Read an Excerpt
‘I’m employing you to be a life model,’ he replied smiling. ‘Need you to be completely naked, I’m afraid. Is that a problem?’
I shook my head.
‘I’ll see you in the main studio when you’re ready, just through that door. Take your time.’ His smile was friendly and warm. And very gorgeous indeed. I dived behind the screen. Folding my jeans and T-shirt, I placed them on a chair. Just my underwear to go. I hesitated. Just got to do it, I told myself. Too late to back out now. Once I’d removed my black lacy panties and bra I felt exposed, but sexy somehow. And the thought that my body would soon be immortalized in paint made me feel good. The kimono slid over my skin as I pulled it across my body and tied the belt. A loose bow, soon to be undone. I took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the screen.
Mark was just my type. I wasn’t sure if that would make it easier to pose in front of him, or not. He was a fit, tanned, blond Brad Pitt look-alike. Well, at least I had someone good to look at whilst I sat still for hours watching him watch me. But I was a bit taken aback when I opened the door to a circle of expectant men and women standing behind easels, apparently waiting for me.
‘You don’t mind do you, Lisa?’ Mark had asked. ‘I usually allow my students in for an hour or so when I’ve got a life model sitting. They’ll all just do a quick sketch then they’ll be gone. I want them to get used to really looking at the human form in all its variety. To see what makes us what we are.’
What could I say? They were only going to sketch me, after all. And I was proud of my voluptuous, firm body. Like everyone I’d got my less good bits, but we’re all human and generally I felt good showing it off. So I slid off my kimono and lay on the couch in the middle of the studio. Five pairs of eyes, two male and three female gazed at me appraisingly. Mark came over and positioned me carefully, laying me back on the couch, one slim ankle crossing the other. And he sketched quickly alongside his students, broad strokes criss-crossing his canvas, in charcoal I thought. Every so often he smudged his work with a finger. I wondered what body part he was re-creating, a nipple maybe, the shadow of a fold at my waist? He issued me with instructions every few minutes.
‘Could you move your arm a little, Lisa, place it across your abdomen?’
I moved my arm and, grazing it over my stomach, I could feel my body heat rise. Warm air from a small fan heater licked across me. My nipples hardened. My breathing quickened. I had a sudden desire to touch myself, to allow my fingers to graze over my breasts, my thighs, my mound. To explore what Mark and the others were studying so intently. And the knowledge that Mark was issuing the orders made that need feel more urgent. I tried to focus on a corner of the room to distract myself, not to meet anyone’s gaze.
After an hour, Mark dismissed the students.
‘Could you stay where you are a moment, Lisa? I’d like to capture you in paint.’ His voice was firm, strong, brooking no argument. I nodded my agreement. His gaze was intense, admiring. I enjoyed watching him explore every curve of my body, as if he was touching me, gently, sensually with his brushes. He painted with confidence. I watched his brush flicker over the canvas, the movement was hypnotic. He knew what he was doing. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment, becoming increasingly aroused. I had always enjoyed being looked at, but the setting was rarely so tranquil, quiet and erotically charged.
‘Lisa,’ I opened my eyes as I heard him whisper to me. He was resting on his knees next to me. ‘May I move you?’
‘Of course,’ I replied. He laid his canvas on the floor took my hands and gently helped me to a sitting position. His hands were surprisingly soft; his fingers long, and smudged with charcoal.
He held my shoulders as he helped me sit up and positioned me carefully with my legs parted slightly, shoulders back, nipples proud and alert. His sensitive artist’s fingers ran enticingly over my breasts, and I shivered with relish under his touch.
‘Cold?’ he asked.
‘No, not cold,’ I replied, unsure about adding that I was merely aroused, but I saw from his smile that he understood. Moving back to the easel he took a brush in his right hand and applied some swift strokes to his canvas. I savoured the silence for a few minutes as he slowed down, added detail to his work. Again he dipped his brush into paint, but this time, instead of returning to his canvas he approached me. I was still, but alert when he touched the tip of my nipples with his brush, loaded with scarlet paint. The paint was cool as it touched my skin, which was now hot with desire. I gasped at the sensation and my nipples tightened and stood proud from my breasts, as if beseeching him to continue.