New York Minutes Ch 02

For a moment before I was stripped of most of my clothing, time seemed to slow to an excruciating crawl. The only sounds were the soft rhythms played by the rain on the windows of his studio, and my own increasingly audible heartbeat. As the moment grew ever closer I began to have an overwhelming feeling that I could never go through with it, though it had been a dream of mine to be immortalized by his genius. I studied him from over the glass of water I drank from nervously ever since he had handed it to me. I knew that he could sense the overpowering apprehension that surrounded me like some suffocating aura. He grinned as he prepared his paints and brushes. My eyes were drawn as always to his hands as they twisted the caps off of different tubes; I observed carefully the way that his forearms flexed and stiffened in various fashions. God, how I adored those hands and arms.

"Are you ready?" He asked, turning to me, mask of professionalism in place. I wondered if it concealed even a hint of lascivious intent. Hell, I hoped it did. I nodded reluctantly, choking momentarily on a last gulp of water. "Here, let me help you." Effortlessly yet gingerly he lifted my shirt over my head and slung in carelessly out of sight. He unclasped my bra and sent it the way of my shirt, glancing momentarily at my stiff nipples.

"Cold?" He inquired, feigning concern as he unbuttoned my jeans. "Because you are going to get pretty hot under those lights."

Under the lights? I thought, I'm hot right now, watching you take my clothes off. He tugged them down and I stepped out of them, and as he slowly rose back upward I felt his warm breath pass over my thighs. Eventually his eyes were penetrating my suddenly timid soul. He smiled, breaking the electric gaze. "Maybe some wine would suit you better. Wait here."

I folded my arms over my bare chest and looked around, observing but not really seeing, until her returned with a rather large glass of wine. "Vintage Who-gives-a-fuck." He said as he handed it to me, back in artist mode. I followed him, drinking deeply, into the middle of the floor.

After a few minutes I began to feel the velvet tingle in my veins that is synonymous only to wine. I giggled at nothing in particular as he adjusted the lighting. "Come here, silly girl." He commanded, and I obeyed.

He permitted me to pose in any way that I liked, and so I did just that. I must admit that I assumed the most suggestive positions possible, my buzzing head magnifying my attraction and diminishing my inhibitions. At one point I was on my hands and knees, trying desperately to reconnect that deadly gaze from before, and I began to pout a bit each time he looked back to his canvas. Suddenly I had an idea.

"Do you think we could experiment with some bondage poses?" I asked, studying him critically for any signs of interest or excitement. Without even looking he dropped his brush and grabbed a roll of masking tape.

"Sit up on your knees and put you arms behind your back." Without hesitation I followed his direction, and soon he had my arms crossed at the wrist and bound to my ankles. He tilted my head to a certain angle, and adjusted my shoulders before returning to his paints. Beads of sweat were forming on my skin, and in my dizzy head I felt as if I were covered with tiny sparkling diamonds. In that state I felt the complete opposite of my usually uptight and constricted self. I felt gorgeous and I couldn't understand why he didn't just forget about the damn picture and fuck me. The look I gave him when he turned to me once again had to say it all, at least it did in my slightly twisted sense of perception. But when he dropped his brush and came back toward me I froze up like a naked deer in the headlights.

"I forgot about these." He said, as he took hold of my panties with both hands and ripped them off of me. I gazed down at my exposed body, unable to see it but knowing that he could see every detail of my moist pussy. I felt myself begin to quiver a bit; the heat from the lights added to my intense desire to be savagely fucked mingled with the sudden inkling of self-consciousness was getting to me. "You want some more wine, princess?" He smiled deviously as he grabbed the glass from a nearby table. I could only nod in reply. "Open your mouth and tilt your head back a little bit."

At first he poured slowly, letting the sporadic drops drip onto my tongue one at a time. Once he decided that I had had enough, he redirected the flow and poured the rest down the center of my chest. It made a sort of violet river as it flowed over the stark white skin between my breasts. I could feel it rush over my clit before it rained on the floor beneath me. He poured until the glass was empty. The feeling was inexplicable. The breeze from a nearby ceiling fan kept the sensations alive on my wet skin.

"Taste me!" I pleaded, helplessly bound and desperate. He shook his head as he threw the glass across the room. I heard it shatter somewhere to my left.

"Not yet. And don't move. This is perfect." With that, he returned to his cursed canvas and began painting furiously. After a few moments I could stand no more. I began to writhe around, trying to free myself from the tape. Finally he put down his brush and picked up a razorblade. He came back to me, but did not cut me free immediately. He dropped to his knees and held me gently as if I would shatter. He traced the curve of my lips with his tongue before kissing me with a passion that I did not know one could suddenly call upon for someone that they barely knew. He bit my lower lip, sucked it, and then continued downward with his hot kisses. He licked the space where he had poured the wine, stopping only to tell me how good I tasted, and teased my nipples with his free hand. The hand that contained the razor blade remained behind his back.

Finally our eyes met once again as they had when he was undressing me. I saw my intense lust reflected briefly as I watched him work, lower and lower, his tongue lapping the few drops of wine that had collected in my naval, down until I could only see the top of his head. I felt my clit cradled in the warmth of his lips, his tongue dancing all over it, and my head rolled back. I sighed, my arms and legs weak from the strain of that constant pose, but I dare not say a word for fear that he would stop. He kissed and sucked me for quite sometime, and I felt myself on the verge of cumming right there in his mouth. I sighed deeply and somehow he must have known I was close. In a flash he had abandoned his work and cut me free.

Frantically on our knees we struggled to get his clothes off. I fell back onto the floor, legs wide, begging him to give it to me.

"I was so close, I couldn't bear to lose it now, please let me have it, I'll do anything..."

And he gave it to me. He slid his massive cock into my sopping cunt almost too easily, and I shook momentarily as a wave a pain reverberated through my body. So big. I wrapped my legs around him, trying to get him as far inside of me as I possibly could. And then he began to move. He had one hand on the small of my back, holding me up. The angle was almost too intense, and I came almost immediately. But he wasn't finished. He flipped me and turned me and twisted me like a ragdoll until he had had his fill. Then he pulled out and sprayed my belly with his hot load.

"Now I've painted you twice." He said with a sly smile, as he wiped me clean with one of his nearby rags.