"The Artist" is one of a collection of short stories by Susan Strict
"Strictly Susan - The Sixth Collection"
“I’d really like you to pose for me,” she told him. “You would be a great subject for a painting.”
“Me?” he said in surprise. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I just think it would be interesting to paint you.”
He looked round the large room where they sat sipping coffee. The walls were lined with her paintings, and many more were stacked against the furniture. There were a variety of landscapes and portraits, but by far the majority of them were of nude women.
“You paint a lot of nudes,” he commented.
She nodded. “It’s more interesting. You can get right to the real character of the subject when they haven’t any clothes on.”
“You weren’t thinking of painting me without...” He broke off, seeing that she was nodding.
“Of course,” she said. “Now don’t tell me that you’d be embarrassed?”
He felt his face reddening. “I couldn’t,” he said firmly.
“Why on earth not?” she asked. “It’s not as if you would be the first male body I've painted, and most certainly not the first one I’ve seen!” She waved her hand in the direction of one corner of the room where there was a group of paintings of naked men posing tastefully.
“No, I know that,” he said hesitantly. “It’s not really that. It’s just...” His voice tailed away.
“What?” she demanded. “Tell me. There’s no good reason at all.”
“It’s just...” again he hesitated, but seeing her face he knew he had to tell her. “You’re a very attractive woman. If I was naked and you were painting me, I’d get... well, you know what I mean.”
“Oh.” She was genuinely surprised.
“Oh,” she said again. “I’m sure you wouldn’t really.”
“I would,” he nodded emphatically.
“Anyway,” she went on as though she had not heard him. “I don’t mind. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“You don’t understand,” he said anxiously. “It wouldn’t be any good anyway. There’s absolutely no way I could keep still for long enough for you to paint me if I was naked in front of you. It just wouldn’t work.”
“Ah. I see,” she said, and he could tell she was thinking hard. “Actually,” she carried on slowly, “That gives me another idea. I wonder whether...”
“What?” he asked, apprehensive about what she might suggest next, but at the same time fascinated and wanting to know what was in her mind.
“I’ve always wanted...”
“What?”
“But I’ve never asked anyone if they would do it...”
“What?”
“And you did say you would have trouble keeping still...”
“What?”
“So that would be the answer, wouldn’t it? We could resolve two problems in one go!”
“WHAT?!”
“Oh nothing really.”
He almost stamped his foot in frustration.
“What could resolve two problems in one go?”
“Nothing. Really, it’s nothing. It was a silly idea.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” he told her diplomatically. “Tell me. I’ll soon tell you if I think it’s silly!”
“Well,” still she hesitated. “I’ve always wanted to do a series of paintings on the subject of
bondage – you know, with people tied up and that sort of thing. And when you said you wouldn’t be able to keep still, I had a sudden picture in my head of you tied up while I painted you, that’s all. Silly, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said vaguely. “Very silly.”
“I thought so,” she agreed. “It would be very silly indeed for me to think that you would let me take off your clothes and then tie you up so you were helpless while I examine you carefully for my painting... ah.”
“What?” he asked again, startled by her sudden ‘ah’.
“I see you find the idea rather exciting.”
“I don’t,” he began to protest, and then realised she was looking straight at the front of his trousers. The growing bulge was obvious. He could not deny it.
“In the bedroom would be best,” she suggested. “We can start with a painting of you tied to my bed.”
He protested weakly, but he made no effort to stop her as she led him into her bedroom. After a search in the drawers she found a number of old dressing gown cords.
“Perfect,” she said, throwing them onto the bed.
“If you say so,” he replied doubtfully.
She stared at him. “Aren’t you undressed yet?” she asked. “Hurry up, or we’ll never be finished.”
Reluctantly he began to undress. “I’m really not too sure about this,” he told her as he dropped his shirt on the floor and hesitated, his hands on the fastenings of his trousers.
“Don’t be silly,” she insisted. “There’s no problem being an artist’s model. Hundreds of people do it.”
“Yes,” he pointed out, “But most of them aren’t tied to a bed when they do it.”
“We’ve been over that,” she said impatiently. “It’s the best way to keep you still enough for me to paint you, and it gets me started on my new project at the same time. It’s perfect. You know it is.”
“Even so...”
“Do you need me to help you undress?” she asked sarcastically, and moved towards him with arms outstretched as if intending to reach for the buttons on his trousers.
“No! It’s OK. I can do it,” he said hastily, and without further delay he dropped his trousers to the floor.
“And those.” She indicated his underpants.
“But...”
She put her hands on her hips, an exasperated expression on her face.
“OK.” He slid them down and stepped out of them, turning away from her as he did it.
“Shy?” she asked.
“Maybe. It’s just that I've got a bit of a...”
She walked round in front of him, looking down towards his groin.
“Yes,” she said quietly, “I see what you mean. Well, that’s all right, and in fact it’s perfect for the paintings I had in mind. Hurry up and lie on the bed, and we can get started.”
He lay on the bed and let her tie his wrists and ankles to the corners with the thick cords.
“You don’t have to tie them so tightly,” he complained as she tightened the knots.
“It needs to be realistic,” she told him. “Otherwise the painting won’t look right.”
As soon as she was happy that he was secured properly, she went to fetch her painting equipment. As he lay there naked and quite unable to free himself from the strong, knotted cords holding him, he was beginning to regret agreeing to this. He hoped it would not take too long.
She started painting. It was less than fifteen minutes before he was squirming and straining in discomfort.
“Keep still!” she called across the room. “I can’t paint you if you keep wriggling.”
“This is very uncomfortable,” he told her. “I think we had better stop. Are you nearly finished?”
“Finished? Don’t be daft. I’ve only just started. A decent painting takes four or five sessions at least, and I usually paint for at least three hours each session!”
“I can’t stay like this for all that time,” he said, horrified. “I had no idea it took so long.”
“Well you’re no good to me while you’re wriggling around like that.” She put down her brush, stood up and walked over to the bed. She stood for a while, looking down at him thoughtfully. She bent down and untied one of the cords from the frame of the bed.
“That’s better... hey!”
Instead of releasing the cord she pulled it tight, stretching his arm far out to the side and above his head. She tied the cord around the frame of the bed once more, tightening it as much as she could.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“I have to stop you wriggling around,” she said as she went around to the other side of the bed and tightened the cord restraining his other wrist. “I don’t think you’ll wriggle so much if your arms and legs are stretched out a bit.”
“Stop! Stop! That really hurts!” he complained loudly as she pulled the cords around his ankles, spreading his legs wide apart.
“Don’t be such a wimp,” she reprimanded him. “And don’t make such a noise. I really don’t want to have to gag you just yet. I want to get the expression on your face just right.”
She ignored his protests and went back to her painting. It was several hours before she finally put down the brushes and announced she had had enough for the day.
“Thank God,” he muttered. “Untie me now.”
“I could untie you,” she said thoughtfully, “But I’d really like to take some pictures that I can work from while you’re not here. It won’t take long. Don’t go away.”
He was almost crying with frustration and discomfort, begging her to release him as she walked from the room and reappeared with a small digital camera on a tripod. She set it up next to the bed.
"You know," she said pleasantly. "You keep moaning, but I don't think you really mean it. If you weren't enjoying this at all, you wouldn't still be aroused like that. I'm quite impressed. You've been there all afternoon and not once did I notice the slightest sign of any drooping at all. How does it feel?"
"Bloody frustrating!" he told her.
She laughed. "I'm pleased to have given you so much excitement. Is it entirely me? Would you react the same way with any woman you find reasonably attractive? Or is it being tied up that does it to you?"
He closed his eyes and groaned.
"All right," she said abruptly. "I don't care what it is. All that interests me is getting the paintings right, and evidently you're perfect for that. I have to say that this is better than I ever expected, so whatever is doing it to you let's keep on doing it. Now, briefly, to explain this camera: this will take a picture automatically every few seconds, so I’ll have plenty to work with in next to no time. You just stay right as you are.”
“Just hurry up,” he said feebly, not really caring what she did so long as she released him soon.
“There’s no rush. You’re not going anywhere just yet,” she laughed.
“It’s not funny,” he said angrily. “I’m in absolute agony here.”
“You’re not,” she said seriously. “You’re not in agony in the slightest. It’s just a little uncomfortable, that’s all.”
“I am,” he insisted. “You have no idea how much it hurts.”
“Rubbish,” she said flatly. “But I’ll show you what real agony is. I was going to do that anyway, because I want some pictures of that too.”
He thought she was joking, and he told her he did not find that very funny either. She was rummaging in a drawer ignoring him.
“What did you say?” she asked at last, holding up a small box with two wires attached to it.
“What the hell is
that?” he demanded, his earlier comment forgotten with the nasty suspicion that he knew exactly what she was holding.
“I think it will be perfect,” she said with a note of satisfaction in her voice. “I bought it when I strained a muscle in my arm last year, although I never thought about using it
quite this way at the time.”
“What?” He was more than a little confused.
“Electrical pulses,” she told him. “Really excellent for killing the pain in a damaged muscle. It feels ever so nice when it’s on the really low settings, and...” she blushed, “I must admit I’ve used it a few times on parts of my body it wasn’t really meant for.”
“I...” He had a good idea what was coming next.
“As I said,” she went on, “It’s really quite exciting on the low settings. It only starts to become uncomfortable when the dials are turned about halfway up. I think it will be just right to produce the sort of effect I want, particularly if I use the full power. It’s funny, I’ve never had the nerve to try that on myself, so it really will be fascinating to see how you react to it. I wonder whether I should gag you first?”
“Don’t!” he said in alarm, but she was already pressing the sticky pads onto his hardness. He gasped as her fingers touched him.
“So it
is me exciting you?" she asked, a little startled. "I wouldn't have thought I'd be the type who gets you going, but I must say I'm really quite flattered. Perhaps we could explore that a little more some time?"
She gazed at him, a slightly bemused look on her face. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else, half expecting her to lean over and kiss him. Instead, she stepped back away from him.
"This is going to be really good,” she said confidently. “The expressions on your face will give me enough material to work with for weeks.”
He had almost forgotten the camera, which was still clicking every few seconds. He groaned, and as she stepped back and turned up the dials on the control box his groan turned to a shout of pain.
“It’s not even a quarter of the way up yet,” she told him in surprise. “I know that doesn’t really hurt. I’ve done it on myself much further than that, so I know what I’m talking about. You’re just being silly.”
"I'm NOT," he moaned. "You're not the same as me. You're a woman. You have NO idea what it feels like for a man to have that thing on there. Take it off me!"
"I think I have a very good idea what it feels like," she said confidently, "And I'm certainly not taking it off you until I've finished with it. You really are just being silly. Look, you're still excited. It can't be hurting you that much or that thing of yours would have gone down long ago."
His discomfort increased as she slowly turned the controls higher and higher. He writhed helplessly, and squealed at the feelings that were not exactly pain but that started as more of a dull thumping and steadily became faster, stronger and more insistent. It reached the point where it was a continuous vibration of electrical pulses, tensing his muscles in his stomach and his legs, and the sensation in his hardness was indescribable.
"Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!"
"Why?" she asked vaguely, bending over the camera.
"I'm going to… aaaagh!"
"Oh. Good heavens. I didn't think it would have
that effect on you, certainly not on those settings anyway. Not unless you were trying to do it…?"
"Turn it off! Ah! Ah! Ow! Oh! For goodness sake turn it off!"
"Hang on a moment," she told him calmly, checking the camera again. "These are the most wonderful photographs. I never thought I'd be able to take anything as good as these."
It was a minute or two before she did turn it off and carefully removed the sticky pads from his wilting manhood.
"Yuck," she commented. "You
have made a mess. I must say I'm really surprised. I had no idea. It's a pity really, because now I know that it's me who excites you, I was considering whether to… well, you know, give you some attention. You've been so co-operative, and I'm really very grateful for your help. Not only that, I suppose I have to admit it's rather nice seeing you naked and excited that way. Even artists like me do respond to that sort of thing, if you know what I mean."
"What?" He was panting and shaking all over. His voice was faint, and he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
"Sex," she said bluntly and very loudly. "I want to have sex with you. Do I have your attention now?"
"Yes! I mean no, I can't," he wailed.
"I can see that," she said in a tone of disgust. "So knowing that you really did want it with me, what am I supposed to do now? All dressed up and nowhere to go, so to speak."
"I don't know. Just let me go. Please let me go."
"Oh that's right. Just like a man to think only of yourself. You've had your fun," she snapped.
"I hurt all over," he moaned.
"Do you, or do you not want to have sex with me?" she asked, a dangerous glint in her eye that he missed completely.
"Of course I do. Some other time or something. YES I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU." He tried to control his shaking limbs and to steady his breathing. "Tomorrow. Any time. Just not now. NOT NOW."
"Any time but not now?" she nodded. "
Right now, I think. If you can't manage it with that sorry little thing, you'll just have to satisfy me another way."
He was not looking at her, and he completely missed her taking off the overalls she always wore for painting. He did not see her remove her blouse nor kick off her shoes nor remove her old trousers. He was staring straight at the ceiling, just managing to calm his shuddering and to bring his breathing under control when she unclipped her bra and slid down her panties. The first he knew of her nakedness was when she leapt onto the bed and straddled his face, pressing down onto him and her desperate command "lick me!" was ringing in his ears.
For a moment he lay motionless without reacting at all, stunned and bewildered.
She was not inclined to wait for him. She pushed forward and then back, concentrating on the sensation of the contours of his face underneath her, then positioned herself carefully and pressed down more firmly.
He was smothered. His mouth and nose was completely covered by her soft, damp, clinging flesh, his nose virtually inside her. Automatically he opened his mouth to shout, and although some air escaped from it around her, all he could breathe in was her soft resilience that seemed to invade and fill him.
She sat motionless for only a few seconds, and then began a slow rocking back and forth. It was more than enough, in her already excited state, to heighten that excitement and, after no more than a few brief seconds, it was enough to take her as close to her climax as she usually only managed after many minutes.
It surprised her more than a little; shocked her, even. From the moment he had allowed her to tie him to the bed she had felt the faintest stirrings of arousal deep inside her. As she painted, she had sensed an excitement within her that was more than either the thrill of working on a new project or the natural interest she so frequently found awakening within her when she was studying a new, nude, male subject. When she had set up the camera and attached the electrical pulse device to his hardness, it was then that stirrings within her became deeper and definite. She knew then that this was something special, something unusual, and something she had never experienced before. As he squirmed in helpless discomfort her excitement had been mounting, and when finally and unexpectedly he produced what was for him an earth-shaking ejaculation, those stirrings within her were at a crescendo of sensation that demanded satisfaction and completion.
Even so, the explosion of climactic pleasure that hit her now was far beyond anything she expected or anything she had previously known.
She screamed, shuddered, screamed again, and fell back onto the bed beside him, gasping and quite unable to move for several minutes.
When, finally, she sat up and looked at him still lying there restrained and helpless, their eyes met and locked. Neither of them said a word.
*
"Tomorrow?" she asked as he left, half an hour after she released him from the bed.
"Of course," he said. "You need to finish that painting."
"I do," she agreed. "I need you in the same position."
"I know you do," he said.
"Strictly Susan - The Sixth Collection"
