WANTED...’FEMALE’
Chapter 7
Four months later, three upper class ladies of high society stood back and gazed upwards at the high display wall. One wore glasses and stood stiff and rigid. One was of the blue rinse set and was conscious of herself and those with whom she stood. One was the wife of a very rich man. All had not moved for five full minutes.
All had fell silent as soon as the first had seen and had looked upwards at the four large seemingly living oil paintings on the wall. Then the others had looked and had seen, too. And since that moment they had each and all simply stood in awe.
All had decided to buy the paintings and knew, once purchased, no other human eyes but their own would ever fall upon the natural grace and sensual majesty of that part of ‘their’ souls they ‘knew’ had been captured in oils on the canvases before them.
All had been mesmerized by what they saw. It was the four faces and sides of Eve, only the name beneath each painting said the lady’s name was ‘Annie’. Four paintings, four nudes on a chair, but only one woman, yet the paintings did ‘not’ seem to depict just ‘one’ woman.
Reflections of something else had been captured on the shining canvass, something ‘special’, something incredibly ‘natural’, yet ‘sensual’ that seemed to glow as beautifully, as sensually from the face and nude body on the chair in all four paintings. Each painting told a different story, a different living life experience.
The sensual lips and mouth in each seemed to breathe as they watched. Her skin glowed and her eyes shined. Her breasts seemed to heave and her eyes glazed out of focus, as if seeing a different world, as if someone else was behind those eyes and looking at ‘them’ and smiling warmly, instead of the other way round.
Looking and seeing, as if the three ‘women’ were simply not there and could not be seen at all. Each felt the paintings look ‘into’ them, ‘inside’ them, and each painting seemed to show a different part of the woman’s beautiful sensual soul.
Each one had a such different skin tone and such a different look in her eyes that seemed to reflect a different experience she was about to have, was having, or had just had fully.
The paintings were nude and definitely sensual and sexual, yet they contained more- so ‘much’ more that the three women knew could never be put into words and accurately described.
Yet in each painting the three women could easily see and feel the incredible peace and arousal, contentment and happiness in afterglow that had somehow magically been captured from life to canvas for all time and all the world to see.
Their eyes saw and their minds captured their own imagination of themselves on that chair, in those different states of aroused being, tying each of the names of the paintings to their own long lost and always hidden person.
None of the three women of high society would ever share with the others what they were feeling, but each of the three women saw and they recognised, feeling both happy and sad at the same time, for they all recognised the reflections of natural lifetimes lost... to them... personally.
Still, each of them felt good... somehow... and didn’t know why as the eyes of the paintings held each spellbound in a time warp of memory lane. The eyes reminded them all of things that ‘should’ have been, that ‘could’ have been, and that ‘might’ have been, but for some reason... or many reasons, had not been.
Nevertheless, they simply felt good... about themselves. It was nice. It wasn’t often that they did.
They all looked, and they all felt, for the first time in many, many years. Emotions almost foreign to them all... almost; sensations that were almost a distant memory... almost. Images that had only ever been born in the lonely nights and cold beds of their empty imaginations seemed nothing but a fancy, a dream, a wisp of fantasy that bore no resemblance to living reality.
Yet it was special to call to mind, because of the way they felt afterwards for a long time. Then it vanished once again to lie dormant and unnatural in their personal closet alongside old never-worn clothes destined for the local charities so they could feel good about themselves, but not without feeling guilty.
The three women of cold and unfeeling high society and empty personal lives didn’t know that it would ‘never’ be too late to call forth naturally some things always hoarded and kept hidden away. They gazed silently at the four paintings on the wall, while those paintings continued to consume their minds, their emotions and their physical sensations.
All three women were juicing and ‘knew’ they were, yet didn’t prevent the event, so long had it been... so long had it been. Oiled walls moistened and softened, sighing and grateful. The three women simply enjoyed their own natural warmth.
No. They didn’t know that it was never too late, only ever too long. And they didn’t know that when something takes too long to happen naturally, somebody always gets hurt along the way. The three women also didn’t know that that someone was usually... them.
Off to one side of the three women, unaware of them and alone in a crowded room, tearful gaze searching unbelieving and in awe behind dark shades, Annie Summers stood spellbound.
She looked up at the four large nude oil paintings of herself on a single chair, which adorned the long main showcase wall of the prestigious art gallery. They had been hung there for their first showing to those of the world who had come to buy...those who had come to see... and of those who knew of the artist and his work... to those who had come to feel.
The tears rolled gently down her cheeks, one after the other, feeding and nourishing her female fine, for at that moment in time
Annie really could taste happiness in a teardrop. She had changed and now asked not for money in her life and times, or fine clothes, or even opportunities equal to her abilities. Instead, she allowed naturally her female to guide her woman happily in all things in each and every moment of now within which she had chosen to live the rest of her life.
She felt guided in such a special, natural ‘female’ way, such that her woman found her female’s natural abilities, equal to her opportunities. Annie wished she had the money to buy all four painting and keep them for herself. Yet, in another way, she didn’t feel she had the right to hide that which had been captured of her on canvas from the rest of the world who needed to see.
Mother Nature had taught the lion and the eagle how to hunt and prosper with teeth and claw, and now ‘Human’ Nature had taught Annie Summers how to hunt her each moment’s happiness. She would do it with good manners and with respect for herself and for all other natural males and females.
She would do it with femininity and with pride; with natural sensuality and with uninhibited, unrestrained grace and sexuality. And she would do it with the natural heart and soul of who she really was by right of birth and by gender design-the design of Mother Nature herself... the design of a natural, perfect... female.
As her heart swelled and the cascade of shiny silver trails of happiness tasted in each teardrop’s warmth gently continued, Annie remained humble. Her stunned gaze took in her own nude form, painted from four different angles and perspectives, each adorned with a different look, a different demeanor, and a different part of her natural soul.
Yet none looked like her as she would in a mirror. Her portrayed beauty was of such magnificence, of such sensuality, of such fullness, and of such natural femaleness she could not have spoken if her life had depended on it, such was the size of the lump in her throat and the swelling of her emotional humble female heart.
And humble, Annie knew she would remain through obstacles and failures as they occurred. She knew that the woman in her would no longer hide from her eyes each prize delivered to her natural female from simply being just who she really was at each moment’s turn of what felt right for her alone.
She would complete the female tasks, which her woman would try to avoid, and she would pluck the seeds of happiness again and again from her woman’s failures. She would confront her woman’s fears and temper her spirit, while endowing herself with courage to laugh at her own misgivings, for nature’s natural forgiveness is simply seeing that no wrong has even been done to forgive.
Annie Summers stood happy and gently crying, knowing she had been honored for who she really was and immortalized in that beautiful and sensual way and manner forever in a kaleidoscope of magnificent wonderful colours of living, breathing, shining oils. They brought her female to life on the wall, as well as inside her body, from the top of her female head, to the tip of her female toes.
She knew her natural female nature would give her sufficient days to achieve her destined task of meeting and mating naturally. She knew she would birth and raise lovingly, for she would value herself and each day as if it were her last, not wasting a moment. She would accept not a moment with her woman in charge or in control.
Yes. Annie had her power of One now and her words would be guided from within and would bear the fruit of good manners and of simple and honest respect, happy and content in receipt of the same in return. Yet her woman would be silenced from gossip in that none other would be maligned.
Yes. Annie Summers was gently crying, yet Annie Summers was also deliriously happy, knowing she would never again be the woman she used to be. And ‘that’ was okay with who she really was... her female-her proud, her sensual, her sexual, and her very feminine and natural... ‘Female’.
And if it ‘wasn’t okay with the men and ‘women’ of her world... ‘That’ was ‘their’ problem. Annie Summers was ‘female’ now, for no other reason... than she ‘could’ be.
Mike Jones stood back from the crowd, noticing that by far the majority of the gallery’s visitors had gathered around the four large lifelike oil paintings of his work featured on the huge main gallery display wall.
He watched their face’s one and all as he stood abeam the midst of them, casually glancing in passing at each face, each set of eyes, and each stature as they stood gazing upwards at the life he had captured and immortalized in each of the large paintings of Annie. Some stood with their mouths unknowingly open, all stood transfixed at what they saw.
He felt Annie was there somewhere, but had yet to see her. And if she wasn’t, she would be soon or maybe tomorrow or the next. There were many people there, both men and women alike, both males and females alike.
He didn’t need to search for her. She would come and accept her public due, the public recognition of who she really was, her ‘own’ recognition of who she really was, and be introduced to herself, together again for the very first time.
From the moment his very first brush strokes had kissed the canvas with the sensual life of she who had sat on that one single throne of femality, Mike had felt the immortalizations of Annie begin. While his eyes had fed his subconscious mind the feelings they interpreted, his brush hand had accurately mouthed the canvas as sensually and as surely as his own had mouthed her body each time before she had been ready to be painted.
And so he had sensually and intimately painted her as he had sensually and intimately known her and loved her, each day of the working week for almost three months before all four paintings of her had been completed. And after each session had he strengthened the amnesiac hypnotic trigger of her sleeping through each session out of boredom.
Mike had not allowed her to see any of his work of her until all four paintings had been completed. And when he had on a Saturday morning he’d led her blindfolded into his studio and sat her down on her chair, only very close to all four works which had been arranged on four stands side by side.
His heart had hammered in his ribs over thoughts of discovery as her blindfold had been removed, not knowing if she would recognize the truth of how he had managed to capture her in her full femaleness as he had. He had stood behind her with the blindfold in hand as her head had lifted to see.
Nothing but silence had followed for almost ten minutes before a wracking sob had suddenly burst from her lips as her hands slowly came upwards and covered her face while she cried. His own eyes had shined, but they always did at this time, along with the swelling of his heart, for he had loved Annie Summers truly in his knowing of her in that way.
She had sobbed for several long minutes and had then taken time to settle down. But her eyes had returned to look and to see the full majesty of herself as depicted in the way she had been-lovely, sensual, magnificent in shining living colour, and more alive than she would have ever seen herself ever before in her entire life.
“It’s... me.” She had said softly between breaks in her tears. “It’s really... me! Isn’t it?”
And then she had covered her face once more and sobbed softly again for several more minutes. She had slowly risen then from the chair, which had known her so intimately and so well and had turned to face him square on.
This was always the moment of truth, the moment of knowing if they knew or had realised-the moment of wondering what they would do. Annie had wiped her eyes gently with a soft blue handkerchief and fixed her clear gaze on his own.
She had looked at him and into him it had seemed for almost a minute before speaking.
And when she did speak he was relieved, but he was also proud. He knew then that he had succeeded once more in liberating truly the female from the woman, because a female would know and would realise and would feel his reasons had been noble and would mean or intend him no injustice afterwards. And she hadn’t.
“Thank you.” Had been all she had said. Then, with the warm smile of the proud female she then was she turned and left his apartment, telling him as she walked away she would be at the grand opening sometime in the following week.
After Annie had left, Mike had then sat in the chair she had just vacated for his own very first detailed overall look at his four paintings of her. It was the way he always did it, preferring to wait and see whatever response was forthcoming from the models before subjecting his work to his own critical evaluation.
He had arranged the four paintings so as to be almost surrounded by her essence and her naked looks-two in front, side by side, one to the side on both sides like a cubby hole almost, at the end of which he sat on her chair looking up at them.
After several minutes of searching each one for artistic detail and colour blend, satisfied, Mike had then allowed his gaze to search each one for its pure emotional content... for its pure ‘female’ content.
It wasn’t long before he’d found it, just as Annie had, and his heart swelled, along with his emotions. His eyes had then shined their instant recall at each of her sittings, while all the memories of each intimate session with her which had occurred before each of the individual sittings had flooded back into his conscious awareness and experience of them fully once more.
Each day of the week she would promptly arrive, bubbly and laughing, seemingly more happy and more content with herself with each passing day, not remembering anything of the previous day’s sitting, other than she felt great for having had so much sleep. She would joke about her having a lot of catching up to do after all her years working as a photographic model.
After a cup of coffee and some small talk he would then use her trance key and trance her down deeply, after which she would remove her clothes and walk with him as he led her through to the studio.
Mike’s eyes had shone and glistened more and more as his gaze had passed from one painting to the other, and then to the next and the next, to then go backwards and forward again across all of them, over and over, immersing himself in their living, almost breathing essence. He had been struck both humble and proud at the same time as his emotions had trembled in absorbing three months of work so closely and so fully at once.
Each afternoon he would make love to her and then paint her during or while she rested in her afterglow. Whenever he recognised a different look to one he had previously seen he would paint it in its essence, or add it somewhere to the four paintings he worked on simultaneously.
Sometimes he would arouse her to the point of orgasm for different look and then paint her at her peak while the look was alive in her face and body whole.
Sometimes he would get her to masturbate and watch; painting furiously as her arousal simmered, then flamed and grew and then peaked and passed into resting natural afterglow.
And for five days out of every week had he worked with Annie in just that way for almost three full months. He would send her home each day sensually and sexually sated, rested and happy, remembering nothing, except that he had woken her up as always from her afternoon nap, as she’d jokingly referred to his sittings, when his work with her for the day had been completed.
Mike Jones loved all his female models in their coming out, and for almost three solid months had he loved Annie Summers in just that way, every way. He committed his memories and experience to her experience of it all onto the canvas through shining colored oils of rapture and bliss, through gentle and savage brush strokes of passion and raw lust from a natural male driven to find and release her female at all costs.
Each brush stroke felt his thrusts, each one delivered his passion, while each one captured her receiving of same in the look of her face, the fullness of her breasts, the haze of her gaze and the openness of her female centre and sometimes relaxed, sometimes tense thighs.
In a way, Mike knew that each painting of Annie was, in fact, a mixture of him and her both. Yet outwardly he had showed her sensual and beautiful female radiance that caused the Sun, in his eyes, to come a distant second in its race with her for magnificence and brilliance of natural sensual female beauty.
Her responses to receiving and giving pleasure had grown in intensity and vocalizing with each passing completed session, along with the natural and mysterious fur growth between her legs. By the end of her last session and sitting Annie’s full bush had regained its natural maturity as it lay softly downing her pretty cunt. It was thick, it was soft, and it was the most sensual sight of her or any woman Mike had seen to date.
Her downy black velvet matted her perfectly sliced junction and added yet another full sensual dimension of the sheer fullness of her female’s coming out.
In each of her paintings had Mike depicted the gradual regrowth of her naturally-scented forest, giving the overall image of her across all four painting as not only being alive on canvas, but growing and maturing as a natural female before his very eyes.
Although fully aware while hypnotised of all that occurred, including the fact that she ‘was’ hypnotised, Annie had accepted all and everything without question and without doubt that all was perfect and ‘had’ to be happening just that way.
He had told Annie she had been hypnotised in the very first sitting, and also that she would remember to forget each day’s events. She once had asked him to allow her to remember the bliss and happiness she felt.
He’d told her she would remember, but not from actual recall of specific events, rather from within herself as ‘feelings’ while growing each day, more and more into who she really was. Annie had accepted that and had never asked to be allowed to remember again.
But as Mike had searched each of the paintings and had relived those three months of loving and painting ‘he’ had remembered all and everything in between, right up until the very last loving and the very last sitting.
He had loved her face with his own and his lips and his mouth, such that she had cried like a little girl when he had covered her forehead and eyes and cheeks with a thousand butterfly kisses of endearment in recognising the female in her.
She had clung to him like a babe to its mother while he had then loved her neck and shoulders in the same manner. Like a long graceful naked cat he had rolled her onto her belly and had delivered the same pleasure of a thousand butterflies preening along the full length of her back and spine.
He had not stopped at the swell of her buttocks, but had gently spread her cheeks to accept his fluttering lips and tongue deeply in between and across her starfish to her soaking cunt so absolutely beautiful to taste and to inhale fully. Not one square inch of the back of her did he miss with his mouth and lips or with his gentle male teeth and strong tongue. Until finally she stiffened and shuddered beneath him on the mattress, groaning her sexual ecstasy into its muffling depths.
After she’d quieted, he had rolled her gently over onto her back, and, while luxuriating in her still throbbing afterglow and aftershocks had he delivered the exact same highly pleasurable fate to the entire front of her. Until once more she rested in orgasmic aftershock and blissful afterglow while he rose from her sweating sensual essence to paint her exactly in that way.
Then he would capture and add yet another pure dimension to the overall female of her which grew daily in all four parts, as if sisters and siblings alike.
More and more each day had she been able to accept a greater length and girth of his maleness into her mouth and throat. Until finally she took him all, accommodated his all, fit his all, and then finally, had drunk of his all, ingesting the natural protein of his pure maleness throughout her mind and body.
Her ravenous female had for so long been starved and denied of it. And he had withdrawn again and again to paint her exactly that way in her fullness of respect and the highest compliment her female could ever pay to his male that committed the fullness of her female to breathing colored oils on living soft canvas.
And not one word had ever passed their lips during their loving or his painting of her, other than the natural words of Mother Nature who spoke eloquently and adequately enough for them both through their moans and groans of pure natural pleasure. They simply didn’t have to speak-they felt.
As he had gazed at her paintings, the sensual and living essence of all four of her, Mike had seen he had clearly captured the full female pride in her face, the jut of her chin, and the set of her shoulders.
It shone in her eyes and gaze like a lighthouse beacon for all the world to see, making all who approached aware of the reefs of womanhood upon which their natural female could run aground and be dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks of despair, loneliness and self-pity.
He knew the absolute brilliance of her female through his work would be seen clearly by day or by night, such was the certain stamp of her female in each brush stroke of glorious living colour that adorned each canvas and made each a living essence of her.
He could see easily the sensual trace elements he had incorporated in strokes of white-yellow fire on two of the paintings, depicting the essence of her raw female losing that virginity held for so long between her creamy buttocks.
Annie had shucked down low with her arms supporting her head while she had willingly and knowingly waited for his length and girth to arrive fully and deeply inside her ass.
She had groaned deeply from her female gut when he had pushed his charger greased with her own abundant slippery oil, slowly at first, and then all the way through her tight tiny starfish and fully up inside the hot, constricting clenching sheath of her writhing twisting ass.
Within only a few deep slow and penetrating strokes between her buttocks fully Mike had noticed her groans of pain surely turn to moans of ecstasy as she had forced her shoulders lower into the mattress and raised her hips higher in the air for deeper and more frequent penetration.
Annie’s first of many anal orgasms to come after that had been so incredibly intense at its peak she had risen suddenly and thrown herself back into him with the kick of a mule. Then she had suddenly groaned very loudly and had fallen quickly forward again on her forearms, lifting her hips and buttocks higher than before.
She had reached behind her to grasp his swinging heavy balls, pulling and rubbing them hard against the drizzling slit of her warm cunt as she’d climaxed, as if attempting to stuff as much of his maleness inside her shuddering female at her orgasmic peak as she could.
Mike had exploded fully then and completely with so much raw sensuality, the like of which he’d never experienced before with any of his models.
He had groaned loudly and held her hips high, gripping her hips fiercely, emptying and emptying, splashing and spurting for ages and ages inside her living ass before he, too, fell spent and physically exhausted across her hind quarters.
They had both then collapsed to the mattress in a tangle of sweating arms and legs and bodies. He had remained deeply embedded between her still clenching buttocks until nature herself had relaxed slowly both bodies and allowed a natural and unnoticed separation of both.
Always he rose once more and painted exactly what he saw. He painted exactly what he felt, and exactly what she had and was still experiencing in her face and body at the time of fiery colours of white- yellow flames he’d captured within seconds. They had been dancing about her eyes and face, and her hips and buttocks. Then, to the canvas, he’d committed her living female essence once again.
And so Mike had slowly but surely loved and worked his way through Annie’s ‘coming out’ over three glorious months of intimacy and painting. Many, many times had he frictioned her body senseless with his hands and mouth and his own length and girth, as she had done to him as well.
Her female had ‘known’ him and pleased him as his male had known and pleasured her. Mike had been sad when his work had received the final sensual sexual brush stroke, but he always was at that time.
Now, as he watched the people in the gallery all staring up in awe at her he knew he’d done it again, and he felt good about himself without feeling guilty that he’d used hypnosis to bring it all to fruition-to bring ‘her’ fruition... her natural wonderful sensual female.
Mike also knew that for as long as he had breath in him, that long would he continue to paint natural females as he did.
As he moved a little closer to the edge of the silent, seemingly mesmerized crowd, he sharpened his ears to what one of the three women closer to the front was saying quietly to another, almost in a whisper.
“How could he ‘capture’ her like that?” She whispered to the other.
“How could she ‘be’ like that? So... So...”
“Female?” Mike whispered quietly, but loudly enough for the three women to hear clearly.
The three women all turned and looked at him at the same time. Their faces were deadly serious. He could see two of them had a light glistening sheen across their foreheads, while the other kept wringing her hands tightly while standing with her ankles, legs and thighs pressed closely together.
All three women had their eyebrows raised, as if waiting for him to answer his own unsolicited question.
“Because... she ‘can’.” Mike warmly smiled at them all.
Then he turned and walked smiling towards the front door of the gallery. He hadn’t seen
Annie had been behind him and three people back, following him out the door. She hadn’t seen him either, but each felt, somehow, that the other had been there unseen for the unveiling.
And in that knowledge of conscious awareness Annie’s female said thanks and kissed Mike’s male tenderly goodbye in her mind.
She then stepped confidently through the large front door of the prestigious art gallery and into the rest of her exciting, challenging and sensual life... as a female-a wonderfully free, gloriously happy and content with herself, just as who she really was... female.