Becoming His Muse, Part Three

by KC Martin

  “You promised you wouldn’t tell a soul, remember?” I glance around the cafeteria double-checking that no one’s listening to us.

  “But after you graduate, after you’re a famous painter and you two are a couple and you have kids and—”

  “—Ruby stop!” I’m full on laughing now, but I do feel a giddy excitement deep in my belly. I like where her imagination is taking her. But how do I get myself there?…

  Chapter Seven

  At Dr. T’s next lecture, Casey gives me a key with sparkly bike handle tassel attached to it.

  “You can keep that one for a few weeks,” she says.

  “Thanks.” I tuck it into my back pack for safekeeping.

  On Thursday, I send Logan the address to Derrick and Casey’s loft on Thurlow and tell him to meet me when he’s finished teaching. I decide to skip Thursday’s classes and do some painting at the loft during the day, which means I can sleep in, since I don’t have to compete for early studio time. I carry over a canvas and my paint box, plus a small overnight bag. I pick up some milk and coffee and things for breakfast plus a frozen pizza to bake later. We will not be leaving this place until we absolutely have to.

  The loft is above a printing shop. An iron gate to the left of the shop blocks access to a narrow flight of wooden stairs. I try the first key. Once up the stairs, I find a metal door painted with graffiti. I’m pretty sure that’s Derrick’s work. He’s a fan of graffiti art. I try the second key.

  When I open the door, I’m engulfed by the scent of sandalwood and vanilla. The light inside is murky and tinged crimson, the effect of several gauzy red curtains over the large windows. The floors are beat up old planks except for a square of linoleum marking the kitchen area, which does not look very clean. It’s when I look up that I nearly have a heart attack.

  Suspended from the ceiling beams are dozens of puppets, about half of life-sized. Some are unfinished, but there must be more than thirty of them. They are dressed in vintage clothing cut down to size. Are they part of DnC’s secret art project? Very strange.

  I carry my supplies inside. The place feels a little creepy. There’s a puppet-free corner with an easel and table set up. And off to one side, not far from the easel, is a low bed heaped with colorful silk pillows. Thankfully, the puppets are segregated from the bed by partially painted white sheets. The sheets are splattered with graffiti markings and calligraphy squiggles. Maybe they’re part of the art project too? I shake my head, having no idea what these two are up to, but grateful, at least, to have a private space to work for one day.

  Shelves line almost every wall. Each shelf is crammed with books, papers, electronic equipment, art supplies, and all manner of quirky paraphernalia. Plus a large terrarium. To say the place feels cluttered is an understatement. I’d be tempted to call DnC hoarders, except that most of the stuff stashed could be used for their unusual art installations.

  I clear off part of the kitchen table and put away the food I brought.

  At least the bed looks clean, though I’m glad I brought my own set of sheets and pillow cases.

  I set up my paints and canvas. Before I get to work, I have a closer look at the variety of puppets. They have large heads, hands, and feet. A few have those sparkly bike tassels, like the one on the key ring, for hair. None of the puppets has eyes, which, oddly, makes me feel a little more comfortable.

  ***

  I’m making good progress on my painting when my phone buzzes. Logan is downstairs. I quickly strip off my clothes down to my bra and panties and slip into the black silk robe I packed for just this occasion. Then I change my mind and take off the bra and panties as well. Tying the robe’s sash around my waist, I step outside.

  I let Logan through the gate and into the stairwell. He’s holding a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers. How sweet. He growls his approval when he sees my silky black robe.

  “What’s under there?” he says.

  “Nothing…” I dash back up the stairs before he can catch me. As I push through the metal door, I warn him. “The place is a little strange. Ignore the puppets.”

  “Puppets?”

  “And the turtles.”

  He steps cautiously into the the loft.

  “Goddamn…”

  “I know, weird, right?”

  He’s transfixed. “Where are their eyes?”

  I shrug. “It’s better if you don’t look up.”

  He puts the wine on the table and looks around the rest of the place. I search around for a vase for the flowers.

  “Nice work, Ava,” he says heading toward my half-finished canvas.

  “I got a lot done today. Enough so that now I can play.”

  He looks over his shoulder at me and arches an eyebrow. “Any special game you had in mind?”

  I slink over to him.

  “Yes. Strip poke-her. I strip and you poke me.”

  I knock his hat off his head and he catches it. He glances at the low bed, which I’ve draped with my sheets.

  “What are the stakes?”

  “You have to risk it all.” I untie my robe and show him I’m stripped already. His breath catches as he looks me up and down.

  I take a step toward him and whisper, “So far, I’m winning.”

  He reaches for my breasts, cups them gently. I push his jacket off and then grab him by the belt buckle and pull him toward the bed.

  “I’ve been waiting all day for this,” I say.

  “I’ve been waiting all week.” He kicks off his shoes. “Lie down,” he says. “Against those pillows. I want to look at you.”

  I oblige, positioning myself gracefully and seductively across several pillows. My robe is open and sliding off my shoulders but not off completely.

  “Touch yourself,” he says as he removes his shirt and unbuckles his belt.

  I lick my fingers first and then trail them along my chest and down to my belly button. Then lower.

  “Here?” I say, sliding my fingers across my mons.

  “Yes, there.” He slips out of his pants, touches himself through his boxers.

  “Show me,”I say. “I want to see it.” He pulls the edge of his boxers down so I can only see the tip. My mouth starts watering immediately.

  I slide my fingers along my slick labia, opening wider for him to see.

  “Do you want to watch me again?”

  He nods.

  “Do you want to spank me again?”

  He gives me a devilish smile and nods a second time.

  “Everything we’ve done before. And more.”

  I don’t know what he means by more but I have a feeling I’m going to find out.

  He finally drops his boxers and climbs onto the bed with me. He parts my knees and stares at my open legs.

  “Have you ever experienced anal, Ava?”

  My legs involuntarily start to close and my eyes widen. “I don’t think…”

  He smiles and nudges my legs apart again. “Don’t worry, we won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

  No, I don’t want that, but at the same time I do want to experience everything with Logan.

  “Not yet?” I say.

  He nods. “Only when, or if, you’re ready. It’s the ultimate submission.”

  I gulp, feeling very nervous. “Does that turn you on?”

  He swipes his fingers against my folds and his thumb gently alights on my clit. I shudder.

  “Everything about you turns me on. That would, too. But it’s not necessary.”

  I’m relieved.

  He lets his fingers dance with mine between my legs and then I let him take over completely. A moment later I feel his lips on me, and then his probing tongue. I gasp with pleasure. It’s a matter of minutes before I’m dangling at the edge of orgasm and my breath is ragged and punctuated with moans. He stops abruptly and climbs over me, pointing his cock at my lips. I extend my tongue to taste his tip. He moans lightly.

  “I find it deeply pleasurable to enter your body any way yo
u let me. Here…” His cock dips past my lips. “And here…” He reaches behind him and slides a finger into my drenched pussy. “And maybe one day, here…” His finger slides past my opening and across my perineum. With a light pressure he swirls his finger around my anus. It tickles a bit. I hold my breath, but he doesn’t do anything more. Thank goodness, I’m not ready for that, though I do feel just a teeny bit curious.

  I push him more deeply into my mouth and suck intently so that he’s caught up in his own pleasure. I fondle his balls with one hand and hold the base of his cock with the other, but a minute later he pulls away abruptly. Did I do something wrong? He’s flipping himself around. He kneels over me again, but faces the other way now. I gasp when he buries his face in my pussy. His lips suck at my clit and I feel his nose brush my opening. I grab his cock with both hands as his balls slide against my chin. I handle him roughly, like a gear shift, while his tongue slides from my clit to my perineum. I feel his hands on my ass, opening me even wider. His hips move over me, pushing his cock through my gripping fingers. My juices and his saliva trickle between my legs and onto the sheet. I’m wet everywhere. I pull on him, urging him back a bit so I can get him in my mouth again, but he resists and I feel his tongue flex and probe my opening. I moan deeply. He pushes in an inch or so and it makes me want to feel more of him, makes me ache for his cock deep inside me.

  “Get a condom,” I whisper. He ignores me and slips two fingers inside, which satisfies me for several minutes. His tongue roves around along each crease where my thigh meets my pelvis. I’m basking in the many sensations when I feel a surprising new one: a soft warm flick of tongue at my anus. It tickles, but in a pleasurable way. I giggle and draw in quick breaths, unsure of where this is headed. He removes his fingers and drags their slippery wetness lower until he’s swirling around this tight, off-limits opening. I moan again, but it’s with hesitation, and I try to wriggle away. It feels almost too personal, and I feel a hint of fear stir inside me, and yet I’m so aroused, and that arousal makes me feel bold and daring. I’m not sure if Logan senses my ambivalence, but after playing there a bit, he withdraws and laps at my clit again. His contact there seems to set off a spark inside me. My hips buck with renewed vigor, as if his short detour has amplified the sensation at my center. I’m on the brink of an explosive orgasm. I push up into his face, concentrating on this building blaze between my legs. He sucks ravenously and then just as I’m about to let go into my heaven-on-earth moment he pulls away. I gasp sharply. He swings off of me and off the bed in a flash and I’m left vibrating at the edge of oblivion and gasping for release.

  I watch him in a daze as he slides on a condom, a wicked grin on his wet lips, a sparkle of mischief in his shining green eyes.

  “Did you like that?” he says crawling back onto the bed.

  I’m beyond speaking words and only nod. My whole body still thrums with pre-orgasmic energy. I want him desperately and he seems to be moving in slow motion.

  “What do you want now?” he says teasingly. I reached for his sheathed cock and pull him towards my open legs.

  “Whoa, baby,” he says, losing his balance. As he tips forward and slightly to one side, I command my muscles to move and get up and I force him back on the bed. I push his shoulders back hard and straddle him.

  “You left me hanging,” I whisper raggedly. My clit rubs lightly against his hard cock and I think that tiny bit of sensation is going to push me right over the edge before I have the chance to feel him inside of me.

  “I’d never do that,” he says with a cheeky half smile.

  “You just did.” I tweak his nipple in punishment. He flinches but smiles too.

  I rub myself along his length but don’t let him inside yet. “If you’re not careful, I’ll come like this and leave you hanging.”

  “Oh, I’m careful.” He grabs my hips to still me. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

  “Oh, really?” I lick my fingers seductively and then aim for my clit. “I could take care of myself right now.” Before I find my sweet spot he grabs my wrist and forms my fingers around his cock. With his hand around mine he starts pumping.

  “How ‘bout you take care of me?” He winks. My hand is hostage under his. He pumps faster. I see his chest rise and fall with quicker breaths. His eyes twinkle with amusement.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I say, trying to pull my hand free.

  “Wouldn’t I?” His breath catches, and his eyes start to roll back in his head. He moans. “Oh, Ava…” With my free hand I pinch his other nipple.

  “Logan!”

  His hand loosens but not quite enough to release mine. I can move it a bit though and while I’ve got some semblance of freedom, I lift my hips and guide him toward my pussy. As I nestle over him he lets go of himself, and my hand, and sighs contentedly.

  “That’s what you wanted all along?” I say.

  He nods, his lips curling into a triumphant smile. With all the effort I can muster I remain perfectly still over him. It’s very difficult. His beautiful firm cock is deep inside me. My body is still trembling with a stored up orgasm. It’s all I can do not to ride him like a stallion. He stops smiling and looks at me. It’s a battle of wills now. He tries to move beneath me. I clamp down my hips to keep him still. My inner flexing probably gave him some brief pleasure, but I find my inner stillness once again.

  “Truce?” he says.

  I realize I’m holding my breath and let out a sigh. Then I shake my head. “Ransom,” I say.

  He gives me a quizzical look.

  “Two to one” I say. “Two orgasms for me. One for you.”

  “Don’t we have the whole night together? I’m planning on more than one.”

  “A two to one ratio. Every time you come, I come twice.”

  His lips quirk up into a half smile. “I can live with that.” He reaches for my nipples and rubs his thumbs against their erect tips. “Now can we move?”

  I smile down at him and start drawing small circles with my hips. He sighs. With his hands on my hips, he widens the circles and then nudges me back and up so that I can slide down him slowly. I lift and fall along his length, picking up speed. He watches our joining, his face tightening in concentration.

  “Ride me, Ava,” he says hoarsely. “Ride me hard.” He watches me intently as I grind against him, finding my rhythm again, riding him and the waves of pleasure pouring through me. He bites his lip, trying to hold back his own climax as I crest and crash over him. My pussy clenches and releases its waves of radiating energy.

  “Oh, god,” he moans, losing control. I feel him pulse inside me as we come together. He holds me tight to him until our shudders subside. I fall against his chest to catch my breath. I hear his heart beating fast.

  We hold each other until we calm down and then Logan gets up to dispose of the condom. When he returns he kisses my lips, cheeks, nipples, and belly. When he moves lower, I touch his hair and say, “What are you doing?”

  “Being true to my word.”

  His mouth clamps onto my sensitive clit. “You don’t have to…”

  “Be careful what you wish for, Ava.” He doesn’t let up until I come again in his mouth.

  After, feeling limp and satiated, Logan gets up to put the pizza in the oven and pour some wine.

  For the rest of the long, sweet night, he remains true to his word.

  Chapter Eight

  Between exams, studio time, and another trip to DnC’s loft, the following two weeks fly by and then we are on our way to New York.

  When we emerge from the bowels of Penn Station on Friday evening, a light snow is falling. The tall buildings and hum of the city envelope me. I feel as if I’m stepping into a painting of my life, as if a new story is just beginning.

  Christmas lights blink from windows and street lamps. People bustle along the street, intent on their destinations. A scent of roasting chestnuts wafts by.

  Logan steps onto the street to hail a taxi. Immediately, one of a strea
m of yellow cabs pulls over. We climb in.

  “Eleventh and Waverly in the village,” says Logan to the cab driver.

  “I thought you lived in Soho,” I say.

  “I sublet my apartment for the duration of the residency so we’ll be staying at my friend’s place.”

  I’m a little disappointed. I wanted to see Logan’s apartment, his home.

  “He’s gone for the weekend. But he always keeps the place well-stocked—food, booze, music, movies, condoms. We won’t ever have to leave.”

  I whack him on the arm and laugh. “I’m here for the museums and you know it. I want to see art, be inspired, soak up the genius of masterpieces.”

  Logan leans over to me and whispers in my ear.

  “The only art I’m interested in is the masterpiece between your legs.”

  I’d have whacked him again, and harder, for a crack like that, except that the way he says it is utterly genuine and full of longing.

  His green eyes bore into mine and he adds, “And what’s between your ears, of course. It’s not what you think. You are my inspiration, Ava. All of you. Your pussy, your eyes, your mind, the mole on the outside of your left tit.”

  He reaches for it as he says the word.

  “Logan! We’re in a taxi.” I glance at the cabdriver.

  He laughs. “You think these guys haven’t seen everything already driving around this city?”

  He slides his hand from my knee to my upper thigh. My whole body tingles.

  He leans closer and whispers more ardently.

  “Ava, everything about you inspires me. And when I am between your legs, when I’m inside you, I feel a masterpiece growing inside me. So if you, my inspiration, want to go look at dead people’s paintings to get inspired then I will trail along behind you, waiting for you to be filled with a passion that art gives you, until you are overflowing and ready to lie back and let me take my fill of you.”

  I’m afraid he’s going to try to do that right now. He’s sliding his hand right between my legs. I’m wearing thigh high socks under my skirt and I feel his fingers brush up against my soft folds barely concealed by my silk panties. Instinctively, I want to give in to his touch, but we’re at a stop sign and people are looking in the cab window. I push his hand away and try to distract him.