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Joan remarked that she had enjoyed having a naked young man around the house, but that we should keep the events secret from my mother. I admitted that I was loving my nakedness, and was not at all looking forward to being completely cured, and thus required to wear clothes again. The nurse said that, regretably, she would not need to see me again. I laughed, saying that she would always be welcome.For the next few days, while still naked, I began to pose for Joan. She started with a few drawings, and sketches, before getting the paints and canvas out. The need to wear clothes again, seemed to evaporate. I was entirely comfortable, and Joan used my availability, to do what she loved doing - painting. Even when outside, doing my chores, I was usually naked. The shack was quite remote from town, with rarely a passer-by. One day, while posing, June wandered into the shack, through the door that was never locked. Her surprised eyes took in me and my nakedness, before settling on Joan,. With her back arched, she clawed Blazer's flanks. "Fuck me! Fuck me!"Blazer, snorting and bobbing his head, plowed his cock relentlessly in and out of Janice's sudsy cunt. His balls ached as Lynne mauled them. His cock swelled as Janice's cunt greased it with steamy cream.Each jab of Blazer's cock had cream squashing from Janice's pussy. The cream spattered Lynne's fingers and Blazer's balls. "Cum, Mommy," Lynne urged. "Cum all over his beautiful cock." I want to," Janice wailed. She twisted on the bench, the powerful jabs keeping her in bliss as she climbed steadily toward an explosive orgasm.Blazer plundered Janice's mushy cunt. Jizz seeped from his pisser as his balls swelled to the bursting point. He snorted, lunged hard and pushed Janice toward the end of the bench.Janice rode the horse's plunging cock. Her legs trembled. Her face twisted. She stared drunkenly at her daughter. "Lynne," she moaned. "It's heaven. I waited so long for this!" Cream, Mommy! Cream!" Lynne became.
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Her skin was a light shade of pink and her face was genuinely pleasant. Her straight hair came down to her chin level and she’d placed a grey beret jauntily atop it. This was sadly the first female company he had had in ages. The discussions regarding rent and the split-up of their other bills went smoothly. She seemed congenial enough and wanted to be a good roommate. Within half an hour, she had her own key to the apartment. Jake had a roommate. But there was so much more to her than that. Katrina was as tempestuous as her hurricane namesake. She lived a truly Epicurean life, going from one bohemian (mis)adventure to the next. She was an artist, who drew ‘whatever her muse painted in her mind’. Her goal was to give the world a feel for ‘what they saw and yet failed to see’. One of her allotted two rooms immediately became her studio. It was her thinking space, her sanctuary, where her creativity put vivid colour on the canvas. He never understood her art. To him it was a montage of.

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