I’ve been painting in oils for a while now. I wouldn’t say I’m that good, but I enjoy it, and I like using a different part of my brain rather than staring at financial records all day. Being a forensic accountant doesn’t have much room for creativity, even if the people I’m investigating are being quite creative with their financial reporting.
The benefit of being good at what I do is that I can afford to have models come to my house and pose for me. There isn’t anything better than having the real thing in front of you. I’ve worked from photographs, and while the results are pleasing, they ultimately feel lifeless and dull.
I’ve been working on a series of life studies in oil, focusing on the human body. All my models pose naked, and while you might think having a young man naked in front of me would be exciting, it is not. I don’t see his fabulous abs or the shape of his perfect ass, and let’s not even talk about his cock. He exists for me only in the realm of a subject to be analyzed and recreated on my canvas.
So when the agency sent a new model for me, I was somewhat taken aback by her presence. Sitting naked in front of me, she was quietly confident, and I could see that she was very comfortable in her own body. There was no awkwardness as she undressed, as has happened with other models. Although, typically, the men are never shy. Their egos turn them into proud peacocks in some respects. Especially when their client is a woman. And a pretty hot one, even if I say it myself: I definitely fall into the MILF category.
As she sat there and started my preliminary sketches, I was suddenly struck by her absolute beauty. Her face was timeless, and hard to pin down her specific ethnicity. Like most Americans, her ancestry was from immigrants, and over time those individual characteristics are mixed and diluted. Whatever her parent, grandparents, and great-grandparents were, she inherited an amazing jawline and exquisite cheekbones. The rest of her youthful body was all subtle curves and filled with sexual nuances. It was hard not to let your eyes flow over her, from face to feet; she was empirically attractive. Hot would be an appropriate vernacular.
I would find myself looking at her far longer than I usually study my muses, partially hypnotized by her energy. I am by no means a lesbian, but I found myself slipping into a fantasy of touching her. My hand on her cheek, another hand was resting on her breast, having her look at me with those piercingly crystal blue eyes. Thankfully I had her staring off at some imaginary point off in the distance.
Then she turned to look at me.
I dropped my brush, it landing noisily on the floor, bouncing a few times and rolling under the easel. For a few seconds, I held my breath, unable to function. Having her full attention directed towards me was mesmerizing.
“I know what you want.”, she said with quiet confidence.
I wasn’t even sure what I wanted at that point—finding myself frozen in time, barely functioning, lost in her presence.
She tilted her head and slid her hand slowly down her long neck. Her elevated arm, raising her left breast, creating that perfectly formed shape that magazines convince us is the ultimate breast shape. She moved down her body, lingering over her nipple, down across her flat stomach, and sliding across her long thighs, finally resting her hands on her knees. She was leaning voluptuously towards me. All the while maintaining eye contact, a coy smile across her face, and captivating me entirely.
I didn’t know what was going on, but my body was quickly responding. I felt my sex swell with excitement, and I could tell I was already quite wet. I heard myself breathing rapidly, the blood flowing loudly in my ears, all my focus on her. And as she slowly opened her legs to me, I held my breath again.
Her sex was as beautiful as the rest of her. She was perfectly smooth, and her pussy was like the most perfect formed peach. I watched her slowly stroke the inside of her thighs and seductively graze the outside of her sex. I was so turned on. I wanted her to touch her, to put my mouth on her.
She started to toy with her pussy, rubbing slow circles around her clit. She began to moan quietly to herself, and her eyes drifted closed as she found her rhythm. As those circles got smaller and smaller, they increased in speed and intensity. Every once in a while, she would finger herself, driving two fingers inside, reaching up and rubbing her G-spot.
Her back arched, her feet went up on tiptoe, and she thrust herself upward off the three-legged modeling stool. Her breasts were standing out for me to admire, and I watched her neck twist and turn as she frantically masturbated. She threw her head back, her long blonde hair flying through the air, and she violently and unabashedly came in front of me.
I bit my lower lip so hard I drew blood.
As if nothing had happened, she returned to the previous pose I had been sketching and was utterly silent.
Did I just imagine this? Was I going insane? Things like this never happen to me.
And as if she heard all these thoughts running through my brain, she turned her head and said,
“Next time, you can touch me.”
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