Drowning In The Wake Ch 04

Elise's eyes opened. How long had she been asleep for?

Oh Jesus.

Lily was lifeless below her, knocked out from her orgasm. She could feel the young girl's breath on her thigh.

What the fuck had she done?

It came rushing back — how a quick stop in a lingerie store for fresh panties had ended with an innocent teenager's tongue in her pussy, and that of her commanding boss lodged in her asshole.

God.

A shot went straight through her pussy.

Fucking hell.

And with that Elise found the fortitude to gently push herself up and off the sleeping girl, lifting her leg, and removing herself from the straddle position she'd somehow managed to fall asleep in.

But the moment she did, her knees wide apart as she sat facing the opposite direction, she saw Sondra looking right at her. Right between her legs. She was sitting with her back against the wall in the corner of the room, one knee up, one leg out, totally naked.

And Elise suddenly felt self-conscious. She was totally naked too — apart from her heels — in the change rooms of a lingerie store with the two women she'd just fucked to stupendous orgasms. The first lesbian experience of her life. And it was a threesome.

She'd had a tongue in both her holes!

And just like that Elise was standing, and moving purposefully towards the small curtained change room — where her dress was crumpled on the ground. Her panties — thrown behind the seat.

Fuck

.

She had to get out of there.

She walked past Sondra, knowing the older woman was admiring her, and bent to pick up her dress. Would she even bother about the panties? They'd be soaked. But with the dress on, she bent down and retrieved the tiny black panties from under the seat. The moment she touched them she knew she couldn't wear them. They were too wet. Cold to the touch. Her pussy couldn't bear to walk around with those against her tingling skin. Better just to go with nothing — even in such a light, flippy skirt.

She debated it even as she was bent at the waist — holding them, resolving to leave them but too scared to go naked under her dress. She could feel her hem riding high on her ass, revealing her naked pussy to anyone behind her. And even as she became aware of that sensation, she knew that Sondra was behind her, eyes locked on precisely that.

'Take these,' she heard the woman say.

Elise turned quickly, no time even to drop the panties where she'd first intended to leave them — to hide the evidence. The evidence of her arousal. Jesus Christ, she was still aroused. Sondra was holding out the little yellow panties — the ones that had started it all. The ones she'd only had on for a few moments before Lily had...

oh holy Christ

... 'I can't,' she managed.

'Yes you can,' Sondra said, stepping closer to her. Too close. 'I want you to have them. I can't imagine them being on anyone else.'

'I should...' Elise scrambled for her handbag, for her purse, money...

'No. Please, Elise. A gift. Please.' And she came a step closer.

Elise was naked under her dress, and this woman was still coming for her — she could feel the tingling in her pussy. She felt so exposed, like her dress were see-through, her desires laid bare to this knowing woman. She was so close.

'I can pay, I —'

'I really don't want that.'

Elise could feel the woman's breath on her.

'Take them. Have someone enjoy them on you — as we have.'

'I...'

But Sondra put a finger to her lips. 'Our secret.'

And something about the contact sent a flutter through her. The control the woman had.

Elise accepted the soft yellow panties. 'Thank you.' And for reasons she herself couldn't fathom, she offered the woman the tiny black g-string in return. 'I don't know if...'

'Yes,' Sondra said. She took Elise's hand, and curled her fingers into the small ball of fabric, taking them from her. As she did, her eyes stayed locked on her, so strong it was like she was fucking her all over again.

Elise was held fast in the older woman's unerring gaze, but even then, holding the little yellow panties in her left hand, she didn't expect what happened next. Sondra slowly raised her wet panties to her nose, and breathed them in. 'Mmm,' she said.

Holy fuck! She was sniffing her wet panties!

Jesus — her scent would have been so strong on them.

And she didn't know why, but something about the intimacy of that — she couldn't stop herself. She took the back of the older woman's head and drew her in for a kiss.

Would she ever kiss a woman like this again?

As her tongue played gently with the shopkeeper's she realised that she hoped so — it was delicious kissing a woman.

Even as they separated, they held eye-contact for a few moments more. And then Elise moved to step into the little yellow panties, carefully placing a heel through each opening, and drawing them up her long legs, under the hem of her dress, to nestle comfortably against her pussy.

'Very nice,' Sondra said. 'They were meant for you.'

And again Elise felt a tingle in her pussy. To have her panties admired like that — even by a woman — was such a fucking turn-on. But what Sondra did then sent an electric shock through her.

Still holding Elise's eyes, she stepped into her drenched little black g-string. Pulling them up her legs seductively, and making a point of applying the wet material directly against her pussy lips. They fit her perfectly, and Elise could see her waxed pussy lips pressed against the sheer material as clearly as she'd seen her own that morning.

'I love feeling your juices against me,' Sondra said. And before Elise could do anything, the older woman took her hand and drew it between her legs. Elise knew what she wanted, and again acquiesced. She let her fingers touch the wet material, exactly where her lips were outlined — making the shopkeeper's eyes flutter closed for just a second.

Elise leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. 'You look beautiful,' she whispered in her ear. 'Why not let Lily see you in them — I think she'd be interested, don't you?'

And with that, Elise brought her middle finger to her lips and sucked the traces of juice from them — just for Sondra's benefit. And with a quick turn to grab her bag, she strode past the shopkeeper, past the prone form of the delicious young assistant, and out, into the shop, and through to the front door.

It had been locked — the sign moved to 'Closed' — and Elise reversed it as she turned the deadlock, and pushed open the door. And it was only as the fresh air hit her that she realised how absolutely drenched in the smell of pussy the store had been.

What on earth would the next customer think?

*

It was before Elise realised she had just been walking — mindlessly, blankly, directionlessly. Just getting some distance from what had transpired in the lingerie store —

could that really have happened?

But yes, the feeling of the little yellow panties hugging her ass cheeks served as a clear reminder, along with the melange of the women's perfume, and whiff of pussy that wouldn't leave her alone.

Was it still on her lips?

She was a long way towards the university when she realised why her feet had taken her there.

Yes — work. The noticeboard.

It felt like she'd been looking for work for days, rather than a matter of hours, but such was the intensity of her sidetracks, that once she realised where she was headed, she stopped, and seriously considered reversing course. She was too fucking exhausted. The craziness of the day's proceedings, and the intensity of the orgasms they'd culminated in, had her totally wrung out. Fuck the job, she thought. Fuck the rent. Fuck the fucking landlord.

But it was that casual expression that brought back the shock of the banging on her door that morning — the threat of being evicted on the spot, her possessions flung into the street. She had to find something. Something at least that she could go to him with, something at least that would say she would be getting paid, that she was good for it. It was coming.

She forced herself to push on, entering the main building of the school and finding the notice board on the far left of the cavernous room. Most of the signs were for roommates, for local performances, a party, there was an ad for Spanish lessons, for guitar lessons, for furniture that had to be sold —

Make an offer!

— but you needed no more than a cursory glance to know you didn't want to make an offer on any of it. But then she found the jobs posting in the top right corner.

She quickly scanned down the page for a model — but there was nothing. She told herself quickly that it was a good thing, she could just go home. This day had... not gone to plan. She was probably in no fit state to be seen anyway, let alone model.

She traipsed back outside, just as a class was let out, a steady stream of kids passing her like a stampede. Someone accidentally bumped her, apologising in that way that's automatic but meaningless, and she moved herself out of the stream, off to the side of the main thoroughfare to let them past.

If she hadn't she never would have seen it. A notice, sticky-taped to a cement pillar —

Models Wanted

. That was it. There were little tear-offs at the bottom of the page, with the title repeated along with a phone number. She ripped one off without thinking, but the moment she did she almost tossed it away. It had nightmare written all over it. She could just see a bunch of college kids dreaming it up, seeing who they could attract to their dorm room under guise of a genuine modelling job. Or some fucked up pervert pretending to be a professional photographer, taking shots that would never get any further than his hard drive.

She went to throw it away, then stopped herself again. The rent. The landlord.

Fuck.

There was no way she was fucking her fucking landlord.

It wouldn't hurt to ask, she told herself. And she'd be able to tell almost instantly if they were legit — it wouldn't be the first time.

She went back and forth on it as she left the campus, and began the long walk back the way she came. And perhaps it was the sense of how far she'd come, how far back she'd have to walk in her heels —

she hadn't even had a chance to sit down

— that made her pause again. She could still feel the shaking in her legs. The feeling of deep weakness, of having all her strength sucked out of her.

She called the number before she had a chance to back out —

what's the worst that could happen?

— but even as she asked it, her mind gave her a hundred worst case scenarios she would have rathered not contemplate.

A voice answered on the third ring, and Elise's heart went from a gallop to a sprint. It was a man's voice, and even just from the 'hello' there was a masculine energy, a certitude that half-reassured her, and half rendered her even more nervous.

'Ah... hello? I'm...' and hearing herself, Elise forced herself to find some poise —

she was a fucking model

. 'I'm enquiring about the ad you posted for models at the university. I wonder exactly what you're looking for, and what the project is?'

'Oh yeah, the ad,' the man said, almost as if he'd forgotten it. 'Yes, it should have had more details. I'm an artist — a painter — I'm looking for models to paint.'

'Oh.' That wasn't what Elise expected to hear. 'What sort of models are you looking for?'

'It depends,' he said, unfazed, 'I know it when I see it. I look for... I look for beauty,' he said.

Elise paused.

For fuck's sake.

She was about to hang up when she gave it one last question — may as well be direct. 'What's your deal — honestly. Are you just some undergrad looking for hot women to get naked?'

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Then, 'Yes, I can understand why you might ask that. No, I am an artist. My studio is not far from the campus — I can... Well no, I suppose I can't assure you of terribly much at all. Only that... Well why don't you look at my website. I am... legitimate.'

Elise paused again. 'What do you have your models do?'

'Sorry?'

'What sort of poses?'

'Oh. I ask them to choose.'

'Them to choose?'

'Yes. I get more of who they are that way. It's much more natural. More authentic. I feel them better. Yes — you would choose. You pose — maybe... a couple of hours, and I paint you.'

'Clothed?'

'As I said, it's up to you. You decide the pose, I only paint.'

Elise found she had stopped in the street. Not knowing whether to go ahead, or to go back. 'You're the only artist I've ever heard of that doesn't care how his model poses. How much are you paying?'

'I pay ten percent of the purchase price.'

'Of the purchase price?'

'Yes.'

'I need more than fifty bucks, Rembrandt.'

Again, the silence that greeted her ill-considered comment instantly made her realise the rudeness of it.

'Maybe, you will look at my website? Some of my paintings go for... a considerable amount of money.'

'I doubt it's what I'm looking for, but thanks anyway.'

He ignored her comment. 'I prefer to pay a percentage, because I believe the model is part of the art itself — its success, its...

desirability

depends on the sitter as much as the painter.'

Elise didn't know what to say to that. Eventually she said, 'What's your website?'

'WetPaint.com. Look it up — if I seem legitimate, perhaps you will come. I am happy to meet you now, if you would like.'

'I would need money up front. I can't wait for you to...'

'We can discuss it. I am willing to pay an advance, if you are... if I believe you would make a good subject.'

'Okay,' Elise said, not knowing what else to say. She hung up. She felt like she was in a dream — something really was wrong with her. Had that conversation even happened? She punched the website into the browser on her phone — not sure what to expect. But she didn't expect... she flicked through the examples on the homepage — not a naked model to be seen. Not a clothed one at that. There was nothing human anywhere — animals, flowers, waterfalls — some were mere patterns, abstract shapes...

She clicked on the 'shop' button. And the moment she saw the prices — some

sold

— she made up her mind. Ten percent of fifty grand would solve a fuckload of her worries for now and for a while to come.

She sent him a text. What's your address? And a reply came back quickly.

'I'm coming,' she responded. Not even considering her choice of words till she saw it on the screen. With a 'read' underneath it.

She felt her pussy tingle —

God, hadn't it had enough for one day?

And as she walked around the outside of the main building of the school, along Stanton Street back the way she had come— she found herself wondering what he looked like? He was hard to picture from his telephone voice. Warm but strong. Kind but uncompromising.

He just better not be hot.

*

Jesus Christ.

'I'm Jax,' he said, holding out his hand to shake before opening his door fully.

He was fucking gorgeous —

he wasn't wearing a shirt!

His workman's jeans spattered in paint, his hair in a loose man bun with what looked like an old paint brush through it.

He was fucking ripped! Holy hell. She was fucked. Christ. What chance did she have?

Why couldn't he just be normal-looking? A geeky fucking artist.

His stubbled jaw was chiseled to an edge, his chest, his arm

s — Jesus — he was so fucking strong. This guy was an artist?

He looked like he painted houses, not portraits. 'Elise,' she said, suddenly conscious of how she looked.

What the fuck was wrong with her, she hadn't even checked her makeup!

'Come in,' he said, and led her up the huge staircase. 'We're up here.' And Elise followed the man up the narrow staircase, watching the muscles in his back, the way his ass strained against his jeans.

The stairwell opened up onto a huge loft-style space, with exposed beams, dominated by large canvases. Far to the right was an open-plan kitchen. To the left a living area. A large couch and coffee table. A four-poster bed in the corner. There was a dining table — old, scuffed wood — and large, arched windows. Streaming in light in large, dusty beams.

'A drink?'

'No, I'm...'

'Have a drink — I'm having one.' He said, already moving to the fridge. 'Yes?'

'Yes,' she found herself saying. There was an island — and he set the wine glasses there, bringing a half-empty bottle of white from the fridge. 'You saw my work?' he said, at last looking up.

It sent a shot of...

what? Electricity? Desire? Fear?

rocketing through her bloodstream. Blue eyes.

Jesus Christ. She was so fucked!

How the hell was she meant to... 'It's beautiful,' she said.

'I am legitimate,' he said, handing her the chilled wine glass —

when had she last consumed anything? Nothing since the coffee...

'I... can see that.'

'I want to make you into art,' he said. Suddenly holding her with his eyes.

Holy shit!

They were the most intense blue she'd ever seen, and he was looking at her with that look, like he wanted to consume her. And just like that her pussy was buzzing again, she was wet again, she was needy again.

Jesus Christ did that thing ever turn off?

'I want to paint you.'

He didn't release her eyes, and she was forced to tear them away herself. 'I don't understand how you... There are no portraits, they're all —'

'They're all portraits,' he replied.

She moved away from him, hearing her heels clack on the naked floorboards as she inspected the canvases haphazardly strewn through the apartment. 'But... I don't... They're portraits? This landscape? This fountain? This —' She felt him move in behind her —

Jesus Christ

. She could feel the heat of him, as if it were radiating off his skin.

She should go, she absolutely should go.

Something about this already felt... She needed a job... She needed... But her pussy was throbbing, like it could feel his presence too, and was already preparing for him, trying to draw him in with its scent.

'I ask the models here, for inspiration. Did I not say?' He was right fucking behind her. She'd stopped in front of a stunningly beautiful canvas of a tulip — pink and luscious and ripe. It shone with vivacity and beauty in a way she'd never considered in a flower before...

But he didn't touch her. She expected him to. Even though it hadn't been five minutes. Even though it was crazy. Absolutely unacceptable. Disrespectful. Unprofessional. But still she could feel her heart beating manically, her pussy tingling out of control, and every nerve ending alive as she expected to feel his fingertips on the back of her neck, brushing her hair to the side so he could...

'This was... a person?'

'Crystal. So beautiful. She sat here,' he said, stretching out a hand to lead her to the window sill. On the sill here — like Peter Pan — the light hit her so beautifully. I could only... it was like she were a flower. Gleaming with spring's first flush of life.'

Jesus Christ. Everything he said went straight to her pussy!

How was she meant to resist this man? He was so strong, so commanding — it felt like he would just grab her any second and pound her over the back of the couch — and yet the way he spoke was like delicate caresses, gently cajoling her into opening for him, like the petals of that tulip...

Is that what had happened with Crystal?

'So... What would you...' she turned to face him, his face so serious, so stern — as if he were examining her, like when she'd been a life model, the studied faces of concentration, even as their eyes roamed over every inch of her naked body... 'What would you make of me?'