This is my first entry for #MasturbationMonday, which I was introduced to by the amazing Kayla Lords. I hope you enjoy it…and if you think my free writing is hot, just imagine what the books I sell are like!
Heidi stepped into the bright, airy room. The sunlight streaming through the high windows dazzled her eyes after a solid week of Oregon clouds and rain. Blinking at the sudden pricking of her eyes, she paused to allow herself time to adjust to the glare.
Across the room, Michael sat with his heavy artist’s board, on which a frame-sized piece of sketch paper awaited. He held up a finger and said, “Wait.”
She froze in place, not moving. She had worked with Michael a couple of times before, and still didn’t understand how he could look at her form and want to draw her when there were so many models around with both professional credentials and bodies which were more in line with contemporary views of attractiveness. This was her first time working with him undraped, but she knew when he said “Wait,” it meant “Stay exactly where you are until I tell you otherwise.”
He picked up a pencil and made a series of swooping arcs on the paper, swiftly framing out her body and arms as well as the outline of the satin thigh-length purple robe she wore as her only insulation from his gaze. Heidi concentrated on her breathing, keeping it slow and even, giving her muscles subdued twitches every so often to ward off cramps while maintaining the pose. In just a couple of minutes, he nodded approval.
“Okay. Come on in and disrobe.”
She did, hiking her shoulders to let the robe slither to the ground behind her as she came. Michael’s sharp intake of breath as she revealed her body to him for the first time set off a deep, shivering flutter in her stomach. It was one thing to be viewed as an object of art, of beauty. To be seen as a woman, and judging by his reaction a desirable one at that, added a very different tension to the atmosphere. Something warm and liquid unspooled low in her belly, and she didn’t need a map to pinpoint where the moisture was heading.
He had prepared a snug little nest out of a couple of beanbag chairs and pillows, taped Xs on the floor and cushions marking where he wanted her feet, hands and buttocks. Next to the nest, a condensation-beaded pitcher of water and an equally frosty glass perched. She found her cues and settled in, noting that the positioning left her with one arm behind her back and the other hanging free in air. Michael peered at her for a moment and asked, “May I adjust you?”
Michael’s courtesy in always asking permission before he touched her was a large part of the reason she felt safe enough with him to allow this. Unlike a lot of the guys she’d dated, who became all hands the moment she allowed him to touch her, he was unfailingly careful of her comfort and safety. She knew Michael had a dominant streak, but although he had a no-nonsense manner which intrigued and scared her a little at the same time, he didn’t bark orders or make her do anything she didn’t want to do.
He set the board aside and stood up. Although he stood less than six feet tall, his presence seemed to fill the room with every inch of his height he unfurled. It was a bit like looking at Bruce Banner and seeing the shadow of the Hulk looming behind him, she thought.
As he drew closer, she willed her joints and muscles to relax so they would be pliant for him. Squatting in front of her, he pulled her lead shoulder forward slightly and positioned her hand so her palm rested against her vulva and her middle finger just brushed the seam between her labia. He spread her knees slightly, brought her heels back an inch or so and gave her head a slight downward tilt directly toward him.
“Perfect,” he said. “If you get thirsty or need to adjust, just say the word.”
She smiled up at him and parted her lips to reassure him she knew the drill. The words died stillborn on her tongue as her gaze latched onto the unmistakable outline of his erection inside his jeans.
Was it possible he wanted her that way? It seemed ridiculous. With his piercing hazel eyes and longish, sandy hair, she knew Michael had no shortage of female admirers. Why would he want her when there were so many sexier, younger and thinner women out there?
Before she could say anything, he turned away and strode back to his bench, giving her a good look at his tight backside. In a moment, he was settled with his own pitcher of water and glass, the board perched on his muscular thighs and his pencil ready in hand. With his free hand, he tapped a few buttons on his phone and brought up a countdown screen.
“Can you do ten minutes?”
She nodded, her mouth suddenly as dry as her pussy was wet.
“Sure. No problem.” The words came out in a helium-infused Minnie Mouse squeak.
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
Heidi cleared her throat experimentally. “Yes. I’m ready.”
With a nod and a slight, almost Gallic, shrug, he tapped the button to start the countdown.
As she sat there, watching his eyes flicker from the fresh paper in front of him to her and then back again, she started to feel a low, thrumming pulse between her thighs. A trickle of wetness played against her middle finger, spreading outward to sully her index and ring fingers in turn. Heidi had often thought of being Michael’s model as a sensual experience in the best possible way, but this new erotic dimension made her feel wanton and hungry. Michael’s gaze only sensitized her body further, stripping away her shyness and uncertainty, as if the spirit of a forgotten pagan fertility goddess had inhabited her being and now yearned to partake in her own worship once again with a rite as ancient as humanity itself.
She adjusted her hand slightly, bringing her finger into direct, light contact with her clitoris. The delicate, sensitive button swelled at the contact, forcing her to fight back a full-body shudder of delight. Her nipples tightened and firmed as well, and she ached to be able to touch them. Still, though, if she had to choose between tending to her breasts and the howling need between her thighs, there was simply no contest.
As Michael’s pencil dipped and swooped and skated along the paper, she became bolder, moving her finger and her rump in a slow, sinuous rhythm which reminded her of her efforts to learn the lambada and the tango so as not to disrupt Michael’s concentration. Although the lessons had yielded mixed results at best, she had come away with a greater appreciation for what her hips were really capable of. Now she used that knowledge to her advantage, discreetly stroking her aching clit right in front of the man drawing her as her light, verdant sexual scent filled her nostrils, charging her nerve endings and her need even more.
He frowned and his nostrils flared. He looked up, his eyes hooded and remote, reacting to the sudden wash of pheromones in the room.
“Are you all right?” His voice came low and husky, and the hand bracing the drawing board quivered slightly but visibly.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She winced a little at how high and breathy her response was. There was no way he could not know this was turning her on beyond endurance! She stifled a moan as she pressed her finger to her clit harder, the moisture between her legs coming faster and heavier now.
“If you’re sure,” he said, licking his lips as if he’d been standing in desert heat for hours. Without looking away, he reached unerringly for his water glass. He drank half of it off in three long chugs and returned it to its place, the whole time studying her with the intensity of a leopard considering an antelope. Then he dropped his eyes to the paper once again.
Free of his unnervingly direct, heated eyes, she scooted her hips forward a quarter inch and then back, silently bucking against her hand. With every motion, her nerves sparked as if someone was running raw household current through them.
It was agony.
It was ecstasy.
As her senses spiraled higher and higher, she maintained a dim awareness of Michael and the way his face turned toward the paper, hung there a moment, back to her and back again. Something about the curve of his tightened jaw and flared nostrils summoned a mental image of how he might look…and feel…with his mouth clamped to her pussy, devouring her with his lips, teeth and tongue.
Oh, God! She bit back a whimper. How much longer before the time is up? Her entire hand was soaked with her nectar and her ass slipped and slid in the damp slickness on the vinyl surface of the beanbag chair. If that damned timer doesn’t go off soon, I’m going to cum and to hell with whether he’s done or not!
She focused on keeping her breathing steady and even. It didn’t help. The harder she tried to focus, the more fiercely the Fourth of July inside her body erupted. She could feel herself building toward her crescendo, her entire body quavering like the sustained pull of bows across strings, awaiting the inevitable crash of the drums, the roar of the horns and the wail of the woodwinds. Holding herself there, right at the precipice, awaiting the perfect moment, Heidi felt the most exquisite torture of her entire life. It was beyond endurance, and yet she endured it still, maintaining the tension as the seconds ticked down.
Michael’s head came up and dropped to the paper once more. She could just make out the shadow of his erection under the board, and the thought of what those snug-fitting jeans were concealing and what he might decide to do to her with it brought forth a fresh flood of hungry wetness from her wellspring.
The alarm went off.
Heidi jammed three fingers inside herself and wailed as she flung herself forward into the abyss, her senses exploding into streamers of light as her body spasmed and flailed its way through the most incredible climax she could ever remember having. She flooded the beanbag chair with her release, her muscles tensing and joints locking as, with a final triumphant cry, her orgasm subsided and she floated gently back to earth on glowing, warm wings.
Across the room, Michael sat frozen, the drawing board forgotten beside him. His cock strained at the fly of his jeans, and his poleaxed expression suggested he wasn’t certain what to do next.
Basking in the afterglow, she raised her cream-covered fingers to her mouth and sucked them clean, one at a time, giving her palm a long lick for good measure. Then she reached back down and gathered up more, surprised at how slick and wet she was and the amazing sensitivity of her secret place.
“Would you like a taste?” She lapped at her fingers again, all but purring with pleasure.
He rose again, a black shadow against the window’s backlight. With each step, he seemed to grow larger and darker even as the backlighting fell away where she could see him properly, until he loomed over her, his narrowed eyes intent on her face.
Kneeling before her, he pressed his lips to hers, flicking his tongue across her bottom lip. Her taste seemed to agree with him, because he wrapped one arm across her shoulders and pulled her in, his tongue probing her mouth as he sought out and savored every last drop of her desire. She mewed and leaned into him of her own volition, pressing herself against his body everywhere she could touch as his hands traced her bare flesh and his breath became hers.
Finally, he pulled away. Trailing his fingers lightly down her face, he smiled.
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