I discovered a major side effect of not sleeping when I was bored to tears at work. Or maybe it was a side effect of depression. Or I suppose I might be some sort of mutant like in a comic book, but I think it is the not sleeping thing.

Anyway what I have discovered is that I can stop time. I can make everyone else freeze, but I can continue moving around. This can go on for as long as I want. Days even. This is how I discovered it, and what has happened up until now, as of this writing.

I broke up with my girlfriend. I didn't have a good reason to do this, so maybe I was already depressed. I know I was uninspired at any rate. We had been together for two years, Sandra and I, and it had been very, very comfortable. At first it was passionate, and exciting, but finally it had become clear that she had way more going for her than I did. I was stuck. It felt like the best thing to do would be to let her get on with her life and find someone going someplace.

That was probably self pity, and most likely a ploy to get her to fight to stay with me, but instead she got pissed off and yelled at me about how lazy and self-destructive I was. She shouted about how much she had given me of herself and how I was throwing it all in her face, and basically told me what a worthless human being I was.

After that conversation I felt she was right.

I stopped sleeping. At all. I suddenly found I had eight extra hours in my day to stew on how fucked up I was, and how much I missed Sandra, even though I broke up with her. Time moved at a snail's pace. I just wanted each day to end as soon as possible so I could get over Sandra. You know; Time Heals All Wounds. But for me it slowed down more and more.

I tried to fill the time with work, I am an artist, and I paint. Women mostly. I cannot get enough of the female form. Even when I was a little boy I loved women's bodies. I love their minds as well, most of my best friends are women, but their bodies are like sunlight to plants for me.

Except now that I was single, and sad, with endless amounts of time on my hands I had no inspiration. I couldn't finish any drawings, or paintings. Each time it just evaporated in my mind and I couldn't see anything. The work I forced myself to finish was terrible, so I stopped.

Time crawled along dragging me behind it.

At work (I have a job because I am an artist, and you can't make a living as an artist unless you are famous.)time slowed down even further. I worked at a huge retail outlet. A massive warehouse of clothes, food, toys, household items and electronics. The dozens of people that worked there with me all had their own ways to make the time go by faster, but I had never learned how to do that even before I broke up with Sandra.

Now though time passed so slowly it felt as though I was trapped at the edge of a black hole, all time pulled to a stop. Then one night I saw a beautiful woman walking down an aisle toward me and I willed time to actually stop so that I could look at her beauty longer. I wanted so badly to be able to paint this woman, to capture the lines of her face, the glow of her skin, the powerful sexual lure of her body. I just needed more time to get it all.

And she stopped. She froze right there in mid-step. I thought at first that she had seen me staring at her and was angry, but when I looked at her face she was looking passed me at something else. I turned to see what she saw and noticed that everyone along that aisle, and beyond were frozen. Not a soul was moving, and the sound had stopped. No voices, no music, no beeps from cash registers. Nothing. I moved toward the end of the aisle, fascinated by the fact that I could move and no-one else could.

When I peered out from my aisle I saw the whole front of the store and no-one was moving anywhere. I looked back at the beautiful woman and she was still exactly where she had been before. I went back to her and waved a hand in front of her face and her eyes didn't move. I asked her if she were alright but she didn't answer. I pressed a finger into her arm and she didn't flinch or react at all.

Her skin was soft and warm, and yielding. It was like touching a lover sleeping beside you, intimate, but safe. I ran my hand along her bare arm and caressed her soft, smooth skin. It felt so strange touching a woman I didn't know like this, and the forbidden nature of it excited me a lot.

It was summer, and warm out and the woman wore a light sleeveless summer dress that tied behind her neck. The material clung to her body and showed her curves excellently. She carried a basket on one arm with some small items in it. I slipped it off of her arm and placed it on the floor next to her. In a sort of trance I reached up and undid the ties around her neck and pulled the dress down over her breasts exposing her. I pulled the dress down as far as I could, to her waist, and then stepped back to look at her.

She looked like an angel. Her hair was long and flowing, and a beautiful light brown with golden highlights. Her face was heart shaped with a wide forehead and pointed chin. Her eyes were a soft brown and very large. Her nose was small and straight. Her mouth, slightly parted, was soft and luscious, with pink glistening lips. Her neck was long and delicate. Her shoulders small and smooth.

And her breasts.

Her breasts were round and high. Full, but not large. The nipples were a light coral colour, and soft. They looked like the breasts of a Centerfold, proud and available. They were wonderful.

You might think that I would immediately want to touch them, or suck them or something, and I did, but the first impulse I had, being who I am, I wanted to draw them. I wanted to paint her which was why I had stopped time in the first place.

So I went to the art section of the store and grabbed some pencils and a big pad of artist paper, put them on a rolling desk chair and wheeled over to her. I sat and drew her for over an hour I'm sure. The work was some of the best I had done in years. I captured her perfectly. She looked, in my drawing, like the angle I saw with my artist's eye. Nothing I had ever drawn before compared to the work I did with her. I was utterly uninhibited because she was frozen, unaware of me as a viewer, not at all self conscious. The look on her face was pure and unadulterated by knowing she was being looked at.

As I was putting the finishing touches on the sketch I decided I wanted her nipples to be hard. I wanted the shadow of them to fall on the swell of breast below; the line would be stronger and more poignant. Rather than just adjust that myself in the drawing I decided to try getting her skin to react to my touch.

I went over and began to brush her nipple with my finger. The skin didn't react right away, but the thrill of touching her perfect breast was so amazing that I continued just for the hell of it for a moment, but then it did react. Her nipple pointed out slowly and then I began to rub both her breasts, massaging them and kneading the supple flesh. This was me acting as a man, not acting as an artist.

When I began to get an erection I knew I had to stop, so I went back to the chair and finished drawing her with the hard nipples I wanted.

The drawing was perfect, a true rendering of the gorgeous woman before me. I was reluctant to let this end, but I put everything away and dressed the woman again and then looked around at the store, so quiet and peaceful. I liked the solitude and the freedom I had gained by stopping time, but I thought I should start it again, so I put the basket back on her arm and walked a little ways away, then told time to start again.

It did. The woman completed her step and glanced at me, then walked passed as if nothing had occurred. Sound started again, the noise and bustle of the store, and I went back to work with a smile on my lips for the first time in what felt like ages.

I stopped time two more times that night, just to make sure I still could. Once for no reason other than I was afraid I wouldn't be able to again, but I did, and second to look at another woman.

This one was a pretty teenage girl in a t-shirt and jean shorts. She wore flip-flops and was listening to her headphones and smiling. I just impulsively froze time and went over to her. I kissed her on the cheek just because I was so happy. Then I stepped past and started time again.

I still wasn't sleeping at all, but now I had something to occupy my time. I began to paint the woman I had drawn, and the painting was even better than the sketch. I took my paints and canvases with me everywhere, and whenever I saw a beautiful woman I wanted to paint or draw I would stop time and do it.

Each time I did so I took off as much of her clothing as I could, I loved painting nudes, but also I felt powerful and sexually charged knowing I could see any woman I wanted in her most intimate state. I could move their limbs as well I discovered. I could bend an arm here or a leg there and position them any way I liked. It took effort, especially the legs. The muscles were held firm, but not totally rigid. This movement allowed me to undress them and pose them in more interesting, and natural positions.

I drew women in malls, on the street, at work, anywhere I saw them. More and more I froze time and wandered the city looking for women to draw, or paint. When I saw one I wanted to capture I would look at her and try and see the real person inside, not just the beauty readily apparent. When I felt that I had caught the true essence of a woman I would then strip her, and pose her in such a way that I could reveal that inner self more. Many times I didn't need to move them at all. They were already utterly themselves. Most often this was when they were by themselves. I started going into people's homes looking for those uninhibited maskless moments.

I found people doing the most intimate, and unexpected things. A woman vacuuming naked, a woman singing into a hairbrush, a couple playing what looked like strip chess. I painted them all.

Wandering the city looking for more subjects I saw a dance studio. I went inside and found a class of young women dancing in ballet tights, their hair pulled back in firm buns. Feeling like a horrible person I stripped each of them and revealed their strong young bodies to my artist's eye. They ranged in age from around eighteen to twenty and their bodies were all small, lean and muscular. I had frozen them with their arms over their heads, with their legs extended, on their toes.

It was easy to get their tights and body stockings off and when I had their taut rigid muscles looked great. Once I moved them it was difficult to get them balanced on their legs again, the precise balance very specific to one position, but I had all the time in the world so I continued to work at it until all of them were placed upright in lines.

Manhandling them into the spots I wanted had forced me to touch them a lot, and rubbing those tight smooth bodies had gotten me really horny. It was awful, I knew, but I began to caress them, squeezing their breasts and rubbing their bums. I had a major erection, and all this nude, beautiful flesh was exciting in the extreme.

I thought I could probably focus that sexual energy into my work so I set up and began to paint. Before long however I realized that I was not going to be able to get on with things in the state I was in. These delicate, helpless women frozen in moments of tension, with the beautiful muscles of their bodies tight and compelling were too amazing to stay aloof from.

I took one of the most beautiful of the girls and lay her on the floor. I began to lick and caress her. Her warm skin was pliant and yielding even in her stretched out taut position, and the feeling was powerfully arousing. As her nipples puckered and hardened I found myself able to pretend she was pleased by my attention.

I parted her legs and began to taste her pussy, the soft folds of her slit were pungent with her exertions, and the smell was intoxicating. As I licked and nuzzled her sex I felt her grow more and more moist. I couldn't be sure how much of that was my saliva or her lubricant but the smell grew more and more musky, the smell of sex.

Soon I couldn't hold back and I took off my clothes and moved her legs apart further to place myself between them. I fucked her there on the floor of her studio. I could move her body into any position I wanted, and I took her in many positions, her sweet pussy wet and warm. The skin of her chest grew red and I could see her pupils dilate. She was feeling aroused too. It was amazing.

I'm not proud of what I did, I know it was wrong, but I did it and it felt fantastic. I came inside her, which was also wrong but it was one of the best orgasms of my life.

I left her on the floor and painted her there lying legs parted arms loose at her side, naked and used. Her pretty pussy was red and damp and I captured the appearance of it perfectly. The look was lewd and frank, the epitome of freshly fucked femininity. It was the best painting of my career up to that point.

After I finished her I painted the rest where I had left them. That painting too was inspired. Before I could dress them all again I went and found a pub and had a beer and some food, which I had to cook in the big kitchen in the back. Then I returned to the studio and dressed each of the girls and balanced them on their toes once more.

I knew I had crossed a line and that I was in a moral red zone now, but who could stop me? Who would know? I felt untouchable.

I suppose that it is only natural that I wanted to visit Sandra now. I had felt powerless to please her during our relationship, but now that I felt powerful and unstoppable I went to her house and stopped time.

I went inside and used the key I still had to get in. The living room was exactly like I remembered it, cluttered with books and art and still looking tidy. She wasn't there. I went to her office where she spent hours working on her novel. Empty. The bathroom was empty, but I found her in the bedroom.

When I had stopped time it had been early evening for the world, but she was here in the bedroom, in bed. With a man.

The covers were thrown on the floor and her naked body stretched along the mattress, legs over his hips, her arms clutching his shoulders. Her breasts were flushed and the nipples tight and pointed. Her face... Her beautiful face was contorted in a grimace of sexual desire. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth open teeth clenched. The rosy cheeks were damp looking and hair was plastered to her forehead with perspiration.

He was her agent, the man helping her sell her novel. The one she wasn't even done yet. He was way older than us, but in good shape. I knew he had wanted her for a long time. I could tell, and now he was having her, his cock wedged deep inside her.

I sat beside the bed and looked at them. I really looked. They were straining toward ecstasy, the perfect example of sexual release. Sandra and I used to have simultaneous orgasms to a long time ago. But that hadn't happened for a while now.

She was a very passionate lover, and seeing her like this reminded me of the many times she had brought me to the most fantastic climaxes of my life. Her soft womanly body, so small and yielding, was sexy and exciting. I had forgotten that. I had begun to see her as a friend, a sister more than the powerful sexual force I was seeing here with him.

The more I looked the more I realized what I had thrown away. I was seeing her for the first time in a long time. She was a woman who needed to be wanted. The most beautiful she could be was when she was being loved and desired. I had stopped doing that, and she had ceased being so beautiful to me.

Right now she was more beautiful than words could describe.

So I painted her.

I painted them as they were, reaching for bliss, their faces contorted in effort.

I cried the whole time for what I had lost, what I could remember, and what I would never have again. The painting was beyond amazing. I was in awe of the work that came out of me. I felt like an observer to the lines and light spilling out of my brush, a mere conduit for a force outside of myself.

I packed up and left. I went home and curled up on my bed and pretended that I remembered how to sleep. I didn't.

I felt more wounded and more vulnerable than ever before. I threw myself into my work, stopping time more and more wandering the city looking for others in my pain. I went to bars seeking the rejected, the depressed the emotionally broken.

I found a woman outside a bar leaning against a wall crying, her hand on her cheek wiping her tears. She wore a skimpy outfit designed to attract someone, but it had clearly failed. Working carefully, trying to maintain her position of abject defeat, but baring her body to my eye. I was able to strip her completely nude and keep the pose nearly pristine.

I began to paint her, the blotchy cheeks stained with tears, the expression of sorrow, shock and loneliness. Her stomach was clenched with a sob, her breasts full and succulent, and unwanted by the right person. Her freshly groomed sex was nearly bare, with just a small strip of hair above, her legs soft and waxed. I sought to capture all the effort she had vainly gone to.

The odd neon light seemed lurid, and the stained grungy wall behind her added to the misery of the moment. I was there for hours adding details to the painting that exposed her pain and mirrored my own.

When at last I was done I dressed her again and returned her to her lonely grief. I stashed my supplies and went back to her. I started time again and went up to her and asked her if she could use a hug. So great was her sorrow, and so sincere my offer that she submitted to my consolation. We hugged and cried together for a long time, alone in the alley beside a loud nightclub.

I found a teenage street walker, a whore with the old eyes of a survivor, and the face of cheerleader. Standing on a corner she was looking for her next trick, or her next fix, and the look on her face was worn, tired and miserable. Like I felt.

I stripped her of her tawdry come-fuck-me clothes and found her slender body was bruised and had needle marks on the arms. I painted her there with the harsh shadows of the streetlight making the dark lines on her face and body look like slashes of black on her pale, abused skin.

After I had rendered a full body pose, I went in closer for a painting of just her face, the fatigue, the grief, the hidden anger, and the youth. It was powerful. I held her there for a long time, and completed three more painting, each a different angle of her tortured spirit.

When I left her I dressed her in clothes I found in a nearby store. I covered her and gave her face a cleaning, erasing the sleazy make-up. I went across the street and when I started time watched her terrified reaction to her sudden change of clothes. She screamed and tried to run, but stopped over and over as she tried to discover what had happened to her body. People stopped and tried to talk to her and finally someone called the police. They took her away in an ambulance and I hoped somehow she found her way to a better way of life.

I was well aware of the hypocrisy of what I was doing, but I was depressed and not really thinking clearly. At the time it seemed like a great idea using these women like that. Revealing them to my canvas was acceptable to me in my state. And so was doing more.

The next wounded woman I found was a young professional in a suit with classic dark skirt and jacket with a bright blue shirt, stockings and heels. Her hair was pulled back and she wore trendy glasses. She was outside a tall building standing in the sun looking up with her eyes sad and unfocused.
I watched her for a while without stopping time. It looked as though she had just gotten some bad news, been fired, or missed out on a promotion or something disappointing. She was very cute, a girl next door type, with dark brown hair and peach coloured skin. I froze time and went right up and began to study her.

The look in her eyes was lost and broken hearted. Her expression was stoic, but vulnerable. Her features were soft and unlined, so life had been good to her so far, but whatever had just happened was almost more than she could handle.

With no real conscious thought I began to remove her clothes while wondering what was going on in her life. As her body was revealed to me it told more of her story. She was clearly athletic; her body had muscle tone and was lean from exercise. She had minimal jewelry so probably not a lot of money. Her underwear matched and she had a belly button ring showing a slight wild side, but no tattoos so not a bad girl. Her stalking were full pantyhose, no garters so probably not usually a sexually adventurous woman. Her pubic hair was trimmed but not shaved confirming that hypothesis.

Having her naked in the sunshine on a crowded street got me very excited. I didn't even bother to go get my supplies, I just made her kneel on the ground and began to rub my hard cock around her face. I took off her glasses and stroked myself all over her features.

The feeling was of masturbating to the thought of someone inappropriate, a friend or cousin or something. I knew I was defiling this woman in public, even if no-one could see her really, but it felt as if I were debasing her in front of a crowd. It was titillating and naughty, and I was compelled to tarnish her beauty. Even now I cannot explain why, it was just a need in me.

I opened her mouth and slipped my cock inside. Sliding back and forth I fucked her face and gazed down at her eyes, open but unseeing. Weeping I fucked her face feeling terrible, but driven to continue. I stroked her cheek and held her head with my hands while a plunged in and out of her slack jaw. She didn't react, her mouth remained still, her tongue did nothing to stimulate me, but it was a poignant, overwhelmingly erotic situation for some reason and soon I felt an orgasm building in my balls.

I considered where I should spill myself. It was just too cruel to cum in her mouth so I pulled out and jetted my seed across her beautiful sad face. Ropes of sperm stained her pretty features and dribbled down her long neck. I shot a large load over her face and felt drained after I was done.

I knelt down in front of her and hugged her close to me, her still form warm, soft and comforting.

Then I painted her with my sperm coating her face. I painted the bright spark of light that gleamed off of the wet ejaculate glazing her skin. I painted the look in her eyes, the hurt, the struggle, the look of determination on her face, the effort not to give in to her hurt, the strange luster of shiny emission on her smooth skin. I had to document what I had done to her and what she looked like.

Then I cleaned her thoroughly, dressed her and kissed her soft mouth. I stood her up again and left her. I couldn't bear to see her when I started time again, my shame was so great.

I began to indulge the worst of my desires. I drove myself to lower and lower depths, doing things that made me hate myself.

I went into the women's locker room at a ladies gym. I gazed at them in various states of undress in the change room, studying the different bodies, the size and shape of the different breasts, the variety of vaginas on display, and fondled whomever I desired. I walked along the rows of naked women in the shower, searching. Specifically I studied the faces, the moods of the women there

I was looking for someone who matched my level of misery.

In the wet, still stream of a shower I found a woman who had the look I desired. She was facing the wall, her face directed up into the flow of the shower, her hands running through her hair. She looked pained, and tormented. It may have been something else, but it seemed that the pain was from deep within, her features worn from anguish.

Her body was sculpted and carved from hard workouts over a long period of time. Her arms and legs showed long lines of tight lean muscle, looking like a gymnast, her abdomen firm and flat the lines of abs chiseled into the soft flesh. Her breast were flat and hard the nipples small and pointy. The woman's butt looked like alabaster in colour and texture, smooth and hard.

The overall effect was to remind me of Linda Hamilton from Terminator 2, a hard woman who is driven for one reason or another to be as fit as humanly possible. And she still had a sexuality that was undiminished by her hardness.

It took a while to find the right area to paint from, and a chair to sit on, but eventually I began to capture her image on canvas.

Before I could finish my lust took over and I had to take her. I bent her further toward the wall and entered her from behind. I violated her wonderful body and spilled myself on her gorgeous buttocks. I loathed what I was doing, but felt powerless to stop myself.

I completed the painting and packed up and left her there with my sperm on her ass cheeks, hoping he shower would wash away the evidence of my abuse.

Now, later, I can see the self-abuse I was engaged in. I was looking for ways to make myself suffer for letting Sandra go, but oddly my punishment was at the expense of innocent women, and I can make no amends for that. All I knew then was that I had a gift and I was using it to satisfy my every lust.

I went to my old dorm in art school and retrieved the master key from the custodian, and then I went from room to room looking for girls to debase. I found a young girl in her room by herself masturbating on her single bed. She was nude, her body frozen in the act of self pleasure. I was invading her most private of indulgences and I was as hard as a rock. I made myself start the painting before I enjoyed myself with her, but as I focused on her pert breast my prick got so painfully hard that I had to stop and relieve myself. I pulled the dildoe from the grip of her slot and replaced it with the real thing.

I shoved myself in and began to hump her, but the dildoe was larger than my penis and I was not getting enough sensation from her. Inspired I allowed time to start for a second and she came to life below me. Her body instantly adjusted to mine, her legs went around me, her hands closed around my waist, and her vagina clutched my pole. Just as her eyes opened in shock I stopped time once more.

Now I was being held by her, my cock sheathed in her damp hold more securely. Now I fucked her with wild abandon slamming myself into her velvety grip. Looking down into her shocked expression I felt a remorse like none I'd felt before, and still my hips drove down into her yielding body, my lust overriding all else.

I sprayed her inner walls with my cum and lay down on her, letting my full weight press us both to the mattress. I lay like that for a long time, hoping that sleep would take me, but it didn't. Eventually I pulled out of her and dressed once more. I replaced the dildoe, and using my painting as a guide replaced her limbs where they had been.

I couldn't change her expression, the many fine muscles of the face too minute to manipulate so I left her looking surprised, and finished the last details of her face from memory. It was not my best work, but it was still a powerful image.

I now spent more time in the frozen world than the moving one. Days at a time I would wander the city speaking to no-one, and alone. I went into a bank and took some money. Not a lot, but enough that I felt rich, and terrible.

I went back and replaced it before I could spend it.

Then I went to a casino and tried the most precise scam I could think of. I sat at a blackjack table and began to play. As each card was dealt I sat as still and relaxed as I could, then froze time and went through the deck and picked the best cards. I then sat back down and sat in as similar a position as I could.

When time began again I was the winner of the hand. I did it two more times, losing two hands between each time, with smaller bets. I then left and went to a new casino with thousands more dollars in my pocket. By the end of the day I had ten thousand dollars all accounted for as legal winnings.

While I was at the casino I went into the dancer's dressing room and painted the ladies putting on make-up and costumes and when I saw a particularly pretty woman I fucked her as she bent over a counter reaching for a headdress.

My portfolio of paintings was getting vast now and on a whim I decided to see if I could get a showing at a gallery. I chose my favorites, the ones with the most power, and brought them to a meeting with a gallery director.

He loved them. My technique may not have been the best, but the images themselves, the vulnerable state of the women, the intensity of their expressions was captivating, and he said so himself. He gave me a show in six weeks. He wanted twenty paintings. I had close to forty, but I continued to explore the city looking for the perfect centre piece for the showing.

I thought I was looking for the saddest most profound figure I could find and continued to look in places I thought I could find that type of study. Doctor's offices, bus stations, and the airport. Cemeteries hospitals, and bars, but no-one compelled me like before.

As I grew lonely and needed company I spent a little more time in the moving world. I went out with friends more and talked about my show. Everyone was very excited, but surprised. No one knew this new work of mine, and they hadn't realized how much work I had compiled. How could they, I did it all between one instant and the next as far as they were concerned.

While out at a bar with a gang of friends I suddenly spotted a woman looking at me. Instinctively I stopped time. Two tables away a dark tanned woman with long brown hair and the cutest, most petite body was looking at me. The expression I caught was one of pleasure and secretive delight.

I went over to her and looked long and hard at her. Her large brown eyes were mischievous; her mouth with its soft thin lips was turned up in a secretive smile. Her face was very pretty in an unconventional way. Her body small, delicate, but not frail. She had small breasts pressing the thin material of her t-shirt and no bra, her nipples just visible under the material.

I wanted her desperately, but I wanted her awake and aware. I thought I might be able to seduce her with conventional methods, but I wanted to try my abilities. I wanted to plant the idea of wanting to sleep with me in her mind subliminally. I began to remove her clothes. I pulled off her top first, and bared those succulent breasts. I tweaked and teased her nipples, and got them hard. Then I left her with her shirt up and went back to my table. I adopted a close approximation of my earlier position and started time again.

The woman continued her look at me as the bar began to move once more. Then her face changed. I stopped time and went back to her. I pulled down her shirt. I cupped her breasts and fondled them a bit making them hot with my sweaty palms, then I went back to my place, took my position and started time.

The woman glanced down at her tits that had been changing temperature no doubt, and she brushed her hand across her nipples. She lifted her shirt to hide her poking flesh, and I stopped time again. I went over and pulled up her shirt and shoved the material into her hands making her hold more of it than she had thought she was. I then began to suck her nipple and started time again.

I let only the mere flicker of time pass before I stopped it again. I replaced her shirt and returned to my spot. When I started time again I began to look away from her but saw her flinch and look over at me. I looked at my friends and engaged with them while she pondered what was happening to her. I stopped time and looked over. She was sitting up tall, looking at me, her hands cupping her breasts.

I looked away and started time again. I glanced over at her and smiled politely, as if wondering if she were okay. There she sat clearly confused, her hands over her breasts. She pretended she was smoothing her shirt, she glanced down, and then back at me. I gave her a look inquiring what she was doing. She smiled nervously, and looked away.

I stopped time again, and went back to her. I reached around from behind her and grabbed both breasts in my hands and massaged the pliant orbs. I then started time and moaned in her ear while kneading her tits. I stopped time again after the tiniest fraction of time, and went back to my table.

I started time when I was ready and let it flow for a while laughing with my friends. Then I stopped it again and looked over. The woman was distressed, she was looking at me, and her brows were furrowed with confusion.

This time when I stopped time I removed all her clothes and spread her legs. I placed my mouth over her sex and began to lick her slit, making it wet. I then started time for a tiny fraction and felt her move open meeting my tongue. Then I stopped once more, redressed her, replaced her limbs where I could remember them being and went back to my spot.

Letting time run again I glanced over at her, she looked flushed and scared. She glanced back at me with fear in her face, and I gave her another questioning look. I got up and she flinched away from me. I stopped and lifted my hands.

"Is everything alright?"

"I- I don't know."

"You look like you have seen a ghost. Are you alone?"

"I'm waiting for a girlfriend."

"Can I get you anything?" I had been steadily approaching as I spoke and held my hands out in front of me.

"I think someone spiked my drink."

"Oh shit. I'll get the manager if you want."

"No. I think I should go home."

"What about your friend?"

"I'll text her."

I turned to go, but she reached out and touched my arm.

"Would you mind walking me to my car? I'm not sure what is happening to me."

"Absolutely. I'll just tell my friends." She began to gather her things together, and I told my friends I was going. I think part of why she was trusting me was because I was in plain view with many people, not a single person hiding in a corner.

I walked her to her car, and on the way I stopped time once more and pulled off her clothes and removed my own. I put her on her knees and rubbed my cock on her face until it was hard. I slipped it inside her mouth for a bit, fucking her beautiful face. I then removed myself from her mouth, worried she might bite down when next I started time. I placed myself right in front of her eyes, and wrapped her hand around my cock. I started time and felt her grip my cock and look at it intently.

Then I stopped time and dressed us both once more. We were side by side in innocent proximity when time began again. She shot me a look, and I looked back curious. I stopped walking and asked, "You okay?"

She hesitated. "I really think someone drugged me. I keep seeing things. I'm having these intense flashed, like hallucinations. They are so real. I can hear, smell, feel, and taste weird things."

I looked at her like this was crazy and she stepped closer to me, her hand on my arm once more." I'm not crazy. Or I wasn't before I went in there. Please don't leave me right now okay? I need to get home and safe."

"I believe you that something is happening. I just don't know what I can do to help. I'm not a doctor. I don't do drugs."

"I just need you to stay near me, okay. I-I don't know what is happening, but I want you to be with me. Is that weird?"

"A little. I just met you, but I think I understand."

I was feeling so aroused and fascinated by this encounter that I stopped time and kissed her deeply on the mouth. I started time and let the kiss linger. Then stopped it again and wiped my mouth making sure there was no lipstick on me.

When I started time again she exhaled violently.

"It happened again. Whoa. This is crazy. I just hallucinated we were kissing."

"Well that isn't so bad. That sounds like a nice hallucination. I'd like to have that one too."

"Yeah, it could be worse; it could be bugs or something."

"So let's get you home and see if anymore kissing happens."

"Are you planning on taking advantage of me in my weakened state?"

"How do I know you aren't making this up just to get me back to your place to murder me?" I quipped.

"You don't, so we'd better get there before you figure me out. Can you drive my car?"

"Sure."

As I had put her into the various weird positions I had noticed her getting less and less resistant to the sexual situations. I thought that my plan was working. Unconsciously she was getting horny, and I was the fantasy she was having.

In the car I stopped time and placed her mouth around my hard cock. I let time flow a little longer this time and she began to actively suck me off while I drove. I stopped time and returned her to her upright position and replaced my cock in my pants. When time started again she licked her lips and smiled shyly over at me.

"Wow these are getting more and more involved. You ever heard of a drug that makes you see and feels things that are almost real?"

"I'm an artist, but I don't even smoke dope, so... no. Sorry"

"If I felt safer, if I knew what this was I might actually like it. The hallucinations are pretty pleasant. "

"What are you seeing now?"

"Nothing at this moment, but that last one was... exciting to say the least."

"Care to share?"

"Better not"

I stopped time a little while later, when I had a clear lane for driving, then replaced her mouth over my cock and let her suck me off for at least ten seconds. It felt great having a woman actively engaged with me, not passively being used by me.

When I stopped time I left her mouth on me, savoring the feeling of her tongue cupping my shaft, and her lips around me. Reluctantly I put us back to normal and started time once more.

"Jesus!" She gasped.

"Another one?" I asked.

"Yes. Longer than before, and I am getting all... um... involved in it."

"Huh."

"Yeah, huh."

We exchanged some meaningless stories about odd drugs and parties, and such, but clearly she was distracted. Finally she told me we were at her place and I parked. She asked me to walk her up to her apartment, and I did. At every opportunity she brushed against me, rubbing her hand, arm or body against mine. It was clear that my attempt to subliminally plant the idea of wanting me in her brain worked. She had these tiny glimpses of us together, and felt pleasure. She wanted more.

We made it to her place, and I had stopped messing with time so she was feeling a little more balanced. She offered me some tea and we made small talk, getting to know each other a bit, her name was Deidra and she was funny and intelligent. I was really enjoying her company, and the sexual tension was exhilarating.

Just when I was sure she was ready I went in and kissed her. She responded eagerly and before long we were pulling each other's clothes off. Seeing a woman naked and aware, moving with me, touching me of her own accord was the most amazing thing to experience after so long without.

I guessed that the amount of time that I had spent in the frozen world was around a year. A couple months had passed in the moving world, but so much time had passed for me, and I had taken advantage of so many women in the frozen world that it was a marvel to make love the way I used to.

As soon as she could Deidra went down on me. All those flashed of time with my cock in her mouth had gotten her focused on it. Needless to say I wasn't arguing. I loved it; she was very giving and talented. She sucked me like she wanted to take her time, and was willing to finish the job. It wasn't a tease to get me going, she could tell I was as excited by her as she was by me. This head was an in-for-the-long-haul blowjob, sensual and insistent.
Pumping me with her hand, she licked all over my head and up and down the shaft. And soon I felt the tingle of approaching climax. It was so wonderful feeling a willing partner pleasuring me that I happily let myself cum in her insistent mouth. My climax was prolonged and profound. I just kept on shuddering as more and more cum spurted out of me and into her.

When I couldn't take it anymore I pulled back and laughed with the joy of it. I kissed her on the top of the head as she wiped spilled sperm from her lips. Then I picked her up and took her to the bedroom where I returned the favor with relish. I licked her pussy up and down, side to side and in and out. I flicked her clit and teased her, then plunged my tongue as far into her as I could lapping at the seeping juices that flowed out of her damp opening. After she had a small tremor of a climax I focused more and more on her little button and finally she arched back and gripped the bed with her hands her body straining with a massive orgasm.

She pushed me away when she grew too sensitive and I climbed the bed, and her body, aimed myself at her opening and plunged my cock deep inside her. Once more her body tensed and she moaned deep in her throat as she had another orgasm.

As she came down from that I slowly began to fuck her, and soon the two of us were finding a rhythm, rocking our bodies into and around each other. I was surprised how well we moved together, having never had sex with each other, but it was very comfortable and fun. We laughed and we sighed, and we moaned when finally I came one final time, her own pleasure coming on soon after.

I tried to keep moving as my orgasm took hold, but I had to go still with the intensity of it, but Deidra pressed her clit to my pubic bone and got herself off as I was finishing. As she came I moved inside her prolonging her explosion. At last she finished and I collapsed beside her, and we held each other, intimate and yet strangers.

The next day was much more awkward as we tried to get to know each other while embarrassed of having been so exposed with so little knowledge of one another. Yet by midmorning, having had some breakfast and some pleasant if stilted conversation, the sexual tension began to grow and before long we were back in bed celebrating the discovery of new lovers.

I invited her to my show. She was thrilled. I was shown her work, she was a clothing designer, and quite good if I was any judge of such things.

Before the show I asked her if I could paint her. She said yes, embarrassed, and when we sat down to do the work I found it much harder to paint her than anyone for some time. I froze time for the first time in a week, and as I gazed at her I saw the problem. She was aware of me. It inhibited her. So I drew all of her outline and her body, but saved the face.

Then a few days later after we had made love I saw the look I wanted. I stopped time and observed her. She had a wistful, contented look on her face. I moved my canvas into the bedroom and began to paint her face. Once again the magic happened and this piece began to show more depth and emotion than any of the others I had yet done.

It was so good, her face so perfect that I did three more before I put everything away and resumed time. I pounced on her and made love to her more passionately than anyone I had ever been with. I wept when at last I climaxed. I felt more safe and accepted by this woman than I had any right to deserve.

I had been a horrible person for a long time, using women and stealing something precious from them. I had robbed them of privacy and dignity by exposing their weak moments to the world at large through my paintings, and with Deidra I found that I could do the same thing with a more willing subject without focusing on the negative.

Still, a part of me was too proud of the work I had done to hold it back from the show and those pieces sold extremely well.

From then until now I have used many, many models, and with each of them I do a large amount of the work in the old moving time way, but for the faces I always freeze time when they are not with me, when they are private and alone. Then I do steal their intimate moments, but I think it is the view they would most like the world to see or else they wouldn't have allowed me to paint them at all, not knowing what my work looks like.

That could be justification after the fact, but Deidra says my work is the truest she has ever seen, and her opinion matters more than anyone else's.

I still freeze time and wander the street looking at the world, but usually when I stop time it is just so that I can sit and bask in the wonder that is my life with Deidra.