Page 42 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

“Point taken.” I sighed and unbuttoned my shirt. Megan immediately came to assist.

I was down to my boxers when the young woman in the loincloth returned. “Hurry up, I still have to paint you.”

“I’ll go first,” Megan said, now wearing one of the loincloths. Blacksmith’s apron was more like it, as they didn’t cover anything in the back.

The other woman crouched down and opened a tin box. She took out an airbrush and turned on the miniature compressor.

“Here.” The woman gave Megan a pair of goggles to put on. Once Megan had donned them, the woman swept the airbrush across her body in wide strokes. Orange paint began to adhere to Megan’s body. She giggled a bit.

“It tickles.”

“Hold still!” The woman snapped sternly.

“Yes ma’am,” Megan said in a little girl voice, giving me a sultry gaze at the same time. I felt my cock twitch hard under the loincloth I was now wearing.

The woman moved around in a circle, covering Megan in a light coating of orange paint. The scene was not intended to be erotic, but I very much found it to be so. Judging from the way Megan’s chest heaved, she felt the same way.

The woman put away the airbrush and picked up a conventional horsehair one. She dipped it in black paint and began to make light, feathery strokes over Megan’s body, forming stripes. It finally occurred to me they were painting her up to look like a Tigress.

Megan looked at me from under half-lidded eyes, lips slightly parted as the woman painted a stripe over her nipple. I couldn’t help standing there, staring like an idiot. It was almost like having a threesome, except the artist girl had no clue.

“Your turn,” the woman said, picking up the airbrush. Megan handed me the goggles and stood back to watch, holding her arms in the air to avoid mussing the paint.

The paint DID tickle. I was a lot worse at holding still for the process than Megan was. The artist grew frustrated after a time and gave up.

“Whatever, you’re tall. You’ll be in the back. Nobody will see you much anyway.”

The woman led us out into the bright sunlight, where roughly fifty or so other naked men and women stood wearing body paint. They stood in an area demarcated by duct tape. It took me a moment to realize that the shape was supposed to be a giant middle finger.

“Protect Animals Wherever gives a middle finger to exotic cat pets in the US,” I said, reading the big banner overhead. “Well, at least it’s for a worthy cause.”

“I half expected you to own a tiger.”

“Not me,” I shook my head. “I know some rich idiots who do just that, though. Wild animals belong in the wild or in a big budget, professionally maintained habitat. Not on a leash.”

“I know one wild animal that needs to be leashed,” she said, brushing up against me. Her hip stroked across my loincloth. She made a little O with her mouth when she felt my erection. “Oh, somebody is happy to see me.”

“Always.”

We were arranged so we fit with the other living canvases. The woman who had painted us joined the throng, and a photographer climbed up on a tall ladder.

“Okay,” shouted a man who was apparently the director. “I want you all to look FIERCE. Claw the air, snarl, roar! Roar my tigers!”

Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one who laughed. A ripple of mirth rolled through the crowd like a wave. We soon got ourselves together enough to do as the director asked, however. He wasn’t all that pleased, because a lot of us were still laughing.

The sun was warm on my skin. Weirdly, I didn’t feel self-conscious. I think the fact there were fifty other people also naked but for body paint and loincloths probably helped. The sun felt good on my skin, and I loved sharing the experience with Megan.

“Hey.” Megan said as I was mid-growl. My jaw was hurting from the ‘roaring’ portion of the performance.

“What? Is my growl not convincing?”

“Baby, your growl is great, but that’s not why I nudged you. Don’t be really obvious about it, but look to your left.”

I moved my eyes, not my head, and spotted the cop Megan had sprayed in the face at the edge of the perimeter. He’d made some attempt to clean his face since the last time we’d seen him, but some traces of the pigment still remained.

“At least he doesn’t look as angry,” I said.

“No, but no less determined. The thing is, he’s looked right at us twice and there wasn’t so much as a glimmer of recognition.”

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