An art student is drawn into the magical world of costume sex, where extravagant props and fanciful garments paint the hot colors of passion on the erotic mind.

As I looked up, with this spectacular woman filling my gaze, realized I sure wasn’t in Kansas anymore. I felt as if I’d just stepped from black and white into the Technicolor of the Land of Oz. I had just arrived in the Greenwich Village section of New York City to visit the studio of my famous painter friend, Jan. I’d come all the way from the small college in Kansas where I was studying art in the hope that this great man would let me watch him work. I was willing to sweep up, run errands, whatever it took.

His paintings were swirling phantasmagorias of eroticism, rich with dark, spectacular hues and daring, lavish images of powerful sexuality.

The female model he was painting now was extravagantly beautiful and voluptuous. She stood, motionless, on the platform in front of his easel, with darkness behind her and small theatrical spotlights casting shafts of red and blue and magenta onto her flesh.

She wasn’t completely nude — Jan rarely painted nudes — but the bizarre garments she wore made her look far more sensual than she would have had her skin been bare.

The model was tall and slender, her ebony hair long and full, her skin the color of alabaster. She had the long, strong legs of a dancer. Her breasts were full and firm and cast wonderful shadows in the valley between them and on her smooth white belly. Her eyes were large and the most wonderful shade of deep lavender.

She was spectacular — but the fanciful things she wore made her seem even more provocative. On her breasts, covering one nipple and leaving its twin exposed, were two golden lizards bejeweled with sparkling stones of scarlet and deep green. The lizard that slithered across her left breast was the smaller of the two; the larger flicked out its golden tongue to curl it around her exposed right nipple, which was dark red, almost like a wound, in this exotic lighting.

On her navel glittered a  huge, blood-red ruby, and her fingers culminated in scarlet nails almost two inches long. One hand held a strange sort of object, half magic wand, half weapon, which was in the shape of a thick black shaft and which culminated in the bejeweled head of a dragon: its mouth open, its silver teeth like tiny, slender daggers, its forked tongue scarlet. From its head black feathers splayed in a crest.

A long, slender serpent made of flexible plates of thin gold wrapped itself around one leg, starting at her ankle and coiling up and around to encircle her thighs. Her pubic bush was furry and black and glistening and completely exposed, and the snake’s beady black eyes glared at it as though the snake were ready to slither into the pink slit buried in the fur. The serpent’s long silver tongue reached out to tease her lustrous bush.

My gaze rose gingerly to her face, and when it did, she was looking right at me, her gaze burning directly into my soul. Slowly, very slowly, she opened her mouth, as though she were teasingly inviting a lover’s cock, and in her mouth, glistening in the theatrical lighting, was a glowing emerald the size of a small egg.

I knew the emerald wasn’t real, nor the ruby. These were all theatrical props and costume pieces. It was all a gloriously erotic illusion. Back at college I’d done a term paper on the use of costumes and props in portrait painting. I was well aware that painters used these sorts of things to become masters of illusion.

But it wasn’t until that moment, when I was surrounded by the smells of oil paint and turpentine and gazing up at Jan’s live model, that I had my first hint of how powerful the illusion provided by erotic attire can be in sexuality, how costumes and props can transport us to amazing heights. But at that moment, my cock, I suddenly realized, was straining in my jeans, feeling bigger and harder than it ever had before.

Jan called a halt to the session, and the model disappeared into the back of the studio. I was so grateful that this great painter was taking me in like this and letting me learn the ropes by watching him work. He was a little gnome of a man, pink-cheeked, white-bearded and always smiling. I’ll always be grateful to him for how comfortable he made me feel in the big-city art world, and for how much I learned about from him. I’ll also be grateful for some things he’ll never know about.

That afternoon I rented a furnished room in Greenwich Village, the New York neighborhood where lots of artists hang out. Late that night I went to a nearby laundromat that’s open twentyfour hours-the clothes I’d worn on the bus from Kansas needed a good wash. The place was deserted except for one young woman sitting in front of the dryers and reading a magazine. She wore no makeup, and I couldn’t really tell about her figure because she had on a baggy t-shirt over jeans. Her long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and on her head was a Mets baseball cap.

She looked up and ·smiled. “Oh, hi,” she said. “You’re the artist who’s going to be working with Jan, aren’t you?”

Well, I’d never been called an artist before-though I’d been called an “art student’’ plenty of times. I’m afraid I blushed a little.

“Yes,” I said, smiling back, a bit mystified. “How did you know?”

She grinned. “You don’t recognize me, do you?’’

All of a sudden I did. I opened my mouth in surprise. “You’re ... you’re his model. I saw you today. “

“I’m Magdalia” she said, extending her hand, and I told her my name. I also wanted to tell her how beautiful I thought she’d been, and how much I’d been turned on. But I didn’t-not right then, anyway. We got to talking as my clothes washed and hers dried, and then she waited for me until I was done. We really hit it off, and we told each other all kinds of things about ourselves as we strolled through the quiet, winding streets of Greenwich Village.

Finally we stopped, under the golden light of a streetlight near the Hudson River. She moved close to me, and I could feel the warmth of her face on mine as she whispered, “You haven’t mentioned how I looked today in the studio.’’

“I… you were beautiful,” I stammered.

“I saw the way you were looking at me. You were turned on,’’ she murmured. “Just a little?”

“More than a little,” I said as her lips brushed against mine like a butterfly caressing a flower. Then her tongue met mine, and our lips seemed to acquire a life of their own as our kiss deepened. My cock was almost immediately hard, and I could tell that she was well aware of it against her body as we embraced.

“Would you like to see me looking like that again?’’ she whispered.

“You mean tomorrow, when… ?”

She laughed. ’’No, silly. I mean tonight. Right now. I have a key to the studio. He has the most amazing collection of costumes and props.”

My heart thudded in my chest as she stepped out of the darkness. Candles blazed in the comfortable back room of the studio and were reflected in the gold and jewels of the exotic costume she wore. She had seemed so far away the first time I’d seen her, in another world of dreams and illusions. But now I could reach out and touch her. I ran my hands through her long ebony hair, which was free now and flowing down over her white shoulders, as she helped me take off my shirt and slip out of my jeans and sneakers. I stood naked and hard before this magnificently exotic sexual creature.

Her nails were again long and scarlet, as they’d been earlier in the day. And her eyes were lavender again, and I realized that she was wearing colored contacts. Inviting pools of illusion were her eyes, drawing me into depths I’d never known before. I was ready to plunge.

Magdalia leaned forward, and our lips met again and our tongues teased each other. Her breasts pushed against my bare chest, and I felt the cool metal of the two bejeweled lizards that slithered across her full breasts. One lizard covered her left nipple, but the right nipple was exposed, the bejeweled reptile curling around it.

She brushed her nipple against my chest. It was warm and tantalizing in contrast to the cool gemstones and gold. Her nails slid across my chest, teasing my nipples, and her hands brushed against my upstanding cock, the long, scarlet nails now gently raking my balls and moving all the way up my tingling, throbbing shaft to its bulging head.

I looked down at her hands and my cock, and the sight of her blood-red talons against the purple of my swollen cock was enormously exciting as she stroked and teased. She slowly drew her crimson nails up my flanks, sending waves of sexual electricity through my entire body.

My hands were on Magdalia’s breasts, sliding over the golden lizards with their sparkling gemstones, cupping the fullness of her large, creamy mounds, my palms softly rubbing her one exposed nipple, which was already swollen and dark pink against her milky skin. She gasped as my fingers plucked at its fullness, tenderly pinching it, rolling it between my forefinger and thumb.

Then I let my hands move slowly down the smoothness of her body, across her thighs and around behind her to cup her round, firm bottom in both hands. I pulled her to me, the glistening black fur of her bush a soft haven for the throbbing shaft of my erect penis. The golden snake that coiled up her leg and encircled her bush pushed against my leg, almost like a demonic serpent guarding a treasure to be found in the warm cave within.

Sex like that was something I’d never thought about  ¾ those wild, sensual images ¾ and I loved it. I was learning that there’s so much more to sex than the physical. There’s magic, and illusion, and sex can be a game, with the participants making up the rules as they go along.

I didn’t see her pick it up, but suddenly in her hand was the strange object she’d held when she was posing, half wand, half weapon. She held it up in front of my face and moved it slowly back and forth. The dragon’s mouth was open, its tiny silver teeth menacing me, its scarlet tongue seeming to threaten me.

Magdalia moved to the huge leather couch and lay back on its softness, her legs open wide, inviting me to explore the cave guarded by the serpent. With the dragon-headed wand, she reached out and touched my own wand, which was hard and pulsing now with growing passion. She caressed it with the black feathers on the dragon’s head, moving them softly against the heavy sac that held my balls. And beckoning me closer and closer. The scarlet-tongued dragon would help me vanquish the serpent that stood guard.

My cock moved closer and closer to her nearly hidden pink lips, brushed against the midnight black of her bush, touched the warm wetness of her secret cave. The dragon wand urged me on; her yearning moans urged me on.

I knelt on the floor before the leather sofa and slid my cock into her, slowly at first, then deep and hard as she cried out. She handed me the wand and gasped, “The feathers, use the feathers.” With the feathered wand, I caressed her breasts: around the top of each one, along their sides and across the one exposed nipple, which was a swollen red plum now as her passion grew.

Deep and hard I moved into her, and she was hot and wet. And tight. Like a strong hand gripping me, but slick and smooth too, as my whole body entered into my fierce, unrelenting plunging.

Her hips rose to meet my thrusts, higher, harder, as I drove myself into her, gripping the dragon wand, moving its feathers across her skin, nipping her once or twice with the dragon’s teeth as she gasped in ecstasy. With a flick of her fingers, she opened a golden clasp between her breasts and the golden lizards fell away, vanquished by passion.

Both nipples were mine now, and I dropped the dragon and leaned forward to push her heavy breasts together so that I could suck both swollen nipples into my mouth, tonguing them, nibbling them.

Her body tightened and lurched upward to me as orgasm flooded through her, and I felt my own explosion beginning-more intense, hotter than anything I’d ever felt. I hadn’t seen her put it in place, but as I came, she opened her mouth and the egg-size emerald appeared, the one she’d had there when she was posing. As my juices erupted, the emerald popped out to nestle in the soft valley between her breasts, glistening wetly.

She held me tight, and I sank down onto her in exhaustion, my face only an inch from the ruby eyes and silver teeth of the dragon wand. Its scarlet tongue reached out toward my face.

Next day I swept out Jan’s studio, ran a couple of errands and helped him mix paints on the enormous palette he used. And of course I watched him paint the erotic and mysterious Magdalia as she posed in the shafts of colored light while wearing the adornments I’d come to know so well the night before. As sated as I was from a long night of sex, I was still turned on by the vision before me.

After Jan left, we were like little apprentices turned loose in the master’s magic show. In the dark of the night, surrounded by the glow of candles, we both tried on leather and lace, fur and fabrics smooth and rough, silky and see-through. As exciting as it was to see and caress Magdalia in each costume she put on, my own dressing up was equally thrilling. I was pleasantly shocked by how much it turned me on.

By the time we decided on the costumes for that night’s bacchanalia, we were laughing with delight, our imaginations ready for the game, our bodies hot.

Magdalia wore a black merry-widow made of almost transparent black lace. It was cut high at the sides to show off her long, slim legs, and the top was cut low enough to allow her dark pink nipples to peek at me over the edge. At the crotch was a slit, so that the soft black fur of her bush was framed by silky raven lace. Stretch lace gloves, inky black, reached to above her elbows.

The outfit I wore was black too; she had wrapped my leg in oft strips of leather so that I was encased in them all the way up to my waist, with an opening at the crotch so that my cock and balls jutted out into the open air. I was hard already just from the sight of the resplendent Magdalia, and from the feel of the smooth leather shifting on my skin as I moved. We both feasted our eyes before we touched, drinking in the erotic mirages before us like droughts of a spicy aphrodisiac.

Our lips met in a long wet, sweet kiss which slowly grew hotter and more urgent and demanding. She moved her breasts against my bare chest, and I felt the wispy texture of the silky merry-widow right below her softly puffedout nipples, which were already swelling with desire.

She swayed from side to side, rubbing her nipples against my own and sending zaps of sensual electricity through my body. I encircled her waist with my hands and gazed down at her nipples. They were gorgeous, peeking out, dark pink, over the edge of the ebony merry-widow as though they were teasing me and would flee to safety at any moment.

As I moved my thighs against hers, I felt the smooth leather wrappings rub against my legs, warm and soft, like bondage restraints, focusing all my energy below my waist and into my throbbing cock and tingling balls. I shifted back and forth, moving my hard shaft against the softness of the silk she wore, and then my cock found her bush, with its texture of warm fur, and moved back and forth against it.

Magdalia caressed my back and shoulders and chest with the silky seductive ness of the long gloves she wore, trailing her fingertips across my nipples as I cried out with pleasure.

As I held her tightly around her waist, she stretched her arms up over her head and her full breasts popped free of the merry-widow. They lay now on top of the garment like ripe melons on display.

I sank my face into their warmth, kissing and licking the deep, soft cleft between them, holding them in my hands, caressing them with the soft leather of the gloves I wore. I gently pinched them with my fingertips pushing them together so I could flick my tongue back and forth from one swollen nipple to the other as she tilted her head back and muffled a scream with the back of one gloved hand.

She leaned back and opened her legs. As I thrust forward, my cock found the entrance to her soft, slick cave of sensual delight. It was wet and smooth, ready to take me immediately and all the way, and I plunged into her, raising her off her feet. Her screams weren’t muffled anymore as she wrapped her legs around me while my hands held tightly to her silky bottom.

My cock lunged upward, ramming as deep as it could go, as she tightened the muscles of her pussy as though she’d never let go. We were swaying back and forth, my face buried in the sweet pillows of her breasts, my cock driving and thrusting, her pussy grasping it, massaging it, taking it deep into the very sensual center of her.

We were like one delightfully mad animal, gasping and moaning, as we came together in an explosion of sexual power. It was like being in the very center of a starburst of fireworks, hot and sparkling million-hued.

My legs almost gave way, and I stumbled to the gigantic leather couch, where we both tumbled down in a tangle of arms and legs and spent passion. We rested, we sipped wine, we whispered secrets to each other.

As the sounds of the city receded into the blackness of the night, Magdalia leaned over and touched the inside of my ear with the tip of her tongue. Then she said, “Remember that fur-trimmed teddy I tried on earlier?”

“Indeed I do,” I murmured.

“Should I try it on again?”

“Indeed you should.”

I think the fact that my cock was suddenly swelling again convinced her that I was very serious.

Jan was another two weeks finishing the painting, and Magdalia and I took full advantage of our time together on the playground of his collection of erotic garments. It was an introduction for both of us to the ecstasy of costume sex.

We still see each other occasionally, Magdalia and I, and we’re never at a loss as to how to add blissful eroticism to our nights. I’ve been delighted to learn that almost every woman I become involved with is more than willing to experiment. Over my mantel is a print of the painting Jan did of Magdalia, and the reaction a woman has to that painting is a good indication of how willing she’ll be.

From my friend Jan I learned so much about color and form and the art of the painter, and from Magdalia I learned that because we are human, we do sex not with just our bodies, but with our minds and imaginations as well.