The Sculptor Ch. 01

"But I didn't mean anything bad! I can model nude, if she won't do it, that's all!" Lussac's jaw dropped. "I want to," she went on.

Lussac checked the lot; no one else was there. Another car was pulling in at the far end, though. He frowned again.

"No." He felt threatened still. "You are ridiculous."

"I mean it; I want to, you can-- please, Mr. Lussac."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen. But--"

"You want to be turned into an art work, eh?"

"Well, yeah." She pleaded silently with him. He made a decision.

"My number is in the book. Call me, eight o'clock Saturday morning."

She was thrilled. She squealed and covered her mouth, then blushed, then thanked him. He thanked her, did his little bow, and went inside the building.

"She'll never call, and that will be the end of it," he told himself. "But if she follows through, she can model for Steven in class."

Brenda tripped over the curb going back to the rest of the crowd in front of the school, but she got under control soon enough. She was going to be famous! She resolved to tell no one until the nude sculpture went to exhibition. Big plans arrayed themselves in her mind. She was going to call, all right.

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Lussac had shown Hannah Noble the bronze of the portly and balding man with his briefcase which had gotten him the commission in the first instance. The vice commissioner of the T system had seen the one-man show and been struck by the figure.

Lussac had proposed a group of travelers, life size, all having just arrived in Boston with big hopes and confidence. No pedestal, but positioned on the floor in the rotunda as if they had stepped out into it and been suspended in bronze.

In due course, the formal commission and the advance account had arrived. The T had done art commissions before, and the City of Boston even more so. They realized the expenses involved. The money was good even after the costly bronze casting work was done out of it.

Even if nothing else had come to his hand as a result of the solo exhibition, Lussac would have been pleased, but there was a good deal of notice, and other commissions in negotiation. He'd have been stupid to continue teaching; only a dedication to craftsmanship compelled him to complete the school year.

Mrs. Noble had seen the huge studio in his rebuilt boatbuilding shed, and recognized immediately that the man was bona fide in every way. Unhesitatingly she told Gina to suit herself in the matter.

Gina had pretty good judgement. Hannah had been careful to nurture it by letting her make decisions on her own whenever she reasonably could. No one ever gets good at decisions if they don't make any.

They had made a pact that Hannah would step in and use her motherly judgement if Gina found herself faced with a situation which was clearly out of her depth, and on that basis, she had tested the waters at Lussac's.

The decision was still Gina's, in this case, but Hannah made no bones about recommending it, having met Lussac and seen that he was no lightweight, no lecher with a camera and a line of smooth talk.

"You'll be able to talk about it and make people envious for years, Gina. I would do it if I were you, it'll be so interesting! But you have the say."

"Thanks. Mom! I really think I want to. I'll tell him tomorrow."

"I'm happy for you," Hannah told her daughter, "and I'm envious, already, myself!"

So was Brenda. But Brenda had taken steps to even it up.

______________________

"Hi, Bren!" Gina greeted her as the bell rang and the crowd moved into the building. "Where ya been?"

"I did what you said, I talked to Greg," she said, for all the world as though she wasn't changing the subject.

"You did? Is he still--"

"We're still going out, it fixed everything. I had to sorta work on him a little, right afterward," she said, "but he's just fine about it now. I really appreciate it; he was making me so worried talking about kids and stuff."

"I suppose. I'm glad for you, I guess. I wish the boys I know got that kind of serious, but I can see it's the best thing for you and Greg. That's great!"

"Did you go out with Sean?"

The day passed through its stages. The lunchroom area at Bangor High abuts the Arts wing, and she spoke with Mr. Lussac before lunch. Lussac was gratified and complimented her mother. He wanted to start right away with head studies and pose selection.

They decided she could give him her Monday evenings and her Sunday mornings at first, with more if it seemed warranted-- possibly Sunday afternoons? They parted with a great deal of mutual satisfaction and confident hope for a productive relationship.

Not quite the way she'd parted from Sean the night before.

______________________________________

He'd put on a really fine pair of cuffed dress pants with great shoes, glove leather inside and built to last. From the waist down he was impeccable, but he'd let loose a little from there. Jacket, tie, and hairstyle: all three came off just a little edgy.

He had a slightly wild rep because he was in the band, and he dressed the part because they didn't know each other. He assumed it was the Sean she would be expecting.

Gina had chosen a dark blue with a flounced hem on the bias, and worn her hair up with the same blue in it and warm gold accents of earrings and choker, shoe buckle and bag clasp. She looked delectable.

But she too had a slightly skewed rep, because she had always said what she felt if anyone asked, and sometimes if they didn't, and because she was into art and design. She had dressed, though, as a young lady going to the theater, with no hint of this wildness.

They'd approved of each other and relaxed together well, but he had counted a little too much on her supposed independence and pushed for some intimacy ahead of her schedule. Irma Vepp appealed to the intellect and the wit, not the glands, and it struck a false note.

But he'd apologized without fuss or abjection, and she'd accepted her victory without crowing. He had another chance Friday night. Beginnings can be unsteady, and they both had enough experience to make allowances.

But he'd felt her tit just the same! Not a bad night, considering he had no investment: season tickets were season tickets, after all. The dancing Friday would mean both of them would spend a little.

They struck one another as smart and cool all at once, which gave impetus to the match. Pretty low-key stuff, compared to deep throating and a steamy buttfuck in a parking lot!

___________________________

"Hello."

"Mr. Lussac, it's Brenda Auclair." Saturday morning, bright and early, as requested. Lussac readjusted his thinking. "You remember?" she went on.

"Certainly. How many hours do you have free this morning, Miss Auclair?"

"I can stay until about four, if it comes to that."

"I think we'll be done by eleven. Class with Steven starts nine-thirty, I will set up to have you model for it, for both of us, if that's acceptable?"

"Okay. So I get there by nine-fifteen or something?"

Lussac found her more controlled and steady than she'd seemed in the teachers' lot. "Eight-thirty, please. Clothes leave marks in the skin. I'll explain. The side door is the one with the two tall panes of glass; knocking there, you can be heard. I have a robe for you."

"Eight-thirty, then."

They closed the connection, and a very excited Brenda chose her underwear carefully and drove to the house on Pine Ledge Road. The driveway brought her to a spot entirely off the street behind a screen of small spruces. The door was obvious; she knocked.

Steven opened the door on the eighteen-year-old and had her come in, smiling warmly. He was twenty-four and needed shirts cut roomy in the shoulder. Brenda noticed the muscles but felt no menace from the man. She herself needed a lot of room in the bust, and Steven noticed that! Their mutual appraisal made both of them smirk a little, but they cut themselves short and got to business.

"I was told to show you where we'll be working and get you into a robe. Will this one do?" He indicated and then went to fetch a flannel bathrobe which was draped over the stair rail.

"Sure. I get into a robe right now?"

"That'll give an hour for the marks of your clothes, you know, elastics, and straps and all that, to fade. Get completely nude and wrap up now and you'll be okay by nine-thirty. You'll want a place to change. Come on up."

"I can do it anyplace," she said.

"Yes, but where will you put the clothes? And you ought to know where the bathroom is! Come up, it's just a little ways. And don't be nervous; I'm Steven Six, Lussac says your name is Miss O'Clare?"

"Brenda Auclair, but you can call me Brenda."

"And I'm Steven. You don't seem very Irish, Brenda, but there's no denying O'Clare."

"It's A-U-C-L-A-I-R, but the family was Irish to start with. They settled in Québec and changed the spelling in the 1680's. We're mostly French-Canadian now."

"That's really a neat family history! My family are Magyars; my mother and my aunt fled here after the war, to get away from the Russians. This is a guest room. Hangers in the closet, bathroom the next door along.

"Want some coffee or some wine or something? I've got to go make coffee anyway; I'll bring you up some when I come back."

"I like Chardonnay if you have some."

"There's some decent Chards down there. I'll be gone long enough to make coffee, okay? Then I'll show you the rest of the place."

The young people smiled at each other and Six clattered down the stairs. She stopped holding her breath. This wasn't so bad! She began unbuttoning.

She stripped very fast and got into the robe, then hung her clothes more carefully. Still no Steven. She decided to put her hair up, and stepped into the empty hall.

Still nobody.

In the bathroom she fixed her dark hair high and wrapped the tail around, sticking a chopstick in to hold it. She spent a moment in the mirror adjusting the robe around her breasts.

Steven's face and then the rest of him poked in at the door. He had a wine glass for her, and a coffee cup in the other hand.

She sipped the dry white as he showed her the kitchen and living spaces downstairs and the big studio in the boat shed. Lussac was in a mezzanine space, half a second floor.

"Miss Auclair! Thank you for coming. This is yours." He handed her an envelope at the same time as he took her hand to bow over it. "We won't need you for a little while. You may use the television in the house or find a book or wait here with us, whatever suits you. But you ought to loosen the belt on that robe to let your skin relax. May we take photos when the time comes? Good. Most of your time will be posing for direct work, but it will be good to have photos. Please excuse us."

"There's a catch inside, on the, uh..." Steven paused to take note of the fine big breasts she flashed when the belt fell loose. His left hand came across to touch the point of his right hip. "...right side of the robe," Steven told her.

More views of her hip and flank came to his gaze as she felt for the little black wire sewn into the flannel. She was beautiful. The skin tone at eighteen never comes back. Creamy and lovely! "It'll hold it around you even without the belt," Steven went on. He flashed another warm smile. "We have to set up some more."

Lussac and he raised eyebrows at each other. Nice! They went deadpan and set up the classroom space. Perhaps they imagined Brenda hadn't noticed, but she had; her radar was out. She didn't mind, though. The wine was good and the whole studio was really cool and interesting. The envelope contained a hundred dollars, which was just fine with her! She put it in the wide pocket of the robe.

She decided to stay there and watch them go, and after a while she leaned on the broad maple rail and surveyed the sculptures and gear below and the beams in the wide ceiling above. There was a very broad cupola-like structure of which the walls were all window glass.

"Like a skylight with a roof on it, or something," she remarked to herself.

Technically it was a clerestory dome, of course; it made most of the many lights in the ceiling unnecessary at this time of day.

The men got her attention once again when both of them stripped to undershirts. Lussac's read FROG HOLLOW DAY CAMP and was a black tee. Six had a wife-beater, exposing formidable delts and lats. His was peacock blue with a flame-orange spiral symbol on the back.

Six turned on two heaters and arranged them to warm the center of the dais on the side away from the rail. There was a sturdy high stool there, with arms, and several big floor pillows in corduroy, red and green. Before very long, she could feel the warm breath of the heaters. The clock on the wall read nine-twelve. It would be quite warm by the time the class began. Another question answered.

The men piled clay on their tables from a big box of it which was lined with thick plastic. Lussac added water to the box and closed its liner. Steven left in the direction of the main house. Lussac poured more water into pots by the side of each workstation and addressed his young model.

"You will need to oil your skin from the neck down. There's oil right there. Once Steven gets back and you have oiled up, we can begin, I think. It's a little early, but I think we were eager, we set up very quickly. The clay will dry if we just wait around for the clock.

"Please," he said, in response to her inquiring look, "go ahead and put on the oil. I will get your back."

She removed the robe, hung it over the rail, and then stepped gingerly over to the dias where the oil bottle was, totally naked in front of him.

She had the Chinese characters for 'earth' and 'center' tattooed on the lower curve of her perfect creamy belly, where they read di zhong. The tail of zhong ended only a millimeter from the top of the opening of her pussy and had been overgrown with a light crop of dark-colored fur. To mean 'center of the earth' they ought to have had another particle-- di de zhong-- but she was so flawless otherwise!

Lussac watched her in growing awe as she set oil to that radiant young skin. She was really striking-- and very buxom! Her nipples began to rise, and so did Lussac's cock.

"Is it too hot there?"

"I'm okay for now."

After another silent interval Lussac had to adjust himself inside his slacks. She bent and oiled her calves and ankles, then put a foot up on a rung of the stool and ran her hands over her sweet buns and thighs.

There was no sag whatever in that ass! Lussac's throat was dry. He broke her spell to sip a little armagnac. He wished he'd scheduled her for a time when Steven had been absent...

Steven returned then, bustling in with his pot of coffee, and he faltered to see her twisted backward, rubbing her butt in a little circle. Her breast stood out in profile, swaying with the motion of her arm, nipple half erect. She gave him a smile and he gathered his wits and went to his place.

He and Lussac gave each other another look. Wow!

She noticed that one, too, and made a little show of oiling her big breasts and her shoulders, so they could see the flesh move and bounce, depress under her hand and recover. Her nips were hard as dowels when she was done, and she'd become a little flushed. She extended the bottle mutely toward Lussac.

The teacher cleared his throat, stepped up and accepted the bottle. She turned; he rubbed the oil on her back while she rubbed the excess from her hands onto her belly. He closed the bottle. "Please pose her, Steven," he said. He was a little shaky in his voice!

Steven had her assume a reclining pose, setting lights. Lussac, meanwhile, washed his hands at the sink, wiping carefully so that no oil would remain to get into his clay. The process steadied him.

When he came back to his station, the girl was lying on three of the big pillows, up on her elbows. Her nipples showed above the billowing corduroy, and under her hips and thighs was another pillow, tipping her ass provocatively upward. Lussac licked his lips and adjusted his pants again.

"Let me take a few shots before I get into the clay," he muttered to no one in particular. On the shelf over the sink was a camera, which he checked and uncapped. He took several shots, rewound and changed film, and took a good many more with a closeup lens, details.

Her feet, her bent knees, her shoulders and neck as she leaned on her elbows, and then a batch of closeups of face, tits, and upturned ass from various angles-- he devoured her with the camera.

Meanwhile, Steven worked with a will, entranced. His fingers flew over the clay, he rolled the stand over to see her from another angle and rolled back the other way. He kept pinching clay off into a ball in his hand and replacing it again in a different place.

It was all Brenda could do to keep still and not watch him; nor track the obsessive movements of the older man circling her with the whirring camera. But she stayed as still as she could, despite the growing heat of the strong floods and the two salamanders.

Lussac noticed her upper lip. "You're very hot, yes? No, please don't nod, you can speak, it's better... I'll shut them down; I'm so sorry! The lights must stay, I'm afraid. Only a few more minutes, I promise!"

"I'm sorry, Brenda!" called Steven. "You're doing marvelously! Not long now!"

Both men bent to their work again until Lussac exhausted his roll of closeups. He returned to his stand and replaced the clay in its box, pinching off a few drier bits and leaving them on the cloth. He washed again and asked to oil her again-- "to catch the light! You've absorbed it."

"Yes, okay," she muttered. Sweat was pooling in her eyebrows. "Wipe my eyebrows, please?"

"Certainly! We have only a couple minutes more! You are exquisite, I mean excellent! You must have done this before."

"No."

"Very well," he said solicitously, wiping her brows and cheeks with a soft flannel cloth. "Close your eyes a second-- there." She opened them again. "All right, here comes oil, hold right still..."

He reapplied to shoulders, back, buns and thighs, then back to the buns again, saying "excuse me" as he touched her very damp sex. She held very still. He capped the bottle and washed again. "Do you want a fan for cooling? We have one... no? Just a minute or two."

He loaded again and took more shots. He stood then and looked toward his student. "Her half hour is done, Steven." Six nodded and wiped his brow.

"Very well!" exclaimed Lussac. "You're free! Take it easy at first, don't stand up all at once--! Oh, dear!"

He stepped in quickly and caught her as she slumped. As she lay down again, she woke back up.

"You fainted! It happens," Lussac said, releasing her slippery body again.

"I blacked out!" she said in surprise.

"Don't try to stand up all at once, just lie there, then sit and breathe, then come up slowly." He stepped back and took a shot of her lying face up, then another. "I'll get your robe," he said, and fetched it for her.

"Thank you," she said as he draped her with it. She took his advice and it was a minute or more before, once more in the robe, she joined Lussac at Six's worktable.

There on the damp muddy cloth was a replica, in brownish red, of her, as she had been lying under the heat and lights. It was amazing to her.

"Steven, that was so fast!" she exclaimed.

"It needs more detail work," Six demurred.

"It's wonderful!" Brenda insisted.

"You are being too kind," he said.

"Perhaps so, Steven," interjected Lussac, "but it is quite good work just the same. Very balanced. She looks as if she just now floated down from heaven to alight on a cloud. And the composition is good. Very controlled work, you've seldom done better from life." He beamed on his student and then on his model. "Perhaps you were inspired!"