I tried to talk Amanda into modeling for my brother Nils, who is an accomplished artist.

“You mean nude modeling?” Amanda asked.

“Well, yes, but...”

“Meaning I have to take all my clothings off?”

“Well, yes, but...”

“Every last stitch? Even my little panties?”

“Yes, even your little panties, but don’t worry, you won’t be modeling alone.”

“I won’t?”

“No, there will be another model along with you. Zoë.”

“She’s pretty famous, isn’t she?”

“Pretty famous.”

“Yeah, I just saw her in a magazine. She has really nice big breasts, doesn’t she?” Amanda went to the coffee table and retrieved the magazine. It practically fell open to a full page of Zoë and her very full breasts.

“Well...” I drawled.

“As opposed to my little titties.” Amanda looked down mournfully. Her thumb nudged one of the dents her nipples made in her shift. A moment later her nipple was exposed. Exquisitely stiff.

“You have the loveliest breasts, Amanda, and the contrast will make for a really good painting. Trust me.”

Amanda redoubled her frown. “Okay, I guess.”

We met Nils at his studio. He had everything ready. His paints and easel. The lights. Several very large velvet-looking blankets.

“Oooh, looks soft and comfy,” Amanda said of the blankets, one of which was rumpled on the posing dais. She and Nils discussed the differences between various fabrics, silk, satin, velour, velvet, cotton, linen, wool, you name it ... Some of the talk verged on flirting.

“Now if only Zoë would get here,” Nils remarked.

After fifteen minutes more of waiting, he tried Zoë’s cell phone. No answer. And it didn’t go to voicemail.

“Maybe we should start without her?” Nils suggested.

“You mean me by myself naked and all?” Amanda said.

“You can undress behind the screen,” Nils told her.

Amanda looked at the screen, then removed her clothing right where she stood, all the while her eyes never leaving Nils, as if daring him to look anywhere but at her eyes. I was sitting behind her. She pulled up her little dress from the back. She wasn’t wearing her little panties. She managed, in lifting the dress, to run a finger deep into the crease of her adorable bottom. When she was naked, she stepped carefully onto the blanket. My pants were suddenly much too tight. “Only one thing,” she said, addressing her remark now to me. “You promised I wouldn’t be alone.”

I shrugged. “I can’t help it if—”

“You can undress behind the screen,” Amanda interrupted me. And she showed the biggest smile.

Following Amanda’s lead, I undressed where I was, setting my clothing on the chair. Amanda was kneeling on the velvet blanket. “Is this how you want me?” she asked Nils. “Like Zoë in the magazine?” She arched her back and lifted her bottom.

I glanced at Nils. He seemed to approve of Amanda’s pose. With his paintbrush he made a gesture which I interpreted to mean “get on up there and do something.” I got on up there, knelt behind Amanda, and caressed her bottom. As in the photo of Zoë, Amanda’s hand had found its way between her legs. Her fingers made figure-eights around her clearly aroused clitoris. I concentrated on her sex lips and anus. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she murmured not quite under her breath.

“Don’t move,” Nils said.

I took this to mean don’t change position, and my fingers continued to play with Amanda’s sex and asshole. Amanda continued to whimper, then she came, her little asshole clenching with each contraction of her orgasm. “Good girl,” I whispered, and I caressed her through several strong aftershocks. I wanted to fuck her in the worst way, but big brother had told us not to move. I hated him for that. “Are you almost done?” I called out.

“Getting there,” he replied. “See if you can make her come again. That expression was to die for.”

“No,” Amanda said. “No, no, no.”

My fingers went to work. “No! Oh! Oh, oh, oh!” Amanda’s second climax came in no time. I allowed a finger to sink a small way into the hot wet clutch of her cunt. A small way wasn’t enough. I pushed it all the way in. Her juicy sheath sucked my finger. I added another. My thumb penetrated her asshole. She pushed her hips back, forcing my thumb further into her ass. “Yes!” she hissed. “Yes, yes, yes!” Then she convulsed. After eight or ten or twelve contractions, she sprawled forward. I looked at Nils, fearing that he’d be angry at us for ruining the pose. He wasn’t angry. He was naked.