The Lake House Examination

"You're trembling," he whispered, his fingers grazing the inside of my thigh like an accident.

I froze, paintbrush in hand. Lada, the artist. My model, Artem, stood before me completely naked in the soft light streaming through the tall windows of the lake house. The sun was sinking toward the water, and the room smelled of pine, turpentine, and something sharp and masculine.

"I'm not trembling... just cold," I breathed out, but my voice betrayed me. My eyes drifted down past his stomach, where his cock was already starting to thicken. Artem noticed. His dark pupils dilated, his breathing quickened.

"Lada... you've been looking at me all day like you want to fuck me, not paint me," he said quietly, almost accusing. "And now I accidentally touch you, and you're already soaked. I can feel it."

My cheeks burned. We both knew his "accidental" touch—when he claimed he was adjusting his pose—was anything but. I set down my palette. My hands were shaking.

"Then... examine me," I whispered, hardly believing my own words. "Like a gynecologist. Tell me what's wrong with me."

Artem stepped closer. His palm landed on my knee and slowly pushed my legs apart. I was perched on the edge of the wide wooden table where I usually spread out my sketches. My sundress had ridden up on its own.

"Spread wider," he commanded in a low voice. His fingers found my panties, already soaked through. "Jesus, Lada... your pussy is dripping. You seriously want me to 'examine' you?"

"Yes..." I exhaled, leaning back on my elbows. "Please. Check how turned on I am."

He yanked my panties down in one motion. Cool air hit my hot folds. Artem dropped to his knees between my legs. Two fingers slowly parted my lips, exposing my clit—already swollen and throbbing.

"Look at how open you are," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Your cunt is glistening, the muscles inside are clenching. You want me to go deeper?"

"Put your fingers inside," I begged, biting my lip.

He slid in one finger, then two. Slow, circular motions. The sound was obscene—wet squelching in the silent house, only the lake lapping outside and our heavy breathing. I moaned, arching my back.

"Deeper, Artem... harder. Examine all of me."

He picked up the pace, his fingers fucking me with confidence, his thumb grinding against my clit. I was close, but he suddenly stopped, pulled his hand out, and stood up. His cock stood at full attention, the head glistening with precum.

"Now I want to fuck you for real. Lie on your back, legs over my shoulders."

I obeyed, lying flat on the table. Sketch paper crumpled beneath my spine. Artem gripped his thick cock and dragged the head along my wet slit, teasing.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you," he whispered, staring straight into my eyes.

"I want it... fuck me like a patient you shouldn't touch but desperately need to," I breathed.

He thrust forward. His cock sank in almost to the hilt in one go. I cried out at the fullness. He started moving—slow at first, letting me adjust to his size, then harder. The table creaked in rhythm with his thrusts. My tits bounced under my dress, nipples rubbing against the fabric.

"Fuck, you're so tight... and so wet," he groaned at the peak of his stroke. He grabbed my hips, slamming deeper.

I flipped over, getting on all fours, bracing myself on the table. Artem entered me from behind, one hand gripping my waist, the other finding my clit and rubbing fast. His balls slapped against my slick skin. Every thrust hit my cervix. I couldn't speak anymore—just moaned his name.

"Cum on my cock, Lada... I want to feel your pussy squeeze me," he growled in my ear.

The orgasm hit me out of nowhere. My body arched, my cunt pulsing hard around his shaft. I screamed, fingers digging into the table's edge. Artem didn't stop—kept pounding me through my climax until he froze, flooding me with hot cum deep inside.

We collapsed onto the table. He pulled out slowly, and I felt his semen trickling down the inside of my thigh.

We lay there in silence, pressed together. Just heavy breathing and the gentle lap of the lake outside. Not a word. Only the warmth of his skin, the beat of his heart against my back, and sweet exhaustion in every muscle.