A Painted Lady

Samara shrugged and smiled back at him mischievously. "I'm not shy."

She turned slightly, resting her firm behind against the rough brick wall. She bent her knees slightly, and then arched her back, thrusting her breasts out, till only her rear and shoulders touched the bricks. Samara tossed her head, thick blonde hair spilling down the red bricks. Mark snapped the picture and then smiled. "Stop."

Samara nodded, freezing and holding the pose. Mark picked up his sketch book and began to sketch her again. She stood so close to the window that he could see her reflection in it, which made it a beautiful vision. And it seemed she truly wasn't shy as she held the pose, face serene. As he drew, she slowly drew her far hand up her body, running her fingers from her thighs up along her navel and then cupping her breast.

Mark's breathing was hard. "Hold it, keep your hand right there," he demanded, feverishly working the pencil over the paper as he tried to capture her. Finally, when he felt he had the sketch perfect, he exhaled fiercely and said, "Done."

Samara nodded, slowly relaxing and beginning to pad towards where he sat on the floor. He felt his breathing quickening as she came towards him, her beautiful hips swaying with her steps.

She slowly slid passed him, wandering back to his couch. She turned and sat on it, then stretched out, laying on her back, her legs curled in, ankles tight against her buttocks, palms down, grasping the lips of the couch as she threw her head back, and platinum hair massing along the arm of the couch.

Mark snapped it, and then moved to sit at the coffee table, setting his sketch pad on it. She stroked her thigh invitingly as he sketched. When he murmured, "Done", she rose, slipping over to the love seat. She caught her discarded heels with her feet, and then crossed her legs, folding her ankles up, off the ground. She ran her hands up her body, cupping her breasts and then tossing her hair wildly.

"Freeze," Mark commanded, shifting to sketch her on the love seat. The image of her sitting there, playing with her hair, her discarded clothes around her aroused him to no end as he sketched her. His throat felt dry as he penciled the curves of her ribs and captured the rise of her breasts.

Mark was awed by her sensuality and raw sexual allure as she had exposed herself to him in pose after pose. He was even more stunned though, at her obedience and willingness to please. Samara was beautiful, confident and refined, yet she had revealed a softer side as she had modeled for him, unhesitant following his instructions. Mark decided to push his luck a touch, to see how much she was willing to trust him.

"Lay over the arm of the loveseat," he whispered, his voice dry.

She paused a moment, then murmured back, "Which way?"

"Both," Mark said intently. "I want to see which looks better."

Samara slowly crawled over the arm of the couch. She rested her knees on the cushions, the arm pressing against her taut belly, her breasts swaying loosely. Her hair dripped across her shoulders as she slid her hands down the side of the love seat, till the touched the bottom edge of the loveseat floor, her chin lifted delicately.

Mark snapped the camera, and then began to sketch. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Samara slowly slid her hands down to press her palms of the floor, rolling her shoulders back, a subtle shift that gave him a better view of the softness of her pressed. She raised her hips slightly, showing off her beautiful buttocks. Mark was in heaven. The magnificent beauty had anticipated him, meeting his desires unspoken, accommodating him without a whisper of reluctance.

And as soon as he was done sketching her, she writhed around, wriggling as she shifted herself the other way. Her hips were now over the arm of the loveseat, her knees hanging towards the floor. She pressed her thighs together, tightening her buttocks, her ankles crossed demurely as she lay, pillowing her chin on her arms.

Mark picked up the camera. He snapped the shot of her profile, and then slid across the floor to the other arm of the love seat. She looked up at him, her blue eyes bright and shining so warmly he could hardly believe he had viewed them as arctic. He snapped a photograph of her face, then murmured "And with your eyes closed..."

Samara slowly let her eyes shut, pursing her lips slightly as she lifted her chin a touch, the outline of her breasts swelling. Mark snapped another shot, and then murmured "I want to sketch the profile and the portrait of your face."

"Okay," Samara murmured her voice so soft he could have called it drowsy.

He picked his pad up, sketching frantically, working swiftly to finish the two pages. When he was done, he leaned forward, reaching out with his hand. He placed his palm on the backs of her shoulders, slowly petting her, along the curve of her supple spine. Samara gave a low sound that could only be called a purr. Her skin was hot and Mark could feel tension in the small of her back, revealing how far from drowsy she was. It occurred to him that she was as aroused as he was. He slowly slid his hand up the curve of her buttock, resting on the soft mound.

They held there for a moment, both breathing quick and hard. Finally, Mark gave Samara's rounded bottom a light pat and pushed back. Samara slowly raised her head. "Are we done?" she whispered to him.

"The sketches... I want to paint you now," he said.

Samara nodded, slowly shifting as she rose off the loveseat. She took a moment to straighten her hair, brushing her face and clearing her throat. When she looked back at him, she was composure itself once more. But Mark could see that her cheeks were still flushed, her ears still reddened. "Which sketch do you want to paint?"

"The first one," Mark replied instantly. "It's magic."

Samara nodded. "Now?"

"No," Mark replied. "Let's take a minute to catch our breaths. I need a glass of water."

Samara blushed prettily, and then laughed her soft, breathy laugh. "I could use one too."

Mark went to the kitchen, opening his cupboard to find two glasses. Samara picked up his sketch book, setting it on the island. She leaned over the island, poring over the sketches. Mark filled the glasses, handing her one and sipping the other.

Samara took her glass of water, and then murmured, "Do I look like that?" She ran her finger tip across the paper, tracing the line of her own flank as she'd lain on the couch.

"Yes," Mark replied, sipping his water again.

Samara flashed him a dazzling smile, and then sipped her own glass of water.

"So, where are you from?" Mark asked idly, trying to keep his eyes on her face, despite the invitation of the long lines of soft, female flesh.

"My mom is from Sweden and my dad's from Holland," Samara replied. "But I was born and raised here."

Mark nodded, finishing his water. "Well, let's go set up, before we lose the light."

Samara nodded and padded back to the center of the floor of his loft. Mark strode over to get his easel and paints, setting them up before her. He turned to the page in his sketchbook, looking over the sketch then lifting his eyes to Samara. Without another word, Samara slowly shifted her pose, falling back into the moment as she returned to the stance she'd been in before. "You do that so well," Mark murmured contentedly.

"Theatre classes," Samara replied lightly. "I'm almost as good at capturing a scene as a painting."

"No argument here," Mark chuckled, dipping his brush into the paint and beginning to scrape it onto the canvas.

He began painting the outline of her figure, carefully mixing colors to try to portray her porcelain skin and the way the sunlight from his window picked out golden highlights in her platinum hair. He used a very thin brush to illustrate the expression on her delicate features, and then began painting the background. By the time he was moving to illuminate the windows behind her, the sun was setting. He carefully painted the fiery orb hanging outside the windows, blazing the horizon in gold and red and orange.

Mark was grinning as he worked, humming slightly to himself as he put brush to canvas. He knew he was doing more than painting a picture; he was creating art. Samara sighed softly, shifting her stance slightly, discretely rubbing her thigh. "Stand still, just a little longer," he murmured and she resumed her pose.

Finally, he was done. He was using a fine brush to capture a few last little touches he wanted to show. Samara shifted again, ever so slightly. "Didn't I say to stand still?" he teased her.

"You should try holding this pose for a few hours," Samara murmured back wryly.

Mark grinned slightly and flicked his brush at her, spraying a few fine droplets of blue paint across her nose. She yelped slightly and hopped back, opening her eyes to give him a glare. Mark chuckled then said, "I think I'm done. Come have a look."

Samara's expression eased into her slow smile and she padded towards him, her svelte figure alluring as she slipped around the easel, brushing him as she slid between him and the painting, looking it over eagerly. "Wow," she murmured softly, turning to face him.

The expression in her pale blue eyes was radiant. She was standing so close to him that they were almost touching. A few flecks of blue paint were drying on the tip of her pert nose and the curve of her soft cheek. Mark grinned again, and then mischievously dipped the fine brush into the orange-gold paint he'd used for the sun, reaching out to slowly trace the brush along her collarbone and down the cover of her shoulder. Samara gave a ticklish shudder and giggled softly.

"Raise your arms over your head," he instructed. Samara did, slowly intertwining her wrists over the crown of her head, full breasts raising, soft lips curved in her slow, mysterious smile. Mark slowly traced the tip of the fine brush down the rounded slope of her left breast, tracing the areola then tickling her nipple.

Samara moaned slightly, her nipple becoming stiff. His expression intent, Mark continued to paint her, using her body as his canvas. He dipped the brush into the bright gold, slowly drawing whirls of brightness radiating from her nipple across the top of her left breast. She shivered slightly, her breasts swaying. He murmured, "Hold still," again, switching to darker reds as he began to extend the whirls along the undersides of her breast, covering it completely in elaborate scrollwork.

"That tickles," Samara moaned as she shivered again, arching her back to him. Mark grinned devilishly as he began to tickle her cleavage with blues and purples. She moaned again, with more need, as he began to work on her right breast.

Mark began to paint a pattern of ivy in green and aqua blue along her neck and collarbone, murmuring as he worked, "You're so beautiful. I'm going to use your entire body as my canvas."

Samara writhed, her hips rolling as she moaned her assent. "Oh yes," she purred in her feathery voice.

"Spread your legs," Mark commanded and she did slightly, reaching down to touch the button of his fly.

It was too much for Mark to resist. He moaned as she rubbed his aching manhood through his jeans. After hours of arousal, he knew he had to take her then and there. "Go stand against the window," he ordered, then darted over to his bed.

Mark quickly stripped off his jeans and boxers, then his shirt. Finally, he dipped his hand under the bed, fumbling around for his box of condoms, pulling one out. He turned, pulling the wrapper off as he did. Samara was leaning against the window, facing him, her blue eyes intent, but not protesting as he rolled the condom on.

He stalked began towards her, the boards creaking underneath him. She rested her palms on the glass. He reached out, his hands on either side of her head, kissing her lips hard. Her mouth was soft and her tongue nimble, meeting his own and twining it, delicate and graceful, drawing him in and kissing him thoroughly. He caught her round hips with his hands, turning her around roughly. She gasped as he pressed her legs open with his foot, but he was too incredibly aroused to go slow. He set the tip of his penis against her sex and slid into her with a moan of satisfaction.

Samara moaned to, tossing her head back, platinum hair spilling down the curve of her supple back. She was wet enough from the hours of intimate sketching and painting that he could slide into her easily. Her pussy was giving, accommodating the length of his shaft, and then squeezing down around him in a way that made him shiver with delight.

With his hands still firmly gripping Samara's hips, he began to fuck her, slowly thrusting in and out. She moaned, pressing her hands on the window, bending forward to rest her painted breasts against it. Mark ran his hand over the curve of her buttocks and up the small of her back, rubbing her shoulder blades to encourage her arch, and then sliding underneath her to tease her nipples with his thumb and forefinger, golden flecks of paint coming off on his hands.

"Oh God," Samara moaned suddenly, squirming and wriggling her hips frantically. Mark was surprised as he ran his hands up her flanks to hold her still. Looking past her, he saw the source of her alarm. It was still light enough that there were people on the street below.

Mark found that incredibly arousing. He was safely behind Samara, who was tall enough to make it impossible for anyone to see him. But there was no doubt that anyone could see her, could tell that she was being fucked. That made him feel virile but protected. He wanted nothing more than to display her, display his handiwork.

He began to pump her harder and faster. Samara moaned and shrieked, squirming underneath him as she was pressed up against the window. Mark could see the outline of her breasts against the glass as she writhed, leaving traces of paint in her wake. "I told you to hold still," he growled, his voice hoarse. He raised his right hand and smacked her hard on her beautiful behind, the soft curve bouncing. She squeals loudly in response.

Her low, throaty moans and soft whimpers heightened Mark to a frenzy. He let go of her hips entirely, seizing her long platinum mane in his left hand, pulling her head back sharply. Then he spanked her rear again, harder. The way her rounded rump bounced and jiggled in response was electric. He began to paddle her, smacking one buttock, then the other, making her wriggle her rump and writhe under his hand. She tossed her head frantically, but he used her long, silky locks like reins, thrusting wildly into her. After a few spanks, he realized she was no longer struggling with him at all.

Mark tugged her hair, making her straighten up, stepping her forward until she was smeared into the window, her cheek pressed against it, her soft body molded to it. Samara whimpered softly, but didn't resist. He slid his hands to either side of her waist, squeezing her slender curves as he thrust almost straight up into her, gasping savagely.

Samara whimpered softly as she pressed her hips and breasts against the glass. "Oh God, everyone can see me," she breathed. Her ears were blazing and her flush spread from her cheeks down to her breasts at her exposure, but Mark could feel her heart hammering fast as a hummingbird's wings as his chest pressed her back and she was wet with pleasure.

He continued to stroke in and out of her, his hands rubbing her sides and flanks, slowly tracing over the curves of her hips. She gave another whimper, but this time Mark could hear the delight in it. Samara's sex was throbbing, squeezing around his shaft in a way that was almost a massage. Mark felt like a king as he enjoyed her beautiful body. Her behind was pink and he could see the outlines of his handprints on her flesh. He reached down and patted her behind gingerly with a friendly touch. She moaned loudly and threw her head back, turning slightly to nuzzle his shoulder and neck as he pressed close to her, her nimble tongue flitting out to lick the line of his jaw.

It was too much and he found himself exploding inside of her, gasping as he orgasmed. He gave on last thrust, and then reached around her to begin stroking her sex. She whimpered again, squeezing her glorious blue eyes shut and he could feel her shudder, her sex tightening as she came with him.

Soon, they collapsed, spent. Samara went limp and Mark scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest as he stumbled over to his bed, laying her out on it. She stretched, almost felinely and Mark crawled up into bed beside her. As he look at her, he could help but grin and she smiled in return, giving a small giggle and then twining her arms around him, drawing him towards her for a passionate kiss.

He kissed her back and wrapped his arms around her waist, tongue wrapped around hers. She moaned, rolling over on top of him, her soft breasts pressing into his chest as she began to kiss him on the sides of his mouth and jaw, then down his neck, quick, soft kisses. She was passionate and adventurous, but her lips and body were so soft that even the light kisses were sensual. She moved up to breathe in his ear, moaning lowly and then gently nipped his earlobe, licking it softly.

Mark groaned as she worked his ears skillfully. He had a weakness for ear nibbling. He let his hands roam her body, squeezing her breasts and rubbing her back, cupping her behind and then stroking her hair till she purred softly in his ear, a sound that made him stiffen slightly.

"Wait," Mark said, rolling her off of him, and then hopping out of bed. "Lay on your stomach," he demanded, then darted over to the easel.

Samara gave him a quizzically look, but submissively stretched out on her front, resting her chin on a pillow, her arms hugging the pillow. Mark returned a few minutes later, straddling her as she lay. "Spread your legs a bit," he said.

Samara did, spreading a bit to reveal her sex. She moaned slightly as something soft and wet touched her shoulder blade, slowly tickling around it. "Now, don't move," Mark asked her.

"Okay," Samara replied softly, stretching slightly.

Mark was over top of her, painting her back with dark colors, blues and greens and blacks. He traced spirals around her shoulder blades and painted ivy down her back. He spread out to blue and green flames that covered her buttocks and started down the backs of her thighs then went back to spirals down her legs. He finished off her shoulders and the nape of her neck with light blue waves. "Now, give it a few minutes to dry," he said.

Samara murmured an assent into the pillow and Mark sat at the side of the bed, staring at her back intently. They were still for a long moment, and then Mark ran his finger across the ivy that scrollwork he had drawn across the small of her back. It didn't smudge. "Now, roll over," he commanded.

With a murmur, Samara flipped over onto her back, laying her arms out relaxed at her sides. Mark started at her feet, connecting the blue and green spirals from the backs of her legs, working up towards her inner thighs. "Now, spread your legs, as wide as you can," he murmured.

Obediently, Samara split her legs apart, till she was spread eagled on the bed. Mark smiled as he let the brush play across her sex, making her moan as he tickled her entrance. He started with bright pink around her clean shaven mound, spiraling out into pink, red and orange flames that engulfed her hips and red and brown waves that volcanoed up her navel, tickled her abdomen, and pillowed her gold painted breasts. He drew red and green ivy down her arms, and then painted blue and red waves across her collarbone and up her neck. She giggled softly at that. He finished by painting blue lines from her nose down across her lips to her chin, then horizontally across her cheeks and over her brows.