Steve lay on his bed, naked, reading a rather racy and humorous paperback concerning the exploits of a reluctant philanderer. Steve was waiting for his wife to emerge from the bathroom. When she did, he looked up expectantly, his cheerful and ever hopeful erection only causing her to sigh in mock despair, hands on hips of her stunning and equally naked body. She wagged a disapproving finger at him.
"You know I'm going out this evening, so it's no good getting all excited and making that thing of yours go all big like that."
"Can't help it - a countess and her niece have just graphically shagged the hero and each other senseless in his secret flat."
"Well, you shouldn't be reading books like that - what if your mother knew?"
"Actually, the author's my mother's sister, Jennifer, and mother publishes them for her."
"Exactly! So she wouldn't want you getting all hot and sweaty over your aunt's imagination."
"Actually, I used to get more than a little hot and sweaty over more than my aunt's imagination ... she always was my favourite aunt, and I her favourite nephew."
"What! You didn't?! Your aunt?! You pervert! Wait, when was this?"
"Don't worry dear, it was when I was a teenager. And she's only five years older than me. Haven't seen her for ages - she's married and working in California now. I'll tell you all about it when you've got more time, as I'm sure you'd want to hear it told properly."
"Quite. Sounds distinctly like the sort of thing you country gentry would get up to. I suppose you've had it up half a dozen cousins and every female servant on the estate under fifty as well."
"No, silly. I only have two girl cousins. They were rather obliging though ... and we only had a housekeeper, who was being poked by my father. Her daughter fucked like a rabbit, mind."
"Oh my God. You lot had far too little to do to keep you occupied. Anyway, I've got to get ready."
She opened the bottom drawer of her bedside unit, rummaged around and pulled out a set of love-eggs and a tube of lubricant. Standing facing him, she flexed her knees, eased open her labia with the fingers of one hand and gently worked a generous blob around and just inside her vagina with the other. She pushed the first egg inside herself, then the second, and then carefully rubbed the excess lubricant around her vulva and anus, all the while smiling at her husband as he avidly watched her. She climbed on the bed, straddled him and raised his penis to her vagina, then carefully eased herself onto him, tightening her vaginal muscles so that his thick shaft forced the eggs deep into her as she pushed down. When she felt the first one pushing hard at the top of her vagina, she lifted herself from him and climbed off the bed.
"Thank you. Most useful."
He groaned in frustration, and she obligingly grasped his now shiny penis and gave it a single firm masturbatory stroke, then rubbed her hand over her breasts.
"There - you'll either have to do it yourself or wait 'til I get home. Now, I must get dressed."
He began to masturbate as she pulled a silky black G-string from her top drawer and slipped it on, pulling it tight over her neatly trimmed mons and adjusting the thin band between her buttocks.
"Wouldn't want an accident on the dance floor."
Black silk hold-up stockings, black strappy stilettos and a clinging black mini-dress completed her outfit. He was very close to his orgasm, his hand working vigorously, his body tense with concentration as he looked at her. She bent over him and slipped her lips over his glans at the precise moment that he came, squirting copiously into her gently-sucking mouth. She swallowed his come, then pecked him on the lips and skipped away from him before he could grab her.
"No! I'm going now - be grateful! Bye!"
He heard her leave, her car start and growl off into the early evening traffic. He got up, slipped on his dressing gown and went down to the kitchen, pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge and uncorked it. He'd just poured himself a large glass when the doorbell rang.
"Shit."
He squinted through the spyhole to see the ballooned face of a woman. He opened the door slightly and peered round. A woman in her late twenties, he guessed, tall, very attractive and very expensively dressed in a two-piece suite.
"Hello?"
"Mr Curtis? Hello, I'm Georgie Hewitt, your neighbour ... " she pointed vaguely at the house to his left " ... I was just wondering if I could have a quick word with you?"
"Er, yes, of course, please - do come in."
She stepped into the hallway and he closed the door behind her.
"I'm Steve - excuse my state of dress: just had a shower. Come through to the kitchen."
She followed him and took the seat indicated by the table.
"Wine?"
"Only sometimes, when I'm really depressed. I usually talk like this ... "
"Er, oh, yes, ha ha."
He poured another glass and offered it to her, then sat down opposite. "Well, what can I do for you?"
"Well, it's rather a delicate matter, actually, but I'll come straight to the point - please understand. You see, I'm an artist ... yes, I know, I'm not quite in the traditional mould of impoverished, unwashed bohemian - daddy was stinking rich, Hugh - my husband - is stinking rich, and so I'm well-groomed. Anyway, I need a model - the one I hired has gone down with something nasty and can't make it."
"Ah, that's a pity - I guess you need one in a hurry?"
"Exactly."
"Unfortunately, you've just missed Jenny - she's gone out on the town with her friends."
"Ah, no. I need a
male
model."
"Oh, I
see
. Hmm. Well, not sure I can help - I don't know any male model types."
She stared at him, a brief flicker of a smile, and comprehension suddenly dawned.
"Me? You're kidding?"
"Not at all - you'll be perfect: you have a great physique."
"Physique ... what kind of painting is it that you do?"
"I knew we'd get here eventually ... I need a nude model for some drawings for an erotic magazine. And I need you now."
"What?! Nude?! Me?! Now?! Can't you just make it up?" he spluttered.
"Mm hm ... nude ... you ... now, and no, I can't make it up."
"But I haven't told Jenny - what will she do when she gets back and I say 'Nice evening, dear? Me? Oh, I went and posed nude for the artist lady next door.' She'll be just thrilled, I can tell you, particularly when she meets you."
She giggled and sipped her wine. "Is she the jealous type?"
"No, not really, but the thought of me posing nude for a woman as attractive as yourself might just get her a little miffed. Imagine if it was the other way round, and your husband came round and asked my wife to pose nude for him to draw."
"Oh, he wouldn't do that."
"Why not? Jenny is
very
attractive."
"I know, I've seen her sunbathing in your garden ... it's just that my husband is blind."
"Oh. Sorry ... "
"He models his subjects in clay. Has to feel his subjects, so you might not want her to pose for him ... I'd like to draw her next, though."
"Well, I'm sure she'd be delighted to pose for you."
"Good. So, come round in ten minutes and we can get started." She swigged down the rest of the wine, stood up and led the way to the door. He let her out, then went upstairs and dressed in jeans and jumper, wondering what on earth he'd let himself in for. She was rather tasty though. He left a note for Jenny and went next door. Georgie let him in and led him to the back of the house, into what had been the lounge but was now clearly used as a studio. Paintings, drawings and materials were stacked neatly in a large shelving unit along one wall. A computer with an enormous screen stood on a large desk, a colour printer and scanner beside it - all clearly very expensive equipment.
She had changed out of the suit into a baggy jumper and paint-smeared jeans. A stool stood in one corner by the window; a large sketch pad leant against it.
