Standing in the entry, watching people shambling through the gallery, Nicholas looked from person to person, hoping to gain some idea of the reception of his drawings with the visitors and patrons. He held a glass of white wine in his left hand, swirling the liquid in the glass. He saw a few older couples looking closely at a nude woman he had drawn. The old man pointed indiscriminately with a growing scowl, while the woman, who appeared to be his wife, smiled at the drawing, sipping her wine quietly, seeming confused by her husband’s distaste.
Nicholas Amalion liked exciting his audience with his drawings and paintings. He preferred working from a nude model, a rare thing in his circle of art as most abandoned observational art in favor of abstraction and conceptualism. He hated conceptualism, cared little for abstraction, but he loved observation. It showed quite clearly in his work. He enjoyed that some called his erotic art as lewd, while others, mostly women, loved his brave, ‘not-unsexualized’ depictions of the female nude.
The blank white walls of the gallery drew greater attention on his drawings, lending them a sense of drama. One drawing showed a woman with her legs spread as she laid on her back, her hands in her sex. Another depicted a woman’s rear pointed out to the viewer, her legs spreading and displaying her vagina triumphantly to the viewer. The drawers remained largely minimal: a figure, fully realized, sitting in a chair, on the floor or on a draped piece of fabric, but always fully nude. His wildest drawings in the show depicted a woman’s hips at the top of the frame, her body bent over at the waist, her hands on her buttocks, spreading her beautiful legs and vagina to the viewer. He relished his aggressive artistic worship of feminine beauty. He liked seeing a man thrilled by his realistic drawings. He loved seeing older women blush and steal a closer look at his ‘Aphrodites’.
As a child he loved reading Hellenistic Greek mythology, especially the stories of beautiful, cunning women, their boundless guile and the naive men they seduced. He had always wanted to recreate that world in his art, finding his way quickly to drawing women in the nude after, as a teenager, he caught sight of his tall, buxom neighbor stark naked sunning herself out his window. He remembered desperately sketching her as efficiently as he could, in that brief stretch of time, he felt at one with the universe as he studied every curve of her figure as she tanned her round backside, her large breasts, flat stomach and slender waist. In that moment, at the tender age of eleven, he knew he wanted that and that alone: a statuesque woman, naked before him, unashamed and victoriously displaying every part of her femininity for him to record and worship for all time.
The show crawled through the night. People continued to drink and mill through the gallery, looking at his latest works and the works of the several other artists. A year’s worth of struggle and pain and pleasure sat vulnerable on the walls. He felt dread, but he knew the feeling too well, as it always accompanied the unveiling of any of his works. The owner of the gallery, Claire Schmid, a handsome middle-aged woman, petite but loud-mouthed, approached him with a glass of wine.
“They seem to like it more than the last set you gave me,” Claire said. “I have sold six so far to three different clients. Its a good thing I put you in a show instead of just consignments.”
He smiled at her and sipped his wine. She placed a gloved hand on his arm, raising her eyebrows and smiling. He lifted his head and smiled wider. She turned and retreated from him, made her way to an older couple and started talking with them about the picture next to them. The other artists had sold a few as well it seemed. He did not enjoy two of four other painters in the show, knowing one of them loosely after meeting briefly, but he was the only artist that had stayed this late with the others leaving after only staying a short period. They all felt jet-lagged and retired early from the evening’s gathering and party. Nicholas did not have to worry about jet-lag as he normally went to bed at dawn, but here, high the mountains, he went to bed after midnight.
Nicholas turned and sniffed. These shows frequently bored him. He wanted something exciting, but he felt a hollowness lately that neither his models, his drawings nor his paintings could fill. He stared blankly at the wall, thinking about what to do next. He had drawn the same thing hundreds if not thousands of times. At only twenty-seven, his mind had aged quickly, leaving him forlorn and spiritually vacuous. His friends had fallen out of touch as he gained his limited but significant success. He had traveled here by putting his belongings in a storage unit after emptying his room in the apartment he sub-leased and purchasing a one-way ticket with the clothes he needed and all his remaining cash. He wanted to walk out the door of the gallery and wander into the hills and the forest. He wanted to walk out and jump in the sea, upon whose shores the town rested.
The dread in his stomach originated with something he knew to be true: he had to find something new, as he could not continue making the same work of art over and over. These artworks may be his last of his nudes. His last model quit after meeting a man she liked. He enjoyed sharing a rather intimate relationship with his models. Not necessarily a sexual one, and not that that never came about between them, but the act of drawing itself compelled him the way no woman ever had in his life. Mulling over his short life, alone in a sterile, white gallery spotted with bright lights, he knew he needed something new, perhaps a new model, maybe even a prostitute that had zero modesty. No shame. All his previous models would do almost anything, but only almost. They always had one or two poses they would not take, forcing him to use pornographic magazines, which he hated with a passion. Not due to their subject, but rather how they treated the women as a subject. His subject was femininity, not pussy. He wanted a powerful, flamboyant woman with fiery sexuality, not a demure and bashful girl wanting to hide herself. He needed a woman to help play his muse to whisper in his ear and dance in his mind. He loved reading of the goddesses helping the artists, warriors and tricksters of the ancient legends of the world.
*How much longer will I need to stay here… These parties never cease to bore me, so tedious. I want to go to a real pub or bar or something! Maybe find a working girl and get her to drink and pose for me! Meh, maybe not as I hear the women here are not known for their wiles.* He thought as he looked around the large gallery. He adjusted his necktie, pulling it tighter and made sure he still had his shirt tucked in his trousers. Nicholas ran his hand through his thick, wavy, black hair.
As he zoned out, looking at his own drawing on the wall, he felt a familiar and gentle touch on his arm. He turned to see Claire standing with a tall, unusual looking woman. She stood a few inches taller than him, but he noticed she wore bright red heels on her feet. He quickly looked up her long legs, over her curvaceous hips, partially exposed by a slit running up her dress and ending above her left hip. He ogled her thin waist and tight stomach, following to her ample cleavage pushed forward by her tight dress. She wore a string of white, lumpy pearls around her neck, dangling above her deep cleavage. He looked at her bare shoulders leading to her long slender neck and her perfect, symmetrical face, full red lips and large green eyes. Her thick, wavy blond hair sat in a bun on top of her head. She held a glass of red wine in one hand, her other hand running a finger across the top her bosom and gently pulling her pearl necklace.
“Nick? I would like you to meet Mrs…” Claire spoke.
“*Ms* Helena Nero,” the tall woman said before Claire could finish. She held out her hand, and Nicholas shook it slowly, staring at her. She noticed him looking and held back a grin. Claire turned and waved at another visitor.
“Sorry, I have to talk with them! Ms. Nero, this is Nicholas Amalion,” Claire stepped away to join another woman as she entered the main gallery.
Nicholas was never needing for words when talking with women, but he found himself completely overwhelmed by this woman’s beauty. She simply stood and stared back at him, even standing straighter and putting her hands to her sides to give him a better view of her body. His gaze must have excited her as he watched her nipples began pushing against her tight dress. He exhaled deeply then gathered himself to speak.
“Pleased to meet you Ms. Nero. Thank you for coming to my show,” he said looking into her greener-than-jade eyes. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, pushing open the slit in her dress, giving Nicholas a better view of her long shapely leg.
*What do I need to do to get this woman in my studio to pose for me?* He thought as his cheeks warmed.
“So you make these wonderful treasures?” She asked, motioning with one arm to everything in the room.
“Yes, indeed. It’s the only way for me,” he replied.
“Hmmm, I can see that. Is it obsession, Mr Amalion?”
“Nick, please. And no. Not obsession…. Worship seems a better word.” At that, she brightened, her eyebrows raised, one side of her mouth coiling into a smile, as she stepped closer to him.
“Well Nicholas, I certainly enjoy your work, like no other artist working these days. Now all I see bores me. Abstractions based on feelings and silly deconstructions of what makes art beautiful and important in the first place. I love a nude. In particular, the ancient sculptures for its raw, primal and overt sexuality. Nudes made now are either profane or too modest. You strike the right chords in me Nicholas. I already purchased whatever remained.”
He lost his breath for a moment.
“I wanted to let you know, because I wondered if you were the kind of man that took commissions. I am in need of a good artist with magic hands!” She wrapped an elegant arm around his own, moving close enough to whisper in his ear. Her bosom pushed closer to his chest, giving him a wonderful sight down the front of her dress.
“Of course, always Ms. Nero-”
“Helena, please.” She interjected, her hand now sliding down around his wrist. The blood in his veins pumped fast and hot.
“Helena… Yes, I always take commissions, but I must say I prefer working from a live model. If you ask me for a portrait, then I ask that you sit for me.”
“What about full figure? Could I commission you to paint me in *all* my glory?” She thrust her hip pushing her exposed leg slightly against the inside of his right leg. She put her glass to her lips and sipped it slowly.
*Wow. What a dream*
“Yes of course! I do love drawing a full figure, and I do prefer a beautiful subject,” he said and sipped his wine, keeping an eye on the tall woman. She returned his gaze with a wry smile and leaned closer.
“I have an odd request…” She said quietly in his ear, placing a soft hand on his chest. “Can I commission you to paint my portrait, full figure… and in my house? I will cover all expenses and pay for the painting, of course I would provide you room and board while you fill my commission.”
Her words stunned him, and he briefly could not find the words.
“Well, what size canvas? I would need to get materials and an easel, I am from-”
“Out of town, yes? I said I would cover all expenses,” she leaned further into him, pushing her large tits against his chest.
“Sure. Why not? Where do we go from here?” He asked.
“Right now? Someplace else. In what hotel are you staying,” she said pushing past him and walking to the entry of the gallery. He followed and watched her round ass as she walked. His mind raced and imagined what lay in store for him.
“I am in the… Padrona?” He pointed to a hotel down the street at the bottom of a short hill. She nodded as if she already knew the place and turned in its direction. She wrapped her arm around his as they walked to the hotel.
In the twilight they walked the sloping street down to the corner where she turned to a door of a restaurant, he opened it and followed her inside the dimly lit room. Inside, he saw a small, strange restaurant fairly cramped. The host looked at her and brightened as he motioned her inside to a booth in a corner. He climbed into the booth and sat in the middle as she slid toward him, inching along closer and closer to him making her chest wobble with each motion in the booth. Each time she moved, her dress hiked a little further back, showing more and more of her legs, until as she finally positioned herself next to him, it looked like the seat of the booth had pulled her dress completely to the side. He ogled her curvy hip and smooth thigh. She scooted next to him, her exposed leg sitting closest to him. She tried to adjust her dress by sitting up slightly and pulling it under herself, giving him an exquisite view down the front of her dress as her tits jiggled in her tight dress. Finally she sat motionless with him, her nipples erect on her enormous breasts.
A waiter approached, and she ordered, speaking a language he did not understand. He watched her open her napkin and drape it in her lap and glanced at her ample cleavage spilling from her dress.
“So tell me, Nicholas, how did you end up here?”
“I have shown in a different galleries and wanted a change of scenery so I sought out galleries where I had never been. My family originates somewhere on this continent, but I do not know other than near the sea. I thought I would travel around and see the world a bit.”
The waiter returned with a basket of bread and butter, two glasses and champagne. He popped the cork and filled their glasses. They each took a glass, and she held up hers and touched it to his with an audible ping of the crystal glassware.
They drink and sat quietly for a moment. He did not know what to say. Her beauty still stunned him as he continually looked at her elegant neck and firm, huge tits sitting in her tight, strapless dress.
“So will I make a good subject for you?” She asked, breaking the silence.
“I will enjoy it, that is one way of putting it.”
She looked at him playfully and sipped her champagne.
“Should I give you a list of what I need, or do you have materials ready for me? How does this work?” He asked.
“Well, give me a list of what you need. I have a few easels at the house. A small one and a big one. I will hire you for two paintings and anything else you might make during your stay. I think you will find my home quite accommodating with the house open to you, the beach and the forest around the estate. We will have to take my boat. I forgot. The house sits on an island in the sea far south of here. Will you still join me? I can get you a boat and flight to wherever when you finish?”
He looked at her thick, blond hair in a tight, tall bun on her head and her rich caramel skin. She ran her finger along the lip of her glass.
“Yes of course. I think I can fit you in my schedule,” he said, and she gave him a coy look as though about to laugh.
“Great! I will call a car. You go up to your room and retrieve your belongings, and we will head to the yacht.”
After not recognizing anything on the menu, she ordered a few items, and they talked and ate bread, cheese, oysters, some pasta and cake. They discussed the terms of the commission, and Nicholas found them most agreeable. She seemed interested in his appreciation for the female form and his life experiences as an artist. He told her about his inspirations as child originating with classical Greek sculpture, which intrigued Helena immensely. At the end of the meal, she ordered them each a stiff brandy to add a nightcap and paid before leaving. On the narrow street outside the restaurant, a car waited. A strange man stood with the door open. Nicholas briefly saw a vacant look on his face as he walked into the hotel lobby across the street.
After retrieving his clothing and luggage, he exited to the hotel lobby and checked-out with the person behind the counter in the lobby. He met her waiting in her car outside the hotel. They left and drove to the outskirts of town to a small dock, where the car stopped and Nicholas and Helena got out of the car.
A girl wearing a wet-suit waved to her, and Helena walked toward her with Nicholas following. He carried his duffel bag on his back and approached the girl. She was a few inches shorter than him, slender build and caramel skin with short, curly brown hair. She looked strange and exotic to Nicholas. Her features looked as though the world had forgotten them for everyone else except her. She walked them to the end of the dock where they all got in a boat piloted by a smoky old man, and he motored them to a large yacht anchored deep in the harbor. Pulling up next to the yacht and quickly tying a rope loosely on the lower deck to keep steady, they made their way on the boat. First the girl in wet-suit, swinging her leg over the side and reaching back to help Helena and Nicholas followed, making sure to catch Helena swinging her long legs over the rail, her dress flapping in the wind giving him a view up her thick, shapely legs. As she stepped onto the deck he looked over at the old man who gave him a look as if to say:
“The world is a wonderful place!”
Climbing onto the deck and dropping the duffel bag at his feet, Helena introduced him to the girl in the wet-suit.
“Lily, this is Nicholas. Nicholas, this is Lily. Now I need a stiff drink! Come with me Nicholas we have a ways to go.”
He shook Lily’s hand and followed Helena. Lily trailed behind him as they made their way inside and to the bridge of the ship. There, Helena poured herself some cognac in a crystal glass and sat on the cushioned bench next to the bar. He stood looking around the boat. He saw Lily climb up through a hatch in the floor, followed by another girl wearing a bikini. Nicholas had a long look at the girl’s rich, bronze skin and platinum blond wavy hair. She filled out the small, white bikini that did little to conceal her amazing body. He glanced up and down at her tight body and large tits in a small bikini.
“Violet, this is Nicholas. Nicholas, this Violet,” Helena called out, still lying on the bench. Violet shook his hand as he smiled at her. She turned her attention to piloting the ship. They hoisted the anchor and started the engines. Nicholas dropped his bag, poured a drink and sat next to Helena and watched Violet’s small thong wedged deep in her ass.
End part 1 / Continued part 2
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/720b5y/artist_and_new_model_patroness_of_the_arts_part_1