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Saturday, March 5, 2011

Watch Me by Elyzabeth M. VaLey

He watched her profile from a distance. She always came to the museum on Sundays and always stopped to stare at the same painting for at least 5 minutes. As always he saw her shudder and then take a deep breath. Usually, she’d move away to another painting, but this time she lingered. He wondered, not for the first time, what her thoughts were.

Lilly. He had met her by accident while in line to sign up for some extra courses at university. He had enlisted in this art course because she had. At the moment, he had had no idea who she was, but the prospect of seeing that pretty girl everyday was convincing enough. Besides, how hard could a course on art be? He raked a hand through his dark long hair. It was much harder than he had ever imagined. His eyes darted back to Lilly’s still figure. But, she had always been there ready to help him. While his crush on her grew, their interactions had never gotten much farther than studying together or a few class fieldtrips. The semester was almost over and who knew when he would see her again. It was now or never.

“Courage, man,” he whispered to himself as he approached her. “What do you see on that painting?”

Lilly turned to look at him, smiling.

“Don’t you see it?”

He looked at the painting. It was the painting of a woman sitting on a stool in front of a mirror. Her flimsy white gown fell off her shoulders revealing a glimpse of her breasts.

“Look at the detail, Jonathan,” Lilly prompted him.

He stared harder. A surprised gasp escaped his lips. The painting was old and had deteriorated through the ages, but he saw in the reflection of the mirror a doorway and, standing there, the figure of a man.

“There’s a man watching her,” he whispered in awe.

“Yes,” Lilly said next to him, while she wrapped her hand around his arm. “He is. Look closer, Jonathan. There is more to the painting.”

His heart beat erratically at Lilly’s touch but he tried to concentrate and looked at the painting again. Suddenly, the two figures transformed. It was no longer the anonymous man and woman. It was the painter and his lover. It was Lilly and himself.

Standing in the doorway, naked, he watched Lilly’s reflection in the mirror. Slowly she lowered the simple white gown. It slipped and his breath caught in his throat as he glimpsed the top of her creamy white breasts. She dipped it lower and her pink nipples came into view. He licked his lips. He wanted to lick, suck and pinch those taught peaks until they became hard as stones and she begged him to stop, but he had to wait.

As if she read his thoughts she weighed her breasts, squeezing them gently. He saw more than heard her gasp. Her lips formed an “O”, then her tongue darted out, wetting them and he envisioned her soft warm mouth around his cock. He groaned in despair. She looked up and their eyes met. She smiled but she did not give him permission to move.

She tugged at the gown and it finally slipped past her waist, over her hips and pooled around her feet. He swallowed hard as he took in her beauty. She was marvelously voluptuous. Her breasts were large and round, but not too big; they fitted perfectly in the palms of his hands. Her stomach was not flat, but had what he loved to call baby fat. Little rolls which he loved to pinch and tickle just to hear her giggle. Her legs were thick and well sculpted. Her ass was firm and large, perfect to be spanked. Oh and how he loved to trace her crack with his finger. She’d always shiver under his touch and he’d grin in appreciation. He closed his eyes in remembrance. His hard cock twitched at the memory.

He opened his eyes and saw her watching him, waiting. She raised an eyebrow and he nodded. She smirked in a mischievous way and he growled. How she loved these silly games when all he wanted was to pummel into her.

He struggled for breath as she lowered her hand and touched her vagina. Ah, ambrosia. No, these were no silly games. He loved watching her just as much as she loved showing off to him. The hair that protected her pussy was neatly trimmed. Her legs were still closed and he ached to see more. She sat down on the stool that was placed before the mirror and opened her legs wide. He almost came from the mere vision. He chanced a glance at his cock and saw precome glistening on its bulbous tip. Gods, she drove him wild. When would she allow him to get nearer? He could smell her from this distance, barely a few steps away from her. He could smell her arousal, and he could see it too. In the dim light he could see the hairs between her legs glistening with moisture, like flowers with morning dew.

Bracing himself to what she would do next he looked at her again. She had spread her pussy fold with her hands allowing him an even better vision. He balled his hands into fists and curled his toes. Until she said so he could not go to her and bury himself deep within her wet cunt.

He watched in fascination as she introduced a finger inside her moist entrance. He heard her sigh and saw her shoulders sag slightly as she relaxed. A low grunt escaped his lips. She did not look up at him. Concentrating on her task, she pushed another finger inside and then a third digit. In and out they moved. Her body shook and shuddered with her own ministrations. Her other hand flew to her clit and she began to rub it in slow circles. He growled as her head fell back and moans of delight escaped her.


That was all he needed. It was barely an audible whisper; perhaps he had even imagined it. It didn’t matter; he couldn’t take this torture anymore. He was suddenly picking her up, and sitting himself on the stool. Grabbing her waist he roughly pulled her to him. Without further ado, she straddled him and impaled herself on his hard cock, her need as great as his. She cried out his name as her walls contracted around him and she orgasmed. With a groan he pushed into her twice before being unable to hold back anymore and finding his own release. He looked into her eyes and…

“Do you see it now?”

The fantasy dissolved and Jonathan shuddered and turned to look at the real Lilly. She stared up at him, her hand still resting on his arm, a blush on her cheeks and intensity in the depths of her brown eyes. He looked at the painting again and realization dawned on him. The glass covering the canvas reflected the gallery and the doorway from which he always watched Lilly.

Jonathan searched her face and grinned.

“You do see it now,” she stated, her blush creeping down her neck.

“Yeah, I see it,” Jonathan laughed. “And to think I thought I was the one watching you.”

Lilly giggled. “We honored the title of the piece.”

“What would that be?” Jonathan asked, as he snaked his hand around Lilly’s waist and pulled her closer.

“The Watcher.”

“Then let him keep on watching us, after all, -art must be an expression of love or it is nothing-," he quoted right before bending his head and capturing the lips of the girl that made his heart understand the beauty of art.

About the author: Appearances are deceiving. By day usually shy and quiet; another face in the crowd. By night Elyzabeth’s calm demeanor transforms. Words flow from her fingers giving life to elaborate fantasies of love and desire. Her first novella “Teaching Alisse” came out this December from Silver publishing. Visit her realm at

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