Cleaned
Chapter 15: An itch too powerful

Copyright© 2002 by Pat Fairfield

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 15: An itch too powerful - A fem-domme romance. This is not the usual "you miserable worm!" treatment of this kind of topic. It has tender moments. Oh, and a lot of hot sex. Try it. You'll like it! Our hero did.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Lesbian   Heterosexual   Cheating   Wimp Husband   Cuckold   BDSM   DomSub   FemaleDom   Rough   Light Bond   Humiliation   Interracial   Black Female   Black Male   White Male   White Female   Oral Sex   Masturbation   Fisting   Sex Toys   Cream Pie   Exhibitionism   Voyeurism   Size   BBW  

Apart from bathroom frolics like these, Janelle found that Brad's presence was definitely cramping her style. It was difficult to give vent to her full creativity when having to be mindful of things like precise locations and noise levels.

Sure she had an exhibitionistic streak in her, but mainly around strangers. Situations she could walk away from, involving people she'd never have to see again.

Blood relations, be they his or hers, are too close for comfort. You can't divorce your relatives.

Putting dents in Doug's pride was central to her idea of fun, but her gut instincts told her to stop short of anything that might break him completely. For one thing, she was quite fond of the guy. For another, and despite the exploration of his limits being a part of the fun, humiliating him in front of family or close friends was simply not in her nature and sure to be ultimately counter-productive.

It was driving her crazy. She needed something.

Needed more than his oral servitude, good though it was.

This deprivation was lowering her defences. Affecting her judgement.

And making her feel inclined to follow up on a lead she'd otherwise have probably just ignored.

Coffee, and a chat, with Christine.

Janelle didn't have the number though, and didn't want to ask Doug for it.

So she rang the gallery.

They probably shouldn't have given out that kind of information but, after making sounds vaguely like those of an arty client, Janelle soon had it scribbled down. A mobile number, too - even better. Didn't want to run any risk of Julie coming on the line.

"Hello?"

"Janelle."

"Oh! Hiiiii!"

A positive response, if a little theatrical.

"You busy?"

"At a loose end. Jane's at work. And me, well, I don't work, as you know."

Janelle didn't know, but did now.

"I'd like to see what you do in that studio of yours, if you don't mind talking art with a greenhorn."

"Come right on over."

She did. Scribbled down the address, showered, applied some light makeup, changed to a stretchy purple boob-tube top with tight jeans and a white blouse knotted at the front to show lots of taut brown tummy. Called in sick at work. Then went out and hailed a cab.

It pulled up outside a condo at a Harbour Drive address about fifteen minute's from Downtown.

Past the doorman and into the elevator, she took a moment to reflect upon why she'd come. What was it that drew her here?

She definitely wanted to know more about art. How you'd do it, why you'd do it. Whether she might have what it took. Doug had been in the midst of throwing down a challenge to her, moments before Christine had accosted them at the gallery.

But telling herself it was nothing more than that would be a lie. Her sense of adventure was at play here too. A sense that something may happen — a situation she might be able to control, to manipulate, if she played her cards right.

The kind of hunch she had when first she ever strode into Doug's office...

Christine threw the door open and ushered Janelle inside, planting a swift kiss on her cheek as she passed.

"So glad you could come!"

She was dressed casual. As casual as someone of her circle would ever allow herself to be. Slacks and a smock-top with a few daubs of clay on it, but she was also made-up and her dark hair was nicely styled.

They were in some kind of loft apartment, with very high ceiling and skylights. Very spacious, airy and sunny, with great views of the sparkling harbour. Furnishings followed a minimalist approach. Meaning there wasn't very much of it, and a lot of empty floor space. Did she offer dancing lessons as well, perhaps?

Then it dawned on her — there was a lot of stuff hanging on walls, perched on pedestals, tucked in little alcoves. Paintings, oils mainly, sculpture, woven works. Furniture was out so knick-knacks could be in.

"The studio's through here."

Christine led her through an archway that revealed an equivalent floorspace beyond. Not livable, this area was a jumble of materials, trestle tables, rolls of paper and cardboard, bulging damp sacks of clay, chunks of wood, tools, chisels, trinkets, wood shavings, working models, sketches and photos.

And centrally, on a small bench by itself, what looked like some kind of half-finished figure covered up in wrappings of damp linen.

For Janelle this was all new, and fascinating. She moved to a bench and glanced down at some working sketches of figures in various poses.

"I try to map out what I want on paper first, and imagine it from all angles. Then try to get it into 3-D with the clay or wood."

"So you don't just start right out with attacking a big lump of something solid, then?"

"It's about ten parts of thinking to one part of doing. If I just attacked something, I'd probably end up having to start it over."

"Where do you get your ideas from?'

"Shenectady."

Janelle's mystified look had Christine explaining apologetically.

"Sorry, I was just teasing. That's a standard writer's response to that question."

"It's me who should be sorry, it was a dumb thing to ask."

"There are no dumb questions. I'm so glad you're interested enough to come on over."

"I want to find out what's involved. What you actually DO to create this stuff."

Christine began removing the damp cloth off the clay figure on the table.

"I compose with sketches. And photo's too sometimes, though often it seems I can snap off rolls and rolls of film and still not capture quite the angle I was wanting. Best is a 3-D model. Something I can turn around. Something I can touch..."

The figure was female, naturally. Even though only half-finished, it already managed to convey a narcissistic self-absorption. It was posed with one hand between it's legs. The chest area had only been roughed out crudely so far.

"Clay gives more room for error. As long as it stays wet, I can go back and change things. With wood you can only take more off - can't put it back on. But clay has to be fired, which is a pain in the neck."

"When you see these things after they're finished" Janelle commented, "it's hard to imagine all of this work going into them. It's like they got that way by magic!"

"It's as much perspiration as inspiration. Wait 'til you see some of the classic Greek marbles! Three thousand years ago they already had it all figured out."

"What's your idea behind this one?"

"I want to portray an awakening. Self-discovery. A young woman embracing femmo-centric values."

Hmmm... very well, then.

Janelle rummaged amongst a sheaf of sketches and found a bunch of photo's — all of the same nude woman. It wasn't Julie either, this person had tits. Quite motherly.

"Who's this?"

"Oh, someone I asked to model for me. I still haven't figured out quite what I'm going to do with this one in the boobs department."

So saying, she swept her hand toward the unfinished clay figure.

"Can't you just go out and buy a copy of Penthouse?"

"That's exactly the type of imagery I DON'T want to project. Besides, I have to take the photo's myself if I'm to get the angles I want."

"Isn't Julie willing to model for you?"

Christine gave a derisive snort.

"Only too willing, but I want boobs! Not flea-bites!"

There was a pause here in the conversation, during which Janelle noticed Christine's eyes flicker momentarily downward, then up again to meet the younger black girl's gaze.

Was she... ? Nooo! Too obvious. Too cliched!

She definitely had been. Janelle had long experience of people checking out her tits. Mostly from guys, mind you.

Janelle struggled to think of something innocuous to say, before the pause grew too pregnant. To her relief, Christine spoke first.

"A real model is the best solution. Not easy for an amateur like me to arrange, though."

"But this lady modelled for you!" Janelle said, indicating the clutch of photo's on the benchtop.

"Only for a few quick photo's. She wasn't prepared to stand here for hours while I actually worked."

"But you'll be able to work from these?"

"I've already decided I don't want to. I couldn't tell her so without hurting her feelings but, as soon as I saw what she had, I realised hers were not the boobs I was looking for."

This was obviously Janelle's cue to ask, so what kind of boobs ARE you looking for?

And she could see it coming from a mile-off that the answer was going to be — Why, one's exactly like yours, of course!

"What kind of boobs ARE you looking for?"

"For this work, something with more youth. Size has to be there, but shape too. Big, yet perky."

In other words, one's exactly like Janelle's. So very obviously perky in the purple boob-tube top she was wearing.

 
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