Art for Anything Pt. 02

She shook her head, taking the pipe and inhaling deeply. "You'd think so," she said stifling her breath. She exhaled with a whoosh. "But, well, first of all, I didn't go to school here. I hardly know anyone who models. But more critically," she breathed normally, "who would want to do this?" She waved to our genitals and the art against the walls.

I just shook my head, staring at the ceiling. Really? What red-blooded guy wouldn't do this? Okay, smart-guy, if you're so sure, why are you hesitating? I breathed for a bit, relishing the high and trying to find my way out of the maze of questions that kept popping up. "What are you talking about?" I couldn't help myself. "You are so fucking sexy. Shit any redblooded guy would gladly strip to get a piece of that!"

She looked at me alarmed and disgusted. "Oh. Is that what it is, a nice piece of meat." She pulled her labia apart and she pushed her pelvis up. "Like that? More of that?"

It was my turn to look...not disgusted, it was kind of sexy actually, but...disappointed. "Okay. Hold on. Let me think."

Her finger twisted in the loops of hair on my thigh sending little bursts up my spine. I draped my arm over her shoulders, my hand resting on the top of her breast.

I had research assistants. The firm paid them. Having sex with them was strictly prohibited by company policy for obvious reasons. It not only got complicated, it risked exposure to the firm for harassment. Wasn't this a lot like that? I had no idea how artist's paid their models.

"Okay, let's play this out for a minute, yeah?" I looked at her, waiting for her to turn her face from studying my thighs to look at me. "Let's say you had a model who fit the bill. What would he charge?"

She shrugged, her finger snagging on my hairs.

"Hey! Ouch!"

"Sorry," she smiled coyly. "Shit, I don't know. 10 bucks an hour maybe. 20?"

"I don't know Cheri. Let's say 20. It doesn't matter, because it's a business arrangement. He does what he's told, he gets paid. I'm sure you could find prostitutes or porn stars or whomever who could tell you what the going rates are, right?"

She looked disgusted.

"I'm not saying it's desirable, just that it's an easy problem to solve. Hire somebody to get erect and take their photograph. Right?"

She shook her head slowly, eyes beginning to brim. "I couldn't...," she whispered. "How could I?"

"Hmmm. Okay, so getting intimate with a prostitute for your art is too much. I can see that."

She looked at me like I was a venomous snake. "It's not that at all! Well, it is that a little, I guess, but shit, Chris, don't you get it? That image in there, that's the real thing. I'm about to take your cock down my throat. Those lips, that head," she poked at my cock, "they're about to get together. It wouldn't be the same with some guy faking it for a paycheck." She pulled her arms across her ribs and sat back.

I took the pipe and took another hit. No way I should have, but it was the closest thing to keeping me occupied. "But what about me?" I wasn't sure what I was saying. I was starting to have more than one-night-stand feelings for this woman, as crazy bat-shit as she might turn out to be.

She looked at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for more.

"Look. I...I'd like to see you again. But what if this," I waved around, "got in the way of this?" I waved at the two of our bodies so intimately entwined.

She reached up and pressed her lips to mine. "You are so fucking fine," she whispered, her fingers moving to my dick. She kissed me again and pulled a couple of inches away, closing her eyes. She sat back, her hand still on my member, which obliged her by swelling again.

I set down the pipe and wiped my face with both hands, trying to think. "Shit. I mean it. This has been one of the hottest dates I've ever been on. You are amazingly beautiful. You are making amazing art. You are independent, interesting, smart. Shit. I'd be an idiot not to want to see you again. But what if you weren't happy with the work I was doing in service of your art? What if my dick didn't stand up to meet your high standards?"

She giggled, squeezing it to emphasize her complete confidence in my abilities. "You're an idiot. Let's just start with that. What are you saying, I should pay you for your services?"

I hadn't said anything of the kind, but when she put it that way it made kinda sense. "Nooo...I'm not saying that exactly. But we should be clear about what is business and what is personal."

"I can't separate my art so cleanly," she squeezed again forcing my pelvis to push into her hand. "You want a piece?"

I wanted a piece alright and turned to let her know it. Pushing her shoulders down onto the couch I twisted around to lay on top of her, my lips against hers, my cock against her bristly hairs. "Damn right I want a piece. You got one?" I adjusted slightly feeling my head grazing her wet lips. She moved her hand, opening herself and guiding me in.

"Mmm hmm...right there. It's yours. Take me. Hard." She shoved her cunt up around me, swallowing me in as smooth a motion as the couch allowed.

My mind swirled in a cannabis fog, the velvet walls of her cunt squeezed me, milked at me, pulled me into her, her hands pulled my ass cheeks apart shoving me into her as deeply as she could. She pulled her knees out, pushing me a little away from the back of the couch, curling up to let me go deeper.

"FUCK! ME!" She split herself open, one leg on the couch back, the other drifting off the edge. I could feel her pubic hairs rubbing against mine, my cock as deep as it could go. I tried to pull back but she kept me pinned with her hands.

She moved her mouth to cover my lips and pushed her tongue into me, battering mine. We were locked together until she started to relax a little, letting me pull out slightly. I curved my back to pull out as far as I could, teasing her, letting my cockhead just dangle at her entrance.

"No...NO. NO! Fuck ME!" She tried to pull me back in but I resisted, teasing her. Her eyes were open, begging me. "Is that what you want?! You want me to beg for it? Yeah???"

I just smiled, noncommittally, waiting. That might be nice. I felt a little evil all of a sudden.

"Okay, you fucking bastard. Okay. Fuck me. Please fuck me! Fuck me with that beautiful cock. That hard cock. Shove it into me as hard and deep as you can. I need you. I want you. I can't go another minute without your beautiful hard dick deep in me...aaagggghh!"

I shoved it in...as hard as I could, until our bones hit. She grabbed my cheeks, pinching me harder, holding me tight insider her. I wasn't going to last much longer, in spite of all we'd done, but I wanted to hear her say it again. I pulled back, straining against her arms, my knees digging into the cushions. ½ inch by ½ inch until I was barely inside.

"You fucker..." she whispered, her fingers pushing at my asshole. "Just fuck me. Shove it into me. Take me. Hard, hard as you can! Brutalize me. You want me? You want this piece of ass? Show me how much you want it. FUCK ME HARD! SHIITTTTT!"

And I did as she asked. This time I went over the top, my sperm shooting into her when I bottomed out. I held inside her, pulsing my dick, feeling the walls of her pussy clamping down on me. I couldn't move. I didn't want to move. I collapsed onto her, her breasts squishing against me, her breath in my ear.

"thank-you," she whispered on each exhale. "thank you...thank you...thank you."

* - * - * - *

"But seriously," I looked at her across the table, the waitress having left our orders moments before. "We need to figure this out. I can't just be a piece of meat to you. That's no more fair than if you hired a hustler. Look at it from my point of view."

She looked around, alarmed for a moment we'd be overheard. It was a cute gesture, actually. All prim and business-like out in the real world, but a raw animal behind the safety of her doors. She took a bite and then a sip of juice. "You said you wanted a piece..." she left it unstated.

"A piece? Of what? Of your show?" I shrugged. That might work.

"No! I mean...oh...wait" Now she shrugged. "I hadn't meant that, but..."

"Well, what were you talking about? That you're my fuck toy in exchange for services rendered?"

She blushed and shssh'd me. Then she looked up under her brow, in that way, and nodded slightly.

"Nice. I like that, but no. No. Once your show is over then what? It's sayonara? That doesn't sound right for either of us. Don't you think we should at least give this thing a chance?"

"Which thing?"

I stopped to think. "Well, both things: your show and...and..." I waved my fork around, "whatever this is we're starting to get into. That was some good shit up there," I pointed vaguely to her apartment, blocks away. "I don't want to fuck that up with some kind of business arrangement. Do you?"

She blushed again and shook her head. "No. No. That was...that was in-fucking-credible." She said it quietly, embarrassed someone might hear. "No. I don't want to fuck that up." Her face did something, an expression that passed across it, almost too fast to notice. But I did.

"What? What's going on."

She blushed again and focused on her food, shaking her head.

"What, Cheri? I'm not going to play games here. You're asking me to expose myself to who knows who and you owe me. What?"

She looked up, frightened? Embarrassed? "I...wa...I wasn't quite truthful back there...when you asked me why I couldn't get a hundred guys to do this." She spoke into her plate, no louder than a whisper. "The part where I said I didn't know anyone?" She looked at me, like she was asking permission not to have say anymore.

I didn't have the slightest clue what she was talking about. I mean, I knew when she was talking about, but not where she was leading. I shrugged, raised an eyebrow and stared at her. I began to wonder just how old she was.

"That...wasn't completely true." She set down her fork and looked at me. "I...I...kinda burn bridges." Her face was pleading with me not to make her say more, but frankly I didn't hear enough to know what the fuck she was so worried about revealing.

"Like, when you went psycho on me at the breakfast table, or that last time on the couch?" I may have leered a little bit. I was starting to feel a little big brotherish and that didn't feel right at all.

Her face squeezed for a moment and I thought she was going to cry, but she just got annoyed. "Yeah. Psycho-bitch is one of the names I've got. That's one of the nice ones." She looked like she was ready to fight.

I just shrugged and took another bite. She had nothing on me. I was twenty years...well, maybe 10 years her senior...I definitely was looking forward to slipping into that glove again, but if it came attached to too much baggage...well...I mentioned I'm a devout bachelor, yeah?

"Fuck you." She turned back to her food, trying to get her emotions under control. Apparently she had some method; in a few bites she was back. "So, yeah. I'm a little unstable. Not too many folks can stick around. My shrink suggested I just come out with it as early as possible, clear the decks, make it easy for people to get out of the way if they don't want to deal with me."

"How's that working out for you?" I said it as nicely as I could. Unstable could mean a lot of things.

"You're my first. Couldn't find the right time to talk about it last night 'Hey, nice to meet you, I'm a little fucked up, are you thinking about the squid or the squab?', or this morning 'wait, let me pull your cock out of my throat I have to tell you I'm a little ziggy in the head'. Yeah, that wouldn't work. How's it feel now?" She was battling: between cringing and dukes ablazing.

"Doesn't change what we did. That was still fucking fantastic. I hope it would be just as good the next time. You have a sweet, tight little ass, and I loved fucking you. I liked the way you deep throated me too, by the way. Am I in any danger?" If it was 'being honest time' I figured I join in.

She was taken aback for a moment and then she choked on whatever she'd been eating, her face exploding into laughter. I reached up and slammed her back, even though I knew that's not what you're supposed to do. It didn't matter. She recovered her breath, only to break into giggles.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." She gulped for breath. "I really wasn't expecting that."

"So maybe your shrink's got something." I motioned to the waitress for a refill on the coffee.

She paused, regaining her composure. "No. I'm 'not a danger to others,' if that's what you mean. And I'm clean. At least when I got tested last month. You?"

It was a little late to discuss hygiene given how many fluids we'd exchanged, but I reassured her my last test came out clean.

So," she started again. "You might be interested in this...this...gig?"

"Which gig, again? The one where I get to fuck your brains out and shove my cock down your throat, or the one where I'm the subject of your art? I think it could go either way, but I'm having trouble figuring out how to do both, even though that's exactly what I think you're asking. Right?"

She clouded over again, especially at how loud she thought I was talking, even though I too had dropped to a hissed whisper. It was almost comical. Making it weirder was how hard I was getting again. All I wanted was to drag her back to her place and drive into her again.

"Look," she said quietly, but not so softly I had to strain. "The show has to be ready in six weeks. I figure I need about ten more pieces. It takes me, shit...I don't know...let's say about three days, average, to get the basic work done. Like the piece today. Those were just quick sketches. Studies. If I concentrated, I could probably whip that into a finished piece by mid-week. So, ten pieces, three days - that's a month. That leaves me a couple of weeks to spare, assuming I can keep up the pace. And then that part would be done. Over. But your part could be done in a few days...maybe...if we're...good." She licked her lips. Maybe it was just left over maple syrup, or maybe it was left over memories of my syrup.

"You're saying, we'd be done with the art stuff in a few weeks, but you'd like to still see me? You'd still want to fuck me, even though we weren't doing art?" I wasn't sure if I was angry, surprised or just trying to nail the concept. I wasn't being harsh.

She nodded, vulnerable.

"So, I'm going to ask again, since I really don't know what the fuck to say: what's the right thing to do? I'm willing to be your model, okay? But we've got to work out the terms so neither of us gets hurt. Make sense?"

She nodded, relief passing across her face even as she blushed again.

"What?"

She shook her head. "I...no, it was just a random thought. I can't." She looked around as if by explanation.

"Fuck that. Nobody can hear us. What were you thinking?" I had a few ideas about terms, like taking a piece of her show, or having her paint me a piece, or any number of possibilities, but her behavior had piqued my curiosity.

"I...I'm willing to..." She stopped, her face frozen, looking at me, shaking her head just slightly.

"Cheri. Just tell me what you're thinking. Nobody's going to strike you down. After what we've done, you'd need to say something pretty surprising to raise any alarms. Just tell me." I reached over and grabbed her hands, rubbing the webbing between her thumb and forefingers.

"I...I'd be willing to do," she dropped her voice to barely a whisper, "anything you asked me to." She looked down and then back up to see if I was still there. "Anything. I mean it." The last she said looking me straight in the eyes.

I wasn't sure where that was going to go, but I kept it on deposit for the moment. I smiled, probably too widely, but enough to let her know I was intrigued. Something about her..."I'll have to think about that," I said, leaving her on the hook. "But before we go down that road, I need you to be very honest with me." I waited until I was sure she was listening. "Tell me exactly how old you are."

She looked like a punctured balloon, all the tension in her face and shoulders just collapsed. "Is that all? I'm 26! Well, next week. Really?" She looked at me like I was a little crazy. "I tell you I'll do anything and all you want to know is how old I am?"

I shook my head, keeping her attention, hiding my surprise at her revelation. I knew she was older than 21, art school, marriage, but only 26? She must not have been married long, or maybe while they were still in school. It didn't matter, but it did explain a little more about her behavior. "I didn't say that was what I expected of you. We'll need to discuss that later. And that isn't what I meant about terms. What you're willing to do I think goes into the personal fuck-toy column. When I was talking terms, I meant something more material. Like how much are you listing your paintings for?"

She looked surprised, almost affronted for a moment and then smiled, her fingers curling into mine. "Personal fuck-toy column? Really? Hmmm, that sounds way more interesting than money."

I squeezed her fingers and held them, tight. "I'm serious, Cheri. You want me to do this for you? It's got to be business. We'll sort out whatever it is you want to do for me, and believe me, when you say 'anything' you need to be very careful. I've got a few years on you. You can't begin to imagine what I might take 'anything' to mean."

She looked a little frightened, glancing down at our hands, whether because of how hard I was gripping her fingers or the direction the conversation was going. "Okay. Okay. Shit. I was just fucking around." She didn't move her hands though.

"So? How much?"

"The gallery suggests about $1000." She shrugged, wriggling her fingers against my palms. That felt good. "It doesn't matter to me. If I sold all of them, it wouldn't be enough to live on."

"How many did you say you needed in all?"

She screwed up her lips, calculating. "They said twenty minimum, but if I felt like doing more, they could switch some out during the run. I've got about fifteen done, pretty much, but I'm not sure I'd use them all, especially after..." She stopped and looked down, her gaze boring a hole through the table. "After I got inspired last night." She giggled again and pulled her fingers free. "You ready to go?"

I nodded, not finished with the conversation, but I figured we could keep talking on our way to my car. I called for the check and she insisted on splitting it. Shit, who was I to argue? I was just a researcher— she seemed to be independently wealthy. Crazy as a loon, but loaded and...horny. Horny as fuck all.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you." We were settling into my car, getting ready to drive her back to hers. "Why does your pussy smell so good? Like lavender or something. Lavender, right?"

"Is that how we're going to talk from now on? 'How come your pussy smells so good?'" She shook her head, smiling at me. "It kinda turns me on. You need to be careful."

I smiled and waited. "So?"

"I'm glad you noticed..."

"Noticed? How couldn't I notice? You smell fucking fantastic—as good after a fuck as when I went down on you. I've never smelled anything like it..." I almost said any cunt like it, but I've learned the hard way. Way too soon to fuck this one up.

"Yes. Lavender and Rose Water. I drink a ton of it every day. At least a gallon. My ex taught me. He'd read about it somewhere and he really liked to eat pussy, so I got into the habit. I don't need to douche, that's for sure. You really like it?" She asked as if we were talking about a necklace.

"Fuck yes. In fact..." I looked down between her legs, hopefully making it obvious.