Around thirty minutes later, he told me I could break pose, so I lowered the violin to the floor gently. I stood and made my way over to where he was, uncaring now of my nudity. When I got there, I felt him make a move to stand. He must have turned to face me, because I felt a fingertip run down the curve of my breast to my straining nipple.
“Hmm, I like painting you like this,” he told me, fingering my sensitive flesh.
“Will you do something for me?” I asked.
I waited patiently for an answer. He took a moment, but I thought that was because he was too busy playing with my naked breasts.
“Phillipe?”
“Yes, Beauty, anything.”
I reached up and gripped his wandering finger. “Can you show me what you’ve painted?”
“How? Tell me how.”
“Turn around.” I smiled when I felt him move away from me.
Reaching out, I placed my arms around him and ran my palms down his arms, which were left bare by the T-shirt rubbing against my skin. The hair there tickled and brushed against my palms as I stroked down his biceps to his forearms, where I could comfortably reach.
As I stood plastered to his body, my sensitive breasts against his back, I rested my cheek against his shoulder blade. “Now, run your hands over the paint. Draw me the way you saw me just now.”
Closing my eyes, I let his body lead mine as his hands and arms started to move.
Just as his fingertips must have touched the canvas, in a voice that sounded slightly strained, he told me softly, “This will ruin the image. Are you going to sit again tomorrow?”
I turned my head and bit his shoulder blade gently. “Yes, I’ll sit for you again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. I’ll sit for you every day for as long as you want me to.”
He took a deep breath, and my heart sped up when he replied, “So forever.”
I ran my left hand back up his arm and then removed it, bringing it to his side, where I smoothed my palm down over his abdomen to the edge of his shirt. That was when his right hand started to move.
“Here, this is your right shoulder,” he told me as he ran his hand over the wet paint.
I stroked my fingers across his lower belly, flirting with the edge of his jeans.
“What are you doing, Chantel?” he asked as he dropped his hand from the canvas.
I could feel him getting ready to turn and face me, so I said softly, “No. Don’t turn around.”
“Why not?”
Honestly, all I could think of was that I wanted him to experience this just like me.
“I want you to be blind for a moment. Just feel me, hear me.”
Moving slightly back from him, I brought my right hand down to join my left under his shirt. He let out a deep breath.
“Do you want me to take my shirt off, just like you?”
“No,” I told him.
I felt him shift his feet a little wider to get a steadier stance.
“I like rubbing my nipples against the material. It feels so good.”
“Christ, Chantel. What the fuck has gotten into you?”
Slowly, I rubbed myself against his back. It was true. The material felt amazing as it abraded my stiff, pointy tips. I could already feel my pussy start to moisten.
