Temptation Close

by Scarlett Rush

  Alicia Unveiled

  It actually felt strange sitting on Hunter’s chaise longue with her clothes on. The urge to strip was quite compelling. Three times Alicia had sat there nude, under his gaze. Incredibly, she wanted more of it. How had she felt those three times? It was an evolution of confidence, for sure. The first time had been in the wake of the exhilaration of her naked motorcycle ride through the county. All those open-mouthed stares, those gasps, even cheers. The reactions had been mixed but they had seemed to be on a range between shock and delight. There hadn’t been the revulsion she had feared, the insults.

  OK, it was hardly a horseback ride through the packed streets of Coventry - just a couple of villages and a longish stop at traffic lights directly in front of a busy pub garden - but it was enough to make her feel under intense scrutiny. The thrill of the motorcycle had helped, as had the crash helmet. The wolf-whistles definitely helped. It was certainly the most outrageous thing she had ever done, the type of thing her trapped spirit always told her she should be doing, if not for her stupid self-consciousness. It had made her feel recklessly bold, sexy even. She had never seen herself as an object of sexual attraction until that ride. So when Hunter took her back to his place and asked if she was ready, the buzz had outweighed the trepidation. It had been like jumping into bed with someone for the first time.

  It hadn’t been an immediate cure. Maybe it would have been better if they had been closer. It felt more like a cuddle and giggle moment, although those can easily lead to more, especially if you are naked. The lack of contact made her feel more like she was being observed and therefore judged. It was always on her mind that he would encapsulate all the bad things she saw in herself, and laid them bare as evidence for all to see. She knew artists liked to paint the truth. She’d thumbed through his book on Lucian Freud portraits and seen the loose flesh, the hard angles, the raw colours. Fortunately, Hunter was neither insular nor too wrapped up in concentration. Spending time with him proved a very enjoyable experience, even in this fraught circumstance. He was happy to chat with her and seemed at pains to keep things light-hearted, to help keep the fear from her mind.

  The second time had been hard to start but by the end of it she felt properly relaxed. He didn’t put her in compromising positions. She always felt just a little covered even if there wasn’t a stitch on her. The poses didn’t open her up. Her husband, she remembered with a little embarrassment, was given an unexpected treat when they retired to bed that night! The third time had been anticipated. She actually saw it as liberating, even if the nerves wouldn’t quite go. The thrill of the raciness overtook anxiousness, helped by those private thoughts she had allowed herself about what could happen if the artist put down his brush, unable to keep lust to himself due to her nudity, and joined her on the couch.

  Strange, being naked imbued the feeling that she should give herself to him, like it was the natural thing to do. It felt odd dressing at the end without having had greater intimacy. It was like he deserved it. She couldn’t fathom why she felt this, since in essence it was her doing the favour for him. She couldn’t think of a comparable situation to act as a reference point. It was like you shouldn’t voluntarily get naked for someone unless you were accepting and expecting them to do something about it. The expectation was the thing. She hadn’t thought any of the sessions would end as they did. The thought wasn’t even scary. It seemed natural. Like you would spontaneously hold even a total stranger if you had just both come through a perilous moment together. But this was a sort-of erotic moment, so the embrace would have to just be the start of it.

  Picturing what happened after only led to greater anticipation, a greater normalisation of what would be a very un-normal way for her to behave. The idea made the cold rush of nerves go through her but she never fought it. In truth she wanted the affirmation that he thought her sexy enough to demand to take his reward. It would make it far more romantic that he had managed to restrain himself for their three sessions, until all the work was done, the pent-up passions of an artist and a gentlemen finally spilling over. The worst possible case scenario was the one she potentially faced now: the unveiling of the portraits, her first sight of them, only to realise he had perfectly captured the bony, saggy, ungainly non-beauty that she saw in the mirror, and now he wanted her to leave, immediately, and never darken his chaise longue with her gangly frame again.

  ‘Ta-dah!’ Hunter said as the cover was pulled clear of the first canvas. The other two followed with Alicia sat wide-eyed and biting her lip. The likeness was definitely there, she couldn’t fault him on that. There was no doubting it was her. However, there was a softness that she didn’t recognise, a flow to her form that she had never seen. There was a peacefulness to her expression in two of them, maybe wistfulness bordering on contented languor in the other. The eyes had a spark. The brightness from the window lit her, gave vigour to the flesh tones, took away the shadows that underscored all the droops she always saw in the mirror. The nudity made her pure. The figure in each was not voluptuous and alluring, but natural, calm, intriguing, inviting. She was beautiful.

  The relief bubbled rapidly towards euphoria. The dread of thinking that anyone outside of this studio might ever observe the finished product was replaced by an urge to bang on every door in the street to show them. Perhaps she would even strip off before she did so! Maybe it was just a kindly portrayal by the artist, although one couldn’t deny the accuracy of size and shape and colour. It was sympathetically handled, some airbrushing in oils. People didn’t really see her like this, did they? Still, you never could see yourself properly could you, regardless of how many mirrors or photos, not from the simultaneous angles others could see you with, the movement and emotion. You would go through life never truly knowing what you looked like, or sounded like. You would never really know what people saw in you.

  ‘These paintings are going to be sold miles away,’ Hunter said, ‘to people who have never seen you and yet want you as the prime feature on their wall, to gaze upon daily. That’s a strange thought, is it not?’

  ‘Imagine if you ever bumped into them!’ she said, covering her open mouth in mock shock.

  ‘They wouldn’t recognize you with your clothes on,’ he said with a smile.

  Her belly was alive. She wanted to dance and yell, to rejoice in the unshackling of her spirit. ‘It feels funny being here now, fully clothed,’ she said.

  ‘You’ll miss stripping for me!’

  ‘I could take them off if you wanted,’ she said, not much above a whisper, ‘if it would help.’

  She didn’t know where it came from and it probably wasn’t the sexiest proposition. It had just come out, that mix of wanting to know just how attractive he found her and the idea that he deserved a reward for finding her attractive at all. She had never pictured the realities of doing it outside of the fantasy, because she had always assumed in real life he would baulk at the mere idea. But his eyes were soft, not indignant, and he was slowly coming towards her, kneeling down at her feet before she had a chance to backtrack.

  ‘I have thought about it,’ he said, taking her hands in his. ‘It has been very difficult to concentrate on many occasions. But I know you don’t really want anything to happen. I captured you as I saw you in these portraits and we both know that person is far too good for someone like me. What’s more you have a husband who has seen you like this from the very start, and to all best knowledge has never seen you any differently, so I think you both deserve not to have that fact tarnished by me.’

  ‘They say you should live life with no regrets,’ she said.

  ‘And there is no doubt you would have regretted it.’ He kissed her hands in turn and then rose to his feet, raising her up from the couch. ‘You have been the perfect model. I sincerely hope I get the chance to paint you again.’

  He led her to the front door and then set her free, like a trapped butterfly, she thought, as
she went back inside her home. The “far too good for me bit” had been a generous touch. She had been about to bumble into a situation way out of her control but he had let her off the hook without letting her down at all. She had been caught in the moment, right out of her depth there, and he had swum her back to shore. Another burst of joy filled her and this time, because she was alone, she was able to give out a loud whoop and punch the air.

  All Coming Together

  It started with a lie and ended with more secrets than any of them would have imagined. Nesta and Roni had to pretend they were going to the same spa they always did, rather than the much swankier Charbury Manor, thirty miles away in the next county. Their husbands had to contrive meetings with old university friends - a one-off, one night only opportunity which couldn’t be missed. It was Eva that gave them the idea, a viable excuse required to arrange last-minute babysitters. All Eva herself had to do was cancel the pink-haired girlfriend when she was sure the husbands would turn up, and then make sure they came at intervals, when she was ready for them.

  The wives’ excitement was palpable from the offset. Spa days were always a treat and Charbury Manor was almost legendary in its opulence. Hunter must have splashed some serious cash to get them in. Not only had he got them a room for the night, he had only gone and hired out one of the exclusive lodges hidden amongst the wooded grounds. There was a large lounge area with plush sofa and a log burner - with wood kindly supplied, even though summer was nearly upon them. There was a luxury bathroom with complimentary Bvlgari toiletries, a corner bath and a separate shower, even bigger than the double ones they had at home.

  There were two bedrooms, one with twin single beds. Then there was the master suite, with a huge superking-sized bed in a plush leather frame, complete with TV that could remotely rise from the foot end. There was no way one of them wanted the short straw of the twin room. As intimate as it would be, it went unsaid that they would both end up in the one big bed, probably too exhausted after a day’s pampering to make use of the in-built visual entertainment. It crossed Nesta’s mind - maybe Roni’s too - that Hunter had deliberately ensured they slept in that bed together. The lodge was so wonderful and comfortable it seemed a shame to go out and leave it at all. Compensation, however, came in the most relaxing, sumptuous day imaginable. There were aromatherapy massages, reiki and hot stone treatments, saunas and hot tubs, body wraps and facials. There was an exquisite lunch - grand but nothing heavy, with a fine wine to wash it down.

  Since Hunter had provided all this, and since they were together and so relaxed, it was obvious they would talk about him. Most was about his character in general - more supposition even though Nesta now knew him much more intimately. It was only when they were back at their lodge, lying together on the bed wearing the thick, soft bath robes provided for them, that it was no longer possible to sidetrack it anymore, and the details of Nesta’s sin had to be shared. She told Roni about why he was leaving, although she said it was simply to protect her from Eva’s gossip, judiciously leaving out the bit about the errant husbands. She told her all about the times they had spent together. This wasn’t something she would normally do, nor did she expect Roni to want to hear it, but they were so close and giggly and such juicy illicit details are so much fun to share, that it all came tumbling out.

  She told her the bit about Hunter aiming to come and see them there, even though he couldn’t because he was miles away on some remote island. But, nevertheless, both privately pondered the thrilling implications of all of them ending up in the same bed together. They chatted so openly about him, so excitedly and honestly, allowing themselves to expand the notion of him arriving and seducing them as a pair, that when he suddenly turned up in his hire car, coming straight from the airport with him having dallied only to buy the picnic and the pink champagne on the way, well, then it was as if they had somehow magicked him there between them.

  As soon as he walked through the door it was obvious what he had come there for. There could be no doubting it. Nothing was said but the implication was clear to all. They were there alone, all night, the husbands enjoying themselves elsewhere and with other things on their mind. They could never be found out. It was what the girls had talked about, albeit only in jest. Now it could be real. It was free and oh-so easy. The sofas might have been the safer choice for them to gather upon but the picnic spread out much better upon the bed. The TV was dropped back into the footboard, all the large candles in the glass vases were lit and the lights were dimmed down low. They told him about their day and gulped on their bubbly from their nerves. He smiled and joked and charmed without doing much at all.

  They were all hungry so the feast was soon down to the dessert. He cut some of the strawberries and served them up in different ways: with cracked black pepper, then with melted chocolate, and finally with thick cream. Nesta dunked hers in her champagne and held the fatter end between her teeth, challenging him to bite off the rest. It was just a spur of the moment bit of fun, but it sparked it all. He took the bite and then they were kissing. Then Roni was offered the same thing, and it was her turn to be kissed. She knew she could have gone at any time; slunk off to the other room to give them their privacy. But it was so much easier to stay, so much more exciting. It was too easy and surreal to make her think there could be any serious implications. So the kissing went on and on, and soon all the laughter and the talking subsided.

  By coincidence, at the same time that Roni realised the kissing was becoming something more, something she had no mind to resist, her husband was being let into Eva’s house. There was less romance on offer there. He was swiftly unzipped and grasped. She would strip him and tug at him and use her lips and tongue to ensure he was hard, and then she would work the oil into that lovely smooth shaft. After that she would take him into her bedroom to reveal the surprise whilst he was too turned on to baulk at it. At the same time as Eva went down on her knees to take him into her mouth, Roni was taking Hunter into hers, an act that excited her more for being silently urged to do it.

  As Roni’s trepidation slipped away her husband was made to wait whilst Eva went into her bedroom. The light was on in there so when he was called through there could be no mistaking what he saw: his best friend and next-door neighbour naked on his back upon the bed, gagged with a pair of knickers and blindfolded, but still instantly recognisable. His wrists were secured to the metal headboard by a pair of red silk bandanas - ones like Eva wore when she was motorcycling. On top of him, completely stripped and facing the headboard, was the biker chick herself. She was astride him, impaled upon him, his glistening prick visibly sliding in and out of her as she moved, her irresistible bottom pushing out invitingly as she ground and wriggled upon him. He knew what she wanted him to do.

  The kissing and the stroking went on. Nothing was hurried although the need was mounting. It was such a turn-on to watch her best friend like this, to see her with pleasure written all over her face. Jealousy couldn’t possibly come into it. The gowns came off easily, the underwear too, since they had already glimpsed each other in various stages of undress that day, and on other occasions too. To touch was a different matter, a possibility that had been implied although neither discussed nor agreed upon. The first kisses were therefore tentative, but when the sighs came in response, the last barrier was down. She was so beautiful, so perfect and somehow innocent in her rudeness. Their movements together were flowing, choreographed by instinct and their passion. There was no need for intrusive words. The tongue was all down her body and then between her thighs, and she was like velvet there, so delicate and sweet and gorgeous. There was no way she could let this be the only time.

  Eva felt the hardness behind her and pushed back against it, the other one still inside her, buried deep. How had she made herself wait so long for this unique bliss? The forward push was measured despite the need to be in her, the slip opening her up by fractions, each one bringing new sensations alive. She pounded
the chest of the other one, flung her head back, and screamed. Then he was fully in too, his crotch squashed hard to her behind to give the maximum penetration, two stiff poles separated by the merest thinness of her stretched insides. Each would feel the movement of the other now that he was thrusting her. Both would be stimulated by it. Not just fucking her but fucking each other, the shame and the thrill in equal measure, her joy trumping all, this unmatchable experience; full beyond euphoria.

  The point of no return was miles behind them. Slender fingers were slid between delicate lips to feel the tight, slick cosiness within. Champagne was held in the mouth to tingle against hard flesh as it was sucked. It was only fair that he enter her first, going behind her as she lay on her side, so the two pairs of softer lips needn’t break their kiss. Then something new: him placing his arm across her chest to take her with him as he lay on his back. She was flat to him, both able to look up into the darkness of the rafters, him still inside her. He reached down to urge her legs apart so that a tongue could tease her. His nails ran teasing lines up her body, from sensitive thighs up over jumping belly and on to her breasts, those strong fingers pinching and pulling at the aching points as lips encircled her and breath drew in to make the throb heighten to a burst of bliss between her legs. The tongue was patient and instinctively skilled. She would come like that: with him holding her legs up behind the knees to open her wide and give him the deepest access, and with that tongue flickering, that warm mouth closing over her, the lips pursing to allow the suction to draw the ecstasy from within.

  She was calling out, demanding that they fuck her, every cell of her body wracked by the sensation. She had flooded the one below. She leant back into the other as the last waves subsided, felt his arms go around to clutch and squeeze her. Her last groan turned into a laugh of triumphant glee.