The Open Studio Day

We artists have an annual event called, 'The Open Studio Day,' which serves two purposes really, it gives the curious and downright nosey members of the public, the chance to have a look at a working artist's studio, and it also help commercially too, with some people buying pieces of art that they may not have bought otherwise.

It takes up a whole day, so if I'm working on an important commission, or just feel downright bloody minded, I'll be at my easel as usual, working. Funnily enough, most of the people who drop in past seem to like that, they say it gives them a better view of the artistic environment as it really is. Painting as a spectator sport; somehow I don't think it will be clogging up the TV channels as another, 'reality show.'

The open day had been, for me, reasonably successful, with a few pieces sold and some enquiries about commissions, one of which looked particularly promising. It was getting to the end of the day, around 4.30pm, when I noticed a woman, who I estimated, was in her early thirties, studying one of the portraits. She was tall, a brunette, long dark hair, with a lovely slim, but womanly figure.

Now, to be honest, if it had been a man, or an old frumpy matron, I would have left her to it, but since I love women, especially ones that looked like her, I strolled over and asked her if she needed any help. She turned and looked at me, blushing as if she'd been caught out doing something she ought not to have been doing. Her eyes were a dark chocolate brown, her nose, small and regular, a sensual full-lipped mouth and a determined little chin. She was beautiful; there was no doubt of that. I looked at the painting she'd been studying so intently and immediately thought there might be some possibilities here.

The painting was a fantasy come bondage type subject I'd done of a friend of mine a few years back. She was standing with her back to the viewer, buttocks exposed, obviously having just been spanked, with her bottom a fiery red. She was also restrained, looking helpless, with a faint, but wicked smile on her beautiful face as she looked back over her shoulder.

The actual scenario had never happened as depicted, it was mostly an imaginative piece, done just for the fun of it, and the friend it was done for asked me to keep it in my studio. Apparently her new husband would never understand that it was all a visual joke and it had never actually happened. Anyway, here I was, asking her if she needed help in front of a rather risqué painting.

'Ah well... no, not really,' she replied, blushing even more as she stumbled over the words.

'You seem to like this painting?' I asked, just curious for the time being. She nodded.

'I find it rather intriguing,' she replied after a moment of thought. 'Is it a work of imagination, wishful thinking, or is it from the life? Does she really exist?' she looked at me then, still blushing faintly.

'It's partly imagination, partly wishful thinking, it is from the life, and she certainly does exist. I've known her for many years,' I replied, adding, 'Does that help you?' She shook her head. 'Would you like me to tell you how and why it was created?' I asked. She seemed to think about it for a moment or two before, reluctantly I thought, replying that she would. So, I told her that I was closing up soon, and if she wished we could sit here in the studio, I would make us tea, coffee, or if she preferred, I had a bottle of white wine in my flat above the studio, which I could fetch down, and drink while we discussed the painting. Again she seemed to think about it for a moment or two before agreeing, more readily this time.

Eventually the last of the stragglers, left and I closed and locked the door behind them. I told her to drag a chair over before the painting, while I went to fetch the wine. I found the wine and glasses straight away, but spent a few minutes tidying the bedroom, just in case things went the way I hoped they would, and then hurried downstairs. She was sitting waiting for me in front of the painting, as I expected, so I pulled up another chair, poured us both a glass of wine and settled down ready to answer her questions. I didn't have to wait long.

'Who is she?' she started.

'She was, well, is a friend of mine. A very talented artist in her own right. We met at Art College, and hit it off immediately, but just as friends, although there was always the potential that something more might have developed, always that little sexual tension, a frisson, which was never quite realised.

I can't remember how it came about; it was one of those semi drunken conversations in a pub, but she admitted that she liked the idea of a little bit of pain. I pressed her for more information, because, like you, I was intrigued by the idea. She let slip a few little morsels of information, and then she clammed up. After that, she would never allow herself to be alone with me; something about me knowing her dark secret, which she said she knew I would take advantage of. Believe me when I say, I would have too.'

'So, that's why the painting is entitled, "The Dark Secret?" she asked, smiling. 'Would you have smacked her bottom, inflicted pain on her?'

'Oh yes, not because I'm naturally sadistic, but if a beautiful woman, like her, or yourself for instance,' I added pointedly, 'told me that she enjoyed being spanked. Then I would have no scruples about smacking her, but only if she enjoyed it and spanking gave her pleasure.' She looked a bit tense as I said it, and I thought, 'She likes this.' So, I thought I would just keep going and see where things might end.

'Anyway, in our final year at Art College, I got her to sit for a portrait, just a head and shoulders, looking back at me, because this was my plan all along. I was going to paint this as a keepsake for her in honour of our friendship - it was a joke, but she loved it when she saw it. I gave it to her as a heartfelt token of our friendship, but she refused to take it, asking me instead to keep it in trust for her and promise never to sell it. It was okay as far as she was concerned for me to exhibit the painting, like today, and that's what has happened ever since.'

'What a lovely story,' she agreed. 'Why didn't she want to take it though, it's a beautiful painting?'

'She thought it revealed a little too much of her, "dark secret," for general show, and for her to hang in her home. She knew I would always look after it for her, and it would be here anytime she wanted it, but now she's just got married, and it will be with me for the foreseeable future I think. Not that I'm worried, I'm very fond of her, and the painting.' She nodded.

'I can see why you'd want to keep it,' she agreed. 'It's beautiful, and so is she.'

'And so are you,' I added. She looked up at me then and blushed again, shaking her head. 'Oh yes you are,' I insisted, and then throwing caution to the winds added, 'I'd like to paint you, just like this,' and I pointed to the painting as I said it, with her again shaking her head.

'I couldn't do that, I'm a married woman,' she protested, 'what would my husband say?' I smiled at her.

'You don't have to tell him,' I suggested, 'and if you don't, I won't tell him either.' She smiled wanly at that.

'This whole idea is preposterous, I couldn't possibly do that,' but despite her words of protest I could hear the indecision in her voice.

'I think you could, and what's more, I think you'd like to. Am I wrong?' I pressed her for an answer. Again she shook her head. 'I saw you studying the painting for a full ten minutes before I spoke to you, and that's a long time to look at a painting. You liked what you saw, didn't you, it struck a chord with you, yes?' She said nothing, but nodded her head.

'Yes, but I've told you, I'm married, I love my husband,' she continued. I pointed to the painting.

'Maybe, but he can't, or won't do this for you, will he?' She shook her head. 'Just like her, you like the idea of pain, don't you? That's why you were so fascinated by the painting, isn't it?' When she finally spoke, it was almost a whisper.

'Yes, yes, there, are you happy now? I admit it; I like the idea of it all.' With the dam breached, so to speak, it all came flooding out. 'I want a man who will dominate me, be a little rough, and spank me. Oh god, why am I telling you this?' Her voice got louder as she spoke, sounding angry now, and then she just kind of crumbled and started crying.

I sat beside her and put my arm round her shoulders, and she came into my arms, sobbing. I let her get it out of her system, and eventually she calmed down. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered, 'I think I should go now.' I shook my head.

'I don't think so, you need to come upstairs with me and fix your make-up. Your mascara is all over the place come on,' and I got to my feet, holding her hand. She followed me meekly, and I took her up the stairs to my apartment. She went into the bathroom to fix herself up.

After a while, she came out, looking extraordinarily calm. The sexual tension in the air was almost palpable, as we looked at each other, saying nothing, and then, 'I'm going to spank you now,' was all I said. She shook her head again, but made no move to leave, so I walked over to her and putting my hand behind her head, I took a big handful of her thick dark hair. She gasped with the unexpected pain of it, but didn't struggle at all, and I dragged her over to the table using her hair to control her, and bent her over it. I expected a little resistance but there was none. 'Are you ready?' I asked her, and she nodded her head.

I spanked her wonderful bottom through the material of her thin summer dress to start with, but after a few good hard slaps, she reached back and shimmied her dress higher until it was round her waist, presenting me with an almost bare bottom, barely covered by the tiny thong she wore. Her bottom cheeks were already turning a deeper shade of pink, but spanking her bare handed was painful for me too so, I ordered her to stay where she was.

I went into the kitchen and came back with a wooden spoon. It proved to be a remarkably efficient flogger, and within minutes her cheeks were a bright red. She gasped and whimpered as I spanked her, occasionally succumbing to the pain with a louder cry.

I knew that I needed to give her a little pleasure too, and stroked the inside of her slim thighs, caressing the smooth skin with the rough wooden spoon. She liked that, but somehow contrived to manoeuvre herself, so the spoon was no longer caressing her thighs but was rubbing her pussy through her panties.

Now her moans and whimpers were of an entirely different nature. I withdrew the spoon, and pulled her thong down, letting it fall to the floor where she deftly stepped out of it and spread her legs wider, displaying a full-lipped, glistening wet pussy for my inspection. She was shaven, so there was nowhere for the wetness to go, except down, and slowly as I watched, a trickle of viscous fluid escaped from her generous pussy lips, and dangled there for a moment.

I hit her once more with the spoon, and with the other hand split her cunt lips apart with my fingers, releasing a flood of hot juice. She moaned with pleasure and pain as the spoon was again pressed into service, reddening and heating her arse cheeks, while my fingers delved into her open crevice. She began to move her arse in a fucking motion as I spanked and fingered, and suddenly she screamed louder as she came. I thought she'd never stop, but eventually she began to come down from the peaks of her pleasure.

I stepped back, enjoying the sight of her long shapely legs and hot wet pussy, displayed in all their wanton glory. She stood up at last and the dress fell down, over her hips to her knees.

She came into my arms, and I was aware that her whole body was trembling uncontrollably. 'Just hold me please,' she said quietly in my ear. 'I'm shaking, oh god that was incredible, thank you.' I put my hand up her dress and she parted her legs for me, letting me stroke her pussy gently.

'Tell me,' I demanded. 'Whose bitch are you?'

'I'm your bitch,' she gasped as my fingers had her excitement mounting again. I backed her against the table, lifting her onto the edge, unzipping my fly as I did it, found her open wetness, and within two thrusts, thanks to that same wetness, I was buried to the hilt in her pussy.

I stood there, unmoving, filling her cunt, while I found the hem of her dress, pulling it up and over her head, before unclasping the bra, revealing truly lovely tits. Not big, but a good size and best of all, beautifully shaped. I tweaked her nipples hard, and she gasped with the pain, but it set her in motion as she tried to fuck me. I began to move within her, and she followed me all the way.

Such was the level of her excitement that within half a dozen or so thrusts, she was on the edge of orgasm again, and as she tipped over the edge, I rammed my cock into her as hard as I could, letting her know who was in charge, while at the same time squeezing the lovely pink nipples hard. She mewled with the pain, but moaned out loudly, gasping and groaning with the pleasure radiating from her pussy. I never varied my pace one iota, and continued to plough my prick into her well soaked furrow.

Soon she was responding as expected, and yet another orgasm began to grow in her. She clung to me like a drowning person to a life-raft, calling out loud, protesting that she couldn't take any more, but of course she could, and she did, loving every thrust, wrapping her beautiful legs round me, wanting more, not less. With her orgasm well on the way, I went for it too, and felt myself release, with a rush of pleasure as I pumped and filled her pussy with my come. She squealed even louder as I came and responded in kind, until at last we both pulled gently apart.

Her pussy was a joy to behold; large prominent labia, glistening wetly, and leaking my come, which dripped and oozed from her onto the floor. She sat there on the edge of the table, chest heaving with the effort, legs still open. Her breasts wobbled deliciously as she tried to regain her breath by sucking in great lungfuls of air. I watched her, while using a tissue to clean myself, and she was something to behold - breathtakingly beautiful, made all the more attractive by the fact that she had just given herself to me, and I had fucked her half senseless.

At last she opened her eyes, and looked at me for a moment or two, as if still dazed. Then a smile of delightful beauty filled her features, and then she started laughing. I smiled too; her laughter was so infectious. I went to her, and she came into my arms, and we clung together for long moments.

'That's what's been missing,' she whispered to me. 'That's what I've been missing. I never really knew it until now, never, but now I do. Thank you, thank you, thank you.' I felt so humbled by her thanks.

'There's no need to thank me sweetheart. It was a pleasure for me too you know, and you're such a beautiful woman, I can hardly believe I've actually ended up making love to you.'

'No, don't say that I don't think you realise what a life saver you are to me. I'm just so lucky to have found someone like you who understands what I need. All my life I've known I was different, needed what you've just given me, but I've always tried to suppress it, keep it damped down, be, "normal," but you've opened my eyes. It's wonderful, just wonderful,' and she kissed me, deeply and passionately. I kissed her right back until her hips began to move against me, pushing herself against my still naked cock. I dragged her through to the bedroom, my earlier tidying wasted; I don't think she would have noticed if the place had been a tip, she was too far gone as I fucked her again.

Much later, we both got dressed and made our way downstairs to my studio. We both clung to each other as we stood in front of the painting that brought us together. 'What's her name?' she asked me, so I told her it was Helen. She nodded, 'It suits her. You know, it was said of Helen of Troy, that hers was the face that launched a thousand ships. Without this Helen, we would never have got together.' She started giggling uncontrollably, and I stood there laughing, not knowing why.

Eventually she got herself under control. 'Oh dear, I've got such a crazy sense of humour,' she tried to explain. 'It was just the idea of the face that launched a thousand ships, and I hoped that this Helen would be the face that launched a thousand fucks.' She giggled again. 'Okay, I'm daft, a little crazy, but is that such a bad wish?' she asked still laughing.

'I'll tell you when we've done it a thousand times,' I said. She smiled and kissed me again.

'It's a deal,' she agreed, but inevitably, she had to leave, although just before she left I had one last question to ask her.

'Beth,' she answered, on the verge of laughing again. 'My name is Beth.' So, we kissed lightly as she left, with my phone number in her handbag, promising to meet again as soon as we could. She turned just as she was leaving, and came into my arms again saying, 'One last thing please,' I nodded, and she asked me. 'Whose bitch am I?'

'You're my bitch, and don't you forget it,' and as I said it, I slapped her fine, firm arse, hard. She shuddered, breaking loose.

'Thank you,' she gasped out, and then she was gone... but not for too long.

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