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He had led a life of such excess and she had reaped the benefits in becoming his only wife. But she sensed a vague falling away of his vitality, and even some of her younger playthings seemed sharper if less considerate.Came the day when Ivor had to go on an important business trip for ten days. He claimed that the import/export company he owned needed to stay ahead of rivals but left her plenty of financial backing in her account.For days, Sophie was restless and unsettled. Then, one of Ivor’s friends, Max. a renowned painter, phoned her. Well known for his paintings of high society ladies dressed or naked. He had often stated that he longed to paint Sophie in a naked erotic pose, but something had always held her back, even though Ivor had no objections.Despite her worries about her own looks, when Max came on, she was hoping it was an offer for her to pose. Only, it wasn’t. “Aren’t you a little bored by yourself, Sophie? Wouldn’t you like to join us in a special masked. Donna sprawled back on the sofa with her eyes half-lidded. She weaved her head slowly back and forth. Dink knew the time had come. Donna’s robe had ridden up her to her thighs, revealing all her dazzling legs, and the low-cut robe she wore showed half of her coconut-sized breasts.He moved a hand and slid it into her robe, cupping a breast. She breathed out heavily and murmered.He grew bolder and began stroking the titty, scraping his thumb over the nipple.Donna moaned, and breathed out “We’ve got to stop. We can’t do this.”“Why not?” Dink asked.“Because it’s wrong,” she replied. “I’m married. I’ve never been unfaithful to my husband.”“There’s always a first time,” Dink said.He went down on her titties, going from breast to breast, sucking the nubs and flicking the nipples with his tongue.Donna knew she should stop, but it was as if her will was paralysed and she couldn’t move. Besides, it felt too good to stop.She moaned as he licked and.
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When one becomes accustomed to enough nude bodies, one always comes to a point where it seems no different to a clothed one. Very soon, the idea of drawing someone naked loses all of its eroticism. This is exactly what I have to tell myself when he walks into my studio. My original model is both female and late, an hour and a half late, as a matter of fact. She should have been here at three and it is now four thirty. I’m not normally an impatient person, nor am I a violent one, but the amount of tea that I’ve had within the past hour is beginning to test that theory. Out of habit, I tug at my hair in frustration, nearly leaving a mess of long, dark threads between my pale fingers. No messages, no missed calls and not even a text. ‘Fucking Natalie,’ I murmur, half to myself and half to my model. I down my third or fourth cup of tea of the hour and desperately need another. I don’t care if the caffeine will fire me up enough to kill Natalie on the spot once I see her. I’m almost.

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