Sketched and Seduced in Paris Pt. 02

I woke to your lips grazing mine. You were showered and dressed for work, looking professional and sexy, and I reached up to pull you into bed. It was so rare for me to be up after you that I did two double takes: first the realization that it was late morning, and second that I was not alone under the blankets.

You smiled, cruelly dragging your fingernails down my chest, and walked out of the apartment, knowing my eyes were fixated on your ass the entire way.

I felt Nathalie stir next to me, her breast resting on my arm, and she stretched like a cat and yawned. I traced her neck with a languid finger and she giggled, pulling me in for a deep kiss. "So she left you here with me?"

I lift an eyebrow. "Should I be concerned?"

She lifts one leg over me, pinning my thigh to the bed. "Only if you make weak coffee."

I took the hint, squeezing her ass as I climbed out of bed. I pulled on my boxers and began clanking around the kitchen. I soon returned to bed, propping up some pillows. As she cuddles into my chest I ask her to tell me her story, and how she met the man we saw her with at the cafe.

"I am a painter. At least, that is my vocation. I work in bars, wait tables, clean houses, whatever I can do live while I paint. I have an attic apartment with wonderful light, and I use it as a studio. When I can, I hire models to pose for me. I love the shape and curves and shadows of the human form.

"I try to make my models comfortable, as I can't pay very much. I give them a robe to wear when I take breaks, and try to give them privacy when they are not posing. I ask them not to speak to me while I work so I can see them as they are, finding their emotions in their muscles and tendons. To be honest, most of the men I paint are gay, and I never gave a second thought to having them in my apartment.

"One day I noticed a waiter at a cafe with a powerful jaw and sharp cheekbones, a strong neck and broad shoulders. I felt the urge to paint him, and on a break I asked if he would model for me. He agreed. The next day Martel came to my apartment and I showed him where to stand.

"I took my time painting him, letting the brush pull my hand around each of the shadows and sinews. As I traced around his stomach to his pubic hair I thought I noticed his penis twitch slightly. It was lovely, not too long or too big, and I had a sudden urge to see it erect. Without looking at him I opened my legs slightly so my skirt slid up my thigh. I sensed his cock move again. I opened one button on my blouse and walked around the easel as if to get a better look at him.

"As I got closer his penis got harder, almost fully erect, and it was hard not to take it in my hand. I sensed him wanting to speak and I put my hand on his mouth. 'Do not speak and do not move,' I ordered.

"I pulled the easel just in front of him and turned it to the side so I was looking directly at his groin and he could see what I was painting. I filled in the curls of his pubic hair, the vein pulsing on the side of his penis, hint of precum on the tip. I gently pulled on his testacles as if to see them better and felt their tense fullness. I got on my knees and looked up at him, licking my middle finger and pushing up behind his balls and up to his anus, feeling him start to shudder as I worked it inside him.

"I sat back down and looked up at him, struggling with the violation and the helplessness. I began to paint the rigid muscles above his eyebrows, the tightness of his gorgeous jaw. I licked my tongue from the base of his shaft to the tip, tasting him, and then without a word I pulled off my skirt and my panties, walked to my bed, laid down with my legs spread wide in the air and my ass and pussy exposed directly to him."

I knew from first-hand experience how tight her ass felt. I imagined her bending forward, lower back curling up, long legs spread, pink vagina peeking through dark hair. I imagined what it felt like to be the model standing there seeing this display, wondering if he was about to be inside that glorious body.

"I knew he was staring at me. I reached down and began to stroke myself, letting myself loosen. I looked over my shoulder and beckoned him to me. I closed my eyes and felt him enter me, gripping my shoulders and driving into me, wrapping his hands around my breasts even through my blouse. We fucked that way for a while, soundlessly, and when I felt him about to come I flipped over, cupped his balls, stuck my finger back inside him and forced him to come all over my face, my hair, my blouse. I left my finger inside him even after he came and he just stood there, frozen, unsure what to do.

"I told him he was done for the day and to show himself out. When I was done with the shower he was gone."

While she told this story her hand had been stroking up and down my stomach and inner thigh, drifting through my pubic hair, carressing my penis. I was enjoying her arousal as much as my own, and I put my hand between her legs and began to gently rub circles around her clit. I asked, "Did you see him again?"

She smiled. "Oh yes. I asked him to model for me once a week, each time ending our session by making him cum. I let him fuck me all over my apartment. We never spoke more than a few words, and each time I asked him to leave.

"One day I was working at the cafe and he asked me to have a word. He told me he couldn't just model and fuck, that he wanted to take me to dinner. Reluctantly I agreed."

I raised an eyebrow. "The dinner where we sketched you?"

"No. A few weeks ago, he took me to a lovely restaurant, bought me wine and an excellent meal. We spoke of Paris and romance, of relationships and adventures. It was very nice, and I let him take me home to his apartment and make love to me. The next morning we woke up in his bed and he begged to see me again. I said I would think about it.

"A few days passed and to be honest I did not. I went on with my life, painting and working. I began to get text messages from him, first calm, then agitated. I ignored them. One evening I was waitressing at the his restaurant and he told me he couldn't stop thinking of me, that he must see me again. I should have said no. The next day was when you saw us."

I nodded. "That fits. He was clearly upset and you obviously didn't want to be there."

"We fought on the way to the cafe. He told me he wanted to do more than fuck, that we could be together, and I told him I wasn't interested in a relationship with him or anyone else. As we walked into the cafe he grabbed my arm as if he could compel me, and for the first time I felt a different kind of attraction to him. I wanted that anger inside me, and for a moment - until I saw you two sketching me - I considered it."

I grinned. "I have to say, he was pretty sexy. We both thought so, especially when he stared at us at the end of the meal."

"You should see him naked. He has the body of a wolf: lean, agile, tight. Has your lover ever sketched a nude?"

"Not like you do. But I think she would enjoy it."

Nathalie squeezes my cock and says "I think you might too. Shall I see if I can arrange one more modeling session?"

That night you come home exhausted and I run you a bath, letting you sit in the bubbles, feet poking out on the sides of the tub, glass of red wine in your hand. I pull a chair next to you and smile as you sigh happily. "Last night was incredible. Did you two have fun this morning?"

"I was too tired for anything too exciting, but we did have a lovely chat. It turns out that she's a painter and Martel is - or at least was - her model."

"How interesting. And they slept together?"

"You could say that. But it was complicated." You pursed your lips and nodded. I continued, "Nathalie wondered if you would like to join her at her studio this weekend to sketch a nude model she's painting."

"What about you? Just the girls?"

"She said I could tag along if I want. She has a couple of cameras she said I could play with for some art photos, or at the worst I can make you two coffee." You laughed and agreed, so I sent Nathalie a text: "We're on."

On Saturday in the mid afternoon we arrived at Nathalie's building. I was one of those old Parisian building with an inner courtyard so she had to come down to let us in, and we tromped up six flights of stairs rather than take the tiny, rickety old elevator. When we reached the top we walked into her studio. Huge mansard windows lit the the space underneath a slightly dirty skylight. A bed with an ornate iron headboard was pushed against one wall, a tiny kitchenette hid next to the door, and on the floor outside the bathroom was an old bath tub. Nathalie saw me looking and shrugged. "No shower, so I have no choice. It reminds me of the days of Renoir when hot water was a luxury."

In the middle of the space was an empty stool and a table with a robe draped over it. In front were two chairs, one with an easel. A few accessories were strewn around with discarded paint tubes. There was nowhere for me to sit except a cushion propped against the wall, so I made myself as comfortable as I could, picking up what looked like a Leica M3 to familiarize myself with it.

You and Nathalie began to get comfortable, chatting away, and I couldn't help but watch you. Every inch of you was radiant: the hair you had carefully straightened that morning, the light upward curve of your nose, the small breasts poking through your light sweater. I felt myself begin become aroused and took a deep breath. There was plenty of time for that to come.

Suddenly the bell rang and Nathalie said she would be back in a few minutes. I went to sit next to you and kissed you while we waited. You said eagerly, "This is exciting! I wonder what kind of person she'll bring us as a model. I asked but she just giggled. Do you think it will be a man or a woman?"

Her question was answered with the sound of arguing in the hallway. I knew who it was and I smiled to myself. Martel burst into the room, as angry as the previous day, and stomped to the stool. Deliberately and violently he removed his shoes, his shirt, his pants. Standing there in front of you in his light blue boxes I could see his balls and cock hanging heavily through the material. His body was tight and covered in curly black hair. He had strong shoulders and a firm chest. His stomach was tight, not quite a six pack but echoing the muscles beneath. His legs were lean but not muscular, as if he had never deigned to do a squat given his many hours striding through restaurants as he waited tables.

I looked your way and you were transfixed. I knew you had wanted him in the cafe that day, had been captivated by his fierce look when he caught us watching. I suspected you had touched yourself imagining him inside you. Now here he was standing in front of you, just a few feet away. You had your finger in your mouth as you usually do when you think about sex. Nathalie sat next to you and leaned over, whispering in your ear. "Sexy, no? I told him I was bringing a friend to sketch him, but I don't think he expected it to be you.

She gestured casually at him and he reluctantly pulled down his boxers, his penis slipping out. "Now here is how this works. First, he is not allowed to speak under any circumstances. Second, he must do exactly as we ask of him so we get just the right light and just the right angle. Third, I am happy to join the scene if you want to try a different kind of nude. Let's start with him in this casual pose and then we can make adjustments."

The two of you began to work, exchanging looks as they explored the scene. You asked if you could try painting and Nathalie brought over another easel and canvas. After a half hour, Nathalie looked up and frowned. "You know, I think we need to make some adjustments. Come." She walked up to Martel and placed her hand on his chest. "Hmm. I think we need you to sit on the chair and lean back slightly." As he did so, she ran her hand along his stomach. "Feel this. We need these muscles to show more." You reached down and touched his stomach, feeling him jerk at your unfamiliar touch. Nathalie took your hand and pulled it down to his pubic hair. "This too." And then she pushed your hand onto his penis. "And this."

You were standing there, holding his hardening cock in your hand, mouth opening with shock as I took an incredible picture. Martel clearly had no idea what to think, these two exquisite women holding his cock while he sat naked in front of them. Nathalie let her hand rest on his balls and looked at you. "There are two ways to paint: passionately or dispassionately. And sometimes we have no choice in the matter," she said as she slipped her fingers inside your underwear, feeling your wetness, gently kissing your lips. Your legs buckled slightly as her finger curled inside you and I could see you unconsciously stroke his shaft as she kissed you.

With a firm voice she told you: "You must do exactly as I say. You may not speak. You are now part of my canvas. Do you agree?" You helplessly nod. "Good. First, you must take off your clothes." Silently you pull off your blouse, your pants, your underwear. I see a light shiver go through your body as you stand next to Martel.

"Next, I want you to take your fingernails and run them across his chest. Yes. See his cock twitch? He likes that. Now wrap them around his ass. Do you feel how strong he is? Now lightly, so lightly, put your tongue on the tip of his cock. Do you taste the precum? Mm, I need this to paint later." She looks at me and I begin to take pictures, watching you so eager to take more of him into your mouth.

"Now I want you to slide your fingers to his balls. Give them a hard squeeze. Make him ache. Yes. Now further. Let me put this lube on you - yes - now I want you to put your finger all the way inside him. You must own him, make him yours, make him understand you are fully in control."

You do as she says, sliding your middle finger inside of him, feeling his sphincter tighten, his soft gasp as you begin to stroke in and out. You lick the tip of his penis in rhythm with your fucking, transfixed by the way his muscles contract as you control him.

"Now he is beyond himself, unsure if this is humiliation or pleasure, forgetting everything but that animal desire to fuck." She grabs your breasts and begins to kiss you, there in front of him, letting him watch. Then she pushes you to the bed and bends you over so your ass is facing right at him. She grazes her fingertips along your neck, your inner thighs, then gives your pussy a long deep suck from behind.

She points to me and I kneel on the bed, pointing the camera at Martel. He looks conflicted, cock straining for release, unsure whether to shout or attack or flee. I take photo after photo of you there, almost moaning, excited beyond any reasonable measure. The man you had imagined angrily fucking you was about to angrily fuck you, and your body was on fire waiting for that just-right cock to penetrate you.

Nathalie sits next to me and we each look into your eyes to affirm you want to continue. Almost aching with desire you groan and nod. I watch her point her finger at Martel and curl it, beckoning him to the bed. His eyes never leave hers, and I can feel how much he wants her, not you. His penis is almost frothing with precum, veins purple, engorged. I have a momentary desire to grab it, to bite it, to force him to come into me instead of you. Then I see it slide underneath, into you, and your wet vagina fills. I see your mouth open soundlessly, gaping, eyes back in your head. I see Martel staring angrily at Nathalie, as he slowly pulls almost all the way out and then BAM back into you. Without intending to you find a rhythm with him and BAM BAM we hear the sucking sound of bodies against each other. Your eyes fix glossily upon mine as he fucks you and I stare back, sharing this intense moment with you.

As Martel rises toward orgasm he begins to yell at Nathalie with each thrust, words in French I don't understand but are almost certainly "Fuck. You. You. Slut." or something of that ilk. He grabs your breasts and lifts you from the bed so you are literally fucking airborne, pinned up by his cock, and your hands grab his arms to pull him even deeper. I can tell you are about to explode when he releases his final thrust and you slip off of his cock and his cum flies everywhere, splashing onto my face and Nathalie's, all of our our clothes, all over you.

He stares, penis dripping, at the scene. You lying in a heap on the bed, fucked out. Nathalie and I, transfixed, covered in his semen, glowing in the light of golden hour. A ray of evening sunlight turns him for a moment into a vibrant statue, a satyr missing only the pipes. Martel catches himself frozen, sweeps back to the stool, grabs his clothes, and almost runs out of the apartment, naked, slamming the door with a very English "Fuck you."

You roll over, unbelievably gorgeous, red splotches everywhere from being grabbed and pulled and held. You lie there for a moment, breathing, and then you look up at us. "You two planned this, didn't you?"

We look at each other in pretend shock and begin to giggle. You shake your head, let out a loud and well-deserved, "Fuck!" and start to giggle too. You grab the camera. "You better not have that on film." I show you the empty back of the camera, having already slipped the film canister into my pocket, and you relax. "So now what?"

I lift you in the air and kiss you succulently. "First, you take a much needed bath. And then I promised Nathalie if she lent you her model, I'd do the honors tonight... perhaps you'll be up to help me out?