theartist-page1

"Hold perfectly still."

The artist moved her arm just a fraction of an inch. He pulled a floodlight
closer to accentuate the shadows on her skin, then moved back to his easel.
She froze, and fixed her gaze on the artist's face to keep her concentration
from wandering. He never spoke to her, or caught her eye for longer than
a flicker of a second.

She enjoyed watching him work. She reclined on a large down comforter, propped up on one side by pillows. She was completely nude, with only the sheerest drape of chiffon pulled over her hips in a sly wink to modesty. She'd seen the painting he was working on
between sessions. The simple props she lay on were transformed into rich silk
brocades, in a room lavishly decorated in finery. An ode to the Odalisque
paintings of centuries ago, she had been transformed in paint from a
struggling college student to the pampered pet of the harem. This last session
was all he needed to complete the painting.

She loved to watch him paint. He had strong features, weathered brown skin,
creased from years of painting outdoors. His eyes were beginning to show
wrinkles in the corners. His body was wiry and athletic, truly the body of a
man half his age. She wondered idly what he'd be like in bed. All of her
lovers had been her own age, and the thought of making love to an older man
was intriguing to her. What made it all the more tantalizing was that this man
was one of her professors. Of course she'd heard stories about the girls who
made straight A's while on their knees under their professor's desks, but this
was different. After all, he'd been looking at her nude body for three
semesters as she worked her way through school as a model for the figure
drawing class.

If he were interested at all, She thought to herself, He would have done
something by now. I guess I'm just another prop to him. When the session was over, she stretched gratefully on the platform. The hot floodlights had flushed her face, and as she stretched, she discovered that she was slightly excited and wet. She kept her sly smile to herself as she pulled on her robe and walked over to view the painting. It was magnificent.

She dressed in the bathroom, and collected her fee. The professor smiled and held the door for her as she left the studio. His studio was a converted garage separated from the main house by a small back yard. The garden was beautiful, ringed by a very tall wooden fence that had been overgrown with orange-flowered trumpet vines. It was a little paradise in itself. She lingered just a moment in the

the garden, and when she turned to go, she noticed that he was watching her from the window.

She stretched and posed, frozen for just a few moments while the artist made quick warm-up stretches. This was her favorite part of modeling, as she was encouraged to twist and contort herself into interesting shapes in order to give the artists something challenging to draw. She changed position again, and he called a halt to the warm-ups.

He explained that he was not quite ready to start a new painting, but he wanted to make some figure sketches to work out some compositions. "I want you to kneel, right here. " He patted the raised modeling platform. She lowered herself to her knees, keeping her legs straight. "No, sit down on your heels." She did so. "That's right. Now hold perfectly still." He smiled at her again. He walked back to his paper and charcoals, and began to sketch. Two or three sheets of paper later, he told her to relax and walk around a little. She was grateful to do so. Still nude, she leaned against a light pole and did dancer's stretches, trying to work the feeling back into her feet.

"That's enough." He almost barked at her. "Get back on the stand. Kneel. She rolled her eyes and groaned playfully. "Now!" he snapped. That shut her up quick. What the hell? He had never raised his voice to her before. She knelt on the stand in the same position as before and eyed him warily as he approached her. He leaned near her, put his hands on her bare knees and forced her legs apart roughly. He took both of her hands and laid them, palms up, on her knees. He walked to her side, and pressed his hand against her back until she straightened it. He pressed her shoulders down and back, forcing her tiny breasts into the air. He tilted her head slightly to the side. His hands felt hot on her skin -- hotter than the studio lights.