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A Hot Turn as an Artist’s Model

She’d agreed to pose as a favour to a friend and got a great reward
Em was interested in art. It had formed a small and attractive part of her university studies. She favoured modern portraiture and had once or twice made some pocket money as an artist’s model.

She had generally posed nude and found it erotically pleasing. Once, excitingly, she’d worked with a male model for a pornographic photographic collection the artist had titled “Private Dance Class”.

For that occasion she had worn a very tight and highly revealing one-piece that was held in place at the top by shoulder straps and at the bottom, only by a very thin black string between her legs.

Over this garment, round her hips, was a very short and flouncy yellow skirt. This flew up when they danced (it was a rather wild samba) and fully revealed her sexy ass and furry pussy.

She’d made a lot of money out of that and the super-hot threesome filmed immediately afterwards with the photographer and the male model.

That was long ago, however. She hadn’t posed as an artist’s model for years or done any more porn.

She was surprised when Tom asked her if she’d model for his latest erotic painting. They had fucked each other, but only once. It had been upstairs at a party at someone’s place in the country.

Everyone, including Tom’s wife and Ambrose, had been flirting naked in the swimming pool or the Jacuzzi. Em's and Tom's departure from the pool had not been missed.

Tom had wanted to paint a woman getting a massage. Em knew all about massages and she’d thought it might be fun to pose again. It would be clothed but with an artistic hint of hidden delights. She thought she’d probably quite like the painting for herself.

He had a studio by the river in her city, in an area that had been gentrified and its old warehouses turned into apartments. He had a loft apartment that offered great views of the river and the city. She’d been there a couple of times with Ambrose for drinks on weekends.

Em told Ambrose that Tom had asked her to pose for his new work. She told him what it was. Ambrose had smiled and said, “You’d be the perfect model then Em, will you be naked?”

She told him no, the brief was to wear a green top and pink bikini cut panties, though she would be lying on a massage couch, probably in various poses. She wasn’t sure. It would mean about four sittings, she thought. The first was that afternoon.

An hour or so later she appeared with a small bag containing her posing costume, gave him a peck on the cheek, said she’d be back in about four hours and they’d go out to dinner, and got into her car and drove away.

Ambrose smiled as she left. He thought it was very likely Em would find herself stripped and massaged as part of the session. Tom’s wife was overseas on business.

Em might even allow Tom to fuck her again. Ambrose knew they’d done it once. He always knew. He didn’t mind. In fact he liked it. Em’s illicit sex adventures fuelled most of his hotter dreams.

He did an hour’s work at his laptop. He wrote porn scripts for amusement and minor remuneration. He found it a useful antidote to the dross of news and commentary that his day job entailed.

His current script involved a young woman, very new in a relationship with an older man, being visited by a former lover and being seduced on the sunny window seat in her new waterside apartment. She hadn’t been expecting anyone to call and was wearing only an open-weave singlet and jeans.

She was very reluctant when he had begun began to flirt over the cup of tea she had made him. She protested when he put the cup and saucer down on the side table and moved across to the window seat, walked behind her and gently pulled her backwards into it.

She said he shouldn’t, when he pushed her little top up and exclaimed with delight at finding her firmly rounded breasts naked. But her nipples made her a liar. They had already grown hard.

She tried to say no again, when he leaned over her from behind and licked her nipples and undid the top button on her jeans and unzipped them and slid his hand into her furry and now wet pussy and said, “God, and no panties either.”

She tried to say he shouldn’t, when he unzipped his own jeans and she saw his huge cock just within range of her mouth. She was opening her mouth to form the word “No” when he slid his hardness into it and simultaneously pushed her jeans down to her ankles and licked her open pussy.

It was shortly after that that she had briefly broken away from sucking to shout “God! Yes!” and kicked off her jeans and gone to town on his cock with her teeth and tongue, just the way he (and every other man she'd done it to) had always loved it.

He had fucked her twice on the window seat and then carried her to the bed she shared with her with partner, often very energetically, and fucked her again.

Ambrose remembered Em reluctantly telling him the story when he got home an hour or so later. He had smiled at her, kissed her on her beautiful mouth, and fucked her brains out too.

Revisiting that episode, converted into porn form, aroused Ambrose. He went upstairs, his cock suddenly hardening, his mouth dry, and with that buzz in his groin he always got when he was going to masturbate. Ambrose liked to masturbate. It allowed you to have very hot fantasies that you perhaps wouldn’t want to share with anyone, even with your sexy wife.

He went into the bedroom and found Em’s hot-pack drawer. He knew about that too and Em knew he did. He wasn’t sure she knew he liked to cross-dress for private fantasy sex and come with the hot thought that he was Em being solidly fucked in her very scanty underwear.

He stripped naked. He selected a tiny little red string from Em’s collection and got hot wondering when and where she had been when it had last been ripped off her. He knew it had gone with her on her last Europe business trip. He found its matching tiny red bra and wondered the same about that.

Then he found a pair of Em’s sexy charcoal stay-up stockings.

He put on the string, the bra and the stockings. His cock thrust out from the top of the tiny string. He lay down on their bed, propped up on the pillows and facing the mirror, his legs wide, and selected a venue and circumstances for his little fantasy. Em had been to Milan, Monaco, Paris and Amsterdam on her last trip and had come home through Hong Kong.

He decided on Milan where (in his fantasy) Em had booked an outcall in her hotel room late one night. There had been one night in Milan on that trip when she’d failed to call home, where it was early morning and Ambrose was sitting over the day’s first coffee.

(In fact Em had been to dinner with a very powerful businessman and then gone to his penthouse apartment where he had stripped and solidly licked her on a big leather sofa. He had then very soundly fucked her three times, once on the couch and twice on his bed, and did her again in his office after lunch next day and they had both enjoyed it all very much.)

Ambrose stroked his increasingly tumescent cock and smiled. There was nearly always one night in every city when she was away when she didn’t call. Sometimes she called very early her time and told him she would out so was calling now.

Now and then, deliciously, she’d tell him one of her literal fibs. He loved them. They showed true style. He recalled that on the most recent trip she had told him from Monaco that she hadn’t called because she’d just had to drop everything.

Ambrose pushed the little red string down to the top of his legs, which were now even more widely apart, the way Em always lay for him when he was going to give it to her missionary style.He began masturbating quickly with one hand. With the other he unclipped the little red bra and pulled it down so that it lay just where Em’s sexy breasts would end.

He was pinching both his nipples in random sequence and imagining an unknown Milan gigolo biting Em’s as he prepared her for penetration. He imagined Em making a lot of noise about this.

Then he imagined Em shouting with pleasure when the long, hard, unknown Milanese cock parted her hair and thrust firmly into her vagina. He imagined her getting fevered with lust at being fucked by yet another big cock on yet another big bed in yet another big city.

Ambrose knew very well how Em sounded and behaved when she was coming. She put mere frantic enthusiasm in the shade and shouted and thrashed with her breasts bouncing madly and their upright nipples getting harder and harder.

Ambrose came hotly, loudly and copiously in the handkerchief he had brought with him to the bed and which he would shortly wash and dry.

Then he wondered what Em was doing now, at that very moment. He thought it very likely she was naked or nearly so. He was right.

Em was lying face down on the massage couch still wearing her tight little green top. Her pink bikini panties were lying in disarray on the floor, however. Tom had dropped them there after he slid them unexpectedly down her legs and over her feet.

Her legs were hotly, sexily apart. Her pussy was wet; it had just been very beautifully massaged. Her nipples were like hot little rocks in her green top, pressing into the couch. Em desperately wanted them to be licked and bitten. She was sure Tom would do this before he fucked her and probably while he was doing so too.

It was all her fault, she told herself. Tom had been a perfect gentleman. He was, after all, at work. While he painted at his easel they had chatted about this and that, and about Em’s own interest in art and her long ago stint as an artist’s model.

Then she recited her favourite Titian ditty, the one about the model, the rose madder, and the ladder, originally attributed to the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas. Tom was being far too serious, she thought, and needed to laugh.

Tom had looked at her with a smile and then laughed. “An oldie but a goody,” he said. That was when he put down his paintbrush, walked over to the couch, stared at her hotly and said, “You’re not on a ladder.”

That’s when he suddenly pulled off her panties and said, “So since you’re not, and are in fact on a massage couch, you should have a hot massage and then I think I should fuck your brains out.”

Em had said, “Of course I should. Of course you should.”

Tom fetched some of his wife’s sandalwood oil from his bathroom. He massaged the aromatic oil into Em’s feet and legs, all the way up to her naked pussy. He briefly massaged her pussy and slid two slick fingers into her vagina. Em became noisy. Tom liked that.

Then he rubbed oil into her lower back and her trimly desirable ass and through her crack and into her pussy again. Em thrashed on the couch and came loudly.

That’s when he tore off his clothes and rolled her over onto her back. That’s when he ripped off her tight little green top and bit and licked her nipples.

That’s when he threw her legs wide apart and looked with lust at the little triangle of hair on her mound that he had seen only once before and remembered for its energetic and hot sweetness.

That’s when he licked it before running his long, strong tongue down into her pussy and into her entrance, exciting her clitoris and causing her to come yet again.

Then he gave her his hot, hard cock, all the way, cum inside.

Twice.

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