Artistic Impressions Pt. 02

Artistic Impressions Part 2

There is no penetration in this Part, but a good dose of eroticism. It sets the story up, hopefully, for a gratifying conclusion.

Chapter Three: The Sketch

Sandra did not know how she had ended up agreeing to pose for the sketch pad of her boss's employee. She consoled herself with the thought that at least Jeff was likeable and shy like herself.

Jeff arrived promptly at two o'clock. He had been waiting somewhere near outside for several minutes, to ensure that he could press the bell right on time. He was decidedly nervous at visiting his bosses' house and sketching his bosses' girlfriend. What if Frank took exception to his ogling her? His boss could be unpredictable at times and was very overbearing.

Sandra opened the door, wearing a navy-blue silk dressing gown. She looked very captivating with her olive complexion and dark hair contrasted with the dressing gown. His eyes were drawn instantly to the outline of her impressive bust. He had to force himself to appear to be examining her with an appraising eye, rather than a lusting stare.

She noticed his approving demeanour, but could not avoid a pang of embarrassment. She felt very underdressed. The gown was loosely tied and its collar spread outwards as she bent forward as he passed her in the doorway. It was deliberate: to let him see part of her bra, to inform him that she was not naked under the dressing gown.

He interpreted it quite differently, as deliberate provocation. His mood bucked up in anticipation.

As she walked ahead of him, she enjoyed the feel of the silk against her mostly exposed flesh within the garment. It draped elegantly over the curves of her breasts, belly and hips, and rubbed erogenously against her skin as she walked. These were new and pleasing sensations, which daunted her.

"We're going to do it in the lounge, with me sitting on an easy chair. Have you brought all you need?

Jeff nodded. He was bearing a large shoulder bag. He tapped it affectionately. "It's all in there."

Sandra led the way into the spacious room. Jeff followed, now constantly fixated on her wonderful bottom.

Frank was standing by a drinks' cabinet. He was feeling uneasy and didn't notice Jeff's stare. He endeavoured to be the magnanimous host, but his mind was plagued with the discussions he had had with Sandra.

"Come in, Jeff. Good of you to come. I think we'll all be a bit apprehensive to start with. How about a drink to settle you down? I'd recommend a brandy."

Jeff accepted gratefully. He was nervous about sketching his boss's girlfriend in her underwear. He still didn't quite understand how a chance conversation had ended up at this. Nor did he fully trust Frank to remain relaxed when Sandra disrobed. He was of course unaware of the couple's earlier costume try-out.

Sandra stood with her hands on her hips. "Excuse me, I'd like a brandy as well. I'm the one that's exposing myself." That little display of assertiveness helped to still her qualms a little.

Frank poured her a modest brandy and she drank it straight down. She pushed her glass towards him, demanding a top up.

Frank looked at her sharply, but obliged her anyway, then turned to practicalities.

"I suggest that Sandra sits in an armchair, where she can be comfortable."

Jeff looked at the chair and frowned. "But the side views of her will be blocked by its arms. There'll be little to sketch."

He looked around the room. White walls were hung with an array of pictures in gold-effect frames. The floor was cushioned by a deep pile light-buff coloured carpet. Against one wall in a corner, near a window overlooking the garden, was a '70s retro hanging chair of rattan lattice work. It was suspended from a slender, curved white steel arm. Its shape was globular and it had a white padded seat cushion. The large gaps between the wickerwork allowed the occupant be seen from all sides, and let in plenty of light all around the chair.

"What about the hanging chair. It would be perfect. What do you think Sandra?"

She stared at it, and an image came to mind of Twiggy, the sixties' supermodel, sitting in such a chair. Sandra's body was shapelier, but the pose appealed to her.

"I think that would do well."

Frank protested. He was concerned that Jeff would be seeing too much flesh; that was his privilege and rare at that. "But we decided on a pose in a proper chair."

She felt bold, willing to expose herself for a compelling display. Her stomach churned at the thought of Jeff getting an all-round view of her scantily clad figure. But she over-ruled Frank. "I'm the model. I say we use the cane chair. You can take your pictures whilst Jeff sets up his equipment."

Frank looked unhappy, but said nothing. He had been excited initially by the idea of getting Sandra into underwear, but after their sexy session this morning his desire had been satisfied. Now, he was beginning to feel jealous at the prospect of sharing a privileged view of her semi-naked body with the younger man.

"Good, that's settled," she asserted, oblivious to Frank's obvious disapproval.

The room was light and airy, so natural light would suffice. Frank went off sulkily to get his camera.

When he returned, Sandra took it from him. That was to remind him that the contents would be her property that day. Jeff had turned an armchair round to face the cane chair, and placed a coffee table beside it. He sat down.

"Are we ready?" she asked. Jeff thought her singularly velvety tone unusually seductive. A frisson of excitement rippled through him.

Frank was standing the other side of the coffee table. There was an air of anticipation in the room.

Sandra moved across to the suspended chair and paused. She stood with her back to them as she undid the belt of her dressing gown. She took her time to increase the suspense, knowing how they would both react when she disrobed. She turned her head as she let it fall to floor, to witness their respective reactions to her reveal. Frank had seen her in her underwear many times, of course. But Jeff had not.

Both men's eyes metaphorically popped out with surprise. But Frank was the more surprised. Gone were the panties, replaced by a white thong consisting at the rear of a 'T' of thin stringy straps, the vertical one of which disappeared between her shapely bottom cheeks. Her rear was practically naked, save for the two horizontal straps.

Jeff reacted differently. He had expected her for some reason to be clad in big knickers, as a protest against being forced to parade her body in front of a relative stranger. He was stunned by her revealing choice of garment. Her body looked slightly unbalanced with the wider back strap of the more substantial bra above the thin strings of the thong. But Jeff didn't mind that detail, for her body looked just perfect: encased in flowing lines from her high waist to her shapely thighs, and with no crease at the confluence of her cheeks with her upper leg.

She turned to face them, an anxious look on her face. This was her payback moment for Frank's boorishness, yet she trembled at putting her body on even this level of display.

It looked astonishingly sexy from the front too, in that lacy bra. It did not appear to be underwired, was semi-transparent, barely concealing her areolae and nipples behind artfully placed flower patterns. It was immediately obvious that the support to her large breasts was minimal, serving mainly to push them together into a striking cleavage. They appeared quite able to hold their own - literally. The bra looked quite loose, as if its shoulder straps had been lengthened. Sandra had apparently planned for comfort.

She had studied herself in that underwear set for long minutes beforehand, in front of a mirror, wondering how Jeff would react to it. She had been less concerned by Frank, who had thoughtlessly spoiled the more conventional matching panties with his cum.

It had seemed to her that with her skin tone lightly showing through she was showing more flesh than perhaps was decent. So her heart really was pounding now, at having to stand like that in front of Jeff knowing what he could see. The brandy's effect was negligible, offering no Dutch courage.

She forced herself to approach them, with what she hoped was a model's movement as if on a catwalk. It served no purpose other than to kill time whilst they got over their initial shock, better than standing still.

Frank recovered his wits to splutter, "But we agreed - the proper lace panties...!"

She looked down at the small semi-transparent lace triangle, that hinted at her narrow, trimmed arrow of dark pubic hair, and where it halted, just about above where her pubic cleft began.

Her voice adopted a teasingly coquettish tone.

"But don't you remember, darling, you spoilt my panties this morning when..."

"Er, yes of course, silly me."

Frank glanced at Jeff with embarrassment, now that he recalled withdrawing during their sex session and spraying his cum on her larger lace panties. Jeff had anticipated that checking glance, and had bowed his head to the drawing board on his lap. He now slowly, apparently nonchalantly, raised his eyes, as if looking at Sandra's appearance for the first time.

Sandra watched him intently, a sense of anticipation in her eyes, and speculation about his thoughts and physical reaction. She was rewarded by a slight shudder of arousal that crossed his face. Further evidence was contained in the growing bulge at his jeans crotch.

"Would one of you gentlemen like to arrange my body how you want it?"

Frank was about to speak, when Jeff interjected, "Imagine how you want us to see you, and try out a pose. If you don't think you can hold it comfortably, change it. Then when you're ready, Frank can photograph you whilst I start my first sketch."

"First?" Frank was startled.

"Yes," Jeff said, smiling patiently. "I need to get my bearings, to size out the portrait in a rough draft, before starting on the final piece."

Sandra walked back to the suspended chair, rolling her hips to emphasise their shapeliness. This was a first for her, and a statement of her newly asserted freedom. She arranged herself decorously on the seat, letting the structure swing gently for a few moments before halting the movement with extended toes. She tried a few poses, before settling on one she thought could be comfortable but appealing. Her palms were placed down by her sides on the cushion, pushing her upper body forward at a slight angle towards the two men. One leg was crossed over the other. The angle of her upper body pushed her breasts together into a hypnotically deep cleavage, facing slightly to Jeff's left.

"Remember that pose, then you can relax your posture from time to time until I ask you to resume it. OK?"

"You're very considerate," she replied sweetly.

Frank started taking shots, moving to and fro in a semi-circle, crossing Jeff's line of vision repeatedly, as if to emphasise his proprietorial status. He was clearly upset by this turn of events. Jeff let him work out his angst, knowing that eventually the man would lose interest.

For a while afterwards, Frank sat morosely and watched Jeff at work, occasionally getting up and standing at Jeff's shoulder, studying his initial sketch lines. Eventually he got bored.

"Mind if I turn on the match, on the radio?" he asked.

"Oh, darling," said Sandra, sympathetically, "you're missing your match. I think it would spoil the tranquil mood if we had it on in here. Why not listen in the kitchen, or in your study; have a beer, and relax?

"We could have some soothing music here instead."

Frank gratefully left them to it, his patience quite drained.

Sandra dismounted from the suspended seat and went to an entertainment centre unit discreetly housed in an old fireplace. She selected some CDs and loaded them into a multi-CD changer unit. The first track to play was Smooth Operator from Diamond Life. She had been so absorbed in choosing her music selection that she quite forgot her audience. Bent forwards into the alcove over the machine, and with her legs slightly apart, she unwittingly exposed her labial lips either side of the vertical strap of the thong. Transfixed by Smooth Operator, the moody first track, she remained leaning forward tapping the glass shelf with her fingers whilst the music enveloped her soul. She straightened up, swinging her hips from side to side through the first two bars. Jeff felt like a true voyeur as he admired her taut bottom cheeks, slim loins and snatched glimpses of generous side boobs.

He approached her like a sleepwalker driven to snatch a closer view.

She sensed him and turned, surprised at his close proximity, and embarrassed as she realised the view she had been presenting to him. The loosened bra straps had allowed her breasts to half slip out of their cups as she leant forwards. They remained displaced as she straightened up. Both she and Jeff froze. In her confusion she backed away to the suspended seat and sat down.

Jeff moved close to her again.

She asked innocently, "Do you want to arrange me?"

He was stunned by the question because he did not know how to mention her partially exposed breasts. His mouth opened and he tried to gesture with his hands, but his brain did not engage.

"Stand up," he croaked, thinking that it would be easier for her to re-arrange her underwear in a vertical position.

She misunderstood his reason.

"You show me how you want me," she invited, oblivious to her predicament.

"You - your - "

"Yes?"

He gestured. She stared blankly at him in growing confusion.

He reached forward and pointed at her bust. She looked down, then stared at him with a frown, now frozen with surprise. She realised her predicament but pretended not to notice, thinking that she could discreetly readjust the bra as he returned to his place. Moments passed, like an eternity. He could not know her thoughts, her embarrassment. He leant forward, and reached out both hands, one to cup a breast, the other to slip it back into its garment receptacle. She looked at it then looked up at him in bemusement. He did the same to the other breast.

She was holding her breath in surprise and her mouth had fallen open. Her brain had simply not registered the extent of her déshabillée, in her general confusion.

"I tried -" he stammered, "you didn't - I couldn't leave you in disarray like that."

She was surprisingly naïve for her age, and apparently socially ill-equipped to cope with such an awkward situation. She recovered her wits.

"You touched my breasts..."

The inference was unclear. Had it excited or appalled her?

Jeff thought feverishly for an explanation. He had bullshitted to an extent in the pub. He did so again.

"It's the artist's licence - to arrange the subject appropriately. You didn't appear to understand the problem. I had to help you. Did I offend you? It wasn't intended."

She was breathing heavily. Her mind was in turmoil. She even slipped her fingers under the lower edge of the bra cups as if to lift it from her bust, before rapidly pulling her hands away, as if she had touched something extremely hot.

Regaining her self-control, she took a deep breath and said, "We should press on. Frank is expecting a sketch."

She took her position on the seat without his further assistance. He backed away, and almost tripped over the coffee table he had moved earlier. They both laughed at their mutual clumsiness. The tension had been broken.

"We're both being very clumsy," she muttered seeking common ground. Honour was best satisfied by humour at their shared gaucheness.

He began his drawing, letting the music fill the uneasy silence between them for a while. It took some minutes for his hand to stop trembling. He chided himself for touching her breasts, but succeeded only in remembering on a repeated mental loop the yielding feel of her yielding mammaries in his hands.

"Are you feeling comfortable?" he asked, at last.

She nodded her head noncommittally.

"Yes, thank you. Are you?"

"I'm enjoying it. I'm in my element. How are you enjoying your first experience as a model?"

"It's getting easier. Frank was the only person who'd seen me undressed as an adult, until today. When I see you studying me, I get palpitations inside."

"Is that a good thing?

"I've been sitting here thinking. I've wasted my life so far, on outmoded notions of modesty and decorum. Whilst other people are relaxed and liberated, I'm uptight and repressed."

"So if you've realised that, what can you do about it?"

She smiled. "Not pose in the nude, certainly. Maybe I could try a topless beach, where everyone else is relaxed."

But today, I feel beautiful. I see that in your eyes."

"Ah, but that's because you are beautiful, and I'm merely reflecting that back to you. You're the perfect artist's muse. Your face and body are inspirational."

"Do you mean that I turn you one?"

Jeff did a double-take: that was bold, did she intend to say that?

He coughed with embarrassment. "I meant that your body profile and your face are so fine that I find it easy to draw you. The pencil loves your body lines. You inspire me to want to reflect your beauty on paper.

"This tawdry competition with Frank is just a means for me to express on paper how wonderful you are. It's just a sketch. I'd like to spend more time on another day, to capture your pure essence. How do you feel after sitting so still for so long."

"It's physically tiring, but surprisingly stimulating."

"Oh, how so?"

"I've never been in this situation before, almost naked, with another man I hardly know, openly staring at my body. I thought I'd be embarrassed, but I'm now gradually getting used to it. It's allowing me time to think, to reflect on my life and wasted opportunities."

"Artists' models have to be comfortable with their bodies, whatever size and shape they are. But you have nothing to be ashamed of anyway."

"You'd be surprised. I was taunted at school by other girls: the colour of my skin, my breasts, my hips. They would gang up on me and taunt me."

"What sort of school did you go to?"

"Compton House, an exclusive fee-paying Catholic girls' school in Hertfordshire. Its parents were old money and snooty as hell. Minorities are rare there and they suffer for it."

"But you aren't -!"

"No, my origins are southern European, Italian. My name is Allessandra Bianchi, Sandra for short. Both my parents were Italian by birth but living in England. They were wealthy. They went on a visit Italy without me whilst I was at school. They were abducted in a failed ransom attempt, and were murdered. They had enrolled me in boarding school in England to protect me. They must have known that abduction was a possibility. So I remained here, an orphan."

"So why are you with Frank?"

"You think I'm a gold-digger?"

"Well, a beautiful woman on the arm of a wealthy man - it would have been predictable. But no, I could never imagine such base motives from you, even knowing you as little as I do."

"Am I beautiful?"

"Why would you have to ask?"

"I don't always feel beautiful. Frank says I'm unattractive with the way I dress. He bullies me. He says no man would want me if I hide my body. I think he says it to get me to open up, show more of my body. But then he gets jealous of other men admiring me. He didn't expect me to wear a thong this afternoon. It didn't feel right - until today. Now I'm glad that I did."

Jeff waited. Sandra was staring into the middle distance, suddenly lost in thought.

"And what happened today?"

She turned her head slowly to fix his gaze. "I discovered that using my body was a huge turn on for me as much as Frank, but perhaps wasted on him. Frank asked me to pose for pictures whilst I tried on underwear. He had his digicam record it all. I so wanted to have suitable underwear for this sketching session that I agreed.