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Paint By Numbers

A work of tasteless erotica by FoxTrot

Prolog

Jayne sat at her computer trying to write out her thoughts. The last year had been crazy. She had not expected any of the things that happened and had finally reached a point with it all where she simply needed to write it all down. She had needed to tell someone, but who was unclear to her. In desperation, she had started a blog. Nameless and faceless, she had begun to write Paint by Numbers. It was a confession she claimed. The blog became a candid look into her life. It became a record of how she and her life had changed in the past year. She had been writing for a few weeks now and she already had a fervent following. She did not track her readers though, nor did she mind if there were one or a thousand. Jayne just wanted others to hear. Readers asked for her photo so frequently she had lost count of the requests. Jayne always declined. Instead, she simply provided words. She said words were her canvas online and she could paint far more with them than she ever could with paint.

She wiped back her heavy ebon locks from her ice blue eyes. She stood and stretched her petite 5'8" form before refilling her coffee mug from the steaming pot in her kitchen. She returned to her computer, eyed it for a moment, and then sat down.

"Change is unexpected. It comes in the night silently while we sleep. Often when we wake up, we do not even know it was there. Change is constant. We lose who we are when change takes pause. I nearly lost who I was, and who I am now. Nevertheless, we all face this at times. Here's how it happened for me."

Chapter 1 Hands of Clay

Jayne sat before the potter's wheel her paws covered in grey slick muck. The lump of off balance clay slowly spun before her tauntingly. She had spent nearly the entire class period before a pound of soft mud and all she had to show for it was a wet mess and a ruined blouse. She had belligerently declined the smock when offered. The teacher had made it look so easy. She tried to keep her back turned from the rest of the class working at their own pottery wheels. She tried not to let them see the salty droplets that fell from her eyes. She had tried so hard and the one time it had started to work it had immediately collapsed.

Her nearly midnight pelt was covered with flecks of mud which she felt had deeply sunk in and matted her fur. She felt smudges against her cheek and ear where her paw had tried to dab away a tear. It was not the shirt or the mud on her pelt though. Those could be cleaned, or replaced. It was the effort. She had tried so very hard. She had had a picture in her head of something far more elegant than sat before her now. Something other students might appreciate. Instead this, a lump of wet clay spinning slowly, going out of control as she felt her emotions were beginning to.

She felt a heaving sob hit her once and then a presence behind her. She froze solid. She desperately held in her soft sniffle. Then there were long strong arms around her. She briefly thought of some movie she had seen, 'Ghost' perhaps, where something very much like this happened and it was the spirit of a dead lover behind her. She had no one like that. She was alone.

"Here, thumbs like so and then the rest like this. You were trying to make a fluted vase right?" the disembodied voice inquired. The arms gently guided her hands into position. "Just a little faster, and relax, let it come, don't force things." the voice continued as a small divot began to form.

She was not really listening to the voice, the thrum of the potter's wheel and now the slowly forming vessel distracting her. The arms were nearly the same color as the clay. No, she corrected herself. The arms were caked with clay. She was not even certain what color the pelt was beneath the layer of muck. Brown perhaps, maybe rust red? She sucked in another fading sob and felt her small chest rise and fall.

The paws guided her still. Just let them slip up the sides, don't pull, just guide." the voice continued softly, assuring. She felt calmer, felt a flutter of something in her chest. The stupid movie was still flitting about the back of her thoughts despite herself. She found herself losing focus on the classroom and instead centering on images in her mind, juxtaposing herself into the movie scenes. She felt her eyes dry. She purred softly, it was so inviting to have the warmth of someone near. The masculine hands drew her own small palms into them and led her. The vase grew and grew, bigger than she had thought the clay would allow.

She barely noticed though. Her body so relaxed. The imaginary scenes in her mind now almost fully her focus. She felt her body go warm. She flushed, it was becoming sexual, her fantasy. She had not been sexually aroused even in her own privacy for far longer than she could remember. She blushed deeply. She feared the almost certainty of her short furred pelt allowing the blush to show through. Her mouth parted and she panted just slightly. Her long ears drooped down deeply. The arms behind her showed no signs of acknowledging her shift in mood though or even being aware.

Her buckteeth lightly bit her lower lip and then relaxed as her embarrassment faded. She did not care that others might see, she was barely aware of them, as if they were not even real. She let out a soft gasp as she felt the fabric of her panties go damp and slowly stick to her labia. The sensation of the cloth dampening added a second wave of pleasure. She murred deeply.

"You're almost done. See? It's going just fine." the voice continued to coach her. She nodded gently. She thought she could feel chest just barely against her shoulders. She felt cool mud splatter up her arms but it barely quelled the fire in her loins. She shifted her legs slightly and felt her cotton ball tail scrunch up in tension.

Her entire body was on fire, the fantasy fully taken over. Her eyes fluttered closed. She was nearly to climax and she had not so much as touched herself. "There, perfect." the voice seemed to smile. She blinked for a moment. The paws were gone. They had been for a while now she realized. When her mind returned to focus on the reality before here there was a marvelous vase before her. She gasped gently. "See, I barely needed to help." the voice told her.

The fantasy was broken, but the emotions refused to ebb away, she had to look back. Who was this amazing person who had done so much more than help her in a way she did not want to admit even to herself. Her eyes widened and she shrunk back suddenly all emotion rushing from her. Smiling before her was the instructor who beamed with a satisfaction she had not seen in him before.

"I...um...what?" she stammered so shocked the words lost sense.

"You were doing fine half way through so I let you finish the rest on your own and I must say it's a remarkable piece." Instructor was telling her.

"No, I didn't, the arms did, I mean your arms did." she said still trying to accept it had all been fantasy. Her voice was dejected, downtrodden. She felt tears well up again. She was angry at having allowed herself a moment and even angrier for having lost it.

The instructor shook his head though. "I'm quite certain you did that all on your own Jayne." He assured her. His wolfish features making his smile a little intimidating to her as a prey species. She knew the concept of predator and prey was all but gone, still instinct made that toothy grin uncomfortable. He was young, perhaps ten years more than most of the class, maybe even attractive but her mind could not even begin to think of him that way.

She looked to the vase again, needing to focus elsewhere. It was beautiful. Moreover, she had done it, so the instructor told her. She felt a different emotion then. It was not the heat of anger or arousal, but the warmth of the glow of pride. The soft crinkle in the fur of her cheeks as she smiled. Perhaps she could do this after all.

Cleaning up did not take long. She was ready to leave and get back to her single dorm room to change clothes. She felt the cold dampness in her pants and inwardly wished she could have trapped that moment in a bottle.

"Hey, who's in heat?" blurted out one of the male rabbits in the class a bit too eagerly sniffing the air near where she had been working.

She quickly shelved her piece for the kiln, shoved her books under her arm, and tried not to look like she was hurrying out. If the spell of the fantasy remained at all, it was completely broken now. Once out of the class she waited until she felt as if she was no longer so obvious. She started to run as fast as she could across the grass of the open campus park towards her dorm a single tear lost to the wind.

*********

"No before some of you get any sort of ideas Mr. L the arts teacher is not my secret crush or weekend boyfriend or anything like that. No, I am not telling you his full name. I'm still rather intimidated by him and I don't think I could ever think of him like that no matter the situation."

"Also, no I did not go home and 'self study' as some of you are playfully calling it. This is an open confession and I will tell all the details. I am not just withholding information. But, to those of you who have offered your kind words, thank you. It's nice to know someone else can connect to or relate to my experiences."

"Until next time. Jayne."