The image on the back of Tom’s door was absolutely captivating. Once she saw it, Becky simply couldn’t look away. Even as she registered that he was walking past her, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the swirls of color that he had painted onto the wood. The picture looked like a distorted mirror, a strange parody of a woman’s face with eyes wide and staring helplessly out at her. Becky knew she was staring just as helplessly back.
Tom didn’t say anything; he simply let the silence stretch out as Becky found herself staring deeper and deeper into the captivating eyes of the woman in the painting. The face she saw was almost abstract, a collection of lines and splashes of color that more suggested a woman than depicted one, but Becky couldn’t help recognizing something of herself in the image. Something about her wide, empty gaze seemed so familiar to Becky, like the instant she saw it she couldn’t remember ever seeing anything else. Her limbs went slack as her body relaxed into a drowsy, contemplative state.
She felt Tom’s hands behind her, undoing her blouse button by button before pulling it down her loose, unresisting arms, but…somehow it didn’t seem important. All it really did was make Becky notice that the woman in the painting was nude, too. She seemed…happy about it? Blissful, even. Now that Becky paid closer attention, she could see the tiny hints of a smile at the corner of those vacant lips. Becky’s own jaw hung open in rapt fascination, not even realizing that Tom was unhooking her bra. It fell to the floor without distracting her in the slightest from her fascination.
By the time Tom pulled her pants off and helped her to step out of it, Becky didn’t even register her own nudity. The painting loomed larger and larger in her mind, even as he led her back from it to the bed. If she noticed that he was guiding her into a seated position on his cock, it was only because watching the woman’s blank, placid stare seemed to suddenly blossom into true ecstasy in Becky’s thoughts. It felt so good to watch the painting. It felt so good not to think about anything else. It felt so good to let her will slip away into the curves, the lines, the colors. Becky had never seen art so utterly beautiful, and she loved to let it captivate her.
Tom spoke to her, and her hips rose and fell automatically in response to his commands. But the words didn’t even touch her conscious mind. Her thoughts were completely consumed by the painting, totally absorbed with the endless bliss of kinship to the woman she saw staring back at her. Becky found herself thinking that the woman was an obedient slave, a whimpering mess of mindfucked pleasure, and somehow she identified with the image perfectly. She could see how good it felt in those wide, staring eyes, she could see how wonderful it must be in the tiny smile that she saw on those lips. Becky wished she could be that obedient. She wished she could be that blank. She wished she could cum like the girl in the painting.
“That’s it, good girl,” Tom said, as Becky broke out into a helpless moan of orgasmic bliss. Becky didn’t notice. But she knew the girl in the painting felt so good right now.
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