Painting Her Like a French Girl

376 Days

Tomorrow was judgment day. The day when Amanda would pick who she'd marry. Pick who would sweep her off her feet to minimize the loss of you. It felt morbid putting it like that, but it was true.

So you were painting her. A nude portrait. Her big ass hung off the edge of the sofa, looking as ripe as the juiciest peach you could envision.

"Can you part the cheeks?" you asked teasingly.

"I think they call that porn, not art, Dani," Amanda replied drolly. She laid still, as you slowly filled the canvass with her.

"So any thoughts on your choice?" you asked, broaching it carefully. Amanda shrugged.

"They all have their pros. Bruna. God, she's woman enough for both of us. Could you imagine how pretty our kids would be? And I know you'd have a place with her as my spouse."

"What about Gus?"

"It's an opportunity to uplift. I've known Gus a long time. And he actually gets along with my parents, surprisingly enough. And he knows how to dominate you."

"Hmm, true," you thought, remembering that night when Amanda's parents fucked above you. "Mustafa?"

"I don't think he'd tolerate an ex in the picture," she admitted. "But he's so ... foreign. So Muslim. Having those rules excites me."

"Kendi?"

"C'mon, Dani, he's buttfucked you and you've sucked him off. He's the most physically gifted man I've ever been with. He's your rival. God, the thought of you watching me marry him gets me so fucking wet.'

You blushed, shifting in your seat.

"And Tanisha?"

"She has a place in my bed always," Amanda said. "Eating pussy everyday, getting all that attention ... that's a clean solution for you, hm? 'I discovered my ex was really a dyke."

You both laughed.