Speaker 1: Nathaniel Dorsey had never sat for a portrait before. It
seemed like an indulgence, the kind of thing reserved for
aristocrats and self absorbed millionaires. But his mother had insisted,
you need something timeless, nate a legacy. So there he was,
standing in the softly lit studio of Camille Laurent, one
of the most sought after portrait artists in New York.
He'd expected an old woman with a sharp tongue and
paint stained hands. Instead, he found her. Camille was not
what he had pictured. She was young, mid thirties at most,
with ink black hair coiled in a loose bun strand's
escaping and lazy defiance. Her eyes were green, sharp, mischievous,
and knowing. She wore a thin, off white blouse streaked
with paint, tucked into dark jeans that hugged her hips
and away. He shouldn't have noticed, mister Dorsey. She said,
you're early bad habit, he replied, clearing his throat. She
studied him for a moment, then gestured towards a leather
arm chair positioned beneath a golden light. Sit get comfortable.
Nathaniel adjusted his tie and did as he was told.
Trying to ignore the way her eyes lingered on him,
assessing he'd done plenty of business deals, negotiated mergers worth billions,
but something about Camille's gaze made him feel exposed. She
picked up a brush and began. For the first ten minutes,
there was silence, save for the soft scratch of charcoal
against canvas. Nathaniel watched her, fascinated. She painted like a
woman possessed fingers, smudging, eyes flicking between him and her work.
There was a streak of blue on her cheek, a
dab of red near her collar bone. He wanted to
wipe it away, so she said, finally, breaking the quiet,
tell me something about yourself. He exhaled. I run a
real estate firm. I drink my coffee black. I have
an irrational hatred for jazz. She smirked, boring, tell me
something real. His lips twitched. I once punched my best
friend in the face because he kissed the girl I loved,
Camille laughed, warm and unrestrained. Ah, now we're getting somewhere.
For the next hour, they talked about Paris and New York,
about art and business, about nothing and everything, and as
she sketched and painted, Nathaniel felt something shift. He was
drawn to her, not just her beauty, though that was undeniable,
but her energy. The way she moved, the way she spoke,
the way she saw him, not as the CEO, not
as a name in the papers, but as a man.
He leaned forward slightly. How long have you been paid?
All my life? She said, tilting her head, but professionally
since I was twenty. You love it?
Speaker 2: I do.
Speaker 1: Her gaze flickered to his lips and then back to
his eyes. And you, what do you love? Nathaniel? He swallowed.
The way she said his name, low and intimate, made
his pulse quicken. He could smell the faint scent of
lavender and turpentine on her skin. I don't know, he admitted.
She put her brush down. That's sad, is it? She
stepped closer. He could feel the heat radiating from her body.
See the flex of gold in her irises. Yes, she murmured,
A and should know what sets his soul on fire.
Nathaniel's breath hitched. Her fingers smudged with paint, trailed the
edge of his jaw. It was the lightest touch, barely there,
but it sent a shiver down his spine, Camille, he warned,
voice hoarse. She smiled. Yes, he should have stopped this,
should have pulled away, but he didn't. Instead, he reached
for her, and in that dimly lit studio, beneath the
scent of oil paint and the hum of something unspoken,
Nathaniel Dorsey finally discovered what he loved. Little did he
notice that she was very wet between her legs and
it was slightly dripping on the floor. The smell of
sex was filling the air, and Camille was in heat,
and she knew what she wanted. Uugh, oh shit, oh,
she cried out in pain. She had gotten a huge
muscle cramp from painting all day and was in deep pain.
Oh shit, Camille, are you okay? As he was now
holding her in his arms, Hugh, muscle cramp in my arm?
Oh shit, Oh, it's fucking killing me. He laid her
down on the one sofa in the studio and told
her to lay on her stomach. She didn't hesitate to
do what he said, as he was feeling the knot
in her muscles. Would you like me to give you
an arm massage? Oh? Yes, please? Do you mind? Not
at all? He replied, as he was rubbing her hands
deep and close. Her hands were feeling some small amount
of pain. Ugh, can you get my thighs please? They
need it too. Are you sure, he replied, to which
she said please. He went to her thighs and began
to massage her from her knee upwards. She stylishly dragged
his hands further upward, and although he pretended to be shocked,
he enjoyed it. He worked his hands up and massaging
with his fingers two inches from her ass and not
too far from her pussy. She was moaning from relief,
but now from pleasure. He knew she was playing him,
but he clearly didn't mind. She kept telling him to
go higher. He kept asking are you sure, which she
gave a rousing thumbs up. Now she was working him.
Now he was massaging her sweet ass, telling him not
to stop. Then she turned over and a clear wet
spot was formed on the sheets. Laying on her back.
She grabbed his hand and placed it on her trimmed mound.
By now Nathaniel had dropped the look of pretense. The
look on his face wasn't of surprise, but of wanting
to please her. With his left hand above her head
on the pillow. He took his right and massaged. Then
he slipped a finger in. Taking her right hand, he
placed it over her head. She told him in a
gentle voice, please, don't stop. He kept pushing his fingers
in deeper and kept moving them in and out faster
and faster. She had neatly trimmed pupes done with an
electric razor, never wanting to be fully shaved. She was
breathing deeply and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. She
reached her left hand that was behind her head and
grabbed his other hand, holding it tighter and tighter as
he kept fingering her go deeper. She was able to
whisper during the height of her pleasure, his fingers deep
inside of her and going further and further more. Man
was sheet tight and warm and very wet. He tried
to let go of her hand, but in her throw
of passion, she kept holding it tighter. Then his fingers
got deeper inside and found her g spot O, my god, oh,
she kept saying more and more, his fingers deeper and
deeper into her pussy. Slowly, he unbuttoned her dress and
she took it off swiftly. Please don't stop. I beg you.
As he went faster and faster, he was able to
free his other hand as he gently grazed her face
with his fingers. He then reached down to her breasts,
gently massaging her lovely tits, teasing her nipples. She kept
breathing harder and harder. He held her close as her
body started to massively shake. She was getting ready to
come soon. She told him to go deeper and faster.
She bucked her hips and soon came. Her body shook
with an orgasm she hadn't felt in a long while.
She opened her eyes to see his lovely brown eyes,
his hands covered in her juices. He kept his hands
there as she laid in pure ecstasy. Well that was unexpected,
he said, as he smiled. We have thirty more minutes left.
He said, as he smiled, do you have any Ideas
she smiled and nestled close as he was on his
knees next to the couch. With a slightly mischievous smile,
she asked a simple question, Look what we're doing instead
of painting? He smiled and sort of laughed. Fuck the painting,
Camille said, let me be your canvas to day Nathaniel
got up and kicked off his shoes, then took off
his socks. Off came his shirt, Then he unbuttoned his
jeans slid them down to reveal a nice pair of
blue knit boxers. Seeing the look in Camille's eyes, she
wanted to do the honors. He nodded, as if reading
her mind. She sat up and in one fell swoop,
pulled down his boxers very fast. His stiff in erect
seemed to spring out like a diving board. He was
clearly enjoying what he was doing and what she was
enjoying too. She grabbed his shaft with one hand and
jerked him good. He moaned in pleasure, his balls tightening.
It didn't take long to see he needed a towel
as well, only giving sighs of pleasure as she worked
him hard. She took one photo of him, but knew
what pose should really happen. They took a photo with
the camera being on a timer, arms around each other's waist,
one of them holding her close, her breasts pressed against
his chest, her nipples hard and firm against his chest.
She looked lovingly in his eyes, then another with her
eyes closed as he looked to be romancing her. She
almost wet herself again when she felt his manhood pressed
near her box. If only he would throw her on
the couch and make love to her, she thought she'd
better not chance it. Neither were banking on this going
as far as it had, neither had protection at the time.
But she had one more idea.
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you next time.