Coloring the canvas

The dress pooled at her waist. Naminé stood half-naked in the white room. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. Her skin was flushing pink, matching Olette’s. "Ray..." she whispered my name, tasting it. "I don't want to draw anymore."

"Good," I said, lifting her up and setting her on the white table, scattering her pencils. I stepped between her legs. "Because now, you're the art." Her hands were resting nervously on her creamy, skinny thighs. I took a moment just to look at her. To catalog the masterpiece before I ruined it.

She was breathtakingly delicate. If Olette was the warmth of the earth, curvy, flushed, and solid, Naminé was the chill of the moonlight. Her skin was alabaster, so pale it was nearly translucent, with faint blue veins tracing maps of life beneath the surface. Her frame was slender, almost fragile. Her collarbones were sharp, elegant ridges that framed a long, graceful neck. Her ribs were faintly visible as she breathed, expanding and contracting with terrified anticipation.

Her breasts were small, perfect mounds of pale flesh. They sat high on her chest, defiant against gravity. They weren't heavy or lush; they were perky and exquisite, topped with nipples the color of a soft rose petal. In the cool air of the room, those nipples hardened into tight, pink beads, pebble-hard and begging for warmth. She looked like a sculpture carved from ice, waiting for the sun to melt her.

"You're staring," Naminé whispered, her cheeks finally catching a hint of color. She tried to cross her arms to cover herself, but I caught her wrists.

"I'm admiring," I corrected. "You spent your whole life drawing others. Now you're the subject."

I stepped between her spread knees. Olette moved to her side. She looked at Naminé with genuine awe. The contrast between them was striking, Olette’s tan, sun-kissed skin against Naminé’s snowy pallor. "She's so... smooth," Olette murmured, unable to resist. She reached out, her fingers trailing down Naminé’s bare arm, then moving to cup one of her small breasts.

Naminé gasped, arching her back. The sensation of Olette’s warm hand on her cool skin was a shock. "It feels... heavy," Naminé panted. "Your hands... they feel so heavy."

"That's gravity," I said. "That's reality."

I leaned down and kissed the hollow of Naminé’s throat. Her pulse fluttered wildly against my lips. "We're going to ground you, Naminé. We're going to make you so heavy you'll never float away again."

I moved my hands to her waist, sliding the dress down the rest of the way. It fell to the floor, leaving her wearing nothing but her own skin. Her stomach was flat, a smooth plane of white leading down to her hips, which flared gently, just enough to give her a feminine shape without losing that ethereal slenderness. Between her legs, she was bare. Not a hint of hair. Just a neat, pale slit, pink and untouched for ages. A virgin in every sense of the word.

"Olette," I commanded softly. "Taste her."

Olette didn't hesitate. She was emboldened by the earlier events, and she seemed fascinated by this creature who was her opposite. She leaned in and captured Naminé’s mouth in a deep kiss. At the same time, I bent down and took Naminé’s left breast into my mouth. Naminé cried out into Olette’s mouth, a muffled sound of pure sensory overload. I swirled my tongue around the hardened pink nipple, teasing the sensitive nub. It was sweet, cool, and incredibly responsive. I sucked harder, drawing the flesh in, trying to bring blood to the surface. Naminé’s fingers dug into Olette’s shoulders. She was being attacked by sensation from two sides, heat from the mouth above, suction from the mouth below.

"Please..." Naminé whimpered, breaking the kiss to look down at me with glassy, **** eyes. "I feel... I feel like I'm burning."

"Good," I growled, releasing her nipple. It was now wet, red, and swollen, standing out starkly against her white skin. I stood up. I unbuckled my belt. Naminé’s eyes widened as she saw me release my cock. In this white room, it looked darker, angrier, and impossibly large. "That..." She swallowed hard, looking at the size of it, then at her own small body. "That is huge. I'm too small. I'm just a sketch compared to that."

"Sketches can stretch," I said. I grabbed her hips, pulling her to the edge of the table. "Open for me."

She spread her legs, trembling. I lined up, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance. I could feel the slickness, my tip was already coating with her viscous juices, proving she was aroused, but I knew instantly it wouldn't be enough. She was impossibly tight, a virgin fit that defied physics. "Too tight," I muttered, pulling back slightly. I held up my hand toward Olette. "Spit."

Olette blinked, then understood immediately. She leaned forward, gathering saliva in her mouth, and let a heavy, warm glob of spit fall onto my fingers. I took the moisture and rubbed it directly against Naminé’s entrance. Naminé gasped, her hips jerking slightly as I circled her small opening, working the spit inside to slick the way. The contrast between Olette’s warm saliva and Naminé’s cool skin was stark.

"Better," I grunted, coating the head of my cock with the remaining slickness. "Olette, hold her," I ordered.

Olette moved behind Naminé on the table, wrapping her arms around the smaller girl’s waist, resting her chin on Naminé’s shoulder. She became the anchor. "It's okay," Olette whispered into Naminé’s ear, watching me line up again. "Just breathe. Let him in."

I pushed. Slide. Naminé screamed. It wasn't a scream of pleasure; it was the sound of a barrier breaking. I **** my way in. Inch by agonizing inch. She was so tight it felt like she was gripping me with a fist. I could feel her internal walls stretching, accommodating the foreign invader. "It hurts!" she sobbed, tears spilling down her face. "It's tearing me apart!"

"It's filling you," I corrected, gritting my teeth as I buried myself to the hilt. I hit her cervix. Deep. Naminé gasped, her back arching off Olette’s chest, her mouth opening in a silent 'O'. I held still, letting her adjust. I filled her completely. She was stuffed full of me, her small belly actually distending slightly with the length of my shaft.

"Look at you," I whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. "You aren't empty anymore."

Naminé looked down. She could feel me pulsing inside her. The pain was fading, replaced by a profound sense of fullness. The void inside her was gone. "I feel... solid," she whispered, wonder in her voice.

"Now let's add some color."

I began to move. Slowly at first. The friction was incredible. Her body was cool, but the friction was creating heat rapidly. Schlick. Schlick. With every thrust, Naminé let out a small, broken noise. Olette kissed her neck, her hands roaming over Naminé’s breasts, tweaking the nipples I wasn't using. "That's it," Olette encouraged. "Feel him."

I picked up the pace. Naminé’s body began to flush. A rash of pink spread across her chest, up her neck, and into her cheeks. She was turning from marble into flesh right before my eyes. Her hips began to move, clumsily at first, then finding the rhythm. She met my thrusts, seeking the pressure. "More," she gasped, her hands gripping my arms. "Make me real! Make me stay!"

I pounded into her. The table shook. Her pencils rolled off the edge, clattering to the floor. The white room echoed with the wet sounds of sex, skin slapping skin, heavy breathing, soft moans. I was rewriting her code. Overwriting the nothingness with raw, biological instinct.

"Ray!" she wailed, her head thrown back against Olette’s shoulder. "I see... I see colors! It's bright!"

"Take it!" I roared. I grabbed her legs, wrapping them around my waist to get deeper. I drove into her with everything I had. I felt her tighten. Her climax hit her like a lightning strike. She convulsed, her inner muscles clamping down on my cock, milking me with a **** strength I didn't know she possessed. "I'm breaking!" she screamed.

I slammed into her one last time and released. I poured my seed into her. Hot, thick, and plentiful. It flooded her womb, coating the inside of the Witch, claiming the memory weaver. Naminé sobbed, her body jerking with the **** of the injection. She felt the warmth spreading through her belly, radiating out to her fingertips.

I held her there, pinned to the table, Olette holding her from behind, until the last drop was spent. I pulled out. A mix of white seed and a little bit of blood leaked from her stretched, gaping pussy. It dripped onto the pristine white table, red and white. Life.

Naminé slumped back against Olette, her eyes rolling back, her chest heaving. She was covered in sweat, flushed a deep rose color, and thoroughly used. She lifted a trembling hand, looking at her own skin. It looked vibrant. Alive. She looked at me, a lazy, **** smile spreading across her face. "I'm not cold anymore," she whispered.

I leaned down and kissed her swollen lips. "No," I said. "You're burning now."