Brushstrokes Read online

  Less than two hours later she had passed through security and was well on her way to making it to Paris. There was one thing she wondered, though. Who is going to pick me up in the middle of the night?

  ***

  Disembarking from the plane, she stepped out into the receiving area. Rubbing her own shoulders, she stretched every muscle in her body and vowed to lie in bed for as long as possible when she got back home. Looking around the huge space, she thought about how this was Leon’s city and hoped to bump into him. Don’t be ridiculous. She chided herself. Paris is as busy as New York. I won’t see him…

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the hulking man with flat, blue eyes motioning to her near the main exit. Dumbfounded, she walked over as confidently as she could. Is this a trick? Is this a coincidence? Maybe I’m still asleep on the flight and this is a dream?

  ”Leon,” She managed a flat, professional tone that belied her thought process. “Are you whom I’ve come to collect a signature from?”

  He chuckled, his voice deep and booming. It came over her from above, his tall frame dwarfing her. “Certainly. But come, it is late and there is much to be done.” He put an arm around her and walked her to his car, looking to all observers as if they were as familiar as lovers.

  The trip was much more difficult for her than the long plane ride. He was imposing in the seat next to her, his body wide and well built. The air was thick with his scent. The musk he wore, the scent of his body, the peppermint on his breath. He was talking about a new painting that she had inspired him to do. It was all she could do to make sense of the words coming out of his mouth.

  His clothes fit him tightly, outlining his manhood only a few feet from her. She felt like she was having an out of body experience that she had no control over. She was physically drawn to Leon in a way that drained her of her mental faculties. She had her well-rehearsed formalities and professionalism, but everything else was out the door. What was she supposed to do if he made advances towards her? She could hardly think clearly, especially being out of her element. This was his town, his car, and she was his guest. It was like a dream come to life, but she had no idea how to act within her own dream.

  “I shall take that as a yes? Magnifique!”

  She blinked and realized that she must have been daydreaming. What did I miss?! Thinking quickly, she added on, “What exactly does it entail?” Realizing that she was stuck doing whatever he had asked her to do or admit to not having been listening to him, she hoped to at least find out what she was getting herself into beforehand.

  “Oh, you shall see, Cherie.”

  Morning in Paris came quickly and she was not able to get any sleep before the sun rose. Standing in what could only be called a palace, she looked out a glass window at the sun rising over the city. She could see that they were just outside of the city proper, but the view of the Eiffel Tower was still breathtaking. The cool marble floor under her toes brought her a sense of comfort. She was relishing in that small constant in life when the door opened behind her.

  A thin man stepped in the room and held out a black robe and some clothing for her to take. She was thrilled that she was dressed decently when he barged in without knocking. Taking the items from him just so that he would leave, she put them on the guest bed and started to look over them when the man spoke.

  “I will come for you in a few minutes.”

  She looked at the door quizzically for a moment when it closed, then opened the robe to reveal its contents. A black corset, gloves and an exceptionally long pearl necklace was prepared for her to wear.

  I am sitting for him. She took a deep, long breath. Not seeing a way out of it, and not all that sure that she wanted to find a way out, she disrobed and put on the getup Leon had selected. She understood why he had supplied the robe. She was dressed in little more than lingerie and would have to walk down the halls to his studio.

  As if he were clairvoyant, the thin man opened the door just as she tied her robe around her. He motioned for her to follow him and led her to a room where a friendly woman let her hair down and straightened it. Securing the long, golden locks back with black hair clips, she applied makeup and declared Sandra the perfect muse for Leon.

  Grinning inwardly at all the positive attention, she was starting to adjust to the strange reality she found herself in when she was led into Leon’s studio. The ceiling was extremely high, but it was a much more intimate space than she had imagined. The painting area was sectioned off into a small section that was currently covered by red backdrops. A lone Victorian chair sat askew directly opposite an easel, a bright light illuminating just off its center mass.

  She was drawn to that spotlight immediately. Walking over to it, she placed her right hand on the chair and admired the way the fabric looked in the light shining off of the deep, red wall.

  “Stay just like that.”

  She froze when she heard Leon’s voice. She had not even heard him come in the room. Has he been in here the whole time?

  “Take off your robe, Cherie. A figure like yours deserves to become a work of art.”

  She did as he said, feeling once again like a fly in his web. She had no doubt that she would be devoured this time, and she was excited as well as terrified. Her palms were sweaty, but she held her hand out to the chair and looked downward, feigning appreciation for the fabric. In reality, all she could think of was the imposing body that sat next to her in that car a few hours before and what he thought of her exposed body.

  She heard the door close and knew that they were now alone. He spent no more than a few minutes painting when she heard him utter French words in frustration. Her heart beat so fast that she thought she might faint when he suddenly bridged the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her frame against his large, warm body and lowering his mouth to hers.

  He kissed her passionately, as if she were as important as any work of art that he had ever obsessed over. He lifted her body with his strong arms and pressed his large hands, the hands that had manipulated so many tools, stones and paints, against her bottom and pressed her roughly against him. “I have been waiting to take you for so long.” He breathed out in a raspy voice, pushing her corset down under her breasts and exposing them.

  She gasped, horrified and enthralled. This was all out of her control, but she could not help but want to be filled by him. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed back, having lost control. She heard the sound of fabric rustling and was pressed against the wall, the weight of his body against her. He moved her panties slightly with a thick finger and lifted her legs into the air easily, not even allowing her to feel her feet.

  “You do not get to say how we make love today. The only word you can say that I will respect is ‘stop’ and I promise you, you will never want me to stop.”

  In a rushing, mad moment where dreams become real and reality seems impossible, her sense of balance completely off because of her airborne legs and the wall at her back, he pressed himself inside of her. He hushed her cry with his hand, looking at her straight in the eyes. Their eyes connected, he started to thrust slowly, allowing her to adjust around him.

  “Am I the biggest you’ve ever taken?” He asked boldly, more of a command to speak than a question.

  She nodded beneath his hand.

  He smiled in satisfaction. He continued to thrust, a look of utter enjoyment and power on his face.

  She was overwhelmed by the moment and found herself adjusting, moaning and wanting to kiss him, thrust back, anything. She was helpless to do anything but take each powerful thrust. She was quickly thrown over the edge, his sheer size continuously pressing a special spot that brought her into ecstasy. She shivered and shook against him several times, needing to thrust back.

  He lowered her off of the wall and bent her over the chair, taking her long hair in his right hand. Giving her cheeks a good squeeze and a thorough spanking, he slipped inside of her again. Pulling her hair slightly to arch her back towar
ds him, he would pull slightly whenever he wanted her to arch back more and pull him in deeper.

  In between rough thrusts and loud smacks of his left hand against her butt cheeks, he said, “You were born to take this cock, Cherie.”

  Unable to suppress a moan, she was more aroused now than before. She attempted to thrust back, earning a tug of her hair.

  “You be good and just take it and you can be my whore.” He smacked her ass one last time before thrusting in deeper than she knew was possible. He was her body’s master, she knew that now. He continued to grind his body as close to hers as possible, filling and stretching her beyond her limits with his pulsating, bulging manhood.

  He pulled her body closer to him, his body tensing as if he were ready to climax. He pressed her against him and she felt an explosion of warmth as he unloaded his seed inside of her. She gasped and fought for breath, so consuming was the sensation spreading from her around her stomach.

  He loosened his grip on her and she stepped forward, losing her balance and landing on the floor. They were still fully dressed except for a ruined pair of underwear and the pants around his ankles. He moved next to her on the floor and pulled his shirt over his head.

  “I did not say that we were done.” He removed her corset roughly and rolled her on her back, pull her stockings and panties off. “Do as you are told.”

  He removed his pants and kneeled in front of her form, pressing his manhood against her intimate areas again. He pressed his mouth close to her ear, whispering, “This is your audition, Cherie. You impress me and I will make you.”

  “Make me?” She whimpered, afraid to speak, afraid that everything would cease to exist if she ruined it with the sound of her voice.

  “Oui. I will make you a real artist and I will make you my, how do you say, personal whore?” He thrust inside of her deeply, powerfully. “You do like to feel like a whore when I fuck you, don’t you?”

  “Y-yes.” She whimpered.

  He thrust slowly thrust twice before speaking again, reveling in his power over her. “Were you a good girl before you became my whore?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Putting his hand over her mouth, he continued to pound into the best and most submissive whore he had ever found for himself.

  If you enjoyed this story, be sure to check out other works from Lilith Fox!

  My Neighbor's Husband

  Copyright © 2012 by Lilith Fox.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portions thereof in any form whatsoever without permission of the author.

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  Author’s Note:

  Copyright

  Brushstrokes

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