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Saturday morning found her lazing in bed, sipping her freshly brewed coffee, looking over her current design portfolio. She had to choose an outfit to make up for the end-of-term fashion show. She had miraculously secured a place on the prestigious one-term flash course, a foundation course designed to sort the wheat from the chaff. As a result, she already had her place secured for the full diploma course the following year. Half the major European fashion houses picked up designers from the college, so she was delighted with her progress.
She spread her portfolio of sketches across the rose-printed damask bedcover that Felice, her father’s housekeeper, had sent her from home. Her designs were up-beat, kinky club-wear designs for the bold at heart. No shrinking violets would be seen wearing these radical PVC and latex numbers. They reflected her admiration for Gaultier, Westwood, and clothes with a deliberate alternative edge. The striking images contrasted bizarrely with the softly depicted roses on her bedcover, but Georgie liked that kind of difference. She liked to explore both her light and her darker sides. She smiled and glanced at the clock. In a couple of hours she would be with Cal again. She hummed to herself as she dressed. It was a bright, beautiful day, late July, a glorious summer, and the end of her first term in London.
She chose a fitted sheath of a dress in black. It flattered her dark looks. It was important to look right arriving, although she would soon be undressed for the modeling. Cal always looked at her with an enquiring eye as she entered his space. That first glance set the mood for the rest of the session. Georgie was already attuned to his way of working. He intrigued her, and observing him at work was a pleasure in itself.
She swept her hair up into a wide silver clip, treated her full lips to a coat of rich ruby lipstick, and dabbed a little of her favorite Hugo Boss scent along her collarbone.
When she dashed up the tiny stone steps that led from the flat to the street, she took a deep breath. She felt the anticipation humming in her veins as she walked along the busy midday streets toward Cal’s studio apartment.
“Come,” he shouted when she tapped at the door.
He was sitting on a stool in the center of the space, long legs crossed at the ankle, watching the door. His hands slowly folded a dark licorice paper around a thicket of tobacco. Next to him a blank canvas stood on the easel. He had prepared for a new beginning.
As she walked into the studio, she noticed the cushions that were usually spread across the floor where she posed had been replaced by a large, elegant sofa. It was big and wide, like a relic from a stately home, and covered in deep burgundy velvet edged with gold braid. Large tassels hung from the sweep of each armrest to complete its ostentatious presentation. In one corner of the room stood a large, smoothly molded sculpture of a woman with her hands buried between her thighs, one shoulder against the wall as if balancing there while she masturbated. The flagrantly exposed woman made her instantly hot. Was that his intention?
Cal watched her intently as she walked in, following the sw
ing of her hips. He took the cigarette to his mouth as she neared. She smiled, hoping that her face wasn’t too flushed. She breathed him in. The look of him filled her mind. The smell of tobacco, oil paints, and his musk enveloped her body. She reached the easel and collected the box of matches that always sat amongst the paint and brushes on its ledge. As he sucked the flame from her fingertips, he looked into her eyes.
“Thank you, Georgie. You look terrific, very sexy. That’s good. That suits my plans.”
She looked up and met his stare.
“For the painting.” He gestured at the new canvas and smiled at her again.
“What would you like me to do?” She opened her arms, as if to let his artistic persona in.
He stroked his beard, glancing over her body briefly, and then stood up. “Here.” He gestured to the stool. “Just sit. I’ll make some sketches first.”
Georgie took the place he indicated. This was unusual. He invariably worked straight in paint onto the canvas, and only once before -- the first time -- had he left her dressed for a while. He seemed to be waiting. Her mind suggested he was waiting for Jason. She wondered if that was the case. As if in response to the question her mind had posed, Cal spoke.
“I’ve asked Jason to come over later, to help me with this.” He glanced at her to see her reaction.
Georgie was beginning to guess what he might have in mind. “Do you ... work ... together often?” Her pauses were deliberate. She smiled, her mouth twitching when she observed the downward sweep of his lashes before he nodded. Sometimes this man was so direct, and at other times quite devious.
“Occasionally.” His reply was cautious.
“What is it that he helps you with -- the painting or the ... theme?” She couldn’t help herself. She was desperate to know.
“That’s one of the things I like about you. You’re a very candid woman.”
Georgie shrugged. “Sometimes there’s no point beating about the bush, but you’ve avoided my question.” She gave him a cheeky smile.
“So I did. Well, I’m hoping he’ll be able to help me with a little of both.”
“Both?”
“Can I be candid myself?”
She nodded encouragingly.
“I like the way you look when you’re being fucked. I want to capture something of it. However, it’s difficult for me to concentrate when I’m doing the fucking myself.”
Georgie swallowed. It was just as she had guessed, but hearing him say it aloud was quite another thing.
“Does he know what you want him to do?” Her voice was low. Her heart was pounding.
“He seemed very keen, if that’s what you’re asking.”
