Part 7: link
“So who gets to go first?” Gwen asks, holding the jar of body paint, standing in the doorway of the living room.
Arthur looks up from the Macbook on his lap. He arches an eyebrow at her and smirks. “You’re the artist,” he challenges.
She snorts and disappears, back to the bedroom. Arthur hurriedly slams the laptop shut, fumbles with the remote to turn off the TV, and scurries after her, swearing as he bangs his shin on the coffee table.
“Nice princess sheet,” he says, striving for nonchalance now as he lounges in the doorway to her bedroom.
“I don’t want to get this crap on my good bedding,” she says, spreading the sheet over the bed. As she bends over to smooth it out, Arthur comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him.
Taking advantage of her braided hair, he kisses her neck, sliding his hands around her waist. Gwen brings her hand up to his cheek, her slender fingers trailing along his skin.
“Strip,” she tells him, pulling out of his grasp.
“Mmm,” he answers, guiding her hands to his shirt. “You do it.”
“Awfully demanding for someone who is about to get slathered with paint,” Gwen remarks, peeling his t-shirt up and off, setting it aside. She leans progressivo, para a frente and kisses his chest, slipping her fingers to the waist of the ridiculous plaid reindeer shorts, shoving them down far enough so that they fall to his feet on their own.
“That was easy,” she says, shoving him down to the bed.
“Now you,” he counters, making himself comfortable, his hands up behind his head.
“Me?”
“Yes. Wouldn’t want you to get your clothes dirty now,” he points out, crossing his feet at his ankles now, waiting patiently.
She sighs and acquiesces, knowing she’s not going to win. He watches her as she pulls her camisola, camisole tank topo, início off, his eyes darkening with appreciative desire as her breasts are bared for him. He enjoys how her body stretches as she lifts the topo, início over her head, how her hair falls back down, tickling the skin of her shoulders. seguinte her shorts slide down over her shapely hips, skimming down her legs till she steps out of them.
Clad only in a pair of black renda, rendas, laço boyleg panties, she steps over to the bed, smirking as she notices how her meager strip show has affected Arthur physically. She opens the lid to the jar.
“Smells good,” she assesses, tilting it down so Arthur can smell.
“Mmm,” he agrees, moving his arms down now, reaching out with one to stroke Gwen’s thigh, sliding it up to her backside and back down again.
Gwen smiles at him and picks up the brush. She dips it in the pot and touches it to his chest.
“Cold!” he exclaims, his body tensing.
“Sorry!” she giggles, but then she continues, making a curlicue pattern.
Ten minutos later she’s standing over him, frowning.
He opens his eyes, having relaxed despite the repeated application of the cold chocolate paint. But she’s stopped and he’s curious.
“Truth,” she mutters.
“What’s the problem?”
“I should have bought the kit with the as cores instead of chocolate,” she says.
“Why is that?” he asks.
“Because you look like I’ve smeared you with poo.”
Arthur guffaws and lifts his head. She’s done really beautiful designs on him, but she’s right. It looks like poo. He drops his head back and laughs. “Does it at least taste good?”
She dips her finger into the pot and licks it. “Ugh,” she says, “it’s all… waxy.”
“Oh, that’s the worst,” he says, still chuckling. “When it leaves that… film in your mouth…”
Gwen smacks her lips together, making a face. “I feel like a dog that’s been given amendoim butter,” she says, reaching for a glass of water sitting nearby.
“Maybe it’s better if it’s, you know, licked. Off of someone’s skin. Some willing volunteer,” Arthur offers.
“Maybe,” Gwen answers, kneeling on the cama and leaning over. She presses her tongue to his stomach, licking a painted section, feeling his stomach muscles jump as she does so.
“So?” he croaks.
“No. You taste good. The paint, not so much. Instant pudim would have been better.”
“So I can’t do you, then?” he asks.
“Seems kind of silly,” she says, pouting a little, disappointed in her purchase. She looks down, giving the jar an accusatory glare.
Arthur grabs her and pulls her over him so that she is lying on him, smearing all the paint, spreading it between them.
“Arthur!” she squeals.
“There,” Arthur declares. “Now we’ve both been painted.” He leans up and kisses her, quickly but deeply.
“You’re sticky,” she says.
“So are you. Let’s shower.”
“Ooo,” Gwen answers, sliding off of him. “Oh, God, now you look worse!” she declares, laughing.
“And you look just as bad now,” Arthur grins at her, sitting up.
She looks down and groans.
“Come on, love. chuveiro with me.” He grabs her hand and pulls her to the bathroom.
“Should have gotten the fuzzy handcuffs,” Gwen mutters, following.
“Hmm?” Arthur asks, turning back and raising his eyebrows.
“What?” she respostas innocently. She knows he’s heard her and is just testing to see if she’ll say it again. She won’t.
They assess their reflections in the large mirror over the sink.
“Looks slightly better on you than on me. Not so stark,” Arthur says, tilting his head thoughtfully.
“If you say so,” Gwen rolls her eyes and steps over to the shower, turning it on and adjusting the temperature.
“Mmm,” Arthur appreciates the view as she leans into the shower. It’s a stand-up shower, but large; plenty of room for both of them. He walks over and hooks his thumbs into the waist of her panties, slowly sliding them down and off, trailing his fingers down her rear and the backs of her legs as he goes.
Gwen straightens up and steps out of them, kicking them to the side as Arthur stands, pausing to deposit a kiss on her bum as he passes it. Then he bites it gently and she jumps, giggling.
“Come on,” she turns and pulls him into the shower, reaching up to slide the curtain closed behind him.
“Ew,” they both chorus, looking down at the brown water swirling around their feet, laughing and flexing their toes in the warm water.
“It was good in theory,” Arthur says as she frowns, running his finger through some remaining paint on his chest and dotting her nose with it. “Not your fault that the product was lousy.” He kisses the dot from her nose now, trying not to make a face when he realizes that she was right: it’s terrible.
“I know. But I could have chosen something other than brown. I was blinded por the thought of…” she trails off, his lips now at her neck, his hands sliding around on her wet skin.
“The thought of what?” he lifts his head, wondering what it was she was going to say.
“The thought of licking chocolate off of you. Or of you licking chocolate off of me,” she says. “Either one.”
He grins at her. “Next time, we’ll just use Hershey’s.”
She shoves his head under the water, laughing.
“Dare,” he sputters, emerging from the water, shaking his hair at her.
“Wash me,” she commands, thrusting the chuveiro pouf at him.
“Ooo, just what I was hoping for,” he grins. He starts to reach for some body wash, but his hand stills halfway up. Choices.
He surveys the bottles. Vanilla. Coconut lime. Pearberry (whatever that is). Mandarin orange. Strawberries and cream.
“It’s like a sobremesa bar,” he mutters, reaching for the morango and squirting it on the pouf.
“Turn around,” he tells her, and she furrows her brow a moment, but turns her back on him. He steps up close behind her and brings his arms up, the pouf touching her neck first, then circling down over her shoulders, her breasts and on down, embracing her as he washes the chocolate from her body.
Gwen leans back against him, realizing that she’s probably getting mais chocolate on her back por doing this, but she doesn’t care. He’ll wash it off.
Arthur runs the sudsy pouf down, over the coarse curls at the juncture of her thighs, down, almost to her knees before heading back upwards. She can feel him crouching behind her to reach low enough. His other hand slides between her legs as he progresses north, swirling the pouf over her breasts.
His lips find her ear, nibbling lightly now, one hand stroking between her legs as he drops the pouf to caress her wet, slippery skin with his other hand.
Gwen moans, gripping his thigh behind her, and he flicks his thumb across a nipple before pinching it lightly, feeling it stiffen between his fingers.
“Slippery,” he mutters against her neck, smiling against her skin. “All slippery,” he says, moving the fingers of his other hand now to illustrate his point. She squirms, sliding her backside against him, feeling his stiffness against her.
“Arthur,” she whispers his name, turning in his arms, unable to help herself, crashing her lips onto his, pushing him against the mural of the shower, running her hands down his chest, invading his mouth with her tongue.
He clutches her to him, groaning, pressing his erection into her stomach, craving contact with her. She arches her body into him, remnants of soap from her torso transferring to his now, and she pulls him back into the water, rinsing them both.
“I have an idea,” she whispers, guiding him to the corner of the chuveiro and pushing him down on the assento molded into the wall.
“I like the way you think,” he rumbles, holding her hips as she once again turns her back on him, straddling his knees. He leans back as best he can, dropping his head back against the corner of the chuveiro as she lowers herself down over him, sheathing him inside her.
“Oh,” she sighs, lifting up and sliding back down into his lap again. He wraps his arms around her waist and holds her still a moment, pressing his lips against her back, eyes closed, exhaling slowly against her skin.
“Mmm,” she moans, dropping her head against his shoulder. Arthur loosens his grip on her, still holding her, but moving his hands to her hips, guiding her, helping her mover up and down on him.
Gwen takes one of his hands and moves it up to her breast, her hand over his, and he grips the soft mound lightly, squeezing, moving his fingers to tease her stiff nipple. His other hand slides downward, circling, flicking against her swollen button, and she cries out.
“Ooo… oh… oh, yes,” she purrs, encouraging him. She starts moving faster, harder, thrumming into his lap again and again, and Arthur’s arms tighten around her, fingers still working, staying with her all the while as she rides him.
The spray of the hot chuveiro hits their knees and feet. Steam swirls around them. Gwen’s braid is starting to unravel, and tendrils cling to her neck, her back, Arthur’s face as he buries it in her back, groaning.
“Oh… ah… don’t stop… oh, God… Arthur!” Gwen gasps, slamming down over him. He comes at the same time, thrusting his hips upward into her with a shout.
She sinks down, relaxing onto his lap, and he wraps his arms around her again, holding her tightly, nuzzling her shoulder, dotting it with kisses.
“This assento is very convenient,” Arthur mutters, tilting his face up to kiss her neck.
“I usually use it for shaving my legs,” she tells him, and he laughs. She slides carefully off of his lap, pulling him to his feet again. “My legs are a little wobbly,” she giggles.
“I’m not surprised,” he grins.
“And you somehow still have chocolate on you,” she scowls. “Come here.”
xXx
“We still have my purchase to try out, you know,” Arthur says into her hair, now washed and dried. He lifts her chin from where it’s tucked against his chest and kisses her lips softly.
“I know. But I am so done tonight,” she says sleepily, snuggling into his side.
“Yeah, I wore you out, didn’t I?” Arthur says, smug. “Ow!” he exclaims when she pinches him.
“Goodnight, Arthur,” she whispers, beijar his jaw.
“Goodnight, my sweet,” he answers, smiling down at her, beijar her forehead.
“Should have gotten the fuzzy handcuffs,” she mumbles again, and Arthur chuckles, squeezing her.
Part 9: link
“So who gets to go first?” Gwen asks, holding the jar of body paint, standing in the doorway of the living room.
Arthur looks up from the Macbook on his lap. He arches an eyebrow at her and smirks. “You’re the artist,” he challenges.
She snorts and disappears, back to the bedroom. Arthur hurriedly slams the laptop shut, fumbles with the remote to turn off the TV, and scurries after her, swearing as he bangs his shin on the coffee table.
“Nice princess sheet,” he says, striving for nonchalance now as he lounges in the doorway to her bedroom.
“I don’t want to get this crap on my good bedding,” she says, spreading the sheet over the bed. As she bends over to smooth it out, Arthur comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him.
Taking advantage of her braided hair, he kisses her neck, sliding his hands around her waist. Gwen brings her hand up to his cheek, her slender fingers trailing along his skin.
“Strip,” she tells him, pulling out of his grasp.
“Mmm,” he answers, guiding her hands to his shirt. “You do it.”
“Awfully demanding for someone who is about to get slathered with paint,” Gwen remarks, peeling his t-shirt up and off, setting it aside. She leans progressivo, para a frente and kisses his chest, slipping her fingers to the waist of the ridiculous plaid reindeer shorts, shoving them down far enough so that they fall to his feet on their own.
“That was easy,” she says, shoving him down to the bed.
“Now you,” he counters, making himself comfortable, his hands up behind his head.
“Me?”
“Yes. Wouldn’t want you to get your clothes dirty now,” he points out, crossing his feet at his ankles now, waiting patiently.
She sighs and acquiesces, knowing she’s not going to win. He watches her as she pulls her camisola, camisole tank topo, início off, his eyes darkening with appreciative desire as her breasts are bared for him. He enjoys how her body stretches as she lifts the topo, início over her head, how her hair falls back down, tickling the skin of her shoulders. seguinte her shorts slide down over her shapely hips, skimming down her legs till she steps out of them.
Clad only in a pair of black renda, rendas, laço boyleg panties, she steps over to the bed, smirking as she notices how her meager strip show has affected Arthur physically. She opens the lid to the jar.
“Smells good,” she assesses, tilting it down so Arthur can smell.
“Mmm,” he agrees, moving his arms down now, reaching out with one to stroke Gwen’s thigh, sliding it up to her backside and back down again.
Gwen smiles at him and picks up the brush. She dips it in the pot and touches it to his chest.
“Cold!” he exclaims, his body tensing.
“Sorry!” she giggles, but then she continues, making a curlicue pattern.
Ten minutos later she’s standing over him, frowning.
He opens his eyes, having relaxed despite the repeated application of the cold chocolate paint. But she’s stopped and he’s curious.
“Truth,” she mutters.
“What’s the problem?”
“I should have bought the kit with the as cores instead of chocolate,” she says.
“Why is that?” he asks.
“Because you look like I’ve smeared you with poo.”
Arthur guffaws and lifts his head. She’s done really beautiful designs on him, but she’s right. It looks like poo. He drops his head back and laughs. “Does it at least taste good?”
She dips her finger into the pot and licks it. “Ugh,” she says, “it’s all… waxy.”
“Oh, that’s the worst,” he says, still chuckling. “When it leaves that… film in your mouth…”
Gwen smacks her lips together, making a face. “I feel like a dog that’s been given amendoim butter,” she says, reaching for a glass of water sitting nearby.
“Maybe it’s better if it’s, you know, licked. Off of someone’s skin. Some willing volunteer,” Arthur offers.
“Maybe,” Gwen answers, kneeling on the cama and leaning over. She presses her tongue to his stomach, licking a painted section, feeling his stomach muscles jump as she does so.
“So?” he croaks.
“No. You taste good. The paint, not so much. Instant pudim would have been better.”
“So I can’t do you, then?” he asks.
“Seems kind of silly,” she says, pouting a little, disappointed in her purchase. She looks down, giving the jar an accusatory glare.
Arthur grabs her and pulls her over him so that she is lying on him, smearing all the paint, spreading it between them.
“Arthur!” she squeals.
“There,” Arthur declares. “Now we’ve both been painted.” He leans up and kisses her, quickly but deeply.
“You’re sticky,” she says.
“So are you. Let’s shower.”
“Ooo,” Gwen answers, sliding off of him. “Oh, God, now you look worse!” she declares, laughing.
“And you look just as bad now,” Arthur grins at her, sitting up.
She looks down and groans.
“Come on, love. chuveiro with me.” He grabs her hand and pulls her to the bathroom.
“Should have gotten the fuzzy handcuffs,” Gwen mutters, following.
“Hmm?” Arthur asks, turning back and raising his eyebrows.
“What?” she respostas innocently. She knows he’s heard her and is just testing to see if she’ll say it again. She won’t.
They assess their reflections in the large mirror over the sink.
“Looks slightly better on you than on me. Not so stark,” Arthur says, tilting his head thoughtfully.
“If you say so,” Gwen rolls her eyes and steps over to the shower, turning it on and adjusting the temperature.
“Mmm,” Arthur appreciates the view as she leans into the shower. It’s a stand-up shower, but large; plenty of room for both of them. He walks over and hooks his thumbs into the waist of her panties, slowly sliding them down and off, trailing his fingers down her rear and the backs of her legs as he goes.
Gwen straightens up and steps out of them, kicking them to the side as Arthur stands, pausing to deposit a kiss on her bum as he passes it. Then he bites it gently and she jumps, giggling.
“Come on,” she turns and pulls him into the shower, reaching up to slide the curtain closed behind him.
“Ew,” they both chorus, looking down at the brown water swirling around their feet, laughing and flexing their toes in the warm water.
“It was good in theory,” Arthur says as she frowns, running his finger through some remaining paint on his chest and dotting her nose with it. “Not your fault that the product was lousy.” He kisses the dot from her nose now, trying not to make a face when he realizes that she was right: it’s terrible.
“I know. But I could have chosen something other than brown. I was blinded por the thought of…” she trails off, his lips now at her neck, his hands sliding around on her wet skin.
“The thought of what?” he lifts his head, wondering what it was she was going to say.
“The thought of licking chocolate off of you. Or of you licking chocolate off of me,” she says. “Either one.”
He grins at her. “Next time, we’ll just use Hershey’s.”
She shoves his head under the water, laughing.
“Dare,” he sputters, emerging from the water, shaking his hair at her.
“Wash me,” she commands, thrusting the chuveiro pouf at him.
“Ooo, just what I was hoping for,” he grins. He starts to reach for some body wash, but his hand stills halfway up. Choices.
He surveys the bottles. Vanilla. Coconut lime. Pearberry (whatever that is). Mandarin orange. Strawberries and cream.
“It’s like a sobremesa bar,” he mutters, reaching for the morango and squirting it on the pouf.
“Turn around,” he tells her, and she furrows her brow a moment, but turns her back on him. He steps up close behind her and brings his arms up, the pouf touching her neck first, then circling down over her shoulders, her breasts and on down, embracing her as he washes the chocolate from her body.
Gwen leans back against him, realizing that she’s probably getting mais chocolate on her back por doing this, but she doesn’t care. He’ll wash it off.
Arthur runs the sudsy pouf down, over the coarse curls at the juncture of her thighs, down, almost to her knees before heading back upwards. She can feel him crouching behind her to reach low enough. His other hand slides between her legs as he progresses north, swirling the pouf over her breasts.
His lips find her ear, nibbling lightly now, one hand stroking between her legs as he drops the pouf to caress her wet, slippery skin with his other hand.
Gwen moans, gripping his thigh behind her, and he flicks his thumb across a nipple before pinching it lightly, feeling it stiffen between his fingers.
“Slippery,” he mutters against her neck, smiling against her skin. “All slippery,” he says, moving the fingers of his other hand now to illustrate his point. She squirms, sliding her backside against him, feeling his stiffness against her.
“Arthur,” she whispers his name, turning in his arms, unable to help herself, crashing her lips onto his, pushing him against the mural of the shower, running her hands down his chest, invading his mouth with her tongue.
He clutches her to him, groaning, pressing his erection into her stomach, craving contact with her. She arches her body into him, remnants of soap from her torso transferring to his now, and she pulls him back into the water, rinsing them both.
“I have an idea,” she whispers, guiding him to the corner of the chuveiro and pushing him down on the assento molded into the wall.
“I like the way you think,” he rumbles, holding her hips as she once again turns her back on him, straddling his knees. He leans back as best he can, dropping his head back against the corner of the chuveiro as she lowers herself down over him, sheathing him inside her.
“Oh,” she sighs, lifting up and sliding back down into his lap again. He wraps his arms around her waist and holds her still a moment, pressing his lips against her back, eyes closed, exhaling slowly against her skin.
“Mmm,” she moans, dropping her head against his shoulder. Arthur loosens his grip on her, still holding her, but moving his hands to her hips, guiding her, helping her mover up and down on him.
Gwen takes one of his hands and moves it up to her breast, her hand over his, and he grips the soft mound lightly, squeezing, moving his fingers to tease her stiff nipple. His other hand slides downward, circling, flicking against her swollen button, and she cries out.
“Ooo… oh… oh, yes,” she purrs, encouraging him. She starts moving faster, harder, thrumming into his lap again and again, and Arthur’s arms tighten around her, fingers still working, staying with her all the while as she rides him.
The spray of the hot chuveiro hits their knees and feet. Steam swirls around them. Gwen’s braid is starting to unravel, and tendrils cling to her neck, her back, Arthur’s face as he buries it in her back, groaning.
“Oh… ah… don’t stop… oh, God… Arthur!” Gwen gasps, slamming down over him. He comes at the same time, thrusting his hips upward into her with a shout.
She sinks down, relaxing onto his lap, and he wraps his arms around her again, holding her tightly, nuzzling her shoulder, dotting it with kisses.
“This assento is very convenient,” Arthur mutters, tilting his face up to kiss her neck.
“I usually use it for shaving my legs,” she tells him, and he laughs. She slides carefully off of his lap, pulling him to his feet again. “My legs are a little wobbly,” she giggles.
“I’m not surprised,” he grins.
“And you somehow still have chocolate on you,” she scowls. “Come here.”
xXx
“We still have my purchase to try out, you know,” Arthur says into her hair, now washed and dried. He lifts her chin from where it’s tucked against his chest and kisses her lips softly.
“I know. But I am so done tonight,” she says sleepily, snuggling into his side.
“Yeah, I wore you out, didn’t I?” Arthur says, smug. “Ow!” he exclaims when she pinches him.
“Goodnight, Arthur,” she whispers, beijar his jaw.
“Goodnight, my sweet,” he answers, smiling down at her, beijar her forehead.
“Should have gotten the fuzzy handcuffs,” she mumbles again, and Arthur chuckles, squeezing her.
Part 9: link
