The Painted Lady, Winter Wishes Anthology

Excerpt

Chapter One

Tiny brushes moved softly across her skin. It was almost too erotic for her to handle. However, Saff was not complaining, this was a job and one that was paying better than good. All that was required was to have her body used as a canvas.

The gentle and steady hand of a masterful artist had been doling out the torture using their weapon of choice, a series of brushes. Fine, sable-haired brushes that moved sinuously across her face and ears, gently over and around her breasts and nipples, stroked down her stomach and pussy mound, even along her bare, plump lips. The final strokes were usually tickling the special makeup along her legs, feet, and toes.

This was the thirty-first and final illusion that had been specifically commissioned by some unknown patron. Once the photos had all been taken, the patron, along with the photographer’s expertise, would choose the best images and then send it to a bookbinder who handcrafted beautiful books. It was for a private collection only. Saffron was the model/canvas and when offered the post, she worried for a moment about some strange person possessing nude pictures of her, then realized it would be difficult to know it was her hidden beneath the paint, so left that worry behind.

Joanne Gardner, the artist/body painter, was one of the top in the field. Bruce Wester, the photographer, also top in his field, was noted for the raw sexuality with a sensual ambience to his pictures. There was also a team of assistants for each and they had all been working on this project for almost a month straight, including weekends. The team was top notch as would be the final product.

No one ever heard Saff complain about her choice of profession. Model work was not that difficult, but was frequently trying on the nerves. However, that no longer mattered, this was her last job, she was no longer cut out for this career. As a tall gangly prematurely busty girl-child, the industry loved her and she found it easy money. But the woman she became disliked hearing the, “Saffron, you’re gaining weight, loose at least fifteen pounds if you want to work.” By no means was she a beauty, but what she did have going for her was great facial bones that showed well with makeup and a tall, long-legged frame with large breasts that showed clothes to great advantage. The new waifish body trend was just not for her so, she was taking this last job and heading for a less public life.

Plans were already in place for where she would be heading next. First on her list was to rent out her flat here in New York City that she had bought early on in her career as an investment and head out for greener pastures. Already she had made a few driving forays out into the surrounding countryside and found what she was looking for, a small town and a feeling of community in a historic setting, and still close enough to the city to be able to visit from time to time.

Frenchtown on the Delaware River was her chosen location. There was a derelict mill that she queried about, even talked with a local architect, who took her thoughts to the local planning board and it looked like they were open to the ideas of her plan. It was now time for her to put her name to paper and make it official.

The multi-leveled building would have a shop to sell spices from around the world on the bottom floor, office space on the next and living space for herself on the upper two. As well as areas for parking, a garden space and a dock. The trick was going to be in maintaining the historical feel of the building and setting whilst making it not only habitable, but also sellable. She had been taught early in her career about always keeping the future in mind with her investments. It was a life changing decision and she was scared to death over the shift, but also eager to make the leap.

Hopefully, this would work for her social life as well, although she did not hold out much hope in that arena by moving to a small town. It had been love for her with her last boyfriend, and she had even thought it mutual. Dirk Madison, gorgeous hunk of Canadian perfection, ice hockey superstar with lush light brown hair that leaned towards wavy and luminous hazel eyes that went from yellow to green depending on his mood. The roommate had been booted out shortly after Saff returned from a shoot abroad when the other woman told her how he had chased after her and it had been difficult to say no to the man.

Nothing is as clear cut as it should have been in a relationship. It had always felt like he was holding something of himself back, so she thought anything was possible. Her self-respect was too healthy to stay in that kind of relationship, but she still found it easier to choose the coward’s route. She decided against the confrontation and instead, buried herself in runway work, something she had not done in years.

Returning from the Milanese and Parisian runways, she moved straight into New York fashion week and kept hearing about her weight from her agency. However, what they did not understand was that at that point, she simply did not care and was in it for the easy money. She had moved onward and was ready for the next phase of her life.

Besides, she felt she was exiting the industry on a high note. Saff liked leaving without scandal attached to her name and a strong reputation amongst all within the trade. This job, although not one for her portfolio, was still wonderful in many ways and the creativity called for by Joanne and Bruce was awe-inspiring. She thrived under these types of conditions. The only downside for her was the long hours of being slowly tortured by the sensuous stroke of a brush in a frigid environment.

What she supposed made it more trying was that there was no man in her life to ease the sexual tension these sessions built, and the onset of what she had previously labeled the snuggle season, fall and winter, did not help either.

To make the shoots go as easily as possible for her, Bruce demanded that only the bare minimum of people be allowed in the studio while she stood stark naked, front and center, before the day’s backdrop canvas. Joanne and her first assistant Carol, painted her in situ so there was no telling where she ended and the canvas began. The warehouse had to stay a fairly cool temperature to keep the paint set on her body, making it that much harder when she went home at the end of the day to a cold and lonely bed.

The purchaser of what eventually was to be a private pillow book obviously had money and an eye for beautiful art that spanned mediums and history. The scene choices were extremely detailed and realistic, and at times, just plain odd, although Saff never really queried anyone about who the patron may be.

Some of the pieces chosen were instantly recognizable masterpieces in the art world, like Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. They were all very sensual paintings and some of the more noted pieces like Leda and the Swan by Rubens, the cheeky Boucher piece, Girl Raising Her Skirt, and the seductive Tepidarium by Alma-Tadema. As a medium, statues were not spared, represented by pieces like the Venus de Milo. Neither was religion out of bounds. Although not totally surprising was that the piece chosen originated far from American shores in a beautiful bronze of Vajrasattra with Supreme Wisdom in his lap, legs wrapped around his hips.

There was a raunchy side to the project as seen most obviously in the detail from a Roman marble sarcophagus depicting an impish smiling female pan backing herself onto the erect cock of a grinning pan-headed herm. Also picked for the special commission was a  painting by Hokusai named A Pearl Diver and Two Octopuses featuring an ecstatic woman being sexually handled by two octopuses with their many tentacles and mouths.

The downright freaky came in the guise of a naked Princess Leia sitting before Jabba the Hut from Return of the Jedi and a yellow bathing suited corn-rowed Bo Derek running along a beach in 10. Saff supposed the latter two said something about the personality of the person who had commissioned the unique series. Besides being into erotic art, these two said the patron was most likely male and young enough in the late seventies/early eighties to be turned on by the hot actresses of the time.

These were the more conventional depictions chosen, which could almost be considered highbrow, because they mirrored existing and recognizable pieces in art. Where Joanne and her team really excelled was when they created scenarios without being restricted to mirror any specific pieces or ideals. These pieces were her favorites because they were so unique.

There was the red-eyed iridescent dragon that loomed over her shoulder, tongue tracing down her stomach to disappear into the cleft of her pussy, a claw wrapped around her thigh to hold her leg high and spread for his oral attentions. Another unique illusion was of a peaceful forest setting with a sunny clearing and a woman writhing in the throes of intense pleasure with a huge snake wrapped around her body, its head buried between her thighs—this one had actually been taken from a top view as well. Bruce had thought the patron would also enjoy the view from above that showed how far the snake was buried inside her pussy. Then there was a stunning white horse with a knight atop, dressed in his armor, sword sheathed, and a naked woman laying back along the horse, her legs curled around the man’s neck and his head between her thighs.

There were still other pieces depicting fetishes and erotic scenes and, when looked on as a whole, they showed many a man’s fantasy. Woman naked, or nearly so, ready to please and be pleasured in return, or caught in the act of fucking—specifically created for arousing the viewer.

Today, the final day, there was not as much body painting as there had been in previous days. The setting was a hay-filled musty-looking working barn that showed her from behind. Painted on her was a pair of bright red worn cowboy boots, her real hair falling loosely to the middle of her back but held in place by a bandanna as a blindfold. A gun belt had been detailed to rest low on her hips and was so realistic, that even painted around her thigh was the string that held the holster in place. Her hands, cuffed and stretched high above her head, were attached to a large rusty hook.

The difficulty with this final illusion was that it was fairly close to one of her fantasies.

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