Porn Posing Couple
We were hungry and had been driving all day. When the next restaurant came into view, I pulled off the freeway and into the parking lot. We were too hungry to get on the waiting list so we sat at the counter. Even before we ordered, we both noticed a fellow at end the counter who seemed particularly interested in us.
He sat and drank coffee and watched us intently over his coffee cup, constantly, not even pretending to disguise his interest. After awhile it became apparent it wasn't us he was watching, but just Claire. I asked her if she had noticed him studying us so intently, but she dismissed it as my being paranoid and assured me he was just looking at everyone equally.
However, after a few minutes more it was totally obvious that he was clearly paying more attention to us than anyone else in the diner. In fact, he didn't take his eyes off Claire for even a second.
Finally, he walked over to where we were sitting and introduced himself boldly although politely. "I am sorry for staring so, but I am Andre Macron," he said. "I am an artist, and I have to tell you I find your wife's beauty stunning. I would just like to tell you, I would consider it an honor to be able to paint you, nude. I specialize in painting beautiful women, and I have to tell you, sir, that your wife is an incredibly ravishing lady, but you know that already. She simply begs to be painted. I hope it is not too forward of me, but I would consider it a great privilege for you to consider posing for me before you leave this tiny burg."
We were both stunned by this stranger's boldness, but we had opposite reactions to his announcement. My wife was enormously flattered, of course, but I was just pissed off at his audacity, his arrogance. He stood before us and made a gesture as if he was addressing royalty. "I live in a studio apartment over this establishment," he said. Each time he spoke it was as if he was addressing celebrity. Having him even look at my wife was pissing me off, but I have to admit it was also making me proud of how gorgeous she is. To say he was undressing her with his eyes was an incredible understatement. He seemed to look right through her clothing.
Andre Macron stood just over five feet and was rounder than he was tall. "I would be flattered if you would just look at my work," he said.
Claire looked at me with that pleading expression she gets when she wants something but knows I don't. It is a hard one to resist, in fact the one I never can, and the look that guarantees she will always get her way.
"Could we just look?" she said it in that voice that I can't refuse. "Our schedule is flexible. We don't have to be at Domm's until Friday," she said looking up toward his studio apartment above the diner. "Oh please."
I knew even before she asked that we would be viewing his paintings that day. I could see it in her eyes. Flattery is very seductive, and tell a woman she is beautiful and you'll have her full attention and interest immediately and for the rest of the day. Being asked to paint her nude was like her being told she was as exquisite as a Diamond, and I had a good idea we would be staying above the diner at least for as much time as it took to do some sketches of her.
We are nudists, so the nudity was no problem for Claire. She had been naked in front of dozens of people, been featured in the nudist camp's brochures and in some nudist publications, so being naked in front of strangers gave her not even a single pause. To be photographed naked was not difficult for Claire.
Having been a nudist and posed for some camp photographers, I knew she was curious about his 'work' and had no trouble being naked in front of a painter. We followed Andre up the stairs to his room and he stood behind the door, holding it open for us, as if inside was fine china or a treasure chest of gold. He clearly valued what was in that room, and his pride showed right through his pleasant demeanor.
After we entered, we stood stunned. There were paintings everywhere and they were gorgeous. Naked women, modestly posed, stood, sat, reclined, or knelt over water, or on a bed, in perhaps hundreds of paintings that lined the walls, leaned against chairs, or stood on tables.
At the far end of the room, under a skylight window was a chair covered with a drape and a painter's easel standing in front of it, jars of paint, and brushes in a large ceramic jar. The paintings, all of women, were simply exquisite. Every woman was beautiful beyond compare and each looked modest and at ease--though nude--and each seemed natural and incredibly peaceful and poised. They were marvelous paintings, and we both stood quietly, simply gazing around the room in awe, admiring this strange man's work.
"You like them?" he asked quietly.
"They're... They are incredible," Claire said.
"I have others I want you to see," he said, "if you will. They are my passion. I personally think love is the finest thing you can be exposed to, don't you?" he said. "I don't show them to many people, but I thought you would appreciate them. Would you like to see my treasures? They're in here,"he said, standing in front of a small door to the side.
"You want to see?" he asked shyly, unlike the confident the way he'd been at first.
