Erotic Fragment ~ Franz and Marguerite

The lamp cast a soft yellow light on the picture of the young girl whose face he was not happy with. She had a virginal body, very much like Marguerite's, at least in so far as he could tell. He looked down at all the sketches he'd made, especially the one he hadn't shown her. He had to guess a good bit at the shape of her breasts, the size of her nipples and the dark area around them but he was satisfied that he'd come pretty close. Franz looked from one to another and back again. He wondered if Marguerite played with herself as this girl was doing, pulling at her tender tips this way. He wondered if her face would look as the girl's in the painting did...that face, he had to change it.1

He turned from the pictures, surprised to find himself erect and with a warm yearning ache spreading upwards from his groin.
He thought of a bath to calm himself , but realized the hot water heater had been turned off last night, another of Hans-Jakob's economy measures, and would not come back on until the old retainer rose at his customary 4:30 and then it would take forever to warm up. Franz looked at his watch. Hot water was still four or five hours away.2

He lay down on the narrow cot not bothering to turn out the light. The night was warm and humid and he'd stripped off everything but his cotton shorts. It didn't help. He looked at his first painting. The woman was lush and sensuous, her breasts large and full. He imagined Anna was like that.
He reached down and idly began to stroke himself as he thought of the sexy bar maid.3

He knew that she was attracted to him and hoped that before long he would be caressing her and squeezing her just as the man in his painting was doing. He reached into his shorts and gripped his thickening cock in his hand, slowly stroking it.4

Marguerite sat on her haunches silent as a mouse, peering in through the big key hole at Franz on his bed. Her own innocent frustration had left her restless and unable to sleep. She'd slipped downstairs thinking she might get some fresh milk and a sweet bun from the larder but stopped when she saw light still spilling from beneath his door. Curiosity had done the rest. She thought he looked like a bronzed god in the golden light and in her immature imagination. She watched mesmerized as he reached into his shorts and began to touch himself.5

Marguerite felt the same twisting knot in her belly that she had felt earlier. Her fingers went to her nipples which were already stiff with arousal.6

NO! surely not, not with...him. Never!. This was just...fun, this spying on Franz Hedda.7

As his visions grew more fevered, the painter sat up and slid off his underwear. He sat on the side of his cot with his legs spread wide and stroked himself to full erection. His long fingers squeezed and played with his curving staff and he imagined himself between Anna's soft thighs, pressing against the moist lips of her sex8

When he finally took it out, Marguerite thought of bolting back upstairs through the access door but she was glued to the spot, transfixed by what she saw. She had never seen a grown man's penis before. Her father had been a very modest person . She had seen her brothers when they were very young and Piet Dinker had exposed himself to her at a picnic last year but she had covered her eyes and run away. But this was...exciting!. She could see everything. His legs were opened towards her and she gazed in fascination at the entire length of him from the round pouch at the bottom all the way up to the wide purple tip.
Up and down, up and down, went the painter's swift hands. Marguerite began to breath very fast and her fingers slid under her nightdress to touch the bud and cleft that had given her such unexpectedly delicious feelings an hour ago.9

Oddly, Franz could not concentrate on his imaginary rutting with the sumptuous Anna. His eyes kept straying to the second painting, the young girl discovering herself. He looked at the sketch he'd made of Marguerite and kept transposing them, wondering if the young woman ever touched herself in this way too.
The idea excited him tremendously. He wanted to be there watching her as she played those early sensual games of exploration.
His strokes came faster, shuddering waves of itching, aching need consumed him, he shut his eyes and lay his broad shoulders back against the wall.10

Then he heard a distinct intake of breath and a soft moan come from the hallway outside his door.11

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