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Unexpected Art Lesson Ch. 01

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Driving to the studio he thought about the day ahead. Tuesday… she would be there. Daphne, your A-typical goth, leaning a bit towards the old world Victorian style, lots of soft black velvet and silk ribbon accents. She is all curves, unlike the oh-so-fashionable stick-thin model types that throw themselves at him, and that he uses proudly as trophies. She has full breasts, that could only be described as voluptuous, and hips that were built to have a powerful man pressed against them.

He walked in to the studio, every other woman in the room looked up, and smiled. He knew he looked good. He was twenty-five and in the prime of health and always well dressed, though his clothes were generally paint or clay speckled. He smiled acknowledging the women, then there she was sitting in front of her latest work in progress completely encompassed in the canvas she didn’t so much as glance up at him. She was imitating the strokes she would put on that day, getting a feel for the length and spacing before she touched brush to paint, technique he had found himself trying as of late.

He was somewhere near six feet tall, with broad shoulders, but a slight build and tapered waist, he had found his heart in an art class he had taken for an easy grade in high school, which is why he had opened his own studio out of business school. He had the grace of a jungle cat, either ready to pounce, or taking long powerful languid steps knowing he had real strength.

He walked across the large open room purposely passing her taking in the scent of her natural spicy perfume and that purely feminine odor that brought out both carnal desire and the carnal urge to protect her, though she struck him as someone who didn’t need to be protected. Technically he was teaching an advanced oil paint workshop, but as with most advanced classes it was spent working on his own latest project and occasionally walking through the studio commenting on color choices or brush strokes, he probably learned more in these classes than the students did.

He sat in front of the clay and began to work. A woman’s form emerged. He wasn’t surprised it had been months since his last date let alone actual physical contact with a woman. Not from lack of opportunity but from lack of interest in those opportunities. He had found that a lot of women took his beginners classes to get close to him, this disgusted him, it felt as if they were discrediting him and his studio acting as if it were a single’s bar instead of a place to learn and create.

He looked to his wrist and after wiping damp clay from the face found that two and a half hours of the three hour class had flown by. He sighed and stood washing his hands and then kneading his shoulders, tense from concentration. He made a pass around the class talking to some of the familiar faces and making a special effort to compliment the newer students.

He walked up to her last, as was his custom, he couldn’t bear to rush through even the briefest of contact with her. “Daphne,” he said, slowly savoring the word.


As usual his voice slid through her, a soft glove. “Hey Eric,” she said, not looking up from her work, two more long fluid brush strokes then she sat the brush down and lifted her hands to the back of her neck to soothe the aching muscles, just as he had done.

She turned and her breath almost caught she looked up in to his deep brown eyes. “Every damn time,” she scolded herself, she knew better.

“Do you mind if I stay for a bit after class? My touch seems to be just right today for some reason.” she said, tucking an errant strand of wavy auburn hair behind her ear.

“No problem,” he said, “I had planned on staying late anyway.”

“Thanks,” she said, turning back to the canvas, not being rude just eager to continue her work. She was just out of college and couldn’t afford a decent studio area of her own, even on timeshare, so she had to do bahis firmaları all of her larger pieces here.

She put her headphones on and danced in place as she painted, the music helped, especially when everyone was gone, being the middle of seven kids she wasn’t used to the quiet.

She worked quickly and lost track of time. She had just come to a stopping point when her favorite song on the CD came on for the third time, she put down her brushes, admiring her days progress, she didn’t normally like her work but this one was special. She was happy and closed her eyes, surrendering to they rhythm of the song and dancing. She imagined dancing with a lover to this song, and when she pictured this lover it turned out to be Eric, she just kept dancing, a smile playing on her lips. He found his way in to a lot of her little fantasies.

She imagined him walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist moving with her, though he couldn’t hear the music on her discman, she imagined his lips falling to the place where her neck and shoulder met and him nuzzling his lips there, not a kiss, just an affectionate gesture.

Suddenly she was startled realizing someone was behind her and that her backside was pressed against him. She pulled off the head phones and laughed, not a giggle a full laugh she didn’t believe in giggling. “Eric,” she said, the laugh still in her voice, “I think I lost myself for a moment.”

She heard him clear his throat and was worried she had made him uncomfortable. “No,” he said, a bit hoarse, “I just was wandering how much longer you’d be not that I’m rushing you, just it’s almost eight and I didn’t want you to miss an appointment or something.”

“Oh I didn’t realize what time it is.” She had been there for two hours after class ended.

“Like I said, no rush, just wanted to let you know.”

“Thanks, i just hit a stopping point actually.”

“It’s coming along nicely,” he said, she followed his eyes trace the lines of the paint, her lips curved in to a small smile, he was always so sincere. “Can i ask you a question.”

“Sure,” she said, dipping her brushes in to the turpentine and wiping them on a rag.

“I can’t help, but notice that your clothing style and painting style seem incredibly different. Why is that?” he asked.

“Well,” she said, pausing to get the right phrase. “I’m not exactly content with the world at large,” she said, another pause, “But when I paint, when I create I can make that world that works. I know it’s a bit naive, but in there,” she gestured to the painting, “I can be however I want, naive even.”

“I understand perfectly,” he said.

She smiled at him, sweetly, doubting his actual understanding. He seemed so… average, a great artist, but not the tortured soul type, more of the idiot savant.

She walked to the back of the room to place her supplies in her locker, after locking it back she stopped at the table he was working at. “I see I’m not the only one with my own reality,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he said, looking closely at his sculpture.

“Have you ever met a woman shaped like that?” she asked.

He looked, trying to be objective. “What?”

“A real woman could never have that figure,” she said, matter-of-factly. Seeing his confused expression she explained. “A woman with that large a bust would not have that tiny of a waist,” she said, running a finger from just under the sculpture’s breast to the curve of her hip.


The gentle touch, not disturbing the clay in the least, sent a shudder of pleasure through his body as if her delicate hand were touching him. He shook his head, she was challenging his art.

“Well,” he said, trying to think of an example of a woman that would work, that was not at least partially surgically enhanced.

Before he could come up with a clear thought, she continued, a bit fiercely, “If a woman were proportioned kaçak iddaa this way she would have to walk on her hands and knees to balance, it’s a life sized Barbie Doll.”

“Really?” he asked, studying her now, “It’s not that bad is it?”

“As a woman I know these things,” she said, a serious look on her face, adorable nonetheless.

He took a step back as if to study the sculpture, instead looking at the shape of the woman in front of him. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, discouraged.

“I have an idea,” she said, quickly turning to face him. He had to switch quickly to the sculpture so as not to be caught studying her delectable curves. He looked at her face, and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, don’t take this as a proposition,” she said.

She now had his full attention.

“I could model for you,” she said, and added, “You know me better than to think this is a ploy to gain your affections. I can tell how much that bothers you.”

He thought he hid it well.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with that?” he asked, hoping to whatever higher being that she was, he knew it would be torture to look at her and not touch, but it was too much temptation not to cease the opportunity even it were only to look.

She looked him in the eye and he was afraid she had meant it as a joke and was offended that he took her seriously. Then she smiled, he wanted to kiss her so badly, “I trust you.”

He was flushed with warmth wanting to hold her, wanting her to know that it was an honor that he wouldn’t betray for anything in the world. When her sky blue eyes met his he hoped she saw what he was feeling.

She began to undress. He couldn’t believe this was happening. She slipped her shoes off, next she bent to take off her socks. She stood again and grabbed the hem of her shirt, she was casual, it was as if she were undressing for bed or a shower. His member twitched in his pants when the first of the porcelain skin of her midriff showed, he sat on the stool to hide his quickly inflating erection. He picked up a 15″x20″ sketchpad and a piece of charcoal, resting it on his lap he watched her. She pulled the shirt over her head revealing a black lace bra. Unbuttoning her pants and pushing them down her legs revealed matching panties. His manhood now ached in his pants. He cleared his throat for the second time that night, she had him feeling like a teenager.

She unhooked the bra from a front clasp and her breasts spilled out. He had taken notice of her more than ample bosom before, but had no idea. At twenty two there wasn’t a hint of sag to her breasts they were immaculate, he again thanked whatever deity had taken part in this.

“I’m leaving the panties on if you don’t mind,” she said. He was amazed at her comfort, but then again he couldn’t really see her primping and fishing for compliments, and he could see no reason she should be uncomfortable with her body.

She stepped closer to the table, her hips naturally swaying with her steps. He swallowed audibly and tried not to stare at her breasts, even though she offered to model for him he felt a bit guilty, he didn’t even know if she had a boyfriend.

“You’ve never dated a woman with a naturally large chest have you?” she asked, and he thought about it. Was it just him or was her voice more hushed, more sensual? He tried to clear his mind.

“No I guess I haven’t,” he said.

“Okay,” she said. “The sculpture and I have about the same size breasts,” he looked from her flesh to the clay and realized she was right and wondered if he had done that purposely. He nodded and she continued.

“Now compare the waists,” she said. He looked at hers first, the flawless skin, and slight curve, perfect was his only thought. She held her hands to crudely measure the distance across her own stomach and compared it to the sculpture, he realized it was at least a quarter too small and frowned.

“I realize kaçak bahis she isn’t me,” she said, “but you have to admit it is a bit too small to be natural.”

He nodded in agreement, he picked up some clay and wet the sides to help it blend smoothly, he looked back and forth feverishly trying to see every line, his hand moving quickly.


She watched his large calloused hands and became aroused. She watched his face as he looked from her to the clay. She stepped to him and held his wrist. He looked up, his eyes traveling her body, her panties dampened.

“Is that the way you touch your lover?” she asked, purposefully sensual.

He stuttered “N.. nnnoo.”

She smiled and walked behind him, she leaned in and put her hands on the outside of his and moved them from the curve of the breast the hip, helping him to mold the clay.

She felt him take a deep breath, she was pressed against his warm back, when his chest moved with his breathing she could feel the fabric tease her nipples, she took a step back, trying to collect herself.

“I don’t have a lover,” she heard him say quietly.

“Oh,” she replied, a slight tremor to her voice.

His hands stopped moving and he turned to look at her. She suddenly felt very naked, and very aware of her body. She watched his tongue glide along his lips. “Could I,” he said, looking to her face, “just feel the lines of your side?”

They both knew he was asking more, she only nodded, not trusting her own voice. He stood and stepped in front of her, she rested her hands on his shoulders. His hands moved to the sides of her breasts his thumbs caressing the sides, he slowly moved his hands down, trailing wet hand warmed clay down her curves, she shuddered. His hands stopped at her hips and she looked up at him, feeling the heat coming off of his his body. He leaned forward and their lips met. The kiss started gentle and chaste. Then she felt his tongue and opened her mouth expecting him to plunge his tongue in quickly, instead he traced her lips with just the tip. She felt the urge to press against him wanting the slow building intensity to burst in to a passionate flame, but she waited, she let him lead.


One kiss and he could not get enough of her taste; sweet, natural, delicious. He plunged his tongue in to her hot mouth and pressed himself against her, only his pants and her panties separating them. He heard her muffled moan.

She stepped back and arched an eyebrow.

“What?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t about to be slapped for a kiss that she obviously enjoyed too.

“I don’t think this,” she said gesturing to her body, “is fair.”

He grinned and started to unbutton his shirt. “Let me,” she took a step closer and pushed his hands away, he could smell her shampoo and feel her heat against his body. She was torturously slow with the buttons. He looked down in desperation and she just grinned up at him, with a gleam of lust in her eyes. He leaned down to kiss her softly. She had finished with the buttons and slid her hand up his undershirt, running her nails along his flat but not grotesquely toned stomach. He groaned and his member twitched in his pants

Suddenly the lights flicked off and she pressed against him and whispered, “Is someone else here?”

“No,” he said, whispering also, “the lights are on timers, they turn off at nine o’clock.”


“Oh,” she said, with a mischievous smile and stepped away from him. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could see his hands grope to find her. She laughed and he stepped forward. She started walking through the eerily dark studio, winding in and out of easels, her feet gently padding on the cement floor.

“Daphne,” she heard him call from near where she had left him.

“Eeeeric” she said, in a mock spooky voice. She heard steps move towards her. Thump. Thump. Thump. Crash. He had knocked over an easel in the dark. She laughed, hiding her mouth with her hand.

“I heard that,” he said.

“Then come do something about it,” she challenged, the laugh still shimmering in her voice.

“Oh I will,” she could hear the grin in his tone.

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