A night at the museum

The Art Institute is a stately building of gray stone set upon a hillside overlooking the river that runs through the city. The museum closes early each day and so has been closed for a few hours by the time you and your husband arrive.

"It's cool, Paulie's cousin Tony is the night guard," he says parking near one of the loading entrances. "He's supposed to meet us here."

Brad knocks on the unmarked door. After a long waiting and lots of mugging for the security camera you can hear locks being turned and the door swings open. A burly man with olive skin and jet-black hair appears in the doorway.

He looks to be in his mid-twenties and the security uniform suits his muscular physique. You smile at him and shake his hand as Brad introduces you as

"my wife."

"Rebecca," you add, admiring the strength in his hand.

"Come on in, Paulie told me you'd be showing up," Tony leads you into the museum, which seems huge now that it is emptied of people. The lighting is reduced to a single strip and the lights set for the individual pictures. It's a very romantic atmosphere. "The rules are: don't touch none of the art, don't make a mess and don't make too much noise. Oh, and you gotta be out before four AM, cuz that's when my shift ends."

It's not even quite eleven PM according to your phone.

"We'll follow your rules," promises Brad.

"The porno paintings are on the second floor, just past the Chinese sculp-tures. Enjoy."

Tony leaves you and Brad to find your way through the museum. You feel a bit overwhelmed and even art exhibits that you have seen here before seem new and compelling in the half-light. You dawdle and meander through landscapes and portraits and murals preserved from ancient Egypt.

"This is is incredible," you say, standing before a huge painting by one of the great Impressionist painters. You plant a lingering, grateful kiss on Brad's lips. It's almost midnight by the time you finally exit through the jade and golden sculptures of China and arrive at the exhibit of French erotic art. The walls here are draped in red velvet curtains and the lighting cycles slowly between white, red, and bue LED colors. The long exhibition hall, hung with paintings of all sizes, is populated with long padded benches of red fabric and statues depicting nude figures in erotic positions. You are greeted, upon entering, by a leering statue of the devil as a nude, life-size man of great musculature, he holds his oversized phallus in his hands.

"Well hello," you say, pretending to tip a hat to the devil.

Brad laughs, but you both soon fall silent as you are surrounded by the intensely erotic imagery adorning the walls. Paintings of men and women in various states of undress give way to bathing nudes and, with increasing eroticism, lovers in the act. You find yourself most drawn to Edouard-Henri Avril's work. His original paintings are extremely graphic depictions of sex in Roman times, with plump and muscular bodies colliding, thrusting cocks pushed into mouths and into the beckoning quims of eager women. Your heart races at the sight of a man guiding his cock up the ass of a woman lying on her stomach. You sit down on the padded bench opposite this lurid painting. Behind you, a sculpture of a woman bent over and being spanked by another woman only adds to your growing heat between your thighs.

Brad sits down on the bench beside you and you give him no time to begin a conversation. You staddle his lap and kiss him, your lips hungry, your tongue forceful. Your passionate embrace is a lit fuse for your arousal. Your hand slides down his chest and finds his hardness tenting his slacks.

"You keep having that effect on me," he hisses against your lips.

"I think all this art might have something to do with it," you answer and then, with a devilish smile, you push a bead of saliva to your lips and let it spill out into the raised palm of your hand. With your other hand you unzip him and draw his cock out from his pants. Your spit-slicked palm quickly cradles his rigid prick. You press your body against him, wrapping his cock in your fist and stroking him in the tight space between you. He kisses your neck and shoulder. You look over his at a painting depicting a woman doing almost exactly what you are and it gives you a thrill, as if your own sordid behavior has been captured on the canvas.

You sit back, your ass on his knees, stroking him between your bodies. Brad's hands slide beneath your blouse and cup your breasts. The open-front lingerie gives him immediate access to your tender flesh and your sensitive nip-ples. You sigh and lick the palm of your hand again, adding more lubrication to your stroking. His cock seems to swell even more, grow even hotter.

Suddenly, a bright, white light falls across you. Frozen in terror, you realize you have been caught in the act by Tony, the burly security guard who let you in. Standing in the side entrance, he switches off the flashlight and slowly approaches. You know he saw what was happening. You make no effort to hide it and actually, slowly, resume stroking your husband's cock.

Tony stands at a respectful distance. A smile please at his full lips. He is quite the hunk.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks.

You look at Brad. Your husband only shrugs and says, "It's your night, baby."