Art for Art's Sake

"There is a lot of me, and of Art in the photo. Note the realistic texture in the hair. He laid actual strands of my hair into the paint. He also mixed the combined wetness from our sex with the paint as he painted my skin."

They now regarded the portrait silently. After a time, Ali motioned to them to follow her, and led them to her studio. She rummaged through a stack of her works until she found the studies she had done of Art, and finally placed the infamous genital portrait she had done.

Cruz was again fascinated, and resumed her study of Ali's work where she had left off before dinner. Ali watched the reaction of her guests. Art had reappeared from the living room when the company moved to the studio, and it was his turn to be stunned by the way a lover and an artist had seen and painted him. It didn't take long for the critic to show why his eye was respected.

"My word, your background is the subject! The foreground is really a distraction!"

It was as if a different colored light had been switched on. New figures and nuances spring to life as the guests realized the genius of their host. A newly enlightened Andrew moved from painting to painting, realizing the real meaning behind the familiar paintings in Ali's studio. Just when the guests began to speak, and marvel at her work, he asked them to leave.

They weren't shocked. As much as they wanted to stay and look, they understood completely. They filed out silently. Art lingered for a moment, and caught Andrew's eye. Andrew broke the tension.

"Please just leave."

Art turned to go. Ali, looked at Andrew, and understood. Her meant her as well.

She followed Art out of the studio, out of the house, and climbed into the front seat of his van. The ride to his house was silent. The walk into the house was silent. She climbed the stairs to his bedroom, and undressed silently. She kissed him silently. So silently. They entered their first encounter as equals, neither asserted their turf, neither treated the other roughly. There was no domination, no humiliation. They had scratched that itch at Andrew's expense. They fell asleep, physically and emotionally drained.

The next morning she woke to the brilliant light of the sunrise streaming through the windows of Art's studio. The apartment seemed roomier, and she realized it was strangely empty. She didn't notice the erotic portraits were missing as she peered over the railing of the loft bedroom to watch Art, already at his easel, painting a mildly interesting abstract. He stood there, naked, backlit by the morning sun, and she realized something had changed. Perhaps he had satisfied her desire for him. Perhaps she realized that he was just not wired to be the 'til death do we part type. It seemed she wasn't either. But as she gazed on him, she realized she had no desire to ever come to him again. She thought about Andrew, and knew that her feelings towards him had also changed forever. She didn't hate Andrew, as a matter of fact she felt quite warmly towards him. He had been her first love, she had married him. He had been so devoted to her, he had chosen a business that she could be involved with professionally.

Ali dreaded their meeting. She dreaded facing Andrew. Her marriage was no doubt over. Her life was in limbo. The pre-nup she had signed at Andrew's father's insistence would ensure she left the marriage with nothing. He had been afraid they were too young to be sure of such a big step, and had insisted on an agreement that required Ali and Andrew remain married for at least 5 years and produce children before she could make community property claims. Seems he was a wise man. She walked right into her house where her husband waited.

"I'm sorry Andrew. It may sound hollow and shallow, but I am sorry. I guess your dad was right, I didn't know what I wanted. I probably still don't. You gave me everything, and I gave nothing back."

He nodded, and stood silently digesting what she had said. He seemed to understand. And though he showed no warmth to Ali, he showed no animosity either.

"I've already contacted my lawyer to start the divorce. There is nothing to contest. I've gotten you a room at the hotel near campus for the next month, until you get your own place arranged. There is an envelope on the table. It contains enough cash for you to retain a lawyer if you wish, but with our pre-nup, it would probably be a waste of money. There is some extra cash to live on. I expect you'll sell some work in the exhibition, so you'll be able to support yourself after that."

"Exhibition? I won't sell anything at a student show!"

"I couldn't care less about your show at school. You're opening a show at Berlin's Walls next week."

"You can't do that! That's my work! You can't assume its ok to do as you please with my paintings."

"You did the work, but the only paintings you own are those you did at school. You did those here, with supplies purchased by the gallery, and since I had the business buy my residence for me, you painted them in gallery property. I own what's in that studio."

She was aghast. The irony of him controlling her entire opus, with all of its hidden background commentary was nearly unbearable. But she had no choice. He was right, he owned them, and he had them locked away.

"I would have preferred you as my love, Ali, as my wife. But when you said you were sorry that you didn't give anything back, you were wrong. You gave me a career path, and the paintings you've given me might be worth a small fortune on their own someday. I'll invite you to your opening. I have a mover coming to pack your belongings. They will be delivered to your hotel suite. I hope you become fabulous and famous, and I hope you find a happy life, but I want you to leave me alone....please."

He turned and left the room. Ali drifted down the hall to what used to be her studio. It was locked. There were tears in her eyes. She would miss this house, and this studio. She would miss Andrew more. Her emotions ran strong just then, which meant one thing. It was time to paint. She'd need a new model. She stepped outside and gently closed the door.

Andrew watched her slowly move towards her car through the sheers on the living room windows. Two slender arms wrapped around him from behind, and a lithe naked body pulled close in a sweet embrace.

"You got it all Andrew. You have made Art into a rising star with that exhibition of his lesser work, and then 'guilted' him into selling you all those incredible erotic portraits he's been painting all those years. You set him up for the guilt yourself, by having him paint your own wife, knowing she'd wind up fucking his brains out, so she leaves thinking she has no choice but accept your terms of divorce. You set her up in temporary living conditions, with enough money to get by for a year or so as a starving student, so she won't even think of making contact or contesting anything until the divorce is final. So you are out of a marriage that was all about your convenience. You also talk her into believing she retains no rights to ownership of her work. She has walked out of everything, and look, she's smiling. She believes she got the best of it."

Andrew was smirking the grin of the cat that just got the mouse. Only his mice didn't know they'd been eaten alive!

"Mmm hmm," he answered "Art didn't blink when I told him what I wanted in return for not taking any action for his fucking my wife. He sold me those paintings for a song, and all I have to do is hold them for a while, they'll be worth a fortune."

"And what do you think of Ali's paintings. Do you have a plan for them?

He smiled even broader.

"You know, I didn't expect her to get so good so fast! I just wanted her to play the part of the vulnerable young wife to get at Art's portraits. She just cranked so many out so fast, and they are amazing. I think I'll open a show of only six or seven pieces. They'll no doubt be the talk of the town. I'll keep the rest in safe storage, and once the first group re-sells a couple of times and drives her value up. I'll start leaking more out a couple of years apart. She'll never know how much money she made me. And you know, she was a pretty good fuck too!"

The arms around him reached up and brutally twisted his nipples. He twisted away, laughing.

"Don't worry baby. She never compared to you. After all, why be happy with the student when you can have the master?"

Cruz grinned as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She unzipped his pants as he did. As they slipped to the floor, she tugged his boxers down sharply. They followed his pants to his ankles, and she hooked her legs up over his hips. He twisted her down to the couch beside them.

"So, about this picture hanging in the bedroom..."

"Relax professor, I'm going to hang her picture in her gallery. I figure His exhibition of portraits would benefit from having it hanging at the entry, and her exhibition will benefit from having it hang right next door. Of course, it won't be for sale, it will wind up being famous and will be an attraction for a long time"

"Then what about the bedroom wall."

He continued, as he slid his hard cock into her eagerly dripping pussy

"Well there is this one portrait Art painted," his thrust slowly slid fully into her. Her eyes rolled back into her head in anticipation.

"It is of this sexy Latina, hot tits, cute round ass," his thrusts came faster and harder. So did her breathing.

"And a look in her eyes that says 'Fuck me!'" He was slamming into her now.

"YES!" she screamed. "FUCK ME! FUCK ME HARD!"

"No problem," he thought "My pleasure."

His pleasure indeed.