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The World Through the Painting - unedited
Mar. 26th, 2021 09:04 pmThe World Through the Painting
Author: charisstoma
Words 985
With a wretch Adrian started up from sleep a midst soft bed coverings and was pulled back down by a hard arm looped over his waist against an equally muscled body; an arm whose hand had presently taken residence and control of his cock.
‘Where was he?’ This wasn’t his bed nor his bedroom. His bedroom didn’t have a glass wall separating the room from an arboreal landscape and its path along the stream. There were no draperies to close out the tree filtered sunlight and the possibly embarrassing discovery by anyone that might amble by during the activities the hand suggested as it started moving.
“Ahh! How.. what?” Adrian felt fingers of what must be the other hand lift up his sack, to cup and play over hidden sensitive flesh and couldn’t stifle uttering a low moan. The rest was a blur of distracting sensations that almost caused him to miss the first exploratory pressing against his asshole.
“Push out. Try to expel me and then relax,” was whispered into his ear before a sharp nip was given to it.
“Ow! Why would you ...” Adrian turned his head to prevent another nip and too late felt the steady pressure into his ass. The cock pushed in and pulled almost out repeatedly, luring him into passivity and then a cooperative enthusiasm as he tried to reach for that thing just out of reach. “Please,” he vaguely heard himself beg just before there was a growl and the rest was a rush into ecstasy and unconsciousness.
When he woke that hardness was still inside him, waiting. Reflectively he clenched and tried to move away.
“No. Stay still. We’re locked together until I say so,” Adrian heard.
“Who are you? How did I get here? I don’t remember and why can’t I remember?”
“What’s important is you found yourself into my bed after you came through the painting and my cock found its way into you.”
“I’m a kept man then?” Almost he giggled. “Is this a dream? None of this makes sense. People don’t just wander into or through paintings.” He looked at what he thought was a large window. “That is a very beautiful view of a woodland path along a stream. It’s too perfect if that’s a painting.”
“The artist does realistic paintings for those of us seeking lovers. His paintings are lures that facilitate discovering someone who is a suitable match. The paintings are released to public view and it activates the lover, who in a dream, comes through the painting.”
“How could I walk through a painting when I don’t have any paintings in my rooms. Photographs, those I have. If this is a dream, then I just need to wake up.”
He could feel the smile on the lips working against his neck. “All you had to do was see the image somewhere and it brings you here.”
“But I’m not gay,” Adrian cringed as he said it, feeling his ass tighten around the cock inside him and knowing his own cock’s response gave the lie to that statement.
“Let’s explore this, you not being gay. You might just want to change that opinion. We’ll take it a night at a time.”
“A night at a time? What is this ‘The 12 Dancing Princes’?
I don’t even know what you look like.”
“You’ll know me. Relax and let this happen.”
“I’ll know you, like in the Biblical way?” Adrian heard the sarcasm in his voice rise.
“Definitely, in what is called a biblical manner,” was whispered in his ear. “Definitely. Often and well.”
“Oh Lord.”
“How do I wake up out of this…. OH! Stop that!”
“Shhh,” was breathed in his ear. “Just feel how good we are joined together.”
The alarm clock’s brazen sound jerked Adrian’s arm and hand to erupt from his blankets in the direction of the noise. A successful slap created silence and he settled back in the bedding to rub art his face. His eyes focused on the ceiling fan as it lazily rotated and he pulled his groggy brain towards lining up a semblance of intelligent thought and taking note of the messages his body was giving him about his bladder.
“Right. Up.” He swung his feet out and down, sitting up and stopped. Two things became clear, his ass ached pleasantly, if he was honest, and the wall in front of him was a painting, so realistic that the woodland with it’s path beside a steam looked like it was a scene one could walk into. “No. No no no no.”
His bladder reasserted an urgent need and he practically stumbled ran to take care of things. ‘Perhaps’, he thought, staring at the image of himself in the mirror, ‘perhaps when I re-enter the bedroom it’ll all be back to normal’. “I hope,” he said out loud.
It was.
He sighed in relief.
And so began a recurrent series of dream trysts. Each morning the painting was there and gone by the time he’d come out of the bathroom. It could have just been a dream but his ass said otherwise and his mind supplied memories that resulted in a hard ache in another part of him that a hot shower and a soapy lubricated hand eased.
And then he woke, on the first day of his vacation, to a butt plug. A butt plug with a red heart imprinted on the base, inside him. When he removed the plug at the end of his shower routine, he’d had to take another as someone’s come oozed out.
When he finished freaking out, he looked up and talked to the ceiling. “Enough!”
Adrian heard the echo of laughter.
“Damned fairy molester,” resulted in more laughter.
“Fine.” He put his hands on his still naked hips. “I’ve got 10 days of vacation. I’d like to try this awake.”
“Finally. Bedroom. Walk in through the painting.”
Author: charisstoma
Words 985
With a wretch Adrian started up from sleep a midst soft bed coverings and was pulled back down by a hard arm looped over his waist against an equally muscled body; an arm whose hand had presently taken residence and control of his cock.
‘Where was he?’ This wasn’t his bed nor his bedroom. His bedroom didn’t have a glass wall separating the room from an arboreal landscape and its path along the stream. There were no draperies to close out the tree filtered sunlight and the possibly embarrassing discovery by anyone that might amble by during the activities the hand suggested as it started moving.
“Ahh! How.. what?” Adrian felt fingers of what must be the other hand lift up his sack, to cup and play over hidden sensitive flesh and couldn’t stifle uttering a low moan. The rest was a blur of distracting sensations that almost caused him to miss the first exploratory pressing against his asshole.
“Push out. Try to expel me and then relax,” was whispered into his ear before a sharp nip was given to it.
“Ow! Why would you ...” Adrian turned his head to prevent another nip and too late felt the steady pressure into his ass. The cock pushed in and pulled almost out repeatedly, luring him into passivity and then a cooperative enthusiasm as he tried to reach for that thing just out of reach. “Please,” he vaguely heard himself beg just before there was a growl and the rest was a rush into ecstasy and unconsciousness.
When he woke that hardness was still inside him, waiting. Reflectively he clenched and tried to move away.
“No. Stay still. We’re locked together until I say so,” Adrian heard.
“Who are you? How did I get here? I don’t remember and why can’t I remember?”
“What’s important is you found yourself into my bed after you came through the painting and my cock found its way into you.”
“I’m a kept man then?” Almost he giggled. “Is this a dream? None of this makes sense. People don’t just wander into or through paintings.” He looked at what he thought was a large window. “That is a very beautiful view of a woodland path along a stream. It’s too perfect if that’s a painting.”
“The artist does realistic paintings for those of us seeking lovers. His paintings are lures that facilitate discovering someone who is a suitable match. The paintings are released to public view and it activates the lover, who in a dream, comes through the painting.”
“How could I walk through a painting when I don’t have any paintings in my rooms. Photographs, those I have. If this is a dream, then I just need to wake up.”
He could feel the smile on the lips working against his neck. “All you had to do was see the image somewhere and it brings you here.”
“But I’m not gay,” Adrian cringed as he said it, feeling his ass tighten around the cock inside him and knowing his own cock’s response gave the lie to that statement.
“Let’s explore this, you not being gay. You might just want to change that opinion. We’ll take it a night at a time.”
“A night at a time? What is this ‘The 12 Dancing Princes’?
I don’t even know what you look like.”
“You’ll know me. Relax and let this happen.”
“I’ll know you, like in the Biblical way?” Adrian heard the sarcasm in his voice rise.
“Definitely, in what is called a biblical manner,” was whispered in his ear. “Definitely. Often and well.”
“Oh Lord.”
“How do I wake up out of this…. OH! Stop that!”
“Shhh,” was breathed in his ear. “Just feel how good we are joined together.”
The alarm clock’s brazen sound jerked Adrian’s arm and hand to erupt from his blankets in the direction of the noise. A successful slap created silence and he settled back in the bedding to rub art his face. His eyes focused on the ceiling fan as it lazily rotated and he pulled his groggy brain towards lining up a semblance of intelligent thought and taking note of the messages his body was giving him about his bladder.
“Right. Up.” He swung his feet out and down, sitting up and stopped. Two things became clear, his ass ached pleasantly, if he was honest, and the wall in front of him was a painting, so realistic that the woodland with it’s path beside a steam looked like it was a scene one could walk into. “No. No no no no.”
His bladder reasserted an urgent need and he practically stumbled ran to take care of things. ‘Perhaps’, he thought, staring at the image of himself in the mirror, ‘perhaps when I re-enter the bedroom it’ll all be back to normal’. “I hope,” he said out loud.
It was.
He sighed in relief.
And so began a recurrent series of dream trysts. Each morning the painting was there and gone by the time he’d come out of the bathroom. It could have just been a dream but his ass said otherwise and his mind supplied memories that resulted in a hard ache in another part of him that a hot shower and a soapy lubricated hand eased.
And then he woke, on the first day of his vacation, to a butt plug. A butt plug with a red heart imprinted on the base, inside him. When he removed the plug at the end of his shower routine, he’d had to take another as someone’s come oozed out.
When he finished freaking out, he looked up and talked to the ceiling. “Enough!”
Adrian heard the echo of laughter.
“Damned fairy molester,” resulted in more laughter.
“Fine.” He put his hands on his still naked hips. “I’ve got 10 days of vacation. I’d like to try this awake.”
“Finally. Bedroom. Walk in through the painting.”
