Artistic License {Part 5} [FF erotic fiction] [F, mast] [first person]

I'll put links to the rest of my story in the comments. Summary so far: I'm an artist with a special gift: I can manipulate my girlfriend's body using a clay figure, which I made for an art project on sexuality. First I experimented with her breasts, and found that she accepts the change after orgasming. Then I gave her much larger breasts and – just for fun – a cock, which I fucked her into accepting.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Summer had a part-time job at a local theatre, teaching students intermediate acting skills. She had described the job to me as "directing a play, right? At the end of this class, we put on a play. Only my actors are barely over 18 – hell, some of them are still in high school – so they're too busy paying attention to each other than to me. And they've barely acted before, so I'm not just teaching them how to act in this play, I'm teaching them how to act in general! Honestly, babe, some of them give their best lines when they're trying to get each other's numbers." She grumbled and ranted about it, but I knew she loved it. My talent was in finding art in human interactions, hers was making art from human interactions.

This Tuesday she was grumbling mostly about not finding underwear that fit. She didn't seem surprised that her panties couldn't fit a cock, or that her B-cup bras couldn't fit breasts larger than D-cups – not surprised, just annoyed. "Don't bother, honey," I told her, digging through our wardrobe. "Look, just wear this blue one." I held up a pale blue fitted blouse, one which normally hugged her waist nicely, without over-emphasising her chest. Now though, it wouldn't just hug her curves, it would embrace them tightly.

"Blue?" She asked as she reached for the shirt. "Yeah, it'll match your hair." Summer turned to the mirror, reaching a hand to her hand, "My hair? Oh . . . Has it always had blue in it?" I just grinned at her, admiring my artwork. She shook her head, laughing lightly. "Sorry babe, I guess I'm just being silly today – I think that fucking you gave me earlier did something to my head!" I kept grinning at my dear girlfriend, "Maybe it did, Summer, but my fucking has only ever improved you."

She smiled back at me as she pulled on the blouse and started to button it up. The material stretched over her breasts, and she struggled to button up the top. Eventually she left the top buttons undone, exposing some impressive cleavage. I was nearly panting as I handed her a frilly skirt. "There, no underwear necessary. You look beautiful, darling."

She kissed me on the cheek before dashing into the kitchen. I meandered after her, watching her gulp down a glass of juice and slip on her shoes. "Not staying for breakfast, honey?" She shook her head. "No time, not after I wasted fifteen minutes looking for panties. I have a meeting with the theatre directors this morning, remember? I'll grab something from a cafe afterwards."

I watched her leave, breasts heaving as she moved, with her frilly skirt low on her swaying hips. Meeting with the directors, huh? A bunch of old men and one frumpy old lesbian? They're in for a shock.

I ate a leisurely breakfast before leaving for campus. I had some organising work to do for my thesis, so I couldn't visit the Ceramics Department today. Instead I headed to the Photography Department building, where I was technically enrolled. My advisor was fine with me exploring a multi-disciplinary project, but I had to check in once a week or so, to make sure I hadn't completely abandoned my department. I stopped by my advisor's office, but she waved me on, saying she'd heard from the ceramics teacher about my work, and to talk to her when I had something to show for it. Oh, lady, do I have something to show for it, I thought, but I didn't want to actually tell her about Summer. Not yet. Not ever, maybe, but certainly not yet.

I carried my sketchbooks up to the top floor, where my tiny little office was. Dumping my work on the desk, I locked the door and stripped off my dress. It seemed appropriate to me, working on this project naked, and I tried to do so whenever possible.

(I knew it was possible that someone could spot me through the window. When I first moved into this tiny sky-high office, I had carefully determined how much an outside observer could inside. Not much, was the result. I could have fucked myself right up against the window and all the students down below would have seen was a blurry figure. That's not much fun, I know, but the Undergraduate Student Department occupied the building not far from Photography. Had I fucked myself up against the window at the right time of day, a few lucky young students could have peeked out the window and got quite an eyeful. I rather hoped some of them did.)

I began pinning copies of my photographs up on the walls, trying to find the best arrangement for them. Black-and-white pictures of fingers on skin, colour photos of lips kissing; naked portraits in shades of grey, stark and honest; colour photos of the same subjects, flushed and excited. Should I sort by category of fetish: chains, leather, furry, roleplay? By gender and number of participants? I tried separating the collection into portraits of people and pictures of intercourse, but the two seemed incomplete. The people and the sex were one and the same, as far as my project was concerned.

I frowned at the walls. Okay. The core of my project is sex and the form of my project is the human form. No, wait, the point of my project is our perception of sex. So, hang on, where's the perception in these photos?

I sorted through the collection, and found the pattern I was looking for. A man gazing hungrily at a woman tied to a chair, who grinned back. Two women embracing, staring deep into each others' eyes. Two men kneeling, staring up at another man's erect cock. Gaze. Lust. Adoration. Hunger. Perception. This wasn't a commentary on the visual consumption of pornography, which so many students had tried before me, this was a study of how humans perceived sex: with lustful eyes and hungry fingertips.

Oh my darling Summer, this is all about you, isn't it? How I perceive your body, how I shape my perceptions of you, how I shape you.

The thought turned me on, more than it had before. Everything came down to me touching her, me touching her clay, me looking at her, hungrily, lustfully, adoring and wanting her . . .

I found myself pressed against the window, as my fingers imagined Summer's cock deep inside me. My eyes roved over the photos, picking out the body mod fetish players. A woman with dark hair wearing cloth wings stood out prominently, and reminding me of the sketches Summer had suggested. I focused on it as I thumbed my clit, fantasising.

I saw Summer, tall and dark and beautiful, erect cock and spread wings like some sort of dark angel. She was in front of me, taller than me, glowing like an angel and caressing herself, nipples erect on her perfect breasts. She closed her eyes to moan slightly, then opened them to stare at me while she traced a finger down her stomach. Then she reached out, grasped me, held me in her arms and took off flying – as we thrust upwards into the air she thrust her cock up inside me – I was in the air, and all that supported me was her cock, hard inside me – I was impaled on her, grasping at her waist and suckling on her breasts – her wings were beating the air, beating the rhythm of her thrusts – her cock driving up inside me – it was too much, too intense – I bit her nipple gently and then her hands were on my hips – but instead of lifting me up, removing the pressure – she was pressing me down onto her cock – every thrust was harder, stronger – her wings pushed her up and into me – I stroked my fingers against my clenching walls and came, breathlessly saying her name, Summer, thinking of that angel thrusting inside me, Summer.

There wasn't much more I could do that day. I was too horny to appreciate the photos without getting distracted. I arranged them briefly and set aside the best body-mod ones, the best of the fetish photos. They were coming home with me, home to Summer.

I arrived home first, and spent a couple of frustrated hours stalking around the apartment, waiting for the woman I'd shaped to my desires.

When Summer finally walked through the front door, I practically pounced on her, pulling her through to the main room and onto the armchair. I knelt before her, kissing up her leg, while she laughed weak protestations "Babe, I just got home, really? Babe – you're not going to hear about my day first?"

I looked up at her, breasts heaving inside her tight blue blouse, and thought about her walking around like that all day. I grinned. "Sure, honey, tell me about your day."

I pulled off her shoes gently, as she told me all about her adventures with her new body.

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Last time I posted, you suggested that I incorporate Summer's sexuality into my story. Well, she's a bit of an exhibitionist, so she had fun coming to terms with her new body. Next post is all about her.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3ipcpv/artistic_license_part_5_ff_erotic_fiction_f_mast