Monet threw away his paintbrush. He looked at me, twitching his head as a way of summoning me. I walked towards him, around the easel, and looked at h...s work. It was the most impressive painting. It seemed to consist of only one smooth line, as if he had never taken the brush off of the canvas. It was unmistakingly me, the girl in the painting. It was my body, my face, my hair. Mr. Monet had painted me. As I was staring at the canvas, I felt him touching me. He threw his arms around me and. We sit in silence staring at each other for a few seconds, I'm not sure what to say. You cock an eyebrow up and ask me, "Is there something you want?" I'm looking down at you, one hand teasing your breast, the fingertips other hand playing with the thick white cum that has begun to leak out of you more. I swallow, lick my lips. "I want to taste you." "All dirty like this? You are a dirty boy...but if that's what you want, I do need to cum so I suppose you can after you clean this mess." I start. More

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