Muse
He opens the front door and gallantly lets me enter first.
I agreed to have a drink together, at his house.
It has been a long afternoon and we have worked together until late in the evening.
We ordered something to eat to help us finish work today.
And it worked.
We both thought we deserved a nightcap.
I am standing in the living room of his spacious apartment and look around as he gets a drink.
The large room is a bit cluttered but tastefully and modernly furnished.
At this height, it has a beautiful view of the city.
During the day it is likely to be a gorgeous light room.
I feel an exciting sensation in my stomach. He is an attractive colleague, young, intelligent and creative.
When we work on a project together, like we did last week, there is a constant click, a spark between us.
Also this afternoon and evening.
I wonder what mood that drink will put us in.
On the couch I see a couple of notepads.
Loose sheets are sticking out and it becomes apparent that these are pencil drawings.
On one of the sheets I see what looks like a shapely woman's leg.
Curious, I open the sketchbook.
I see a delightful drawing of a female nude: round buttocks, a gracefully arched back, long legs.
When I look further I notice that there are only sketches and drawings of naked female figures.
Sometimes only a few rough lines, sometimes in more detail.
Drawings of women in lingerie: I see a full bust in a black bra, I recognize the striking Clea Cage Open bra by Studio PIA in one of the drawings.
I see women in suspenders, in high heels.
Often a few casual streaks of bright red accentuate the woman's lips.
And sometimes the soles of the high heels, I see.
The artist is a lover of beautiful women, luxury lingerie and expensive shoes...
He makes beautiful drawings.
Only now do I notice that I see the same woman everywhere: a dark-haired lady with generous shapes, long legs.
A nice full bust.
Who is his model, his muse?
Or does she only exist in his fantasy?
Is it an ideal image, or did he sketch and draw what he saw?
Suddenly he is standing next to me, handing me a glass of red wine.
I feel caught, a little embarrassed that I looked through his artistic work without asking.
Before I can say anything he begins to apologize: 'Sorry, I left those sketchbooks there, I should have cleared them away...' 'Not at all,' I object, 'I think they are beautiful, really well drawn... A beautiful woman too... who is she? A girlfriend?' I pause before I add: '... a mistress?'
He sets down his own wine glass and sits down, looking at me with an amused smile.
He has taken off his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.
Casual, handsome and sexy.
He stops, looks at me expectantly.
I look at the drawings again.
Then suddenly I get it.
I now see the resemblance between the dark-haired woman and myself: the features on my face, my slim figure and long legs.
I feel honored, flattered, at the idea of him fantasizing about me, imagining how he would like to see me.
It excites me, arouses me.
In his eyes I'm a little slimmer than I really am, my bust rounder, a cup size bigger too - but it's unmistakably me.
I look at him and see in his look that he knows I recognized myself in it.
When I leaf through the pages I find empty, pristine white sheets of paper in the back of the sketchbook.
There is room for new sketches, new fantasies.
I look at him and say, semi-apologetic, "Too bad I'm not wearing my Louboutins today..." He understands the hint: "...A little artistic freedom will fix that..." I turn around and lift up my long dark hair.
Like a gentleman he helps me with the zipper of my dress.
While I take off my dress, he sits down again.
He takes the sketch pad on his lap, pencil at the ready.
Behind my back I unfasten the closure of my Vita Bodice bra from Bordelle; then I let my Vita string slide down my legs.
I am naked except for my high heels.
His hand begins to draw smooth lines across the paper.
I soon recognize feminine shapes, a leg, the curve of my hip, my natural breasts.
His eyes glide eagerly along my body, and his hands skilfully put what his eyes see on paper.
I pose, turn around, sip my wine.
A lovely warm glow passes through my stomach, heating my whole body.
After a few minutes, he turns his sketch pad toward me.
A gracefully drawn, naked woman jumps off the paper, with long dark hair and crimson lips.
And high heels with bright red soles - a little artistic freedom...
I sit down next to him on the couch, bending over to him.
His lips taste warm and firm; my hand finds the crotch of his pants and feels his excitement.
I help him undress, a little rushed.
His hands enjoy the soft curve of my breasts, mine the hardness of his handsome erection.
I take it in my mouth, then between my drooping breasts, finally I ride it, fiery and intense, until we are both satisfied.
When I lay back on the couch relishing the afterglow, he reaches for the drawing pad again.
His hands glide over the paper.
He draws a few smooth lines and I see a reclining nude appear, a slim silhouette, long dark hair.
I arch my back, rock my soft bosom back and forth, spread my legs slightly.
He doesn't miss anything.
His hand hovers hesitantly over the paper, his gaze drifting to the sweet, moist spot between my thighs.
Invitingly, I spread my long legs a little further.
I don't think he's going to finish this drawing tonight...
*
Imagery: Pleasurements & A.
