Saturday, May 18, 2013

Scene: Dreaming Artist

I set my brush aside and leaned back to admire the painting. The swirling lines and vibrant colors seemed to make the image move of its own will. It had been weeks of work, but it was finally finished. I turned and began to busy myself with cleaning up my brushes when a knock sounded at the door. I wiped my hands on the apron and opened the door to find one of the tallest men I had ever seen waiting.

His long hair fell in elegant waves that framed his smiling face with a seeming halo of hair the color of ripe wheat. Eyes that were the color of the grass sparkled with delight. I found myself unable to speak at first as he stepped into the room. It had been a scant month since I had opened the studio. The prospect of a customer made me anxious even as his delightful beauty made my stomach flip-flop. He looked around the room and walked over to the just finished painting.

“Oh, no, don't touch that. It's still wet,” I gasped as he reached it. He looked over and flashed me another dazzling smile.

“So, she speaks,” he said in a musical voice that sent a shiver of pleasure up my spine.

“I'm sorry, you caught me off guard. I was rather caught up in working on this when you arrived,” I said apologetically. He clasped his hands behind his back and strolled over to the other paintings hanging on the wall. This seemingly easy going man paused and twitched aside the curtain hiding the other finished paintings that were awaiting their turn to be displayed. “Oh, please don't do that...” I started and he looked over at me.

“Are they not for sale?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, I don't have room to display them,” I explained. He made a noise of comprehension and resumed investigating the carefully stacked canvases. I walked towards him. “Please, they're over there so that they don't get damaged,” I said, my hands fluttering at my side as a cold knot of anxiety coiled in my stomach.

“They're very good,” he said, ignoring my approach. “I especially like this one,” he said, carefully lifting the nude self-portrait that I did. A flush painted my skin pink as he looked over at me. “The model is especially charming,” he said, “I've had my eye on her for a while.”

“She is exceptionally shy,” I said, “It was rather difficult to convince her to do this portrait.” I resisted the urge to bite my lips in a sudden burst of nervousness. Things had somehow shifted from merely unsettling into distinctly uncomfortable territory as I realized that this utterly entrancing man was interested in me. He turned his gaze back to the portrait and I did my best to will myself into a state of calm.

“She is, is she?” he said conversationally, “I was hoping that I'd have the opportunity to have her sit for me. I am an artist as well, you see.” A part of me was babbling to myself 'See, nothing sexual here. He's just looking for some one to model for something,' even as I wrung my hands. “I am a photographer,” he continued, “I was hoping that this charming creature would sit for a series of nudes for me.” The flush returned, making my skin sting with the sudden force of the blush. “An even trade,” he said, looking over even as I glanced down at my hands, “This painting for the series of photographs?”

He set the painting aside and walked over to me. I bit my lips and struggled with the urge to shuffle my feet. A surprisingly work callused hand cupped my chin and lifted my face. “I have watched you since you opened this studio,” he said gently, “I simply couldn't wait any longer to approach you. It was my plan to bring you flowers and a bottle of wine when you held your 'open house' next week. I simply couldn't wait until then. I had to come see you.”

“I.. I don't know what to say,” I stuttered. He smiled.

“Then don't say anything at all,” he replied, dipping his head. His mouth closed over mine as his arms enfolded me. I was torn between the urge to flee and the urge to sink against his chest. My hands seemed to have developed their own mind, settling lightly against his chest. We kissed until I was mildly dizzy. When he broke the kiss and smiled down at me, self-consciousness roared through me.

I looked down and realized that the paint on my apron had gotten onto his clothes. “Oh dear,” I gasped, “Oh, I'm sorry.” I started to step back when his arms tightened about me. My heart lept into my throat as I looked up suddenly.

“You are beautiful,” he said solemnly, “Why do you think you're not?”

I gave a small noise of shock before I covered my mouth with my hands. It was beyond distressing that he had some how seen the ugly secret that I kept buried. The world had gone slightly gray even as I became a little light headed when I blanched at his words. The sparkle of amusement in his gaze had given way to a level of seriousness that I was taken by surprise by.

“I.. I don't know what you're talking about...” I stammered, looking away and wringing my hands. He took my chin in hand and turned my face to gaze deeply into my eyes. My feeble protestations died on my lips. His thumb moved lightly over my lips.

“You think too much,” he said gently, “Stop and just feel.” His hand slid gently along my cheek to cradle my head as his mouth closed over mine again. He broke the kiss and placed another on my cheek. Softly, he whispered in my ear, “I believe I am going to remind you how beautiful you are.” A shiver passed through me as his hands softly made their way to the ties of the apron. His skillful fingers untied the simple knots and the fabric fell between us with a whispering of sound.

“Just.. just how a-a-are you g-going to do that?” I stuttered.

“Like this,” he answered before kissing me again. I froze as the world suddenly shifted around me. The scent of the deep forest after the rain hung heavy in the air. The noise of traffic outside of the studio and the tick of the clock was replaced with the stillness of a wild place free of human influence. My eyes popped open wide and I staggered back away from him.

Somehow, we had moved from my somewhat crowded studio to a quiet, sunny glade that shined with freshly rain washed luster. I looked around, reaching a hand behind me for the stool that was supposed to be a few feet behind me. Finding my hands meeting with empty air, I looked behind me. “I assure you, this is quite real,” he said with a bemused smile, “Just as real as your studio, if not more so.”

I looked at him in wide eyed shock. He walked towards me, reaching a hand out towards me. “You love this place,” he said, “It is one of your favorite places in the whole world. I thought it would be an excellent trysting place.”

“T-trysting place?” I squeaked. His smile shone with warmth and the suggestion of intimate things.

“Yes, trysting place,” he said, capturing my right hand in his. He brought my hand up to his face, placing a feather light kiss in the hollow of my palm. I stared at him, shivering from head to toe in a combination of terror, delight, and amazement. He stepped up close to me and wrapped an arm about my waist. As he held me against him, I swallowed nervously and looked away from his gaze.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a wave of pleasure rolling through my senses. He looked from my demurely turned away face to my wrist that was near his face. With a knowing smile, he lightly closed his teeth on the delicate skin. I gasped as a jolt of arousal answered his love bite. He nuzzled aside the fabric of my sleeve and placed another beside it, this one much firmer.

My eyes fluttered closed as I shuddered delicately. Slowly, he traced lazy circles with his tongue over where a mark was left behind by his teeth, prolonging that shiver. His free hand moved from the small of my back to my hip, slipping beneath the bottom hem of my shirt. His fingertips seemed to know my body far better then they should have as they moved along my side.

He moved slowly, his touch somehow making me feel both hot and cold at the same time everywhere his fingers settled. He moved his left hand up my back to trace along the bottom of my shoulder blades. I shivered and he chuckled softly. Pressing me firmly against his chest, he moved his attentions from my wrist to my neck. As his velvety soft lips made their way along the column of my throat, he held my hand against his chest.

Slowly, he moved it to press above his heart. There, beneath my fingertips, I could feel the throb of his heartbeat. He sighed as I splayed my fingers and pressed my hand more firmly against him. His voice was a surprise in my ear as he said quietly, “Let go. Just feel.”

“I...” I started when he cut me off.

“Feeling, not talking,” he said firmly. Despite my mind whirling in confusion, I couldn't help the feeling of delight that stirred within me. I took a shakey breath and closed my eyes, doing my best to will my reeling mind to stillness. I desperately tried not to let myself get caught up in the rising tide of lust that was answering his knowing caresses. And then my efforts to maintain a level of distance and control over my responses were shattered with a single sound.

The ringing noise of a long blade pulled free of a scabbard caught my ear. My eyes popped open wide, my heart froze and I gasped. He held the seax before me. The look of surprise on my face was mirrored in the polished steel that shone in the dappled sunlight. He smiled and turned it slightly in the light, watching how I gazed at it as though entranced. “I knew that would get your attention, little one,” he said. He carefully brought the long knife down to touch the back of my right arm where it was pressed to his chest.

With a feather light touch, he brushed the edge over the skin that peeked out from the wrist of my shirt. “You always did like knives,” he said with a chuckle and slipped the edge beneath the cuff of the sleeve. “Hold still,” he said in an amused tone. I stood stock still, except for a tiny shiver that ran continuously through me. The fabric parted as the knife moved against it. As the shirt sleeve gave and a breath of cool air rolled over my skin, my eyes rolled with pleasure.

He set the flat of the knife against the back of my wrist as he said softly in my ear, “Do I have your attention now?” At a loss for words, I nodded. All anxiety washed away at the cool kiss of the steel and the arousal that I had desperately tried to ignore roared through me. I breathed in his scent and shivered. He took the knife from it's place against my wrist and lightly danced it along my throbbing pulse.

A liquid sigh escaped me as my head lolled back, baring more of my throat to him. With agonizing slowness, he ran the blade over my skin, just barely touching enough to leave a faint mark behind. He took the knife away and ran his tongue over the tiny scratches he had left. I gasped and felt my knees begin to buckle beneath me.

Dropping the seax, he lowered me down to the ground. He smiled down at me as I stared up at him. “Now,” he said conversationally, “Where was I?” I swallowed nervously as he picked up the knife. Eyes glued to the blade, I didn't notice his free hand reaching for the bottom hem of my shirt. “Buttons,” he mused, kneeling over me and turning the knife over in his hand, “I don't have time for buttons.” With hands as steady as a surgeon's, he slipped the tip of the knife beneath each button and flicked it away from me.

I struggled with the urge to squirm each time he popped one off of the shirt. When he reached the one at my throat, his gaze moved from the pearlescent bit of plastic to my face. A wicked smirk quirked his lips and he flicked that last one away. By now, he was crouched over me, propping himself up with one arm as he carefully set the edge of the long knife against my throat. I gasped and his smirk turned to a grin.

Slowly, with only the faintest whisper of pressure against my skin, my seducer moved the knife down my throat, over my collarbones, and down between my breasts. I groaned and he chuckled. With each agonizingly slow inch he moved, I found myself aching to feel more of that cold steel. My self control was eroding as I started to breathe faster and one of my hands gripped the mossy earth in a desperate attempt to retain it. I closed my eyes and tossed my head.

His mouth closed over my left nipple and I froze in shock. As he suckled at my breast, he set the knife down on my stomach and took my other breast in his hand. I shuddered as he teased my aching nipples. He made a noise of approval and lightly closed his teeth on my left nipple. I gasped and tried to pull away from him.

He rolled the sensitive bit of flesh between his teeth for a moment as his fingertips twisted it's twin. I made a small, pained noise of pleasure and he gave a husky laugh. He lifted his head and looked hotly at me as I opened my eyes and stared at him. He took hold of the knife and dragged the back of the blade across my stomach. My eyes rolled and I groaned as I shuddered with pleasure. He moved the seax back to its sheath as he positioned himself at my waist.

Making a small noise of annoyance, he set to work divesting me of my pants. My self-consciousness flared back up and I gave an alarmed squeak. As I moved to pull my legs away from him, he put my startled motion to work for him and yanked the pants free. I curled my legs up towards me as I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly realizing that I was virtually nude. This sudden burst of maidenly behavior made him laugh.

“Mmm,” he said, “I could just eat you up.” I went scarlet and stared at him with wide eyes. His hands settled on my knees and gently pushed them apart. He kissed the inside of one and then of the other. He paused for a moment to look solemnly down at me. The heat in his gaze mingled with some other emotion that I couldn't identify in that moment, something tender. I felt my skin burn with the blush that had spread from my cheeks down to my chest.

His hands slid down the tops of my legs to settle at my hips. “Let me prove my adoration, little one,” he rumbled softly before placing a kiss inside my right thigh. Slowly, he kissed his way along my leg until he drew near my sex. He breathed softly against me and I sighed. His hands settled on either side of the nexus of my thighs, gently parting my labia.

With incredible gentleness, he began to lick at me. The feather light touches of his tongue soon had my squirming beneath him. As he closed his mouth over my sex, I gave a little cry. His tongue explored every inch of my womanhood. I sobbed softly with pleasure, snarling my hands in his long hair. Undeterred or perhaps encouraged by my response, he redoubled his efforts. I gasped and gave a shudder as the first orgasm rolled over me.

Soon, the world seemed to go white with pleasure as he paid homage to my body with his mouth. I lay beneath him, shivering and making small, animalistic noises of pleasure. Somewhere in the midst of this the strange magic that had brought us to the tiny clearing rose up again. This time, his clothing had vanished. He lifted his head and made a sound that was the cross between a groan and a sigh.

I looked at him and blinked tears of frustration out of my eyes. I reached for him, desperate for more. When he had repositioned himself and sheathed his erection in me, I gave a little sigh. Slowly, he began to move inside me. I gasped and arched my back. As I pressed my body against his, he chuckled. He wrapped an arm around me, as he rolled us over so that I was on top of him.

I whimpered and wept as I bounced up and down, desperate for the orgasm that was just beyond my grasp. His hands were warm on my hips, guiding me along my frantic motion. Then, I suddenly fell over that threshold into blinding pleasure. My awareness of anything other then his body was washed away in that brilliance. As I shuddered again and again, he laughed knowingly.

I groaned in protest when he stopped everything and held me hard against him. Wrapped up tightly in his arms and feeling a combination of satiated and hungry for more, I closed my eyes.

The world snapped to as I woke with a start. Across from my chair, the painting I was working on sat drying. I sat up and realized that I hadn't my apron on. I yawned and stretched. I looked about the room and my eyes fell on something that made my heart stop. My apron lay in a heap where the mystery man had taken it off of me in my dream.

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