How much longer would I have to hold this pose? Moving a muscle, or twitching my toe was met with an impatient sigh.
Thinking back, agreeing to be his model was fast becoming a regret. Surely in this day and age, he could simply take a photo and paint from that image? But perhaps I should stop moaning — after all he was paying extremely well for me to simply lie here in my knickers. There were harder ways to earn a few quid and he was cute in a geeky way.
Be my model?
It began a few weeks ago when he approached me in the bar where I worked, charming and persuasive, explaining the project. A collage of the human form. Made up of paintings, sketches and other media. But he wanted to create a watercolour of me which meant I would need to sit for longer. This was reflected in my wage.
In the studio
As he paints the time passes and I drift off, suddenly brought back to reality by him holding out a glass of white wine, saying he has finished for the day.
Rising from the floor the cold glass of the goblet brushes my nipple. I glance down at its pertness, blushing slightly. Taking the drink to my lips I cannot help but notice the front of his trousers bulging. Compelled and suddenly feeling sexy and courageous I reach out, brushing my fingertips over its hardness, watching the swell spasm at my touch. He doesn’t seem to be at all surprised at my boldness.
“You dirty slut,” he whispers, “girls like you can’t get enough, can you?”
Forcing my mouth open with his tongue, he searches for mine as I push my tits against him.
Then his hand reaches down into my panties, already damp with desire. His other pulls my head back. He bites my nipple as he begins to roughly squeeze my mons.
“What do you want? Your wish is my command.”
How unexpected — delightfully forceful but accommodating too. I think on my feet and reply, “Spank me — hard.”
“You got it.” Smiling, he pulls me over to the studio couch and lays me across his knee. Knickers discarded, his flat palm lands on my arse with a crack.
The sting, the adrenaline, the whole situation is liberating. I asked. I received — bliss.
The tables are turned
“My turn?” He asks sliding off the sofa and placing a cushion under my hips so my arse is raised slightly. “It would be a shame not to make use of your rosy butt.”
I anticipate what he wants and the prospect thrills me.
“Anything,” I reply, turning my head slightly as I answer.
“Cool. Be a good girl now.” This is not a question.
A lubed finger enters my bum hole as a hand pushes down on the small of my back.
I can hardly breathe with expectation as the end of his cock strains against the entrance to my arse. All of a sudden the muscles concede as I relax and the shaft is engulfed. It’s a wonderful feeling of fullness and I shriek loudly as he forcefully thrusts. With each slam, he pulls my hair back and as a result my clit rubs the material underneath. Very soon my climax builds and finally I cry out, and collapse onto the sofa satiated. He follows my lead as his cock empties its load inside me and he falls heavily onto my back.
We lie in that position for a few minutes. Leisurely he rubs his finger against my mouth as it curves into a smile.
Fuck, it’s the doorbell. We jump up. My mind is racing. Could it be a wife or girlfriend? After all, I know nothing about him. What was his name again? Jeff?
My pulse quickens. I immediately grab a robe and smooth my hair as he pulls up his trousers and opens the door gradually. So we can both see the visitor…
“Hey Mum…mmm, how are you. This is Maisie — the model for the collage.” Then glancing at me he continues questioningly, “My girlfriend?”
Looking up at Jeff I happily nod, and grinning put out my hand in greeting, squirming slightly as sperm begins to trickle down the back of my leg.
“Very nice to meet you,” Jeff’s mother and I chirp in unison.
Thank your to Marie Rebelle for the header image…