Camilla Ch. 030

The next morning, Camilla's mother, Collette, called her on her cell-phone, telling her to go to Collette's home to meet with her and her fiance, Troy, for lunch; Camilla was more than willing to do this, since she hoped she and sexy Troy would arrive before her mom so the 18-year-old girl could continue her slow seduction of him. As soon as she ended the phone call with her mom, Camilla took her bra and panties out of her purse (where she'd put them the night before in Luvlee's), put them on, along with her dress and high heels, and got in Mr. Baker's car. He drove her to her mother's home, arriving at about 11:30. Her 43-year-old former kindergarten teacher thanked her for ridding him of that loathsome label, 'virgin', exchanged good-byes with her, and drove away.

She went into the house. No one was there, so she sat on a chair in the living room, looking out the window and waiting for them. Soon, just as she'd hoped, Troy arrived first, without her mom. As he got out of his car and walked up to the front door, she quickly took off her dress and shoes. He rang the doorbell, and she ran up and opened the door. He looked at her in her pink skin, the breasts and buttocks of which were being caressed by her delectable white lace bra and panties. Doing his best to conceal his lust, he correctly assumed, based on this and their first meeting, that her being in various states of undress was a habit, regardless of who was with her.

"Hi Daddy," she said insouciantly, as if she were fully dressed. "Come in."

"Why are you always in your underwear?" he asked as he walked in.

"I'm hot," she said: the truth, to know her real meaning.

He closed and locked the door, in anticipation of his fiancee's imminent arrival; then he walked up to her. She threw her arms around his waist.

"It's so good to see you again, Daddy," she said. She could feel his erection pushing against her belly.

"It's good to see you, too," he sighed, squeezing her soft, round buttocks, pulling on the elastic of her panties, and snapping it against her waist. She looked up at him with completely permissive eyes, as if he were merely shaking her hand.

"Let's go sit down," she said. As they went to the living room sofa and chair, he, behind her, pulled on her bra strap and let it go. She grunted when it snapped on her back. She sat on the sofa with her legs spread wide open, and he sat on the chair, which faced her. "How's life?" she asked him with an 'innocent' face.

"Oh,...just real good," he panted, unable to take his eyes away from where her panties veiled her pussy.

Just then, they heard a key go in the lock of the door. "Quick, put your clothes on," he whispered. They got up, and he lightly spanked her behind as she went to get her dress. They heard the key turn in the lock. He stood by the door to stall Collette, and nervously looked back at Camilla. Still in her underwear, she, picking up her dress, was bent over with the ass of her panties pointing at him. She looked back at him with wide-open eyes and pursed lips, her face asking him if he liked what he saw. He, of course, did and didn't. "Hurry," he whispered urgently.

The door slowly opened. Camilla ran into the nearby washroom with her dress still in her hands. Her mom saw a bare leg before the bathroom door closed.

"Collette," he said with an obviously phony smile. "Camilla's using the bathroom: she should be out any second."

"Actually, Troy, she just went in," Collette said with slight suspicion.

"Oh, yeah," he said nervously. Camilla then came out in her dress.

"That was a quick pee, or whatever it was," Collette said. Then shaking her head, she said, "Never mind; let's go eat."

The three of them went out to a restaurant downtown. At one point during their lunch, Troy accidentally dropped his soup spoon and bent over to pick it up; while his head was under the table he noticed Camilla had lifted up her dress, exposing her panties. They were folded in slightly at the sides to display a few millimetres of the edges of her genitalia. She had her hand inside her panties, and she was tickling her clitoris. He would sporadically drop his silverware for the remainder of their lunch. Collette looked askance at him after he did it the fifth time, though she said nothing.

********************

After her lunch with her mom and stepfather-to-be, Camilla went back to Carl's Erotic Art.

When she walked in the shop, she saw Carl at the counter. He looked annoyed. "What's wrong, sir?" she asked.

"Stop calling me 'sir', Camilla," he snapped.

"Sorry, Carl. What's wrong?"

"My sister, Belle, is sick with the flu. She can't pose today, and I planned to do a lot of painting this afternoon. Fuck!"

"Is there nobody else who can pose?" she asked.

"Nobody," he said while angrily throwing a pen across the room. The tall, handsome artist's anger both scared and excited Camilla.

"How about me?" she offered, her whole body shaking at the prospect of being nude for him.

"You?" His eyes widened.

"Yeah. Why not?" She now twitched with fear of being rejected.

"You're willing to pose nude for me?" Her boldness surprised him, and her shapely body intrigued him, though he didn't want his lustful feelings to interfere with the completion of the paintings he wanted to do.

"Sure. What's wrong? Is my body not good-looking enough?"

"Oh, no problem there at all. The question is, are you too young?"

"I'm eighteen. Here, look." She showed him her birth certificate. He smiled slightly when seeing the proof.

"Okay. Are you willing to show...are you willing to, uh, pose in intimate ways?" He tried hard to hide his panting, and hoped his pants were hiding his hardness.

"Yes," she sighed with breathy enthusiasm. Her vulva was moistening with anticipation.

"To get Belle in the poses I want, she lets me touch her, to move her into the right positions. That's how I work; and because she's my sister, she trusts me, since she's the only girl whose nudity won't get me excited. I'll be professional the whole time, I promise. Are you willing to let me touch you?"

"Oh, yeah," she moaned, eagerly craving his unprofessionalism.

"I'm a little forceful."

"That's okay. You can do whatever you want with me."

They went into his studio in back of the store. "What if a customer comes in while you're painting?" she asked. "How'll you know if they're here? What if they steal one of your pictures and you don't know 'til it's too late?"

"There's a bright red light here by my easel: it tells me if a customer comes in; then I'll immediately go out and deal with them. You, however, must stay in the pose I've put you in--don't budge an inch." He sat on the chair by his easel, got his palette, and started mixing pigments. "I give Belle $50 an hour. I pay more than most people pay nude models because I paint her private areas, I touch her, moving her into position, and she has to pose for a long time without rests or moving at all. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Sure," she said while taking off her dress two feet in front of him.

"You can disrobe in the other room, if you like."

"That's okay; if you're gonna see my pussy, seeing me in my underwear's no big deal." After dropping her dress on the floor, she kicked off her high heels and removed her bra, deliberately shaking her large breasts as soon as they were revealed to Carl. He successfully retained a professional attitude as her delicious body was being bared before him, though it was getting increasingly difficult. Her heart was pounding quicker and quicker, as was his. She pulled down her panties, and as she lifted each foot out of the leg holes of the underwear, she nervously looked for approval in his eyes, which looked up and down her nude body, studying her milky skin, breasts, and pubic hair. Though he was very sexually excited, his face didn't betray his lust.

"Does my body look okay?" she asked while turning around so he could see her buttocks. She then spread her legs and bent over. "Do my pussy and asshole look okay?"

"Perfect," he said. Then suddenly he grabbed her and made her lie on a sturdy table, on her back. Camilla yelped with excitement and fear to be handled so roughly. He pulled her legs up, spread them wide open, and pushed them over her head so her vulva and anus were exposed. Will he paint me, or rape me? she wondered, preferring the latter. He stepped back and looked at her, moving her slightly so her vagina and anus were pointing in the direction he'd be looking in as he painted her. "Perfect," he said. "Don't move a millimetre." He then went over to his easel and started doing a preparatory sketch to get her proportions right. After that, he resumed mixing pigments on his palette and started painting.

The table she was on was level with his painting hand, about two and a half feet off the floor. She was only about four feet away from him, so he could see plenty of detail. After painting for half an hour, she saw him look down, focusing on painting her vulva, scrupulously noting every detail. What exactly is he painting right now? she wondered. My labia? My clitoris? My vagina? My anus? It thrilled her to know he was learning every fold, every wrinkle, every tint and shade of her secret places, now no longer secret to him. The look of concentration in the eyes of this--as she saw him--genius artist made her get more and more excited with every passing second. Though he was trying his best not to show any sexual feelings on his face, she, with her exceptional ability to read faces and correctly interpret what they were feeling and fantasizing about, could see desire in his eyes. This caused her vagina to get visibly wet. Now he was both aroused and annoyed, for the new temptation of her wet pussy was distracting him from his work.

"You're getting wet, my dear," he said. "The moisture is changing the colour tones I'm trying to paint. Wiping your vulva dry with a cloth will be easier than changing the tints and shades on the canvas." Even if not, wiping her dry will certainly be more gratifying, he thought, and I don't think she'll mind. "Is it okay if I wipe you dry?"

"Yes," she sighed. Watching him pick up a cloth and approach her to touch her cunt, however, only made her wetter. She was approaching orgasm as he, now standing in front of her, brought his hand down between her legs.

"Don't move a millimetre," he said. "Please trust me." When the cloth was millimetres away from her vagina, she gushed her orgasm all over the cloth and his hand (she'd always wondered if she could come without ever being touched). "What the fuck?!" he shouted.

"Sorry, sir--I mean, Carl," she said fearfully. "I came."

"That's obvious, sweetie. Oh, Jesus!" He said with a mixture of frustration and pleasure. He took the cloth back to the sink where he'd got it, and picked up another one. He came back and noticed a puddle of come all over the table after she'd spewed a few more times. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" He grabbed a roll of paper towels and cleaned up the come on the table; then he carefully and gently wiped off the come from her vulva. Aroused by his touch, though, she spouted a few more times as he did this, and, still cursing, he found he had to wipe particularly gently to keep her from getting more excited. His erection was now pointing out of his pants, and he tried desperately to control himself, since he really wanted simply to finish the painting, as well as several other pictures that afternoon. Finally, she was sufficiently dry, and he went back to his easel.

Just as he picked up his palette and brush, she said, "Sorry: I need to pee."

"FUCK!" he shouted as he got up to find a tin bowl by the sink. Though his anger frightened her, making her heart jump out of her chest, she thought he was terribly sexy when he lost his temper. Still, she tried not to get excited again for the sake of letting him finish the picture. He put the bowl between her legs, and her urine poured out in an arc, like the golden water of a fountain King Midas might have touched, from her urethra into the bowl, though the first of her pee had splashed on his hand as he tried to aim the bowl correctly. The tinkling of the piss hitting the tin had a sizzling sound that made a perfect soundtrack for the hot lust he--having a taste for urolagnia--was feeling as he watched the yellow fly out of her cunt. After the last few drops came out, he gently wiped her dry, and brought the bowl back to the sink to empty and wash clean. She was pleased to see his most visible, and obviously large, erection. The pleasure of posing nude now made her want to do internet porn all the more. She would have to find a photographer, and soon.

As he washed the bowl, he wondered, How I'm going to get through this day without ravishing that girl is a total mystery to me.