"Do you want a drink or something?"
I nod, assuming he knows I'm underage. I'm distracted by his sprawling Hollywood home built in the seventies, remodeled to give it a more modern, simplistic look, but with all the same odd angles. It's up in the Hills, tucked away in a grotto of thick trees. There's an enormous pool out back as well as a veranda under the stars. This is the British musicians home away from home. His real flat is in London.
I watch him pour us both a glass of scotch over ice. He swirls it before handing it over to me. The white-washed walls are nearly bare except for large art pieces of varying styles, with lighting installed to illuminate the art in just the right way. He has expensive and abstract taste, and it shows.
"Do you like them?" His boyish face is serene, only slightly intoxicated, as he admires all of the works displayed around his home. His accent is thick and his words are a bit harder to understand because of it, as well as the slurring from the drinks he'd had at the club. "My friends think I'm frivolous," he confides.
I sip the amber scotch, focusing on not grimacing. I look around me. There's a black a white nude of a woman, only showing one naked breast and the muscular plane of her stomach, stopping just above the groin. The nipple is tight and protruding, goosebumps covering the flesh of her breast and stomach. On the opposite wall there is a painting of smears and dots and brush strokes. It's all very much over my head.
"It's lovely," I say, hoping it's what he wants to hear.
He regards me with his green eyes, driving one hand back through his messy and unruly hair as if trying to figure me out. Then he grins and tosses back the rest of his scotch.
"You're 18, right?" He asks, guiding me from the living room to another room just off of this one. There are three steps that lead down into the room. It's a sun room. The walls are all glass and there are exotic plants in huge pots around the room. There's a curvy, vintage sofa in front of one of the glass walls and in front of it a tripod with an expensive camera set up.
"Yes," I say, finishing off my own scotch and holding back a cough of disgust. Back at the club he had offered to buy me a drink, and then another when I had finished that one. This third, straight liquor, has my brain swimming pleasantly.
"I explained to you, in the cab, that I have odd tastes." Without waiting for an invitation I sit down on the sofa. My head was starting to spin. I watch him cross the room and stand behind the camera. He looks down into the eyepiece and readjusts the lens and exposure. He takes a photo. The camera shutters and makes a whirring noise.
"I've put a lot of money into my art. Most people see me and think of the boy band, the hair, the fame," he squints into the eyepiece, readjusts something and then another flash blinds me momentarily. "Very few are allowed to see me, though."
I fall back against the sofa, listening, but also trying not to puke.
"Could you remove your shirt?" He asks, so politely, so British.
I hook my fingers underneath the hem of my shirt and lift it up over my head. It drops onto the sofa next to me, hanging partially off.
Snap
I lift my head up a little and watch as he starts to undo his pants. My heart is pounding. I've been a fan of his band since they started. I was just a preteen girl, head over heels in love with them and their bubblegum love songs, and now here I am…
Flash
He looks at me, studies me. He's looking from my black lace bra to my skirt to my heels. "Could you take off the bra?"
My cheeks flush red. I'm a little disappointed that this seems so cold. It's not like I had imagined it so many times in my bedroom alone at night when I was sixteen. I always dreamed of meeting him, of being swept off my feet. This is different. But it's what I want…
I reach around to unclasp my bra.
Snap
I slip the straps down my arms, revealing my plump breasts.
Flash
His pants are on the floor around his ankles. He pushes his boxers down next. His cock is big, and it hangs between his legs. The way he's standing there eyeing me with his hard-on is so primal. I feel wet between my thighs and wish that he would come touch me.
"Could you take your skirt off as well?"
I arch my back, lifting my butt up off the sofa.
Snap
I unzip the skirt on the side and shimmy it down my hips, down my thighs, down my calves and onto the floor. I'm in just my panties and heels.
"Take off your shoes."
I obey.
Flash
Unsure of what to do I just sit there, staring like a wide-eyed deer at the camera lens. He takes a few more and then starts to jerk himself off very slowly, only watching me through the eyepiece.
"Spread your legs," he groans. I can't take my eyes off his hand pumping his cock. "Wider. Touch your tits."
He takes another picture with his free hand and starts to jerk a little. "Off," he growls, "Take off the panties."
His tone is almost frightening. I hurry to get them off and set them on the sofa. The fabric underneath me is soft. I keep my legs spread, my pussy exposed. It feels wrong and odd, but I love it. He's staring between my legs, pumping faster, taking more pictures.
Finally he moves from the camera. He walks towards me and just stands there, in front of me between my spread legs, jacking off over me. I watch him, mesmerized and confused. I reach my hand down to touch myself but he swats it away with his other hand and then hunches over me. He lets out one last groan before cumming all over my pussy and stomach.
It's hot and thick and slides down my belly, down between the lips of my pussy and onto the sofa. I'm nearly out of breath and I hardly did anything at all. I'm lightheaded and still spinning, and my clit is throbbing, my pussy soaked. The couch is wet from both of us…
He pumps out every last drop before letting go of himself and panting.
After a moment he turns and walks back to the camera. He readjust the lens, the zoom, and takes more photos.
Once he's dressed he tells me to dress myself. He offers one of his extra bedrooms for the evening with a joined bathroom and tells me I can finish myself off. He says that he'd really appreciate if I stayed with him for a few more nights.
Despite this being nothing like I'd hoped, and bordering scary, I decide I'll stay. I'm intrigued. I want to know what else will happen. Will it be this way every night? Will I go to his extra bedroom feeling horny and dripping with his cum?
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/2xtsb3/real_art_mf_celeb_mast