Paint Job Read online

  “You didn’t know, did you?” asks Randall.

  I shake my head.

  “Are you okay?” says Leena.

  I nod. I glance at them, sitting together on the couch, looking like concerned parents. They’re wearing bathrobes too. “Yes. I am. I’m more than okay. Really.”

  “You’ve never made love with a woman before,” says Leena, “have you? That was your first time, wasn’t it?” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Or with two people at once…”

  “Never,” I say.

  “We thought you knew. You answered the questions…”

  “You knew the password…”

  “It was Claire,” says Leena, setting down her coffee. “She screwed up the invite.”

  “Has to be,” agrees Randall. “Claire. Nice girl but a bit scattered, maybe.” He pours himself more coffee. I remember the banana hidden under his bathrobe and I smile a little private smile. I hope I’ll get the chance to see it again.

  “You asked for the Deluxe Package…”

  “So we thought you knew what you were getting into.”

  They stare at me, eyes wide and troubled.

  “It’s okay. Really. But you’re right—I had no idea!” How could I ever have thought that Randall rubbing my nipples and Leena adoring my pubes was anything but what it was? I feel ridiculously innocent with these two, and very young. I flush. A thrill goes through me—I want to be felt up again! I want them to make love to me again! It wasn’t what I came here for, but it’s all I can think of now.

  “This has never happened before,” says Leena.

  “Never,” says Randall.

  “Maybe we should stop?”

  I sit down on the couch beside Randall. “No. Let’s continue. I want the Deluxe Package. But I have a question—do I really get a Paintini? Because I want a Paintini.”

  Randall erupts in laughter. “Of course you do! That’s what we do. Well…” He glances at Leena. “It’s one of the things we do.”

  Leena grins. “In fact, we’re going to start painting you right after we finish these croissants.” Leena gestures at a tray of luscious-looking buttery pastries I hadn’t noticed before. I’m suddenly ravenous. “Eat, Gabby. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. And a lot of sex.”

  Randall studies me. “Sex, Gabby. You, me, Leena. Fucking. Screwing. Sex.”

  Sex. My cheeks flush. Leena is smiling at me over her coffee.

  “Sex,” she says.

  “Uh…sex,” I say, smothering the word in a loud slurp of coffee.

  “With condoms,” adds Randall.

  “Of course,” she agrees. “We care about safety.”

  Chapter Two

  After our snack we move back into the room where they seduced me. Me—seduced! But now they are all business. They ask me to disrobe. I do. They ask me to pose again on the platform. I do. This time there is no touching, no fondling. This time I’m not self-conscious about being naked in front of them. This time I like the way they look at me. Leena rolls a large wheeled table next to the platform and I see it is filled with tubes of paint and brushes and solvent and those painters’ palettes with a nifty hole for the thumb.

  Randall has a thin gray crayon in his hand and once again he’s marking my skin. Most of the marks he made earlier are gone.

  “This will sting some,” Leena says offhandedly as she swirls her brush in a puddle of blue paint.

  Wait. It’s going to sting? “No one told me that,” I protest.

  “Oh! Well, they should have. The paint—the stain—will invade the top layers of skin. How else will it last for a whole year? But don’t worry, it’s not too bad. The sting fades in a few minutes.”

  “I have it all over my dick, remember,” says Randall helpfully. He’s putting the final touches of a line drawing onto my bare body, a nicely shaped bikini. “Trust us.”

  “Well, okay. I guess.”

  “I’m going to do a base coat. None of this will show in the final work.” Leena nears me with the brush. I shrink away. “Hold still!”

  She puts her hand on my arm to steady me. The brush tickles me where she starts painting on my left hip. The sting hits all at once and I gasp. “Gabby. You have to stand still. This stuff is permanent, remember? You don’t want stray marks, do you?”

  “I don’t know about this!” I bend over, feeling faint. “I didn’t know it was going to hurt.” They both regard me, looking disappointed. They don’t understand. I really don’t like pain. I faint when I get shots. I don’t leave my bed when I have cramps. I once puked when I cut my thumb with a paring knife and all that blood went everywhere. I want a Paintini but I didn’t know it was going to sting! Maybe I have to rethink this. “Why can’t we just do the other thing—have sex, you know, have some fun—and forget about the Paintini?” I say, desperate.

  “No,” says Randall.

  “Absolutely not,” says Leena.

  “We won’t do one without the other.”

  I stare at them. I look at the blue splotch on my hip, at the grey outlines running all over my body. “You won’t?” I ask. “Why?”

  “We’re artists! We want to paint you,” says Randall.

  “We’re not prostitutes, Gabby,” sighs Leena. “This is a package deal. It’s all or nothing. We’re proud of our work.”

  The sting is almost gone now. It burned for a while, but it wasn’t that bad. Not as bad as a shot. Suddenly, I decide a little burn will be worth it for…for a paint job. And for the other. For the promise of sex with them. I feel a rush in my loins just thinking of it. “Sorry. Of course you’re artists. I love your work. That’s why Claire told me about you, even though she screwed it up. I’m sorry. I want to continue. I’ll hold still.”

  Leena brushes me again, and again, and again, and it hurts. I hold still, but tears are forming in the corners of my eyes. Then Randall starts in on my other hip. They have a rhythm, these two. She paints a stroke, then he does, then she does. Back and forth they go, hurting me over and over, on one side then the other. I gasp. “Please! Can we take a break?”

  “Poor thing,” says Randall. “You’ve been so good. You’ve not moved a muscle. Look how nice your bikini will be. Come on—take a look.”

  I look. My hips are blue. “I wanted a green bikini,” I say, whimpering. I’m not liking this. I didn’t sign up for this. When do I get sex again? And why are they painting blue all over me?

  “It’ll be green,” says Leena. “Base coat, remember?”

  Randall looks up at me. He’s just dabbed paint on the crease between my hip and my leg. It stings. Of course it does. “Just a little longer, honey. Then we’ll lay you down on the mat again. Just hold on a bit longer, okay?”

  After a while, Randall takes my hand and lays me facedown on the mat. He kisses me. “Wait for it,” he says, putting his finger to my lips. “You’ll get it again. Don’t worry.”

  Leena laughs. “Oh, yes, you’ll get it again. We like you.”

  “But first we want to finish the base coat.”

  I lay on the mat, biting my lip as their brushes burn my hips and my butt and the middle of my back where the straps will be. “Almost done,” says Leena, “just one more place on this side.”

  Then one of them spreads my butt cheeks and the other applies paint. I shriek.

  “Sorry, honey,” says Leena, “this part tends to hurt more.”

  By the time they’ve covered the territory around my ass, I’m crying into the mat, trying not to move as they put the finishing touches on the tender skin near the back of my vulva. Stop! Please! I want to yell—but I’m in another place, trying to survive, trying not to move. Then I feel it. Something is inside me, and it’s not paint.

  “I’m so sorry we have to hurt you, honey,” says Randall’s quiet voice close to my ear. “I hate to see you cry.” He’s moving his fingers gently inside me as I tremble from the burning of the paint—which, to my horror, Leena is still applying.
Randall massages the walls of my vagina and pushes my legs farther apart. He reaches farther under me and plays with my clit, reaching around Leena’s brush, the two of them moving in a complicated choreography. I’m crying softly. They’re working in tandem. She dabs paint to the left of my asshole. He reaches far inside me and moves his fingers slowly back and forth. She paints the tender area in front of my ass. He makes sensual circles inside me. She paints my anus and I shriek again, the worst pain of all. It lingers and lingers as he finds a place inside me that feels so wonderful it makes my legs twitch. I tremble with the effort of not moving. I lie flat on my stomach, gasping. I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. The pain! The pain! The pleasure! The pleasure!

  “Don’t move, Gabby,” Leena warns.

  How can I not move?

  “There’s nothing like it, is there?” says Randall, leaning over me, whispering. “I know. I know.”

  “Okay. Turn her.”

  Leena has set aside her brush. I take a shuddering breath. Randall takes his fingers out of me and helps her move me onto my back. Every muscle in my body has turned to mush. I look up at them, tears rolling down the sides of my cheeks. Randall and Leena pay no attention to my wet face—they’re still in working mode. They change tasks. Randall picks up a brush and starts in on my left breast, and the stinging starts up again. Leena holds my hand and whispers to me, “You’re doing fine. You’re good at this.” She smiles down at me and I manage a grimace—Randall has just slapped paint on my nipple and no, I do not feel good at this. “Don’t move,” she warns.

  She watches him at work for a few moments, then she arranges herself between my legs. I barely register her spreading my knees apart. She takes a tiny brush, one I haven’t seen before, and makes delicate dabs at my genitals. I whimper. She spreads my labia and applies paint. I don’t even notice Randall at work on my tit. Wait—he’s not at work painting my tit, he’s sucking my nipple. I gape down at the top of his head and cry out in wretched pain as Leena paints my clit. He smacks and slurps and spits as his sucking grows more urgent. My nipple hardens in his mouth, but my poor clit feels like it will melt right off my body. I try not to move. If I move, Leena’s paint will hit my clit again. My entire body trembles.

  She’s set down her brush and is wiping her brow. Thank god, she’s done down there. She takes a swig of water, then she trades places with Randall. He takes a drink and offers me one also. Panting, I refuse. “Come on, honey, you need to stay hydrated,” he says. I gulp. Most of it runs down the side of my face.

  Leena starts painting my left breast. “You’re doing fine,” she says again. Randall takes her place between my legs. He spreads my knees. I screw my eyes shut. Oh god, please don’t let him paint my clit again. Please. Leena is doing the top of my nipple. He’s doing something at my crotch. She’s doing the underside of my nipple, and it hurts, it hurts! Pain builds on pain and I think I can take it no longer…and now Randall is fucking me.

  My eyes fly open. He is fucking me. He’s straddling me, propped up on his elbows, trying to stay out of Leena’s way, and his banana is in me. I watch in disbelief—how did I not notice what’s happening down there? I hear myself moan. He rides me, in and out, in and out, crooning to me in a soft voice, “Honey, oh, honey, honey, you’re doing so good…” My arms reach up and try to clutch at his shoulders, but Leena bats them down. She paints the underside of my areola and I cry out.

  “Randall!” she says, “Stop that bucking. Can’t you screw her without making me mess up?”

  “Sorry,” he says, laughing. “This is just so fun, don’t you think?”

  Fun or torture? Take your pick.

  Leena finishes my tit and sits up. “Whew,” she says. She regards the Gabby-and-Randall pony show. I can’t believe this is happening—Randall is fucking me, Leena is watching, and I like it. The pain is almost gone now and I am a quivering bag of Jell-O and I can barely move—but I like being screwed by Randall. This is what I’ve been waiting for and he knows it. Leena leans over and kisses me. She strokes my hair. I like Leena too. I like her a lot. I smile up at her and touch her red breast. She clears a tear from the side of my face. “Poor baby,” she sighs. “We hurt you, didn’t we?”

  Randall is screwing me faster now. He’s panting and Leena is lying beside me—almost on top of me—kissing me and fondling my breasts and now she’s diddling my clit with her finger as his cock rams me from inside. I reach for her and find her warm wet place with my own hand. She moans. Randall’s chest is slapping her back with each thrust, and she’s pressed into me in such a way that I feel like two people are making love to me at once. It is unbearably wonderful. I meet her kisses with kisses of my own. My chest rises to hers as my hips rise to Randall’s and I’m fucking them both at the same time. I cry out. Or maybe I’m just plain crying.

  All pain is gone now and all I feel is them.

  Chapter Three

  It’s a little while later and we’ve spent ourselves. We’re lying on our backs, resting. I’m holding hands with Leena and playing footsies with Randall. I ache sweetly all over. I listen to the strains of classical guitar and think, I could stay here forever.

  Randall turns on his side, props his head on his hand and regards me and Leena. “You know, this thing, the three of us, it’s working really well.”

  I smile. I’m too tired to talk, but I agree.

  “Mmm-hmm…” murmurs Leena, “it’s just right. With you, Gabby. You’re wonderful.”

  I squeeze her hand.

  “You should see yourself,” says Randall, tracing a finger lightly over my stomach, following the blue edge of my new bikini. “You look so sexy.”

  I want to see. I sit up and study the new painting on my body. It’s just the undercoat, I know, but it is a lovely shade of blue and I think that if I had to leave right now I would be satisfied with my new look. I run my hand over the blue skin on my breasts. It doesn’t feel any different than my un-painted skin. My nipples are blue too, which catches me by surprise, even though I remember very well the pain of having them painted. A thin line of angry red edges the blue—my skin is still irritated.

  They’re watching me. Randall’s eyes are hooded. Leena licks her lips.

  “It’s red,” I say.

  “That’ll go away in a few hours,” Leena says. “Maybe sooner. We’ll eat, we’ll shower and when the red is gone we’ll start on the next part.”

  “Speaking of which,” says Randall, getting to his knees and pulling a sketchbook off the supply table, “I have some ideas for you.” He takes out colored pencils and starts sketching. “Green. Jungle colors. Leaves and branches and vines interlaced, right? Maybe a butterfly or two? How about this?” He holds up the sketch for Leena and me to see. It’s a rough drawing of my right breast, pretty much life-sized. It’s covered with lush leaves, like a jungle in miniature. I’m enchanted. “I love it,” I breathe. “It’s even prettier than I imagined. Can you actually do that?”

  “Of course we can,” says Leena, sounding irritated. “We’re artists, remember? That’s just the rough idea—it’ll be better than that.”

  “Lighten up, Leena,” says Randall, patting her leg.

  We’re all sitting up now. I stretch. “So, you two,” I ask, “are you a couple?”

  They look at each other. “Um,” says Leena, “sometimes. Sometimes not. Mainly we work together.”

  “And play together!” adds Randall.

  “We bring out the best in one another.”

  “I noticed,” I say, blushing.

  “Leena’s really good at this, Gabby. She creates masterpieces. You’re lucky to have her. One day she’ll be famous, just wait and see.”

  “You’re good too, Randall.”

  We hear a quiet knock on the door to the hallway. “Dinner,” says Randall. He gets up, ties a towel around his waist and collects the food. He has it all arranged on the coffee table in front of the couch by the time Leena and I arrive in the sitting room. He lets the towel fall to t
he floor and the three of us are naked but for our Paintinis. I’m one of them now, nude but not naked. It feels right. My eyes keep wandering down to gaze at my new paint job. I look at the lacy scroll work on Leena’s breasts and want to touch one, want to roll her nipple between my fingers. I smile as I fill my plate with roast chicken and herbed potatoes—I’m sure that before long I’ll have the chance to feel her up all I want. Who knew I would ever behave this way with a woman? Or with a woman and a man together? At the same time and strangers, no less? It makes my heart beat faster just thinking about it.

  We set upon the food as if we’ve never eaten before.

  “Okay,” says Randall an hour or so later—I’m guessing it’s about midnight. Our plates are empty and everything is gone, even dessert. We’ve showered together, scrubbed each other and copped playful feels but haven’t made love, not even close. When we’ve moved back into the fun room, as I call it, and I’m again posing on the platform for my two lovers, and Randall is staring at me with a tilted head, I’m charged up and ready to play again. “The red’s gone,” he says, “we’re good to go. You okay, Gabby? You all right to start up again?”

  My insides shiver. “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m going to do the base work,” Randall informs me, “and Leena will do the finish work. All the details. We’ll use smaller brushes this time.”

  Leena is busy mixing paints. “It’ll take all night. You ready, Gabby? This will be a marathon the likes of which you’ve never experienced.” Randall stifles a laugh. She looks up, paintbrush in her hand, its tip pale-green. “It’s my favorite part—I love detail work.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Good.” She steps toward me, brush at the ready.

  “Kiss me first,” I beg.

  She sighs, holds the brush well away from me and kisses me hard. I clutch at her, reach for her breast, but she backs away, making room for Randall. His kiss is accompanied by a quick friendly finger in my pussy. “That’s all for now,” warns Leena. “To work, to work! We can play later.” They begin to paint and the pain slaps me like a thunderhead. I suck in my breath. I managed to convince myself it wouldn’t hurt this time around, with the base coat as a protective layer. I was wrong.