Previous Part: The Old Man Who Lived Down The Lane – Part 1
Chapter 3 – The Muse
Every artist has a muse. An inspiration. A flesh-and-blood human being, usually from the opposite sex. Behind every successful man, there is a woman. Behind every great artist, there is a muse.
I became the old man’s muse after our 2nd encounter. I posed, and he painted and sketched. Every day from dawn to dusk. I skipped my classes and neglected my studies. Only to be alone with him in his studio.
I surrendered myself to him. Unconditionally and totally. I stripped right in front of his eyes. I posed nude. When he asked me to lie on the sofa sideways and bend my knees so that he could get a peek at my pussy lips, I obliged wholeheartedly.
He made dozens of my portraits in the first 2 weeks. Made me pose in ways that defied standards of moral decency. Poses that were so lewd and explicit that they were not fit to be described in print. And at the end of the day, I would play with his dick and make him cum on my hands.
All this while, he never touched me. He kept his side of the bargain – his ‘sacred bond’ – that the artist should never touch the model. It was in the 3rd week that he broke this rule. And I enticed him to do it.
The old man was in a very good mood that day. He was humming a tune as ancient as his house. The last 3 weeks had transformed him completely. The grumpy senior citizen had turned jolly and cheerful.
“I want to paint on a different material instead of canvas today,” he said.
“Like what? Fabric?” I was curious.
“No. Skin,” he replied. “I have never painted on skin. I want to start with yours.”
“My skin? Wow!” I was surprised as well as excited. “I am ready. Which part of my body do you want to paint?”
“You decide. I will let you choose.”
Now, this was tricky. He put the ball in my court. I would have to decide. Obviously, I chose a part not visible in public.
“My inner thighs,” I said after some thought. “Upper part of my inner thighs. Nobody will notice.”
I sat down naked on the sofa. He knelt on the floor in front of me with a brush in his hand. This was the closest he had been to my nude body to date. I opened up my legs slightly to give him access.
For a few seconds, there was no movement from him. His hand holding the brush stood still an inch away from my pussy lips. His face kept getting closer and closer to my slit as if some invisible force was drawing him in.
And then it dawned on ne. The scent of my cunt was too much for him to resist. I realised what was happening to him. I parted my legs a bit more to let him sniff.
He looked up at me with hungry eyes. Eyes that conveyed the look of a hungry child. A look that sought permission from me. Permission to give in to temptation and break his ‘sacred bond.’
“Go ahead, Guruji,” I mumbled. “Don’t feel shy. It’s all yours. Do whatever you want.”
He obliged like an obedient child. Touched his nose to my slit and closed his eyes. And began to sniff the fragrance of my pussy. As if it was an early morning flower, and he was a bee drawing nectar from it.
I noticed a slight movement inside his pyjama. A tiny bulge appeared on his crotch. My old guru was getting hard. I felt immense satisfaction and relief.
He opened his eyes after some time. Looked at ke with content and gratitude. I made a silent gesture towards his hand. To entice him to use it now.
He did not touch me with his hand. Used his brush instead. Ran it along the length of my slit. And flicked my clit with its tip.
The brush tickled the soft lips of my pussy. The sensation sent shivers down my spine. I opened up my legs as a reflex action. And Guruji pushed the tip of the brush inside my hole.
The bristles of the brush pricked the inside wall of my cunt repeatedly. And kept pushing inside. Wetness began to seep through the opening of my pussy. Drenching the bristles and turning them soft and moist.
“It’s so tender, so fresh,” exclaimed the old man.
“It looks fresher inside,” I said. “Use your fingers, Guruji.”
He gave in to temptation and lust. Violated his moral code. Spread my pussy lips with his trembling fingers. And touched the inner lips with the tip of his finger.
I let out a gasp and closed my eyes. He inserted the finger slightly and took it out. And put it in his mouth instantly.
“It’s so soft, so pink,” he exclaimed, “and so juicy.”
It gave me immense pride and joy to see this old man lose control over himself. He lost all sense of shame and decency and gave in to his impulses. His reactions told me that he hadn’t tasted pussy in a long, long time. A pussy so soft and pink that would compel him to succumb to his dormant desires.
He fingered me. He licked me. He sniffed and poked me. He did things to my cunt that could best be described as obscene. He left my vulva swollen, sloppy and red.
He sucked on my clit and rubbed it with his beard. The hair on his face was pricklier than his brush. I moaned loudly in pleasure and cum in bursts. And squirted my juice all over his wrinkled face.
“You are not a virgin,” he said after the torrid session was over. “I wish you were.”
“Why? Is that going to be a problem?” I was surprised.
“No, no,” he responded. “Just that I have always had this desire of deflowering a virgin someday. Just a fantasy, nothing else.”
“I can pretend to be a virgin,” I said coyly, “once you are strong and hard enough.”
“How long do you think that’s going to take?” he asked.
“A few more weeks. I can already see some improvement,” I pointed at the bulge inside his crotch. “You will be ready before Diwali.”
“And you will let me defile you? An old geezer like me?”
“Guruji, I am yours now. Nothing would make me happier,” I replied. “Now, can we start painting my thighs?”
He wiped his face and my cunt with a clean piece of cloth. And asked me to lie down on the sofa with my legs closed and face upwards.
“I am not going to paint on your thighs,” he announced. “I am going to paint here,” he touched the cleft of my vulva, “and here,” he touched the shaved flaps on either side of my cleft.
“Whatever you decide, Guruji,” I said submissively. “I am all yours.”
“This is so smooth and clean,” he said in admiration while running his fingers along the cleft. “None of my previous students was so clean-shaven.”
Saying this, he dipped his brush in yellow colour and started painting on the right flap of my cleft. He then started drawing on my left flap with another brush dipped in red colour.
“It’s done. Would you like to look into the mirror?” he asked once he had finished.
I jumped up in excitement and ran towards the big mirror on the other side of the studio. And stood astonished at what I saw. The artist had painted a bright yellow sunflower on the right flap! And a red rose on the left.
My crotch had been turned into a painting by the old master. This was beyond my wildest fantasies. Never before had my shaved cooch looked so divine. Never after will it look as radiant and dazzling.
“It’s extraordinary,” I murmured. “All it needs now is a bee.”
“A bee? Why?” he was surprised.
“To sip nectar from these flowers. To pollinate them,” I replied and pointed at the tip of my slit. “Right here.”
He seemed interested and intrigued by the idea. And got down to work on it immediately. Dipped his brush in black colour and painted a bee. Right at the topmost point of my slit in between the 2 flowers.
“I wish I could become the bee,” he said with pleading eyes, “and pollinate the flower that you are.”
“You can, Guruji,” I hugged him. “And you will. I promise I will get you ready by Diwali. And help you pollinate me.”
Chapter 4 – The Pollination
With time running out and Diwali only 2 months away, I got busy. I had to get Guruji’s limp cock hard enough to make it sting me like a bee. And get his dried-up testicles fired up so that they could pump out enough seed.
The 1st mission was relatively easy, though time-consuming. The old man would paint standing naked in the studio. I would sit naked on the floor at his feet and massage his cock with mustard oil warmed with garlic.
Mustard oil rub increases blood flow and, when warmed with a few cloves of garlic, works wonders. My grandma used to rub my chest with this homemade remedy when I was a child to treat cough and congestion in winter.
The 2nd mission was a real challenge, though. How to increase his cum quantity? And improve its quality and density. His balls were 70 years old, and I was not expecting any miracles.
Still, I had to try. I began to massage his balls with raw honey. It’s very good for the skin and reduces wrinkles. I also made him eat a lot of walnuts every day to help increase the volume of his cum.
Word spread quickly in the neighbourhood that I was buying a lot of raw honey and walnuts from the local kirana. And rumours spread about my daily visits to the old house and the unusually long hours I was spending there. But gossip and rumours bothered me none. I had a deadline to meet, and the clock was ticking.
A month before Diwali – around the 2nd week of October – I noticed remarkable improvement in my old guru’s endurance levels. He could stay hard longer, and his cum became thicker than before. The time was right to subject him to a test before the eventual big day arrived.
“Guruji, no oil massage today,” I declared. “I am going to massage you with my mouth.”
He looked surprised at this sudden change in routine. But seemed pleased, too. He began to paint while I played with his balls for a while. As soon as his cock started moving on its own, I wrapped my lips around it and started sucking slowly.
“Ahh!” A deep, low grunt escaped his throat. “Your mouth is so warm and wet. So soft.”
“The place between these 2 flowers that you wish to pollinate is warmer and softer,” I pointed to my pussy. “You have to build up your stamina to maintain your stiffness longer. Especially inside wet and soft places.”
He got the hint and kept quiet after that. He realised my noble intentions behind giving him a blowjob. I gulped down his half-erect cock and moved my head slowly. Took utmost care not to make him cum quickly.
I tightened my lips on the base of his dick. And felt it move inside my mouth as if gasping for air. I pushed the foreskin down with my lips and felt his rigid organ grow by an inch.
It became easier after that. I got into a rhythm, and he responded to it. I pushed my head down slowly, and he responded by thrusting in equally slowly.
His cock became stiffer and bigger than ever before. His eyes closed, and his mouth opened up. I began to squeeze his balls gently. And prayed that he could last another 10 minutes.
He lasted longer than that. Surprised me in the process. I started licking the tip of his cock fast. I combined it with a rhythmic squeezing of his balls. That was when he lost control.
He exploded in my mouth louder than I had anticipated. Surpassing my expectations and earning my admiration. His discharge was heavy, and his cum was sticky. I swallowed every single drop with relish.
“You are ready,” I told him. “Your sack is full of seed, and your organ is no more weak. You could fulfil your fantasy by Diwali.”
“Thank you for making me feel young again,” he replied in gratitude. “You deserve a proper reward. And I have decided what that would be.”
“What?” I could not conceal my excitement.
“My best painting to date. A masterpiece. I am going to start working on it from tomorrow. And gift it to you after Diwali.”
“Will it be another portrait of me?” I was ecstatic.
“Of course,” he smiled. “But you are not allowed to look at it until I ask you to.”
The next 2 weeks were spent in hectic activities. Both of us were racing towards our respective goals. Me, to get him ready to pollinate me on Diwali night. He was to paint and finish his masterpiece by that date.
“I need flowers,” he said one day. “Small white ones like lilies. Small yellow ones like primroses. Don’t ask why.”
His wish was my command. I went to the local florist and bought a bunch of lilies and primrose. Guruji was thrilled when he saw them. And asked me to lie down naked on the sofa.
“Spread your legs wide, dear,” he said. And scattered the flowers all over my naked body. He inserted a couple of white lilies in my pussy. And a yellow primrose in my asshole.
My whole body was now covered in white and yellow flowers, except my boobs and nipples. They stood upright like mountain peaks in a valley of white and yellow colours.
I was fascinated by the old man’s supreme imagination. And his vision of transforming me into his masterpiece. He painted for hours that day. But I suspect his masterpiece was already finished inside his mind. Finishing it on canvas was just a matter of time.
Chapter 5 – Diwali Night
The moment of reckoning finally arrived. Our big night. The night my master would inseminate me and make me his own. It was Diwali night, 2021.
Both of us got busy since early morning, like a couple of over-excited schoolkids. I bought candles and diyas in hundreds from the local market. And he bought new colours a day before.
He had his plans for the big night. He asked me to take a shower in his bathroom in the morning. And come out of the bathroom naked. And bend down on the sofa on my knees with my naked butt pushed upwards.
“Spread your hips with your fingers,” he asked.
I did. And he tickled my asshole with a brush. I had become so used to these obscene poses in the last 3 months that nothing bothered me anymore except the tickling.
Both my holes were super sensitive. And not used to being invaded by a paintbrush. “Guruji, please! No tickling. I can’t stay steady,” I begged him.
He obliged and started painting instead. With colours. On my ass. Covered both my hips with an intricate design originating from my asshole. And held a mirror behind my bottom to show me after he was done.
“What is this design? Looks Tantric,” I asked.
“It is. It symbolises the union of ‘thunderbolt’ and ‘lotus.’ The penis and the vulva,” he explained. “We will follow Tantric rituals for our union tonight.”
Tantric sex? I was stunned. Did Guruji know Tantric rituals? I felt goosebumps all over my body.
I discovered that night that Tantric sex is incredibly complex. And exceedingly long. It is not a 15-minute fuck session. In fact, it takes 3 – 6 hours and involves multiple stages.
The 1st stage was ‘Yoni Puja’, or worshipping the vulva. Tantra considers the ‘Yoni’ (vulva) to be the source of creation. And a sacred vessel that holds the nectar of life. Elaborate rituals in the form of puja, chanting of mantras, etc, are usually performed for ‘Yoni Puja.’
Guruji smeared ghee on my vulva and decorated it with flowers. He then worshipped my ‘lotus’ by touching, tickling, fingering, and licking it. He licked so slowly and fingered so deeply that my ‘sacred vessel’ was mighty pleased. And rewarded him with a steady flow of ‘the nectar of life.’
He placed a glass plate under my bottom and collected all the cum gushing out of my pussy. “I will use this for painting my masterpiece,” he said. It was now my turn to worship his ‘thunderbolt’. His naughty old cock had started twitching and shaking already.
I slipped my fingers inside my cunt and got them smeared in my slippery cum. And applied it along the length of his shaft. My hands kept slipping off his rapidly rising cock. I stroked it by alternating between slow and fast movements.
Within minutes, his cock was stiff and fully erect. I kept pumping it for some time. I had to ensure he was strong and hard enough to penetrate my tight pussy.
“Guruji, it’s time,” I spoke softly when I was fully sure his erection would last for a long time.
“Lie down on the floor, dear,” he responded. “I want to be on top. And do not close your eyes. I want to look into them.”
I lay down on the floor and spread my legs. Guruji placed 2 cushions below my waist to lift it.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Guruji, I have been ready for the last 3 months,” I replied. “I have always been yours.”
“You are so young, so tender,” he said in awe. “Just like the virgin of my dreams.”
“Fulfil your wish, Sir. Treat me as that virgin. Break my seal. Fill me up with your seed,” I prodded him.
He gave in to his lust and gave a quick thrust. The tip of his cock went in and got stuck. I nodded at him in encouragement. He pushed again and waited for my reaction.
“Ah!” I grimaced as if I was in pain. I had to pretend to be a virgin as I had promised him.
“Did I hurt you?” he sounded worried. He suddenly realised he had not penetrated a woman in 20 years.
“Yes, Guruji. It hurts,” I decided to playact. “You tore my hymen. You broke my seal.”
His old eyes lit up at those words. I could feel a sudden rush of blood inside his throbbing dick. It seemed to grow an inch. His fantasy was coming true.
“I am sorry I forgot to buy condoms,” he said.
“No, Guruji. Don’t be sorry,” I replied. “I don’t want a rubber barrier between you and me. I want you to plant your seed deep inside me.”
“You are the most delicate girl I have ever seen,” he said passionately. “I hope God forgives me for defiling you tonight.”
“You have a sackful of seed and a rock-hard prick. And a 21-year-old virgin lying in front of you with her legs open. God wants you to defile her. What are you waiting for?”
He lost all sense of shame and morality after that. All his self-doubts and hesitation vanished. He shoved his rigid cock like a lusty animal. Hard and deep.
His stamina and speed amazed me. Like he had become 20 years younger. I was worried he would cum early. But he didn’t.
He made me moan. He made me cry. Those were tears of joy and pleasure. But he assumed them to be caused by pain, a virgin’s tears of agony and shame.
A loud burst of firecrackers echoed through the neighbourhood. At the same time, my moans echoed inside the giant old house.
“Guruji, it’s time. Push harder,” I spoke after a long time.
He humped like a possessed man. Rammed his old cock into my tender pussy and jammed my hole. I wanted to cum along with him. I rubbed my clit furiously.
Another round of crackers exploded outside the window. And Guruji exploded inside me. His balls pumped a heavy load of cum. And his cock dumped it deep in my pussy.
I, too, had an orgasm at the same time. Our union was complete. His ‘bee’ had pollinated my ‘flower’. His seed had inseminated me.
The artist had violated his sacred code a long time ago to initiate an illicit relationship with his muse. On Diwali night, he violated the delicate body of his muse to initiate another sacred bond.
“You are mine now,” he whispered. “I want you to live with me in this house. Forever.”
To be continued.
Next Part: The Old Man Who Lived Down The Lane – Part 3