Art for Art's Sake

Once in the car, she slid her hand up under the hem of her skirt, and confirmed the arousal had migrated to her sex. She was dripping wet, and as she started her car, and pulled into the light traffic, left her hand buried in her lap, massaging her engorged clitoris. She arrived home, pulled into the garage, and sat there masturbating until she brought herself to orgasm. She hurried to her studio, and dug through her notebooks to find the drawings she had done last year when Art had modeled. They were so good, so much deeper and full of feeling than her current work. She could see her own desire in the work, and was compelled to act on that desire again. She placed the pictures on her desk, her easel, anyplace there was room, sat n her chair, and slid her hand back to her still sensitive pussy. She gazed at her drawings and they gazed back at her. She felt Art's presence in them, and suddenly felt like the hand that was again massaging her pussy was Art rubbing her to ecstasy. She lost sense of time in his eyes. All she was aware of was his look and the electrified magma flowing through her veins. It didn't feel like solo sex. It felt like he was there fucking her vigorously. She thought she saw his eyes roll back as he prepared to cum, but actually it was her own that fluttered. As her body began to spasm again, she imagined she saw the picture smile.

No, when she returned to earth, the drawing was unchanged. It was she who was changed. She knew she loved Andrew. She knew he meant so much and had done so much for her. But she also knew she needed Art. She needed Art in a different way. She needed Art's leather jacket because Andrew wore tweed. She needed Art's Harley because Andrew drove a Mercedes. She needed Art's muscular build because Andrew was small and wiry. Andrew was good, so she needed a bad boy.

She hadn't heard Andrew come home. His footsteps coming upstairs startled her. She quickly straightened her clothing as he stepped into the studio. He closed the distance between them and kissed her.

"I am really high on this Art Donovan character." He began as if she had just stepped out of the gallery office. "His work is very unique, I think you'll enjoy it. I tried to get him to show me some of his portraits, he's supposed to be quite good."

Ali realized the drawings were still out. She tried to maneuver so Andrew's back would be towards them. He continued to babble on about Art's work, making pun after pun on the word play between name and profession, Art's art. She laughed politely at the puns, and nodded in recognition of what Andrew was saying, but was trying desperately to get him out of the room before he spotted the drawings, or worse the feelings she had carefully drawn within them. She had just about moved them out into the hall, when he spun to ask her what she wanted for dinner. He clearly saw the pictures.

"Oh my!"

She thought for a second she was discovered. She though she was going to be scolded for infidelity that until nowe xisted only in her thoughts. Andrew wasn't that good. He either didn't understand the art well enough to see behind the superficial face into the artists thoughts and mind, or he didn't know Ali well enough yet to read her work. Either way, all he saw was the beautiful results of his wife's one session with Art as her model. He looked the drawings over carefully, bantering on about how she really did meet him before and seemed really astute at capturing the man on the page.

"After I saw him, I just had to go back and see what I had done when he modeled for me...I mean my class."

"It's very good honey! Say, do you think it would be too self promoting for me to do a show of your works?"

Ali laughed, and ushered Andrew downstairs. Glad to have dodged a bullet.

The next day, Andrew came home with startling news.

"Well its going to happen, I'm going to see his portraits. But I need your help."

Ali knew instantly Andrew was talking of Art. She winced at the thought of Andrew playing so close to the area she most wanted him to be far from. She would have no luck in that matter though.

"He said I could see his portraits only after I permitted him to paint yours. I of course agreed! If his show goes well next week, we could follow it with an all portrait show in the spring."

"You what?"

"I told Art I wanted to show his portraits in the spring."

"No, before that. You said he could paint me?"

"I did."

Ali was outraged at first, that she had no say in the matter. But as she considered it, she warmed to the idea. It would be the perfect cover for her to fulfill the desire to be with him.

"When?"

"You don't have class tomorrow afternoon, I told him you'd come to his loft. Here is his address and directions."

Andrew handed her a card. The next day she dressed sexy-conservative. Nothing was revealed but everything was well defined. She knocked on the door to his place, and he hollered for her to come in.

She entered the large open apartment. A bedroom occupied the upper level on one side, with a kitchen area beneath it. The rest of the space was an open loft, and Art's paintings, finished and not were distributed throughout the room. She didn't see any portraits though, and was curious what the fuss was about. I asked him.

"The portraits are very personal."

She understood an artist guarding his work. Sometimes they just say too much. She had guarded her sketches the previous night for the same reason. She didn't want Andrew knowing too much about how she lusted for Art.

"You'll need to know why, before I paint yours."

She was very puzzled.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded. He led her to a stack of canvases he had draped. He removed the drape, and she gasped. Staring back at her was a portrait of professor Cruz, nude, sitting quite provocatively, with a look of animal desire on her face. The eyes drew Ali into the emotion of the model, and she understood the pure lust she felt was what was blazing from her mentor's likeness. Art, slid the painting aside to reveal another. This one featured two of the women from the evening class. They were entangled in each others arms and legs, making love to each other as only two women could. The third portrait was of an English professor's wife, the fourth of the president's wife. Canvas after canvass, she recognized the women staring back at her with lust. Actually they weren't staring at her. She was standing in the painter's place. They were staring at Art with these super desirous expressions as he captured them in oils..

"Take off your clothes."

It wasn't a request. It wasn't polite. It left no room for her to say no. Used to being pampered and spoiled by her husband, Ali turned to look at him, astonished by his forward attitude. She wanted to fuck him, but she didn't expect it to be without choice.

"No!"

She denied her desire, and refused his command. When she turned to face him, he was naked. His body was so beautifully proportioned. His muscles were well defined through his skin, and he didn't carry an ounce of fat. His tan was even all over, and his long hair flowed to his shoulders. His dick was large, hard and delicious looking. She realized he could see right through her bravado.

"You have no choice. You know it. I know it. You can see it in their eyes." He gestured to the women. "Each of them came here to be painted. Each of them knew what they wanted. Each of them objected. All of them stayed, and all of them come back. Now take your clothes off."

Ali turned to face the portraits. She could see he was right. She could see it in their eyes. She didn't see him come up behind her, but she felt his body press to her back. Her butt twitched at the arrival of his fat cock, but she felt warmed as his arms wrapped around her. He caressed her breasts gently, and leaned back into him as he whispered.

"That isn't how this is going to be."

He grasped her light sweater at her breasts and ripped it from her body. Stunned, she began to object, but quickly realized, she was in his grasp. One hand released the front clasp on her bra, and the other held her close. He quickly, and roughly loosened her pants, and as she struggled, lowered her face down on the floor. He tugged and pulled until her pants were off her legs. As he grappled her panties, she screamed "NO" again, but there was no one within a mile of his secluded place that could hear her. He shredded the little bikini, as she kicked back at him, unable to make contact in the position where he held her. He spanked her bare ass when she managed to connect a back hand to his face, and she realized he was in complete control. Her struggles stopped.

"You wanted me for a long time. You wanted me when you drew me."

She nodded to both statements, still fearing his strength.

"You wanted me since you saw me on your tour, when you first visited."

She hadn't been aware that he had seen her, and noticed what she felt. This embarrassed her, that her thoughts were such an open book to him.

He stood, and pulled her to her feet. He swept her into his arms and carried her up the steps to the bed. His arms felt powerful, and she imagined she was nothing but a toy in his hands. He stood her on her feet, sat on the bed. Then he took her hair on both hands, and pulled her head down to his cock as he laid back. He drove his cock right into her mouth, which was now eager to taste him, to feel him, to please him. His grip on her hair relaxed as she suckled his cock, and guided her firmly in an oral tour of her intimate region. He didn't come fast. She was kind of used to being able to get the job done quickly, as Andrew was putty in her hands, or under her tongue. Art was obviously enjoying her efforts, but didn't succumb to even her best moves quickly. Finally, she hit the mark, and she felt what seemed like gallons of semen spray into her eager mouth. She worked hard not to gag. She worked hard to take every drop. When she did, he simply got up leaving her alone on the bed. He stepped into the bathroom, and when he came out, tossed her a towel.

"Shower." He said. Be downstairs ready to work in 5 minutes. Don't get your hair wet."

She raced obediently through he shower, and arrived ready to pose within minutes. Andrew placed her on the couch, posing her seductively in a reclining position. He opened the draperies on his deck door and the shades on the skylight, and the room was flooded with afternoon sunlight. Andrew took a moment to shoot some photographs, and then set to work with the live model.

Ali understood the look of lust in his models eyes. She had just given him amazing oral sex, getting to know that big dick as intimately as one could. The taste was still in her mouth, and the feel was still on her lips. She couldn't take her eyes off it as he worked, swaying back and forth flaccid but still huge and inviting. He paid her no heed, and continued to work on the canvas. She again lost track of the passing of time, and when he finally said he was tired, realized dusk had fallen on the river outside his window, and what was an afternoon sitting lasted until evening.

"Go." He said. "Come next week, same time. If I need you earlier, I'll call."

"But my clothes are all..."

"Next time, don't argue. It just makes things difficult. Now go."

She began to gather the rags on the floor that used to be her clothing. The jeans were all that she could still wear. The impatient look he shot her drove her from the room, and she put the jeans on outside by her car. She was forced to drive home half naked, and was relieved she was not spotted the couple of times she had to leave secluded back roads to cross busy intersections. She was equally relieved to see Andrew's side of the garage empty, as she pulled in. She raced up to her studio, took out her drawings, and began to masturbate furiously. She came quickly, because the afternoon's activity had been so erotic. Then she began to paint.

Professor Cruz was delighted. Ali brought her the new painting a week later, and was pleased it was received with such acclaim. Apparently, the edge that was missing was back. Professor Cruz also noticed the look in Ali's eye, and recognized it from Art's portraits. She placed a hand on Ali's shoulder, kissed her protégé's forehead, and whispered to her how happy she was that Ali had found her way to an edge.

Ali returned the next week, but this time undressed in the car. She felt good, free even as she sauntered to the door. She had spent an uneventful week, with Andrew. Routine days, routine nights, routine sex, routine routines. She had found great solace in her painting, and had done some work she really liked. It was the only release for this pent up energy she felt, the desire for Art surrounded by the mediocrity of Andrew.

Art's show had opened, and the review were great. His time was coming, and it was to Andrew's credit to have exhibited him first. The gallery was doing better than ever. He had become the place to view, and to buy, and many well to do clients made the trek up from the city to visit. Berlin's Walls had arrived.

All she thought of was Art. And when she walked in was struck by his look. It was as if her drawing was looking at her again, and out of habit, she began to massage her clit immediately.

"No. That is for you to do on your own time. This is my time. Go up to the bed, but don't sit on it."

She obeyed. He followed moments later, naked like last week, hard as steel. She was kneeling beside the bed as he crested the stairs.

"Much better this week," he said. "Let's get to work."

As last week, he took her by the hair and pulled her to his groin. She had anticipated this, and even looked forward to it. It was almost a relief when she felt the dull pain of his action. The pain was actually pleasant, because she knew it would be followed by the sweet musk of his sex fucking her mouth. She reveled in her oral task today, and he responded again by spewing a copious amount of semen into her mouth. She savored the task today, and effortlessly took his load without flaw.

He rose, tossed her a towel and commanded her to shower, and headed downstairs. When she arrived she assumed exactly the same position as last week. He resumed work, and as before, dismissed her at dusk. Though her clothing was beside her in the car, she again drove home naked.

The third week followed the pattern of the other two, but this time at dusk, he came to her on the couch before dismissing her. He was fully erect, and she was dripping wet as usual. He spread her legs roughly, and mounted her without foreplay. She gasped as his girth spread her further than she had ever been stretched. Air gargled in the back of her throat as he slowly slid his length deep inside her, filling the void that had longed for this moment. She continued to moan as he thrust his hips to her pelvis, driving his hard meat to places she wasn't sure she'd felt before. Her clit stretched tightly as well, and when he began to speed his pace, it didn't take long for one plus one to equal two. She began to cum, and as her body stiffened, she felt him take it up a notch. As her orgasm subsided, she thought she had found heaven, but heaven wasn't waiting for anything. It kept humping her now pulsating pussy, and showed no sign of being finished. The massive cock forced its way in and out, repeatedly and rapidly, as the ecstatic girl came again, and again. Wave of orgasm gave way to new wave, and she wasn't sure if she was feeling many, or one that just didn't want to end. Eventually, Art's rhythm changed, and his body stiffened. She felt the warmth of his seed fill her, and was aware of it seeping out the sides of her pussy as his cock squeezed it and filled the space.

He collapsed on top of her. She was pleased that she had finally had such an effect on him, as until then he had treated her efforts as if they meant little. She felt so small beneath the weight of this big man. But when he finally rolled off her, she wanted nothing but to feel him back there again.

"Go." He muttered. "You husband bought your portrait, he commissioned it. Tell him I will bring it next week, at our normal time. I will hang it in your bedroom....his request. Be there to let me in."

She left, naked again. This time she was aware of his semen leaking all over her seats. There was no shame or worry of being discovered this time, it actually felt good to her. She stopped for gas. She pulled into the full serve pump. The pimply faced attendant came to her window, and was already gawking, mouth opened at her naked body when she rolled the window down. She beckoned him close with a finger. He leaned to her window. She took his hand, and placed it on a bare breast. She then took a finger and dipped it in her pussy, scooping out a glaze of her juices mingled with Art's semen. She touched his lips, and as he opened his mouth, placed her juicy finger on his tongue.

"Fill it up." She said seductively to the kid. "Premium. And it's free today, right?'

He nodded and did her bidding. As the gas pumped, he slowly and carefully cleaned the windshield, twice. The pump clicked off, and before he could replace it she beckoned him to the window.

"Did you check my oil?"

He shook his head no. She reached through the window, slid her hand down his pants, and grasped his throbbing penis.

"Well, next time I come by, I'll teach you how. You have to know how to handle a dipstick."

His pulse raced, and he simply couldn't contain his excitement. He came in her hand. She pulled it from his pants slowly as his orgasm subsided. She wiped it clean on his shirt.

"Wear this with pride sweety. Now you have a story to tell."

He replaced the pump, and closed the cap. She drove off watching him gaze after her in the mirror, laughing hysterically.

"Oh my, what a naughty little girl you are becoming."

She ravaged Andrew in bed that night. Fucking Art in the afternoon and then jerking off a complete stranger on the way home had a profound effect on her. She wanted to share her new found zeal with her husband. He however, didn't last long, and she was left virtually alone, insatiably horny, beside a snoring spouse. She went to her studio, naked, and began to paint.

She painted all night. Andrew laughed it off saying he could never understand the creative genius, or their unusual habits, but he didn't want to get in her way. She made a habit of painting naked, loving both the free feeling and the occasional paint that dripped on her body. She began to love the paint as much as the work, and often became distracted by painting designs on her own skin. For a solid week, she barely dressed, barely ate and barely slept. Her work was inspired however.

Prof Cruz was delighted. Ali's work now had the edge she had seen before, only it was even more pronounced. She recognized the look of experience in Ali's face, and suspected Art had a hand in it. She invited Ali to an evening sitting, with a nude model. A nude Art.

That Thursday, Ali entered the studio at school wearing a loose white blouse and even looser shorts. It was obvious there was no bra beneath the blouse, as the thin fabric was nearly transparent. Paintings appeared as tattoos, their dark hues contrasting with her skin, and showing clearly through the blouse. Ali spread her paints on her palette, and her legs wide on the stool in such a way that Art could see clearly up her short legs to her cleanly shaved pussy. She leaned forward as she placed her canvas on the easel, showing her naked breasts clearly beneath her low neckline.

Art was a cool character, and was not one to be easily distracted. He was not, however, used to a distraction as attractive as Ali. Ali was also his current lover, and he wasn't used to seeing them in situations where he didn't have total control. He didn't expect her, and as such hadn't planned his course of action. Here she was, out of reach, with her tits in plain view and her pussy dripping. There he was, reclining on a divan, being drawn by a group of women, and he couldn't keep his eyes off Ali. His cock grew steadily, until it stood at attention in full view of the full class. There were many smiles, but not on Ali's face.