tagLoving WivesA Portrait of the Artist

A Portrait of the Artist

byFrancisMacomber©

"Take it, bitch, take it," Charles commanded as he thrust repeatedly into the panting blonde crouched on the hotel bed before him. Reaching over her sweat-sheened back, he grabbed a handful of her long hair and pulled, forcing her head up.

As he began pumping harder and faster, her groans increased in tempo and pitch until she was almost screaming in ecstasy. "You're making me cum, you're making me cum" she cried out. Finally, when her lust had built to an unsustainable peak, she dropped to the sheets in exhaustion. Seconds later, having pumped his seed into her, Charles roughly collapsed onto her back.

They lay there for long minutes, trying to catch their breath and regain some energy.

"That was incredible," Susan murmured.

"You're a pretty good fuck too," Charles replied with an arrogant smile.

Suddenly he pulled out of her and slapped her ass. "Now get up and get moving. We've got to get that report to General Shelton first thing in the morning."

"First thing in the morning?" she gasped. "I thought our meeting wasn't until Friday! There's no way we'll have everything we need for tomorrow."

"Well, the meeting has been moved up, so you'll just have to make the best of it."

"But what do we do about the latest data? We won't have that until Thursday night," she worried.

"Simple," he said with that same mocking smile, "we make it up. Just take the data we've already given them and tweak it a little so the numbers are different but the results are the same."

"But we could get into a lot of trouble if the Army were to find out," she objected.

"Don't be so naïve," Charles laughed. "Just because we billed them all those hours, did you really think we wasted that much time gathering all that information? The truth is that most of what we've already given them is fiction. Those idiots at the Pentagon wouldn't know real data if it bit them in the ass. All Shelton really wants is some external justification for what he's already decided to do."

Pulling his clothes on quickly, he said, "I've got a dinner meeting with a prospective client. While I'm gone, you crunch the numbers and get the report ready. " There was no warmth in his voice; he had issued a command, and it was clear to Susan that he expected her to obey without further discussion.

But before he turned for the door, he reached down to Susan's right breast and gave her nipple a hard squeeze. She gave a gasp of pain that quickly transformed into a squeal of pleasure as the sensation sent an electric shock directly to her pussy. His voiced changed to the teasing yet demanding tone with which she had become so familiar: "Remember, the sooner you get the work done, the sooner you can have some more of this." He grabbed his crotch and smirked; then he was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

"Damn, that's just like him," she mused. "It's all about what he wants, and he expects me to go along without hesitation." But the truth is that it was that very attitude which had drawn her to him in the first place.

Charles Magneson was brilliant, and his intellectual superiority made him arrogant and uncompromising. It had also made him extremely wealthy and successful. After publishing numerous studies while a professor at a leading private university, he had turned his growing reputation into a consulting business that quickly became the "go-to" shop for numerous federal agencies and the U.S. military. The press had dubbed him the "Midas Mind" for his ability to turn his intellect into income.

To staff his rapidly growing firm, Magneson recruited the top students from highly ranked graduate schools, and that's where he had found Susan Cayce. As the valedictorian of her class, she had no shortage of job offers. But even having met and talked to representatives of a number of leading corporations and institutions did not prepared for her job interview with Magneson.

She tried to take the initiative by asking the first question: "Why should I consider joining your firm, Mr. Magneson?"

"Because, my dear, we are the best at what we do. If you don't join us, you'll always hate yourself for settling for less," was his self-confident reply.

She was not expecting such a bold response, and when she looked at Magneson with wide eyes, she realized that he wasn't boasting, he was simply stating a fact to her. The audacity of his attitude overwhelmed her, not only for its arrogance but also because it struck a chord in her personality.

Susan had always been a perfectionist, always striven to be the best. Anything less was unacceptable. It was a trait that had developed in her early. From her first years in school, her parents had always demanded more from her. If she were to pick a phrase that characterized her father's attitude towards her efforts, whether in her classes, on sports teams, or any other activity, it would be "not good enough." He and her mother had loved their daughter wholeheartedly, but rather than put her on a pedestal, they made it clear that they expected her to live up to their high expectations. Over time she had come to adopt similar expectations of herself.

So when Magneson made his outrageous declaration in that interview, Susan found herself challenged rather than offended. She felt compelled to prove to this famous, arrogant man that she too was the best.

Now, as she worked to develop the algorithm that would generate and disguise the source of the new data they needed for tomorrow's meeting with General Shelton, an errant thought popped into her mind: was Clint really the best husband for her?

She'd met Clint Cayce as an undergraduate. None of her friends at the time would ever have imagined the two of them would become a couple; indeed, they seemed polar opposites. While Susan was a business major with a minor in mathematics, Clint was an art major with a love for photography. Where Susan was almost obsessive in her devotion to her studies, Clint was low-key and laid back. Where she was highly competitive, he was contemplative, content to spend his time with his camera in hand trying to capture the personalities in the faces he loved to photograph.

As part of the undergraduate curriculum, it was mandatory for Susan to earn a minimum number of course hours in the humanities, and since she felt that it would serve her career well to be at least conversant with the fine arts, she decided to take a two-semester survey of art history. Clint was taking the same class, and by chance the two of them were paired together to work on a report during the first semester. Somehow, despite the differences in their personalities, the two were surprised to discover a growing attraction.

Those things that made Clint so unlike Susan became the things which attracted him most to her. His innate awareness and appreciation for line, form, composition and color made a pleasing counterpoint to her pragmatic, analytical nature. She found his calm demeanor and considerate nature a welcome change from the hard-charging business-men-to-be she normally encountered in her B-school classes.

And there was another facet of Clint's personality that she had noticed from their very first meeting: he was a gentleman who treated her like a lady. He was unfailingly polite and unselfish, always giving first consideration to her opinions, wishes, and, ultimately, her needs.

This was particularly significant to her because, to put it simply, Susan was a fox. Ever since her body began to mature in high school, she'd had lots of masculine attention. At first she loved having boys flock around her, but she soon realized that they weren't interested in her for mind or her personality, what they wanted was her nubile body. And after a high school senior she thought loved her took her virginity and then promptly dumped her, she became wary and cynical about masculine attention. She didn't withdraw from the world of dating, but she zealously protected her heart.

She brought this attitude with her to the college campus, and while she engaged in a few hot, sweaty encounters, she never allowed any of her dates to get close to her emotionally. It was clear to her that the men on campus were no different from the boys in the high school halls.

It didn't take long for her to see that Clint was different. She could tell that he was attracted to her -- that was obvious from the start. But unlike the other men she encountered, he never made suggestive remarks nor let his hands wander, always treating her with the utmost respect. He admired her intelligence and was quick to ask for her help, particularly in areas that were her strong points. On top of that, as they began to spend more time with each other, he took every opportunity to learn more about her, asking about her upbringing, seeking her attitudes and impressions about every aspect of life. In short, Susan realized that Clint cared about her as a person, not just a sexual opportunity.

One day near the end of the second semester when he had brought her back to his room after a date, he surprised her with a gift: a large rectangle wrapped in plain brown paper. When she opened it, she found a picture of herself taken while they were on a picnic. She hadn't even realized he had taken her photograph. He had captured her just as she had been turning her head so that her hair was in motion. Her face was filled with happiness and her eyes were sparkling with laughter.

As Susan looked at his work, she knew it was the best photograph of her ever taken. It wasn't just that it depicted her beauty, it seemed to Susan that he had captured her ideal self, the kind of woman she wanted to be.

As she continued to stare at it, she suddenly realized that she was looking at herself through Clint's eyes. This was the way Clint saw her. And she suddenly knew with absolute certainty that he truly loved her. At that moment, all her defenses fell away and she felt the warmth that had been growing in her heart burst forth. Setting the picture down, she flung herself at Clint, throwing her arms around him and kissing him without reservation. Before he was able to say a word, she whispered, "I love you too."

Then she was tearing at his clothes as well as hers, unwilling to wait a minute more before consummating that love on his bed.

For the last two years of college, the two were inseparable, and by their senior years they were spending much of their time together making plans for the future.

Their marriage was held in her parents' back yard a week after they both graduated from college.

She had managed to land a management trainee position with a manufacturing company while Clint pursued his photography. After freelancing for several months with various design studios and the local newspaper, he accepted a job as an assistant to a moderately successful local wedding photographer. The hours were inconvenient and the work boring, but at least it allowed him to work in his chosen field.

After a few years, the owner of the studio decided that he had had enough of crying babies and awkward bridal couples, and offered Clint the opportunity to purchase the business on favorable terms. After consulting with Susan, Clint accepted the offer and became the owner of his own business.

Within a surprisingly short period of time, that decision proved to be a wise one. The former owner had been a less than inspired photographer, and his work revealed more about the attitude of the person behind the camera than the subjects in front. In contrast, Clint's work captured the personalities of his subjects, not just the poses, and his business began to grow, along with his reputation.

This was fortunate because by then Susan had decided that she wanted to go to graduate school to earn her MBA. She had found the world of manufacturing boring, and the slow pace of promotion offered to those in the trainee program made her impatient. "I'm wasting my time in this place," she complained to Clint.

So while Clint continued to carry camera bags, set up back-drops and change lenses, Susan returned to the classroom. Without her income, his paycheck was barely sufficient to cover their cost of living, and they had to take out significant loans to cover her tuition. But Clint had no complaints as long as Susan was happy.

Her happiness grew dramatically after her graduation when she was offered and accepted a position with Magneson Consulting Group. At MCG there was no training program to ease new associates into the business; instead, Magneson tossed the new grads directly into the action to see how they would perform. Those who didn't, didn't last. Those who did were given handsome salaries and even more responsibilities. Magneson called it his "knee-buckling" theory of management: "I pile on the responsibilities until their knees buckle, then I pile on some more."

But Susan loved the challenge, and her quick mind and drive to succeed made her a survivor of Magneson's harsh initiation. Just as he had caught her attention in the initial job interview, she found him even more fascinating as she observed him at work. He was demanding and abrasive, not just to his employees but also his clients. Yet the latter kept coming back because his firm's reputation was so high and its work leading edge. He had a reputation for being brilliant but ruthless, insightful but opportunistic, and absolutely unwilling to suffer fools gladly.

"He's like a pirate," Susan thought to herself, "a twenty-first century pirate."

Just as Charles Magneson had captured her attention, she also caught his. About three months after she had joined MCG, Charles required Susan to accompany him to Washington to present to one of the federal agencies who made up much of their clientele. Although Susan was nervous about being thrust into the limelight in this way, she was also excited about the opportunity to "perform" in front of clients and her boss. Determined to do well, she pored over the presentation material and supporting documents with the same thoroughness she had devoted to her final exams in graduate school.

Her performance went off without a hitch. She knew the presentation backwards and forwards, and was able to give her part without notes and without even having to turn to refer to the slides. During the Q&A session that followed, she handled all their questions with aplomb. When her presentation was finally over, it was clear that she had won over her audience. They crowded excitedly around Charles and her, discussing details and even raising the possibility of future consulting.

Since the session had extended well beyond the end of the work day, the discussion relocated to one of Washington's finest restaurants for a dinner that seemed less a business meeting than a celebration. Expensive wine flowed, and one of the clients even made a toast to her. Susan was virtually floating on air, and when the dinner had ended and Charles and Susan returned to their hotel, she hadn't wanted the magic to end. So she felt no concern when Charles followed her into her room, nor when he swept her into his arms to give her a celebratory hug and kiss. When he didn't end the kiss but thrust his tongue into her mouth, that too somehow felt like the logical next step. And when she felt his erection pressing into her groin, the fact that she was able to arouse the great Charles Magneson seemed like yet another in the series of triumphs she had achieved. By then, her nipples were fully erect and her French-cut panties were soaked, and she surrendered to the lust that enveloped her as though it were the inevitable, ultimate culmination of the day's activities.

As she dropped her arms and fell back on the bed in surrender, however, she was startled to find that Charles didn't worship her body the way Clint would have. Instead, he began to dominate her, using her for his own pleasure. Instead of loving caresses, he roughly shoved his cock into her mouth and demanded that she suck. When he was ready, he reached down, ripped off her panties, bent her legs back until her knees were beside her ears and plunged himself fully into her in one stroke like a rutting stag.

But what absolutely shocked her as she lay there helpless under his assault, what registered on that small part of her mind still able to do anything other than feel, was how absolutely aroused she was by his forcefulness. Normally slow to orgasm, she found herself losing control and exploding within minutes of his penetration. Accustomed to a single orgasm per session, she was astounded when her pussy began to spasm again under his continued thrusting. And when he flipped her over onto her hands and knees and began rapidly driving her to her third orgasm of the night, she lost all sense of rational thought and totally gave in to the sensations coursing through her body. As they both peaked, she simply dropped her over stimulated body to the sheets and slept.

She awoke the next morning to find him again firmly mounted between her legs and pounding away at her. Once again she lost all control and gave herself to him and the demands of his lust and her own.

When they were finished and had caught their breath, he pulled out of her abruptly and stood beside the bed where she lay. She wondered fleetingly what she should say to him as he stood there staring at her, but before she could think of any words to express how she was feeling, he said, "Better get dressed – we have a plane to catch in less than two hours." Then he calmly pulled on his clothes and returned to his own room.

Later, when they were both seated side by side in the first-class section of the plane, she again found herself at a loss for words. As she struggled with her thoughts, he put down the magazine he was reading long enough to lean over and say, "You did well yesterday on the presentation. You can expect a large bonus in your next check." Then he picked up his magazine and resumed reading, ignoring her for the rest of the flight.

The silence continued in the ride home from the airport until they neared Magneson's luxury high-rise condominium. As the limousine pulled under the portico and he prepared to get out, he leaned over to her once more and said, "We need to go back to Washington next week for another session with those idiots. Do your homework and don't disappoint me."

She gulped and nodded, "I will, Mr. Magneson, I mean I won't, I mean . . ." As she stumbled over her words, he leaned into the glassed-in compartment of the car and, with a knowing smirk on his face, added, "Next week, don't wear any panties." As he walked rapidly away from the limousine, Susan shuddered slightly, knowing that she would obey.

Now, as she worked at her computer in the hotel room to generate the numbers that would satisfy both General Shelton and her boss, she was surprised to find her thoughts turning to Clint. She recalled how guilty she had felt when she returned from that first lust-filled encounter with Charles. When she had received the promised bonus in her paycheck, she spent part of it purchasing a Mac Pro with all the processing power and memory she could buy, along with a 27"cinema display for Clint to use in editing his photography.

Yet even as she lavished her gift on him out of guilt over her infidelity, she found herself having doubts about him. Why couldn't he do something useful, something more challenging? While she and Magneson were out conquering the public and private sectors, Clint was shooting snapshots of babies like a discount store photographer. Taking family portraits and wedding photos was so mundane; she felt like Clint was living in some kind of middle-class limbo. His willingness to accept such a mediocre existence seemed to her to be holding him back, and her as well. As for his artistic efforts, she felt it was highly unlikely that he'd amount to anything in the art world and she thought it was a waste of his time even trying to do so.

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byFrancisMacomber© 62 comments/ 81567 views/ 29 favorites

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