0 comments/ 52182 views/ 8 favorites Art for Art's Sake By: maninconn He sat there so still. His body absolutely glowed in the lights that surrounded him in the track above his head. The students stood around him, each perched behind an easel, critically eyeing him up, then stroking the brush on their canvas. His shoulders were so broad in back, his arms looked strong. His body curved powerfully down to his hips, which were artfully draped in the rear, blocking her view of what she assumed would be a lean and powerful butt that was the equal to his frame. Her guide didn't miss a beat, and took the opportunity to explain that the University provided model for class sessions, but you would be responsible to get your own for outside projects. Art students could make extra money modeling themselves for classes in which they were not enrolled, as the senior in this class was doing. Ali's mind drifted momentarily as her eyes stuck on the nude back of the model, and the wistful look in the eyes of the grad students painting the view she didn't have. She knew she'd be working with models next year, and knew that the time would come when she'd be confronted by a nude male, but having the issue jump up and say hi like this was like a cold splash of water to wake her up. She was going to college next year, she was going to major in art, her greatest passion. But she was also going into the adult world, where there was no Mom to answer her curiosities, no Dad to pick he up when she fell, and once in a while, a nude man. This would truly be an adventure! Her first week on campus was exciting, though she did manage to avoid contact with the masculine form in all its naked splendor. She made good friends with some freshman classmates and other students from her dorm. Her professors were so talented, and she had already learned much. The announcement that they would all be starting a project from a model in one class had her mind racing back to the naked hunk she'd seen (though not enough of) last April on here "Welcome to Campus" day. Of course, the first model was a far cry from the complexity of a human model. While looking at that still life study her instructor had concocted out of antique tools, all she could think of was how she'd love to be pounded by hat other model instead of painting this frigging hammer. As often happens to artists of all disciplines, her passions often ran faster than her skills. She knew she had to walk before she ran, but she so wanted to paint live models. On her own, she sketched interesting people that she saw around campus, from pictures and from her memory. Those from her memory stirred those passions the most. His picture appeared again and again, Still, she knew that her course of study would get her where she needed to be to do a live model justice. She needed to better understand perspective, form, line, shading..... Months passed, in fact she was well into the second semester when her instructor invited her to attend an evening session where she would get her first chance at a love model. "I know this is what you have been itching for, and we have a very small night class this term. I'd like you to come and give it a try while I can spend some time giving you some advice. You'll like the women in the class, even though they are all older. They're a group that stays pretty much the same from term to term, some professors's wives, hobbyist artists, but pretty skilled. They'd welcome a new talent like you, and would enjoy someone younger in the group." "I don't know Ms. Cruz," she responded. "I've got my hands full with my classwork..." Before she continues, her teacher reached over and opened her drawing book. The face of her model stared back at them. "This is good!" the young professor commended her sketch. "Come tomorrow night. You can draw him in life instead of from memory." She caught her breath. It was indeed what she had been itching for. "He's the model?" Ms. Cruz winked her answer. "I'll be there." Ali could think of nothing but finally drawing this hunk of a man she had seen while touring the campus as a high school student. The rest of the day, as well as the next flew by. She arrived at the studio right on time, but was the last one there. Ms. Cruz introduced her to a small group of women, who were already laying out paints and brushes, preparing for the arrival of their model. They were all beautiful women. They fussed and twittered about every topic under the sun, until one of them finally piped up "Hi Art." He strode into the room with the confidence of someone who may have owned it. Who knew, maybe he did. He went right to the stool beneath the track lights, and sat still. Ali was disappointed that this first encounter was to be with a dressed model, but she might have known. This department was famous for walking before you ran. Her face must've reflected the disappointment. "Just wait, you'll have him model nude for you soon enough," Ms. Cruz whispered in her ear. Ali buckled down to draw Art. Ms. Cruz interjected a suggestion here, a compliment there, but at the end of the night, was quite pleased with her young protégé's work. Ali packed her supplies quickly, hoping to meet Art, but her plan was foiled when Ms. Cruz stopped to give her an in-depth critique of her night's work. By the time she was able to leave the studio, Art had made a quiet exit with the petit blonde wife of the tennis coach who had been sitting two seats to Ali's right. Ali walked home quite dejectedly. She stepped into a crosswalk without looking and was scared out of her skin by the screeching of brakes, and a headlight that stopped bare inches from her shaking knees. Her supplies went flying, and papers scattered all around. She frantically collected her drawings before the next gust of wind sent them flying into the river that bordered one side of campus. "Oh my God, Are you OK?" It was the driver, who came rushing right to Ali. She didn't look long at his face, or she'd have been struck by how pale he was. He was aghast that he'd almost hit someone, but she was just annoyred that he was in her way. She was sure she was about to lose the bulk of her semester's drawings. "I'm fine, I'm fine! Just help me get my drawings!" He joined her panicked efforts, and with his help they gathered all her works. He knelt beside her in the grass to help her put her drawings back into her portfolio case in an orderly way, but before they had gotten very far, it began to rain. Ali had visions of her works washing away on the paper in the raindrops. "Quick, the in the car, you can finish there where it is dry." She looked at him warily. She didn't know him, except for the fact that he had almost struck her with a car. A nice car. Oooooh, it was a very nice car indeed. "Really, I know you have no reason to trust me, you really don't know me at all. But I promise not to move the car until your works are safe. If you want me to drive you home then, I will." She didn't have time to argue, she bolted for the car to save her art. He got in the driver side, and fished a towel out of a bag in the back. They wiped the rain off their arms and hands and completed their operation to secure her pictures. She looked up at him, and for the first time since she had stepped off the curb saw the most beautiful pair of blue eyes looking back at her. "Thank you." She murmured. "Oh no, it's the least I could do...." He began to jabber about how scared he was when she stepped off the curb, about how tired he had been since he was working at an internship, about dozens of topics until "...whatever makes you comfortable. You can walk if you wish, but I'd be happy to drive you home so you can stay dry. Or..." Was he blushing? He was blushing! Where was he going with this!? "I was just heading up to The Pub to grab a beer and a burger. After scaring you and practically destroying your portfolio, the least I could do is buy you dinner." That was how she met Andrew Jason Moore, son of Wall Street tycoon, Dudley Moore. The Moore family had the golden touch since early the 1800's, when Andrew's great great grandfather made the first family fortune with a lumber business upstate New York. Although born with a silver spoon, Andrew's parents had made him work hard in school, never letting him rely on family reputation to get him through. He was sharp as a razor, and had a keen eye for business opportunities. Indeed, he was paying his own way through school with the profits he reaped from an investment portfolio he had managed since middle school. Andrew had been raised to get what he wanted honestly and directly. And he was instantly smitten with Ali. The dinner that fateful evening lasted until closing time at the pub. It was the first of many evenings together. They enjoyed the same movies plays and concerts. Ali's favorite dates, however, were when they explored her field, and visited a gallery or museum. Andrew was a sponge for knowledge about art, and Ali delighted in showing him the ropes.Andrew's family was also delighted, both with his new hobby and with his new girlfriend. They invited the young couple into the city frequently, and enjoyed taking the young artist and their son to openings where she could not only see the work but meet some very well known artists and rub elbows with critics and gallery owners. Ali was smitten, both with Andrew and with the lifestyle. She hadn't dated much in high school, and her mother always told her "When you fall, you'll fall hard." She did. Andrew fell just as hard for her. On one particularly beautiful spring night, they attended a wonderful opening. The champagne had gone to both of their heads, and as they walked home through the park, they couldn't keep their hands off each other. They kissed long and hard near the park exit, and a short time later found themselves in a luxury suite of one of the hotels bordering the park. They grappled with each others clothing, desparate to finally make love after all these months. She hadn't wanted to rush into sex with Andrew, or so she told him. She just wasn't sure he was the man for her. Oh sure he was wealthy, and had the potential to make fortunes after he graduated. He was very handsome, but at 5'9'' with a slight dancer's body, he came off more in a refined, prince charming way than the muscle bound bad boy types that seemed to catch Ali's eyes. But now, Andrew's soft hands felt so gentle and irresistible. His lithe body was very fit and had her lusting to join with it. His hands calmly removed her blouse and bra elegantly setting free her large, round, olive skinned breasts. Her dark hair spilled over the dark skin that always looked tanned, and his mouth kissed her big round pouty lips. Her dark eyes grew wide with the anticipation of what was about to happen, and she was glad her first love making experience would happen with someone as gentle as Andrew. It was memorable. He gently laid her on the bed, never breaking his kiss. He kissed down her neck sending chills down her spine. His hot breath tingled her skin, and his hands, oh so soft, massaged her breast and ass at the same time. Her pants and panties slid down off her hips as one, and naked beneath him, she surrendered to the man she wanted more than anything in the world. Andrew rose enough to remove his pants, then lowered himself back onto her. Oh, he felt so warm, so smooth. The skin on skin contact was the most amazing feeling..... "Ooooooh no it wasn't" she thought as his penis entered her dripping virgin pussy. She had heard the first time might hurt, but she felt no discomfort as his penis probed the length of her pussy, seeming to never stop. At that moment she wondered exactly why she had waited, then realized, Andrew was moving faster on top of her. Is acceleration matched her increasing heart rate. She pulled his head to her tightly and wrapped her legs around his humping ass. She quickly felt a surge of energy build up inside of her, and as she erupted with her first orgasm, at least her first with a man present, she let out a long, loud moan. This moan put Andrew over the edge, and his body stiffened as he spewed his seed deep into her pussy. It wasn't until after the pair had separated that she thought of the possibility that they had just had unprotected sex, and that she could be well on her way to becoming a parent. But it felt so good lying there in the afterglow, all warm and soft, lying against Andrew with her bare skin pressed against his, that all worries fled her mind. The gentle but deep breathing of his sleep rocked her mind to the deepest most satisfying sleep she had ever known. Making love became a highlight of Ali's life. She wanted it all the time, but Andrew was a senior and about to graduate. His internship required long work hours, so they didn't see each other much except on the weekends. Ali went on the pill, but still worried about those first few times before starting. Their fears were allayed when that time of the month came and went, and they resumed their sexual activity. Graduation came and went, and Ali spent a celebratory weekend with Andrew's family at the beach house in the Hamptons. Andrew proposed that weekend, in front of his extended family, on one knee at dinner, declaring that he hadn't felt alive until he met her, and knew he couldn't live without her. They were both hopelessly in love. The summer was full of engagement parties, showers, and arrangement making for a Thanksgiving wedding. Ali was barely aware that Andrew was still seeking a professional opportunity. She didn't spend the time drawing or painting she expected to, though she had plenty of inspiring subjects and ideas. When her fall term came around, she was dismayed that Ms. Cruz found her work to be lacking in depth. "I miss your edge!" she told Ali. "Your high school portfolio and the work you did last fall and even in the early spring really had an extra something. They moved me emotionally, and quite strongly. That's missing. Get it back!" Ali worked feverishly, but couldn't find what her mentor was looking for. The wedding day was beautiful, and the wedding party was perfect. The wedding night was hot and sexy, with the young couple driving each other mad all night. Ali looked forward to a long life with Andrew if it always felt this good. She presented him with a miniature painting she had done of the two of them from a picture taken that summer at the beach. He was deeply moved, but told her she'd have t wait until tomorrow for her gift. She was dying to find out, and pressed him all night. He was good at holding her off, but woke in the middle of the night with an incredibly warm feeling on his erect penis. As he woke, he realized Ali was slowly bobbing her head up and down on his stiff cock, her tongue caressing his arousal in ways he had never experienced. As he became fully conscious he moaned her name. She stopped instantly. His cock lurched in the cold air that replaced her hot lips, and he begged her to continue. "I will, when you tell me what my present is." He squirmed and begged, begged and squirmed, but she was unrelenting. Finally, unable to stand the torture of deprivation, he gave, in. "I am starting a business here in town. I'll be able to stay with you through college, and set you up in a beautiful home on the bluffs overlooking the river." She smiled, let out a quiet "awww," and dropped her head back to warm and revive his gradually softening cock. It didn't occur to her to ask what his business dealt in. She actually liked oral sex much more than she had anticipated, and was eager to finish the job. The next day, Andrew took her to se exactly what kind of business he had planned. They drove through town to the trendy new little enterprise district by the waterfront. It had become a favorite of the arts community, with it large loft apartments in renovated industrial buildings and hip little coffee shops that often featured live music. They parked and walked along the brick sidewalk until he stopped in front a shop. The shop sported a dark red awning with white letters that read, Berlin's Walls An Artists' Showcase. Ali immediately recognized the play on words. Andrew had used her last name to refer to the walls of a new gallery, on which art would be displayed, premiered and sold. She squealed with delight and clapped her hands like a little girl. The space was stunning as well. Andrew had carefully renovated an old bread bakery for the space. Ali marveled at his use of the space, carving out intimate display areas in place of the many smaller rooms from the old plant. However she was stunned when they walked into the large central chambers that had once held giant dough mixing vats and ovens. Andrew had taken a classic labyrinth design from an old French cathedral and superimposed it on the space. He had loosely organized his gallery walls along the design, leaving space to cross out of the labyrinth flow should a patron wish. There was an incredible amount of space for large pieces along the outside walls, and the huge space was flooded with natural light from the ample skylights. All the walls could be moved so the space could be opened and closed flexibly, allowing multiple artists to show simultaneously. "It's not a gallery, it's a museum" Ali mumbled in awe. "I hope so," said Andrew, "a museum where everything is for sale. We open next month. I've arranged a grand opening with a show of all local artists. Many of the established painters from the river valley were so excited about the project they begged to show their work. I'm also devoting an entire section to faculty from your school, and will have the smaller side galleries showing some up and coming local people. We start installing the show tomorrow." Ali grabbed Andrew and kissed him deeply. He had done this for her. He had aimed his business to be something that paralleled her career, her life. He had made it spectacular, and named it after her. She positively oozed how she loved Andrew, While showering him with kudos and kisses, she hurriedly removed his clothing, and made love to him right there in the midst of the gallery walls...Berlin's walls...her walls. Ali spent increasing amounts of time at the gallery, and while she had opportunities galore to rub elbows and talk art with some of the finest people in her field, the caliber of her own work continued to decrease. She just didn't spend the time doing art like she had. Her young curiosity that had once given her work that wonder was gone, as her life was settling. She faced with being dropped from program, and professors stopped inviting her to the evening sessions she so loved. Ali was so infatuated with her new husband, and with life at their gallery, she barely noticed the criticism of her work. She barely cared that she was no longer being asked to fill empty seats in the evening sessions with live models. She barely cared. Well, she barely cared until Andrew and Art connected. Ali walked into the gallery one day to find Art in the office, going over details of a show. Andrew saw her come through the door, and instantly read the puzzled look on her face. "Ali!" he greeted her with a kiss. I'd like you to meet Art Donovan. We are going to feature his work with a show opening next week on the upper level of the atrium. He does some marvelous abstracts that I think you'll love." "We've met," Ali responded as she offered Art her hand. "Art models for professor Cruz's evening classes." "Yes," Art chimed in, "That's where I've seen you before. You did some nice work. You haven't been there recently though." Ali made some lame excuse about her involvement in the gallery taking up her time. She wasn't sure if Art was reading her face as well as her husband had. Could she see the flush on her face as she remembered the first time she had seen Art, modeling nude? Though her view had been from behind, and Art's body was modestly draped from that angle, the picture had burned itself deeply into that most erotic corner of her consciousness. She recognized the feeling of lust that was heating her body as one she didn't feel with Andrew, and she liked it. She excused herself from the conversation, and left the room. She quietly slipped through the otherwise deserted gallery, out the door and to her car. Art For Art's Sake My buddy Nick wanted to drag me to an art show in town. He said I should get some culture for a change. It wasn't that I didn't like art. I just didn't want to be rubbing elbows with a bunch of snooty people. I finally caved in and Nick and I showed up at this art gallery. The main attraction was some woman named Annette. Nick said I would love her art. Once we were inside I could see what this artist was all about. There were a few landscapes and still lifes, but most of her paintings were portraits. When I say portraits I mean nudes. The paintings weren't bad in my opinion, but I thought I had seen better. As I stood looking at this one painting a woman slid up next to me and asked me my opinion of the artist. "She isn't too bad," I told the woman. Just then another woman appeared and she said, "Annette, your nudes are just wonderful!" I sort of felt embarrassed telling this Annette her artwork wasn't 'too bad.' "Your right," Annette said, "I have done better paintings." Someone called out for Annette, but before she walked away she pulled a card from her bag she was carrying. "Call me sometime, I'd like to paint your portrait." I took the card and stuffed it into my pants pocket. I then tracked down Nick and told him that I was ready to leave. "Let's go have a few beers," I told him. Nick and I were seniors in college at the time. I was twenty-two. As we sipped our beer at a local bar I got to thinking about this Annette. She had to be in her early forties even though she could have passed for younger. She had strawberry blonde hair down to her shoulders and I had to admit she was quite attractive. It couldn't hurt to take her up on the offer. Maybe there was a few bucks involved in posing. A few days had passed and I looked on top of my dresser. There was the card Annette gave me. I looked at it and I pulled out my phone. I called her and she said she was hoping I might call. She asked if I was busy Saturday morning. I told her I was free so we made arrangements to meet then. I drove over to the address she gave me. Annette answered and I went inside. Her studio was this large loft. It had been a factory at one time, but now the building was occupied by the art crowd. When I looked around there were paintings all over the wall and art stacked on the floor. Annette went over and poured two glasses of wine. She handed me one and after I took a swig she told me to go over to a stool she had by the window and disrobe and sit. I didn't think I heard her correctly. "Disrobe?" I asked. "Yes, you do know I paint mainly nudes Michael?" What could I say. I could either leave and look like some prude or I could get undressed. I started to strip down and I took everything off as she asked. I sat down on this cushioned stool and Annette began to sketch me. It is not that I am ashamed of my body. I do work out and my cock is around eight inches in length. I got into the position she wanted and I sat there for maybe forty-five minutes. Annette then stopped her drawing and said it was time for a break. Thank God, my ass was getting sore just sitting in one position all that time. Annette motioned for me to sit on a sofa she had there in her loft. I sat down as she asked and then Annette walked over and started to remove her clothes. My eyes started going wide as I watched Annette strip down completely. She did have a hot body. Her bush was the same color as her hair and her breasts were pear shaped. Annette kneeled down in front of me. She reached out with her hand and took hold of my dick. "The first time I saw you I knew I had to have you Michael." Annette lowered her mouth and she took my dick between her lips. She started to slide up and down my rod as her other hand cupped my ball sacs. I couldn't believe what was happening. My dick was getting rock hard as Annette bobbed up and down. She was making these slurping sounds as she sucked my cock. It didn't take long before I was fully erect. When I was finally hard enough for Annette, she pulled her mouth away. Annette stood up and straddled my legs. She placed her arms around my neck and then she lowered herself to the tip of my cock. All I knew was that I wanted to fuck her. I placed my hands on Annette's hips and I push her down onto my stiff dick. Annette let out this loud moan as I entered her pussy completely. It only took a few moments before Annette was sliding up and down my thick rod. I managed to thrust up each time she lowered herself. Annette's tits were right in my face. I brought my mouth over and I started chewing on a hard nipple. Annette felt so good riding my cock. I could feel her muscles tugging on my pole as she slid up and down. "Fuck me hard Michael," Annette screamed out loud. I thought I had been, but I really pushed my dick in all the way. Annette was grinding down hard on my dick as I thrusted up into her belly. I guess we were both in a fuck lust at that moment. I didn't think I was going to hold out very much longer the way we were fucking. I had no idea if I was suppose to pull out or continue. I fed Annette for a few more minutes and then I let out a moan like some wild boar in heat. I shot a geyser of my cum into Annette's tight pussy. I could see that Annette was hot for my sticky load. Her muscles were wrapped tight around me and she was milking my cock of every drop I had in me. Annette was also having orgasms as well. I could feel her pussy gripping me like a small fist. I didn't stop for anything. I kept bringing my ass up from the sofa and pushing my cock deep within her folds. Annette was the one to finally slow down. Her body was shaking as she continues to clutch at my cock with her pussy muscles. "Oh my God, that was fantastic Michael!" Annette had been one fantastic fuck, that was for sure. Annette kept milking my dick until I went soft. She finally got up from the sofa and walked over to a bathroom just off the studio. She came back wearing a bathrobe and she brought back some towels that I could clean up with. "I think we are done with our art session today," she smiled at me. Annette was right, I felt spent. I don't think I had anything left in the tank. I cleaned up and dressed as Annette walked me to the door. "I hope you will drop by again Michael." I ended up driving home and I fell onto my bed. I couldn't get Annette off my mind. I got out of my clothes and just rested there. My cock was chafed from all the fucking we had done that afternoon. Annette was like some middle-aged nymph as far as I was concerned. I knew I hadn't seen the last of my naked artist, not by a long shot. Art for Art's Sake Professor Cruz watched Ali as she painted Art's languid figure. She recognized the look on her face as the same look on the face of all Art's models in his portraits. It was the lusty look of all his models, his lovers, including her when she had fallen under his spell. She now knew for certain the source of Al's inspiration, her rediscovered edge. It was hunger, hunger for Art. The paintings that night were all inspired. The visions of Art's body were especially clear, illuminated by his dominating erection. Professor Cruz was especially aware of Ali's arms and legs, which were collecting ridiculous amounts of paint. She circled around to view her canvass and was struck by what she saw. Ali had painted only Art's erection. The distinctive bulbous head, the pronounced veins in the sides of the muscular looking shaft, the large testicles all nearly screaming off the canvass. While most painters in a single sitting session like this concentrate on either drawing a complete work, or fleshing out something they could complete later without the model, Ali had frantically filled her canvass. Flowing around the engorged penis were drifting shapes, decorated with.... Professor Cruz was stunned when she realized a similarity. The decorations on the shapes corresponded directly with the designs Ali had painted on herself. She could now make out the shapes abstractly as body parts, arms and legs. Looking closer, she identified breasts, and the blue smears that now went up Ali's thighs beneath the legs of her shorts terminated at what was clearly two smoothly shaved pussy lips. Professor Cruz stepped back, and looked closely at the distorted shadings in Ali's background. She paced slowly back and forth to catch different light, and sure enough, there was Ali's head. It's blurred details hid from the casual viewer in a monochromatic blur, but looking closely she could make out the shape of Ali's eyes, her nose, her hair, and an eager mouth ready to devour the prominent penis. Professor Cruz felt a hot flash erupt through her body, and had to sit. She looked carefully at Ali's paint covered thighs, and realized the student was reaching frequently beneath her pants to ease her own genitals. She suddenly wanted to look at the work Ali had been submitting, and left the room to go to her next door office. She looked at the pieces, and sure enough, there was Ali, hidden someplace in each of them. She realized that though the concrete detail in each piece was what grabbed the casual eye, the real statement of each piece was the Artists commentary, in the form of an abstract representation of herself. None of the previous works matched what was being created in the next room, however, and the teacher was struck with a need to go watch the piece finish. She stepped back in the studio and froze with the scene before her. Ali had removed her shirt and shorts, and was painting nude. Art's eyes were fixed on her as she painted herself as much as the canvass. It was as if she was possessed, and the portrait of the penis was a vivid recipient of her genius. The other women were as busy painting Ali as they were Art, and the tables behind them were littered with sketches. Several of them had loosened blouses and belts, and like Ali were openly feeling themselves, and even masturbating. Professor Cruz thought it was probably best to stop this, but was herself entranced by the activity. Ali finally finished her painting. She walked over to Art, kissed him deeply, and then in eerie resemblance to the abstract shading in the penis portrait, dropped down and engulfed the raging hard on in her mouth. Paintbrushes and pencils stopped. Hands became busy on pussies, as the entire class was caught up in the eroticism of the act they were witnessing live. Art had been hard too long, and Ali was too hungry and ferocious in her action and approach for him to last long. He was not in control of the situation, so his normal ability to control his pace was absent. He erupted in orgasm very quickly. Ali couldn't possibly hold it all in her mouth, and the seed leaking from her mouth brought lusty sighs from her classmates. One by one, and in quick succession each of them came, and the room filled with the scent of sex. Ali calmly packed her paints, placed her canvass on the drying rack, collected her clothing, and strode naked and glistening with paint to her car. Art called the next day, asking her to stop by. Since it wasn't for her to pose, she didn't go. The next day he called again, almost begging. She didn't go. The following day, her husband called her just before dinner. "Art called, your portrait is done. He wants to install it for us tomorrow. Can you be home to let him in around 10:00? He says he'll unveil it at dinner." Ali smiled. Andrew was eagerly looking forward to the portrait's installation, but not as eagerly as Ali. Art arrived the next day wearing a pair of overalls and no shirt. Ali met him at the door wearing nothing. Without a word between them, she showed him to the bedroom. Andrew had prepared the wall in advance with special recessed lights preset to the spot where the portrait would hang. The bed had been pulled from the wall, and a ladder waited at Art's disposal. It didn't take long for Art to finish his business, and soon the look of lust on the nude the portrait stared back at the flesh and blood version sitting naked, spread eagled in a facing chair. Ali was fingering herself, and as Art stowed his tools and moved te bed back to the wall, he could hear her fingers slurping in her oozing wet pussy. He turned and looked at her. "I like it." Art regarded his work, then looked back at her. Ali had realized that off his turf, off his script, Art wasn't the dominating figure he was in his studio, in his bed. She had taken advantage of that in the evening class, and intended to take advantage of it again. "Take your pants off." Art slipped the coveralls off his shoulders one at a time. They dropped straight to the floor. He was bare beneath them, and his cock was already erect. "Lick me." It was clear he wasn't used to following, and preferred to take the lead. He balked at her command. "I don't do that." "Your house, your rules, I obeyed. This is my house. Now lick me." He hesitated, but slowly came over and got on his knees. Gingerly, he leaned forward, but the contact he made was less than satisfying. "Oh come on, you weren't pansy when it was time to get, don't be a wuss now!" She grabbed his hair, and pulled his face into her pussy. He offered a token resistance, but was less than eager with his tongue. Her efforts made little headway, until finally in frustration, she slid off the chair, forcing him back onto the floor. She sat on his face and grinded her pussy down on him until she got what she wanted. He either found some pleasure in the act, or resigned himself to finishing the job as quickly as possible, because his tongue and lips began to respond, and she found the right rhythms and angles to light her fire. She had thoroughly enjoyed his dominating fucks at his house, but she wasn't about to let them go unanswered. She came hard, and her juices gushed on his mouth. Once her orgasm passed, she stood, and turned the covers back on the bed. "Now fuck me in my husband's bed." He didn't want to do that. His adventures had never happened in his lovers' homes, it was a boundary he didn't want to cross. Playing with another man's wife because she wanted it was one thing, invading his space to conquer his wife was dangerous. "I have the check for the painting. I only have to tell Andrew I didn't like the work to explain why I withheld it. It's a very nice payday for you, as long as I am satisfied." She lay on the bed, and spread her legs. He could smell the wetness from across the room, her glistening pussy cried out for attention. His dick was very aware of its call to arms. It was fully engorged, and throbbed almost painfully. He brought it over to her, and slowly lowered himself onto her waiting body. His cock slid into the eager pussy, and she moaned. "That's a good boy." Half excited by the humiliating manner in which she labeled him a boy, and half because the lave had been building in his volcano since she answered the door nude, he couldn't restrain his sexual energy. He began to hump hard and fast as soon as his dick had established his presence inside her. She didn't complain, and equally excited by the fact she was fucking Art in Andrew's bed, in her own home, had her ready to cum quickly. Art went over the edge first, with Ali close behind. The clung and grappled with each other as the both felt the powerful surges rip through their bodies. Art rolled off of Ali, and her thoughts drifted. She thought of the innocent young girl that had just a couple of years ago come to visit campus as a prospective. She had barely dated, since her time was spent submerged in her art. She had found sweet Andrew, he had courted her, and built a good home and career around her needs. He was her angel husband. Art was her devil lover. She had quickly learned about men and sex through these two, and liked the polar opposites. Sweet and sour are good together, light needs dark for contrast. Why not have a good man and a bad boy filling their respective niches. Yup, that'd be fine! Right now though, Art's nice had been filled. She got out of bed, walked to the dresser on the other side of the room, and withdrew and envelope. "Time for you to go." He looked at her puzzled, but instantly recognized the turnabout. She was treating him just as he had treated her at his studio. He reached for the coveralls, fearing... "Oh no. Just as you are. Go." She waved the envelope at him. He needed that check. He had no choice, and she was insisting on turnabout. He followed her from the bedroom to the front door. She opened it, and stood aside. He naked through the door, turned to take the check, and walked to his van. Andrew was thrilled with the portrait. He had brought home a romantic dinner. He set a candlelit table in the bedroom, where they looked it over, discussed its artistic merits, and dined on lobsters and champagne. It wasn't long before Andrew, coaxed Ali to the bed, and began kissing her. He told her he needed to see the real thing and the portrait side by side as he gently undressed her. She smelled of lavender from her shower oil, and he was touched that she had been preparing for this celebration too. She had showered and cleaned up just for him. "Sweetheart, I know it was hard for you to pose naked for another man, but the portrait is perfect. Thank you for giving me such a treat." It became apparent that he intended to give her a treat in return, as he lowered his face to her cleanly shaved sex. Well it was clean on the outside, but since Andrew never gave her oral sex, she hadn't bothered to wash Art from inside. She still carried his semen from their moment barely two hours ago. She smiled wryly as he began to lick the juices from her, but was also dreading the possibility that he might discover her indiscretion. His comments turned, however to praise at how wet she was for him, how good it was, how they'd have to do this more often. "Ok, if you insist." She chuckled, "I'm game." Ali's paintings were garnering quite a bit of attention from the faculty and people they had shown her work. It was determined she would have a solo exhibition at the school the following semester. Ali was so excited, and became even more driven in her work. Andrew's gallery had gained considerable status in the art world, and was doing quite well. He had profited from the exhibitions in his innovative space at Berlin's Walls, and had used those profits to buy two established galleries in the city. Although he had managers for all three sites, he was very involved in the operations, and was beginning to discover how much influence his selection of an artist to show in his shops held on the art world in general. Berlin's walls had been a fine choice of a first business with which to follow the family heritage of amassing fortune. Art's star had risen fast with his show at Berlin's walls. Critics had favored his work, and some piece had sold for a tidy sum. He was content but remained guarded in the solitude of his studio home. Ali had taken to hiring her own models, and spent most of her studio time at home, rarely coming to campus except for her scheduled classes. She liked her own work, and was developing a very unique style with her blend of detailed foregrounds with very abstract though meaningful backgrounds. Few people who saw her work could decipher the true meaning of the backgrounds, but they all sensed something extraordinary. Professor Cruz, spotted the technique immediately that night when Ali radically painted Art and entertained the class with her sexual attack of her model. Cruz desperately wanted to see Ali's work, but was only privy to what her young protégé produced as class work. It took a visit to Andrew's new downtown gallery to work an invitation to dinner one Friday night. Andrew had even extended an invitation to come early and spend some time with Ali in her studio. The night came, and Cruz arrived at the home in her her favorite little black dress. Andrew showed her in and directed her to Ali's studio. Andrew excused himself to oversee the final preparations for dinner, and Cruz stepped through the door. She was awestruck. The room was filled with canvasses of several sizes. Some were hung, some leaned against walls. There was a long table, supply cabinets, easels, and jars filled with brushes. It had the look of purposeful chaos. I was that level of untidy enough to look messy but organized enough that I know exactly where everything is and what I need is always in reach. Cruz had seen that same look in her brother's garage, the garage of a master mechanic. She had spotted that air in the workshop of her grandfather, the brilliant electrical engineer. It was the look of genius. Knowing the key to Ali's Art, the teacher at the back ground first, allowing her eye to slowly gravitate to the detailed objects that seemed the focus of the painting. The teacher was stunned. The paintings told amazing tales of objects and the artists feelings towards them. Ali stepped in without Cruz noticing. "Like anything you see?" Cruz was spellbound. Her gaze moved from painting to painting. "You are the most talented student I've ever had." She continued to examine the works, as Ali looked on. Time passed, and other guests arrived. Still she studied. Andrew's head poked through the door. "Hey you too, enough shop talk. Dinner is ready." Cruz reluctantly left the studio, and followed Andrew to dinner. Ali silently brought up the rear. At the table were already seated an art critic from the Times, another gallery owner, and Art. Ali and Art didn't speak directly through dinner, though both engaged Cruz and the other guests in conversation. The man from the Times pontificated on and on about the work of some old school landscape artist who lived nearby. He blew more hot air than anyone was willing to deal with, and everyone was relieved when Andrew moved the topic to Art and his portrait of Ali. "I'd like to see it." Conversation stopped at the critics request. Ali, Andrew and Art knew that it was a nude, Cruz expected it, but the other guests ad no idea. "Well, I'm not sure that would be proper," stammered Andrew, "you see it's a bit revealing, and I'm not certain Ali would appreciate exhibiting her so openly." There were smiles and chuckles around the table as the company came to the realization that Andrew was refusing their viewing of a boudoir piece. Conversation dangled again, until Ali broke the silence. "I'm quite comfortable with my body, and the work is fine. I wouldn't mind." Andrew looked up, surprised. Though his voice objected, his face had the flushed color of sexual excitement. "But honey, I wouldn't parade you in front of guests naked, why would I show them your portrait naked?" Ali stood, and the guests looked at her closely. Male guests were undressing her with their eyes, and female guests were wondering how she'd look in paint. Ali satisfied them both. Her dress was a loose fitting ivory smock, with lace like eyelts belted at the waist. Ali pulled the belt off, and slid the dress off her shoulders, letting it flow to the floor. She was nude beneath the dress, and stood before the company. Her body was decorated with the paintings that had so become part of her persona. She was immersed in paint all day, and all night. She was quite beautiful and the details were incredible.... The connection hit Cruz like a ton of bricks. Ali painted her detail on herself before the canvass. She lived the background, and eventually transferred the detail while posing herself for the abstract. It fascinated the teacher to discover how the student arrived at her material, at her subject. "Come." Ali walked slowly from the table and headed to the bedroom. Her guests were close behind. A somewhat stunned and very quiet Andrew followed last. As the guests spilled into the bedroom, Art found a place alone by the far wall. Ali slid onto the bed, recreating the pose directly in front of her likeness. The eyes of the guests slowly moved between picture and model. Art and Andrew, for different reasons, watched the guests reactions. Ali was becoming visibly turned on, her nipples rising to attention in spite of the warm room. The guests began commenting on the portrait, complimenting both Art and Ali along the way. Art calmly answered their questions, and finally as they probed deeper said "You just have to be in touch with your subject. There is a lot of me, and a lot of Ali in the paint." Andrew's ears perked up at this, and he began to be suspiciously curious about the modeling sessions. He began to have doubts as to whether he should have commissioned the work. Had he chosen Art in haste? At that, the discussion deepened, until Ali was asked what she was thinking of during the pose. "Desire." Ali had looked right at Andrew as she spoke, and he felt the blood drain from his face. He now gazed at her expression. He had never seen this expression on Ali's face before, but it was clearly there now. Only Cruz understood, and she moved close to Andrew out of compassion for what he must be discovering. She knew that lok well. All Art's subjects wore it. Of course all of Art's subjects had just submitted to him sexually, and were so satisfied, they were instantly lusting for the next time. All of them believed there would be another round. All of them would be left wanting in order that he could maintain control, and have willing models. He didn't make love, he fucked subjects into his desired state of mind. The questioning continued. Finally Andrew spoke up. "How did you get her into that mood?" The guests fell quiet. Art looked at Andrew, and remembered where he was. He didn't want to make an issue in the man's own bedroom, but the hand was being forced. Art dropped his eyes and left the room. "He fucked me into it." Ali wasn't interested in beating around the bush. She had learned that sugar coating her world led to meaningless work as an artist. She had to live on the edge to paint with an edge. She was not about to deny this edge. "It's ok though, you got the sexy picture of me you wanted for the bedroom." She then giggled, "And actually, you dedicated an entire wall to it, my wall. You have another Berlin's Wall." Andrew couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't believe she'd humiliate him this way. He'd commissioned this portrait because he adored her. It was truly a stunning work. Now a future was taking shape that included this incredible painting hanging in his home, while he divorced and evicted the model.