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Tessa stared into the sumptuous face of the dark Italian Arturo. He was cool on the surface, as though he inspected intimate body jewelry every day for lunch, but beneath his nonchalance, Tessa could see the anxiousness in his eye—as if he doubted Miles’ submissive would be so bold as to bare her breasts in a public place. His eyes widened as Tessa began to unbutton her blouse. And with the first buttons undone, he suddenly shoved her hand away and reached inside her blouse, plucking a tit from inside its black lace bra cup and bringing the gold studded nipple into view. He made no remark, as he then reached in the other side of her blouse, and pulled the second breast from its captivity.
An excited blush rose across the creamy white of Tessa’s neckline and traveled toward her face, while her eyes wandered beyond their table for other voyeuring eyes who might glimpse her naked display.
Arturo tugged at the gold studs. Tessa gasped soundlessly. Leaning down, her admirer planted his mouth around one nipple, letting his tongue caress the soft skin and the gold. Her body answe
red, cunt and ass squirming against her chair.
“A fine prize, Miles,” Arturo happily exclaimed as he sat up.
While their waitress served the gentlemen poached salmon and broccoli soufflé, Tessa self-consciously gazed at her chest, her blouse falling open down the center. Though she was still half-covered, the shine of the gold could hardly be ignored as it glimmered from beneath the thin material of her blouse. Tessa had never been so quite so blatant with her exhibition, especially in such a straight-laced place. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel a naughty pleasure offering herself for whoever cared to look.
With no food of her own, she ate bites of Miles’ lunch, lovingly presented to her on the end of his fork. Each was pure joy, relished, savored, longingly loved with tongue and mouth, as though she were savoring more than food, tasting a morsel of heaven.
Her lover gave her wine, small sips that burnished her mouth with a wondrous flavor. In Miles’ company, he’d manipulate her every act, dominate her every thought. With each small step of control, she was wooed to him, anticipation for him grinding at her loins. She longed for some release; but even more, she longed for each new measured step of compliance that brought her closer inside his circle of control.
Arturo was nothing more than eyes and lips to exhibit for—titillation, a test perhaps? He slipped out before dessert was served, leaving Tessa alone with Miles again.
How would she bear another awkward silence? Staring, waiting, wondering, nervously expectant.
“Enough to eat?” he finally asked.
“Yes,” she hesitated, eye fluttering, teasingly, “But I do have other appetites.” She looked down, staring deliberately at his crotch.
“That’s good to know, since I have my afternoon free.”
Miles city studio, a one room garret loft, was a startling contrast to his formal country home. Tessa was amazed to see that it had none of the formality she associated with Miles Bryce. She loved the look, the feel, the smell—she could taste the eroticism in the air. Decorated with dozens of brashly painted canvases hanging on the walls and leaning against each other on the floor, it was bright, and cheery, and erotic in its own unique way.
“I see you like to paint naked women,” she said as she strolled the room. It was lit with skylights, and a golden afternoon light streamed through them, casting shadows on the sensuous works of art.
“I do, just as I’ll paint you.” He watched her—as beams of light hit her golden hair and she squinted because she couldn’t see. As she reached toward one painting, gingerly placing her hand on the oils, her small skirt rode up her thigh. How utterly innocent she was of her sensuous grace.
“You’ll paint me, so I can be another picture on your wall?” she asked, head cutely cocked.
“If that’s want I want.”
She smiled at him flirtatiously and turned away.
“Sit down on the bed,” he directed her toward the corner of the room, to the bed waiting for Tessa, resting like a throne on a foot high platform, covered in silky cream-colored sheets, now haphazardly strew over the top. The “just fucked” looked aroused her. Around the bed, a rose colored curtain draped it like a stage, the soft folds descending from the ceiling to the floor. Directly under skylights, the bed was bathed in the sumptuous sunshine that blinded her eyes. Giving up attempts trying to see his face, she sat on the edge of the bed, prim as a schoolgirl while Miles pulled out an easel, a sketch book and charcoal.
“You’re going to sketch me while I sit?” she asked.
“No,” he answered, “I’m going to sketch you while you masturbate.”
Hearing the amazing order, she moved into the shadows so she could see his expression. Her own blue eyes widened gleefully. “You want me to play with myself?”
“Yes.”
It was so easy to leave her tongue-tied—though it was from excitement, not fear. How intriguing. The idea of posing as his model was intriguing enough, but this was even more titillating. Kicking off her shoes, she reclined back against the pillows that covered one side of the mattress, then coquettishly pulled up her skirt. “You want me to take it off?” she asked, referring to the skirt.
“No, I like it better as it is now.”
“And that’s what you want—a pornographic painting?” she wondered aloud.
“That’s all I do,” he informed her. “But, no paint yet, these are just sketches. Now play with yourself.”
Eyes fixed on the artist, a blush on reddening her pale cheeks, Tessa pulled aside her panties with her fingers.
“Take them off,” Miles ordered brusquely.
