Chapter 7: Pain is Pleasure

MY EXPERIENCE with Allison and the knowledge that my interlude with the lovely Rita was likely at an end left me depressed and angry. I’d been goaded into breaking all restraint and hurting a woman for pleasure. I didn’t care about her pleasure in this instance. I’d hurt her for my pleasure. I couldn’t face myself in a mirror when I got home.

I spent the rest of Thursday night and all day Friday in my studio. I usually have a lot of work to do on Fridays, preparing for the weekend open houses and placing ads. I took a break just long enough Friday morning to call Morgan in the office and tell her I wasn’t well. I asked her to place ads for my two opens this weekend and told her I’d come in on Tuesday unless I’d landed a client. Then I silenced all my phones and went back to the studio.

I spent time with a sketch pad, first sketching out Allison’s face. As I filled page after page of sketches, her face became more and more distorted in that excruciating combination of pain and pleasure she espoused. I sketched other parts of her body as I remembered them, sometimes adding piercings or tattoos to the drawing. I moved to a four-by-three-foot canvas and started sketching in the base for a portrait. I let the fireplace flames rage in the background as though they were a scene from hell. She said she wasn’t asking me to paint her, but painting her was the only way I could express myself.

Against the flames, I began laying in the figure of Allison. I’d sated my desire to see her face, so the far right of the canvas barely captured her shoulder and breast, hanging below her. The arch of her back rounded into an impossible ass with her right leg disappearing off the bottom of the canvas so her gaping pussy could be clearly seen. On the left side of the canvas, next to her ass, an erect penis emerged from the flames pointed at her pussy, dripping fire from the tip.

Pain and pleasure. Pleasure and pain. I mixed paint and began to work, letting go of my normal control and adding flaming colors where I least expected. Damn if the reflected light on her breast should have come from the opposite side. I knew for a fact her nipples provided their own fire. As much as I’d lost control the night before, I lost it again in the color as I let pain and anger join lust and ecstasy on the canvas.

It’s been a long time since I became so completely absorbed in my work that I lost track of time. I had to admit my painting lately had become mechanical, even commercial. I did portraits for hire. I painted models in classical scenes to be sold in galleries of decorating arts. I’d become stale. Now I was releasing something more from my brushes than my carefully schooled art.

The doorbell had rung half a dozen times before it finally soaked in to my consciousness. I left the studio to open the front door. I was shocked to find it was dark outside. Rita stood at the door.

“Rita! Come in! I didn’t expect you tonight—not that it matters. You know you are always welcome.”

“Thanks, Doc. You’re covered with paint,” she said, reaching up to kiss me.

“I was in the studio. I should clean up. I’ll be right out and you can tell me all about your big date.”

“Yeah. That’s what I wanted to talk about.” I didn’t realize she was following me into the studio until I heard her gasp. I turned and saw she was standing in front of my nearly finished painting while I was at the sink ready to clean my brushes. She’d been in the studio before, but she’d never seen anything like this.

“I, uh ... was just doing some painting,” I explained. “It’s almost finished.”

“Oh my God! You got laid.” There was no pact of exclusivity between Rita and me. In fact, she was supposed to be out seducing her former fiancé tonight. She didn’t sound upset, so I wasn’t concerned about sleeping with—fucking—Allison. I was surprised Rita seemed to jump to that conclusion so fast. Still, there is always a twinge when one woman realizes you are sleeping with another. I just wasn’t expecting Rita’s next words. “Finish it. I’ll wait.”

I couldn’t deny I wasn’t ready to quit painting. I’d been in the studio how long? I looked at the clock I keep for timing model sessions. It was ten-thirty. I’d come into the studio at nine last night after Allison had dismissed me. Dismissed. She had shoved my clothes into my hands and said, “Goodnight.” I grabbed the brushes and palette and returned to the canvas, stepping in front of Rita. I fell back into my painting trance, renewed anger absorbing me into my subject. I didn’t know if Rita was still in the room or had left.

Two hours later, I stepped back from the easel and returned the brushes to the mineral spirits for cleaning. I was exhausted. And hungry. It had been forty-one hours since I got up and I’d been sketching and painting with no more than a bathroom break for twenty-seven. Gradually the aroma of frying bacon and eggs reached my nose. I went to the kitchen to find Rita cooking.

“Sit down. You must be starving.”

In the little time we’d been intimate—just over two months now—how could she know me so well? I collapsed at the breakfast bar and she shoved the food in front of me with a glass of juice. The bacon and eggs were cooked perfectly. I was shaking so hard, though, I could barely get the fork to my mouth. Rita moved beside me and gently held my hand steady as I fed myself. She didn’t try to feed me or take control. She just supported my hand. By the time I’d finished enough food to stabilize my blood sugar, I was crying. My catharsis had finally come.

In the shower, Rita cleaned the paint from my face and hands, shampooed my hair, and bathed my genitals—all while I clung to her and stroked her soft skin with my hands. Even with her gentle and sensual ministrations, I was too tired to become aroused.

We toweled off and she led me to bed, getting me settled before turning out the light and snuggling in next to me. She held me against her naked breast all night as I alternately slept and wept. I woke briefly the next morning to hear Rita on the phone. “He’s not well enough to make his open houses today,” she said. “Is there someone else who can cover? Thanks. I’ll let him know. ‘Bye.” I didn’t bother to protest. I fell back asleep.

The next time I woke up, I could smell coffee and that got me stirring. I used the toilet and washed my hands. I splashed water on my face, feeling an emotional hangover. When I stepped back into the bedroom, Rita was sitting up in bed holding a tray with two steaming cups of coffee. She was still naked, as I was, so I slipped back into the bed beside her and gratefully accepted the offered cup.

“Are you ready to talk about it?” she asked. I shook my head. “Then why don’t I tell you about my seduction of Alex?”

I grinned at her. “That should be interesting. Not that I’m complaining, but why are you here?”

“Ah. That’s part of the story. Everything went perfectly. The girls managed to ferret out the information about what bar he and his buddies were going to last night. So, we walked in about an hour after they got there. And did we look hot! I don’t suppose you even noticed last night, did you?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I was so dazed...”

“I could tell. I’m really looking forward to your story when you’re collected enough to tell it. So anyway, what group of guys doesn’t automatically turn to survey six gorgeous girls dressed to fuck? That mini I was wearing last night barely covered my ass. The rest of the girls were every bit as sexy. We were a perfectly matched set. Six girls, six guys, and Alex right in the middle of it. It took about two minutes for the guys to migrate to our table and buy our drinks for us. We made room at the table and even though Alex made a point of talking to Beth, he sat between her and me. I was pointedly ignoring him, but when Beth turned away to start flirting with his buddy, he didn’t have much choice but to turn to me. It was that or get up and move,” Rita laughed. “No choice.”

“‘So, how you been,’ he asked. ‘Fine.’ I finished my spritzer and he called the waitress over to order a refill. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you... ‘ I cut him off before he could go any further. I just reached over and put a finger against his lips like this.”

Rita placed her finger against my lips to demonstrate what she’d done, looking deeply into my eyes.

“‘Don’t talk about what’s past,’ I said. But I didn’t take my finger away from his lips right away. I just caressed them lightly. You know, men are such babies! He just opened his lips a little like he would suck on my finger. Then I pulled it away.” She snatched her finger away from my lips and I realized that I, too, had been ready to suck it like a baby. She giggled. “Archetypes,” she snickered.

“What then?” I asked, laughing at myself as much as at Alex.

“I ignored him. He had to make the next move, so he pushed back his chair and tugged at my arm to get me to follow him to the dance floor. He wasn’t very subtle. It was a slow number and he pulled me against him. I let him polish his belt-buckle for a while as I felt his cock filling his jeans. When the number ended, I don’t think he knew what to do. The next song was faster and Alex really hates to dance. I turned away from him and backed into him like it was an accident. I could feel his cock straining to get between my cheeks. I leaned back against him and whispered in his ear, ‘You know why blue jeans are like a cheap hotel?’ That took him by surprise and he just shook his head. ‘Because there’s no ballroom,’ I answered. I reached back and stroked his cock. ‘There’s room in your car, though.’ It took him about two seconds to get my drift and he wrapped an arm around me and practically dragged me toward the parking lot.”