by Fifi Flowers
“She showed up late,” he stated matter of fact, nodding toward me, continuing to paint.
“Hello there,” the suit said, looking at me with a warm, seductive smile.
“Hello,” I replied, thinking I should cover up. I didn’t know why I didn’t cover up. Except that I knew if I moved the curator would probably come unglued. And to tell you the truth, the more I sat nude, the more comfortable I became. Never had I put myself on display and especially not to total strangers. Come to think about it, I didn’t even know their full names. Looking at them, it was obvious I was just a body to the painter/curator, and the suit seemed used to seeing naked women in this loft. Were they lovers? No, I didn’t get that vibe as I listened to them chat.
“What are you doing here if you thought I was heading out?” asked the painter/curator.
“I was supposed to meet a reporter here. I was running late. I’ve been texting her but she never replied. Anyone ever show up?” The suit asked moving to the kitchen area, opening cupboards and the refrigerator door.
The painter called out, “Nope,” over his shoulder.
“Shit! I hope she didn’t get lost… or flake out…” he stated walking back toward us with an opened bottle of red wine in his one hand and three glasses clinking together in his other one.
I waved my hand, “Excuse me,” wanting to capture their attentions.
The painter/curator ignored me, but the suit inquired, “Yes?”
Clearing my throat, I attempted to sit up but stilled when I was immediately reprimanded and told to stay put. Stunned, I obeyed, but I spoke louder, projecting my voice in the suit’s direction, “Uh… That flakey reporter you speak of would be me!”
A shocked look appeared on the suit’s face as he asked, “Why are you naked… posing for him?”
Stumbling for words, I answered, “Well… that’s a good question…”
The painter who was apparently not the curator after all stopped painting, set down his brush and joined the suit/curator right in front of me. Two gorgeous, very male specimens stood shoulder to shoulder looking upon my nakedness with confused expressions, waiting for my explanation.
In an accusing tone, pointing a finger at the painter, I exclaimed, “He told me to take off my clothes!” In that instant, I realized that I sounded just like a freckled faced kindergartener who had her pigtails pulled by the class bully.
Bemused, the suit/curator asked, “Do you always strip when men tell you to?”
“Well…” My voice trailed off, I couldn’t come up with a good answer and decided that that was my cue to get dressed.
Seeing my attempt to get off the bed, the painter quickly protested my movement, “Oh no… you started this… you will allow me to finish… stay!”
The suit/curator laughed. “You heard him,” he said pouring wine into two glasses and then extending one to the painter before he turned to me. “May I pour you a glass… Julia?” My name dripped seductively from his full sexy lips.
Turning to capture the painter’s gaze, I answered, “I would love one… if I’m allowed.”
“Sure, but get back in the original pose,” the painter stated coldly, watching me. I moved, but he was not satisfied with my position and stalked toward the bed. He pulled me forward to be able to plump the pillows that had slipped and then he arranged me backward, twisting my naked torso. Then he moved my long legs, bending them and crossing one over the other. I drew in a breath as he made one last adjustment that put his hand in an intimate area of my body. How silly of me. He worked with life models all of the time, he was just doing his job.
Situated to the painter’s liking, the curator stepped forward and handed me a glass of red wine and I thanked him. However, before he moved away from me, he gently rubbed a soft cloth between my legs and I gasped. “Paint,” he stated, showing me the paint on the cloth and then pulled a chair up right in front of me.
Sipping the wine, looking over the rim of the glass at the curator, I swallowed hard.
The curator laughed. “So what questions do you have for me, Julia?”
“Uh… uh…” I said looking for my bag. “I don’t have anything to write with…”
“Don’t move!” roared from the painter’s mouth and I stop immediately.
“Lighten up, Emerson,” he said to the painter. Hmmm… Emerson… the demanding artist now had a name. Turning back toward me, the suit/curator asked, “Do you have a recorder, Julia?” There was my name once again even more intimate then the first few times, sending a warm tingling sensation between my thighs.
“Only on my cell phone,” I answered trying to remember his name. Why was his name a blank… Mr… hmmm… Mr. Martel… no, that wasn’t it, but it was something like that… shit… my brain was mush.
“Are you going to answer me? I asked you, where is your cellphone.”
“Oh… bag… behind you… floor,” I pointed, tipping the wine glass to my lips, inhaling the full-bodied liquid tantalizing my taste buds.
Holding up my tote bag in front of his lap, he asked, “May I take it out of your bag?” I nod yes, watching him pull out my cell phone. Looking at the screen, he turned the screen to face me, “Fifteen missed texts.” I never heard my phone; it must’ve been set to mute. “Would you like to look through your messages?” I shook my head no. What was wrong with me? Why was I at a loss for words? Maybe the best answer to that question was, the curator was nothing like I imagined, and I was stunned. He was young… and hot!
“Anyone hungry?” he asked as he returned to his seat.
“Grab a snack. There’s some different cheeses, olives, grapes, baguette… make a plate… I’ll add it to the painting and then you can eat it,” Emerson answered and the curator… Mr. Marten… yes… that was it. Mr. Marten went to the kitchen and then returned shortly with a beautifully arranged platter. It was almost too pretty to eat. The painter followed Mr. Marten to the bed and placed it where he wanted it and began snapping photos of me with the platter. I wasn’t sure I was thrilled with him having nude photos of me on his cell phone. I hoped they wouldn’t be posted on to a social media site. Not that I truly thought he would do that but I really didn’t know him.
With everyone back in their designated spots, I asked the question that was on the tip of my tongue, “Why did you have me meet you here?”
Pointing to the man frantically painting, “You will see for yourself soon enough.” Then turning to focus in my direction, he continued, “For now… questions, Julia?”
“Of course, Mr. Marten.”
“First names work for me,” he said moving forward to pluck a grape from the platter. “Open.” Our eyes were locked. I opened as he placed a ripe red grape right at my lips and I sucked it into my mouth. “Julia, do you remember my first name?” He asked lifting my glass of wine from the floor and moving it to my lips. Tipping the glass, I sipped and a little wine dripped down the front of my nakedness. My nipples hardened as Mr. Marten’s finger followed the wine trail and then licked his finger.
A moan involuntarily escaped from my lips and I lowered my eyes from his gaze.
“Tip her head back up,” Emerson commanded.
Grasping my chin, he tilted my head and our eyes locked once again and he lowered his lips to mine. Thinking he was going to kiss me, I drew in a deep breath and waited. Instead of making contact with my mouth, he moved to my ear and softly he whispered, “I can smell your arousal, Julia… and my first name is Pierce,” he said drawing in a deep breath before moving back to his chair. I swallowed hard as the moisture increased between my legs.
“First question?” A big smile spread across his face. He was toying with me, but I refused to show my weakness and began my series of questions. Holding my cell phone, he recorded our conversation.
Apparently in the time that I conducted my interview while reclining nude, Emerson had stopped painting. He walked near my head, re-arranged the pillows and removed the partially eaten plate of delectable treats. Taking a few gr
apes and a piece of cheese into his mouth, he brushed one of my nipples and I moaned. Embarrassed I closed my eyes, waiting for him to move away but he didn’t, instead he pinched my other nipple and I moved into his hand automatically. My mind said “stop” this but body was about to betray me. My eyes flew open when his lips captured my other nipple and I sighed looking into two dark intense eyes.
Feeling weight at the other end of the bed, fingers gently slid against my folds and slipped inside of me. “You’re so wet, Julia.” I felt Pierce’s tongue on my clit and I moaned again.
This was unbelievable: The painter was kneading, pinching, pulling, biting and licking my full breasts while the curator was setting my pussy on fire with his fingers and his mouth. I was lost in an erotic dream, only it wasn’t a dream. I was wide awake and two sexy men were doing the most incredible things to my body. I was allowing it. I was loving it!
“Oh god…” I was panting as I felt my body tighten as a ginormous multiple orgasm ripped through my body from head to toe.
As a pair of hands continued to roam my body, I felt weight shift off the other end of the bed. I didn’t want to open my eyes. I wasn’t sure what was coming next. I was feeling uncertain. A shyness came over me. Was that possible? Was I ashamed? No. But I’d never allowed anything like this with total strangers. Why was I doing this now? How could I stop? I didn’t want to stop. Trying to control my breathing, enjoying the caressing; I wanted to watch. I wanted more!
As a pair of lips joined the hands skating over my flesh, I bravely opened my eyes to two nude men; both with glorious bodies. Sitting me up between the two of them, they took turns kissing my mouth, thrusting their tongues; exploring my mouth. No words can clearly describe how I was feeling. All I knew was that I wanted to pleasure both of them. Reaching out with each of my hands I began stroking their big cocks as they continued to fuck my mouth with their tongues. Moving around my body, Pierce turned me, lifted me on all fours, and on his knees behind me he began kneading my tingling body.
I had already seen Emerson practically naked except for what was hidden beneath the bath towel. What was not visible was quite impressive in girth and length; it made my mouth water. Oh. I wanted to lick him, suck him, taste him. Now standing watching me with a smile on his faces, he stroked his length and I moaned. Leaning down for a moment he kissed me deeply, then he replaced his tongue with just the tip of his cock. Rubbing my lips, teasing me, my tongue slid eagerly over his length and sucked him into my mouth. I heard him groan as his hands firmly gripped my hair and guided me over his huge cock.
Concentrating on sucking, I felt my soaking wet pussy being filled little by little by Pierce’s large, hard, sheathed cock and I moaned around Emerson’s shaft. This was fucking incredible. I moved my mouth back and forth on Emerson’s cock with the same rhythm Pierce drove in and out of me. They both had a tight hold on me while we all moved together in tune with our bodies. The smell of sex was utterly intoxicating, making me hotter and wetter. I listened to Emerson groan with pleasure while Pierce slammed into me chanting my name, “Yes, Julia. That’s it, Julia. Oh you feel so good, Julia. Your pussy’s so tight, Julia. Mmmm… so wet, Julia.” On the verge of climaxing, Pierce massaged and stimulated my swollen, throbbing clit with his long, expert fingers. Panting wildly, I heard Pierce murmur my name, instructing me, “Come now, Julia.” Throbbing and contracting around his cock, my pussy milked him as he released into me.
At the same time Emerson pulled out of my mouth with a pop and stroking his length; he shot warm, thick come all over my back. Though I wanted to taste his essence and I felt abandoned, the sensation of him marking me was erotic. As he finished spurting, he put his cock back in my mouth and I licked him clean. That man was seriously delicious.
Feeling completely sated, I started to roll back on the bed when my limp body was quickly lifted up by two big, strong muscular arms and carried me into the bathroom. Settling me on my feet, Emerson turned on the shower and adjusted the water temperature. Guided into the shower, he stepped in with me and soaped every inch of my body. Caressing me tenderly, he was nothing like the man who had just grabbed me by the hair and fucked my mouth. Watching his big hands lightly touch me, I wanted more from him. Leaning in to touch him, Emerson quietly moved away from me, never uttered a word, leaving me to ponder how this happened. How did I let this encounter escalate? I was lost in thought until I felt the water stop, and I stepped out to a waiting towel. Gently, he wrapped me up and kissed the top of my head. “Thank you,” escaped my lips and I was greeted with a sexy smile.
Walking me out of the bathroom, he led me behind the rolling wooden screen where I saw him disappear behind earlier. Oh my god! It was every woman’s fantasy, a huge closet; shoes racks, high and low rails for clothing, built-in cabinetry and a leather bench in the center. My mouth dropped open in awe as he removed my towel and buttoned me into one of his tailored white dress shirts.
Running a hand over my cheek tenderly, I smiled and turned away, ready to return to the wide open space as I heard noises in the direction of the modern kitchen. “Come… let’s eat,” said the artist of little words, throwing me over his shoulder, slapping my bottom and carrying me. Laughing, he deposited my bare ass on a cold steel stool, making me squirm.
Seated, a shirtless Pierce turned to me with a smile spanning his gorgeous face. “Hungry?” He asked while comfortably wheeling culinary equipment and I noticed ink on his torso. Given the professions of the two men, I found it strange to see the conservative curator with a tattoo and the artist unmarked.
Getting my head back in the conversation, I blurted out, “Starving!” and heard two husky laughs. “It smells delicious,” I added quietly, instantly feeling shy again. How could I feel that way after the intimacy we shared? Thankfully, I didn’t have to think about that for long. A delicious smelling plate of capellini pasta with fresh basil, garlic, chopped Roma tomatoes and grilled prawns along with a lovely glass of Chianti replaced any questions I had at that moment.
It was surreal sitting and listening to these two bantering back and forth. The curator… Pierce was overly talkative telling the story of why he was late to meet me. Something about a mix up. How could people be so ignorant? Anyone with a brain should know a Matisse painting from a Rembrandt. I was only half listening, savoring the situation, drowning in my glass of wine between two yummy treats. Really, could you ask for more? Hmmm…. maybe dessert.
Dishes emptied, Emerson removed them from the table and settled them in the sink. Standing up, Pierce joined him; cleaning the pots, pans and utensils he used to create our delectable late night nosh. Finishing, Pierce commented, “It’s always a pleasure to cook in your kitchen. I love that your fridge is fully stocked at all times.”
Shaking his head, Emerson replied, “Thank Ms. Sullivan… she fills it weekly… I’d starve otherwise.”
“Then be sure to thank her for me… especially for satisfying my sweet tooth,” Pierce said with a wave of his hand and a slight bow at the waist to the fridge, pulling out parfait dessert glasses filled with dark chocolate mousse and heavy whipped cream.
With a bright smile and a twinkle in his eyes, Emerson replied with a chuckle, “I will, of course… along with a bow in her direction. She’ll get a kick out of that. Probably make her wet her panties.”
Pierce laughed, removed the sweet treats, dipped his finger through the fluffy topping and licked his finger. Watching me lick my lips, Pierce swiped his finger again and this time his manicured finger found my mouth. Locking his eyes with mine, I licked and sucked his finger mimicking what I would like to do to his big beautiful cock. As Emerson looked on, he opened a new bottle of wine and directed us over to the sitting area. Feeling extremely relaxed, I floated to the comfy sofa and indulged in the best dessert of my life… oh and the chocolate mousse was pretty good too.
Chapter Four
Opening my eyes slowly to sunlight streaming in from a multitude of window panes, I realized I was back on the infamous
bed… the bed that propelled me to pure ecstasy. How or when I slipped or was slipped between the cool, soft sheets; I had no recollection. The last thing I remembered was chocolate and whipped cream coating every inch of my body and two sets of hands and lips roaming, licking and sucking my flesh. A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled the sensation of being attended to by two extremely hot men.
Lying in the middle of the big bed, stretching my extremely sore but sated body, the space in front of me was empty. Turning and looking over my shoulder I saw a gorgeous artist.
“Good morning,” Emerson said while he studied me with two beautiful dark eyes.
“Where…”
He answered me before I could finish my sentence. “He doesn’t do the over night thing.”
“Oh… so you do this a lot… you two…”
A finger stilled my lips. “Shhh.” Rolling me over to face him, Emerson moved his hand down my side causing goose bumps to rise. “He has no idea what he’s missing.” Trailing his big, strong, calloused hand down my body and between my legs, I gasped and opened wide to his touch. “Mmmm… I never buried myself in that beautiful pussy of yours last night… now it’s my turn,” he spoke into my ear in his usual commanding tone before settling himself between my thighs.
Seriously was he not going to ask? Was he just going to take me? Did I want him to ask? Or did I just want him to have his way with me? Yesssss! I couldn’t deny it, the man’s strength… command; demand was exciting! Of all of my past lovers; none of them had ever took charge. This was exhilarating. And as he rubbed his huge cock along my dripping wet folds and slid inside of me I did a little victory dance in my head. I wanted to chant yes, yes, yes but for some reason I didn’t feel that I could voice those words aloud. Emerson made me feel a bit timid yet not in a bad way, in a submissive way.
