Anatomy of a Portrait

The next day, she entered the studio and nearly lost her breath as she found eight strangers setting up easels around the modeling stand, the stand where in a few minutes she'd be naked and open to their critical gaze. They ranged in age from young adult to retirement, some as young as her own children, others as old as her parents! They would all see her naked! This was making her tense, not relaxed, and she looked at Pierre for some sort of assurance. He introduced her to the students, who didn't really need to be told that she would be today's model, and at the sound of the word 'model' Angela felt the tightness of her nipples harden. She was directed to the changing screen, and she emerged a few minutes later after exchanging the dress for her robe and wiping the wetness from between her thighs. And she thought, now what?

Pierrre held his arm out to accept the robe, and after staring at him for several heartbeats she undid the belt, wiggled out of the robe and handed it to him. She was now naked in front of a handful of strangers and their instructor! And they all had clothes on! Years ago she and George took holidays at a nudist resort just to see what it was like, but this was different. There, everyone was naked and nobody noticed her; here she was the only person without clothes, and everybody noticed her--that's why they were here! She just stood, legs clamped together, not knowing what to do, until Pierre urged her onto the platform and asked her to stand any way she wanted. In a daze, she stepped up, faced the middle easel, put one arm across her chest and the hand of the other over her bare labia, no longer hidden by pubic hair. She tried to avoid eye contact with anyone. The sounds of the students' pencils scratching on paper made a roar in her ears. Her every sense was heightened. A minute later she heard the ding of a timer, and Pierre gently asked her to make a new position. So she switched arms! The timer sounded again, and this time she knew she'd have to come up with something better, so she faced away but reached around with one hand to cover her bum crack. She still felt very tense. She knew she'd have at least a dozen more gestures before the break, so started sorting out what would be next. So she tried lifting her arms, which finally revealed her breasts and her erect nipples. She realised this wasn't so bad. Next, she tried sitting on the straight chair someone had left on the platform. She felt a little looser and let her legs open slightly. She found herself breathing more steadily. After trying out several positions on the chair, the bell announced it was time for her ten minute break. As she reached for her robe, Pierre invited her to walk with him to each easel as he critiqued the students' work. She was impressed with the quality of their sketches, and felt good seeing how attractive they had made her look on paper. She was proud of her proportions as the different artists had interpreted her. Before she realised, it was time to resume her posing, but this time she knew what she'd do. She had a plan.

She handed Pierre her robe, stepped up on the platform and, recalling the tennis lessons she'd taken years earlier, held an imaginary racquet and ball and took the stance of a tennis player about to serve. Next, she knelt like a runner waiting for the starting signal. After another minute, she stood up, arched her back and raised her hands like a volley ball player, legs demurely parted. Now making eye contact, she continued with sports-themed poses: This was easy. Forgetting that she was naked, she felt like she could do this all day. A baseball player at bat, a fisherman about to cast his line, a yoga pose with her newly bared lower pudenda on full display, and, finally, as the timer sounded to mark the end of the session, a winner holding up an imaginary trophy.

As the students applauded and thanked her for modeling, she smiled, got down off the stand and began walking among the easels. Until Pierre, pleased at how relaxed she now seemed, reminded her that she could put on her robe.

The students packed up their kit and left Angela, Pierre, and Josephine in the studio, ready to resume work on her portrait. They asked how she felt, and she responded by shedding her robe and triumphantly taking her position on the divan. She didn't fuss about what was showing and what to hide. She just relaxed against the pillows and let her body tell her what was comfortable. Josephine found some small cushions to put under Angelas' knees to support her legs, and adjusted the pillows behind her head. Angela felt dreamily comfortable and relaxed, and realised she might even drift off to sleep while Pierre painted. Two hours later they woke her, saying they could fill in the image of her face, with eyes open, later. The rest of the painting was off to a good start.

After four more sittings, spread out over that many weeks, the painting was completed. The oil paint needed time to dry, so Angela wouldn't be able to present it to her husband until then. Even though Pierre kept her from seeing the final painting she was very pleased with what she'd seen of the various stages so far. Meanwhile, she just couldn't wait to surprise her husband when he would come home one night and find it hanging in his study!

When the paint was nearly dry, Pierre asked Angela if she'd allow him to exhibit it at a gallery opening where he was to show several of his latest works. It was scheduled for an evening when George would be busy at his restaurant, so Angela would still be able to surprise him with it a few days afterward. Angela could attend the opening, which would be the first time anyone other than the artist himself had seen the final painting, displayed in an ornate frame Angela had chosen. She agreed to the picture being shown, and anticipated seeing it herself for the first time.

The evening of the opening arrived. Josephine advised her that, given the setting and the sophistication of the expected attendees, she should dress as spicy as she dared. So Angela dressed in an elegant long black evening gown that was bare between her breasts down to her navel, and slit up to the waist along each leg, and high heels. With this dress she could wear nothing underneath, so she shaved off the remaining patch of pubic hair so that only bare skin would show in the event that the lower part of her gown shifted. She smiled to herself at the private joke that this was to be an 'opening'. She drove herself to the downtown gallery, by far the most upscale art gallery in the city, possibly in the region. The advance publicity drew art critics and patrons from a wide area. Angela turned her car over to a valet and was greeted inside by a minimally dressed Josephine. The two women made their way through the gaily chatting crowd, to the far wall where several easels supported Pierre's newly completed paintings.

Centered among the paintings was one large work, draped in velvet and thus hidden from view. Angela figured this must be the portrait of her, since she didn't see it anywhere else. It seemed very large, and she started realising that soon it would be unveiled, meaning that a very large life-like image of her, nude, would be on view. For all to see. In fact, she herself would be seeing it for the first time. Had she covered her pussy decently? Would her nipples appear too aroused? Would her expression be that of a devoted lover or a of a wanton whore? Too late now, but she wondered if there were any people here tonight who knew her. Had she gone too far in trying to please her husband with an enticing image of herself? She knew he'd like it, but she hadn't really intended putting her image on public view. Why had she agreed to let Pierre show it? While turning these thoughts over in her mind, she felt her nipples stiffening. She stole a glance of herself in a nearby mirror and saw the very obvious points her nipples formed under the thin fabric. Well, at least there wouldn't be panties needing to be wrung out.

She was jolted out of her thoughts on hearing her name announced, asking her to come join Pierre beside the veiled canvas. As she strode across the room, she felt her thighs easily sliding past one another, wet with her juices. The thought of all these people around, about to see her painting, moved her close to orgasm. She walked carefully and steadily, taking only small steps so as to hold off the orgasm. As she took her place alongside Pierre, he introduced her as the model for the painting he was about to unveil. As he reached for the cord, she felt the climax creeping up on her, and held onto the backrest of a nearby chair to steady herself. He pulled the cord and the velvet dropped to the floor to expose the painting, causing loud and enthuisastic applause from everyone in the gallery. Under the sound of the applause and while they were all distracted, she quietly gave in to the orgasm she could no longer hold off.

"...The featured painting at last week's opening was a nearly lifesize image of a very attractive middle-aged woman, married, as evidenced by the depiction of her wedding rings, and clearly identifiable to any who may be fortunate enough to know her, by the smile and sparkling eyes. The painted scene showed the subject languidly reclining, her upper body supported by lush pillows set behind her, her right leg stretched toward the viewer while her left leg is bent away from her right, knee raised and foot flat on the cushions below. This arrangement of her legs affords a wide and very inviting view towards, and even into, the unconcealed mysteries between them...

"...The pleasing nakedness, desirability, and untamed sexuality of this courageous woman is surrounded by framed photos of her husband and children on one side, and an airline captain's cap on the other. As in any first-rate portrait, the face is where the viewer's attention goes first. But then, at least in this excellent painting, attention is drawn to the generous display of bare skin, highlighted by the curves of the breasts, rendered so well that they appear to extend from the surface of the canvas, offering ripe nipples yearning to be touched, perhaps by a tongue. Soon the viewer's eye is drawn to the juncture of the liberally open legs inward to the slightly open vagina, as if to invite the viewer into its mystical folds and the unfathomable depths within, perhaps to lightly caress the flirtatious little clitoris, just peeking out as though not wanting to miss out on the fun. The wetness of the flower petal-like folds is deliciously apparent, with a slight trickle of shiny fluid escaping from within, forming a silver pearl waiting to drop. The hand resting lazily on the small but luxurious patch of pubic hair crowning the womanly mound hides nothing, but adds a note of playfulness rivaled only by the delightful little anus, winking at us from underneath. The viewer is given plenty to feast on, thus one must constantly choose among her bright smiling face and eyes, her magnificent breasts yearning to be caressed, and the invitation beckoning from between her open legs. The painting, taken as a whole, is a glorious celebration of womanhood at its, or her, best. It is a generous gift to any viewer. And the subject is to be admired, or rather, worshipped, not only for her beauty but even more for her bravery in sitting for this exquisite painting..."

(Those two paragraphs were the words of the leading art critic, published in the following week's art and culture supplement.)

The applause died down just as her private climax subsided, and she composed herself enough to join Pierre in an embarassing but well-received discussion of the painting and its creation. She still hadn't had a chance to really look at what everone else had been looking at, but as questions and comments came up about various parts of the painting, she needed to look at those parts. That's when she first saw that her pussy was shown, even her clit! Apparently, she'd been so relaxed while posing that her legs had flopped apart, enough to open her lips. She saw that her hand didn't cover anything, in fact her fingers were lost in the dense thicket of her pubes! Even her wetness was there, and she now saw what everyone else was seeing: the whole inside of her pussy, shiny and pink and dripping! And her tits looked like they were lifting right off of the canvas! And somehow, Pierre even managed to get her asshole into the picture! She was glad she had shaved so carefully, even back there, but seeing all this, her mind was crashing back and forth between utter humiliation at being displayed, and overwhelming appreciation for the beauty of what she was seeing and genuine gratitude for Pierre's mastery of his art in portraying her so wonderfully.

Now she didn't care if anyone here knew her. Every woman had tits and a twat, even the women here tonight; she had just been given proof that hers, even at her age, were worth looking at, so let them look! She was proud to be the subject of such a beautiful work of art. She bravely answered the patrons' questions about what it was like to present herself in such a vulnerable pose, telling them that at first it had been intended for her husband only. They asked her for photographs, so she posed beside the painting, she on one side and her artist on the other. She made the same smile that Pierre had captured in the painting, but let the similarity end there. Except that she paid no attention to the folds of her gown shifting where they may. Again, she was glad she had shaved.

She asked for a phone and called her husband to turn the restaurant over to the manager and come, right away, to the gallery. She couldn't wait another minute to give him his surprise.

As George arrived and approached the painting, Angela hid behind it and jumped out as soon as he got close enough to really, really see it. He was overwhelmed to tears, and embraced his wife tightly. Stepping back so he could take in the full sweep of the canvas, he insisted that it hang in the private dining room of one of his restaurants, but Angela really wanted it to be in his den. Losing the argument, he commissioned Pierre on the spot for a second painting, just for the restaurant.