Paint Dries When You're Having Fun

Discreet White or Fancy Pink?

Rose compared the two paint samples the Sherwin-Williams employee had just handed her. Despite the name, Discreet White wasn't all that white. It was really more of a pink, although only slightly. Rose could barely tell the difference between the two.

"So, what do you think? You said you wanted something with a tinge of pink, but not overbearing. I think these two are pleasant, but muted."

Rose glanced at his name tag, it said, "McHugh". The colors that McHugh had brought were exactly what she was looking for, but she wasn't sure which one she preferred. She knew that she was well past the age where pink walls were appropriate, but she was starting to feel old. All she needed to do was to throw some plastic on her furniture and she'd could be someone's grandmother, she thought.

"Well, I like this hue better," she said and held up the Fancy Pink, "Then again, if I went with the Discreet White, I wouldn't have to put up with my friends and boyfriend mocking for having 'pink' walls." If I only had a boyfriend, she added to herself.

"Personally," McHugh said, "I wouldn't worry about what they think. Discreet White is pink enough that even if you told them it wasn't pink, they wouldn't believe you."

"Hmmm..." Rose held the two samples. She lifted the Discreet White imagined her room that color, then did the same with the Fancy Pink. There really wasn't much of a difference, and since she didn't really have many friends or a boyfriend, she said, "I'm leaning towards the Fancy Pink." Besides, she thought, the name is cuter. More ... youthful.

"Excellent choice. And, if it'll make the decision any easier, I can tell you I've already got some Fancy Pink mixed up so you don't have to wait."

"Oh, that sounds good! Let's go with that," Rose nodded. "Fancy Pink. I like it. It's different, and I really need some sort of change in my life."

Rose hummed as she set the paint buckets in the corner of her room and started moving things out. She wanted to get new furniture too, but on her salary she'd have to be happy with new walls.

She wrestled with her dresser, desk, bedside table, and bookshelf, getting them as far out into the living room as she could. There wasn't a bit of space left; drawers were stacked up on the couch, books piled high on the coffee table, even her bedside lamp sat cozily in the armchair. Her queen-sized bed alone remained in her bedroom.

Rose taped around the doors and window, Then lined the floor with old sheets and towels. She even taped the ceiling corners. She was nothing if not meticulous.

Opening one of the cans, Rose wrinkled her nose at the smell. She went and opened the lone window, then filled the rolling tray and started on the first wall. She went up and down in nice even strokes, making sure not to splatter. Half an hour later, the first wall was done.

She sat on her bed to appraise her work. The first section had mostly dried, but the bit she'd just finished glistened in the mid-morning daylight. Staring at the pleasant hue, she thought it's so cute.

Even with the window open, the smell of paint was overwhelming. Rose wanted to step out and take a break, but she was transfixed by the drying paint. It seemed to dance and twirl as it dried. She felt like she was being pulled into it. Fancy Pink enveloped her world. She found herself swimming naked in a pink sea. The water coated her aging body. It dried to her skin and she became one with the pink world. Care-free, she swam and played in the pink ocean. Rose was happy.

Her watch beeped; it was noon. Close to an hour had passed and a dull, warm pink had replaced the wet shine. Rose's sudden laughter echoed against the bare walls. She couldn't believe that she had actually sat and watched paint dry.

Rose readied her roller again and set upon the second wall, the one with her closet, opposite the window. Her strokes were a little bit faster, not quite as careful, but she still prevented any splatters. When she finished, she stepped back, admiring the finished corner of the room. Sunlight shone through the window causing the wet paint to sparkle. Rose could feel herself being pulled in, and once again she sat down and watched the paint slowly dry.

She floated in her pink world, everything so warm and gentle. She stretched a hand out and touched a passing pink bubble. It was as soft as she imagined. She cupped it in both hands and brought it to her chest. Warmth spread out through her body as the bubble melted into her skin, turning her pink. Rose smiled.

Some time later, Rose snapped to. She cursed herself. Once was forgivable, but she was wasn't going to get anywhere watching paint dry. Rose resolved not to even look at the next two walls until she was completely finished. Nevertheless, she felt a longing inside of her.

As she moved one of the buckets to paint the third wall, she glanced down at it. She needed to see it dry, but she wanted to resist. Rose was torn.

As her inner battle raged, Rose quickly rolled the paint on. Most of her earlier care was gone, and she splattered a few drops on herself and a few more drops landed in her short dark hair. She painted with determination, but she didn't know what for.

Finishing, Rose quickly trotted to the edge of her bed, sat down, and stared at the wall. She put her elbows on her knees and her chin on her paint-spotted hands and watched raptly as the paint dried. She dove into the pinkness, and it splashed all around her. She twirled and danced in the pink world, laughing the whole time.

She didn't know when, but at some point the pink sheen dried up. Rose giggled. Hastily, she drug the paint over to the last wall and attacked it. The roller flew up and down without care, Rose wanted to be sure she got to watch every last bit dry. If she hadn't covered it, she would have wound up with a Fancy Pink floor as well. Her clothes, on the other hand, wound up more pink than their original colors, but she didn't notice.

The late afternoon sun streamed in perfectly to illuminate the slowly drying paint. Rose stripped off her clothes and reached out to the Fancy Pink world that she had painted. From it, she grabbed a soft pink gown and put it on. The pinkness warmed her, it completed her. Rose watched every bit of paint dry, even the paint on her discarded clothes. As she watched, Rose laughed and smiled.

The next morning Rose awoke naked on her bed in the freshly painted room. Her head throbbed. Silently, she cursed herself for sleeping in the room with the paint fumes. Then again, she didn't remember going to sleep.

She inspected her clothing; they weren't even fit for rags. She threw them down in disgust. What had gotten into her yesterday? How could she lose control of herself like that? Rose balled her clothes up with the sheets that lined the floor and put them all in a garbage bag.

Rose desperately wanted to get dressed. She hated being nude, even when she was alone, it made her feel exposed and vulnerable. However, her clothes were in her dresser, which was in the living room, outside of her pink niche.

Rose opened her bedroom door and was greeted by a disaster. A herd of elephants had apparently stampeded through her living room during the night. At least, that was her best guess as she had organized everything when she moved it out. Still, she'd been moving a lot of stuff around.

Trying to find underwear in that mess was out. She'd just have to go without until she got everything straightened up. She did still needed to get dressed, though, so she turned to get something out of her closet. As she looked at the pink walls, her skin warmed, like she was wearing a terrycloth robe. She could feel it: so soft, warm, and pink. She knew it wasn't there, but it felt so real. Her desire for clothing dissipated. She had a robe on, after all. She didn't need clothes.

Rose walked out into her living room, still naked. Slowly but steadily, she made progress on the mess. She moved her bed back into its proper position and then dragged her desk in. After setting her computer back up, she moved the small bookshelf and put the books back. As she moved about, she realized that she wasn't, in fact, wearing a robe, but that she was naked. Along with that realization came another: that she liked being naked.

Despite moving over half of her stuff back into her room, the living room was still a mess. Most of it was from her dresser. Sometime in the night, it had vomited all of its contents, littering the room. Rose first moved the actual dresser back into her bedroom, put it in its proper place, and then set about putting the clothes back in their drawers.

Rose had put quite a lot of them back when if finally occurred to her that she hadn't come across a single pair of panties or a bra. Frantically, she searched through the remaining clothes. The only thing she found was a black lacy bra and a matching thong that had been a gag gift. Someone had come in and stolen her underwear! That's why her place was trashed. She felt violated and a little confused. What sort of sick pervert would break in, ignore her computer and TV, and just take her underwear?

She ran for the phone to call the police, then stopped. A faint memory came back of her fighting her way through the living room to the dresser and throwing out her "boring old crap". Rose's stomach lurched. Going into the kitchenette, Rose looked in the garbage. Sure enough, there were her undies, coated in left over Fancy Pink paint. They were ruined.

Rose remembered doing it; she remembered forcing her way to the drawers on the couch and tearing through them until she got all of her undies. She could remember taking them into the kitchen, throwing them in the garbage, then dumping the last of the paint on top of them. Most vividly, she could remember sitting there, watching it dry. The only thing she couldn't remember was why.

Horrified, she made her way back to the living room, finished putting everything away, and then headed into the bathroom to take a shower. It was the first time she was able to evaluate the mess she'd made of herself. Her black hair was cropped just below her ears and pink paint was splattered through out it. Fancy Pink streaks also ran down her face. Almost as startling as what she'd done to her underwear, though, was that at some point she had dipped her hands in the paint and smothered her small, sagging breasts; hard Fancy Pink nipples sat on top of Fancy Pink saddlebags.

Too shocked to react, Rose climbed into the shower and started bathing. First she scrubbed her hair, trying to get the paint out. Several shampoos later, she was satisfied that she'd gotten all of it out of her shoulder-length brown hair. Most of the paint on her hands had come off while doing her hair, but she used a little Body Works loofah to get the last of it off, easily getting under her non-existent nails. She then used the loofah get the paint off her face, before going to work on her breasts.

Her nipples wouldn't cooperate. They were too hard and sensitive, and using the loofah hurt. Rose dropped it in the tub and soaped up her nipples the old fashioned way- with her hands. In contrast to the loofah, her hands felt really nice. She continued to rub her breasts; she tweaked one of her nipples, sending a twinge running between her legs. Rose had never been so excited in her life.

Losing all pretense of washing herself, her left hand continued to pinch her nipple, while her right made it down to her vagina and its swollen clitoris. She rubbed her fingers back and forth. She leaned against the shower wall for support. Pinching and pulling on her tender nipples while she furiously worked at her puffy clitoris, Rose soon came. A little squeak escaped from her lips.

Basking in the afterglow, she slowly worked her hand in circles on her satisfied lower half. She pulled her hand away. Rose was suddenly baffled- her behavior was getting stranger and stranger. She hadn't masturbated since she was a freshman in college, and that was almost two decades ago. She hadn't even felt the desire to masturbate ... until today.

Ashamed, Rose got out of the shower and toweled herself off. Her nipples were still hard, but had somewhat subdued. Her breasts, however, seemed a little firmer and perkier. Rose wrote it off as them reacting to her embarrassing foray in the shower. She vowed never to do it again.

Since she enjoyed prancing around in the buff earlier, Rose didn't bother to wrap herself in the towel like she normally did. She walked naked back to her room and opened her underwear drawer. She put on the only thing she hadn't destroyed. The lacy bra fit snugly against her chest. It was really more decorative than functional and if she had possessed any sort of chest to speak of, she would have overflowed it like the designers intended.

The g-string looked uncomfortable, but surprisingly, she enjoyed the feeling of the thin fabric running over her vagina. Rose then threw on a comfortable tee and a pair of Capri jeans. Completing her outfit with a pair of flip-flops, she headed out the door to the mall to buy some sensible underwear. Three hours later, she returned home with several bags from a racy boutique. Happily, Rose clipped the tags and carefully put her purchases in her underwear drawer.

While she waited for the microwave to cook her meal, she looked at the bottle of wine she'd bought on impulse. When she saw its name, she just had to buy it. She didn't even know they made a wine called "rose", but then again, the only time she'd ever drunk alcohol was a ceremonial glass of champagne on her 21st birthday. She didn't even want to drink that, but her friends had insisted she at least have something since she was "legal".

She poured a glass and sat down to the microwave dinner. Maybe she'd simply had the wrong impression of alcohol all her life. If it had the same name as her, it couldn't be bad. She took a sip and the pink wine warmed her as in went down her throat. She was in love.

Rose took a bit of her microwave dinner, and her eyes widened. What had she'd done? Quickly she ran to her underwear drawer and rummaged through it. Every single pair that she'd bought was as impractical and revealing as the one she currently wore. All of the bras were more frilly than supportive. She'd even bought ones in cup sizes she didn't know existed. All of the panties were tiny little g-string thongs.

Why had she bought such useless things? How could she waste all of that money? Sitting back down at the table, she downed her glass of wine. She put her head in her hands and rubbed her temples. Why was she acting so strangely? She poured herself another glass and downed it. Her cheeks flushed from the artificial heat of the alcohol.

After pouring a third glass of wine, Rose left her half-eaten meal and sat in her bedroom. With the door closed, the paint fumes were still suffocating, but the memory of the drying walls and two glasses of wine made Rose giggle. So what if she was going crazy. She sat in the middle of her bed, sipped her wine, and stared at the walls.

Monday morning, Rose groggily awoke for work. Her head throbbed. This time it wasn't from paint fumes, but rather from the empty bottle of wine on her bedside table. In the shower she fingered herself again, this time to the vague memory of a night filled with wine and self-pleasure.

After she came and got out of the shower, her headache cleared up. What was wrong with her? She hadn't touched herself in years, yet she'd masturbated in the shower twice in two days and Lord knew how many times last night. "This has to stop," she told herself, even as she played with her pert little boobs.

Rose toweled off and got ready for work. Underneath her conservative skirt and blouse, she wore a bright yellow bra and matching g-string. Her remorse from last night was mostly gone. She still regretted buying the unnecessarily large bras, but for the most part, she thought she'd chosen rather cute ones. She gave herself one last look-over in the mirror and smiled. No one would know what she had on underneath; she felt secretly dirty. Rose left her apartment and headed to work.

Settling into her desk, Rose glanced at the clock, it read 8:25. Her boss wouldn't be in until nine, but she liked getting in early and getting ready for the day. She picked up a pen and clicked it in and out. She put the pen down and typed on her computer. She picked the pen back up and started clicking it again. She read what she'd written: "Fancy Pink dries beautifully." She wanted to see that color again, she wanted to paint more. More than that, she wanted to watch it dry.

Rose looked at the clock again, which now showed 8:57. Her boss would be in soon and all she'd done so far was to daydream about watching paint dry. Rose was surprised that she wasn't annoyed. She felt like she should feel annoyed about wasting half an hour, but she wasn't. Frantically, she finished getting everything ready just as her boss strolled in. "Morning, Rose," he said.

"Fancy Pink dries beautifully."

"What?"

"I mean, good morning, sir!"

Her boss looked at her quizzically. "Ok ... anyway, last night the main office called and they want me to head up there for the week. I've just come in to pick up our reports and head out."

"Oh, okay. What should I do with this week's reports?"

"Just leave them on my desk," he told her, "I'll get to them first thing on Monday." Her boss went into his office and came out a few minutes later. He said his good-bye and left.

Rose had one of her worst days at work ever. Her absentmindedness from the morning continued throughout the day. When she tried to force herself to concentrate and get work done, she would soon get bored. The only thing that stayed in her mind was the dancing and swirling of Fancy Pink paint drying in the sunlight. Soon, she gave up trying to work and just daydreamed.

Most days she stayed late to double-check her work, some nights staying until 9:00, but today, as soon as the clock hit five, Rose was out the door. By 5:30 Rose had eaten and was sitting in the middle of her bed, drinking a bottle of wine, and staring at the wall. Rose wished that the walls weren't dry. She wished that they were still wet so she could watch them dry again.

The entire work-week fell into that pattern. Every morning she awoke to an empty bottle of wine and a satisfied feeling between her legs. She'd then finger herself in the shower and feel full and content, only to feel bored and empty at work. She had to do something, she realized. She had to clear her head and the only way to do that would be to watch the paint dry. When she made that decision, her heart fluttered with joy.

Early Saturday morning, Rose walked into the Sherwin-Williams store and looked for McHugh. She found him near the back.

"Hello. Do you remember me?"

McHugh looked at Rose, then said, "Yeah, Fancy Pink, right? How's that working out for you?"

"I love it. I was even thinking of maybe doing my guest room in that color." She actually didn't care where she painted, she just wanted to paint.

"I'm glad to hear that. Well, how big is your guest room?"

Rose told him and McHugh disappeared into the back room. He came out with two of cans of paint. "You're in luck. I'd just mixed up enough yesterday." Without even a thank you, Rose tossed some money on the counter, grabbed the cans and rushed home.

Rose hastily threw everything out of the guest room. She didn't bother stacking things or making the best use of space. She didn't care, she wanted to paint. Not even bothering to toss a sheet on the floor, Rose started on the first wall. Her roller flew up and down the wall and in 20 short minutes, she was done.

Rose collapsed on the guest bed and watched the paint dry. She stepped into a Fancy Pink world and danced and twirled with the drying paint. An hour later, the pink world left her and she was just a woman staring at a wall. Thinking nothing of her hour-long break, Rose attacked the second wall. She repeated the process, 20 minutes of work with an hour of paint-drying enchantment. The third and fourth walls went down the same way.

Sunday morning, Rose woke up naked on her guest-room bed. Several empty bottles of wine littered the floor and her head throbbed. Rose tried to recall the previous night, but came up blank.

There was something between her legs. Slowly, she reached down with her hand until she came into contact with a dildo. A memory of a sex shop flashed through her mind. Rose shuddered. Had she actually gone to one?

She grabbed the base of the dildo and quickly pulled it out of her pussy. A shock-wave of pleasure coursed through her body and her hand involuntarily shoved the plastic dick back into her wet snatch. Rose moaned loudly. Her hand worked the cock in and out. Lust replaced her headache.

Her free hand reached up to her much larger tits and started kneading them while the hand between her legs continuing to work its magic. She writhed in pleasure. She pinched and twisted her nipples, until finally one last hard slam of the cock sent her over the edge. "FUCK!" she screamed, and came. She didn't even notice her first cuss word in 20 years.

Rose slowly stood up and the dildo fell to the ground. She made her way through the mess of her living-room to the bathroom. There, she looked at herself in the mirror. She was just as much of a mess as her living room. Again, for reasons she couldn't understand, she'd coated her firm, large tits with paint. Her long sandy-brown hair was splattered pink.

When Rose stepped into the shower to clean herself off, she was greeted by a surprise she'd left herself. She'd attached a second dildo to the wall above the faucet. It was at the perfect height so that if she leaned forward, she could back up and fuck herself doggy-style on it. Despite the fact that she was only a minute removed from a mind-shattering orgasm, that's exactly what she did.

She used her left hand to support herself on the wall as her right parted her hungry pussy lips. Her cunt swallowed the cock and she bounced on it back and forth. What started out as slight moans gradually turned into her chanting "fuck," over and over. Her tits shook with each backwards thrust; Rose was in heaven.

At last Rose screamed and came. She slid her cunt off the cock and sat down in the tub. She started to cry; Rose was in hell.

She didn't understand what was wrong with her. After not touching herself in years, she had masturbated daily for a week, and now she'd savagely fucked herself twice in less than ten minutes. Even now, crying, her hand was playing with her hot, wet snatch. She had to get a grip on herself.

Rose wiped her eyes and turned on the water. She felt dirty to her soul; she needed to clean herself. She started with her hair. The dried paint flaked off as she massaged the strands back and forth in her hands. When she was finished, she tilted her head back and let the water flow down her long hair.

Next, she scrubbed her body clean, saving her tits for last. She knew what would happen if she touched them. Rose spent some extra time cleaning her long nails. She admired their perfect length. They were long enough that she could paint any design she wanted on them, but short enough that they wouldn't break easily.

Sighing, she knew she couldn't procrastinate forever. Slowly, she reached up and touched the upper slope of her tits, her fingers brushing against her flesh. It felt safe. Applying a bit more pressure, she washed just the upper half of her rack without incident. She was relieved.

She looked down at her large melons. Hard Fancy Pink nipples jutted out of her smooth skin. Her mammoth jugs blocked the view of her feet. She felt a fire start burning between her legs; she was getting turned on from staring at her own tits. Her head snapped up and she flipped the water over to cold. If it were possible, she felt her nipples harden even more, but the water had the desired effect: the hunger in her cunt subsided.

Rose turned the temperature back up and stood in the stream. She was ready to finish the job. She cupped the bottom curve of her boobs and began scrubbing. Rose closed her eyes and washed. She was going to do it. She was going to get her tits cleaned without fucking herself.

"God, yes!" she said in triumph. She didn't know what was happening to her, but she'd won this round. "Fuck yeah!" she boasted. Rose opened her eyes and saw her tits jiggle as pinched her nipples with her long fingernails. Her hips rocked back and forth as she impaled her pussy on the wall-mounted cock.

"Fuuuck," she moaned in anguish; she'd lost. She smashed her tits against her body and rubbed them around. Her hips continued to rock at a steady pace. The water raining down on her back seemed to wash a weight off her shoulders. Rose's eyes glazed over and she stared ahead.

"Fuuuck," she moaned in pleasure. She pinched her nipples and pulled on them. Her hips increased their pace and she started panting. The water continued to cleanse her, she felt free. Rose continued to stare, but started to smile.

"Fuuuck!" she orgasmed and collapsed down into the tub. The water pelted off her back washing the last of her resistance away. Rose continued mauling her chest. Eventually, her hands stopped moving, but her smile remained. She rose to her knees and turned off the water. Her juices sparkled on the cock. Their glisten reminded her of Fancy Pink paint drying. Inspired, she leaned her head forward and sucked her wall-cock clean.

Rose dried herself off and threw the towel back on the rack. So what if she was hornier, she hadn't felt this alive in years. She did her hair and make-up and then, not bothering to dress, she moved the few bits of guest-room furniture back in. The room looked wonderful.

She re-decorated the room with various knickknacks and pictures. It was only a guest-room by name, no one had actually stayed there, so she used it to display the various items she'd picked up on trips she'd taken with friends. She always made a little shrine for each trip. She'd buy something with the place's name written on it, a picture frame, and maybe something unique to the place.

In college, she'd taken her one and only trip out of the country. She'd gone to Paris with the last boyfriend she'd had. On one side of a picture of her in front of the Arch de Triumph, she put an Eiffel Tower monument and on the other, a plastic loaf of French bread with "Paris" written on it.

Last month, she'd gone to the beach with one of her girlfriends. She put the tacky flamingo with the beach's name on it in the middle and the jar of colored sand on the right. On the left, she set down a picture of her on the beach. Rose looked at the picture.

Her short black hair was cropped so that the tips curled forward just below her ears. Her hand shielded her eyes from the sun as she lounged in a beach chair. She wore an unflattering blue bathing suit that did nothing to support the drooping of her smallish boobs.

Rose lifted a strand of her long sandy blond hair and studied it. Hair doesn't grow that fast, she thought. And her tits were definitely different. The ones in the picture weren't close to the round jutting globes that now adorned her. She wasn't just hornier, she was changing.

She dropped the picture and ran to her room. It had to be the paint. She needed to get down to the store and ask McHugh what he'd done to her. Whipping open her closet, she was shocked to find it completely empty. The only thing in her dresser was the undies she'd bought last week. All of her clothes were gone.

She knew who had done it. In a flash, she remembered that she'd taken all of her clothes to Goodwill on her way to the sex shop. The only thing left for her to wear laid on her bed. She'd bought it at Goodwill when she'd given her stuff away. There was a powder blue t-shirt that had two naked women wrestling on it. Above them it said, "Wrestling Gals". Next to it was a white tennis skirt.

Rose tried to put on the black bra she'd had originally, but it didn't fit her new chest. In fact, none of the bra's she'd worn last week did. Discarding the small bras, she looked at the remaining selection the ones she'd bought for no apparent reason. She picked up a black lacy one that had a white floral pattern embroidered on it. I could go parachuting with this, Rose thought.

Despite its size, the bra barely contained her chest. Rose put on the matching thong, and then, reluctantly, the t-shirt and skirt. The shirt was too small. It hugged tightly to her body, stretching out with her jugs warping the text. The shirt came short of her midriff and ample cleavage was visible.

She slipped into a pair of high-heels and looked at herself in the full-length mirror behind her door. She looked like a teenage-tramp. She looked good. Picking up her purse, she walked out the door.

A few minutes later, Rose sat in her car outside of the Sherwin-Williams store. When she left home, she had felt confident, but now, she felt silly in her get-up. She should have gone shopping first.

Rose got out of her car and strode into the store. She was happy to see that there were no customers there, but no sales man was on the floor either. "Excuse me," Rose called out.