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Daisy.
My Daisy.
If she takes the job, if I have to see her every day, I will break. It’s not an if but a when. I’m desperate to find some way out of this, some way to make her happy and keep her close, but not so close she ends up bent over my worktable, taking my cum morning, noon, and night.
Fuck.
My cock hardens in my jeans, and I groan, letting my head fall back against the chair and squeezing my eyes shut.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
Unbidden, an image blooms in my mind’s eye so clearly, I might have seen it a thousand times.
I haven’t though, it’s brand new, and my heart begins to beat harder in my chest as I push blindly off the chair, stumbling toward the supply closet in my haste to get what I need.
I fumble through arranging my supplies and canvas, even while I expect it to slip away. That’s what’s happened to all my other ideas for the past two years, fading away to nothing in the time it takes me to pick up a brush.
Now though, as my brush spreads the first color over the stark white canvas, I feel myself growing almost intoxicated with excitement. It’s all right here. There’s no thinking about placement or composition or color. I just need todo it.
I don’t stop to eat or sleep but work through the night, drops of paint splattering onto the floor around me as I stay locked into the feverish possession.
Oddly enough, I don’t realize what I’ve been painting until my aching arm finally falls back to my side, and I step away, the breath leaving my body as I stare at the still-wet canvas.
The strokes are broad and rough, but the form they create is unmistakable. A young woman alone and naked, her hand wedged between curvy thighs, her back bowed in pleasure. The woman is pristine, almost radiant, yet darkness creeps in on her from the edges of the canvas, forming shadowy hands which reach desperately in toward her.
It's erotic, passionate, and terrifying all at the same time, and I can’t quite believe I was the one to create it. I’ve never made anything close to this. It’snew, a wildflower emerging from my two-year hibernation.
It’s Daisy.
I doubt anyone would be able to identify her amongst the swirling colors and vague shapes, butI know. Just like I know that my filthy obsession, my need, is the shadowy hands reaching for her.
The old metal chair grinds against the cement floor as I fall back into it, my chest heaving and my cock pressing viciously against the fly of my pants. Bestowed with another wave of the same frantic energy which possessed me while I painted, I pull myself out, gripping my shaft roughly.
I’m barely aware of my hand moving as I stare at Daisy’s naked form. I’ve fallen down the damn rabbit hole, but I’m in too deep to care.
Just the thought of having her spread out like that beneath me, calling me Daddy, is enough to make me finish. My roar echoes off the room’s high ceiling as hot cum spills over my fist, and pleasure courses up my spine.
It’s not until my breathing has finally calmed and exhaustion has begun to creep in that a sense of resolution settles over me too.
I’ll just have to figure it out as I go, but Daisy is taking that job whether she wants it or not.
???
“Good morning.”
“Holy shit!” Daisy screeches, almost knocking into the woman in front of her as she jumps at the sound of my voice. Clutching her chest, she turns to face me. “Penn?”
She’s attracted the eyes of every occupant in the little coffee shop, and I give an apologetic smile to the people in line around us. “I’m sorry.” I move closer to her, pressing my hand to the small of her back and guiding her back around to face the front of the store.
“What are you doing here?” She bites out under her breath, arms crossing over her t-shirt. She’s not wearing a bra, and I imagine how easy it would be to tug down the neckline to nip and suck on her perfect little tits.
Christ, I wasn’t this horny when I was a teenager being led around by my dick.
What is she doing to me?
“I’m here to see you.” I’m aware of the eyes on me, but I don’t move my hand from her lower back. Daisy seems to realize we’re being watched too, because almost the moment her mouth opens, she snaps it shut again and glares straight ahead.
The woman in front of us finally finishes her order, and then it’s our turn, the trio of middle-aged women at the counter tittering at the sight of me.
