Artistic Impressions Pt. 03

If you've got this far, no explanation is needed. I like to take my time to savour sex and lovemaking. Tell me what you think. Readers' comments are the lifeblood of my writing.

Chapter Four: A Proposition

Sandra wants to advance Jeff's career, but is that all?

Jeff woke next morning to the prospect of self-declared unemployment. He stood in the shower reflecting on the previous afternoon. His imagination conjured up an image of Sandra sans underwear, parading around slinkily, and teasing him. His idle moments had been filled with thoughts of Sandra, even keeping him awake in bed with fantasies about her.

As he showered an erection reared up again, a physical imperative for his attention. In his mind her eyes zoomed in on his bobbing cock with a delight that caused her to swivel her hips seductively. Her breasts swayed teasingly. They were full and heavy, but quite firm. Her nipples cried out for the attention of his tongue.

He took her rock-hard nipples into his mouth one after the other, sucking on them as she 'aahed' and sighed with pleasure. She pulled them away from his mouth and sank to her knees. Water was splashing off her head and shoulders as she took his member all the way down into her throat, and sucked on him hard. Spasms of electricity zapped through his body. He wanted to fuck her but she wouldn't release her suction grip on his shaft. He felt his sap rising until it exploded with a gushing of his seed into her willing mouth. The orgasm was powerful and prolonged. He looked down at his cock. It was gripped tightly in his hand, and he was alone in the shower.

He mused on whether she was having a similar fantasy.

He spent Sunday searching for jobs online, but his was an esoteric skill, appreciated by a select few, understood by even fewer. If the idea had any traction, it would require heavy marketing and a great deal of capital. Still, it was only the first day in his job search, and he was a born optimist. Something good would surely come along in time to harness his talents, even if it was not in his chosen field.

He wanted to call Sandra, to talk to her, or more specifically just to listen to her lovely voice. But the only number he had was likely to be answered by Frank. He went for a walk and did the best to fill his day. He had not as yet met many people in the area outside the job that he wanted to go to the pub with socially. He went to bed early before ten, in search of erotic dreams.

The phone roused him from an insubstantial pre-sleep dream.

"What? Oh, hi, its Jeff, but you know that because you're calling me."

"Come on muddlehead, get your mind into gear."

He reached for a glass of water and took a deep sip, then responded, "Who's that?"

"Alessandra. I prefer that name, and if our relationship is to start on the right footing, that is how I want to be known by you.

"Relationship? What? You're not making sense."

"And there was me thinking you had the brain of a genius. Yes, I have a proposition for you. I'm wide awake. Now get your ass over here and let me talk to you."

"You mean come to Frank's house?"

"Well, technically, it's still mine. But no, I've reserved a suite at the Maybury. I'll give you the address. Bring work clothes for tomorrow. Oh, and by the way, it's a two-room suite; connecting doors. So don't get your hopes up. Bring a drawing pad as well, just for fun."

He was wide awake now. That call had provoked a surge of adrenalin. He probably wouldn't sleep tonight now. He took the Tube to Green Park and walked through Mayfair to the hotel. It was an unseasonably mild September evening, and he was unaccountably sweating, and his heart was pumping ten to the dozen.

The Maybury is a boutique hotel, beloved of couples and those seeking pampering. It has access to an adjoining independent health club with pool, massage and other facilities, on offer to hotel guests. An internal door connects the two establishments.

The hotel reception is small but plushly decorated, and the reception staff elegant in the extreme.

Jeff gave his name to the female behind the desk. She gave him the usual once over, then did a second take. Liking what she saw and satisfied that she had gleaned all that she could, she handed him a keycard. "Top floor, the Jacqueline Susann Suite".

"The what?"

The receptionist smiled at him tolerantly. "The rooms are all named after stylish female authors. The proprietors are American. They have a high regard for the late Miss Susann."

The lift, maximum eight persons, showed the building's stylish heritage of a bygone age. It was a cage within a cage, wrapped around with a circular staircase, from which it was isolated by delicate scrollwork railings. The lift walls were glazed, to allow the lift to be air conditioned, a modern adaptation.

The Jacqueline Susann Suite was on the top floor, right the way round the back of the lift. It had elegant double doors that spoke of opulence. En route to it he passed rooms named Louisa May Alcott, Margaret Mitchell, and Diana Gabaldon. A mixed bunch, he thought.

Jeff knocked politely before opening the suite door with his card, so as not to surprise Sandra. The door led into a small lobby with three inner doors, and a spiral staircase to one side leading to an upstairs area. There was a cloak cupboard with doors in finest walnut, full-length mirrors in its doors.

He knocked on the room door to the left. Getting no reply he entered. It was a large bedroom with a window overlooking the street and modern furniture. It was unoccupied.

He then chose the right door. It was another, mirror image bedroom of the first. Again, it was empty. His mind thought, third time lucky, which was quite absurd, given that he had lucked out on choices.

The central door was to a shared bathroom. That left only the carpeted spiral staircase. He climbed it and found himself on the threshold of a large lounge with deep pile carpet and windows looking out onto the lamplit street far below. The suite proved to be on two floors with the sleeping accommodation on the lower floor. He wondered what the nightly room charge would be.

The lounge curtains were open and billowing in a gentle autumnal breeze. To the left was a kitchenette with tiled floor, separated from the lounge by a breakfast bar. He had left his footwear downstairs by the entrance to the suite. His bare feet luxuriated in the deep embrace of the plush lounge carpet. The room was furnished with a three-piece suite, coffee tables, an abundance of table lamps on occasional tables, profusions of cut flowers in tall vases, and an entertainment system with a large flat screen television in pride of place.

The lounge was empty of any person though. Where could she be?

He could eliminate the downstairs rooms, which he had checked.

Puzzled, he walked through the lounge to the kitchenette. Then he spied a fully glazed door in a corner which had been hidden from view at the top of the spiral stairs.

It was dark outside, though a faint light showed through the glazed door. He opened it. Outside the sky was lightened by the glow from the street lamps below. The door gave access to a narrow open-air alley between two high walls. He guessed that it had once been the access to the roof before the suite lounge was built on most of it. The wall on the left was the side of a taller adjoining building. The alley ended at a short high wall with the drop to the street beyond. The right wall was the outside wall of the lounge suite. Two-thirds of the way along the alley way was a wrought iron staircase that led up to whatever was now on top of the suite lounge. This suite just kept on delivering surprises.

He climbed the staircase which was painted in rust red. It ended at a small landing leading to a break in the high wall. Soft light was filtering through the opening. He stepped through the opening with bated breath. Before him was an expansive flat roof area hemmed in on three sides by walls, but open to the street below on the fourth side behind a low parapet with wrought-iron railings on top.

Shading about two thirds of the flat roof area was a timber pergola seating area, with a canvas awning on top in broad bands of blue and white stripes. A string of softly glowing lights were suspended from the top of the timber frame. They gave the seated area an intimate feel. Under the pergola were three rattan settees arranged in a 'U' shape around a low glass-topped table. The sofas were painted in fashionable grey with cream padded cushions. The open side of the 'U' faced the street far below. The area was silently overlooked by taller buildings opposite with darkened windows, probably of offices closed for the evening.

Jeff took all this in in moments. His attention was quickly drawn to a figure reclining along one side sofa. Her feet were drawn up underneath her. It was of course Alessandra. She had on a royal blue silk kimono robe patterned with sprigs of cherry blossom. Her dark hair looked impossibly glossy and glamorous. The vee formed by the collars of the dressing gown displayed a captivating cleavage.

Her legs were bare under the short robe, suggesting that she was minimally dressed beneath. She was a vision of loveliness.

"Alessa!"

She looked surprised. "Ah, Jeff. No one calls me that name - I like it! It shall be your name for me."

"What, not even your family?"

"They were too formal to indulge in diminutives. At school I was called Sandy. Everyone else knows me as Sandra. So, Alessa can be yours for the taking -- just the name, I mean."

"Have you been waiting up here for me since you called me?"

She chuckled. It was a beautiful, musical sound in his ears. Everything about her felt magical. He was truly smitten.

"Of course not. Reception telephoned me when you entered the lift. I reasoned that it would take you four minutes to discover me up here, but in fact it took you six! So we should expect service just about now."

A few moments later an elderly male porter appeared bearing a gilt tray with a bottle of champagne and two tall tulip glasses. Also on the tray were a plated selection of nibbles including small sausages spiked with cocktail sticks, assorted salted nuts, olives and canapés. He laid the tray on the glass topped occasional table, opened the champagne bottle, poured some in both glasses, then left without waiting for a tip.

Alessa sat up straight as Jeff sat down beside her. They clinked glasses.

"To your glittering future," she declared.

Jeff's mind was in a whirl, but he had the presence of mind to limit his response to, "Tell me more."

She beamed at him. "That is for tomorrow, which will dawn for us when we decide we are ready for it. I hate Mondays. For tonight, I want you to draw me again, with the inspiration of champagne to enhance your skills. I have selected a suitable outfit. Will you do this for me?"

Jeff was stunned by her request. "Did the first drawings really please you then?"

"They did more than please me. They aroused me, or rather, the thought that you had been studying my body so minutely - excited me. It felt like an awakening. I couldn't wait to repeat the experience.

They had almost finished the champagne. Alessa was eager to press on.

"I suggest two quick sketches -- if you feel you need sleep tonight, that is. Otherwise, we can take our time. You will choose the poses. Is that OK?"

Jeff nodded. They made another toast, 'to the future'.

Alessa stood up, and removed her dressing gown. Whilst her body had looked good in daylight, it looked sensational in the soft lighting on that rooftop terrace at night, the more so because she had chosen a white stringy bikini. She stood with her arms crossed protectively across the bust, as if ashamed of her exposure. The triangles that served as cover for her breasts and genitals were quite substantial; for her breasts they needed to be. The bikini was held in place by a halter neck, and stringy straps tied at the back and hips.

"What do you think?" she asked nervously. She did not look at ease so minimally dressed.

The thought ran through Jeff's mind, what made you wear it if it embarrasses you?

But he asked instead, "Can you show me the rear?"

She turned around, dropping her now superfluous arms to her sides. She belatedly placed them on her hips for the want of anywhere else to park them. Her smooth back, slim waist, and stunning bottom, enhanced by the soft lighting on her olive skin, caused him to gasp in wonderment. Her body was even more attractive in that setting than the day before in her home. The bikini bottom covered about half of each glorious cheek. He yearned to see them unclothed.

She waited awkwardly for him to finish his examination.

"Your body is a dream. Your shyness at showing it off is a grievous loss to the world."

She whirled around again replacing her arms across her bust.

He was puzzled. "You don't seem comfortable."

"I -- I wanted you to draw me again in a more relaxed -- a private setting. But it still feels uncomfortable showing off my body."

"Would you rather put on something less revealing?"

She bent her knees a little, and let out a soft moan, as if with frustration. It looked as if she wanted to pee, but it was simply embarrassment. "No, I made my choice. Draw me like this. How do you want me?"

The short answer was: naked and more uninhibited. But instead he said, "I'll do two sketches. First, lie in a reclining position facing the rear cushion of the sofa. Prop your head up on your elbow. with your upraised hand supporting your neck. Position your other hand with your fingers in your hair.

She looked puzzled. "Why face away from you?"

"Because you look as if you are uncomfortable. I think you might relax if you don't have to look at me. It's also an interesting pose, the fingers in your hair suggesting your awareness of the artist watching you. It changes the dynamic of the study, telling more of a story."

"But why is my back to you?"

"Your back is a work of art in its own right; together with your bottom, which looks more voluptuous with the high line of your hip contrasted with the dip to your slim waist."

She arranged herself and turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder. "Is that good enough?"

"You look stunning," he said, in awe of that pose. "You look so voluptuous, and the eye cannot be distracted by your breasts or your beautiful face. My eyes are drawn to your bottom."

Her body twitched, he guessed, in reaction to his words. He could not tell whether it was from pleasure or anxiety.

It struck him as he sketched the first lines, that her pose with her back to him implied that the subject would be seen as inviting unrestricted viewing, probably the reverse of what Sandra actually felt.

He began the sketch.

"There is one further proviso I didn't mention," she said, in a husky voice, thick with arousal. "You must strip down to your underpants. I'm going to be bold and say something I've never spoken out loud before. I want to be able to admire your bulge when I turn my head; my treat for me."

He chuckled. "I'll give you something to think about. I'll get naked. You can think about that."

He began to sketch, his hand trembling at being able to stare at her without her seeing him watching.

After a few minutes, she spoke, revealing her thoughts.

"Are you naked?"

"Yes."

"How does it feel?"

"I'm rock hard and feeling very naughty. I'm mentally undressing you with my eyes. I'm having erotic thoughts as I draw your outline."

She gave a tinkling laugh. "How did you feel when you first got naked with a woman?"

"It was at university, in my room. We were both ready to consummate our relationship with sex, but she was shy, like you. She had more cause because her body still had puppy fat. But she looked sexy. I asked her to undress. She asked why. I said because I like to admire women's naked bodies. She said that she was afraid that I would not find her sexy-looking. So I undressed in front of her and showed her my stiff cock. 'Look' I said, 'that's proof of how I'm feeling about you right now.' "

There was silence whilst Alessa processed that mental image. When she next spoke haltingly, her tone was tinged with awe.

"Is your -- penis -- rock hard now?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to -- to, fuck me now?"

"Very much. How do you feel?"

"It's difficult. I don't mind being drawn, that's art. But stripping to provoke a man is difficult for me to consider. Having sex would be shocking, but the thought of it's compelling."

Jeff's heart sank. He had suspected that her diffidence about being undressed had not changed. The realisation that she was partially showing her body, but only for art's sake, or rather, using that as an excuse, did not feel him with optimism.

He hurried to complete the first study.

"OK, you can see it now." He sat down.

She half-turned, with her body facing the seat cushion, she retrieved her dressing gown from the ground. She pulled it on with her back still turned to him before standing up. He groaned inwardly. She was still hiding parts of her body.

She came over to view his work, her eyes fixed on his substantial erection as she approached. He quickly covered it with his sketch pad, angling the pad up for her to see.

Of the drawing, she opined, "Oh, it's beautiful. And you kept my bikini bottom in place. I think it is true to life. Why did you not sketch nudity in the drawing, like before?"

He tried to control his strained emotions as he replied.

"Because I wanted to be honest, like I am with my own exposure now."

She grasped the side edge of his sketch pad and lifted it off his lap. His cock sprang up, as if it was attempting an escape. She gasped, startled at its girth and vivacity. Her breath quickened. He watched her face closely. She was licking her parted lips, suggesting salacious thoughts. But she broke the spell then.

"There's a second bottle of champagne in the bucket. Would you care to open it? I want to get drunk."

She sat on the sofa beside him, holding the sketch pad in hand. The tables were turned. She was determined to be the voyeur.

He stood up, feeling very self-conscious. His cock bounced up horizontally. He pulled in his stomach muscles, and felt his chest cavity expand. He turned away from her and headed towards the ice bucket several feet away. He imagined that he could feel the heat of her gaze on his butt, and on his dangling balls between his thighs, as he walked. Every pore in his skin felt energised, and not in a comfortable way. He realised then how she might be feeling about potential nudity.

She remarked, "What if there's someone behind one of those darkened windows watching you now?"

"There's nothing I can do about it. They can hardly be shocked if they've kept the lights off."

He seized the bottle and turned to face her whilst he released the wire cage from the cork. When the cork burst from the neck of the bottle with a loud explosion, his whole body seemed to jump, and his cock bounced frenetically. Her eyes were glued to his manhood.

He advanced on her with the bottle poised to pour. She held out her glass with her left hand, but her right also rose to within inches of his turgid cock.

'Please, make her touch it. Help me out', he pleaded of the ether.

But she withdrew it and stared up at his face, holding the recently tempted hand in thin air. She took a few sips of the bubbly wine, then stood up to return to her sofa on the opposite side. Placing her glass on the low centre table, she turned her back on him and removed her dressing gown. She stood motionless, surely only for him to stare at her rear and admire it. Was that a concession to his nudity?

After a long pause (for effect?) she turned, affording a first glimpse of her stunning cleavage. Racquel Welch's artificial décolletage in One Million Years BC sprang to mind, but Alessa's was genuine.