Chapter Six

Sunrise found Cole taking his morning exercise around his new seat of learning. Dressed in tired sneakers, gray sweatpants, and a comfortable tank top, he jogged through aesthetically pleasing green spaces, past the avant-garde functionalist architecture, and across an empty quad dotted with raised garden beds.

Von Gloot’s Private Academy of Fine Arts was certainly picturesque. It didn’t sprawl like other college campuses Cole had visited, but the not-so-modest grounds were perfectly designed to showcase the many subtle splendors they held.

…and some not-so-subtle ones, he noted, giving a wide birth to an anatomically exposed statue of the goat-legged god Pan playing his signature pipes amid a decorative shrubbery.

Yikes, it was too early in the morning to cop an eyeful.

Running always helped clear Cole’s head. Considering his sudden reversal in fortunes, going from a struggling artist with almost zero prospects to a full-ride scholarship student at an (apparently) illustrious art institute he hadn’t known existed before yesterday–in his hometown, no less!–was a lot to process.

That was without factoring in the wild night of sheet-painting passion he’d just spent in the arms of his assigned mentor and muse; Miss Krystal Laurier. The gorgeous, full-figured goddess who’d modeled naked for him then turned from a stern teacher/administrator into a sexually ravenous hellcat in heat after viewing the finished portrait.

The shower and a show she’d promised after their first round of rampant rutting had been steamy by every definition of the word.

They had been filthy with paint and sex. She’d scrubbed down every inch of Cole, soap suds coating her rich curves as she writhed against his athletic body, paying extra attention to his restless anaconda swaying under the jets of hot water.

The fat-bootied brunette had stroked and teased him back to full mast with lavish kisses and lust-laden whispers before uncoupling the shower head, pressing it against his throbbing ball sack and carrying him across the finish line.

Cole’s sticky load had sprayed her big tits, smooth belly and thicc thighs like a fire hose. Moaning whorishly beneath the deluge of gooey spunk, she’d immediately gotten herself off in an cock-stiffening demonstration of the nozzle’s massage setting.

It was the starter pistol for a frenzied night of toe-curling, primal fucking. A marathon of sex that left them both sweaty and boneless with bliss. They’d passed out in the spooning position with his stupendous length nestled snugly in her juicy thigh gap and a sleepy hand sandwiched between her creamy cleavage.

Cole thanked his lucky stars for the vigor of youth and the appetites of beautiful older women. Despite the few hours of rest, he felt energized—reawoken—as though he’d snoozed away the months since losing his high-school sweetheart Lisa and was only now returning to reality.

For all their short acquaintance, Krystal had rekindled a flame in his chest that had been sorely missed. The sex was amazing too, sure, but that took a backseat to the burning need to express himself artistically after so long.

It hadn’t been twenty-four hours, and Cole was already chomping at the bit to get back into that well-stocked studio, to daub color onto canvas, to capture a hint of that glorious angel’s inner spark.

To create!

But he couldn’t lose himself to the impulse yet. Everything was happening so fast. Golden as this opportunity was, he still needed to tell his parents, pack his few belongings, and move out of home. That was a lot of organizing…

“Out for a brisk morning constitutional, my boy?” A chipper voice cut through his ponderings. “Good to see, good to see! Does the heart no end of benefit to get the blood pumping and kick start the day.”

The elderly Dean; Viktor Von Gloot appeared beside him, popping out of nowhere like a jack-in-the-box, clad in a neon purple sweatsuit complete with a striped wristband and headband set stolen straight from the 80’s.

His bald dome reflected the sunrise, and his beak of a nose thrust forward, presumably for better aerodynamics. The man was built like a scarecrow, dressed like a gigolo, and was surprisingly spry–easily keeping pace with Cole.

“Dean! I didn’t… uh, where did you–”

“Call me Viktor, lad. That title is so stuffy.” He guffawed, a wide grin splitting his flapping beard. “We’re just two buddies out for an early jog. No one around to poo-poo us for being informal. How was your first night in the new digs? Did Miss Laurier get you settled in okay? She’s a peach, I tell you. Been trying for years to get a peek behind those curtains, if you catch my meaning.”

The ancient lecher wriggled his bushy eyebrows suggestively, aiming a jaunty elbow at Cole’s ribs which he dodged with a nimble sidestep.

“The accommodations are great, sir. Krystal–um, Miss Laurier was very helpful in showing me the ropes.” Cole would need another shower to wash off the greaseball’s slime. “She’s a credit to your academy, sir. A fine, upstanding lady.”

Providing dirty details to a horny goat like Viktor was the last he wanted. The older coot didn’t seem perturbed in the least by his tactful reply.

“She is, that she is.” The Dean sighed wistfully, steering them in a loop back towards the housing quarter. “A better administrator than I deserve, really. I had hoped… Well, never mind. Plenty of other fish in the sea, eh, my boy?”

“Sir?”

“Victor, you must call me Vicktor! No matter. I am alight with anticipation to see what evocative pieces you produce inspired by the many forms of beauty I have cultivated here in my institute. Wonders of nature, innovations of design,” his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “and the women. Speaking of which…”

Cole realized they had returned to the lane of single occupancy abodes to which he had been assigned. Two doors down from his compact studio was a spiky-haired blonde stretching on a yoga mat with her fat, heart-shaped ass propped up over the token fence line bordering her small front yard.

The picture of a punk rebel, she was naked except for a nearly invisible flesh-toned bikini bottom that rode the crack of a shapely booty that was equal to–if not larger–than his teacher-turned-lover, revealing lightly tanned acres of heavily inked skin. Cole nearly tripped over his slackened jaw. An elaborately detailed tattoo of a mythical beast ran from the backs of her extended legs, over the full contours of her delicious rump, up her exposed back to disappear over a downward-facing shoulder.

Von Gloot sucked his teeth in appreciation. A foul slurping sound that made Cole wince with disgust.

“Whozzat?” The raised butt dropped out of view to be replaced with a scowling face. “I see you, Von Gloot! I’ve warned you–”

“Whoops, time to skedaddle!” The Dean hooted, turning on a dime to beat a hasty retreat. “Talk again soon, lad. Don’t be a stranger. My office door is always open!”

With a wave goodbye, he bolted off, but not before Cole read the giant letters printed across the rear of his hideous sweatpants.

“BADUMP.” He facepalmed with a groan. “That guy is un-fucking-believable.”

“Tell me about it, but what about you?” The offended femme turned her ire on him. “Looking for a free show? ‘Cause I’ll tell ya that hanging with that old buzzard hurts your street cred in this neighborhood.”

Cole lifted his palms and shrugged. “Only met the dude yesterday. I was actually admiring your tats. Is that a neo-traditionalist depiction of a tiger on your back? I’d love to check out your artist's Insta.”

Her sharp hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion, but she rose to stand, holding the thin yoga mat over her front.

“Who the hell are you, and what do you know about needle art?”

“I’m Cole, your neighbor from two houses up.” He nodded toward his studio. “Moved in yesterday, and I honestly don’t know much beyond the basics regarding living canvases. Always keen to learn more, though. It’s kind of a side fascination of mine. The commitment to a piece permanently etched onto a human body feels really impactful to me, you know?”

He wasn’t lying, and his honest sincerity seemed to leech the hostility from the underdressed coed’s expression. Her features were quite stunning when not twisted in scorn.

That smooth complexion with high cheekbones, soft lips, and thin eyebrows made for an expressive countenance under a closely shaved scalp sporting a short, honey-blonde mohawk that complimented her rockstar aesthetic.

“Yeah… Well, welcome, new guy. I’m Lita, and you won’t find my tattoos on Instagram because they aren’t on there. I model my own work, stipple my own designs, and only trust two experts to transfer them properly when I can’t do it myself.” Lita waggled a thumb towards her back, leaving just one hand clasping the foam mat. Thorny vines traced from her fingers down her forearm. “A photographer friend helps me set up exhibitions for galleries and parlors. Oh, and the tiger on my back is actually Kai Ming Shou, a beast from Chinese folklore. Technically the style is realistic trash polka, not neo-traditionalist.”

Cole was impressed by the knowhow and integrity the spunky blonde succinctly laid out. Nine out of ten girls with her good looks and eclectic tastes would be splashing pics of their latest ink across every social platform they could sign onto.

Lita’s devotion to preserving the prestige and nobility of her craft was laudable.

He inclined his head respectfully. “May I see it again, now the peeping Tom is gone?”

That got a wry smirk out of her as she gave him an appreciative once-over, devouring him with her stare.

“That old badger passes by every morning, trying to ogle me.” She said, turning a half circle. “Besides, he’s harmless and I get a kick from chasing him off. I could cover up more but refuse to let someone else dictate how I dress.”

“I wouldn’t dream of suggesting something so presumptuous. It’s your body.”

And what a body it was. Cole was treated to a show as she spun. No squashed sideboob flashed him–Lita was unarguably a fully-fledged member of the itty bitty titty committee–but that hardly mattered when her plump posterior hove into view.

Those two heavenly hemispheres of brilliantly supple ass-cleavage fought to monopolize his attention. The minuscule slip of a bikini concealed nothing, swallowed between those mouthwatering cheeks. Cole’s cock stirred in sleepy admiration as he dragged his gaze away to examine her tattoos.

The tiger beast–Kai Ming Shou, reared along the length of Lita’s spine. Its claws sank into her shoulders, a snarling head and fur-patterned body dominated her back while several tails ran across her generous glutes to rest upon the tops of her thighs.

It was astonishingly life-like. Caught in an aggressive pounce. Clearly protecting its territory. Protecting her.

“Incredible.” Cole uttered reverently. “The oriental influences are obvious now, knowing the history behind the piece. Those swirls and geometric patterns…”

“...were inspired by pre-Qin dynasty murals. Fourth century BC.” She beamed, preening under his close scrutiny before turning to show off a shoulder-to-wrist tattoo sleeve. “I have a few others. Mostly botanicals. I adore capturing life in bloom. I did this whole piece myself, using a mirror to reach the trickier parts.”

The branches of a blossom tree wove down her arm like the arrival of spring, tiny red flowers vivid against her tanned skin. The hyper-realistic style was detailed beyond belief, almost lifting off her flawless flesh toward the sun.

“And this was my first tattoo,” Lita spun to reveal her opposite side in profile, gesturing at the point where her flaring hip connected to her jaw-dropping ass. A floral crown with vicious thorns adorned the top of her long leg. “Took me ages to sketch, but it just felt right once it was done. Like that was where it belonged. That was when I realized this is who I wanted to be.”

Cole knew that feeling well.

He remembered the moment when playing with paints and brushes graduated into a serious passion. His parents had dragged his younger self to a gallery for a school fundraiser, and he’d been entranced by the portraiture hung upon the featureless walls.

Time had lost meaning as he stared at thickly proportioned women half-hidden behind houseplants, draped cloth, and fruit bowls while something took hold of his soul.

“Amazing.” Cole gasped in pure reverence, struck dumb by the similarities in their artistic journeys. “You have turned your body into an exquisite exhibit, Lita. It is a privilege to view. Sincerely, thank you.”

He tried to avert his gaze, the blood rushing to tent his inadequate sweatpants. Lita wasn’t blind and didn’t seem upset by the unexpected development, biting her lower lip.

She smirked knowingly, spinning to bare Kai Ming Shou on her back again, shaking her pillowy posterior in that teensy bikini again.

“I can wag the tails too, wanna see?”

“As much as we’d all like to see that,” A teasing voice called from nearby. “Can it wait until after breakfast? The food is getting cold.”

Krystal lounged in the doorway of his residence, grinning impishly. A small turquoise bathrobe struggled to contain her prodigious curves. The lower hem dusted those scrumptious thighs, a scant inch below the apex of her silky legs.

Cole stiffened in more ways than one at her sudden appearance. She radiated a freshly-fucked glow, her rich chocolate tresses tied back in a messy ponytail and glasses perched on her nose. She looked every bit like the sexy librarian after a joyous night of rigorous, illicit sexcapades.

“Krys! You’re mentoring the new kid on the block?” Lita’s hazel eyes shot from the smug brunette to Cole, then back again, widening with realization. “Wait, those noises last night… half the street couldn’t slee–”

“I’ve got to steal my student away for a bit.” Krystal interrupted, sweet as a candy shop. “Boring orientation stuff, you understand. We’re still on for lunch today, yeah? Looking forward to it, girlfriend.”

Cole bid a farewell and let her usher him back inside before the nearly naked blonde could rally an objection.

A big thank you to the anonymous supporter who commissioned this fun tale. You know who you are. Chapters are posted on my BuyMeACoffee page weeks in advance. Supporters can read them for the price of a single cuppa joe. Cheers for reading!