“Yes. We need more wine.” She didn’t mention how delicious it had been. So smooth! So silky!No wonder I felt compelled to eat her out.Only way to follow up that kind of drink was with a velvety pussy chaser. Apparently.
Sette got them clean glasses and poured the last of the bottle into both. To the soothing hum of the dishwasher in the background, she came back to the couch and motioned for June to join her over by the closed door.
“You’re one of the lucky few to ever be allowed in here.” She put her hand on the knob and gave it a sturdy turn. “Voila. My studio.”
The door swung open. Whatever June was expecting, it was not this.
How to describe it? When she thought of a studio, she thought of messy paints, tarps, and sheets everywhere, and perhaps the fumes of the working artist. Maybe fumes of something else.
Then there was comparing whatever she expected to the rest of Sette’s house. From the moment she saw it, she knew it screamedSette Christie. Older, traditional, classic. Brick homes were hard to come by these days, but somehow she had managedto secure one years ago. She had called it a townhouse. Sure, perhaps in another life. It looked like two townhouses combined, for June was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to bethisspacious and loft-like. Yet it suited a woman like her. Not soft, but also not rigid. Quiet, but not a pushover. The more June was allowed into her personal life, the more she saw a woman who clearly knew what she wanted in life and would do anything to get it… whether she realized that about herself or not.
Her studio encapsulated these images. The general décor and style of the house continued, with its brick walls and large, friendly windows, but the contents were quite different. Easels were arranged simply around the large room (was this originally the primary bedroom or something?) with paintings covered in protective sheets. Little handwritten plaques were pinned to the sheets.“Gone On A Wednesday.” “Waiting For The Evening.” “Lazy Garden Day.”The sizes ranged from small, like the one in June’s room, to big enough to hang above a fireplace.I would love to see that.
There were no fumes. Paints were properly put away or left to soak in a large industrial sink. Books on painting and albums full of photographs lined one wall while another was covered in neatly organized calendars, complete with self-imposed deadlines. Sette was one of the most orderly women June had ever met, and she didn’t even have an assistant!
“Sorry about the mess,” she said, picking up a stack of magazines and moving them to the bookshelf.Yeah, total pigsty.June rolled her eyes and drank her wine. “I want to show you this one first.”
Sette’s hand slightly shook as she took the edge of the sheet. Was she nervous? About what? Showing off her work? Not like June hadn’t seen the painting Sette gave her or any of the sketches since then.My favorite is one of this woman and her dog at the park. When Sette found out that June appreciated her“discarded” doodles, she started bringing them to her. They were currently stacked on her dresser, but eventually she would get an album for them.
The sheet came down. June nearly dropped her wineglass.
There she was, sitting on the edge of her bed, coyly looking at the viewer with a sheer black robe draped across her body – nothing was left to the imagination, though. Her breasts, pink nipples included, were subtly prominent, and her legs parted enough to show off her strawberry blond hair. I remember posing for this. One month ago, Sette had posed her like this in her room when the sun was at its best.I spent the whole time waiting for her to finish up and fuck me. June could see it. Was it because she knew it was there in her eyes? Or had Sette actually managed to capture that, and the whole world would be able to see it?
She swallowed. There was nothing vulgar about the painting – or any of the other ones she showed her – but they reminded June of how vulnerable she was deep inside.
“So… what do you think?” Sette stood in front of three paintings, although more were covered in the back. “I’m using way softer colors than I usually do. They’re pretty bright, too. I wanted to make sure I captured how much you glow every time I see you.”
“They’re…” June had to wash more wine down her throat. “That’s me, huh?”
Sette put a reassuring hand on her back. “You don’t like them. I’m sorry… have I embarrassed you?”
“What? No way. You’d have to do way worse than paint beautiful portraits of me.” June Kingsley was not easily embarrassed. If she could be caught fucking a client at a Roman ball three years ago, she could handle being painted naked.
“You think they’re beautiful?”
“Yes! Oh my God, Sette.” June had to turn away from her own image before she gasped on the last of her wine. “I knew you were talented, but… I don’t know what else to say. I’m afraid anything I say will sound either really narcissistic or flippant. So let me say that I’m amazed. That’s all.”
Sette’s nose rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m glad you think so. I’ve spent a lot of time on them. Even more time than I’ve spent with you.”
“Do you fuck your paintings, though?”
“Can’t say I have. I’m not into using raw and scavenged materials.”
June looked back at the paintings, each one more elaborate than the last. Whether she was surrounded by the reds and browns of her room or out in the green nature of the garden, she had the same flowing blond hair and pale skin. Sometimes, her clothes changed colors as well… if she was wearing any. However, there was one major discrepancy between portraits.
“Why are my eyes different colors in all of them?” In one of them, they were green. In another, they were brown. In one more, they were amber.
“Because your real eyes are hazel. They change colors based on the light.” Sette rested her hand on her hip. “You never noticed?”
“Not really. Wow, you must really be an artist to notice that, even when you’re drooling over me and thinking about what to fuck next.”
“Whether you believe it or not, I do stare at things other than your breasts.”
“If you say so.” She flashed Sette a smile – and her cleavage.
“Now, now…” Sette took her empty wineglass and added it to hers on the table. “There’s plenty of time for that later.”
She led June out of the studio, turning off the light and closing the door behind her. June assumed they would be going to her room, regardless of what she said, but was taken to the centerof the living room. She stood in her sandals upon a sea of rich hardwoods that didn’t even creak when she shifted weight. How much had Sette spent to restore this old home? Or had she bought it already restored?On one hand, she doesn’t like spending money… but on the other, this place is so her I can’t believe she didn’t have any say in it.
