A Portrait of Seduction

Thanks to Alexis for helping to take the story to a new level.

*

I looked at the beautiful woman standing at the window looking slightly bewildered and out of place. She was dressed casually in T-shirt, skirt and simple shoes, each carrying some fancy brand name.

I decided that she was definitely a tourist.

Even more noticeable, however, was her physique. She was of medium height, slim but with curves where women should have curves. Her breasts, for example, could be observed as being medium in size, and would reward any man who could get his hands on them. Underneath her shirt she was braless, and her nipples pushed against the material, revealing their outline. I could only wonder whether she was pantyless too.

But what really got me excited about her was her face. She was young, around twenty, blonde with blue eyes. Her skin was flawless, and her lips had a sensual openness about them.

The lady's expression turned to consternation, and it was clear that she was lost. I decided that it would be a real pleasure to meet her, but my shyness got in the way. Besides, this woman was so pretty that I was convinced that she would not even look at me.

Then she turned towards me glanced straight at me. My heart fluttered. I just had to make something of this opportunity.

"Excuse me, madam," I said in a voice that I hoped would speak of honorable intent and helpfulness, "Are you lost?"

The woman seemed even more flustered, and then answered in a thick foreign accent, "Ja, zat iss correct. Zis book, eet confuses me," she held out a little guidebook, "and I cannot for directions ask. I speak not English well."

I nodded, only conscious that her inexpert use of English only made her seem even sexier. Suddenly all my other commitments for the day seemed unimportant, and I mentally put the rest of my day on hold. I wanted to spend as much time with this angel as I could.

"What do you want to see?" I asked, "Maybe I can show you the way."

She mentioned the name of a boring statue that was just around the corner.

"Yes, I know the place," I said, "Do you like art?"

"Ja," she answered, nodding her head, "I like. Why?"

I spoke as coolly as I could, hoping she would not hear my heart beating faster. "Because I know of a superb art gallery that is even closer."

"Really?" she asked, looking suspicious. "Why it are not here?" She pointed at her book.

Here I knew I was on solid ground. "Your book was written by a man who studied history. It is called 'A walk through the history of-'"

"So?" she cut me off impatiently.

"The art gallery is much closer," I said.

"Vot is dere?" she asked.

I gave her a quick run down.

"It sounds interesting," she said, lingering over the last word, "How goot the inscriptions?"

I frowned trying to understand what she meant. After a moment of thought, the answer dawned on me. I decided to speak the truth. "I'm sorry, the descriptions of the paintings are very shallow, and there is very little information about the artists."

"How sad," she observed, turning away.

"However," I said smiling, "I do know both the paintings and the artists, and I would love to show you around."

The woman looked indecisive. "Why you know dese tings?"

"Simple. I am an art student, and I spend a lot of time there as part of my studies. In fact, if you go with me, I will introduce you and then you won't have to pay entrance money."

The lady looked intrigued, and I knew I had her hooked. Some women simply can't resist a bargain, never mind a freebie.

"Deal?" I said, holding out my hand.

"Deal," she said. She shook hands with me in a formal way as if we were signing a large construction contract.

"My name is Lionel," I announced.

"I am Gretchen," she responded with a smile. "Do you often meet women like this?"

I smiled to myself. Already I was starting to get used to her accent. "I have never tried before," I said simply, "Maybe I'll do it again if you are satisfied with me."

"Are you an artist too?" she asked directly. Before I could respond, she answered her own question. "Yes, you must be. I have always wanted to meet one."

I bowed comically.

"Show me the way," she prompted.

"That's easy," I said, "You're standing at the door."

I led Gretchen into the building, and showed the entrance staff that she was with me. As expected, they let her in without a quibble. Gretchen giggled like a schoolgirl planning a practical joke. "It's fun not paying," she whispered in my ear. Her accent stopped seeming so strange the more we talked.

I caught a whiff of her very expensive perfume. Damn, it smelled good!

I took her to the first gallery. I let her walk in and carefully watched to see which painting caught her eye.

She walked straight up to a large landscape that had been done in a very realistic fashion. I personally thought the lines too harsh and the colors too gaudy, but it was popular with many of the less sophisticated visitors.

"I moved up close to Gretchen and whispered. "That is a typical Stevens. He lives in small hamlet about two hours' drive from here. It is the view from his back door. There are several more of his paintings in the gallery, but this is his favorite."

"It seems you know this Mr. Stevens personally," Gretchen said, drawing closer to me.

"Maybe," I said softly, "but right now I'm getting to know you."

"Charmer." Gretchen looked at a picture of a farmhouse, complete with carriages. "Do you know that artist too?" she asked in a silken voice.

"I'm afraid not," I said without any expression, "She died before I was born. I'm sure I'd have liked her though, but not as much as I like you."

"I think I'll stay right here and let you tell me about each of the paintings here."

It was a very quiet day, and there were no other visitors in the gallery. This was my opportunity to get close and personal. I moved in behind her and took her in a gentle embrace. She laid her head back on my chest, and I spoke of the painting in front of us. As I did so, I gently rubbed her shoulder.

"That's beautiful," she said, "but I like the one next to it."

"You mean the portrait of the lady in blue?"

She nodded.

I smiled; it was my favorite too.

"That was one of the first pieces by Terry Terelka. One day many years ago he was walking down the road when he saw a most beautiful woman passing. He was so taken in by what he saw that he turned and ran after the woman. He stopped her and asked to draw her portrait. She said that she could not make an appointment with him because she was leaving the city that same day. So Terelka begged her to let him sketch her there and then. She told him that she did not have much time, that she could not go to his studio and that she had not dressed for a portrait.

"Terelka told the lady that he had his pencils with him, and promised her that he would be finished within ten minutes. She smiled and agreed.

"They were at the gates of a park, and so he drew her from the side as she stood in front of the gates. All the time as he was drawing, Terelka tried to draw her into conversation, but the lady said very little, and he could make out nothing of her life story.

"Finally, just as Terelka was putting the final touches on the picture, he looked up and saw that she had gone. He raced after her once more, but he could not find her."

"How sad! Do you think he had fallen in love with her?"

"Yes, very much so. He tried to find out about her everywhere, but no one knew anything. He contacted the police and published an advertisement in the newspaper with a description of the woman but all his efforts were in vain. He never heard of her again.

"For the rest of his life he went about with the sketch in his pocket looking for the woman. He died three years ago. The painting was still hanging in his study in case he saw her again he would recognize her."

"She does look sweet, although I would not think of her as particularly pretty" Gretchen observed, "The look on her face seems quiet though, almost as if she is making up her mind."

"Artists are like that," I mused, "They see beauty in people that the rest of us miss. Now look at the picture: there is the one place in the universe that the unknown woman is making up her mind: is she going to leave or is she going to stop and meet the artist, and maybe even fall in love with him."

"Do you think she is married?"

I squinted closely. "It's hard to say. One can't see if she's wearing a ring." I paused. "I'm sure that the woman would have told Terelka that she was married. Don't you think so?"

"Did you make all this up?"

"Would I fool a pretty lady like you?"

She laughed gaily and looked at the painting with new interest. "That's strange. The lady is very pretty, but he has drawn the trash on the ground. Why would he do that?"

"What do you think?" I countered.

Gretchen furrowed her brow. "Maybe it shows that even though all the circumstances are not quite right we can still decide to make a meeting memorable."

"It's memorable already," I said happily.

"It's such a beautiful picture. I think he loved the woman only because she fitted into his painting. He could never have lived with the real woman."

I laughed. "True love can overcome everything." On a whim I kissed her cheek.

"Maybe the woman would have stayed if Terelka had kissed her like that," Gretchen said huskily. She turned and brought her lips to mine. As our lips touched, her eyes closed. With a feather touch our lips danced together.

She pulled away and looked at me. "Are you thinking of painting a portrait of me?" she asked.

"How did you guess?" I asked surprised. Throughout our conversation I had been wondering what pose would suit her best. Nothing seemed to do justice to the exquisite woman in the flesh.

"Now show me another beautiful picture."

She moved into a little alcove facing a painting of a very pretty little girl dressed for an outing. We were now hidden from view from the gallery and would probably be able to hear anyone approaching. I wondered whether Gretchen had noticed this possibility or whether it had happened by accident. Either way, I was very excited at being alone with this stunning woman who was responding so readily to my attentions.

We kissed face to face, and then Gretchen broke away. "Tell me about the little girl."

"With pleasure," I said. I moved in behind her and embraced her once more. Gretchen contentedly moved against me. I could not hide my erection as it pressed against her shapely butt. Gretchen wiggled against my groin and said, "Come on, I want to know about the painting."

"You're not making it easy," I complained, "but it sure is fun."

"I don't know what you are talking about," she said primly, wiggling again.

"There is a story about that painting, but I don't want to spoil it for you. Why don't you describe it to me in your own words?"

"I can't help but notice the sad look on the girl's face. The face seems old, but her body looks so young. The whole painting seems sad even though her dress is bright and cheerful. Did I get that right?"

"Very good," I laughed. That painting is entitled simply 'A portrait of Sarah Youvil.' It was painted by Joy Mirroblo only last year. In fact it is one the gallery's most recent purchases."

"So why is it hidden away in this corner?" Gretchen demanded. "One would expect that the gallery would want to boast about their new works, not so?"

"That is not always true," I said happily, knowing that I was on solid ground. "This painting caused quite a stir when it was discovered that the little girl had incurable cancer. She died last month."

Gretchen shuddered against me. "How sad," she said.

"When the news went out, there were some who felt that it was important to have her picture up in the gallery in honor of her memory. The gallery set this place aside." I paused. "Just think: she never had a boyfriend to play with her little breasts."

Gretchen playfully pushed me away. "You are impossible," she laughed, but she had clearly enjoyed my explorations around the outside of her T-shirt. My fingers had found clear evidence that her nipples were hard and erect.

I kissed her fervently, and after a little hesitation she kissed me back. I brought my hands beneath her T-shirt and explored her tight little body. Gretchen purred, pulling herself even closer to me. Within moments I reached her breasts.

Gretchen shuddered slightly, and then resumed the kiss. As I slowly ran my fingers on her naked tits, she moaned into my mouth, "It's so good; don't stop."

Suddenly she tugged away from me. "What if someone sees us?" she asked, pulling my hand away.

"I have a little office here," I said quietly. "Maybe you'd like to see it."

I drew her away without giving her the chance to argue. In fact I had been slowly leading her to my office, and the door was in sight of where we had just been kissing. I quickly unlocked the door, and motioned her to enter.

"Is this your place?" she asked in surprise.

"Very much so," I answered, following her into the room and closing the door behind us. I consciously enjoyed the experience of having this beautiful woman in my very small space.

Gretchen looked around, carefully taking in the desk, chair and notebook computer. I had several art reference works and a few art journals in a bookcase. She looked hard at a picture of my family. "Who is that?" she asked quickly, pointing at a picture of a very pretty young lady.

"My sister," I laughed. "Are you jealous?"

Gretchen blushed. "No, I am just curious."

I pulled her into another embrace, but she gave a slight protest, and I backed off slightly. "Why is that picture there?" she asked.

I laughed. I'd completely forgotten about it, but now that she had reminded me, I was glad for it. I had requested it to be placed in my office because I was studying the artist's work. The director of the museum had agreed knowing that my studies had not been the prime reason for me wanting it there. He did not mind because certain patrons of the museum had found its overt sexuality too strong for their sensitivities, and for that reason it was very rarely exhibited.

"That is a nude by Michael Flashman," I said simply. "What do you think of it?"

"It is very sexy," she said after a moment, "but I can't place my finger on the reason."

"Look at her face," I suggested.

"I see what you mean," Gretchen answered thoughtfully, "That look can only be one of lust."

"What about her eyes?"

"The pupils are dilated," she said. "Does that mean anything?"

"It's a sign of sexual arousal." I said smoothly. "Notice anything about her nipples?"

"Yes, they are so hard. She must be feeling very sexy."

I squeezed in close to Gretchen. "Just like you are feeling right now." I purred into her ear. "Now look at her pose," I prompted.

"It's hard to read," Gretchen said pensively. "It looks as if she has been taken by surprise by a man, and she is trying to cover up. But the expression on her face is too hungry for that. I think that she is trying to seduce the man. Look, one can see her most sexy parts. Ooh yes, she wants to be made love to, she has planned it and she is going to get it."

She turned around and kissed me. As she did so, she thrust her breasts against my chest. "Oh, yes," she purred back, "I need you." Our lips locked passionately and I could feel her melting against me.

I eagerly moved my hands down to her ass. She wiggled slightly, encouraging me in my exploration of her body. I lifted her skirt and slid my hands in against the bare skin of her upper thigh.

"Naughty," Gretchen breathed, but she did not push away.

I kissed her so that she could not speak anymore. I was convinced that I would strike it lucky with this woman, and that within minutes my seduction would be complete.

Triumphantly my hand continued its way across her ass, and found only a thin thong in the crack. As I touched her, Gretchen became ever more excited, and even started humping herself against my thigh. Several times she accidentally rubbed against the bulge of my erection, and then she realized what it was.

"Hard cock," she sighed happily. "Hard for me."

I found that her panties were moist. "Hot pussy," I said. "Hot for me."

She tittered happily, and then parted her legs slightly for me to be able to get into her a little bit more.

There was a knock on the door. We moved apart quickly. Before I could answer the door opened and Ian charged in. Ian shares the office with me, and we are good friends. He looked in and suddenly realized that he had been breaking up something. He colored beetroot red, and made to turn around.

I knew the mood had been broken, and so I stopped him. "Ian, meet my friend Gretchen. She is a tourist."

There were awkward introductions, and Ian said that he was there to study.

We made some small talk.

"Thank you for the guided tour of the museum, Lionel," Gretchen finally said. "I need to go to the station now."

I tried to convince Gretchen to stay a little longer. I thought that I might be able to get close to her a second time, but she was quite determined to leave quickly.

"I'll take you," I said desperately. It was my only hope. I wanted this woman. She had teased me all day, signaling that I would soon be meeting her in the most intimate way possible. My original intentions of being friendly to a pretty lady were long forgotten. I would do anything to go all the way with her.

She insisted on leaving immediately. My heart sank and I reluctantly showed her to the street.

As we walked, my mind was in a complete fever. I had come so close to having my way with this woman, only to be frustrated at the last moment! Was there some way in which I could retrieve the situation?

I tried to keep up my cheerful banter, but it was difficult. I just knew that Gretchen was feeling as aroused as I was, and that she would give me what I wanted if I could make the slightest opportunity.

Suddenly a sneaky idea struck me. "Here's a short cut," I shouted, and pulled her into a building. "Follow me!"

I took a flight of stairs, turned left, and quickly unlocked the door.

"No," Gretchen protested, "this is no short cut to the station."

I gently pushed her into the door. "No, it's my apartment," I said, holding her close to me. We can be quick."

I kissed her and all her resistance crumbled. Her bag fell to the floor as she kissed back.

Our kissing was passionate and urgent. I slowly guided Gretchen into my bedroom, my hands exploring her body all the while. She moaned in anticipation as we stopped next to my bed. Impatiently I took my hand down between her legs in a search for her honey pot.

"Yes," Gretchen breathed thickly. "Touch me there." She parted her legs for me, and then I touched her panties again. If anything they were even moister than at the gallery. I silently vowed that now I would allow nothing to keep me out of the sexy woman wriggling on the tips of my fingers.

"Do you like that?" I asked softly.

"Don't talk," she urged, "Just fuck me with your fingers."

I was eager to oblige. I rocked my fingers slowly back and forth over her pussy lips. Her lubrication was seeping out of her as if she were a sponge, and I could smell her arousal. It was a sweet smell that seemed to permeate into my pores, sharpening my desire for her into an all-encompassing desire that had nothing to do with anything except the most primal desires of a man.

Her hips started thrashing out of control on my fingers, and I realized that Gretchen was as much in need of raw sex as I was.

I picked her up and roughly set her down on the bed. Gretchen sighed ecstatically. Looking me straight in the eye she reached under her skirt and wriggled her panties down, then dropped them onto the floor. The buzzing in my ears from my excitement was such that I could not move for a moment as I tried to cope with the sensory overload of being so close to this sexy, horny stranger. Her face locked in a lustful grimace, Gretchen gathered her skirt up above her waist, giving me my first look of her beautiful sex treasure. I stared at her fixedly, trying to burn every detail of her pose into my memory.