I found his office afterwards. It wasn't an actual interview, but I'd still taken the time and he'd flaked. Of course he wasn't here either. I wandered about, nosily looking at the works he'd deigned to put on his walls. Perhaps my impression was hasty.
The idea of being a model for his class made me nervous. As a grad student I could certainly use the easy extra cash. All I had to do was meet with this Professor, get his approval, and then show up to sit in peculiar, sometimes provocative positions.
In the nude.
I enjoyed being naked. Being naked in front of people might be fun.
Might 'have' been fun.
Ready to leave, unwilling to wait him out, I turn to go. The green catches my eye. An oil painting? No, an imitation. A photo of what once was. I wonder about the original. I can't help but notice the green sofa, the aged lime green thing itself is on the opposite side of this room. I'd almost taken a seat a moment ago.
I move closer to this shadow, this copy of a copy of carnal passion, and fully feel its profound effect on me. A tingle starting near my clit running through me, connecting the sensation to my nipples. I bite my inner cheek, hoping the pain will stop me from groping myself in this stranger's office. I wonder at the people, and what the original would have done to me.
It's his face that I'm drawn to more than anything. His ecstasy as he reclines, staring at the lover atop him. Her backside bare to us, head tilted back, his fingers firmly grasping her throat. I swallow hard imagining his hand around my own throat. My pussy quivers, begging. I should look away. I should leave. His eyes hold me.
Her hands lay on his stomach for leverage as his heavily lidded eyes take her in, all of her that he keeps from us. There's a mirror to the side, he could have shared. He kept her to himself. How amorous! I imagine I hear the word
mine
