Andromeda

Finally, his cheeks slick with my juices, he rises and drapes my legs over his shoulders. Then, thrusting his hardened organ against my lips he bids me suck.

Eagerly, I obey, drawing him deeply into my mouth, swirling my tongue around his heavy shaft until it rests like iron against my palate. He’s close, so close, and already I can taste the first droplets of his semen upon my tongue…but then he stops!

I open my lips to protest, but he stills me with a touch. Then, stretching my thighs higher…higher, he shifts position and presses his swollen sex against my narrower passage. I squirm, my traitorous arousal flowing wetly between my buttocks, and with a sigh he gives a mighty lunge.

Oh! The pain! If our last encounter left me stretched and bruised, it was nothing compared to this! Here, in this chair, in this position, I have no buffer from by which to inhibit his massive intrusion. I cry out, my lips forming the word “No” in silence, but no sound escapes into the wet pulse of the room.

Again he lunges, filling my body with his hot, hardened flesh, pounding inside of me until I writhe beneath him, lost in the tormented bliss he offers. Then, with a brush of his thumb upon my clit, I explode. Screaming, I tear at my bonds, I rut against him as he penetrates my very being. Finally, with one Herculean lunge, he groans his intent and gushes forth, filling my body with the molten offerings of his sex.

We have joined, body and soul. We have climbed the pinnacle. We are one.

Our last dawn creeps slowly over the horizon, bringing with it a dread of the day to come. Paris, and our old lives await. Our brief respite has passed, and the world closes in upon us once more.

What will become of us in the days to come, I wonder. Will we go our separate ways once the world intrudes into what we’ve come to know in this place? We have accomplished all that we set out to do and the sketches are breathtaking, but in our victory have we lost a more important truth?

We make love in the big bed one last time, touching as though it will be our last. The cottage seems to mourn our loss almost as much as we regret our exile from it. By tomorrow the magic will be gone and the bustling streets of Paris will swallow the memory that was our gift. Etienne will go about his business, a lauded artist, and I will take on another modeling assignment, alone once more.

I think now of Rostand and his distain, of the faceless men before him, and realize I can’t go back to that. Perhaps I will once more be welcomed back into my father’s home, a prodigal child begging for forgiveness for my wayward past. I will find a sedate farmer, or perhaps a fisherman, breeding him a school of fine, fat children while I try to forget that this time in the cottage ever existed.

But no, it will never come to pass, I can never forget. Etienne has become a part of me. I will see his face in every man who crosses my path until my journey finally comes to an end. I belong to him. My fate is sealed.

Etienne too seems devoured by the loss of what we’ve found in this place. His motions are sluggish and hesitant as he prepares his supplies for our departure. I feel his eyes upon me, longing for a solution where one is not possible. We are two separate people once more. We are lost.

Finally, all is at ready, and the carriage is loaded. We close the door behind us and the trappings of civilization once more embrace out lives.

I turn one last time to bid farewell to our cottage by the sea, and then suddenly realize that I’m not leaving it all. If what we shared here, in this enchanted place had any truth to it, then it’s now a part of us. We will carry it through the days and years to come. This place was but the framework for the painting…the real masterpiece lies within us.

Etienne seems to read my thoughts, and takes my hand as he did on the hill above so long ago. It is not to comfort me now, as it was then. It is a promise.

I am his. He is mine.

The portrait is complete.