A sculptor creates a statue of a woman in the throes of passion.
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The clay had been worked so long it was warm to my touch. I had been sculpting it for hours and hours, I was not even sure if it was day or night anymore. Out of the slippery wet clay I had formed her though, a thing of pure beauty.
My hands had drawn her from the earth I worked. Like some elemental force she had taken form before me, I was only the instrument any more, she was the artist. Her heavy breasts were formed by my hands but I was breathless to see how they would turn out. My fingers traced the large nipples and pulled them to perky perfection and I was amazed.
I allowed my fingers to play over her long hair as it cascaded down her shoulders. So wet and warm, almost like flesh it was. I swear I could feel her breathing as I rubbed across the breast bone and throat. She was almost alive under my hands. She was. . .perfect.
As I moved around, the left over clay sloshed at my feet forgotten. I had long ago tossed my shoes and socks away and felt it as it squished between my toes. My pants had become so saturated as I added water to the clay I had also thrown them to the corner and at some point, I am not sure when, I had discarded my shirt and underwear as well. As my hands continued to work her I was naked and dirty and aroused and in almost a trance. My body touched the clay at various points and left traces of gray streaking over my skin. I was almost as much a statue as she was.
I found myself working closer and closer to her as she became more and more powerful. As I formed her face I was straddling her, my semi hard cock nestled between her luscious breasts. As I moved this way and that the warm clay tickled like a tongue running up and down my shaft.
As I finished her hair I was pressed against her nude back, her body against me. My hands played with several loose strands, molding the clay to give her a sensual look, hair tousled in passion. My fingers defining it, refining it, until I could almost smell perfumed shampoo on her hair. Earthy and aromatic to my nose. I closed my eyes and allowed my body to press tight against her. I swear she was breathing in time with me.
My hands went down over her belly and tickled out a belly button. I laughed as I did because I knew that was why she was smiling that sexy smile for me. She was waiting for me to create her fully so she could find release. She needed me to finish her so that she could finally succumb to her needs.
I widened her hips gently. She looked fertile and womanly. No twiggy stick figure, she had curves men would die for. Her legs strong and heavy to my hands, I parted them and trembled in excitement.
Sculpting the muscles I paid close attention to each leg, rubbing and caressing it until it was right. Her thighs and calves took shape and they trembled at my touch.
Her feet flowed into the class as did the lower half of her ass. I wanted so much to lift her up so I could rub and feel the curve of each ass cheek. So that my hands could grab a hold of her and squeeze, lifting her slightly so I could enter her. But she was meant to be thus and I did not question it.
Finally I let my fingers dip between her legs and begin to form her pubic hair. Then grabbing a flat sculpting blade I shaved her bare. She was bare, natural, laid out for everyone to see. that was how I wanted her, how she wanted her. I was shaking, excited, almost at a frenzy.
My fingers found her outer folds in the clay and worked them until they were right. Feeling deeper into her pussy I found the soft, hot inner folds and played with them, slowly circling the clit until it hardened under my fingers and then I gently laid the hood over it.
My fingers, at long last, penetrated her. The pose immediately relaxed slightly, leaning back into the sensation of the fingers entering her. I slid them in and out until her pussy formed around them, sucking them in, begging them to create her. The clay was getting wetter and wetter and warmer and warmer. I fought the urge to lick the excess as it drizzled down my hands. Instead I concentrated on my fingers sliding in and out and in and out, my thumb playing across the clit, making sure it was perfect.
Finally the statue shuddered on my hand and pushed down hard against my final penetration. It shivered and the mouth slid open a touch more in ecstasy. The hair was perfect, the nipple rock hard, breasts slightly pillowing to the side and yet still perky. The thighs longed to clench I knew, but that was not to be. The throat drew in, in orgasmic delight. The eyes half closed as she came. . .forever.
I pushed the platform quickly to the kiln, desperate not to lose the moment. The fire was hot as passion as I pushed her in and closed the door behind her. The whoosh of the fire growing higher excited me. I allowed my hand to slide up and down my shaft, her wet clay making me slick in my own grasp. I turned the fires higher and stroked faster.
I came, I remember that but I also know I did not stop. I kept stroking and cumming as she was fired. Our sex was vital, I needed that moment frozen in time. Faster and faster I stroked for her until finally the bell sounded and the whoosh was of the fires receding the passion spent I slumped down. She was too hot to touch now. . .too soon after. . .I would wait. . .I would sleep. I lay down on the cold floor and my eyes closed.
“I would really like to know how your pieces always seem to capture the very instant of release.” The critic said, plying me for more information.
I smiled and shrugged and winked at her. “Luck?” I said and she laughed.
“Somehow I don’t think it is luck.” She had a wry smile like she was privy to some private joke. I smiled in return and took another glass of champagne from the passing waitress. Sipping it I admired her, she was still coming. I smiled.
“You are very proud of your work aren’t you?” She asked.
“Of course.” I replied. “I’m in love with it.”
The critic smiled because she thought I was witty. I smiled because I knew I had spoken the truth.
The above story was in a collection of erotic short stories I purchased on an adult content website specifically for the purpose of recording and posting on this site. I did not write it, nor do I claim to. Stories purchased on such a site I can post, make recordings of and or sell if I so choose. No one else has the right to post these unless they themselves also purchase such a collection.