The Art and Science of Love
14
Pin-up Girl
I HAVE FOUND MYSELF in stranger circumstances. Not often. I poured wine for the two naked women in my living room and felt highly over-dressed. They were quite different to look at. Rita is nicely shaped, breasts that I loved to play with and light brown hair that frames a pixie-ish face. Lori was about the same height as Rita, with lighter, almost honey blonde hair. And her large breasts seemed to beg for attention. Any man and many women would love to play with them.
“Vargas,” I said out of the blue.
“What?”
“Is that another art term like the giorno?”
“Giornata,” I corrected Lori. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Alberto Vargas was an artist who specialized in pin-up girls in the forties through the sixties. He made the World War II pin-up girls famous after having served as the artist for the Ziegfeld Follies and several Hollywood movies. He later worked for Esquire magazine and for Playboy magazine. Did literally hundreds of paintings of women over the course of three-plus decades.”
“And what brings up this ancient artist?” Rita giggled.
“Ah. He was known for pictures of nude and nearly nude or highly suggestive poses of women. One of the things that seemed to be a mark of his paintings were that they were all generously endowed with gravity-defying breasts. Much like Lori’s,” I said. I didn’t think her nipples could get any harder, but the points stiffened and her areolae puffed a bit. She had just a bit of a blush.
“Oh, yes,” Rita said, shifting so she could stroke one of Lori’s breasts. “Did you notice that when she did the pose lying back on the table that they hardly flattened at all? They are so full yet firm. And these nipples are utterly succulent.” Rita punctuated her comments by leaning in to gently suck on Lori’s nipple. The young woman sucked in her breath and captured Rita’s head with her hand to hold her against her breast.
My immediate take-away was that Lori liked being objectified. She liked being talked about as if she were not a part of the conversation. I moved from my seat in the chair opposite the women to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Lori.
“What I want to do, truly, is to capture the beauty of these breasts on the canvas.” I stroked down her shoulder and over her unoccupied breast, holding and gently squeezing it. “We are so fortunate to have found a real Vargas Girl model. Of course, it was not only about the models’ breasts. They each had faces that were fresh, innocent, playful, and sometimes mischievous. With lips that were very kissable.” I leaned forward and pressed my lips to Lori’s. Her eyes flashed open in surprise and then she relaxed and poured herself into the kiss.
Rita and I both pulled back from Lori at the same time. She looked very disappointed. “What else?” she whispered. Rita smiled at me.
“If the pin-up was exposed, it often looked accidental. A gust of wind blew up her skirt. A blouse accidentally slipped to show more than intended. The model looked surprised and slightly embarrassed for the slip, but made no move to correct it.” I began moving Lori’s arms, much as if she were a manikin. Rita quickly saw what I was doing and joined in the posing. It was a lot like I’d done with her the first time I posed her. “Usually, the pin-up was a full-length image. So, of course, it was important that she have a perfect waist, hips, and legs,” I said, moving down her body to position her limbs so as to emphasize their shape. I noticed Rita’s panties had sometime disappeared and she was quite boldly sliding her pussy down one of Lori’s thighs, leaving a shiny wet streak.
“Doc, do you suppose Vargas slept with all his models?” Rita asked. Lori shivered and caught her breath as my hand glided over her mons. Her legs parted slightly.
“I believe everyone who saw one of his paintings thought, ‘There’s a lucky guy who got to sleep with her.’ I understand, however, that Vargas was also happily married and when his wife died in, I believe, ’74, he was so bereaved that he quit painting entirely. He died in the mid-80s.”
“How sad. I’m sure it was simply because his wife was his partner and joined in his escapades with the models,” Rita said. “After all, how could a man or woman resist making love to such a compliant sex object. Her juices are running freely. Don’t you think we should take her to bed?”
I looked at Lori. Her eyes had taken on a pleading look and she nodded slightly. I smiled.
“Let’s see what kind of positions we can put the model in when we reach our bed,” I said. I collected Lori in my arms and guided her to the bedroom. Rita gathered up our glasses and the wine bottle to bring them along. Lori moved almost as if spell-bound, willing to assume any of the positions we could come up with.
It was a short night as far as sleep went. The more outlandish the position was in which I fucked Lori, the more enthusiastic she became. Even Rita was exhausted by the time we finally collapsed to sleep. When I woke up, Lori was nursing on my cock like it was a baby’s pacifier. When she saw I was awake, she redoubled her efforts until I spurted weakly into her mouth. She showed the meagre offering and then dove between Rita’s legs and attempted to cram it into her vagina with her tongue.
I crawled out of bed and made coffee, leaving the pot in the kitchen for the girls as I took a mug to the studio. I was sure that if I tried to take them coffee in the bedroom, I wouldn’t get to the studio for the rest of the day.
And I had something to paint. I already knew the painting of Lori leaning over the table to show me her boobs would be one painting. But I’d also seen something in our playtime last night that I wanted to capture.
“Now lie back and let us pleasure you,” I’d said. “Good slaves take their rewards as well as their punishments.”
The instant look of submission that washed over her face was a sight to behold. She had flopped back on the bed with a look that said, “I am yours. Take me wherever you wish.” Rita and I had spent half an hour tag-teaming her until she’d cried out multiple orgasms. Then we had dinner. It was nearly ten in the evening.
But that look… That demeanor of absolute submission… I don’t think I’d ever seen anything like it before. When I looked at the other paintings I’d done so far, I realized they were all of women in control. They were women getting exactly what they wanted.
I sketched several scenes from memory, trying to find the right pose for her so I could do a polished drawing. The more I sketched, the more I realized that Lori, too, had been in control. She was getting exactly what she wanted.
Rita brought me a plate of eggs and toast with a fresh mug of coffee. As I ate, she glanced through my morning sketches and nodded.
“I may have to eat her to orgasm in order to get that look again, but I see where you are coming from,” she said. “I’ve heard it called ‘topping from the bottom.’ She got exactly what she wanted by being totally submissive. Ignore her when she comes down. Just be ready to draw. I’ll take care of posing her.” I nodded my agreement and finished breakfast.
When they both entered the studio a while later, I was sitting on my stool with a drawing pad on my easel. Lori started to approach but Rita directed her away from looking at anything I was doing.
“This is just like last night,” Rita told her. “I’ll be placing you in the positions we want to fuck you in. Only this time, instead of fucking you, Doc will be drawing. You’ll need to hold your pose until he’s finished his sketch and tells me I can move you to the next pose.” They moved the daybed to my posing platform and Rita had Lori simply sprawl back on the bed. She adjusted a few things, more for the opportunity of moving Lori and letting her know who was in control than to improve the pose.
I sketched.
Rita posed Lori again.
I sketched.
By noon, we had half a dozen poses captured but I’d not managed that one that I wanted.
“Let’s break for lunch,” I said. “Refresh yourselves. I need to look at the setting.” Rita shot me a curious look, but led Lori upstairs and began preparing a light lunch. I looked through my morning’s sketches and then at the sketches before she came down to pose, trying to figure out what I was missing. It was quickly obvious.
I have models pose on a low platform—a kind of stage, if you will. It helps to instill a feeling of detachment in the model. She, too, is an artist, performing on stage. But as a result, a model lying fully reclined on the day bed is just slightly below eye-level. The perspective was entirely wrong for what I wanted to achieve.
When I’d conceived of the idea, I’d been descending on her luscious body to fuck her. My perspective was well above when I saw that look of satisfaction in her eye.
I quickly moved the day bed down to the floor level and switched my stool and easel to the stage. That was better, but still not right. I went to the garage and retrieved a six-foot step ladder. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but the view from this height—sitting on the top step—was what I needed. I replaced the easel with my portable sketch pad board and tested balancing on the ladder. My head was just touching the ten-foot ceiling, but I could maintain the position for a while. I had a bird’s eye view.
Lori glanced at me when she returned to the studio, but Rita immediately directed her to the bed and started posing her.
“You know how to look turned on?” Rita asked.
“Um…” Lori kind of grimaced and shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, you must look turned on for this pose. Lie back and let me work on you.” Lori lay back, looking up at me. When Rita began diddling the girl’s clit, Lori sat up to look.
“Don’t move!” I snapped. It was the first thing I’d said to the girl all day. She was so shocked she flopped back in her original position, staring at me. I quickly sketched the pose and turned the page. As soon as Rita heard me turn to a new page, she moved to pose Lori anew.
“What would be the best way for you to offer yourself to him?” Rita said. “Look at him up there like God gazing down on your helpless body. What will he do with it? How will he take his pleasure from you? Will he pinch your proud nipples to make them stand up straight? Will he suck on them? Will he move behind you and press his rod into your wet slit? How will you welcome him when you are frozen in place?”
As Rita continued her narration, moving Lori to a position lying three-quarters on her side, she touched the model freely, bending to suck a nipple and leave a trail of saliva running down the boob. She stroked Lori’s side and hips, ultimately thrusting a finger into her depth. Lori gasped and her eyes began to get glassy as she was overcome by lust. But she stayed still, not moving from one position until I turned to a new page and Rita positioned her again. It was nearly six o’clock when I closed my sketchbook and started down the ladder. Lori still hadn’t moved and Rita was still plunging a finger wetly into her vagina.
“I think we have punished our slave enough for today,” I said. Lori moaned as Rita withdrew from her.
“Please,” she whimpered.
I began removing my clothes and Rita stood to help me. She removed what remained of her own clothes as well.
“A good slave must receive her rewards as well as she does her punishments,” I repeated from the night before. “Now lie back and let us pleasure you.” Lori’s face got that look of complete satisfaction that I’d noted the night before. She lay back and opened herself to our ministrations. This time, instead of simply teasing her and bringing her to orgasm, Rita rose and straddled her face as I notched my cock into her dripping pussy. Lori moaned and instantly began humping back at me as she vigorously worked her tongue on Rita’s clit.
It was not an overwhelmingly long bout of sex. Rita and I kissed over the top of the girl and I plunged my rod in and held it there as a stream of semen jetted forth. Rita, too, lit off when Lori clenched up and moaned her orgasm. We were all quite satisfied.
“Shall we celebrate the end of the giornata with a glass of wine?” Rita asked.
“I must hurry home now,” Lori said. “My mistress will want to hear about my adventure. I need to get to her.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. Please give your mistress our greetings and our thanks,” I said. I’d stopped at the ATM Sunday afternoon and reached in my wallet for ten $100-bills. When Lori was dressed, I handed them to her.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you, ma’am. This is an experience I will never forget.” We kissed her goodbye and she was off.
“Are you going to paint now?” Rita asked as we finished a light meal. We’d not been back in the studio after Lori left, choosing to have a quiet glass of wine and a simple dinner.
“No. I don’t dare right now,” I said. “I need to go to the office and start filling my pipeline for spring listings. I can’t just take weeks off of my job. I’d soon be working at McDonald’s. And you shouldn’t take more time off, either. We won’t have any vacation time left to actually go on vacation!”
“Yes. My head knows what you are saying is right. My heart wants to fling it all away and just work on promoting your art and lining up tasty models for you to devour,” Rita laughed.
“I never did that before I met you,” I said. “At least, not often.”
“I’m not complaining. I’ve had more excitement and adventure in the past year than the rest of my life. I am, however, going to record another data point. How long do you think you’ll need to wait before you start painting?”
“I don’t have any open houses this weekend. I could start Friday night and work through Monday. There are two paintings to be done of Lori. Maybe, eventually, even more. My alternative is to begin tomorrow night after work and discipline myself to set aside my paints after four or five hours and go to bed. At least the idea would be fresh when I start.”
“On the other hand, you don’t like to interrupt a painting like that. Do you think you can maintain the creative flow well enough when it is interrupted?”
“There’s only one way to find out, I guess. I’ll start tomorrow night and if it proves too difficult, I’ll just wait until Friday to get a fresh start.”
“If you aren’t going to start painting tonight, I’ll stay and keep you company. After a session like the past two days, I find I want to be held and reassured by you,” she said. “Do you find that strange? I think of myself as independent and capable. I don’t feel insecure. I’m confident in my work, both at the lab and when I’m making phone calls about your art. But when there is a lull in our busy lives, I just want to be held by you. I want your artist’s soul to reassure me that I’m loved. It’s very unscientific.”
I didn’t really have a response for her, other than to take her to bed and hold her. She was a treasure.
Prepping the canvas was close to a four-hour job the way I approached it. Rather than just choosing one of the poses and developing it, I decided to work on both poses at the same time. They were significantly different, even in the size of canvas I used. The pose of Lori leaning over the table was a small painting, about two feet square. I chose a three-by-five canvas for the bed scene and decided to orient it vertically.
Once I had the canvases chosen and ready to work, I started sketching, moving back and forth between the two. I would call the square piece my tribute to Vargas, focusing only on the model. The table and background would only be suggested. The important bit of the painting would be the emphasis on Lori’s exposed nipples and breasts. The larger piece would have more detail in the rumpled bedding with a blanket casually tossed across her so her pussy was not quite exposed. It would be hinted at. After I laid in that detail, I returned to the smaller canvas and focused on her eyes and lips, noting how her expression would drag the viewer’s eyes into her exposed cleavage.
I wasn’t quite finished with the sketches, but when my alarm beeped at midnight, I dutifully put away my supplies and retired to bed. Stopping before I started applying paint to the canvases was good.
Thursday evening, I returned to my studio at four in the afternoon. I was too antsy to focus at the office and one more call to an uninterested homeowner was more than I could face. I fixed sandwiches and soft drinks to take to the studio with me. I knew once I started painting, I wouldn’t want to interrupt the process to eat unless the food was right at hand.
I finished the details in the sketches and chose my background colors. The two paintings would have a similar palette, but the larger would be far less controlled in the illustrative quality of the portraiture. I was not going to get the same effects as Vargas. I didn’t use an airbrush, which was how he achieved such delicate curvature in his models. However, there were other ways to achieve these effects. I used washes and gentle blending with less contrast in my colors.
On the other hand, the large painting of Lori on the bed jumped off the canvas in its dimensionality. I layered thick textures with a palette knife and then thinned the same paint to apply with a delicate brush in the small painting.
It was a pain to quit at midnight when my alarm beeped.
Friday, my rookies and I did a tour of several newer listings and discussed which of our contacts we might match up with them. We’d have a lot of work to do the next week if we followed through on all the ideas we’d generated. After the tour, we all went back to the office and I slipped out early to get back to my painting.
All restraints were off as I approached the canvases Friday evening. I continued to move fluidly between the two paintings, both of which were shaping up nicely. When I was too tired to continue painting, I simply stretched out on the daybed for a few hours and then returned to my paints. Somewhere along the line, breakfast and coffee appeared for me. Rita must have been here. I couldn’t hear her moving in the house, though.
I continued my focused painting around the clock, sleeping on the daybed when I was too tired to paint and eating food when it was placed near me. Rita didn’t say a word the entire time. Or at least she never said anything I heard.
Monday morning, I’d slowed down as I examined each painting for missing details. I thought of what it had been like with Lori in the studio. In my mind, I lifted away the folds of fabric that concealed her most intimate treasures and felt myself sinking into her hot pussy. She had been perfectly submissive the entire two days she was with us. And she got the perfect satisfaction of what she wanted. I sat back and decided to title the two pieces Enticement and Submission.
I took a long hot shower and went to bed.
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