‘My other guests are taking full advantage of my copious hospitality and your husband seems quite captivated by young Samantha. I don’t think they would miss us for a couple of hours.’
‘I couldn’t,’ Claire says.
‘You have the perfect figure,’ McIntyre assures her. ‘It seems such a pity not to share it with the world.’
Claire casts her gaze back at the painting. The thought of being portrayed in such a strikingly erotic manner fills her with a sudden vigour. Perhaps she’s had too much champagne.
‘OK then,’ she nods.
McIntyre leads her from the gallery into his studio.
‘How do you want me?’ Claire asks.
‘Naked,’ he replies.
As McIntyre prepares his easel, Claire unzips her dress and lets it slip to the floor, revealing a black full-length slip. She pulls this off over her head without a second thought and eases her panties down her thighs. She steps up onto the box occupied earlier in the day by Samantha.
‘I heard you had some paintings stolen,’ Claire prompts, convinced now that he knows more than he has let on.
McIntyre nods solemnly without looking up. ‘It’s a terrible business.’
‘Have the police any idea who took them?’
‘Not a clue.’
‘And have you?’
McIntyre looks up from his easel and Claire notes he is momentarily speechless as he surveys her naked body.
‘They’ll be in a private collection by now. I doubt I’ll ever see them again.’
Remembering the painting on the gallery wall, Claire adopts a similar stance, studying McIntyre as he sharpens his pencil with a penknife, long smooth strokes whittling the lead into a sharp point.
‘I’m ready when you are,’ she says.
He steps across to her, studying every inch of her body.
‘I thought I’d do a few rough sketches first. Do you mind ...?’ he asks.
She shakes her head and his warm hands alight on her body, easing her around until he is completely happy with her pose.
The artist returns to his easel and begins to draw, effortless strokes gliding across the virgin paper as his eyes flit between her and the work in progress. Claire wonders how he will portray her, whether he will manipulate the lines in her favour.
She’s comfortable with her body. At times she wishes her breasts were bigger and her buttocks smaller. But doesn’t every woman?
‘Let’s try something else,’ he suggests, pinning up another sheet of paper. ‘Perhaps you could hold your buttocks, pull them apart slightly.’
She does as he asks. ‘Like this?’
‘Yes,’ he replies excitedly, ‘Bend forward a little ... and a little more. Oh, yes, nice taut flesh, and what a delightfully tight little anus.’
The words excite Claire as she points her arse up so he can get a better view, her fingers clawing into the skin, aware his eyes are roaming across her exposed butt and the hairy mound of her pussy. She’s leaning right over now, can see McIntyre through her legs. His pencil is darting across the paper. And she can see it is not just his hand that is active. There’s a growing bulge in his trousers. He is clearly enjoying his work.
‘Pull those cheeks apart some more,’ McIntyre enthuses, ‘Oh, yes, what an exquisite arse hole you possess! The delicate tones of the smooth skin on your perfectly rounded cheeks are a joy to behold. Sheer joy!’
Claire finds his enthusiasm infectious, his voice hypnotic, and she all but forgets the investigation. She is enjoying herself – and the attention – too much.
‘Do you like having your bum played with?’ McIntyre asks.
From Claire’s point of view, it is something that happens all too rarely. There’s too much work and too little play in her life.
‘I love it,’ she says.