Mendocino Coast

"No. he had to go to a meeting at a winery up the valley. So we agreed to meet for dinner."

She uncrossed her long legs and put one over the arm of her chair, pulling her skirt up to her waist as she did so. Like me she had no panties on, and her pussy, illuminated by the table lamp next to her, was glistening. "Let me guess?" she said. "Bouchon?"

"Yes." I said, as I pulled my skirt up and spread my legs to expose my aroused sex.

"It's one of his favorites. So did he seduce you there?" She was lightly stroking her sex with one hand while the other continued to fondle her tits.

"No we talked about my art?"

"Really. My, my," she purred. "This could be a serious relationship. Grand-Mere's concerns may be well founded. Usually he just jumps into bed with a woman he finds attractive as quickly as possible." She dipped two fingers into her glistening pussy and then used them to rub a nipple.

"He wanted to see my paintings, so we drove 75 miles to my cottage and studio on the Mendocino coast."

"And that's where he fucked you?"

"Yes. For three days." I had opened my blouse and was playing with my tits as we stared at each other in lust across the room.

"You know he can't marry you."

I know he's married to you, and both of you have told me Grand-Mere has forbidden a divorce. Besides, I've already been married once, and I don't wish to try it again."

She smiled in response. "But feel free to fuck him all you like. Neither of us object to the other's dalliances. But I must say, I wonder if you are really just a dalliance. Hmmm."

"Tell me Danielle," she said, abruptly changing the subject. "Have you ever been tied up while someone made love to you."

I felt a surge of lust as I contemplated my answer. "No, but . . ." I paused considering my answer.

"Perhaps you would like to try," she answered, finishing out my response for me.

"Yes," I whispered. Uncertainty. Serious uncertainty was behind the whispered yes. What had I gotten myself into?

"Good. Take off your clothes and come with me." As she spoke she stood and released her skirt, letting it fall to the floor and leaving her naked, but for the tan pumps she was wearing.

She walked up to me and helped me disrobe. With her pumps on she was a good two or three inches taller than me. Once I was naked she leaned forward and kissed me. It was a long erotic kiss—soft, but still shrieking of sex. Her tongue was long. It caressed my lips and snaked into the inside of my mouth, pushing my own tongue aside to explore and caress more. I raised my hands and begin to fondle her lovely tits. They were perfect. Each just a handful sitting high on her chest with pale areolae that had swelled as she had become aroused and darker nipples that stuck well out, begging to be suckled.

"Not yet," she said softly, pushing my hands away. "First I shall do you," she said as she led the way to the bedroom.

There was a large bed in the center of the bedroom. "Lay down and spread your arms and legs."

I did as requested feeling naked and exposed and still exhilarated—so fucking horny and very slutty in my exposed posture.

She walked to a bureau on the side of the room. She had a perfect hour glass shaped waist and ass. Opening a drawer she retrieved four Velcro cuffs that would connect to the corners of the bed. Within minutes I was snugly tied down, my legs and arms spread to the four corners of the bed. Never in my life had I felt so powerless, so wantonly exposed, so erotically aroused. I could feel my pussy leaking, and I was sure my nips were like hard little pebbles. My synesthesia was spreading a wide mixture of colors across my brain just from the pressure of the restraints.

"Now, Danielle. I'm going to make love to you. Your job is to lay back and enjoy it. Don't look so terrified," she said with a smile. "I'm not going to hurt you. I don't do pain. But, just in case, if you ever just want to stop and be released just say 'Delecroix.' Remember that word. If you tell me to stop, I might not, unless you say the safe word. It's 'Delecroix'."

I nodded. I'm sure I still looked terrified, but that was an unmerited emotion. For the next half hour Brigette worked seductively all over my body, starting with my toes and fingers and eventually working to the point where she was ferociously finger fucking me while she sucked on my clit. It was marvelous. I must have cum a half a dozen times, before she finally stopped and released the restraints. And the colors that coursed through my head were stunning. Every color of the rainbow and day glows, all mixed and ever changing, as she worked over every erogenous zone on my body.

Then it was my turn. I told her to lay out on her back as I had done and then I began by fondling her breasts and suckling on her nipples. She groaned and twisted her head back and forth, babbling in French that I couldn't technically understand, but understood the import of—"Oh God, fuck, fuck fuck. Don't stop, don't don't stop. Oh so fucking good," or some such.

I let one hand slide down over her perfectly toned belly until I reached her mound. Cupping it from above, I used a couple of fingers to rub her pussy lips back and forth, bring forth a new wave of French obscenities and a steady stream of liquid from between her lips. I slid a finger, then two, into her cunt. She was dripping. I spun my fingers and she flexed her hips driving my fingers deeper into her. I curled my fingers forward, exploring the front of her cunt until I found her G-spot. Once there I just maintained pressure while I moved my face down to her clit and began to lick and suck it. She came almost immediately shrieking and forcing her sex against my face while her pussy muscles clamped down on my fingers. Her climax continued as did her screaming and then finished with a gush of liquid from her cunt soaking my hand, wrists and forearm. Then she collapsed into the bed.

We took turns getting each other off for most of the rest of the night until I had just time enough to shower, dress in the clothes I had come in, and then run back to Claudine's to pick up my bags and head for the airport. I slept most of the way back to San Francisco.

Chapter 6. Life After Paris; Nadine

I ran my fingers through my long dark red, tangled hair, as I sat nude atop the ridge I had climbed as Andre slept off his jet lag. The fog had reached the beaches to the south now and was toying with the lower draws. It hadn't reached the headlands yet, but I knew it wouldn't be long before it's fingers were encircling the cottage. It would still be a good hour to an hour and a half before the fog reached me perched as I was on the ridge.

I wanted Andre to sleep. He would need his energy to deal with both Claudine and me this evening, so I took my time with my yoga exercises following them with a bit of naked meditation, sitting cross legged while the lovely Pacific breeze pushed my red hair back from my face. I struggled to focus on my meditation. My mind wasn't through reviewing the changes in my life since my return from Paris.

Soon after I arrived home from Paris I faced several challenges. The first was how to produce more paintings of the quality of the Mendocino 18. I wanted to find a way to do it without the drugs. Yes, the LSD had clearly facilitated the Mendocino 18 Series, but I didn't want to keep relying on the drugs to produce art of that quality.

I was also curious about the wild synesthesiastic effects I had experienced making love with Andre. There had also been a lot of that with Claudine and Brigette. Not so intense so as to almost totally monopolize my consciousness as it had been with Andre, but still—since that first night with Andre my synesthesia was a whole new component of sex for me. I almost felt sorry for those who couldn't experience sex as I did now. A question I struggled with as I flew home was how could I translate my new experiences into art? The problem was that the synesthesiastic experience was so overwhelming that after more than a few hours all I could remember was the emotional impact. The colors themselves, especially their intensity, had a tendency to fade, like the details of an intense dream.

The problem of how to translate my non-sexual synesthesiastic experiences to canvas without the drugs turned out to be easier to solve than I expected. As soon as I returned to California I went to the cottage for a couple of weeks during which painted continuously while I gave myself smaller and smaller doses of acid until I was at the micro-dose level. To my pleasant surprise the strategy worked. By the end of a two week period, I had completed a number of finished canvases that I liked. They had the same snap and pop as the Sounds of Mendocino series. After six months I was painting successfully with no drugs at all. I shied away from an attempt to transfer my experiences with my lovers to oil and canvas, however. I didn't want to deal with a failed attempt.

Meanwhile, Gerard had sent me several million dollars of net proceeds from the sale of the Sounds of Mendocino series. He had sold the ones displayed for sale in the show at $150,000 to $200,000 each and averaged over $750,000 each for the 3 canvases he had reserved for FIAC. I was astounded. I was annoyed by the never ending list of expenses he charged me for beyond his commission. I even paid for the Starbucks Traveler. Still, I was in no position to complain.

Now he wanted more paintings to sell. Not enough for a whole show. Just enough so he could always have a couple hanging in in the gallery. I sent him pictures of four or five canvases that I had completed since returning to California. They were smaller than the original series had been. He asked me to ship them immediately. They sold promptly. It appeared that I suddenly had a market for a painting or two a month in Paris, that was netting me $100,000 to $150,000 a month. Amazing.

My life changed dramatically. Money will do that. I still worked part time for Charlie in Yountville. I liked the guy, and I liked Yountville. I found that I wasn't cut out for a hermit's life spent in the cottage on the windswept Mendocino coast while I slathered oil on canvas. I could paint enough to keep Gerard satisfied with perhaps ten days a month spent at the cottage.

Andre was coming to California every six months, sometimes more often, and we always found time to spend at the cottage for a day or two. The synesthetic experience I had had the first time I made love with him was not a fluke. It was recreated every time we were in bed. The colors and patterns were different, but the intensity was the same. I still shied away from trying capture the experience on canvas.

In addition to Andre, Danielle had moved to California. She was living in Berkeley and pursuing an MFA degree at California College of Arts in Oakland. She found time to meet me in Yountville or at the cottage almost every weekend. I had installed a hot tub out behind the cottage and we would sit naked in the tub after we had made love, looking out over the Pacific Ocean and talk about her classes, Andre, Brigette, and everything else that came up. As the T-shirt company promised, "Life was good." My love life was good, no great, and my art was successful.

Gerard insisted that I fly over to Paris a couple of times a year. I wasn't producing enough for a major show like my first one, but he wanted me to meet with selected major collectors to talk about my art and even to do an interview or two with art critics. He called it "building my brand." I didn't mind talking to collectors, but I didn't like the critics all that much. They wanted more technical detail than I wanted to share. They also wanted to pigeon-hole me into some specific school of abstract art or other, which I seriously resisted. Fortunately I knew more about the technical details of the various schools than most of them did, so I could talk my way around them.

That all worked until one day a critic I was trying to talk my way past paused for a long moment thinking about what I had said (an unusual thing for a critic to do). She asked, "Are you a synesthete?"

I felt a moment of panic. I looked her straight in the eye and said, "What's that?"

Nadine, the critic, looked at me for a long time trying to decide whether I was lying and then launched into a long winded description of synesthesia.

When she was done, I said, "Fascinating. Are you one?"

She nodded, "But I usually don't tell people about it. They think I'm crazy. But from what you said, I was just wondering . . ."

"Wow!" I said. "I would love to be able to source inspiration like that." I asked her more questions about her experiences and when it had started and so on, using my own experience to essentially interview her about her synesthesia, without admitting to my own. I had turned the tables on the interview, so I as interviewing her. Then I asked one more question than I should have, "Do you have this experience when you have sex?"

"It depends," she said. "With some people not at all. With others, it can be quite intense. Usually I can sense the effect before we start." She paused for a long time looking at me and then said, "I can feel it with you."

"Oh." I could feel it too. The conversation had suddenly made me incredibly aroused and deep in whatever part of my brain it is that creates synesthesiastic effects there was a tingle—not like the tingle I was feeling in my pussy, but a stirring of colors and patterns. Nothing intense. It was just like the system was warming up. I had to try her and find out.

"I have a room upstairs," I said.

"Then we should find out."

As we stood in the elevator, I asked, "Have you been with a woman before?"

"Always."

I leaned over and kissed her. The kiss lasted until the elevator reached the fourth floor and the doors opened. When she pulled back she looked flushed. I suppose I did too. Most importantly throughout the kiss I could feel the beginning of more intense synesthesiastic effects—just a start.

As we walked down the hall to my room I reached out and lightly caressed her ass.

"Mmmm," she said. "That's nice."

"Is it causing a synesthesiastic effect? Has the light show started?"

"Yes," she whispered.

It was for me too. The pressure of her body sliding back and forth under the smooth fabric of her skirt against my finger-tips was generating a pale wash of blue with thin streaks of red that were coming and going as her hips swung from side to side and my fingers dragged over them. Fondling her in the semi-public space of the hotel was hot.

I let my hand slide further down so it was pushing her skirt between her legs and caressing the inside of her thigh. She gasped as my hand slid up and pushed against her sex through the cloth of her skirt and panties. More colors. Some of the colors were a reaction to her emotion laden gasp. This was going to be interesting.

As we stood by the door and I dug about in my purse for my room key, she stood behind me running her fingers up the inside of my thighs. My skirt was barely covering my ass. She had marvelously soft finger tips. More colors. More intensity. Not like when I fucked Andre, but still . . .

I deliberately stalled my efforts to locate my key. I was enjoying this too much to interrupt it. I spread my feet a bit to let her have better access. My skirt was up around my hips now and her fingers were rubbing my dripping sex through my panties. There were streaks of purple and then green, then a dark, intense green when her fingers reached my clit.

"You're very wet," she whispered. That was when we heard he click of the lock on a door down the hall about to open. Nadine stepped back and let my skirt fall into place. I could hear her breathing, aroused by what she had been doing to me.

I stopped stalling and opened the door. The gentleman who came out of the door gave us an odd look as he passed us. We ignored him. What did he think we were—a couple of lesbians about to fuck?

As soon as we were both through the door and it closed, I grabbed her and pushed her up against the wall. The kiss was open mouthed and wet, sloppy even, with tongues dueling and seducing. I pulled her skirt up over her hips and pushed my bare thigh between her legs pressing hard against her thinly clad sex. I could feel the moisture seeping through the nylon from her dripping cunt. Her hands were under my skirt on my ass pulling me hard against her. My head was generating colors and shapes as we wrestled next to the barely closed door.

"Clothes,. . . . Clothes, Danielle,. . . Let's get . . . out . . . of these . . . clothes. . . and into a bed." She didn't want to stop kissing me, but her lust wanted more than she could get as we wrestled fully dressed next to the door, so her sentence came out in bits and pieces during brief moments when she pulled her tongue out of my mouth.

She was right. The clothes were in the way. I stepped back from her letting my skirt and hers fall back into place. We were both breathing hard. I quickly unbuttoned my blouse and squirmed out of it as I watched her release her skirt and let it drop to the floor. My blouse was quickly followed by my bra and her panties followed her skirt to the floor. Now we were both half naked. We both stared for just a moment and then she pulled her sweater over her head and released her large breasts from the constraints of her bra, while I dropped my skirt and panties into a pool at my feet. There is something so nasty about undressing and exposing yourself to a person you have just met. I know my mother told me not to do that. That's what makes it so good. So nasty.

Nadine and I were a study in contrasts. I was tall and lean. My hikes through the mountains behind my cabin burned off any fat I might have had, but it was my natural shape also. I had always been this way, my legs long, my hips narrow, and my breasts small, sitting high on my chest, with nipples that became hard little pebbles while aroused.

Nadine was short, perhaps five-three, and plump. Her hips were broad and round, her legs shorter than mine and plump like her hips. Her waist pinched but she had a round soft belly and very large breasts above that. Her eyes were a sparkling blue and her hair was blonde and neatly styled, coming barely below her chin, a contrast in styles with my wild tangled red mane. Her sex, unlike my thick red untamed bush, was fully shaved. Her pussy lips were large and red with her arousal, the outer lips already spreading to show her gleaming inner sex. I couldn't wait.

I led her to the bed, threw the covers back, and flopped down before her, my legs spread indecently inviting her to do as she wished with me. Just landing on the bed with such an illicit purpose sent a burst of color through my brain. She kneeled next to me and then threw one of her short legs over me so she was kneeling on either side of my chest her pussy lips tantalizingly close to my face. She reached down and pulled my hands up and put one on each of her pendulous tits inviting me to play.

Her tits were so big it took two hands to massage one properly, so I worked them one at a time, massaging, pulling, lifting, and rubbing her large dark nipples with my thumbs. When I lifted a boob up, she bent her head down and sucked aggressively on the nipple. I was envious. I had never been able to do that.

After a few minutes of titty play, I dropped my hands to either side of her plump round butt and pulled her forward so her pussy was against my face. I began to eat her with the flat of my tongue working the full length of her pussy. She leaned forward resting her weight on her knees and on her hands gripping the bedstead. She kept her pussy pressed against my face and I continued to eat her. Every time I flicked her clit she gasped. I slid one hand under legs until I could slide two fingers into her cunt. She was dripping wet. Without pausing my pussy licking, I began to finger fuck her, shoving my fingers aggressively in and out of her dripping cunt and twisting them once they were inside to hit as much of her inner walls as I could reach.