The Canvas by Lady Crissy

The Canvas   by Crissy Viper

"Are you sure?"  I said.

"Yes, Miss.  I trust you,"  he responded quickly, with a smile.

The beginning.  There was always a beginning.  A moment created out of time, space.  It was almost a type of magic. Creating an opening, an opportunity, where before there was none.  No chance of realizing this possibility until this very moment.

"Good boy,"  I acknowledged with a smile in return.

I began by stepping close and carefully looking over the canvas of his body .  Like a sculptor considering a slab of marble. He had offered this, and I had accepted.  He didn't understand how much it meant to me, but I planned to show him.  Does form follow identity, or does identity follow form?  I was hoping for a little of both.  I wanted to create what I desired most and to show him the elements within him that I had known all along.

I let my desire guide my fingers as I smoothed and molded, as I pinched and gently created definition and smoothness.  This was to be a firm and strong body, muscled, but not overly so. Arms and legs were massaged and created to be strong, to be durable, to be comforting.  I made his torso solid, with a bit more flesh over his fit form.  I formed his chest to be solid, with nipples that invited gentle biting, and a firm ass that would give just the right sound when spanked soundly to bring me to wetness.

I held his cock and balls next and I formed them to average specifications and his cock to be cut. I created his cock to be something that would be fun to play with - to stroke, to slap, to make hard over and over without mercy or release.  Smoothing my thumb over his budding erection, I brought him to fullness and gave him a squeeze approving my work before letting go, hearing his soft moan.
 
Looking into his eyes, I put my hands on his neck, drawing them down and over his shoulders, down his arms,  and then to his torso.  I watched the skin change hue, subtle changes in the tone following in the wake of my palms' gentle movements. I gave him light, almost pale skin, not deathly pale but with the blush of his warm blood beneath it.  Cool skin that would invite kisses or licks or bites to reach the warm wetness underneath. Running hands over his torso, over his hips. and down his legs to his feet.

Lastly placing my palms on either side of his face, I leaned in for a sweet kiss, watching as his head slowly matched the rest of him, his lips slightly red from the kiss as I withdrew. I saw it then.  The first signs of recognition.  The gravity of the situation shone in his eyes then, his lips half parted in the wake of the kiss.  Then his surprise.  The beginning had become something more in only so many moments and touches.  The shift was perceptible.  The soft acceptance on his face let me know there was no turning back now.

I touched his eyes then, and his brow, watching the short dark hair appear and thick dark lashes on his lids. I created eyes of ice blue that had a sense of alertness and intelligence, but also a bit of hunger. My fingertips continued down his jawline and hair grew there.  A line of beard hair grew in black, so that, though his skin was pale and beautiful, it would mark him as a man grown.   A short line across and above his lip gave him a very short and sparse line of hair there as well.  His lips I formed to be soft and just a bit plump, all the better to bite and to feel on my skin if I were to allow it.

I took a moment to admire him then: My creation.  My fingers moved to his scalp then, and the gentle swirls of my fingertips brought forth the soft, dark wavy hair that covered his head now and I laughed softly as I twirled strands between my fingers, enjoying the feel of it.  In the same theme, my fingers danced over his chest and stomach, and even down lower, to add soft dark hair here and there, though not very much.

I took his hands in mine then, touching, forming.  Creating fingers that were neither soft, nor rough, with fingers that were strong enough to hold my hand firmly or to give me massage for as long as I wanted.  Bending down I finished his feet, making them strong enough to stand for hours attending me or to run if I needed him to be swift and to fetch something for me.

Taking a few steps, I admired My creation.  A perfect instrument reflecting the best of what I wished from him.   Having created him perfectly for me, I felt my own desire rise.  Crooking a finger, I beckoned him to me.  "Come My creation, you have much to do."

The end of the beginning