Chapter 14: Pin-up Girl

I HAVE FOUND MYSELF in stranger circumstances. Not often. I poured wine for the two naked women in my living room and felt highly over-dressed. They were quite different to look at. Rita is nicely shaped, breasts that I loved to play with and light brown hair that frames a pixie-ish face. Lori was about the same height as Rita, with lighter, almost honey blonde hair. And her large breasts seemed to beg for attention. Any man and many women would love to play with them.

“Vargas,” I said out of the blue.

“What?”

“Is that another art term like the giorno?”

“Giornata,” I corrected Lori. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Alberto Vargas was an artist who specialized in pin-up girls in the forties through the sixties. He made the World War II pin-up girls famous after having served as the artist for the Ziegfeld Follies and several Hollywood movies. He later worked for Esquire magazine and for Playboy magazine. Did literally hundreds of paintings of women over the course of three-plus decades.”

“And what brings up this ancient artist?” Rita giggled.

“Ah. He was known for pictures of nude and nearly nude or highly suggestive poses of women. One of the things that seemed to be a mark of his paintings were that they were all generously endowed with gravity-defying breasts. Much like Lori’s,” I said. I didn’t think her nipples could get any harder, but the points stiffened and her areolae puffed a bit. She had just a bit of a blush.

“Oh, yes,” Rita said, shifting so she could stroke one of Lori’s breasts. “Did you notice that when she did the pose lying back on the table that they hardly flattened at all? They are so full yet firm. And these nipples are utterly succulent.” Rita punctuated her comments by leaning in to gently suck on Lori’s nipple. The young woman sucked in her breath and captured Rita’s head with her hand to hold her against her breast.

My immediate take-away was that Lori liked being objectified. She liked being talked about as if she were not a part of the conversation. I moved from my seat in the chair opposite the women to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Lori.

“What I want to do, truly, is to capture the beauty of these breasts on the canvas.” I stroked down her shoulder and over her unoccupied breast, holding and gently squeezing it. “We are so fortunate to have found a real Vargas Girl model. Of course, it was not only about the models’ breasts. They each had faces that were fresh, innocent, playful, and sometimes mischievous. With lips that were very kissable.” I leaned forward and pressed my lips to Lori’s. Her eyes flashed open in surprise and then she relaxed and poured herself into the kiss.

Rita and I both pulled back from Lori at the same time. She looked very disappointed. “What else?” she whispered. Rita smiled at me.

“If the pin-up was exposed, it often looked accidental. A gust of wind blew up her skirt. A blouse accidentally slipped to show more than intended. The model looked surprised and slightly embarrassed for the slip, but made no move to correct it.” I began moving Lori’s arms, much as if she were a manikin. Rita quickly saw what I was doing and joined in the posing. It was a lot like I’d done with her the first time I posed her. “Usually, the pin-up was a full-length image. So, of course, it was important that she have a perfect waist, hips, and legs,” I said, moving down her body to position her limbs so as to emphasize their shape. I noticed Rita’s panties had sometime disappeared and she was quite boldly sliding her pussy down one of Lori’s thighs, leaving a shiny wet streak.

“Doc, do you suppose Vargas slept with all his models?” Rita asked. Lori shivered and caught her breath as my hand glided over her mons. Her legs parted slightly.

“I believe everyone who saw one of his paintings thought, ‘There’s a lucky guy who got to sleep with her.’ I understand, however, that Vargas was also happily married and when his wife died in, I believe, ‘74, he was so bereaved that he quit painting entirely. He died in the mid-80s.”

“How sad. I’m sure it was simply because his wife was his partner and joined in his escapades with the models,” Rita said. “After all, how could a man or woman resist making love to such a compliant sex object. Her juices are running freely. Don’t you think we should take her to bed?”

I looked at Lori. Her eyes had taken on a pleading look and she nodded slightly. I smiled.

“Let’s see what kind of positions we can put the model in when we reach our bed,” I said. I collected Lori in my arms and guided her to the bedroom. Rita gathered up our glasses and the wine bottle to bring them along. Lori moved almost as if spell-bound, willing to assume any of the positions we could come up with.

It was a short night as far as sleep went. The more outlandish the position was in which I fucked Lori, the more enthusiastic she became. Even Rita was exhausted by the time we finally collapsed to sleep. When I woke up, Lori was nursing on my cock like it was a baby’s pacifier. When she saw I was awake, she redoubled her efforts until I spurted weakly into her mouth. She showed the meagre offering and then dove between Rita’s legs and attempted to cram it into her vagina with her tongue.

I crawled out of bed and made coffee, leaving the pot in the kitchen for the girls as I took a mug to the studio. I was sure that if I tried to take them coffee in the bedroom, I wouldn’t get to the studio for the rest of the day.

And I had something to paint. I already knew the painting of Lori leaning over the table to show me her boobs would be one painting. But I’d also seen something in our playtime last night that I wanted to capture.

“Now lie back and let us pleasure you,” I’d said. “Good slaves take their rewards as well as their punishments.”

The instant look of submission that washed over her face was a sight to behold. She had flopped back on the bed with a look that said, “I am yours. Take me wherever you wish.” Rita and I had spent half an hour tag-teaming her until she’d cried out multiple orgasms. Then we had dinner. It was nearly ten in the evening.

But that look ... That demeanor of absolute submission ... I don’t think I’d ever seen anything like it before. When I looked at the other paintings I’d done so far, I realized they were all of women in control. They were women getting exactly what they wanted.

I sketched several scenes from memory, trying to find the right pose for her so I could do a polished drawing. The more I sketched, the more I realized that Lori, too, had been in control. She was getting exactly what she wanted.

Rita brought me a plate of eggs and toast with a fresh mug of coffee. As I ate, she glanced through my morning sketches and nodded.

“I may have to eat her to orgasm in order to get that look again, but I see where you are coming from,” she said. “I’ve heard it called ‘topping from the bottom.’ She got exactly what she wanted by being totally submissive. Ignore her when she comes down. Just be ready to draw. I’ll take care of posing her.” I nodded my agreement and finished breakfast.

When they both entered the studio a while later, I was sitting on my stool with a drawing pad on my easel. Lori started to approach but Rita directed her away from looking at anything I was doing.

“This is just like last night,” Rita told her. “I’ll be placing you in the positions we want to fuck you in. Only this time, instead of fucking you, Doc will be drawing. You’ll need to hold your pose until he’s finished his sketch and tells me I can move you to the next pose.” They moved the daybed to my posing platform and Rita had Lori simply sprawl back on the bed. She adjusted a few things, more for the opportunity of moving Lori and letting her know who was in control than to improve the pose.

I sketched.

Rita posed Lori again.

I sketched.

By noon, we had half a dozen poses captured but I’d not managed that one that I wanted.

“Let’s break for lunch,” I said. “Refresh yourselves. I need to look at the setting.” Rita shot me a curious look, but led Lori upstairs and began preparing a light lunch. I looked through my morning’s sketches and then at the sketches before she came down to pose, trying to figure out what I was missing. It was quickly obvious.

I have models pose on a low platform—a kind of stage, if you will. It helps to instill a feeling of detachment in the model. She, too, is an artist, performing on stage. But as a result, a model lying fully reclined on the day bed is just slightly below eye-level. The perspective was entirely wrong for what I wanted to achieve.

When I’d conceived of the idea, I’d been descending on her luscious body to fuck her. My perspective was well above when I saw that look of satisfaction in her eye.

I quickly moved the day bed down to the floor level and switched my stool and easel to the stage. That was better, but still not right. I went to the garage and retrieved a six-foot step ladder. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but the view from this height—sitting on the top step—was what I needed. I replaced the easel with my portable sketch pad board and tested balancing on the ladder. My head was just touching the ten-foot ceiling, but I could maintain the position for a while. I had a bird’s eye view.

Lori glanced at me when she returned to the studio, but Rita immediately directed her to the bed and started posing her.