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Author’s Note: Here is a little treat for all my regular readers — a brand new one-off short story! A woman receives an unusual request from an old friend for her husband to take part in an unusual art project. All characters are over 18, and any resemblance to any persons living or dead is coincidental and entirely unintentional.


An Artistic Endeavour

I looked upon my husband, Sean, as he sat naked on the simple wooden chair. He had a look of nervous apprehension on his face that was tempered by a glint of excitement in his eyes. My friend, Charity, or Chaz to those of us that form her circle of friends, stood towering above him with a small plastic pot in her hand.

“Right then, you ready?” she asked him. “Because once I start I’m not going to stop until you give me what I need.”

“I’m ready,” Sean replied, his voice sounding strained slightly by the lump in his throat, and he sat up straight.

She stepped forward, bent down slightly, and then reached down between his legs. She took his penis in her right hand and started to stroke it. Sean moaned appreciatively as he felt my friend’s hand caressing his most intimate area.

I guess I ought to explain what’s going on here, about how we came to be here with me looking on while my friend touches my husband in places that normally only I ought to have access to. Well, it all started one week earlier…

* * * * * *

My name is Jill Markham, I’m an art teacher from a small seaside town on the south coast of England where I live with my husband Sean. He works for an insurance company in Brighton, but has a sideline as a landscape photographer. We both met whilst at teacher training college way back in the early 1990’s and have been together ever since, although by his own admission he never really was cut out for teaching and his career took a different path to mine. We have no children, but then we’ve never really wanted any, much to the disappointment of my Jewish parents. We’ve always been as open and honest with each other about our various fantasies and fetishes in the bedroom – neither of us are into anything particularly kinky, but we both believe that communication is vital in a successful relationship, and if either one of us wishes to dress up in some kind of costume, or indulge in a little light bondage or other gentle kind of sex play, we always indulge each other. Within reason of course.

I guess you could say our relationship is the envy of many of our friends, pretty much all of whom have had children and seen a decline in their sex lives.

Anyway, it was a phone call one afternoon between lessons that kicked this whole thing off. I was just on my way to the staff room for a quick cup of coffee when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I looked on the screen and noticed it was my old friend Chaz Davies.

“Hi, Chaz, haven’t heard from you in a while! How are you?” I said as soon as I pressed the accept button.

“I’m good, Jill, thanks for asking,” Chaz replied. “Very good, in fact. Actually, I tell a lie, I’m not very good – I’m feeling wonderfully, fantastically good!”

“Oh yeah, and why might that be?” I asked, wondering what had got my friend so jazzed.

“You know the Tillerson Gallery?” she asked me.

“Yeah, I know it,” I replied casually.

Of course I knew the Tillerson Gallery – everyone who’s anyone in the art world knows the Tillerson. It is, after all, the premier art gallery that specialises in contemporary modern art in London’s Covent Garden.

“I just received a letter this morning – they want to put on a retrospective exhibition of my work! How cool is that?” Chaz squealed joyfully down the line.

“Wow, Chaz, that’s wonderful!” I said, genuinely overjoyed for her.

She’d worked very hard to become the success she is today. Back when we were students at art college she was always the ambitious one, the one who was determined to make it as ‘the next big thing’ in the world of contemporary art. It had taken her the best part of ten years, but after much toil, and several setbacks along the way, she won a prestigious award for one of her paintings and hasn’t looked back since. That was twenty years ago now, and in that time she has seen her work exhibited across the globe, and finally has the recognition that she deserves for her work, even though it is rather explicit at times.

“I know! Isn’t it exciting?” Chaz enthused.

“Very!” I confirmed. “You totally deserve it, Chaz, after all your hard work over the years! So, am I invited to the opening night then?”

“Of course you will, darling!” my friend answered flamboyantly, in a tone of voice that implied that me asking such a question of her was a ridiculous thing to do. “In fact, I’m hoping not just to invite you as a friend, but also as a contributor.”

“A contributor? How?” I asked, somewhat puzzled.

“Well, not you personally as a contributor,” Chaz clarified. “But rather canlı bahis that husband of yours. If he’s, ahem, up for it, that is.”

“I’m afraid I’m not with you,” I said, still not sure what it is she meant.

“Do you remember the painting that won me the Palmer Prize all those years ago?” she asked me.

I cast my mind back two decades, recalling the newspaper article I’d read about that year’s recipient of the Palmer Prize for Contemporary Modern Painting. It was the painting that put my friend Chaz into the limelight of the modern art world and was the springboard to her current success. The painting was called ‘Girl Meets Boy’, a rather innocuous title, but the painting itself was anything but. It was a nude, you see, and a somewhat explicit one at that. It was a self portrait, that showed Chaz, who was always known as something of an exhibitionist on campus, completely naked and sitting with her legs wide apart with, let’s just say, everything on show.

The painting’s rather odd title doesn’t become obvious until one studies the label on the wall that describes it. After all, the ‘Girl’ in the title is obvious – it’s Chaz of course – but the ‘Boy’ in the painting is rather more subtle and esoteric. I remember the very first time I saw it, in a small gallery in Brighton, and being shocked when I read that label. It was the very last part that was the shocking bit, when it mentions the medium used to create it. It read: ‘oil, and human semen, on canvas’.

So the ‘Boy’ part of ‘Girl Meets Boy’ isn’t in the image of the painting, he’s in the paint itself! Of course, that evening when I first saw the painting I had to ask her about it. At the time she was working on it she was going out with a man named Ewan, they’ve split up years ago now, but at the time it looked as though they might actually tie the knot. In the end, he ended up being thrown out after she found him in bed with a young woman she’d hired as a nude model. Anyway, I digress – Chaz explained to me that she would get Ewan to masturbate into a little plastic cup, and she’d then mixed his semen into her oil paint.

“You don’t mean? Surely you don’t want Sean to…” I said, but struggled to finish my sentence.

“The gallery have asked me to produce a new version of ‘Girl Meets Boy’ to sort of ‘bookend’ the exhibition, going from the painting that really kicked off my career right up to the present day,” Chaz explained. “So of course that means I’m going to have to get hold of some semen from somewhere. I’m not in a relationship and I can’t just ask a total stranger to give me some of his cum.”

“So you want me to ask Sean if he wants to give you some of his,” I said, preempting her inevitable request.

“Please? At least tell me you’ll ask him,” Chaz pleaded down the line. “Look, I know it’d be a really personal thing, for you as well as him, but I don’t know where else to turn – I’ve only got a couple of months to prepare for the exhibition and I’m all out of alternatives. Please? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

Why was she asking me? I know for a fact that Sean isn’t the only man she could ask to do such a thing for her. And besides, they’ve only met each other a couple of times at parties. I remember her telling me once about this man she’d befriended who was a writer of some kind, and wondered why she couldn’t have asked him to do it instead. I recalled the time she’d told me about him.

“I have a ‘fuck buddy'” she’d told me cheekily during one of our long phone conversations a few years earlier. “It’s a sort of mutually beneficial arrangement – if I need sex he’ll come running to me at my beck and call, and if he needs sex, he’ll still come running to me!”

Surely he’d be willing to take part in this new work of hers? I thought, so of course I asked her about him.

“What about that so-called ‘fuck buddy’ of yours? Why can’t he do it?”

“What? Andre?” Chaz responded. “In an ideal world I would have, but he’s on a book signing tour in Canada and the states for the next six weeks. Bless him, I know he’d do anything for me, but his publisher has other ideas.”

“Not exactly ‘at your beck and call’ then, is he?” I responded.

“What can I say? Life gets in the way of sex sometimes,” Chaz pouted. “Come on, Jill, please? I’m practically begging you here!”

“Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, hire a guy to do it for you?” I suggested.

“What? As in a male prostitute or some guy off Craigslist or something? No way, I’d much rather have someone I know and trust do it.”

“But surely there are other men you can ask, why my husband? You’ve only met him a couple of times! And one of those was at our wedding!”

“Yes, but I trust you, Jill – we’ve been friends for years. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

I sighed, and realised I was fighting a losing battle with her. Did I mention she can be very persuasive sometimes?

“All right, I’ll ask him,” I capitulated. “But I can’t promise anything. bahis siteleri If he says no, that’s it, I won’t pressure him into doing something he doesn’t want to do, even if it is for one of my dearest friends.”

“Ohh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Chaz squealed. “I promise you, I’ll be forever grateful!”

Well, that’s not a request you get every day, I thought to myself as soon as I disconnected the call. Being asked if I could ask my husband if he didn’t mind donating some of his semen in the name of contemporary modern art. It would undoubtedly lead to an interesting conversation that evening.

I was contemplating how to broach the subject of my friend’s request later that evening as I was peeling some potatoes. My commute to and from work was always much shorter than Sean’s since he works ten miles along the coast in Brighton, so it was always my job to prepare our evening meal. I heard the front door open and then close as he came in from another day at his office. I didn’t acknowledge his arrival at first as I was still deep in thought, but his presence wasn’t about to be ignored for long.

“Long day?” I asked him as I heard him enter the kitchen.

I didn’t turn around, maintaining my focus on peeling the spuds for the hearty shepherd’s pie I was in the process of making.

“Very,” I heard him reply.

He came up behind me, placed his hands on my breasts and started plastering me with kisses all over the back of my neck.

“But you know it’s always worth it when I’ve got you to come home to,” he added between kisses.

And then I felt him reach up inside my skirt. Within a matter of seconds he’d pulled my panties down, and his hand was all over my suddenly exposed private parts, and it was obvious what he wanted. One of the things I love about our relationship is our spontaneity. We both have this rule you see – at any time if either one of us wants sex all we have to do is, well, do exactly what Sean did just then. Believe me, I’m the one that makes that first spontaneous move just as much as Sean does – many’s the time I’ve yanked his pants down and demanded he satisfies my sudden urges when he least expects it! We both have a strict ground rule however – if either of us don’t want sex at that moment, all we have to do is say so, and the other has to respect that. It’s worked for us throughout our marriage, and is perhaps one of the reasons why our sex life is still so good.

I turned around to face him, and to confirm my consent to him I undid his belt, took down his trousers and pants and grasped his already firmly erect penis.

“And you know how much I enjoy having you come home into me,” I replied to him wantonly.

He smiled back at me warmly, safe in the knowledge that I was happy to respond to his advances. Mere moments later I was up on the kitchen worktop, my arms and legs wrapped around him as he pummeled his love into me. Well, this will at least make bringing up the subject of Chaz’s request a little easier, I thought to myself as I allowed my husband to have his way with me. After a couple of minutes of frantic rutting I felt him suddenly stiffen inside me, followed moments later by the familiar flood of warmth that came from deep within him. As soon as he came down from his brief but obviously much needed orgasm, I opened my legs and he slipped out of me.

“Thanks, babe, I needed that!” he said as I felt a little of his emission leak out of me as we parted.

We kissed for a few moments, reaffirming our bond with each other, before he reached down and pulled my panties back up for me. Only a couple of minutes later it was as though nothing had happened, and I returned to peeling the potatoes.

“I got a call from Chaz today,” I said casually as Sean helped himself to a glass of orange juice from the fridge.

“Chaz? As in, your old pal Chaz Davies, the enfent terrible of the London contemporary art scene?” he answered as he sat at the kitchen table.

“That’s the one,” I confirmed.

“What did she want?” Sean asked as he sipped from his glass.

“Well, she wanted you, as a matter of fact,” I replied as nonchalantly as I could.

“Me? Why would she want me?” he answered. “What can I possibly do for her?”

“Well, it’s a bit, er, well, more a case of giving her something of yours,” I said as I turned my attention from peeling the spuds to slicing them.

“Giving her something of mine? Like what?” Sean replied, clearly still puzzled.

“Something that, how can I put it? Something that you can give her, but that I can’t,” I responded.

“Eh? What’s that supposed to mean?” Sean answered. “What on earth can I give her that you can’t?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I asked him as I turned to face him.

“No, it isn’t,” he said, with a look of bemusement on his face. “You’ll have to help me out here!”

“She wants some of your cum, you numptie!” I answered.

He nearly spat out his O.J. in surprise. bahis şirketleri

“She wants some of my what?” he gasped in complete and utter shock.

“Your cum,” I responded with a giggle. “You know, your semen – that stuff that comes out of your cock? The stuff you pumped me full of not five minutes ago!”

“I know what it is, darling,” Sean replied a little crossly. “I’m just struggling to think of why on Earth she wants it? Oh my God, she doesn’t want me to get her pregnant or something does she? There’s no way I’m acting as a surrogate father for anyone, not a chance in hell!”

“Relax, she doesn’t want a baby!” I said to stop his imagination from running away with him.

“Well then what the hell does she want my cum for?” Sean asked, still in complete and utter shock at receiving such a request.

So, I explained Chaz’s newest art project to him.

“So, that Ewan guy she was with at the time did that for her?” Sean asked me once I had finished my anecdote of Chaz’s unusual request. “And she mixed his semen into her oil paints?”

“Yup!” I confirmed. “That’s more or less it.”

“And now she wants me to give her some of my semen so that she can make a new version of the painting?”

“In a word, yes.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, this is a bit too much to ask – I don’t know if I’m comfortable with it.”

“If you don’t want to do it, just say so. But I promised Chaz I’d at least ask you.”

Sean appeared pensive for a moment, clearly processing everything, including the possible implications for our relationship.

“What do you think about it?” he asked me after a short while.

That was a very good question – what did I think about it? I mused upon it for a moment before I gave him my answer.

“I guess I’m okay with it – but only if you are. I mean, it’s your body, not mine, and it’s not up to me what you do or don’t do with it. As long as it a) doesn’t involve you having sex with someone else, or b) involve your sperm being used to get another woman pregnant, then I’ll give it my blessing.”

I guess my rather nonchalant response took him by surprise a little. But then, a moment later a lopsided grin appeared on his handsome face.

“Okay,” he said casually as he shrugged his shoulders. “If your friend wants some of my semen, tell her she’s welcome to have some.”

“Really? You’d do that for her?” I asked him.

“Yeah, why the hell not?” my husband grinned. “I guess it’d kind of be quite cool, literally being part of a work of art. I mean, as long as it doesn’t say ‘semen provided by Mr. Sean Markham of East Sussex’, then I’ll be happy to oblige! On one condition, however.”

“And what would that be?” I enquired.

“Like I said, I’d be happy to let her have some of it,” Sean answered. “But if she wants it that much she’ll have to get it for herself!”

“What? Like, how?” I replied. Now it was clearly my turn to be the one in the dark.

“How do you think?” Sean responded with a wink. “Look, we both agreed to be open and honest with each other, right? So I’m being open and honest with you right now. For years I’ve had this fantasy, you see.”

“What fantasy?” I asked him to explain.

“Well, to put it bluntly, I’ve often fantasised about being sat naked on a chair while a strange woman ‘milks’ my cum from me,” Sean answered. “The only reason I never mentioned it before is, well, because it involves another woman, you see. And I was quite content to not mention it because of that – it is just a fantasy after all. I’m pretty sure you have fantasies of your own that don’t involve me.”

He was right about that – I did have a bit of a crush on a rather handsome Hollywood actor, and I often fantasised about being alone with him in a hotel room, with some handcuffs, and a bunny rabbit costume. But once again, I digress.

“Well, I…” I was about to confess, but swallowed it before it managed to escape.

“Look at it this way,” Sean continued. “If you agree to it, and she agrees to it, then one of my greatest fantasies can come true. But if it scares her off and forces her to have to look elsewhere for some random bloke to give her some of his jizz, then that’s all good too. I won’t be in the least bit upset if neither of you wish to indulge me.”

“Well, all I can do is ask her, I suppose,” I replied. “Though I doubt she’d be up for that sort of thing.”

Of course, I was very wrong about that.

The following morning, during the ten-minute break between my first and second lessons of the day, I called Chaz and put Sean’s offer to her. I was expecting her to be shocked, horrified even, but she just casually responded by saying…

“Okay – sounds like fun!”

“What? You mean you’re okay with basically stripping my husband naked, sitting him on a chair and then masturbating him while I sit and watch you do it?”

“Well, I’m okay with it if you are,” Chaz answered. “He’s your husband, after all. I mean, as long as it’s strictly between the three of us, and it’s with your blessing, then that’s cool.”

“Well, you understand the only reason I’m allowing this is because I love him so much, right?”

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