Chapter Three

They continued the lively banter throughout the walk. Cole was impressed by Krystal’s ready wit and sunny disposition once the calm veneer of professionalism fell away.

She pointed out the different buildings and facilities they passed, questioning him about his life and interests between friendly barbs and self-deprecating jokes, a completely different woman than the prim teacher he met in the auditorium.

She never spoke down to him as a junior or made assumptions based on his muscular physique. Her smiles were radiant, like the sun peeking out from behind her frumpy clothing, and Cole found himself opening up more and more as they spoke. Peeling away his sardonic shell with her understated charms.

“Why do the freshmen students get placed in pairs?” He asked as they rounded a second phallus-inspired water feature, this one a terracotta mushroom burbling water down its cone-shaped cap. “There was no mention of class schedules or course prerequisites. Surely that’s important.”

“Not really,” Krystal shrugged. “Viktor believes in free-range education. The students learn as much from collaborating with each other as from lessons delivered by faculty members. Art can’t be packed into conveniently labeled boxes, in his opinion. It grows wild and unfettered, guided by like-minded hands. I actually agree with his philosophy on this matter. It’s part of the reason I’ve stuck around.”

“So he may be a dog, but he’s still a genius?” Cole quipped, hip-checking her as they turned onto a gravel path. “And you’re okay being partnered with a novice like me?”

“Something like that. The health cover is really great too—plenty of perks in this job.” She smirked cheekily before stopping at a frosted glass door. “Here we are, your new home away from home.”

Cole looked about. He had been so engaged in their flirtation that the journey had flown by in a blink. The area around them was populated by humble, single-story residences of a modular design. Each had a small front garden and a low fence for privacy.

The exteriors were starkly minimalist; white weatherboard with a few sliding windows and the aforementioned door, which Krystal unlocked using an electronic keypad set in the wall.

“These apartments are generally reserved for seniors and those with the financial means to reside on campus.” She said, ushering him inside. “Your rent will be covered at the academy's expense, naturally. It comes fully furnished, equipped with all necessary amenities and a private studio.”

Holy crap, the place really put the ‘studio’ into ‘studio apartment.’

It had an open floorplan with a bedroom laid out across from a cozy living space and kitchenette. An enclosed bathroom tucked in a corner, but what really dominated the room was the art studio.

Taking up half the space, it was outfitted with easels and stands, worktops and cabinets, trays and boxes of supplies still in their original packaging, including a stack of blank canvases leaned against the wall. Cole’s fingers itched at the sight of several high-quality brushes in an attractive wooden case.

Even the lighting was adjustable, mounted on rotating fixtures with dimmer switches, and a compact digital stereo sat on a side table, ready to set a creative ambiance.

“This is… incredible.” He breathed. “All of this is for me?”

“You like?” Krystal smirked, resting a gentle hand on his back. “I’ll email you the code for the door, and we’ll finish the grand tour, but there’s something you need to do first.”

“Name it.” Cole was awestruck. His workspace at home was the back of his parent’s cluttered garage.

“I want to see what you’ve got. Paint me and prove you’re as gifted as Viktor Von Gloot says.”

After a moment of stupefied silence, Cole launched into a flurry of activity.

It wasn’t her challenge that spurred him into action but a visceral desire to create. He had known the modestly-attired brunette for less than an hour, and in that short time, the urge to capture her hidden spunk and underemphasized beauty gripped his soul.

Krystal watched him pick out oils and paints, testing viscosities on his forearm before discarding some and keeping others. The canvas was next, a smaller size for this impromptu piece, then the brushes–tipped with real hair–before he was prepared.

“Where do you want me?” She asked nervously, taken aback by his sudden intensity. “I’m your model for this session. Is there a pose or position you prefer?”

“However you feel most comfortable.” Cole gestured to a padded stool centered before the easel. “Seated is fine if you like.”

“And my clothing?” she asked, taking a seat and fiddling with the top button of her sweater. “On or off?”

“Whatever you feel comfortable wearing.” He reiterated, playing with the stereo until classical music filtered through the speakers. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

A puzzled frown marred Krystal’s fine features then she stood, boldly discarding the cardigan and long skirt. Her sensible shoes and formal blouse went next, revealing an astonishing amount of smooth, curvaceous flesh clad in a surprisingly provocative black thong and bralette.

Cole was shellshocked, stricken dumb by the ripeness of her mature figure and overwhelming femininity as she unclasped her lacy bra.

“You specialize in nudes if I remember correctly,” Krystal winked impishly before letting her enormous tits make the atomic drop, perky and buoyant despite their hefty size, and tossed the useless undergarment away. “Wasn’t that what the Dean said?”

She spun on her toes like a ballerina, bending seductively at the waist to give him a prime view of her butt–two firm, luscious hemispheres of succulent booty–before peeling the tiny thong down thicc thighs and exposing her hairless mound.

“Jesus Christ.” He tugged at the collar of his tight turtleneck as she straightened defiantly. “You’re breathtaking, Krystal. Why hide it?”

“You met Viktor.” She shot him a cheeky grin, mounting the stool and crossing her long, silky legs. “He employs me to be a teacher and administrator, not as eye candy to be ogled. I dress accordingly to deny him the pleasure.”

“Then I thank you for allowing me the privilege,” Cole said solemnly, running his eyes down the flat plane of her belly to the heavy contours of her spankable hips and ass. “Do you mind if I smoke as I work?”

“You can do whatever you like, Cole. Let me witness your creative process.”

Sparking a cigarette, he rested it on the edge of his palette and began to mix paints on the circular board. Krystal took the opportunity to slip off her glasses and shake out her dense braid of rich chocolate hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders and breasts like a dark, shiny waterfall.

Cole’s cock lurched in his pants at the vision of womanly perfection posing for him. He consciously ignored the meaty length creeping down his left leg to focus on capturing her beauty, inside and out.

He remembered that final night with Lisa, the raw emotion that had scalded his heart as he painted, knowing they would be separated in the morning. Bitterness and pain blended with loss and longing had guided his hand as they both wept, then made love for the last time.

He hadn’t been with anyone in the months that followed. The wound was too fresh, and he’d dived into his art to fill the hollow she left.

Now, though, Cole could feel the urgency to imprint this moment, this glorious creature, on the canvas with the rising tide of passion in his chest. The light struck her flawless skin just so, and the lilting orchestral score carried him on symphonic winds.

His hands practically blurred–the brush an extension of his will–streaking lines and daubs of color in a frenzied fugue to creation. Snippets of their short acquaintance flashed across his mind; her vibrant smiles and joyous laughter, the shared banter and mutual respect, and even the few brief instances of physical contact were translated onto the linen canvas.

Throughout it, Krystal remained poised. Her back was straight, legs crossed, and chin held high like a reigning empress, as her tourmaline gaze grew more curious. She tried questioning him a few times, asking if he wanted her to shift or change position in some way. Cole's answers were monosyllabic, often accompanied by paint-stained hand gestures, until they settled into a convivial silence broken only by the music.

There was no telling how much time passed before he was finished. The rosy hues of sunset glowed through the windows when Cole lowered a palette knife, wiped the edge clean on his sleeve, and stepped back to critically inspect the final touches.

“I–I’m done.” He let out a ragged breath, coated to the elbows in paint and sweating like a racehorse. “Thanks again… for the vulnerability and trust you showed in baring yourself to me.”

“Already?” Krystal glanced suspiciously at the clock in his bedroom. “Are you certain? That wasn’t an extended session…”

“It’s not a large portrait.” Cole waved at the easel, fumbling for his cigarettes with numb fingers. “Eight by ten inches is hardly a chore. Though I’ll admit, you inspired me to new heights. Goddam, I’m fucking spent.”

Heedless of her nudity, she cautiously approached him and gasped upon viewing the completed work.

“Oh… Oh, Cole. It’s incredible!” Krystal’s hands flew to her mouth, and tears welled in the corners of her eyes. “Is this how you see me?”

The portrait depicted the buxom brunette seated on a stone outcropping rather than the plain stool, staring defiantly out over a mountain vista like a heroine from ancient myth. She bared her nudity like a point of pride and challenged the world with a coy quirk of her lips. A lance of sunshine pierced the clouds like a spotlight of divinity centered on her, making her blaze like a beacon of womanly strength on the rocky perch.

“That’s the soul I’ve glimpsed in the brief time we’ve spent together.” Cole discarded the packet of smokes when she turned to face him. “That’s you, Krystal—dauntless and irrepressible. Thriving despite the hardships life has heaped on you. Audacious and brilliant to behold.”

She reached out a trembling hand to rest on his chest as the tears coursed down her flushed cheeks. He wiped them away with a thumb, leaving a smudge of azure paint in their place.

“But… but she’s so beautiful.”

“That’s because you are beautiful.”

Krystal lunged forward, throwing her arms around Cole's neck and mashing their lips in a sudden, torrid kiss. Like a storm breaking, all the tension he hadn’t realized was there crashed through him like a thunderbolt at the taste of her tongue.

Cushiony curves melted against him as she moaned into the kiss. Fingers raked through his hair, and her warmth permeated his clothing. Cole couldn’t help himself, snaking hands over those wide hips to fill his palms with firm ass-flesh.

Christ, she had a magnificent rump–huge and exquisitely pliable–each spherical cheek overflowed his groping grasp, flexing as she ground herself against him.

“Oh god, it’s like you captured the inner me, my essence, on canvas.” Krystal mewled into his mouth, tobacco and mint on her breath. “Or maybe she’s the woman I want to be… who I should be.”

“The two of you are one and the same.” Cole growled, bending low to bury his face in her neck. “I painted the goddess in front of me, nothing more.”

His stiffening cock throbbed when she rubbed a smooth thigh across the thickness extending down one pant leg. That was something he’d have to address soon before they went much further. It had a tendency to startle potential lovers or scare them away entirely.

“There’s something we should talk about–”

“I need to see it again!” Krystal twisted in his embrace to stare at the easel, snuggling back into his torso and nestling his growing bulge in her tremendous butt crack. “Oh, Cole! You truly have a gift.”

“Fank woo.” He slurred through a faceful of flying hair. His twitching fingers now rested perilously close to her bald pussy. “About that talk–”

“No, it’s me who should be thanking you.” She purred, turning again and planting another sizzling kiss on his lips. All the spinning was making him dizzy. “I feel… exposed. No, that’s not right… I feel unveiled. As though you were a sculptor who saw the shape trapped in the unhewn marble and chipped it away to reveal the masterpiece hidden within.” Her hands yanked at his belt buckle. “Here, let me show you how thankful I am.”

A big thank you to the anonymous supporter who commissioned this fun tale. You know who you are. Advanced chapters can be found on my BuyMeACoffee page. Cheers for reading!