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Nathaniel Dorsey had never sat for a portrait before. It seemed like an indulgence, the kind of thing reserved for aristocrats and self-absorbed millionaires. But his mother had insisted, "You need something timeless, Nate. A legacy." So there he was, standing in the softly lit studio of Camille Laurent,
one of the most sought-after portrait artists in New York. He'd expected an old woman with a sharp tongue and paint-stained hands. Instead, he found her. Camille was not what he had pictured. She was young, mid-thirties at most, with ink-black hair coiled in a loose bun, strands escaping in lazy defiance.
Her eyes were green, sharp, mischievous, and knowing, she wore a thin off-white blouse, streaked with paint, tucked into dark jeans that hugged her hips in a way he shouldn't have noticed. "'Mr. Dorsey,' she said, "'you're early.' "'Bad habit,' he replied, clearing his throat.'
She studied him for a moment, then gestured towards a leather armchair positioned beneath a golden light. "Sit. Get comfortable." Nathaniel adjusted his tie and did as he was told, trying to ignore the way her eyes lingered on him, assessing. He'd done plenty of business deals, negotiated mergers worth billions.
But something about Camille's gaze made him feel exposed. She picked up a brush and began. For the first ten minutes, there was silence, save for the soft scratch of charcoal against canvas. Nathaniel watched her, fascinated. She painted like a woman possessed, fingers smudging, eyes flicking between him and her work.
There was a streak of blue on her cheek, a dab of red near her collarbone. He wanted to wipe it away. So, she said finally, breaking the quiet, tell me something about yourself. He exhaled. I run a real estate firm. I drink my coffee black. I have an irrational hatred for jazz. She smirked. Boring. Tell me something real. His lips twitched.
I once punched my best friend in the face because he kissed the girl I loved." Camille laughed, warm and unrestrained. "Ah, now we're getting somewhere." For the next hour they talked. About Paris and New York. About art and business. About nothing and everything. And as she sketched and painted, Nathaniel felt something shift. He was drawn to her.
Not just her beauty, though that was undeniable, but her energy. The way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she saw him. Not as the CEO, not as a name in the papers, but as a man. He leaned forward slightly. "'How long have you been painting?' "'All my life,' she said, tilting her head."
"'But professionally, since I was twenty.' "'You love it?' "'I do.' Her gaze flickered to his lips and then back to his eyes. "'And you, what do you love, Nathaniel?' He swallowed. The way she said his name, low and intimate, made his pulse quicken. He could smell the faint scent of lavender and turpentine on her skin. "'I don't know.'
he admitted. She put her brush down. That's sad. Is it? She stepped closer. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, see the flecks of gold in her irises. Yes, she murmured. A man should know what sets his soul on fire. Nathaniel's breath hitched. Her fingers smudged with paint, trailed the edge of his jaw.
It was the lightest touch, barely there, but it sent a shiver down his spine. Camille, he warned, voice hoarse. She smiled. Yes, he should have stopped this, should have pulled away, but he didn't. Instead, he reached for her. And in that dimly lit studio, beneath the scent of oil paint and the hum of something unspoken...
Nathaniel Dorsey finally discovered what he loved. Little did he notice that she was very wet between her legs, and it was slightly dripping on the floor. The smell of sex was filling the air, and Camille was in heat, and she knew what she wanted. Ugh. Oh, shit. Ugh.
She cried out in pain. She had gotten a huge muscle cramp from painting all day and was in deep pain. Oh shit, Camille, are you okay? As he was now holding her in his arms. Ugh, muscle cramp in my arm. Oh shit. Ugh, it's fucking killing me. He laid her down on the one sofa in the studio and told her to lay on her stomach.
She didn't hesitate to do what he said, as he was feeling the knot in her muscles. "'Would you like me to give you an arm massage?' "'Oh, yes, please. Do you mind?' "'Not at all,' he replied as he was rubbing her hands, deep and close. Her hands were feeling some small amount of pain. "'Can you get my thighs, please? They need it too.' "'Are you sure?'
he replied, to which she said, "'Please.' He went to her thighs and began to massage her from her knee upwards. She stylishly dragged his hands further upward, and although he pretended to be shocked, he enjoyed it. He worked his hands up and massaging with his fingers two inches from her ass and not too far from her pussy."
She was moaning from relief, but now from pleasure. He knew she was playing him, but he clearly didn't mind. She kept telling him to go higher. He kept asking, "Are you sure?" Which she gave a rousing thumbs up. Now she was working him. Now he was massaging her sweet ass, telling him not to stop.
Then she turned over, and a clear wet spot was formed on the sheets. Laying on her back, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her trimmed mound. By now, Nathaniel had dropped the look of pretense. The look on his face wasn't of surprise, but of wanting to please her. With his left hand above her head on the pillow, he took his right and massaged Nathaniel.
Then he slipped a finger in. Taking her right hand, he placed it over her head. She told him in a gentle voice, Please don't stop. He kept pushing his fingers in deeper and kept moving them in and out faster and faster. She had neatly trimmed pubes, done with an electric razor, never wanting to be fully shaved.
She was breathing deeply and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. She reached her left hand that was behind her head and grabbed his other hand, holding it tighter and tighter as he kept fingering her. Go deeper.
She was able to whisper during the height of her pleasure, his fingers deep inside of her and going further and further more. Man, was she tight and warm and very wet. He tried to let go of her hand, but in her throw of passion, she kept holding it tighter.
then his fingers got deeper inside and found her g-spot oh my god she kept saying more and more his fingers deeper and deeper into her pussy slowly he unbuttoned her dress and she took it off swiftly please don't stop i beg you
As he went faster and faster, he was able to free his other hand as he gently grazed her face with his fingers. He then reached down to her breasts, gently massaging her lovely tits, teasing her nipples. She kept breathing harder and harder. He held her close as her body started to massively shake. She was getting ready to come soon.
She told him to go deeper and faster. She bucked her hips and soon came. Her body shook with an orgasm she hadn't felt in a long while. She opened her eyes to see his lovely brown eyes, his hands covered in her juices. He kept his hands there as she laid in pure ecstasy. Wow, that was unexpected.
He said as he smiled, "We have thirty more minutes left." He said as he smiled, "Do you have any ideas?" She smiled and nestled close as he was on his knees next to the couch. With a slightly mischievous smile, she asked a simple question, "Look what we're doing instead of painting." He smiled and sort of laughed, "Fuck the painting."
Camille said. "'Let me be your canvas today.' Nathaniel got up and kicked off his shoes, then took off his socks. Off came his shirt, then he unbuttoned his jeans, slid them down to reveal a nice pair of blue knit boxers. Seeing the look in Camille's eyes, she wanted to do the honors. He nodded as if reading her mind.'
She sat up and in one fell swoop pulled down his boxers very fast. His stiff, erect dick seemed to spring out like a diving board. He was clearly enjoying what he was doing and what she was enjoying too. She grabbed his shaft with one hand and jerked him good. He moaned in pleasure, his balls tightening.
It didn't take long to see he needed a towel as well, only giving sighs of pleasure as she worked him hard. She took one photo of him, but knew what pose should really happen. They took a photo with the camera being on a timer, arms around each other's waist, one of them holding her close, her breasts pressed against his chest.
her nipples hard and firm against his chest she looked lovingly in his eyes then another with her eyes closed as he looked to be romancing her she almost wet herself again when she felt his manhood pressed near her box if only he would throw her on the couch and make love to her she thought she better not chance it neither were banking on this going as far as it had
Neither had protection at the time, but she had one more idea. If you enjoyed this podcast, then please write an Apple review saying why you love it. We truly appreciate your support and the wonderful messages we receive from you. See you next time!
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