Lessons in Art

by Sam Eden

  An hour passed very quickly as they moved through the East and North Wings. Amongst others, they had stopped at a marvellous reclining nude Venus, at a moving self-portrait of Rembrandt as a sad old man, and at a haughty pair of young Cavaliers dressed in satin and lace so lifelike she could almost feel the touch it. Nicola was starting to have an inkling of why people thought paintings were so worthwhile.

  From their teenage years, Nicola and her friends had shown a healthy lack of respect for art as one of the grand totems of the world of their elders; whatever was shown them they acted as if they’d seen it all before. But here, forced to confront so much awesome beauty, she realised that she had not really seen art before. Her eyes had never lingered long enough to make the connection with the painting. Now she felt as though she were acquiring a new skill, or had awakened a part of her brain that had been dormant.

  In the excitement of her discovery she began to make James stop at paintings that took her eye. To her great surprise he knew a lot about those as well. A deeper feeling for him was dawning in her. She had been sexually attracted by James the mature, assertive and wealthy man; now she could see something of his emotional character.

  Nicola craved some physical contact to give expression to this newfound empathy. In the West Wing she noticed the unselfconscious way in which a student in torn jeans hugged his pretty girlfriend, while she giggled at yet another sexy portrait of Venus. But she had learned from her guardian that the code for public displays of affection was stricter for those of James’ background. The large open rooms offered no privacy for them.

  Their route seemed to be taking them back in time. Having walked along a passageway and past a wide staircase they entered the Sainsbury Wing. This, the newest part of the Gallery, housed the oldest paintings. She gazed at two small complementary portraits of a middle-aged burgher and his younger wife. They could almost be James and her, she thought, amazed that the brushwork just inches away had been set down nearly six centuries before.

  She suddenly noticed that James was looking at her, not at the painting. He smiled and said, ‘You don’t need any special education to appreciate art; just intelligence and imagination. I think you’ve got plenty of both.’

  She blushed at his compliment. Today he had made her feel a strange combination of innocent little girl learning afresh about the world, and perceptive adult able to think for herself, and she was grateful.

  The rooms were now relatively empty and she looked at her watch to find it was almost ten to six. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘we’ve nearly finished, but we shouldn’t miss the Leonardos.’ He led her back the way they had come. The Virgin of the Rocks hung in a room near the entrance to the wing. He said very little about it, for it was plain that, in spite of looking highly anaemic, the faces had a timeless beauty, like that of no other artist.

  Nicola was surprised to find that the second Leonardo wasn’t a painting at all and was kept in a dark and tiny room behind the first. With so few people left in the Gallery she realised with a quiver of pleasure that, in this secluded space, she would finally be able to kiss him. Deliberately loitering until the other occupants had left the little room, she turned suddenly to face him.

  ‘James, I want to thank you for today.’ She put her arms round his neck and pulled him to her. He was surprised, but he responded affectionately and they kissed. Then she turned and backed into him, taking his arms and making him pull her close while she looked at the charcoal drawing. She felt his cheek resting against her hair. After a few minutes an elderly man entered and looked a little embarrassed to see them, so they left.

  In the taxi back to the hotel she sat close to him and held his hand. She planned to make love to him that night and was wondering how best to bring it about.

  That evening they dined in the restaurant at the hotel. Nicola was intimidated by the formal service, but the restaurant was so busy she could feel part of the crowd and need not be worried that people would look at her and think she was out of place. On the other hand the atmosphere was far from suitable for the intimate one-to-one she wanted.

  The food was immaculately prepared and presented. The wine was lovely; the name on the label vaguely familiar and she guessed it was astronomically expensive. James was attentive and told her some amusing tales about the art world, but in a slightly distant way. Nicola suspected that he was thinking of Rebecca and feeling guilty about their embrace at the Gallery.

  After dinner she asked to see his suite, on the pretext that this was her first visit to Claridge’s. Alone with her he seemed a little nervous of a repetition of the earlier intimacy. He avoided touching her as he briefly showed her the rooms, which were furnished in the Art Deco style.

  ‘May I stay awhile?’ she asked. ‘It’s still too early to go to bed.’

  ‘Shall we go out for a drink?’ he suggested.

  Perhaps he was looking for an escape route, but that was not her plan. ‘No, I like it here. It’s peaceful after the bustle of London. I’d like a drink though.’

  While James rummaged through the contents of the mini-bar Nicola took off her grey jacket and sat primly on the sofa. She sat with her knees together and hands in her lap, and rather gave the impression of a young schoolteacher in her grey skirt and white blouse. James poured brandies for them both, but instead of joining her on the sofa he chose to sit in the armchair. Given his coolness she was not sure how to proceed. Should she ask to use the bathroom and return dressed only in her underwear? The problem was, if he rejected her then she would ruin their growing intimacy and it would be impossible ever to try again. She decided to feel her way a step at a time.

  ‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you in the Gallery.’

  ‘It’s okay. You didn’t.’

  ‘I just wanted to show my appreciation. It just happened, really.’

  He did not reply, just continued to look at her with grey, thoughtful eyes.

  ‘Do you find me attractive, James?’

  ‘You don’t need me to tell you you’re beautiful,’ he replied evasively.

  Beautiful, she thought. She liked that word.

  ‘Since Uncle Edward died,’ she ventured, ‘I sometimes feel I need someone to turn to for guidance. It’s easy to drift when you’re young, isn’t it? You know, just go with the crowd, have a good time, but not do anything very worthwhile.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I did a little drifting myself at your age.’

  ‘That’s why I think that this...’ she paused, ‘this punishment will do me good. Help me focus on my job more; be a better PA for you.’

  ‘Mm. Well you arrived early this morning - that’s a first,’ he said dryly.

  Nicola laughed. ‘It just shows how effective the cane is as a management tool.’

  For a time they sipped their drinks in silence. Then, casually, Nicola said, ‘Maybe you ought to check my bottom has recovered enough for tomorrow’s session. This morning you said you would.’

  ‘Did I? I thought you said it was fine.’

  ‘It feels fine. But you’ve probably got more experience to judge.’

  He coloured a little at that, and then replied, ‘It would make more sense to look tomorrow evening.’ This was so obviously correct that Nicola could only agree.

  ‘I suppose it would.’

  At least she had caught a glimpse of movement beneath his trousers, so some progress was being made. She just needed a little more time. ‘It’s warm in here. Aren’t you hot in your jacket and tie, James?’

  ‘A little. I was going to take them off when you left.’

  If that was a hint to go she was going to ignore it. ‘I don’t mind. I’d be sorry if you felt you couldn’t relax with me.’

  ‘You’re right. I shouldn’t stand on ceremony; Rebecca says it’s a weakness of mine.’ He got up and took off jacket and tie. Nicola glanced quickly towards
his groin.

  Yes, definite signs of life, she thought, and if the mention of his fiancée was another hint to back off she was going to ignore that, too.

  They sipped their drinks in silence again.

  ‘Actually, James...’ Nicola hesitated and he looked at her expectantly. She continued slowly, eyes fixed on the table. ‘I would prefer to know tonight whether the next punishment will be tomorrow. It’s just that...’ another pause. ‘It’s just that, if it isn’t, I’ll probably go out with some friends and I need to let them know.’ She was still not looking at James but she could sense a tension in him. Nice one, she thought, that was a pretty good excuse on the spur of the moment. For the clincher she turned her hazel eyes on him, limpid with unshed tears.

  James did not reply at once; he seemed to be struggling with himself. Perhaps he had seen through her; after all, he was an experienced man. Yet she knew that most men could be fooled by female tears, especially those that led them where they wanted to go anyway.

  ‘I understand. Yes, of course. I should really have thought of that.’ Usually so confident he was stumbling a bit now.

  She waited, looking at the table again.

  ‘Maybe I had better take a look now,’ he said at last.

  ‘Thanks, that would be great. I’ll just use the bathroom to take my skirt off; I don’t want to get it creased again.’

  ‘Call the valet service; they’ll have it pressed for you.’

  Valet service? Nicola thought. This was getting exasperating. Why the hell couldn’t he just let her seduce him without throwing out all these diversions?

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll call them later from my room.’ She smiled sweetly and rushed to the bathroom before he could think of any more suggestions.

  When she returned James was still in his chair but he had topped up the drinks - definitely a good sign. Nicola held her arms in front of her breasts, hands on shoulders. ‘I don’t want to embarrass you but I took off my bra too. Yesterday you made me take it off so I thought...’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘Is that okay?’ she asked. He nodded. They were watching each other closely now. She saw his eyes fall to her breasts as she took her arms away. She glanced down too, at a large erection in his trousers. Going good.

  Nicola had a sip from her drink then took something from her bag and moved over to James’ chair. She stood with her back to him, legs firmly together. This evening rather than a thong she was wearing knickers of white lace which nearly covered her bottom cheeks; and she had left her tights on. To see her bottom properly James would have to take down both.

  After a slight pause she felt his fingers hook into the waistband of the tights and firmly pull them halfway down her thighs. But instead of sliding her panties down he held aside the lacy material, revealing one buttock at a time. She felt his fingertips run over the surface of the cheeks. He squeezed and patted them gently. The welts had gone completely; just the odd red blotch and one or two tiny bruises remained. His fingers moved down to examine the tops of her legs. Ever so slightly she changed her stance to part her legs. His fingers probed between them and lingered on the crotch of her panties. He must have felt the wetness there, but he just straightened the knickers and brought her tights up again.

  ‘Seems fine,’ he said, giving her bottom a sharp slap.

  ‘Ow!’ exclaimed Nicola. ‘It’s still a little sore,’ she said. ‘I’ve been rubbing cream into it.’ She turned and held out a tube of lotion. ‘Could you rub some in for me? It’s easier if you do it.’

  He looked her in the eye for a moment, but before he replied she said in a businesslike way, ‘It would be better on the sofa. Then I could lie across your lap more comfortably.’

  For an instant she thought he was not going to buy it, but he did. He moved across to the sofa and she immediately went over his lap.

  ‘Oops, I’ve still got my tights on,’ she said, pushing herself up. But instead of rising and taking them off she moved one hand to his erection and held it through his trousers. James said nothing, but he was breathing more quickly. Nicola unzipped him and pulled his stiff penis out over the top of his white boxer shorts. It was not the largest she had seen, but it was large enough. She slid a little off his legs and dropped her head to his lap. She licked the length of the rigid penis with the tip of her tongue.

  ‘You really are a little devil, Nicola.’ He spoke angrily, but that did not worry her at all; she knew he wanted sex with her. Her tightly clad bottom still rested within reach on the sofa and he gave it a stinging slap.

  ‘Yes,’ she gasped in pleasure. ‘Spank me, James; you still owe me that from last night.’ She took his penis into her mouth, her head bobbing as she vigorously ran her lips up and down its length. The thrill made his spanks haphazard, but they were heavy and frequent. Nicola gasped and bucked with each blow but she kept her mouth around him. James was close to orgasm and the spanking stopped, he gripped the seat of the sofa. Out of breath Nicola hurriedly rose and pushed down her tights and knickers. She bent forward over the chair seat with her legs apart and her bottom in the air.

  As James rose and moved behind her his mobile phone rang. They could tell from the ringtone that it was Rebecca. Nicola begged him not to answer, but after a moment of indecision he did. Rebecca must have been able to hear he was still breathing heavily.

  ‘I’ve just come up the stairs,’ he said into the phone, standing with trousers round his ankles.

  All that good work for nothing, thought Nicola, slumping in the chair with a muffled groan. With a look he signalled her to keep quiet, and she listened to his side of the conversation. It was pretty monosyllabic and he didn’t ask much about what Rebecca had been doing. All in all Nicola thought Rebecca would guess that something was wrong, and she was not surprised to hear him say, ‘Yes, actually I’m with Nicola.’

  He handed the phone to her, and she sat up in surprise.

  ‘Rebecca would like to talk to you.’ She looked at him in puzzlement, but she took the phone and tried to sound as bright as possible.

  ‘Hello, Rebecca. How’s the skiing?’

  Nicola listed attentively for a few minutes, with the odd word of assent, and then handed the phone back to James. While he spoke with Rebecca his eyes were hungrily following Nicola as she dressed. Before the call ended she kissed him on the cheek and left to go to her own room without a word.

  Chapter 5

  Alone in his suite, James mused on the chaos he was unleashing in his private life. He was still plagued by the memory of Nicola, bent over the chair begging him to fuck her, but he was determined not to masturbate for relief. Still less would he go to her room, where no doubt he would have been warmly welcomed. Rebecca’s call at the very moment he was about to be unfaithful to her had been a sign. He needed to bring the relationship with his secretary back under control.

  On the whole James thought the phone conversation had ended well. He doubted Rebecca suspected anything was amiss. He’d explained how he had needed to come to London and simply invited Nicola on the spur of the moment, as a treat.

  ‘A sort of staff Christmas party for the two of you,’ Rebecca had said.

  James was glad she was so understanding, but that did not lessen his sense of guilt. He knew where Nicola’s conduct was leading and he should have nipped it in the bud.

  The trouble was that he found the girl devastatingly sexy. It was impossible to resist the way she was complicit in her own punishment. Impishness and innocence alternated in her in the most sexually provocative way. From the moment she asked, ‘Couldn’t you punish me in some other way?’ he was caught in her elflike spell. The lovely hazel eyes that could moisten in an instant; her sweet voice which quavered like a child’s; the silky bob cut which fell about her cheeks when she meekly lowered her head; the youthful freshness of her scent. But most of all her
beautiful body and delicious derriere. He wanted to hug her, spank her and make love to her all at the same time.

  And yet he suspected that, in spite of this craving, his true love was for Rebecca. Although younger than James she was far nearer his own age than Nicola. Her work and interests were similar to his, and sexually they were wonderfully compatible. He tried to dampen his lust for Nicola by thinking of Rebecca.

  They had met a little over a year before at a restaurant in Oxford. He had taken his mentally disabled cousin, Frank, out to dinner for a treat. Frank lived in a care home nearby. He was an attractive looking boy, at the difficult age of sixteen. All youths find it hard to cope with their emerging sexuality, but those with Frank’s problems are simply unable to grasp what is happening to them. In the restaurant Frank had not been able keep his eyes off Rebecca’s long chestnut hair.

  Rebecca was dining with her mother at a nearby table and it soon became clear that she did not welcome Frank’s leering attentions. James tried to distract him, but he’d fixed on Rebecca with the single-mindedness that typified his behaviour. Not even the arrival of his much loved steak and chips diverted him.

  Just as James was considering crossing to the other table to explain the position, Rebecca swept over and started, quietly but heatedly, to put the rude teenager in his place. James tried to intervene, but she ignored him. Frank was dismayed and James could see in him the signs of imminent distress.

  Later James always justified what he did next as actuated by concern for Frank, yet he never believed that to be the true explanation. Rather, it felt as if fate had taken a hand to change his life in an instant. And ‘hand’ was the mot juste. Rebecca was leaning against the table towards Frank, displaying a lovely bottom tightly clad in a white satin evening dress. On an impulse James raised his right hand and brought it down with a loud slap on Rebecca’s behind.