Chapter 1: The painter

I'm a big fan of old time movies. And in those times they would probably have given me the generous title of 'A Good Time Girl'. You know how it went. A girl would work the dance halls and a gentleman would pay a nominal fee — the old Doris Day song 'Ten Cents a Dance' comes to mind — to dance with the girl of his choice. And in many cases negotiations for extending the evenings entertainment at a substantially larger remuneration began just as soon as the dance finished often with some success. I must admit that 'Good Time Girl' sounds a lot better than the names they would call me now. These days sobriquets like whore and slut and bitch and dirty cunt roll off the tongues of some of the jealous women, AND some of the more small-minded men, pretty easily.

Why are the women jealous? Probably because I'll do things with their men that they won't. AND I'll take them on two or three at a time before I look around for others who don't mind sticking their dick into a sloppy cunt or an arse that's already been stretched by cocks that have gone before it. Of course I'll only fuck the willing ones with fat wallets, I mean I'm a pragmatist, the sort of person who knows where their real talents lie. Besides which I enjoy my work, and anyway it's hardly my fault if the wives or girlfriends can't keep them satisfied. And to be honest why the fuck wouldn't they want a piece of me once they've seen what I have to offer.

Now while I'm not vain and don't have 'Narcissus Complex' — you know, the guy from mythology that fell in love with his own reflection — nobody is ever going to accuse me of false modesty, I mean I'm not blind, I see how the men look at me when I walk past, even if I do dress to attract their attention. Let's face it 'mutton dressed s lamb' just wouldn't get the sort of stares I get. You know the sort of thing. Half thigh length mini skirts or hip hugging slacks or designer jeans slung low enough so that the G-strings I habitually wear are easily seen as is the beginning of the crack of my arse and crop tops that cling tightly to my tits and expose lots of stomach flesh. I'll even sometimes go without a bra but not often, after all gravity is going to take care of two of my best assets soon enough without me giving it a helping hand. All in all I guess I just like that I'm attractive enough to grab the attention of the opposite sex. Oh all right, AND some of my own.

What is it, you ask, that attracts all that attention? Well I have long black curly hair that falls to the middle of my back, baby blue come-to-bed eyes, long sexy legs — I'm five foot nine — and a 38DD-25-37 figure that needs some satisfying let me tell you. My nipples are so sensitive to the touch, especially from a tongue, that it sends messages straight to my cunt demanding that it gets itself fucked so that the rest of my ever horny body can join in the fun. And like I said before I'm a realist, so what my cunts demands my cunt gets, as does my mouth and very often my arse as well.

And then there is my wannabe boyfriend. I say wannabe because he's too shy to make the next move and because I don't know anything about him. Oh I know what you're going to ask. How do I know he wants to be my boyfriend? You mean apart from the fact that he always seems to be around when I'm doing the business — that business being fucking, as if you hadn't already guessed that — either in a bar or in a club or when I'm posing for photographers and painters, which is what I'm doing now, in the nude. Which brings me to the strange part about this picture I'm posing for, this job came up all of a sudden and the client apparently asked Mark Fontaine, that's this painter's name, to request me specifically. Sounds just a little suss if you ask me.

Not that that's all that's on my mind, I mean I'm eying off this painter while I'm posing and I've just this second come to the decision that if he doesn't make his move then I'm going to, chiefly because I've seen the bulge in his pants. I mean it certainly fills out the crotch of his slacks. Oh all right I'll admit it, the other reason I'm eying him off is because he's a handsome bastard and I fancy the fuck out of him and I am NOT, I repeat NOT, leaving this studio without tasting his cock and definitely not without having it fucking the shit out of my cunt.

"Hey keep still Lisa." It was the voice of the painter bringing me out of my daydream.

"Easy for you to say Mark, my arm has gone numb, and besides I'm getting bored."

"You're a paid model, gorgeous; you don't have any choice in the matter. And anyway the man I'm painting your picture for is very well off. And that's not all; there is apparently a great likeness between you and his late wife. So if you could possibly manage to keep still I would very much appreciate it."

His eyes moved down to where I knew the sheet had moved uncovering my cunt. He had insisted it remain covered as requested by the man who had engaged him and as I had hoped he would do Mark moved towards the couch on which I lay. Picking up an apple from a handy bowl of fruit he held it out to me. "You have to put up with it; I mean you shouldn't find it too much of a hardship considering how much you are being paid." He adjusted the sheet until it was covering up what I very much wanted to be on display and handed me the apple. "Here hold this."

I couldn't help it I giggled. "Oh I've got an urge to hold something," and I made sure that he saw my gaze linger on the bulge in his pants, "but it definitely aint no fucking apple," and I reached out and cupped the hard length of his cock in my right hand as I looked up into his brown eyes. "If you let me have a little taste of your lovely cock," I licked my top lip, "I promise to behave."

"Listen," he said as he continued to watch me stroke his hard cock through his tight pants, "work first play later."

I wasn't about to be denied though. One touch was enough for me. I unbuckled his belt, undid the button of his pants, lowered the zipper and carefully pushed both his pants and his underwear down over the hard length of his cock revealing what looked to be 9-magnificent-inches of hot cock flesh.

"What ... What are you doing? We'll never get this painting finished like this," he said even as he pushed both garments to the floor and stepped out of them.

"Your client can wait." I took his cock in my right hand and slowly and sensually stroked it. "I'm far too worked up to pose for another hour like that without getting a taste of something this delicious." And I kissed its very tip.

Taking the head of his hard throbbing cock between my lips I found a way to run my tongue around it as I suckled gently while cupping his testes in my left hand.

"Mmm!" he cried as he seemingly acceded to the inevitable. "You really are very good at this. I mean I know we shouldn't but what man could refuse such pleasure from a woman with a beauty as unsurpassable as yours." He smiled finally. "Besides, it could be that I'm doing you a favour by helping you quench your seemingly insatiable appetite for sex."

Of course with the head of his thick cock forcing my lips wide apart I was unable to respond to his compliments so I smiled instead and did what any self-respecting slut would do, I gently squeezed his balls and slurped a little as I took another couple of inches of his cock between my already stretched lips.