Brush Strokes Ch. 02

A Painters Passion

The wonders of Paris were initially lost on Jocelyn. Her host, a dazzling young man with blue-black hair and violet eyes, gave her less than a day to recover from her journey. Philippe was enthusiastic and ambitious.

"Collin sent you to me to paint, not to pout!" He announced the evening after her arrival. "You fancied him." Jocelyn looked up startled. Philippe rolled his eyes elegantly. "You are not the first apprentice to fall for their master; you will not be the last. I fell so in love with my first teacher I barely got a thing done the first two years. He dismissed me, just as Collin has dismissed you, and now looks at me, the toast of Paris!" Philippe touched her hair. "Red hair, that is good, perhaps you will have a bit of passion in you, no?"

Jocelyn shoved his hand away. "Let's paint then since you are so eager."

Philippe laughed a sound very similar to Collins confident mocking laughter. "Excellent, to the studio"

Philippe's studio was not part of his opulent flat, but a claustrophobic loft in the seediest part of Paris. "This is to ensure that I am able to really feel the city itself" He responded when Jocelyn asked the reason for the unorthodox location.

"This," He said gesturing wildly to the dingy streets below. "Is the heart of Paris. I paint from life. Nowhere else in this city is more alive." Philippe sprinted and danced up the stairs two at a time. She followed at a sedate English pace; she would not be taunted by the wild Frenchman.

Liquor bottles littered the studios floor. The rooms smelled damp and stale with old cigarettes and decay. A large easel in the center of the room proudly held a partially finished work. The portrait was a breathtaking portrayal of a young nude woman whose face evoked and impossible hopeless, sadness. Jocelyn stood before it her jaw dropped in awe.

"Yes I know it is spectacular." Philippe said, his voice containing no modesty. "This is why Collin sent you to me, to learn to capture emotion. Your work is wooden, Mon Petite Rouge" He grinned, "Mine however is passion, fire!"

Philippe grabbed her, sweeping her into an oddly timed waltz. Despite herself Jocelyn began to laugh. "Melt Ice Princess!"

Abruptly he let her go. "Enough foolishness, we begin."

Philippe was an amazing teacher. He encouraged questions, showed through example, and dared her to defend her opinions, to experiment and open her mind. Her work was vastly improved by his exuberant tutelage. They worked late into the evenings, and then rushed into the streets to explore the taverns and theaters of Paris. No performance or play was too taboo or too risqué' for her wily mentor. The blushing English girl was left behind, and Philippe began to introduce her always as La Petite Rouge.

Philippe had become fascinated with the Moulin Rouge, and had convinced one of their most famous girls to pose for them. Her name was Yvette Monclair, a pale blond with alabaster skin and shining blue eyes. She swilled expensive champagne and smoked endless cigarettes. Her master was utterly charmed, but Jocelyn found little in the cancan girl to admire.

One late night Jocelyn was rude to Yvette, unable to contain her contempt any longer. Philippe opened his eyes wide in shock, and rushed to comfort her, only to be pushed away.

"Non, Monsieur Lefant. This is between Petite Rouge and me" She said defiantly.

Yvette drew herself up to her full height. Her heels making her several inches taller then Jocelyn's modest five feet. She stalked across the room quickly, her full cancan skirts swaying behind her. She reached up and pulled the pins from her hair, her blonde curls falling freely down her back.

"You do not like me? Perhaps you are jealous of Monsieur Lefont's attention? He is a lover of men foolish one, so you need not worry about his interest in me." Jocelyn shot a quick glance at her teacher, who shrugged and nodded. "You may" she continued, "Worry about my interest in you"

Jocelyn looked up, meeting Yvette's blue eyes a moment before she felt soft lips on her own. Jocelyn's one and only kiss had been with Collin, and she was astounded at how different Yvette's soft mouth felt on hers. Her lips tasted of champagne and the wax from her lipstick.

Jocelyn tried to draw back but felt the girls hand wrapped around her head holding her hair, forcing the kiss to last a moment longer. She felt Yvette's tongue enter her mouth, and caught her breath. The French girl's fingers slid down her neck, then over her back to rest right above her behind. Jocelyn thoughts spun out of control. On one hand she despised Yvette, on the other she found herself alive with sensation. The girl's hands were now cupping her ass, throwing her off balance. Jocelyn grabbed Yvette to steady herself, only succeeding in urging her to new exploits.

They stumbled backwards landing in a heap on the couch. Jocelyn was pressed into the couches soft velvet by Yvette's tall lean body. She drew back looking into Jocelyn's wide shocked eyes.

"You are virgin, No?" Yvette purred. "You do not have to answer, I can tell. Better your first experience with love by a woman then a man, Petite Rouge; we are more gentle, no?"

Jocelyn felt a blush spread to her cheeks, she opened her mouth to protest, but was silenced as Yvette crushed her with her lips again. She felt Yvette's small breasts pressed against hers. The scratchy crinolines of the cancan skirt brushed her legs. The kiss seemed to last an eternity, and then Yvette drew back again. She slid to the ground next to the couch and began struggling with the buttons on Jocelyn's ankle boots. Once she had succeeded in her task Jocelyn watched in horrified fascination as Yvette's hands disappeared under the folds of her skirt. Her long fingers deftly snapped the clasp on the garters that held up her silk stockings.

"What are you doing Yvette?" Jocelyn cried out.

"Making you more comfortable, it is hot in here no?" Yvette fanned herself with a hand to prove her point. "Relax girl, take pleasure where it is freely given. There are those who pay dearly for this and you will get it for free."

"But Philippe!" Jocelyn cried, blushing in embarrassment, she looked for her teacher.

"He left, blew us a kiss, and left. He understands. He approves. He has his own better things to do in the streets of Paris, I assure you. So lie back, and do not fight, you might even enjoy it." Yvette's wry smile seemed to mock Jocelyn's fear. "Once this is done the tension is done, you will paint, and I will be a beautiful work of art no?"

Shyly Jocelyn whispered. "You know you are beautiful, you know you are art, why do you need to do this to me, to make me feel so conflicted?"

"Perhaps, you have things you should know, things you should discover about yourself. For instance you are beautiful." Yvette kissed her neck and whispered in her ear. "You are art yourself"

They embraced again, all tentativeness left Jocelyn, as the beautiful French girl began her onslaught anew. Jocelyn felt her skirt being hiked up. Yvette's hands danced up her legs, finding the edge of her underwear and fumbling her fingers under the stiff elastic. Jocelyn gasped, never had she been touched in so intimate a place before. Another moment and Yvette's finger tip brushed her most private parts, drawing a gasping sigh. Jocelyn tensed and tried to sit up.

"Why so frightened? It is ok to feel pleasure, ok to enjoy this. You do not need to be so nervous" Yvette smiled gently, "lie back for me, and try to relax; you will have something to gasp about soon enough."

Jocelyn felt soothed by her words and her touch. Yvette removed her underwear and then continued to touch Jocelyn with delicate fingers. Each tiny movement was exquisite, a soft coaxing of pleasure. She wriggled under Yvette's expert touch.

"You squirm like you have never felt this before." Yvette said. "Surely you have touched yourself?"

"No, never, my mother taught me it was sinful" Jocelyn answered.

"Mon dieux! Give me your hand. There are things a woman must learn!"

Yvette took Jocelyn's hand and kissed it, then drew her index finger between her lips caressing them with her tongue. She cried out at the warmth of her mouth.

"Now," Yvette said guiding Jocelyn's hand between her legs. "You do it like this"

Blushing redder than her hair she felt Yvette's fingers guide her stiff hand. She struggled to relax as she explored the tender folds of herself, feeling her body loosen and bloom like a flower. Jocelyn let out a quivering sigh as she felt the first stirrings of pleasure. Moments passed before she realized her lovers hand had pulled away and Yvette was watching her with hungry eyes. Jocelyn pulled her hand away quickly.

"Non! Non!" cried Yvette in outrage. "Stand up"

Jocelyn stood. Yvette stripped off Jocelyn's dress quickly hurling it to the floor. She knelt in front of her and wrapped her arms around her waist.

Yvette gazed into her amber eyes and smiled. "Not a word from you until I am done, no more protest."

A reply died on Jocelyn's lips as she felt Yvette's hot breath on the damp space between her legs. She gasped her knee's buckling as Yvette's tongue explored her. Moving in wet circles Yvette brought passion in waves. Jocelyn cried out as Yvette sucked gently on the center of her desire, she felt dizzy with passion she had never known. Just as she felt she could take no more ecstasy Yvette's inserted her finger deep inside her. She came, screaming her joy as the French beauty worked her expertly to orgasm again an again.

"No More! Please!" Jocelyn whined.

Yvette laughed and drew her down in an embrace. They held each other. Yvette whispered little endearments in French. The last thing Jocelyn heard before drifting to a blissful sleep was, "Fais dodo, Petite Rouge"