Carl finally finished that painting of Camilla in the nude, and he told his naked model she could get up, go over, and look at his picture of her. When she went over, she deliberately got as close to him as she could get; she got between him and the picture, and after he gently caressed her buttocks, she sat on his pointy lap.
She was amazed at the precision of his painting technique: it was almost like looking at a photograph, it was so realistic. "Wow," she sighed. "You are brilliant, Carl. I really admire you." She was rubbing her buttocks against that bulging phallus in his pants. "Are my pussy and asshole really that pretty?"
"Yes, they are," he panted. "I spared no effort in giving them all the glory they deserve."
"Oh, thank you," she said, turning around and hugging him.
Suddenly, he picked up the naked girl and put her on the table on all fours. She again let out tremulous cries of fear and arousal as he forcefully handled her. Her arse was pointed towards where he'd be drawing her; he spread her legs out wide, and pulled her hips back so her vagina and anus would be in clear view.
She looked back at him over her shoulder. "No," he said. "Don't look at me; look straight ahead of you." She did. "Good: now, don't move." He went to get a sketchbook and some charcoal, and started drawing her.
An hour of careful drawing had gone by; all she knew of what he was doing was the sound of the strokes of his charcoal on the paper. She knew he wanted her, and he must have known she wanted him. Whenever he grabbed her naked body, though, it was only to put her in a pose for art. Weren't they ever going to have sex?
Because her head was turned away from him, she had no way of knowing what part of her body he was looking at, right at that moment. She heard very light, short strokes: what part of her anatomy could he have been drawing? Wisps of pubic hair? The folds of her labia? The wrinkles on her anus?
Not
knowing was as exciting as knowing was for her: her imagination was going wild.
She had no mirror in front of her to see his facial expression. What was he thinking? Was he still excited? Was his penis still erect? She tried to control her excitement so the drawing wouldn't be interrupted by a need to clean her come away.
Finally, he said, "OK, I'm finished. You can get up." She got off the table and walked over to him; he was now sitting on a couch. "Do you wanna see the picture?" he asked.
"Of course," she said. He held the picture to the side so both of them could see. She put her knees on the couch, one between his legs, and pushed it against his bulging crotch. "Wow, are you ever talented," she said as she looked at the drawing. "I'm in awe of your genius, sir."
"Don't call me sir," he said, patting her gently on the behind. "I need a coffee."
"I'll make you one," she offered. She got up and went to the sink, by which there were coffee mugs, a kettle, and instant coffee.
"Oh, you don't have to, sweetie," he said. "I'll make it myself."
"But I want to make it for you," she insisted. "I like doing things for you. How do you like it?"
"Double double. Do you want to put your clothes on and take a break? You must be very tired." He was hoping she would get dressed, so it would be easier for him to fight the temptation to fuck her, which would waste valuable time.
"No, I'm fine," she said as she poured water from the sink into the kettle. "I like being naked for you. I can keep posing for you until six, when I have to go to
Luvlee's
, where I work." She plugged the kettle in and put some
Nescafe
in one of the mugs.
