fucked by them. My painting was changing, becoming far different that any I'd ever imagined before. I continued to be a voyeur over those years. I didn't see any sexual fun like that for a long time. Which made me sad. But there was one more discovery I was to make, being the ninja-like peeping Tom I'd become. It too became a significant brushstroke in my life. Some people had clothes lines. Some folks hung their clothes in the great outdoors to dry. Everything smelled better that way, I knew, because we did it in our household too. What I discovered, in my sneaking around, was that occasionally some folks forgot they had clothes hanging. One night, while snooping in a new neighborhood, hoping against hope that I would get to see something sexual again, I almost garrotted myself. In the dark, clotheslines were hard to see. After I got over the shock and discomfort of having walked into a solid line with my throat, I realized that there were still clothes there, in the dark. Men's clothes. Women's' clothes. Children's' clothes. The vast majority were boring, and nothing to even consider. But there were several pairs of panties. And that first night, three different bras. All on the same street. I didn't get to witness anything from that household that night. But I did get new brushstrokes for my personal painting. Panties. I took two pairs. In the dark, I couldn't tell what color they were, but they felt soft and silky and sexy, that's for sure. The bra I took felt satiny as well, especially the cups. Whoever this woman was, she was not well-built. They were tiny cups. I was smart enough to take them and vacate the area, and several minutes later I ended up in a small copse of trees, surrounded by darkness. Safe as houses. I almost ignored my own rule, but took a few seconds to check and make sure no one was coming. Then I quickly stripped off my clothes. Pants, t-shirt, socks, shoes, tighty-whities. In almost total darkness, I found one of the panties, and slipped them up my legs. They were backwards, but the switch took only seconds, because I just knew, based on how sexy they felt touching my legs on the way up, that I was creating the newest and most profound brushstrokes I'd ever had. So far. Some brushstrokes were powerful. Some more than I could have ever imagined. Folding my little cock and balls into the fabric, the panties cupped me like no regular male underwear ever could. My cock got hard, instantly, and throbbed, almost immediately. It shocked me. I was on the verge of a massive cum, without touching myself, after only seconds of wearing the silky panties. Instantly, my mind reasoned that it could only get better with one of the bras. So I fumbled and futzed in the dark, and slipped my arms through the straps, and felt the cups against my little teenaged boy boobs, and then tried to fold my elbows and get my hands behind me, to hook the bra up. That, my dear friends, is almost impossible. But it took me about ten minutes of struggling and bending my back and arms uselessly before I figured it out. Which left me with a dilemma. How do women put bras on? Keeping a keen eye and ear out for danger, I stood there, in sexy panties, my little cock hard as a rail, and tried to use my rational mind to solve my problem. How can I get this bra hooked up and on me? The solution came, eventually. I reasoned that hooking it up with the clasps in front of me, where I could see it, and then spinning it on my body, slipping my arms in the straps, and then sliding everything up would work. And it did. Huge, vibrant brushstrokes here. Nearly naked, I stood in near darkness, the warm summer breeze touching my skin everywhere. Except, of course, where the bra covered me, and where the panties covered me. In my mind's eye, I was that woman, from years ago. I was sexy. I was proud. I was alive, and buzzing with energy, and all of it was being channeled out of a part of me I didn't know existed before. The feminine part of me. After that, I dressed every chance I could, even daring some nights to wander about trying to see more sex or steal more panties, all while wearing that bra and panties under my boring boy clothes. I revelled in the sensations I was bathing in, as I crept ninja-like around quiet little neighbourhoods. I managed a few more pairs of panties over the next two years, but no more bras. I never stole from the same place twice, and tried to leave plenty of distance and time between thefts so there was no discernible pattern to my crime spree, in case anyone decided to go to the cops. Although, I wondered, would anyone go to the police over lingerie? My next brushstroke was the biggest of all, the most colorful of all, and affected me more than all the others combined. I was nineteen, barely, and it was a warm late-spring evening. The sun was almost all the way down, and I was making my way to some cul-de-sacs a mile or so away, stealthily following some trails that meandered along Ridley's Creek. They were almost always deserted, and only rarely did I ever encounter any other humans, although they never knew I was there. I felt alive and on top of the world, moving in the shadows, the silky softness of my panties giving me a perpetual half-chubby, my almost hairless balls feeling deliciously constrained in the gusset, the straps of the bra, and the underwire of the cups, beginning to leave their nightly marks in my skin. I was vibrating with a lusty passion that overcame any alcohol or drug-induced euphoria I'd ever felt before. I was alive! I heard a moan. A deep voice, a man's voice. Stopping dead in my tracks, I silently did a complete 360 degree sweep, knowing I was in darkness and would be hard to see. My first circle showed me nothing. Just fading light, and trees and shrubs. Then I heard another moan, the same man, followed quickly by a different moan, higher and pitched and strained, but not pained. That's how it sounded to me. My first immediate thought was that I might get to see some sex again, some guy fooling around with his girl, by the water. A few seconds of waiting gave me more noises, moans and grunts, and perhaps some feet shuffling with leaves and twigs underfoot. There was enough to allow me to triangulate the direction. Without fear, I began moving towards them. One step at a time, each one calculated, each movement considered and analyzed and accepted beforehand. Slowly, almost agonizingly slowly, the noises became louder, and clearer. I had to fight moving faster, taking unnecessary risks with sound, because I didn't want them to finish before I could see some of it. I had to weigh that desire against my fear of getting caught. So, like the best special forces soldier, over the course of two or three minutes, though it should have taken mere seconds, I moved like the wind close enough to peer through some low-hanging tree branches, my view rectangular. The biggest fucking brushstroke ever applied by a painter. Directly in front of me. There was a small natural clearing in the woods. It was maybe eight feet across and six feet deep. At one point there had been trees there, but they'd either fallen or been cut down, so it was mostly open and grassy. In the middle, there was a tall stump of what must have been a really tall tree, maybe a fir of some kind, that had been cut and hauled away. Bent over the stump was someone I knew. My view was not quite from behind, but closer to that than side-on. If he was facing the twelve of a clock, I was at about four-twenty. I couldn't see all of him, but his head was turned to his right, so I could see enough. His name was Conner. I'd never actually talked to him. He was a year ahead of me in school, so I'd seen him a few times, in the halls. He was maybe an inch shorter than me, and few pounds lighter. But we shared similarities. He was slight, as my mom would say. Same as me. Thin without being boney. He was pale-skinned, like me, and almost hairless in much the same way as me. He had his hands out in front of him, bracing himself on the stump. He was completely and gloriously naked. He glowed a feint white from the moonbeams, his body lithe and hairless and his buttocks high and firm and rounded. Behind him was an older man, who was also completely naked. Fully grey-haired, with a slight belly. The man was tall, and hairy, including all over his chest and back. He was like a forest. Most of his body hair was grey as well. But although he was obviously old, especially to an nineteen year old like me, he didn't look like an old man. His body wasn't chiseled, but his arms and chest and thighs and calves had real definition. Whoever he was, and however old he might be, he still obviously spent a lot of time at the gym. He moaned again, in that deep voice, the words "oh, sweetie". I had to stop myself from erupting in my panties, just from the sound and the words. The old man's hips moved back and forth, at an amazingly slow pace, as his hands held on to Conner's hips. Conner was moaning too, and was the second voice I'd heard. Higher pitched, and breathy. His elongated and moaned words slapped me across the face. "F-U-C-K M-E, D-A-D-D-Y!" I began to shake all over, like a five-foot six-inch tall jello, free from the mold. It felt like every system in me, from nerves to bones to muscles to organs to skin, had completely lost all control of themselves, and were each running rampant of their own free will. I thought I might die, to be honest, such was the totality of my condition. And then I realized that if I had to go, that at least I could die knowing that I'd seen heaven. I'd gotten to ten feet away from it. The old man, the Daddy, was making love to the young man. He was slowly and sinfully fucking Conner. And more importantly, and surely more impressively, Conner was fucking Daddy right back. The way he moved, flexing his legs to bounce his ass backwards and up each time Daddy started another long slow insertion, another long delicious erotic stroke, showed me that Conner was a most active and eager participant. My mind flashed back to that woman I'd seen, so bored and therefore boring and completely ice-cold, and how Conner was just diametrically her antithesis. Conner loved being fucked. I realized then and there that I wanted to be like Conner. I realized then and there that I had to get a glimpse of the actual act. I espied a good-sized tree to my right about three feet ahead, and knew it would allow me cover and a better angle at their love-making. I planned my steps first, and then waited a few seconds for their next round of moans, making my move with neither of them being the wiser. Daddy kept saying "Such a sweet pussy," over and over again. I wanted to cum, and was gobsmacked that I hadn't already. My new vantage point let me see the million-dollar view. It was to be the most glaring and garish of colours in my masterpiece to date. Daddy was hung, that's for sure. He had a long cock, longer than the man I'd seen getting the blow-job from the lingerie woman, and the wetness on it, which I assumed was either saliva or lube, or both, glistened in the fading daylight. He just kept easing his cock all the way into the younger man, slowly each time, the look on his face showing that he was enjoying the exquisite feelings of gentle and passionate penetration. For long minutes on end, Daddy romantically and sensuously made love to Conner, each of them moaning and gasping out lovely words, all of which made me quiver from head to toe with a ferocity I'd never known before. Feeling hypnotised by their beauty and sexuality, I noticed after a while that Daddy was gently but purposefully speeding up his movements, beginning to build in tempo and in passion. Conner simply ramped up with him, an equal partner in this dance of love. They began banging together a little harder, the slap-slap-slap of their skin becoming more pronounced, along with their huffy breathing and erotic moans. As they began to build towards their ultimate pleasure, I followed as well. I simply stood there, not touching myself in any way, and yet my cock was the hardest it's ever been, straining to get out of the panties, my balls churning and bubbling with teen-aged hormones. I wanted to cum so desperately, and yet even more desperately I wanted to wait until I could cum with them. Daddy's strokes became a little harder again, and their breaths and gasps and grunts followed the change of pace. It was heady, the mood they were creating in my mind. I skirted the edge of the biggest orgasm of my short life for minutes on end, just by gently rocking my hips, and allowing the stretch and pull of my own clothing to rub my own little cock, trapped inside. Inside my panties. It was heaven. Their pace continued to get slowly faster, their breathing matching their exertion. Each poured out words of love and lust and passion to the other, making me realize they were regular lovers, that they'd done this before. I envied Conner, more than any other human being I'd ever known. Daddy, who looked a lot like Don Johnston back in his Miami Vice days, except with silver hair, poured out his thoughts as his body moved, the sound of his voice, not to mention the naughty words, and the building pleasure that affected his tones, touched me unlike anything else I'd ever known. I was shivering, my body rippling as I built towards a delicious cum in my panties. The way Daddy was stroking his hands lovingly up and down Conner's back, down to his hips and around his sexy ass cheeks, showed me that this act was more than just sex. It was passion, and love, and joy. It was the most massive, deeply-affecting brushstrokes a person could ever know, the colours beyond vibrant, my masterpiece of life taking new and important shapes. Then, out of the blue, completely unexpectedly, Daddy stopped. He held his cock inside Conner, who started churning his hips and raising up his ass, trying to continue the motions, continue the fucking. Daddy whispered, "Connie, sweetie, on your back now, sexy gurl." Slowly pulling his cock out of Conner's hole, he helped the young man stand up. And the young man needed the help. His legs quivered, noticeably, and his entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat. He could barely stand on his own legs. Daddy thoughtfully held on to Conner, turning him so they were face to face. I watched the expression on his face. Conner's eyes were glazed over, that far-away look of absolute bliss written across his face, a smile permanently plastered on his lips. He was breathing heavily, his chest with two cute little rosy red nipples going up and down. If I had to bet money, I would put every cent I owned on one thing: that Conner was having the best night of his life. He slowly reached out to hug the older man, as he was turned around. Their bodies came together, Daddy holding Conner up, and in one cataclysmic second, I saw the textbook definition of intimacy. Daddy used his forehead to nudge Conner's face up, and they gazed into each other's eyes for a few moments, and then Daddy smiled, a tender, beautiful smile, closed his eyes, and kissed Conner, a long soft passionate kiss, one that Conner responded to immediately, kissing back, and mewling out the softest most tender moans. I couldn't help myself. Despite my deep fears of ever being found out, and my years of finely-tuned stealth, the sight of them together, naked to the world, holding each other, hugging each other, kissing each other, so tenderly and romantically, made me forget the golden rule. Never make a sound. I gasped. Slightly. Instinct told me to hold it in, but it was so sudden, and so powerful, and so real, that I couldn't contain it. Like a beast, it roared into life. I gasped. Daddy turned his head, and stared into the dark forest, seemingly right at me. "Why don't you come out and join us?" he asked, his breathing unsteady and heavy, still panting from his incredible kiss with my schoolmate. The tone of his words, however, were something else. Inviting. Genuine. Open. Loving. As if nothing would please either of them more than to have another person join them. To share in the Eden of love-making with more than one. More people, more pleasure, perhaps? I froze. I knew that he couldn't actually see me, neither of them could. They knew the general area from where I'd made the noise, but the sun was almost all the way down now, and the ambient moonlight was only so-so. My first thought was to bolt. Then my second thought was to just stay and not move. Perhaps they'd see no response as evidence that they'd misheard, that there wasn't anybody there. My third thought was to accept his invitation. "Come out," he purred, his voice deep and smooth like hot chocolate, "you know you want to. We won't hurt you. We're both about loving, and pleasure. Aren't we, Connie?" The younger man turned his head and stared in my direction, his eyes still glassy, and fogged over. He looked like the most stoned person I'd ever seen, and I realized that he was. He was stoned on sexual love. "Pleasure," he moaned out, meaning it, and feeling it. I realized I wanted what Conner was feeling. "Or are you a watcher?" Daddy asked, playfulness in his voice. "Do you like to watch? You're a voyeur?" He laughed, a little, with tenderness and joy. "That's sexy too. Why don't you come out and watch from up close? We love an audience!" Not waiting for an answer, he began kissing Conner again. Softly. Passionately. Intimately. My mind went berserk. Did I want to step out, and join them? Even just to watch? OF COURSE I DID!!! But the fears were there too, the fear of intruding, the fear of entering the deep end of the pool and not being sure if I knew how to swim, the fear of being caught out and called horrible nasty names, the fear of ending up a "fag", that most everybody in our middle-class suburbia seemed to deride, the fear of wanting something so badly that reason and common sense might be hastily forgotten in the moment of lust. I stepped out. Two quick motions and I was just inside the clearing, just out of arms reach of them. They kept kissing, and both of them were running their hands gently over the other's body, wherever they could touch. I watched them, and my own breathing got as quick as theirs. Daddy broke the kiss, and smiled at me. His smile said it all. He was proud and excited and gentle and aroused and feeling happier than normal people could even understand. His eyes scanned me up and down, and then stayed looking at my groin. I looked down, and realized that I had the biggest lump of my life, in my pants, and in my panties. "What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked. Conner answered for me, in a slow almost trance-like cadence. "That's Kyle." Daddy looked surprised. "You two know each other?" Conner shook his head. "We went to the same high school." "I just graduated last year," I said, speaking for the first time. Daddy smiled even more at me. "Kyle. Kylie. That's a pretty name, Kylie. Don't you think?" I nodded, because he was right. It was pretty. Suddenly, Daddy's face got more serious. There was still a hint of a smile there, but his eyes were boring in on me. It was as if he was staring right through me. Like a tractor beam in sci-fi. I couldn't look away. "Kylie, sweet boy," he whispered, "did you like watching Connie and me make love? Is that what gave you that hard-on? You can tell us, Kylie, we're never going to make you feel shame or embarrassment. We're modern people, Kylie, and open to all kinds of fetishes and kinks. We're sexual people, painting our own masterpiece. There's no reason to hold back. Tell us, please? Did you like watching us?" I could barely find the strength to make a sound. "Yes." He grinned. "Would you like to watch more?" I gasped out my answer. "More than anything." Daddy nodded, an inviting motion, and then turned back to Conner, and they began kissing again. Soft, sweet, tongue-tasting lip-smacking saliva-swapping kisses, some long and deep, some quick and tender. Either way, the most erotic and exciting brushstroke in my painting. For long moments they caressed and kissed, and rubbed their hard erect penises against each other. Daddy's was so much longer and thicker than Conner's, which was much akin with my own. I could hear and see and sense their passion increasing, their emotions beginning to boil. Daddy broke off the kiss, and gently pushed Conner back towards the stump. I realized there was a thick sleeping bag there, piled up to make a soft surface. Conner lay back, his bum on one side of the stump, his head hanging a little bit off the other side. Whether by nature or by training or by desire, he immediately brought his legs up towards himself, grabbing behind his knees, spreading his legs, and rounding his back slightly to push his bum up and out. His ass cheeks naturally spread, and his shiny wet hole glowed in the moonlight. Daddy squatted, his big powerful legs flexing, and with his right hand he aimed his cock at Conner's hole. Just as the very tip of the head reached the pulsing winking wrinkly brownish/pinkish opening, Daddy turned and grinned at me. "This can be fun for you too, you know? You could play with yourself, if you like. We'd both find that sexy!" Without waiting for my response, Daddy eased his cock into Conner, slowly, patiently, with care and tenderness, as Conner started oooohing and aaaaaahing and flexing his back, his eyes rolling up in his head, the whites showing, and then the most lurid and erotic strangled moan came out his throat, and without thinking about any implications and not taking my eyes off the love-making in front of me I unbuttoned and unzipped and slid my pants down and off, my shoes and socks as well, exposing myself to them both. Conner was way too high on cock to look my way. Daddy did. The glimmer in his eyes exploded, like laser beams of delight. "Ooooooooh, sweet Jesus," he boomed, "Kylie, sweetheart, you're wearing panties! That's so so fucking sexy! Connie!", he stopped fucking, shaking his lover to look at me, "Kylie is wearing panties! Aren't they the sexiest thing you've ever seen?" Conner's eyes took time focussing on me, and then the most serene, placid expression came over his face. Like he was utterly contented, somehow. "Kylie is beautiful," he said, and it filled me with elation. I involuntarily sucked my breath in, and stood up on my tiptoes, trying to push my little cock harder against the fabric of my panties, wanting the exquisite rush and thrill of those sexy vibrations. His words enflamed me. I could just feel it, that he'd never been more sincere and genuine in his life. I was standing in a forest, wearing a bra under a bulky sweatshirt on top and turquoise panties on my bottom, my legs bare, my little cock turgid, and a cute boy who was at that moment being made love to by a gorgeous Daddy and his gorgeous cock, and all I could think about was his words. "Kylie is beautiful." Daddy kept sensuously and seductively slowly grinding his cock into Conner's ass, his pussy. I could see his tummy expand, just a little, every time Daddy was fully buried inside. "Does Connie want to wear panties and high heels like Kylie?" Daddy asked. Conner almost shouted. "YES! PLEASE, DADDY!" Daddy started fucking a little faster, and a little harder. He looked at me and smiled again, tender and real. "Why don't you play with your little cock, sweetie? Show us what you got inside those panties." My brain ceased functioning, I suppose. I didn't consider the ramifications; weigh the options carefully and prudently, like the sensible young man I was raised to be. My hand reached down and pulled the panties to one side, exposing my cock and balls. I was wet, everywhere, with the salty precum I've grown to love more than just about anything. Then I began masturbating myself, right in front of them. I looked up at Daddy, and he had the most intense look of longing on his face. He kept rotating his hips, while slowly pulling and pushing, and continued fucking Conner. I could hear the squishy squelching sounds more clearly now, and I immediately wanted to hear those sounds coming out of me. Conner moaned and moaned and gasped and grunted, and Daddy kept feeding him every inch of that cock, deliciously and wantonly. The only noises around us were the creaks and chirps and wind rushes of a wooded area. Above us, a small circle of open sky, the stars beginning to appear. It was like we were the only three people in the entire world. Two of them making love. Me watching. Playing with myself. Daddy smiled at me again. "Would you like to cum?" I nodded, a lot, and fast. "Why don't you let Connie suck your cock? She's really good at it, believe me!" His grin was infectious. Conner's left hand reached out in my direction, and he began mumbling "suck cock, suck cock," over and over again, in a breathy way. I stood for moments, unsure of what to do. I'd read about blowjobs, of course. I'd seen them on my tablet, of course, in the porn vids I'd watched. Now one was being offered to me. Did I dare? Daddy nodded his head, trying to convince me to move over to Conner's head. "Connie loves it, I promise. She loves sucking cock, don't you sweetie?" The mumbling turned to "I love sucking cock, I love it". As if on auto-pilot, my body started moving. To my right, the grass cold and wet on my soles, and stood just out of Conner's reach. Looking up at Daddy again, I was almost waiting for him to give me the go-ahead. Not that I needed it. His smile, full of lust and life and passion and zeal, was all it took. I stepped forward, and my cock immediately slid onto Conner's face. His lips sought out my shaft, instead coming to rest on my pearl sac. My balls. Such as they were. His tongue snaked out, and he began wetting me, sucking in my left orb, straight into his mouth, and bathing it inside with swipes and saliva and a soft sucking motion. I gasped again, just like earlier, and felt a shudder run through my DNA. My whole body lurched, into another dimension and then back again. Daddy laughed. "I told you she likes it." Conner finished on my balls, and moved his head, sliding my entire cock into his mouth in one go. His nose was up against my now-wet testicles, his bursts of breath out of his nostrils cool and delicious, and his tongue was swirling back and forth on the topside of my shaft. His mouth seemed to form around my cockhead, suckling it, bathing it in warmth. I had never experienced anything like this. If all my previous sexual experiences, many of which were staggering to me at the time they happened, were added up, they wouldn't amount to a hill of beans compared to what I was going through now. The promised land. Unfettered sexual and sensual pleasure. My hands reached for my sweatshirt, and I pulled it off, exposing my skin to the night air, except for the parts covered by my bra. I looked down and saw a tiny bit of cleaving, the cups pushing up my pecs in a way that gave me that sexy valley between breasts. Then I looked at Daddy. He'd stopped fucking Conner. His mouth was wide open, gaping, and his head was shaking back and forth ever so slightly, as if he was seeing something he couldn't quite believe. Connie kept sucking me, trying to milk me with her mouth, giving me the sweetest feeling I've ever had. "My god, you're so sexy, Kylie," Daddy whispered, "so sexy, and feminine, and lovely." I almost gushed there and then. This sexy mature man, strong and masculine and virile, was enamored with me. In my panties and bra. "Thank you, Daddy," I whispered back. He kept his eyes on me, fixed on me, not letting me go. And I didn't want to. Finally, he leaned his body forward, his hand touching first my left boob, through the bra, and then sliding up to my shoulder, where he gently persuaded me to lean forward myself. We brought our faces close to each other. "May I kiss you, sweet Kylie?" he asked, wanting and pleading in his eyes, his voice seductive and melifluous. I never wanted anything more in my life. When his eyes closed, just before his lips touched mine, I closed my eyes too. A brushstroke wider than the ocean went streaking across my canvas, in the warmest of bright colours. The painting of my life, once small in size, now vast. As if my life's masterpiece suddenly exploded from an eight-by-ten size to something that would fill the entire wall of the biggest art gallery in the world. HE KISSED ME!!! It took a few minutes, but I realized at one point that there were three distinct different moans filling the vastness of the empty forest clearing. Mine was the loudest. I'd kissed girls before, sure. A few. High school dances and house parties. I'd never gotten past second base with anyone though. HOW I'D CHANGED!!! Connie kept sucking me, slurping me, all the while rocking her hips up and down, trying desperately to get Daddy's cock into her again and again. Daddy kept moaning and teasing me with his tongue, his lips big and wet and pliant up against mine, his hot breath in and out of my mouth. Abstract explosions of colour and shape were being added to my masterpiece. We kissed for a few minutes, altogether. I had to escape his kiss at one point, because Connie had run her hands up my bum cheeks and was trying to insinuate one of her fingers in my hole. I was involuntarily spreading my legs, trying to help her. Combined with her mouth all over my cock, I gasped and tried to push back on her finger. It was wet. It slid easily into me. Daddy kept staring at me, watching my abject joy, witnessing my reactions to all these firsts in my life. I could barely keep up with the tsunami of feelings racing through my body. Levels of pleasure I'd never dreamed possible were barrelling around inside me. I felt sexy. Looking down, I could see Daddy's cock sliding in and out of Connie's pussy, and just above it I could see Connie's little cock, flopping up and down with each of Daddy's thrusts. She was hard, and the head of her little cock was shiny wet, her pre-cum oozing non-stop, a pool of it on her tummy. Nature took over for me, and I bent at the waist, and grabbing her cock in my left hand to move it out of the way, I began lapping up her juices. MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM! Sweet, and tangy, and salty, and yummy beyond any other food I'd ever tasted in my life. I moaned out loud, my lungs pushing huge amounts of noise out of me, in an octave I didn't usually use. My voice was higher now, breathier, and I was suddenly aware of how much like that sexy woman I'd seen years ago I had become. In lingerie, my body hairless, having just kissed and made out with a very sexy older man, a lovely young friend underneath me, madly sucking my little cock, building me towards what I knew would be the biggest cum of my life, now slurping up as much sex liquid as I could. I looked at her cock, in my left hand, throbbing and pulsing out more clear delicious nectar, and then I looked up at Daddy. His eyes were boring in on me, his smile from ear to ear. He nodded his head, as if to say 'yes, you know you want to'. I did want to. Keeping my eyes on Daddy's, I slipped Connie's cock into my lips, kissing the head all over while my tongue found her pee-hole and tried to open it further. Daddy's moans increased, a lot. Connie's moans increased by a factor of ten thousand. Her breathing started coming out of her nostrils against my little balls faster and sharper. She was getting fucked, sucking cock, and now having her cock sucked too, even by an inexperienced virgin like me. She was starting down that last stretch towards orgasm. She was building up speed. And so was I! Closing my eyes, I felt like I knew what to do. What I wanted to do. What needed to be done. What a sexy woman like I was becoming would do. I swallowed her cock, right down to her hairless balls. Milking her with my mouth, instinct took over, and when I felt Daddy's hand land on the back of my head, coaxing me to stay full, I felt my entire "straight" being let go. I let go of propriety. I let go of normalcy. I let go of the irrational made-up rules of my middle-class upbringing. I let go of societies' silly puritanical morals. Whether by dint of genetics, or some deep-seated unknown intelligence, I let go of everything. Except the cock in my mouth. I became sexy. That's how I felt. I became the epitome of sexiness that I had been carrying for years. For my entire life. I bucked, my body lurching, my brain over-loaded and operating purely by nature, and then I screamed, somewhat muffled by the pulsing cock in between my lips, and then I shoved my cock fully into her mouth, burying myself as far as I could get inside her. Then I started cumming. It took over. I had no control of myself, at all. My mouth just kept sucking and licking and slurping and feeding, while the rest of me let go. Into the wilds. Into the heavens. My cumming made Connie's body start bucking and heaving, and I saw Daddy's cock slip out of her ass. It was right in front of me, after all. Then I felt the first blast from her orgasm. A huge shot of cum hit me in the back of my mouth, hard, staggering my brain. A COCK HAD JUST SHOT CUM INTO ME!!! That thought warmed me, and I began swallowing in between every pulse of my own cock and cum into her mouth. We were cumming together, at the same time, throb after throb of boyish semen from both of us to both of us. We both oozed ourselves dry, each of us swallowing and swallowing and rolling cum around each other's cock head and then doing more swallowing. My little penis started to get sensitive, and then more sensitive, and I thought it would either drive me insane or make me cum again, such was the sheer magnitude of the twinges and twitches I was feeling. Connie must have felt the same, because at one point he let my cock go free of his lips and at the same time pulled his cock out of my mouth. "No more, please," she whispered, her voice drained and pleading. I knew exactly how she felt. Somehow I found the energy to move, and I swivelled around and lay next to her, her arm wrapping around me, pulling me to her, our bodies touching, our groins touching, her lips seeking mine out, the most soft feminine kiss I'd ever known enveloping me. Connie and I began a series of soft kisses, some with tongue, some not, as our hands caressed each other's body. She oohed a little bit feeling my bra, and I had the thought momentarily cross my mind that she would feel even more sexy if she was wearing lingerie too. After many kisses, and sighs, and moans, we broke off our kiss, staring at each other in the eyes. My high school acquaintance and I, cooling down from the reverie of mutual oral sex. Mutual oral love. Finally, after I don't know how long, we both looked up at Daddy, who'd been standing watching us. Even though it was almost dark out, there was enough of the moonlight that I could see his face. His expression. His eyes were wide open, and shining with delight, his nostrils were open and flaring, like a prize racehorse. His mouth was open, his breathing heavy, his tongue running gently back and forth across his bottom lip. Then I looked down, and realized his cock was harder than before. He was throbbing with every heart beat and breath, his hands by his sides, his fingers stroking his own thighs. "That was hot," he whispered. "Kylie is beautiful," Connie said again, "and her cum is delicious!" We all laughed. "Kylie," Daddy asked, "how are you feeling now?" I didn't have to think about my answer. It was obvious, to me, and I was certain to them too. "I feel like I've just been born. Like everything before this was meaningless." Daddy nodded, and smiled. Then I painted the widest, most vivid stroke across my canvas. "I feel like a woman. I feel like I want to be a woman. A special woman." Daddy nodded again, and his face became serious. "You are already a special woman, sweet Kylie. With a little more work, you would be stunning." Connie kissed the side of my neck, which made me swoon. "Daddy?" I asked. "Yes, Kylie?" "You haven't cum yet." He nodded, again. I reached out my hand to him, to take. "Make love to me, Daddy. Make me your special woman." I can't recall ever seeing a happier person. Daddy squeezed Connie and I apart and sat down in between us. He lovingly kissed Connie, to his left, and then blessed me with the same honor, on his right. He then spent several minutes going back and forth, between us, kissing us, nuzzling us, telling us how pretty we were, how sexy we were, how feminine we were. At one point, he looked Connie in the eyes, a serious wanting look. "Connie," he said. "Yes, Daddy?" "Should we invite Kylie to join our secret club?" My ears perked up at that. "Secret club?" I asked. Daddy turned and smiled at me. "Connie and I have some other friends, and sometimes we get together as a group, for fun. We call it our secret club." I felt my heart rate go up. "Other Daddy's?" He nodded. "Other special women, too." Was such a thing true? "Really?" I asked, loud and eager. Connie nodded her head up and down. "Do you remember Dennis Carver?" I shook my head, although the name sounded somewhat familiar. "She was in our school, the year ahead of me. She knew Daddy before I did, and she's the one who invited me to join and have fun. That was the best day of my life. She calls herself Danica now." Connie paused, and her sight went away, as if she was suddenly a million miles afar. Thinking of Danica, I knew. "She's so hot," she giggled. Daddy kissed the side of my neck, and pulled me to him harder. He whispered in my ear to sit in his lap, and the thought made my shriveled little cock start to grow. Daddy was huge. Huge, wet, and throbbing. I turned and straddled him, face to face. My knees were on either side of his hips, and as I sat down I kissed him, my arms wrapped around his head. I kissed him with more energy and wanting than I've ever known, and yet it came so naturally to me. I felt his cock, in between my bum cheeks, hard and steely and pulsing with love. Our kiss became the most intimate lovely experience of my life, while I undulated my rear end, rubbing his manly cock up and down my crack. It was the loveliest I have ever felt. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt hands on my bum, spreading my cheeks. I was kissing Daddy, tongue sucking him, while his hands were pinching my nipples, my bra cups pulled down, sending ripples of ecstasy through me. So I rationalized that it had to be Connie. A brushstroke the size of Mount Everest tremored through my body as I felt Connie's breath down there, followed by the most exquisite joy of all as her tongue started bathing my hole. Absolute rapture consumed me, set me on fire, and my kisses with Daddy became hotter. Torrid. In between wet sloppy licks and kisses of my pussy, Connie was also teasing and slurping on Daddy's cock. Finally he broke our kiss, and looked at me in the eyes, fiercely. "Kylie, life is a painting. Did you know that? And everything you do becomes a colour of your own masterpiece. Life can throw colours at you that you weren't expecting, and they add to your canvas. But the best colours of all, the most majestic, the most stunning, are the ones we choose to paint. The things we want, and then take, are the brushstrokes that dominate the frame. When we follow our passions, that's when our masterpiece becomes full. Do you understand?" I nodded, because I believed I did. "My painting will be a mix of all the different shades I use. The colours I want to have." He smiled, and said yes. "So," he continued, "sweet sweet Kylie, what is it that you want, right now? What colours do you want to add to your palette?" I didn't need to think. Connie's tongue had not stopped bathing my pussy hole, and when she wasn't licking me the cool forest air made that whole area of my body shudder and quiver. "What do you want, Kylie?" "I want..." I paused, teasing him, "for Daddy to make love to me." He grinned, and kissed me again. "Then take what you want, sweetie. Take what you want, Kylie, and become the sweet special woman you were meant to be." I felt Connie's tongue leave me, and then I felt the warmth and wetness of Daddy's cock, as she held it up to my hole. Everything now was up to me. What did I want? I took a deep breath, and sank down. Daddy's cock head pushed me open, easily, and quickly. And that moment, that instant, was a gut-wrenching monumental brushstroke. One that changed me. Physically, of course. But it changed me inside, a complete paradigm shift instantly in my soul. Down to the cellular level, I was a brand new person, a brand new sensual and sexual being. Tears welled up in my eyes, as I realized the staggering change I'd just made. And I wasn't kidding myself. I had made it. I had taken it. Literally. And I was overwhelmed with emotion. My entire existence, save for the moments I've already related, became apparent to me for what they were. Nothing. Instead, this, where I was, what I was doing, willfully and willingly moving my lower body, my ass, to massage and envelop Daddy's cock, this, was living. Everything I'd experienced before and thought were important and impacting, were actually just dust in the wind. Insignificant. Meaningless. Unimportant. They certainly weren't living. The enormity of what I'd been, and now what I was becoming, trembled through me, and the tears rolled down my cheeks. Daddy held me and caressed me and whispered into my ear that I should let it all out, cry my lifetime of repression away, and surrender to the inevitable experience of my true life. Being made love to, by a man. Dressed as I was, my bra holding me in its satiny caress, my panties off to the side and hugging my right ass cheek. My arms around a man old enough to be my father, or older. His arms around me, his body pressing at me, his unbelievable cock pressing in me. Staggering. Life-changing. Indescribable. Sexy as fuck! I'd sat down perhaps a little faster and farther than I'd intended, so some of my tears were from the enormity of my physical challenge, and my physical change. The full width and breadth of his cockhead was inside me, my insides suddenly stretched in an entirely unfamiliar way, the shock of it rattling up my spine and nervous system, my head falling back, my mouth wide open, and the eeriest moan came hurtling up through me, released into the wilds of the forest. I WAS BEING FUCKED!!!!! Fighting the harsh pain I felt, I allowed my upper legs to relax a little more, and slid further down his cock. An inch or two, I supposed. I felt so full, so mind-bogglingly full, and while the pain was still there, it was becoming manageable. My moaning increased in volume as I made the conscious decision to slide down his cock more, the syllables of "Da" and "Dee" prolonged and stretched and throaty. I stopped for a moment, to breathe and allow the pain to hopefully pass. Daddy moaned slightly, and spoke. "Take what you want from this life, Kylie. If you want it hard enough, and work for it, you can have whatever you want." Spurred by his confidence in me, I sank down further. AND FELT HIS PUBIC HAIR!!!! One more lunge downward, and I bottomed out. His cock, all of it, in its entirety, seated inside me. I WAS THE MOST SPECIAL SEXY WOMAN, WITH MY MAN'S COCK FULLY INSIDE OF ME!!!!! Instantly, I remembered that woman, from that night, years ago. How proud, confident, assured, and entirely sexual she was. I remembered how I'd wanted to be that sexy, that feminine, that overtly naughty and that passionate. And now, I'd become that woman. It was the happiest moment of my life. My proudest moment, and the boldest colour I could ever imagine. Tears continued to well up in my eyes, and silently rolled down my cheeks, as I came to an even greater realization. This moment, right here, is when I became an adult. All the laws of the land recognized me as an adult, but I was only fooling myself and them. My childhood vanished, as did all the silly worries and anxiety's that accompany it. I was no longer a lost teen-ager. I was a fully aware grown adult, understanding that I was more feminine than masculine, and never being happier. Daddy grunted, the words "good gurl" hitting me like the most gentle of caresses. I let my head down, and nuzzled Daddy's neck. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to him, holding me, hugging me, almost crushing me in his grasp. His cock felt like HEAVEN inside me. AND I WAS SOOOOOOOOOOOO FULL OF COCK! Nature took over, and my brain shut itself off. No more thinking. No more analyzing. I gave myself over, to myself. To the new me. The sexy me. The sexual me. I rocked up and down, slowly at first, and then building in speed. Each movement sent Daddy's cock moving inside me again, either in or out, always pushing at the limits of the give of my insides, plainly owning my channel, my pussy. I was his for his pleasure, and that in turn gave me enormous pleasure. More pleasure than I'd ever felt before. His breathing got heavy, and his whispered words became louder and bolder. "Take what you want, Kylie...take that cock inside you...paint your masterpiece...feel all of Daddy's love...oh my god, yes, baby gurl, keep milking my cock with your pussy walls...life is what you make it, baby, what you choose to paint...take that cock, special woman..." I took it. Over and over again. My own little cock was hard again, throbbing and whacking back and forth between my belly and Daddy's. The extraordinary physical sensations of the beginnings of orgasm were churning and roiling inside me, starting their build-up. As that feeling began to dominate me, it guided me to start moving faster. I started flexing my ass cheeks, squeezing my hole, and humping Daddy faster. And faster. And then faster. Both of us began moaning, gasping for air. Both of us were on a rocket ship, and the countdown to launch was on. Then I started going even faster, feeling more and more like that sexy woman, riding her man, filling herself with his cock, filling myself with his love. Daddy's hands came down on my hips, and he gripped them hard and began pushing and pulling me up and down while his own hips began pushing up faster and harder. He was doing everything he could to bury his cock inside me, as far inside my pussy as he could. He was fucking me. We were fucking each other. We were making love. Time became irrelevant. The world became irrelevant. My family, my friends, my normal middle-class life just disappeared from consideration. This was what I wanted. This was what completed me. This was what I was born for. The ecstasy, the passion, the exhilarating euphoria of feelings generated by allowing my sensual and sexual self to come to the front. To dominate. To take over, and thereby free me from the chains of normality. My Daddy was fucking me senseless. I was happier than the world could contain. Again and again, I flexed up and then down, releasing Daddy's cock almost all the way into the open air and then swallowing it up again, to the root, filling myself with his cock, waiting and anticipating him filling me with his cum. I started moaning, "fuck me, Daddy, fuck me". He was moaning mostly gibberish, although I heard the words "slut" and "pussy" several times. They made me feel even prouder. Finally, the inevitable happened. Daddy's grip on my hips became vise- like, and he started howling into the air, and then he drove his cock up into me with a championship level of penetration, and then I started feeling wet inside. That's when I lost it. My cum shot out of me in ropes, coating my bra and my belly and most of Daddy's chest and belly. It consumed me, my internal lurches and spasms, the spurts almost painful as my little cock pulsed and erupted. I lost my breath, and held onto Daddy for dear life, and for fear of passing out and possibly hurting myself. His grip on me was crushing. His orgasm was wracking his body with shakes and tics. The groan coming out of him was ear-shattering, and seemed to dance right on the edge of pain. It was as if cumming inside of me after fucking me was practically tearing him apart, or pushing the limits of his pleasure tolerances. Minutes later, we both calmed down, though never let go of each other. Connie stood next to us, and intimately caressed both of us. She knew what we'd been through, I realized. And she knew that it took time to get back to any level of rational thought or movement. I didn't want Daddy's cock to ever leave me. My pussy hole was squeezing down on his shaft, over and over and over again. I wanted to etch the millions of feelings going through me permanently in my mind, right down to my soul. The greatest brushstroke of all, the biggest and widest and vividest. The most staggering and substantial of applications. The most striking colours, some never seen in normal rainbows. My masterpiece became whole, became beautiful, and became larger-than-life. I couldn't even begin to imagine what the next additions to my palette would be. I knew, down to my toes, that my painting had just begun. My masterpiece was just beginning, there in Daddy's arms, in the small clearing in the forest. The End.