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Paint Story


WARNING: This story includes sexually explicit material.

Please note any unfamiliar spellings and phrases may be due to the fact
I am English, not American.

I would like to thank the proofreaders for all their help.

Any and all comments, including constructive criticisms, would be most
appreciated. Please send to

This work is copyrighted by the author. You may download and keep one
copy for your personal use as long as my byline and e-mail address and this
paragraph remain on the copy. Any posting or reposting on a website or to
a newsgroup requires my permission first (but I'll probably say yes). This
story should not, under any circumstances be used to make a profit by
anyone other than the author


I hadn't been expecting him home this early, so he caught me by
surprise. As soon as Chloe saw him in the doorway, she ran towards him,
squealing in delight. He swung her up in the air and held her at arm's

'Daddy, Daddy! Hiya Daddy!' Chloe cried, wriggling and kicking her feet
in the air. 'Kiss Chloe, Daddy.'

'I would love to if I could find a bit that wasn't covered in paint.'
Chloe just giggled and squirmed some more but I could tell he was annoyed.
I usually have any signs of our activities tidied away before Julian gets
home. I tried to clean up as quietly as I could but there didn't seem to
be much point.

Chloe had been an unexpected surprise late in Julian's life. Since,
barring another miracle, she would be his only child, he had from the start
wanted only the best for her. He had read every book he could lay his
hands on concerning childcare. He had even suggested that I went on a
childcare course before he felt comfortable leaving Chloe in my charge. I
drew the line at that outrageous proposal. While his concern could
occasionally be irritating, it was easy to forgive when you saw how much he
loved his daughter.

One of his main obsessions was that Chloe should 'learn through play'.
To that end he brought her educational toys and books. He even obtained
tapes of Disney films and nursery rhymes in French and German. It can be a
little disconcerting when a three-year-old starts prattling in a foreign
language, I can tell you. I've had to learn smatterings of both German and
French, just to understand what she is saying half the time. I put my foot
down when he wanted to introduce Japanese.

While a certain amount of education is fine in its place, I firmly
believe that childhood is about having fun. As you can imagine, this has
led to several animated discussions between us, to put it mildly. So I try
to arrange things so that he doesn't find out how many silly games with
absolutely no educational value we play.

Today, we had started out, decorously enough, painting pictures. I'd
taken all the sensible precautions of putting an old sheet over the carpet
and sheets of newspaper over everything else that could conceivably be
spattered. Unfortunately, we had run out of paper. One thing lead to
another, and soon we were stripped down to our underwear and happily
painting each other. Which, of course, had been the moment Julian chose to

He walked over and dropped Chloe in my lap, before carefully removing
his tie, suit jacket and trousers and placing them, meticulously folded of
course, out of harm's way. Most people would have looked faintly
ridiculous kneeling in the middle of the sitting room clad only in socks,
boxer shorts and a shirt but he still managed to look dignified. I suppose
that's one of the things that makes him such a good headmaster, his innate
air of dignity.

'Well you seem to be completely covered in paint, Chloe,' Julian said,
pretending to examine Chloe. 'No, I've found a bare patch.' He picked up a
paintbrush and daubed some paint onto her skin. She chortled and squirmed
in delight as he did so. 'Well that's you all done. Lucinda, on the other
hand, has lots of bare patches. I think we should do something about that,
don't you, Chloe?' I had been so sure he was going to read me the riot act
that it took me a moment to comprehend exactly what he was saying. I was
busy formulating convincing arguments in defence of our unorthodox painting
methods, when his meaning penetrated my brain. By that time it was too
late. I was pinned on my back on the sheet with Chloe bouncing on my
stomach and Julian holding my hands above my head. The pair of them then
proceeded to smear paint over every reachable part of my skin. I tried to
protest feebly but soon forgot about resisting. It was so refreshing to
see Julian playing such a silly game. Even when he deliberately tickled me
under my arms with a paintbrush, I still let him play.

Then he got a mischievous glint in his eyes and he started to be more
deliberate about where he placed his paintbrush. He painted little swirls
along my inner thigh, as high as he could. It was the strangest sensation:
the cool squidy feel of the paint being pushed across my skin by the
delicate drag of the brush bristles. As the paint dried it contracted
against my skin, leaving an itchy trail. When Chloe had painted my body it
had been fun, maybe a bit ticklish in sensitive areas or painful when she
jabbed too hard. Julian was making it an undeniably erotic experience. He
moved upwards and drew a long stripe down my cleavage. Each stroke of the
brush sent shivers down my spine and I couldn't control a small gasp that
escaped my lips. He paused for a moment, running his eyes along my
paint-smeared body, then looked thoughtfully at Chloe.

'I think you two are going to need a thorough bath. You stay there
Lucinda, while I pop Chloe in, and I'll come back for you.' He scooped up
Chloe and gave me an intense look. 'Don't move,' he commanded. Chloe is
one of those children who loves bath time so she went with him eagerly

I lay still for a moment, waiting for my heartbeat to slow. I finally
controlled the trembling in my limbs and gave myself a mental scolding for
being so easily aroused in such an inappropriate situation. I had just sat
up, and was planning to put away the paints, when Julian returned. He had
one of those radio baby monitors in his hand, which he placed on the
mantelpiece. He slowly walked towards me, dropping to his knees as he got
closer. His pristine shirt was now splashed with a rainbow of colours and
the bulge of his erect penis was distorting his boxer shorts.

Golden evening sunlight was streaming through the windows, illuminating
a typical suburban sitting room. I tried to tell myself that it was just
my imagination working overtime and that the atmosphere was not as sexually
charged as I thought, until he dispelled any doubts by reaching around me
and unhooking my bra. He pushed me gently down flat on my back and
smoothly removed my knickers.

'Now where were we?' he mused aloud. 'Ah yes, I remember.' He armed
himself with a fat paintbrush, which he dipped in some clean water, and a
thinner silky brush, which he left dry. Then he laid siege to my body. He
began at my neck and worked down towards my breasts, starting at the base
and progressing torturously slowly towards my nipples. He wielded first
one brush, then the other. Each felt distinctively different yet equally
stimulating. The dry one felt like a thousand feather-tip's brushing
delicately across my skin. The wet one was a long slow glide of moisture.
He took his time, tracing intricate patterns on my body. My nerve endings
were tense, anticipating each glide of the brushes. I swear I meant to
stop him, to sit up and pack the paints away in a business-like manner
before joining Chloe in the bath. But somehow the touch of those brushes
was so seductive. He progressed down my body until he reached the juncture
of my legs.

By this time, I was completely absorbed in the sensations shooting
through my body. The fact that I was sprawled naked on the sitting room
floor belonging to a respectable headmaster in broad daylight no longer
bothered me. The fact that anyone passing the windows, such as a paperboy,
could glance in and observe us was ignored. That it was entirely possible
that someone could arrive and walk in and catch us was irrelevant. Even
the background murmur of Chloe splashing in the bath and singing 'Frere
Jacque' was no distraction to me. Any thought of respectability and
appropriate behaviour had vanished from my mind. All I wanted was for him
to continue his delicious torture until the building tension in my body
snapped. So, when he nudged my legs apart, I eagerly complied.

The feel of those brushes on my clitoris was indescribable. Why I
didn't come there and then I don't know. He must have wet the brush again
and it felt like a narrow tongue, probing along my folds. The soft brush
swept across the tip of my clitoris like the gentle touch of butterfly
wings. I could hear myself whimpering and moaning as the feeling built
inside me. I thrust my hips upward, hoping for release. He continued to
tease me, the silky brush flirting with my clitoris while the fat wet one
made long sweeps around my opening. My body couldn't take the torment any
longer and I orgasmed uncontrollably, limbs twitching and muscles spasming
as the pleasure crashed through me.

When I had calmed down again and my body had stilled, embarrassment came
flooding back. I opened my eyes and looked up at him, to discover him
smiling down at me.

'I think watching you orgasm like that in the sunlight is one of the
most beautiful things I have ever seen,' he said tenderly. 'It's a memory
I will treasure, along with the first time my daughter called me Daddy.'
Embarrassment scurried away with its tail between its legs. In that
moment, I actually felt beautiful. I forgot about my plump thighs and
wobbly stomach and gloried in the distorted reflection of myself through
his eyes. I felt like Cleopatra, Helen of Troy and Marilyn Monroe rolled
into one. Buoyed up by the confidence his compliment had given me, I
rolled onto my knees and crawled towards him.

'Turnabout is fair play,' I murmured, attempting a seductive voice, as I
removed his shirt and underwear. I didn't bother with his socks, as they
didn't seem to be worth the trouble. He wasn't in bad shape considering
his age. True he had a bit of sag around his middle and the hairs across
his chest had a generous helping of grey but it didn't seem important. The
fire of passion was in his eyes and his penis was jutting up, demanding
attention. I lowered my head and enclosed it in my mouth, then licked and
sucked until he was making noises similar to the ones I had been uttering

Not wanting him to come in my mouth and present me with the perpetual
dilemma of whether to swallow to please him or spit to please my taste
buds, I avoided the issue by removing my mouth and straddling him. I
lowered myself until he had fully penetrated me, then began to move up and
down. Within moments I felt his muscles clench as he climaxed.

I rested against him once he had finished coming, unsure what action to
take next. While it felt natural in the heat of passion to parade around
naked in the unrelenting glare of daylight, in the aftermath I felt too
self-conscious to just stand up and walk to the bathroom. About the time
my muscles were threatening to go into cramps and the sweat cooling on my
skin was starting to make me shiver, Chloe's voice sounded behind me.

'Chloe all clean,' she announced. Getting a clearer view of Julian as I
twisted to face her, she broke into giggles. 'Daddy is all dirty now.
Daddy have a bath too.' I turned back to have a good look at Julian and saw
that her observation was accurate. The paint had smeared off my body onto
his and he was just as liberally bedaubed as I was.

'I suppose we'll just have to have a shower together,' he suggested,
smiling into my eyes. At the thought of his soapy hands gliding over my
body, an irrepressible tingle ran down my spine.

'Chloe, too, Chloe too,' the minx demanded, jumping up and down.
'Please Daddy.' She grabbed a pot of paint and tipped it all over herself.
'Look Chloe all dirty again.' she observed with a satisfied smile. There
have been occasions when I have wished she wasn't quite so cute and smart,
and this was definitely one of them. There would be no opportunity for
erotic by-play if Chloe were involved in the proceedings. She ran over to
one of the cupboards and pulled it open.

'Play with the water guns, Daddy, please,' she pleaded, dragging two of
the said apparatus out of the cupboard. I swivelled to look at Julian in
disbelief. Mr 'all play has to be educational' had the grace to look

'Chloe enjoys her bath so much more when we use the water pistols,' was
his lame explanation. Sensing my displeasure, Chloe approached and offered
me one of the toys.

'You have the power Uzi, Mummy,' she offered. 'It's the best one.' It
looked like fun, so I abandoned my indignation and joined in. I couldn't
help thinking of a couple of grown-up games Julian and I could play with
those water guns, once Chloe was safely asleep.

Copyright Vickie Morgan, 1999

This story is distributed free of charge for your entertainment. It
does take quite a lot of time and effort to write, type, edit and post a
story. All I ask is that you take a couple of minutes to e-mail me, let me
know that you've read this and perhaps give some reaction. Thank you.


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