index


Message-ID: <35876asstr$1017133802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: smiling19w@netscape.net
Subject: {ASSM} "As Long as it is Art" (Ff True)
Date: Tue, 26 Mar 2002 04:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


A Sutini Wijaya story
-- 




__________________________________________________________________
Your favorite stores, helpful shopping tools and great gift ideas. Experience the convenience of buying online with Shop@Netscape! http://shopnow.netscape.com/

Get your own FREE, personal Netscape Mail account today at http://webmail.netscape.com/


<1st attachment, "As Long as it is Art.doc" begin>

"As Long as it is Art" (Ff True)
Sutini Wijaya (2002)

I can't just launch into this story without giving you some
background.  Because to know to me is to know to my mother.  So I
guess I better start with her.

My Mother was, according to some of my friends, the mother from
hell.  I didn't think so.  To me she was just "Mother"... I had
been brought up by her and was used to her and in fact other
people's mothers seemed to colourless by comparison.  Although
she lacked a university education she did not lack an education
and in terms of "general knowledge" there were a few that would
outsmart her.  Her special interest was "The Arts".  As far back
as I can remember I ushered from art gallery to art gallery.  Her
idea of entertaining five-year-old kid was to find a new art
gallery.  I would have much preferred to play with my friends in
a sandpit!  My birthday and Christmas presents were always a
great disappointment because they would inevitably consist of
drawing equipment and books about painters or sculptors.  If she
had a choice of being introduced or getting to know a musician or
famous artist well the musician would not stand a chance.

It is against this background that this recollection is based. 
By the time I was in high school I was doing quite  well in
English, French and not surprisingly, Art. Unfortunately "quite
well" was not good enough as far as Mother was concerned.  Mother
was determined that I was going to be the next great artist that
this country had produced.  A modern-day female Nolan...or even
Donald Friend. That was her dream.  By the time I was almost 18
and approaching my final year at high school Mother decided that
over the Christmas break I should have some extra art tuition...
she would find me a tutor.  I was quite good at and quite happy
with my pencil and charcoal sketching and drawing.  Watercolours
and oils did not do much for me but I needed to know the theory.
She was reasonably happy with my sketching but desperately wanted
me into proper paintings (as she insisted on calling them).

She found a tutor through the Art Gallery called Cynthia
Hogan-Selth.  I can remember the first time we met.  She had a
lovely old house in the hills of Perth in town called Bickley. As
I remember it was set in an orchard of fruit trees with a creek
which meandered through the property.  When we arrived there we
found that she had about eight to ten students studying under her
and just by looking at their easels it was obvious that they were
not untalented.  She struck me as being somewhat a clone of my
mother as far as her approach to art and extroverted behaviour
was concerned.  The walls were adorned with paintings ranging
from the obvious work of her students - scenes painted throughout
the orchard and along the creek banks - to more professional
looking paintings of outback scenes and a good deal of female
nudes. The other students were all ages from my age upwards.  I
was received well and made to feel at home by the other students
while Mother and the lady discussed the distasteful subject of
pecuniary recompense. 

Mother had some wild idea that I would be able to go there every
day (by bus from home) and then she found out what the fees were
but also that she only held classes on the afternoons of Mondays
and Wednesdays.  She said she would also see me on Saturday
mornings to help me catch up.  Mother grumbled a bit on the way
home about what it was costing but it was for the sake of
"Art"... and that was the main thing! 

Armed with my drawing equipment, I went to the house on the
following Monday afternoon.  I liked her teaching style and
femininity immediately and tried my very best to please her. She
never ridiculed her students efforts and complemented them
constantly.  We normally started a project on Monday and tried to
have finished by Wednesday.  I discovered that she had made a
special time for me on Saturday morning and as I was the only
student at that time she was much more relaxed. Perth can be very
hot doing summer and on those days we would stay in the house in
her huge studio which was air conditioned but on cooler days we
would all traipse out into the orchard or down to the creek to
work there. We painted or sketched the inevitable flowers and
bowls of fruit and when she wanted us to work on human form she
had acquired from somewhere some store mannequins which she would
arrange in various positions to simulate some human activity
like, for instance, sleeping, sitting, or something like that. 
She was particularly keen on "available lighting" where the
subject would be lit from one side, like standing by an open
window or doorway, with heavy lights and darks.  Not just the
mannequins but even still life works.

Apparently the class had been going for four weeks before I
joined it so there was quite a bit to catch up on each Saturday
morning.  After about a month I had just almost caught up. I
particularly enjoyed Saturdays because Cynthia was so much more
relaxed and of course I had her undivided attention.  With a sort
of magnetism about her, she was a striking woman in her early 40s
with a string of successful exhibitions behind her and ahead of
her and well-known in the art world in Perth.  Terribly
"alternative" in the way she dressed  - almost predicably she
wore Asian sort of clothes like sarongs and saris or just a
kaftan sort of thing.   Her figure, despite the unusual clothes,
was clearly well looked after.  Initially I could not tell
whether or not she had a shapely bust because of her clothing but
a few glimpses we got of her legs showed a woman in very good
shape.

Saturday mornings for me was trying to catch up with the work the
others had done with mannequins.  I really enjoyed this and was
quite good at capturing the details and contours that she wanted
and she was lavish with her praise for my efforts.  One Saturday
morning she got me going with one of her mannequins down at the 
bank of the creek. She came back to check  after about a hour and
was very pleased with what I had produced.  

She said, "You are the only one of my students here who, when
they have a mannequin as the model, managed to make it look like
a mannequin and not like a person. Have you ever worked with a
live model?  A friend perhaps?"

"You mean, unclothed?"  I asked.

"Yes"

"No!  Never!  I don't know who I could ask."  I responded.

"I would very much like to see how you handled the live model. 
You have an excellent eye-to-hand perception.  Because of the
cost I cannot afford to engage a live model which is why we use
mannequins.  But it would be interesting...I'd love to know
how..." she mused.

"What would be very interesting?"  I inquired.

"To see how you painted me."

"You?"  I said with astonishment.

"Yes me" she said and to my amazement she picked up the mannequin
which had been lying back in the grass with its feet dangling in
the water and with an almost imperceptible flick of her wrist the
sarong she was wearing fell to the grass revealing her to be
completely naked.

I gawked in amazement! She arranged herself and regally gestured
at my sketch pad as if to tell me to just get on with it.

I started to sketch her. Now that the superfluous layers of
clothing had been removed I could see that she had the most
amazing figure for her age, indeed for anyone's age.  She clearly
had never had children and had never been overweight and then
lost it all because there was not one stretch mark on her body. 
Her skin was magnificent!  True to her "alternative" lifestyle
her armpits were not shaved and her pubic area was not trimmed -
terribly hairy - and fascinating to look at.  If I think of all
the women I have ever seen naked I cannot recall anyone who had
better shaped breasts.  Big without being pendulous and
beautifully proportioned.  Breathtaking!

Mother had always told me that in good Art there is no such thing
as `smut'.  How many art galleries had I visited with her as we
gazed on nude female and male forms and I heard her say, "If that
was a photograph people would say is pornographic but because
it's a painting... it is Art!"  I could not argue with that idea
because I had never seen a painting that aroused me in the
slightest including some very erotic works in which people were
obviously engaged in some sort of sexual activity but the first
time I ever saw a photograph of a couple making love I just about
wet my pants.  Isn't that funny!  But here was a woman, albeit
much older than me, lying back in the grass totally naked and
completely unashamed.  This was Art, wasn't it?  But as I
sketched her I was aware of my own feelings of arousal and I was
confused.

"May I see how you are going?"  She asked.

"Of course you can."  I said.

She got up and walked over to me and looked at my work.  She was
so casual about being naked.  She made no move at all to cover
herself.

She was ecstatic.  "What a wonderful touch!  Look at the skin
tone... you have made me come alive on your paper! You haven't
done my head and face details yet... so let's get on with it. 
Excellent... you are excellent!"

After pouring praise upon me she resumed her pose on the bank of
the creek as I completed the drawing with her head and face.  Her
face was so peaceful.  So serene.  She seemed to drift off into a
private world as she lay back while I sketched her.  Within 30
minutes I had finished and I roused her from what seemed to be a
deep day dream.  She got up and came over to my easel and gasped,
"Wonderful!  You have captured exactly the look on my face that I
wanted!  Well done... you know you really are very good!"

I was happy to bask in this deluge of praise.  We walked back to
the house as she examined my drawing and commented on it all the
way back to the house.  It  was starting to get a bit warm by now
say she asked me if I would like to have a cold drink and I
accepted with glee.  Back inside the house she  discarded the
sarong again and strolled around the house without a stitch.

"One of the wonderful things about living out here in the middle
of an orchard is the seclusion it affords me on the weekend. 
During the week there are people coming and going, fruit pickers,
packers and so on but on the weekend I can do what I like.  It
doesn't offend you does it?"

"Not at all" I assured her.  "Is your house, you can do as you
please... no way am I offended. I would probably do the same if I
was here by myself."

"Good.  Just as long as you are not absolutely horrified. We have
a lot in common." she smiled as she brought in two glasses of
lemonade with the ice tinkling on the sides. 

"I'm very pleased with your work today.  I will probably model
for you next Saturday again.  I don't have many sketches of
myself and you seem to have an amazing ability to capture me."

I said, "Thank you.  I have never sketched a live nude model
before.  I was a bit nervous that I would muck it up so I'm very
relieved that you are happy with the result.  I thought you had
gone to sleep... did you go to sleep?"

"Certainly not!"  She snorted.  "I have the theory which I was
testing and I will tell you about it one day when I know you
better and you know me better."

"Now you have me most intrigued" I said.  "Can you give me a
hint?"

"I don't give hints.  If I want to say something I say straight
out.  I will think about my theory during the week and maybe next
Saturday or some other time we will discuss it."  Subject closed.


And not just the subject was closed but my tutorial was too. I
was just going to say goodbye to her when a thought struck me. 
"I was wondering whether your posing is something I should tell
Mother and others or is this something you would rather I kept to
myself?"

She walked over to me and put her arm around my shoulders and
gave me a gentle embrace.  "Let me ask you this, Marion, what do
you think you should do?"

"Keep quiet?"

"You are not just a good artist but an intelligent young lady
too. Yes, I think reticence is called for here."  

And I was good to my word.  But I spent a restless week.  My body
was on red alert!  This woman had really stirred up my every
hormone. I could not work out why.  She was more than 20 years
older than me and yet her allure was unquestionable.  I could not
stop thinking about her "theory" and whatever that could be.
Seeing her on Monday and Wednesday for the normal class was in
some ways awkward because she was so normal in her actions and
all the time I kept thinking to myself, "I saw her nude last
Saturday.  I even drew her" and at no time did she give any hint
or clue that the time we had spent together had been any sort of
'bonding' at all.  It was as though it never happened... as if it
was a dream.

Saturday came again. Cynthia met me at the door with a broad
smile and a big hug.

"I had been looking forward to your visit all week.  As you can
imagine, I couldn't act any differently to you in front of the
others during the week and I hope you understand."  She said.

I pretended that it made no difference to me.  I didn't dare say
that I had been pretty perplexed by her distance to me.

"Well, we are going to do more figure work and because it's a bit
hot outside I don't fancy getting burned to a crisp so we will
stay inside.  Set yourself up and I will make us a cup of tea and
then get myself ready."

I set up my easel, secured my sketch pad and got my materials
ready while she busied herself in the kitchen.  She brought back
the tea and removed her things and lay back on a couch. I felt a
warm flush of excitement: this woman was so  attractive to me! 

"Tell me about your theory now?"  I asked with a smile.

"I am not ready yet" she said with an air of finality. "I really
know nothing about your personal experience in life and it is
possible you would be offended or completely mystified. I am
starting to feel sorry I mentioned it..."

I was mystified all right! But I accepted her decision and
started sketching her. This time she was very much full frontal
and I debated what to do about her pubes...do I put in the hair
or leave it like a mannequin? I opted for the natural look and
pencilled in her substantial bushy bits. As usual I left her head
and expression until last. Satisfied and not at all put off by
the dark triangle I had sketched in, she told me to do her face
and again she went into a trance-like state...quite serene and
relaxed.

I commented, "I love that look on your face...so relaxed and
happy. I hope I can get it onto my paper..." 

She murmured, indicating she had heard me. I was happy with the
results finally and asked her to look at the finished work. She
seemed slow to rouse but then came over and said she was happy.
There was one problem though.

"What?" I asked.

"My nipples. You have them flat against my body. It is more
dramatic if you portray them standing...if only slightly."

"But that's how they were" I protested.

"Then you can always tell your model to stand them up...pinch
them, or use an icy cold cloth...and they will come up. And if
all else fails and if you have a close rapport with your model
pinch them yourself because when someone else touches your
nipples they will react immediately. You know what I mean?"

"I think I do" I said.

I had to do her breasts again. The nipples were flat so I said
so.  She seemed only too happy to run her hands in the most
sensual manner over her breasts and soon both nipples were very
erect. I was very relieved that I was not called upon to touch
her.

At this stage I should  tell you that my sexual experiences at
this time of my life had been with both boys and girls. By
'girls' I mean that since we hit puberty together my very best
friend, Allison and I had always got huge pleasure out of
touching each others breasts and masturbating covertly under the
sheet together when we had sleep-overs. I had also touched
another girls body more completely once when on a camping trip to
Geralton.  But I had never touched breasts like this woman had. 
I was glad she had not asked me to but I was awash with
excitement nevertheless.  I knew what a lesbian was and I
understood the concept of bisexuality and as I also liked guys
well, I was obviously in the latter group. 

My Mother had always encouraged me to accept nudity as "normal"
and took great delight in cavorting around the house without a
stitch on as though she expected Pro Hart ( hardly!) to come in
through the door any moment and demand that she sit for him.  As
a result of her extroverted behaviour I was fairly unabashed
about my own body and although I did not flaunt it with plunging
necklines and push-up bras, I was not the slightest bit shy if
the right person, say, a doctor or a friend sleeping over were to
see me without anything on but I did not go out of my way to
achieve this end.  Mother would make me blush furiously sometimes
when one of my friends from school stayed at our house.  "There
is no pornography in nudity" and "Don't  be embarrassed with the
body that God made for you" were just two of her oft-repeated
lines. If I had a visitor from sheltered background she would
look at me askance and in panic and I would have to tell Mother
to behave and then she would be a bad mood for the rest of the
time that my friend was there.  Before she separated from my
father (now deceased) she also embarrassed him and his family
with this sort of extroverted behaviour.  I made a promise to
myself that I would never do this to my own children but that I
would have a very liberal attitude to nudity and also toprivacy.

The weekday lessons continued unchanged.  Cynthia gave me no more
and no less attention than any other student and no one would
have guessed that I had been sketching her naked. 

By about the fourth Saturday she became more openly affectionate
towards me.  She was welcoming  and seemed genuinely happy when I
arrived at 9 a.m. As I arrived she gave me a hug and walked with
me into the studio with an arm around me talking happily as
though we were close  friends of long-standing.

"I have a proposal to put to you."  She said one Saturday.

"A proposal?"  I asked.

"Yes," she smiled, "I have. You are dying to know what my theory
is, right?"

"For your serene and relaxed  look?"  I asked.

"Yes.  Today I would like to have a personal chat with you.  I
want to find out a few things about your experiences in life and
if everything goes well, we will talk about my theory."

"Okay!"  I said happily, "what pose have you got planned for me
to sketch today?  Where do you  want to go?"

"How would you feel about a complete change?"

"Such as...?"

She looked at me carefully for my reaction, "I would like to
paint you !   Topless...I can see you have beautiful breasts
under all those clothes.  What would you say?"

I was taken aback.  I had not even contemplated what my answer 
would be if she had asked me this.  It had never occurred to me
that she would want to paint me.  And I knew instinctively that
if she did a  good painting of me topless my Mother would be
thrilled beyond words and very supportive of the fact I had posed
for her.  It was not a matter of being shy either...it would be
like going to the doctor.

"I would be honoured to pose for you."

"Very well.  Good.  Let me set up my things up and then I'll tell
you what I want you to do."

She busied herself with a sketch pad and directed me to sit on
the chair next to the window and she inspected the available
light.  After she had arranged me, and then rearranged me and
finally was happy with the way the light fell across my body she
told me to remove all my clothes down to my waist and make myself
comfortable and as relaxed as I could.

I took off my T-shirt and my bra throwing them onto the ground. 

"Undo your ponytail and comb it out letting some fall over your
breasts but not completely obscuring them."

I did as she said and when she was happy with the result I lay
back on the fairly comfortable chair and felt the sun shining on
my left side.  It was easy to relax.  She worked quietly and
industriously for about 20 minutes occasionally making
complementary grunts of approval like, "beautiful breasts..." or
"magnificent lines" or "a certain innocence but at the same time
there is something else...."

I guessed that she had pencilled in the out line and was now
working on the shadowing.  As it was a frontal portrait and I was
looking at her, I was able to see how fast she was working. 

 Without any warning and as though she was thinking aloud, "Yes,
a certain innocence... but I wonder how innocent?"

I smiled, listening to her talking rhetorically  about me.  I did
not respond to her.

She stopped working abruptly and looked at me inquiringly, "Well?
 Are you innocent?"

I blushed.  "I'm not quite sure what you mean, Cynthia. What's
'innocent' ?"

"Well, are you a virgin?  Have you slept with a man yet?"

Now I really blushed.  My cheeks were burning.  I couldn't bring
myself to answer her question so I just shook my head.

She smiled.  "A dear little virgin.  How sweet.  But you have a
certain...je ne sais quoi... a certain air of awakened awareness
about you.  I wonder if..." she trailed off.

It was my turn to smile.  "What do you wonder about me?"

She continued working on my portrait as we spoke. It was a long
time before she spoke...she looked up and said, "I was wondering
if you have ever had any experience with...ah... girls perhaps?
What I mean here is a romantic, even sexual relationship.  I
don't mean 'just friends'.  Do you understand what I mean?"

"I understand what you mean"

"Well?"

Once again I blushed.  I didn't want to say too much because I
doubted that anyone would be impressed that I had had some sort
of relationship with one of my girl friends since we had been
young and my more extensive experience with the girl in Geralton.
 Although her questioning me was direct and had a sort of
no-nonsense ring to it I was starting to get the message that she
would be nonjudgmental what ever I said.  But I still could not
bring myself to reply. I was silent.

"Let me ask you this then, Marion, do you know what an orgasm
is?"

"Yes I do"

"Have you experienced one or do you just know what it is?"

"I have had one" I blushed.

"Only one?"

"Oh no!  Many!"

"Wonderful.  Just wonderful!  Always alone?"

I wondered what to say.  I was starting to feel more trusting as
this interrogation continued.  But thought to myself,' Who does
she know that I know?  Why not tell her?'

"Not always but usually.  I have a girlfriend..."

"Even better!  Tell me what you and she had done together and
then after that I will tell you about my theory.  Is that fair
enough?"

"That's fair enough.  But this is just between you and me.  Just
as I don't tell anyone about you posing for me."

She agreed.  "Of course we will share many secrets with each
other.  I am sure I have more than you have!"

So I told her how Allison and I had touched each other
experimentally and how we usually masturbated ourselves, (as
opposed to each other), when we had sleep-overs and that we were
both completely open with each other and had told each other
little tricks which seem to be useful to make the orgasm bigger
and better or longer. I told her about the girl in Geralton and
how we had touched each other and given the other one an orgasm
digitally. She listened in rapt silence smiling and nodding from
time to time as I rambled on with my story.  When it was finished
I waited for the reaction.

"Very sweet.  Very much like my own experiences at your age. 
Although at your age I had lost my virginity.  But I prefer the
touch of a girl.  Have you had anything to do with boys?"

"Yes. Actually,  I think I have done more with boys than with my
Allison.  She and I never touch each other 'down there' but I
have touched a couple of boys there and they have done it to
me... you know, with their fingers."

"Which you prefer?"

"To be honest I never masturbate thinking of having sex with a
boy but usually about being with a girl." 

She put the pencil down and looked at me, "One last question and
then I'll tell you about my theory.  Have you masturbated in the
last, say, four weeks and if so what did you think about?"

Again the blood rushed to my cheeks.  "I don't want to say."

"Was it... was it me?"

"Yes" I mumbled, my face fiery hot.

"I am complemented.  I am delighted.  I am thrilled!  I had a
feeling right from the very first time I posed for you that you
were aroused by looking at me... am I right?"  She looked at me
and I nodded.  She went on, "Here is a little secret for you...
the way you looked at me aroused me too and I have been
masturbating thinking about you and wishing, and hoping that you
felt the same way and now that I know you do I am beyond just
happy! We are so alike!

I was stunned.  I couldn't believe what my ears were hearing.  I
had to suppress an urge to run to her, to hold her and to kiss
her.  I felt every hair on my body stand up... I was a mass of
goose pimples.

"I don't know what to say..." I said.  "I'm sort of confused."

"You have been honest with me.  You have opened your heart so I
decided to be honest with you.  Anyway, you want to know about my
theory.  Yes?"

I agreed.  "Yes tell me, I am dying to know what it's allabout."

"You commented that I had a 'serene and relaxed' look on my face
when you were sketching me.  My theory is this: a woman's face
looks at its very best just after she has had an orgasm.  Haven't
you noticed your friend Allison has a dreamy and faraway look
after she has come?  Well as I lay back and you sketched me I was
having a fantasy about making love to you and I climaxed very
quietly without even touching myself.  Have you to done that?"

"I can make an orgasm by pressing myself together sometimes and
moving my knees slightly against each other" I admitted.

"Exactly.  I was dying to do that when you were sketching me, to
have an orgasm secretly, and see if you could catch that look in
my face.  I might get you to do something for me."

"What?"  I asked.

"I want to borrow a video camera and I'd like you to film my face
as I masturbate and as I come down from the high and then we will
make some still photos and see how they look.  Would you be
prepared to do that for me?  There is hardly anyone else I know
that I could ask. In a sort of a way, as I am sure your mother
would say it is a form of experimental art.  But I don't think
she needs to know."  She smiled.

I asked her incredulously, "So you want me to make a video of
your face while you have a climax?  My God!  How amazing!"

"Does that mean you will do it for me?"  she smiled.

"Of course!  If you want me too.  Yes, I would do it for you."

I don't have to tell you how I felt that week, especially at the
Monday and Wednesday session when she treated me just like any
other student.  My night time thoughts as I went to sleep were a
mixture of nervousness and sexual arousal.  Half of me couldn't
wait for Saturday to come and the other half had a feeling of
dread!  But Saturday came nevertheless.

I arrived promptly at the orchard house and she greeted me warmly
as usual and with a hug that could have been construed to have
been loaded with meaning and intent, longer and tighter than
necessary.  She asked me if I was still prepared to do what she
had suggested last weekend and I nodded and felt an electric
thrill shoot like lightening to my ovary area.  She led me into
her bedroom where she already had a video camera on a tripod at
the pillow-end of the bed.  She asked me if I had never use the
video camera before.  I told I had once used one but was not a
great cameraman .  

She went over again what she called 'her theory' and explained
again what she wanted me to do.  It was basically a matter of
keeping her face in the viewfinder as she wanked herself.  That
was the plan anyway.  But plans do not always go quite the way we
envisage because it was all just too clinical and not conducive
to a sensual feeling for her.  

She lay on her back naked and first with her fingers and then
with a vibrator she desperately tried to achieve her climax but
as her frustration grew so also the look on her face reflected
this emotion.  It was anything but' serene and relaxed' and
finally she gave up in disgust, put the vibrator away, rewound
the tape in the camera and turned it off.

"We should have done this last weekend after I talked to you... I
had come before you got to the front gate!"

"Really?"  I gaped.  I couldn't imagine being able to turn a
woman on like that.  Or even a guy!

Then she had an idea.  "I know what will get to me going.  I
would like to do another sketch of you, if you will let me.  I
love your short shorts!  I didn't realize you had such beautiful
legs... you usually hide them under your jeans or a skirt.  Let
me sketch you again.  Okay?"
I misunderstood her.  I thought she meant that she wanted me
nude!  We went back into the studio where I would pose for her
and while she went into the kitchen to make us a cup of tea and I
took everything off and lay back on the studio couch.  When she
came back in her face reflected her delight..

"Oh my God!  Nude!  I can't believe how beautiful you are!"

I was horrified. I was suddenly quite self-conscious and could
easily have forgone that experience.  "I thought you wanted me
nude" I stammered.

"Of course I want to see you like this... but I didn't dare ask
you.  I was just going to sketch you in your shorts with your top
off"

"I'm sorry.  I misunderstood."

"Never be sorry when you have a body like yours, my sweet!  You
stay like that.  I will do a beautiful sketch and after that I
will be so turned on we can make our movie as well.  What joy!"

She's sketched me as I laid back comfortably and sipped my tea. 
She had put on a gown of sorts, maybe it was a kimono, which
constantly fell open as she worked on the sketch.  Unlike
previously when she was quiet as she worked, now she chatted to
me all the time asking me how I felt about this or that and
telling me little snippets all information about herself.  I soon
realised that she was intrigued with nipples and the reason for
her comments at our earlier session became clearer: they were
somewhat of an obsession with her.  She constantly asked me to
make mine stand up for her and by the time she was almost
finished they were becoming quite sensitive from all the pinching
and attention I was giving them.

"Does your friend Allison like you to touch her nipples?"  she
asked.

"Yes she does," I admitted, "they are very sensitive to being
touched."

"What about to being sucked?  Have you sucked them?"

I admitted I had sucked them.  And then I admitted, because I
knew she was going to ask me, that Allison had sucked mine too.

She asked, "Nice?"

"Mmmm....  lovely" I told her.

She told me that she agreed with me and that she loved the
feeling of a warm mouth. 

She was almost finished my sketch and asked me to once more make
my nipples stand up but they wouldn't.  I told her they were a
bit sensitive.  She walked over to me and told me to close my
eyes which I did, half guessing what was coming...and then I felt
it.  Her warm mouth closed around one of my nipples and her
smooth wet tongue licked around and around as her mouth applied
some mild sucking.  Another feeling of electric shock... my body
went rigid!  It only lasted for less than 15 seconds and then the
same was applied to the other one.  Again for 15 seconds.  She
stopped and went back to her easel and in a few minutes the
sketch was finished.  I went over to see the result.  It was
beautiful... really beautiful and with very erect nipples!.  She
captured everything exactly but the one thing she couldn't
capture was the flood running down my legs.

"It is beautiful" I breathed.  "Just lovely."

She put both hands on my shoulders and turned to me to face her
just as her kimono gaped open.  She pulled me to her body and
held me close.  I could feel her pubic hair meshing with mine...
I could feel her breasts with their hard nipples poking  against
mine.  I felt her lips kissing my neck, her tongue trailing and
exploring me.  I turned my cheek as her lips approached mine and
opened my mouth as hers covered mine and her tongue snaked its
way into my mouth.  I kissed her and she kissed me and I fell in
love. I was hers. I knew the feeling of surrender. I knew would
do anything for her.

"Come on... let's go to the bedroom... I'm ready to make the
video..." she whispered into my ear, her breath hot and exciting.
 

I had nowhere near the composure I had exhibited earlier.  My
hands were shaking as I turned the camera on to 'record' and
filmed her.  What a difference now!  Within one minute it was all
over... loudly... excitedly... enthusiastically.  I captured it
all on film for another minute as she came down.  You could not
for a moment believe how aroused I was.  I had never be like that
before and in an act of complete submission I turned the camera
off and got onto the bed with her and whispered to her, "Now, I
want to come ."

She murmured, "Of course my little darling...of course..."

In a frenzy of uncontrolled lust and without a  sheet over me, my
middle finger of my right hand rubbing my clit and my left-hand
holding myself apart, my bottom arched up and pushing against my
hands I brought myself to a climax that I remember to this day. 
And all the time she watched me and when I indicated that I was
close she took one of my breasts in her mouth again  and sucked
it vigorously... even roughly.  And it was that assistance from
her that tipped me over the edge.

We were lovers. Me 17, going on 18, and she was at least 40.  We
couldn't get enough of each other.  There was no more painting or
sketching on Saturday morning... just fucking.  During the week I
would masturbate myself constantly in anticipation and in memory
of weekend activities. Mother was thrilled beyond words at the
sketch Cynthia had down of me topless, and when I suggested that
she wanted to do a full oil painting of me, she swooned.  Cynthia
suggested to Mother that she would waive my tuition fees for
Saturday's because she wanted a more casual approach to our
relationship from a point of view of my modelling for her and,
she said, that I would learn a lot from that experience. A
modelling fee, she called it. Cynthia made no secret of the fact
that she wanted me to model nude and Mother had absolutely no
objection because after all "it was Art".

Saturday mornings soon stretched to Saturday afternoons and
evenings and then I started staying there overnight.  To be on
the safe side Cynthia indeed started a huge oil painting of me on
a massive canvas and we diligently spent a lot of time on the
portrait on the off chance that Mother would want to see how it
was going.  A decision which in the event was correct because
when Mother came to pick me up on Sunday morning she would come
in and admire the painting which, of course, was more progressed
each time she saw it.

My fascination with her grew to obsession.  Day and night my
thoughts were consumed by her.  On Mondays and Wednesdays I
dripped with excitement just looking at her.  And now when she
talked to me when the other students were there she would put her
hand on my shoulder, for instance, and tickle me with one finger
in a round and around motion simulating what she would like to be
doing to my clitoris  and this of course drove me to distraction.
 I would try to make any excuse to be with her alone on these
days.  For example I would deliberately leave my purse behind and
then "suddenly remember" and have to run back to get it.  She
would be standing there, my purse in her hand and a smile on her
face.  I would fall into her arms, smothering her with kisses,
taking her tongue into my mouth, licking her face... anything!  I
would feel her hand dive into my pants, right inside, and a
finger slide into my extraordinarily lubricated pussy.  "You
can't stay long my darling... you have to go to catch the bus...
think of me tonight as I will be thinking of you and I will be
missing you so much." she would say as I tore myself away.  By
the time I had arrived home I would be awash!  I could not even
begin to estimate how much of my time was spent that summer lying
on my back, pants round my ankles and my fingers working their
magic as one orgasm surpassed the other.  Mother and I had always
had an open door policy in the house and now suddenly my door was
often closed... even locked... and this did not go unnoticed by
her.

Lovemaking with Cynthia on Saturdays became frenetic.  She
introduced me to every conceivable way to women can make love
together, she the teacher, me the devoted student.  A fanatic for
cleanliness, she would wash me in her shower with such care and
dedication!  Routinely I would arrive and we would go straight to
the shower where she would wash me from my shoulders to my feet
with such care and gentleness that I would be on the edge of
ecstasy.  We would then go back to her bedroom where she would
arrange us both  in the traditional 69 position with her on top
and as she started on me, her beautifully clean and perfumed
pussy would lower itself wet with desire onto my face and I was
in heaven.  To this day and I can say this with confidence, I had
never had so many orgasms that eclipsed the previous one to a
point where sometimes I was just giddy with excitement and
unconstrained desire.

I can still squirm when I remember the feeling of her long and
probing tongue sliding into my vagina and hearing her murmur that
she was sure she could feel my hymen!  I have had oral sex by
many people since then, especially during my university days, and
with a few women too, but no one has ever demonstrated a better
capacity for "tongue work" than Cynthia all those years ago. 
Lying on my back, naked and in full wantonness to my somewhat
dominant lover as she consummated our love with  oral sex was an
experience I had never anticipated and now I never wanted her to
stop.

We only ever had one disagreement.  Well... I am not sure that
"disagreement" is the right word because she explained to me
there is nothing wrong about any activity that lovers do if both
are enjoying it. More...it was a learning curve. Let me explain
what happened.

One of her wonderful tricks was what she liked to call
"controlled orgasms". What this meant was that as she was
administering oral sex to me for instance I had to tell her when
it was approaching. She was in control!  As I said, "Oh..yes..  I
can feel it starting.."  she would then slow down her licking to
a complete stop.  She would then ask me, "Has it stopped yet?" 
and I would protest, "It has gone!".  Then she would start again
and we would repeat the interrupted performance until she had
brought me up and let me subside about four or five times and
then would let me complete it. A climax like this is, in the
word, incredible!  It is terribly frustrating while it is being
administered but the end justifies the means.

With this method in mind, the `disagreement' was the "means" with
which she took me to the peak one morning.  As she was licking me
I also felt her smearing my anus with something cold and
slippery.  It was in fact KY Jelly which she had kept in the
refrigerator.  I knew she was going to do something to me that
would be new and exciting and slowly it dawned on me that we were
entering a new phase... a new territory perhaps.  I felt the tip
of one of her fingers just push into my anus slightly.  I started
to protest but she told me to be patient and to relax completely
and stop "puckering" which is very hard to do when someone wants
to push their finger into your bottom.  But my trust in her did
not have any limit and I was able to relax my anus and accept her
fingertip.  She continued licking me and I told her when I was
coming and she controlled me.  I was finding it harder and harder
to slow my orgasm with her fingertip moving slowly just inside
me.  When on about the fourth time she brought me right up to my
peak she didn't stop licking and as soon as I cried, "oh God,
Cynthia, I am coming!"  to my complete astonishment, and well
lubricated by both my own copious secretions as well as the KY, I
felt a finger slide unhindered completely inside me as far as it
would go and then push upwards behind the bone under my pubic
hair. My back arched so violently I almost threw her off the bed!
 Of course now I know she was going for my g-spot per rectum
rather than per vagina as I was still a virgin.  Any woman
reading this will know how I must have felt.

I was shocked.  I was disgusted.  How could someone stick their
finger in my bottom?  What must her finger smell like?  How
embarrassing.  These were some of the emotions that went through
my mind as I lay there panting and twitching as the most
tremendous orgasm I had ever had in my life subsided.  And as she
started to withdraw her finger my complete genital area
experienced indescribable surges of electric thrills.

"Leave it in...please" I moaned, unable to take any more
arousal... and then realising where it was I changed my
mind..."No...take it out!"

I was very quiet after that and indeed pensive.  I didn't want to
discuss it with her and needed some space and I remember that I
left a little earlier that day.

I was miserable all week.  I was embarrassed because as I
recalled the incident I couldn't help but admit to myself that
what she had done to me, albeit disgusting, felt awesome.  And it
should not have!

The next Saturday we were together I mustered the courage to
discuss it with her and tell her how I felt.  Her contention was
that if I enjoyed it and she enjoyed doing it to me and because
we were lovers then there is nothing "disgusting or wrong" in
anything we do to or for each other.  She told me how some people
do some extraordinary things which turn them on but which might
turn someone else off.  It is right for them, she explained, but
wrong for someone else.  "If you like the feel of my finger
inside your bottom and if it blows your mind when you orgasm, why
not enjoy it? I know I like to do it to you...after all we are so
alike!""

There is no doubt I derived rapture from it but with great tact
she did not do it to me that day but rather cleverly waited until
I asked her to do it again because there was no doubt about it -
it was a "Rolls-Royce orgasm" and soon it became part of her
repertoire with me. Sometimes she played the dominatrix and I had
to beg her to do it...amidst much giggling. Even now, many years
later, I can still speed up an orgasm with the tip of my finger
in that most secret little orifice.  But surprisingly, and I
imagine you, dear reader, are wondering this, I do not like anal
sex and have only tried to do it two or three times with great
discomfort and no pleasure whatsoever.  Strange?  Well...so be
it!.

By the time autumn came the painting of me was finished and I was
starting to wonder what excuse we could invent to continue my
going to Cynthia's house.  The thought of not being with her was
awful.  But at the back of my mind I was getting a niggling
feeling that she would not be as distraught as I would be.  Her
lovemaking was starting to lack the spark and spontaneity it had
previously had and despite the fact I was terribly horny one
afternoon we in fact did nothing which left me feeling hollow and
frustrated.  I had told Allison about my relationship with
Cynthia. She loved hearing all the details and on a couple of
occasions I demonstrated on her what I had learned from my
teacher...my adult lover.  My relationship with Allison was
warming as I perceived my relationship with Cynthia was cooling.

Eventually we presented Mother with the painting of me reclining
on the couch naked and entitled, "Virgin Reclining".  I did not
think it was a very innovative name and nor did Mother but we
both agreed it was a beautiful painting.  It should have been...
the time it took!

Mother suggested that I did not need to be continuing my extra
tuition with Cynthia any more which of course left me dispirited
because I would not be able to be her.  But money was tight and
the decision was final.  I bade Cynthia a tearful farewell on a
last afternoon together and again I was sadly aware that I was
more distressed then she.  Of course she told me to come back and
spend time with her whenever I had any time to spare and I
promised I would.  It was three weeks of feeling frustrated and
sexually desperate before I got a chance to catch the bus up to
see her in the hills.  It was a Saturday afternoon, crisp and
cool in the first weeks of winter as I walked up to the house
past the apple trees which now had lost their leaves.  I knocked
on the door and put on my biggest sexiest smile as I prepared to
lunge at her and rape her!  

The door was opened by a beautiful girl, about 16 years old, tall
with long blond hair hanging down over the towel which she
endeavoured to cover her generous  bust and  obviously naked
body.  My jaw fell open.  Not only was she stunningly beautiful
she was sexy and worse than that it was quite obvious she had
just finished making love.

I had been superseded by a later model. And I was only 18 years
old...



<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+