theartist-page2

"When I tell you to kneel," He said, "You kneel like this. Now hold completely still." Her heart was beating hard in her chest. Had she done something wrong? She fixed her eyes on him and watched him. He'd treated her like so much meat to be arranged and molded any way he saw fit. She thought about how he'd shoved her legs apart, and with her breasts jutting up like they were she felt incredibly vulnerable. Her nipples began to harden despite the bright floodlights and her mind began to wander. In her mind, a fantasy of him forcing himself on her began to blossom. She let her fantasy go, ignoring
her numbing legs to focus on her steadily heating sex.

When the session was over, she was dressed, paid and seen to the door. "You've done very well today." He said to her, and smiled again as she left. "Come again tomorrow."
"I'll try to." She replied. "No," He said. "You'll be here." And as she walked to her car she realized that it had never been a request in the first place. That night, alone in her dorm room, she brought herself to orgasm with the thought of his wiry, muscled arms holding her down, keeping her still and quiet while he fucked her with the bright floodlights of the modeling platform burning into her skin.

And she was there, standing on his doorstep the next day. She couldn�t bring herself to look at him. Her fantasies were just too close to the surface. She was afraid she'd do something stupid, like try to kiss him. Undressed, stretched and ready, she stood by the platform. "No warm-ups today." He announced. He pointed to the platform. "Kneel."
She stepped up and took the position he'd showed her the day before. Kneeling there, with her legs spread to him, her breasts out, it struck her as how incredibly sexual she must look. "That's very good. You remembered exactly what I told you to do." She
Nodded her head. "Did I give you permission to move?" He snapped at her. "No." She said quietly, without moving. "Then don't." He began moving closer to the platform.

"Did you know that I have a very keen sense of smell?" "No, I didn't." she replied. He stood in front of her and placed his hands on the stand. He leaned close to her. "I can smell a woman's hot cunt from across the room." Her head snapped up. She glared at him with wide eyes and started to stand up. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to her knees, forcing her to remain sitting. "How dare you!" She snapped at him. "I dare, because you do." His eyes pierced directly into hers. "Don't deny it to me, girl. You've been sitting up here for weeks, hot and dripping wet, staring at me with lust in your eyes." He laughed. "I'm an old man, little girl. I have seen this all before." She relaxed. She sat back on her heels, but left her legs spread to him. She could smell the faint aroma of her musk waft up, carried by the hot lights. He let go of one of her hands and reached between her legs to probe gently. She was dripping wet, and could not help but let a soft sigh escape her lips.

He pulled his hand away and chuckled. He stepped back, crossed his arms and looked at her. "You really are a slut, aren't you?" "Yes" came out of her mouth before she realized she'd said it. Her mind raced. Here was this man -- her professor nearly twice her age -- and all she could think about was letting him have his way with her completely. To let him mold and shape her into anything he wanted.

Her fantasies were getting out of hand. While her mind screamed to get out of that place and run, her body completely defied her, urging her to stay and let her fantasy be fulfilled. "Hold still." He said, "I'll be right back." He walked from his studio and returned a moment later with a small box. "Now come here, close to the edge."
She started to stand up but he stopped her. "No, walk on your hands and knees.
Look down at the floor. You don't deserve to stand up."

Her face burned. She slowly moved to all fours and crawled to meet him at the edge of the stand. He set the box down and lifted something up. He set something else down on the floor. He moved her hair from the back of her neck and buckled a leather choker around her neck so quickly that she didn't see it. "Do you know what this is?" He asked.
It's a choker. A necklace." "No. Try again." "Then I don't know." She said quietly.
"It's a collar. If you decide to keep it, it means that you belong to me from now on." He lifted her face up to look at him and saw confusion in her face.

"You're a slut, aren't you?" he asked again. "Yes." "You're a slut, aren't you?" He demanded this time, louder. "Yes." And then he shouted the same words at her, holding her face so that she couldn't look away, the rage in his voice growing. Every time he demanded an answer she answered yes, her own voice rising with fear and panic. She was beginning to get very scared. Was he going to