The Artist and the Subject

I love putting my hands on her.

All over her.

For me it's a cross between the sensuous touching, feeling her body respond - and objectifying her. At some point she almost stops being a person I know and becomes this abstract goddess. An object of lust yes, but beauty too. Something that my eyes marvel at and my mouth wants to kiss and praise. Just the act of kissing, on her neck for example becomes more than just the physical act because it communicates my adoration of her. I simply can not isolate one thing because each glance, touch, taste is a liquid movement, an orchestra (if you will) of movement make the whole greater than each instrument. And I play her, yes I do.

My favorite with her has become when I can stand behind her and look at her in the mirror. I think it's because she is willing to let me lead her, if she had her choice it'd be naked bodies intertwined and smooth sexy sweaty - a sensual fest. But, I'm a man and I use my eyes a lot. And I'm a mature man now and I use my experience to get my head into it and try to take her to another level. That's why I like to stand behind her. I can look her in the eye in the mirror but I have both hands free, and my face right beside hers can whisper the little places and things that I want to make her shiver and delight.

As fluid as each movement can be, my head registers it in a series of stills - stop frame camera work. I unbutton her blouse and slide my hand into her bra and see each thing so clearly - her expectant eyes watching me move, my hand invading her space, the stretching of the fabric as my hand massages her breast, her nipple hardening. Meaning layers on top of every choice as I unbutton her shirt - she becomes more and more available, shadings of the passive victim, the wanton woman, the trespass of one upon another. And the brief glimpses of her skin, the light revealing her smooth skin, wonderful wonderful skin - it's like art, the smoothness of marble sculpture with the suppleness of a warm live person - I hear her catch her breath as I pull her arms and shoulders back, opening her shirt more with her body. It's exquisite.

I can pose her so show her different facets of her woman-ness. When I pull her elbows back, she juts her breasts forward and she sees how vulnerable she is and how I make her look like she's offering herself to me. She sees herself through the lens that I want her to see and becomes objectified, and yet my goddess as well. Moving my fingers across her lips, she knows, like I do, from millions of media images how to show her mouth, the slight dropping of the jaw - the fullness of her lips, the widening of her eyes showing innocence and desire and openness - for me. 'suck my fingers, love', I whisper. She knows to look me directly in the eyes while she sucks on my fingers like she wants to swallow them, taking them deeper - she knows because every seductress has looked directly at the observer, be in a painting or into the camera lens. Since the beginning of worship, of art, of elevating the sex of the abstract woman - she becomes to embody every lover imagined, the Helen that launched a thousand ships - the siren who calls from the shore to ensnarl me and countless seekers through time.

The artist always needs to use contrast or it just becomes a study, exercise or an untitled work. I pull her unbuttoned shirt down her back so it drapes around her wrists behind her back, symbolically restraining her. Symbolism always seems to be present in our art of love. Unbuttoning her clasp in the front of her bra I pull just a little to reveal her nipples in the mirror. Her buttoned jeans intact - her upper body ravished and revealed - the contrast pulls the eyes to see her. She sees herself as well. Naked she'd be the goddess standing before me. But this, this is primal. She's been revealed, shredded of her decency, exposed - invaded to be conquered.

I have her watch in the mirror as my hands lift her breasts up in offering. No 'decent' woman offers herself so directly, I feel the heat rise on her body as she sees me groping and mauling her breasts, twisting and pulling on her nipples. Several levels above the intimacy of the bedroom, I have her watch as I lightly slap her breast several times making her nipples hard.

She must watch her own body be used by me.

I pull her against me and slide my hand down her jeans. Inside her pants, she watches my hand snake down her tight jeans, squeezing to invade her more personal areas. I don't unbutton her jeans. She must watch my invasion passively and yet she cannot help but feel my hand, my fingers finding her wetness. Her pussy has been generating a heat, a warmth since I placed her in front of the mirror - her woman-ness is ready even as her mind as been absorbed in her body's display. I feel fingers rubbing the front of my pants, finding my hardness. Her wrists wrapped in her shirt she still tries to play at me - perhaps wanting to move farther and faster. I abruptly stop my hands movement and suddenly our eyes meet in the mirror, a stop frame - an image capture, I won't forget this vision anytime soon, her disheveled upper body with my hand stuffed down her pants and her little hands behind her playing with me, caught in the act so to speak. We pause looking in each others eyes since I am so stock still - with our eyes locked, I know she watches, focused, as I move my mouth over her neck sucking, kissing and licking. She almost falls into me, leaning for my support, wanting to collapse onto the floor. Her clit is clasped by my fingers, I whisper, 'come for me', her eyes close and I have the incredible vision of a woman having an orgasm under my ministrations. This is beauty. This is art. This is worship at it's most intimate. Her body both relaxed and yet tension thrums through her. Her mouth slightly open, her breathing a gasp and a pant. Her eyes closed as I hold her body and work her clit. She comes for me. What an image to capture in my memory, to hold and cherish forever.

Soon she will be in profile. Soon she'll be on her knees, just a few degrees off of perpendicular so she can easily see herself. The fabric still draped behind her body, around her wrists. I'll have her watch as her mouth takes my cock. I'll have her look up at me through the mirror and back again. She'll see herself used. An intimate act abstracted to create more, layers and layers more upon it. I'll hold her head, my legs in a wide powerful stance looming over her. I'll hold myself deep inside her mouth and have her see herself completely dominated, openly welcoming each of my strokes, shadings and colorings of her image.

Yes, she'll see herself in a new light.

As one who is held in such high regard, adored even while she abases herself in the most submissive of behaviors.