Although I did think that it might be an interesting experience to actually sit for an artist, it was a couple of weeks before I saw an opening coming up, on a Sunday. Of course not knowing whether she worked on such days, I was a little hesitant to make the call she’d suggested, but in the end did so, and Annabel immediately allayed my concern by her remarkably enthusiastic acceptance of such timing.
‘Oh that’s good Phillip, I have been thinking about drawing, and maybe even painting you – and Sunday will be an excellent time to start!’
So, after arranging a time a little after mid-day, and having first had a light lunch, the Sunday found me setting off for Annabel’s studio.
Her greeting was equally enthusiastic as her voice had been on the telephone. ‘Come in! Please come in and make yourself as much at home as it’s possible to do in a studio Phillip!’ she said, taking my hand and almost tugging me after her as we threaded our way through a much more cluttered space than I’d seen at my previous visit. There were various easels set up, each with a partially finished painting, a few tables and benches; each with an assortment of pots, filled with brushes, partially squeezed tubes of different kinds of colouring materials; palettes smeared with rainbows of colours, and of course paint smeared rags of every kind of material. And those were scattered through just that section of the studio that she used for her paintings – off at the far end I could see and even greater complexity of materials that were obviously used in her sculptures and pottery making.
But, in an area directly below one of the overhead sky-lights, a large space had been cleared, on one side of which stood a surprisingly comfortable looking, straight-backed arm-chair, and nearby, another less formal looking chair, a table, on which lay a large sketch pad, an assortment of pencils, and what looked like sticks of charcoal, plus other drawing paraphernalia.
‘Now before we start Phillip, I should warn you that this session – much of which I will use just to sketch you – is usually very much longer than those that will need to follow. Of course we’ll take a break from time to time, but if you can be patient with me, just relax and allow me as much time as you are able to, I’ll be most grateful – and the finished painting will be all the better for it. This early process is one that hopefully will allow me to see into the person behind the outward appearance – and that usually leads to a very much stronger finished work.’
‘How do you usually cope with doing nothing in particular?’ she asked a moment or two later.
‘Oh, reasonably well I think. I can usually allow myself to drift off and think about other things. That is when I get the chance to, which in this busy world seems to be ever more difficult.’
She smiled and nodded her understanding. ‘That’s one great advantage of being an artist, most people seem to understand that we need peaceful isolation to get on with our work. Many’s the time I leave the answering machine to take care of the phone, even if I don’t happen to be working – and people never seem to get too upset about that.’ she added with an almost conspiratorial grin.
‘So, let’s get you seated comfortably – and would you like me to play some music?’
‘Only if it will not disturb you Annabel.’
‘Oh no, I usually have something playing in the back-ground. So what kind of music do you like? I have a pretty wide variety here.’
‘I think I have a pretty eclectic taste – though I suppose the romantic classics would be my preference in this kind of situation. The last thing you need is for me to be bobbing up and down to some funky beat.’
‘OK, the classics it is – now you sit yourself down there – but first, would you take your jacket off please.’
While Annabel sorted out a few CDs I dispensed with my jacket and settled myself down in the chair, watching her generously proportioned body moving about with remarkable lightness and agility.
She was wearing what were clearly her work-clothes; a loose-fitting top and skirt made from what had originally been a light grey, and light-weight jersey-like fabric, that was now decorated with numerous daubs and splotches of various coloured patches of long-dried paint. The top was scoop-necked and raglan-sleeved – a style that obviously provided her with the freedom of movement that she would need when painting. But by contrast, the skirt seemed voluminous; just on knee-length, and the way its many folds swirled about when she made the slightest of movements, seemed to be perpetually threatening to knock something over.
Having moved me into a pose she wanted, she settled down to draw, and I let my mind wander off with the accompanying music – at first simply revelling in the opportunity the situation gave me to think of nothing in particular.
But then, as we men are prone to do, some time later I found myself – at first quite involuntarily – recalling bahis firmaları some of the events of the previous night. A night when the woman I had been seeing on and off for several months, demonstrated a totally new aspect of herself.
Previously, although always eagerly compliant, she had left the progress of our love-making very much up to me – but whether because she finally felt sufficiently confident of me, or simply because her hormones were raging more strongly than usual, her actions on the previous night had been totally different, that time it was she that had totally taken over. Even to the point that, at one stage – when I had tried just a little more firmly to move her to a new position – she had not only resisted, but firmly told me to just lie back and enjoy what she was going to do with me.
And, as I couldn’t recall ever being fucked for as long, as efficiently, and definitely not as vigorously, as she then fucked me, I found myself in no position to do anything other than exactly what she told me to.
Now I’m not sure just how long I spent in the reverie brought on by memories of that and then all the other things we eventually did together, but it must have been quite a long time, because it was only the sound of Annabel’s voice that brought me back to reality.
‘I guess you’re ready for a coffee by now Phillip. And I’m surprised at how good a sitter you’re proving to be – you’ve hardly moved for over half an hour now.’
‘Oh just lost in thought I guess.’ I answered, perhaps rather guiltily. ‘But yes, a coffee would go down well now.’ I added gratefully.
We moved to another area of the studio for her to make, and us to sit and drink the excellent coffee she brewed – and it was only then, maybe prompted by the eroticism of my previous thoughts, that the effect I had noticed during my previous visit to her studio, returned. It was only as we sat idly chatting, that the sheer sexuality of Annabel herself hit me.
So, when we returned to continue the sitting – even as she leaned forward to re-position me and I caught a brief glimpse down into the scooped neckline of her top, down at the richly swollen expanse of pale white flesh – it wasn’t surprising that my thoughts that time became totally concentrated on the ‘here and now’, in fact purely on Annabel herself.
As I have previously said, the women I most usually find myself attracted to are those with a body that is best described as being ‘trim, taut and terrific’, and Annabel’s could never, even by her very best friend, have been described in that way. However, and in spite of that, there was undoubtedly something about her that was getting to me. And strongly!
Perhaps it was that aura of sexuality that I had detected the day of her open-house. Perhaps it was the fact that it was perfectly obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that loose fitting top. And that meant that as her hand moved around whilst she was sketching, the size and weight of her breasts made the fabric not only move and sway in the most provocative manner, but that as it then clung to them, it dramatically outlined their overly-full, and very temptingly curving, lushness.
However, whatever or whichever of the elements was the most responsible, the combination of course had a very predictably natural effect on me – I felt myself starting to get what was at that time, a totally unwanted erection!
Annabelle gave no indication that she had any awareness of what was happening to me – but then why should she have – continuing to concentrate purely on the sketches she was making, her breasts swaying even more pronouncedly whenever she briskly added shading to sections of the image.
Both my erection and my resulting discomfort grew quickly, so when – having obviously finished with sketching my face – she asked me to stand so she could outline the proportions of my body, I felt sure my resulting embarrassment must have sent a sudden, equally unwanted, flush of blood to it. However, using the excuse to turn and blow my nose, I tried to move my cock into what I hoped was a much less obvious position – and as Annabelle gave neither a word nor look that she noticed my predicament, I soon relaxed and took up the several different poses she then asked of me.
The session lasted perhaps another half hour or so, then Annabelle asked if I would be free the following Sunday, when she would begin the actual painting – and of course I said I was sure I could.
The following week was a quite extraordinarily busy one; but between meetings, contract vetting, assorted document preparation and a multitude of decision-making situations, I still from time to time found myself troubled by my memories of what had happened to me during my sitting for Annabelle.
Now, of course, like almost every other man, I enjoyed those moments when one catches sight of a particularly attractive woman; a face with eyes having what might be called that ‘come-hither’ kaçak iddaa look, a pair of especially succulent lips, the glimpse of a trifle more cleavage than usual, or, from beneath a carelessly draped skirt, a flash of shapely thigh. Any one of these could, momentarily, and at least faintly, stir those primal feelings.
But I was not a man for whom any such a sight would normally automatically cause me to get even the start of a hard-on.
So the fact that a woman whose looks and shape I would have said was definitely not appealing to me, could have induced one, was both perplexing, and, in some ways, even a little troubling. And the implications of that were especially so when I remembered that Annabelle had asked me to bring along some sort of sports outfit for my next sitting – ‘preferably just a light shirt and shorts’ – she’d said – ‘so I can better capture the actual shape of you’ – she’d added.
If I could get an uncomfortably hard erection when fully dressed, what embarrassment might I cause myself if something similar was to happen when I was so much more unprotected? However, by the following Sunday I was too keen to see what sort of painting Annabelle might produce to back out, and, having first put on my most tight fitting briefs, I packed a clean set of sports gear and made my way over to her place.
Given that the previous time had been spent in her doing nothing more than merely sketching me – and she’d worn what were clearly her day-to-day painting clothes – and that she’d said that that this day was when she would start the actual painting – I was surprised to see she was not wearing that paint splattered outfit. Instead she was wearing what could best be described as being not much more than a simple, unadorned and quite loose-fitting caftan.
Unlike my previous visit, when she’d immediately led me through the jumble of work in progress toward the space she’d cleared for us to sit, that time she pulled aside the curtain covering the access to the private parts of her studio. ‘Just slip in here and pop on whatever you’ve brought to wear, then join me up the other end of the studio, Phillip.’ she said as I saw the small kitchen area that the curtains had been hiding..
As I changed I of course looked around, and through a partially opened door-way, saw at least a portion of a large, adjoining bed-room ‘Obviously she sometimes sleeps – and maybe also entertains – here!’ I thought.
Once dressed in shorts and T-shirt I joined her, and found that once again she wanted to start by doing no more than sketching me. ‘Just to get the proper lines of your body Phillip – I assure you that this part won’t take too long.’ she explained.
That time I saw that rather than pencil, she was using long sticks of charcoal, and, in between adjusting and altering my pose, doing no more than making quick, slashing movements.
However, it was the pose-shifting that I found most disturbing. Her closeness and the sight of her face and especially the luxuriously generous expanse of flesh I could see down through the vee-necked shape of the caftan’s neckline – coupled with the feel of having her hands on various parts of my body – soon had me all too aware of the stiffening length of my cock. I just had to hope that those tight fitting underpants were doing what they were supposed to…
Annabelle made perhaps six or seven separate sketches, then said I should take a few minutes rest before she did any more to them – ‘Why not make us both a coffee while I sort these out and start preparing a canvas.’ she suggested.
I was grateful for the opportunity that would give for my cock to have time to slacken, and set about doing as she’d asked me – then we sat and chatted while we drank our coffees.
I started by asking her what other, more commercial projects she was working on, and that led us to talk a little about the differences between commercial Art, and Art for Art’s sake – on which she had what I thought were remarkably sensible views. ‘I’m afraid that, unlike many other artists, I think all Art is commercial, Phillip. If not then why don’t artists simply give their work away?’ she said with a wickedly conspiratorial sort of smile.
‘So does that also go for whatever you end up with after painting me?’ I asked.
‘Of course – but you’ll get first refusal, I’ll promise you that much. If it weren’t so then you would never have been able to buy the painting and ceramics that you did.’
Of course I couldn’t argue with that, and said so. ‘But of course, just as your doctor does, I do absolutely guarantee confidentiality.’ she added. So, whatever you find me asking of you, you can be quite sure that whatever goes on in this studio, stays here, just between you and I. Is that OK?’
‘Of course it is.’
”That’s good, because I couldn’t help noticing how strongly you’ve been reacting to simply posing for me – that shows that you are both a sensitive, and a vigorously potent man – so I might soon kaçak bahis ask you to strip right down for me. Would that too be OK with you?’
‘So she did notice what’s been happening.’ I thought – but answered. ‘Is that exactly necessary Annabelle?’
‘Necessary? – No. Preferable? – Yes. After all it is an erotic painting we’re working on, not some namby-pamby portrait.’ she added more cheekily. ‘And you must have realised that the man who posed for the one you bought, did have to expose himself in exactly that way.’
‘Well, not really – at least the painting is not that blatant, and I certainly didn’t realise that the ceramic was done from life.’
‘Very much so Phillip – and if it’s not equally obvious from the painting then I can only suppose that you’re still not seeing it properly.’ she answered cryptically. ‘Anyway, if there’s something about what we’re doing here that arouses you, why not simply enjoy it? After all, life really is far too short to forgo these small pleasures.’
Again I couldn’t really argue with her, and though the idea still seemed a decidedly odd one, I thought – ‘Why not?’ – and answered – ‘OK, if that will help you, of course I’ll do it.’
‘Excellent!’ – she said as she finished the coffee – ‘I’ll just get those sketches out, then when it happens again, I won’t waste either the time, or more importantly, your readiness.’
She finished her coffee quickly, then gathered together the sketches she’d made, plus a few of those from my previous sitting, and once I indicated I too had finished the coffee, she had me take up a few more poses – that time making much more free use of her hands when moving or adjusting me. Given the context of our brief conversation, her presence, that continually frequent view down the neck of her caftan, plus her knowingly nimble fingers – I soon felt my cock re-hardening, then felt its growing length and thickness pressing against those now far too tight briefs.
‘Ahaa!’ she sighed when she both saw and then felt what was happening. ‘Very sensitive – and very potent! I think now is probably a good time to get rid of what you’re wearing Phillip.’
Although still somewhat embarrassed to do so quite so cold bloodedly, I did. And heard her give a much louder gasp when my almost fully engorged cock sprang free.
‘Magnificent! Very, very impressive Phillip. When I saw the length of your fingers I guessed you’d be well endowed, but really hadn’t imagined it would be quite as big as that. Your lovers must think all their Xmasses have come at once.’ she added.
I think I might have actually blushed – but answered. ‘I always thought that women said size was totally unimportant.’
‘Oh yes, we do – and it’s undoubtedly true that if a man is everything a woman wants in every other way; if he’s kind, considerate, caring, romantic, humorous, etc. – then it’s true, his penis size is quite irrelevant. But, and if she’s honest, if all those needs have been met and she’s given an option, bigger is undoubtedly very, very much better than small. Now of course I don’t know you well enough to know anything about those other attributes, but, on a scale of one to ten, when it comes to size, you’d most definitely be a ten.’ she said with obvious sincerity as she came closer.
‘But now, before the mood escapes you, let me quickly add a few important details to these sketches.’ she added as her hand slid slowly up the inside of my leg – then her fingers repeatedly trailed lightly back and forth, from beneath my balls, to the very tip of the cock-head – and doing it so tantalisingly slowly that I felt the entire length strongly pulsing as it continued stiffening.
She worked fast, and the fact that, having stirred me like that, and that she then eyed me so intently, meant that my cock, having reached full size, remained there.
Even when she had obviously finished doing whatever it was she did to the earlier sketches, she clearly hadn’t seen enough of me. Having brought a chair over for me to use as support, and while one hand continued to keep it fully hardened by slowly stroking and fondling me, she used the other to guide me into a series of what were clearly more suggestive poses. In one she had me arch myself, first forward – as though thrusting – and in another, backwards – perhaps as though that time I was allowing some phantom lover to vigorously fuck me. Then she had me turn this way and that, by then licking her lips suggestively as her eyes continuing to bore into me while her hand moved ever more swiftly over the paper.
When she was finally finished she made no attempt to tidy the sketches she had hurriedly allowed to drop down beside her, instead returning to stand with me, her fingers closing much more firmly but still quite extraordinarily caringly around my vigorously pulsing hardness. ‘I think I’ve kept you like this for far too long now – we certainly don’t want you developing ‘blue balls’, do we! I could simply relieve you here and now -‘ she said as her hand moved slowly back and forth – ‘or we could go to my bedroom and use that gorgeous cock in the activity it was truly designed for. But it’s your choice Phillip.’ she added, staring expectantly up at me.