The Artist and His muse; Bedtime

Paul Sieffert

Reclining Nude – Paul Sieffert

The Artist and His Muse continued from Bathed

I luxuriate in the pose, allowing myself to get wetter and wetter. I hear his pencil on the paper and know it is my form he draws. I sigh and settle only able to see the tiniest part of him. For some time I wait content. Then frustration enters me. My aching becomes an itch I must scratch. The pencil is scratching on the paper when I want friction on my clit or against my body. I calm and remind myself of our agreement… but I want that cock I have tasted to penetrate me, to slide in where his fingers have paved the way. I desire, my desire becomes stretching to elongate my form. I am posed poised for penetration yet I cannot bear the wait.

Irritable now I wait, knowing his are eyes upon me, drinking me in. His fingers and hands are sketching me; he is absorbed in me, yet I am irritable. The sexual tension honed and tempered between touch of gaze and physical touch has left me peaking. Remembered orgasm, his and mine, excites my appetite and I hunger for more yet this is unfamiliar territory. I am placed in a highly sexual pose, aching, wanting yet he seems intensely patient. I knew there would be learning in this arrangement but I begin to feel absurd. My lip pouts unintentionally. I return to my breath, my serenity, deeper I settle deeper into the pose. Moments later I stir. I venture a conversation:

“Sir?”

“Yes.”

“How does the sketching go?”

“I am sketching.” And I am posing. There are conversations to be had but not now. I know we will talk. I am being petulant. I cannot ignore my open labia, my swollen clit, my juices flowing for him. Perhaps it is saturation. It is the first day.

“You will not be still!” He does not make his voice louder just stronger, dominating. I cringe. His footsteps approach his hands on my rear, circular rubbing then a sharp crack. I am stunned by the sensation. Again his hand connects with my rear. I suck my breath in audibly. More strokes harder yet measured, then his contained hardness pressing against my aching cunt.

“You must learn to be still for me, we will talk when I desire it otherwise it is distraction nothing less. You are a spoilt child I should not have gifted you an orgasm so soon.” I whimper in embarrassment.

His hand strikes my other cheek again, and again and again. I am crying out loud.

“Please Sir, I understand I must be still and listen to you. We will talk when the mood takes you not when I am impatient.” My ass stings with the mark of his hand.

“Better.” He says. “But you have broken my concentration.” He pushes me flat and brings something from below the bed these are leather cuffs he places one on each of my wrists and my ankles. He moves me stretching my legs out and raises my arms above me. He secures my wrists close together to metal rings on the bed head and my ankles to the foot of the bed. I hear the resolute sounds of locks clicking and see the key he secrets into his jeans pocket, beyond my reach.

“You, my divine muse, need to sleep.” He kisses me deeply. He slides a finger into my naked depths and groans at the wetness he finds. His hands roll me over and deft fingers trail over my hot red buttocks, his mouth leaves a trail of heated kisses across my seared flesh. 

“You my sweet muse need to cum again. But you must wait as I do for the creative spirit to enter me, you must wait for me to enter you.” He teases my nipples, with fingers with his hot mouth until I am nearly in tears with want then he is pressing his hardness within his jeans against my lips, my mouth. I open my mouth and attempt to taste him through his jeans then he releases himself and my wanton whore mouth is open wet and willing to service him. The heat, the passion and scent of sex in my mouth are intense. He cums deep in my mouth and I swallow finding myself wholeheartedly thanking him. He kisses my eyes.

“Good girl, sleep. I will be back.” He zips himself up covers me with the blankets and walks out the door locking it behind him. Leaving me bound, panting and wet with want.

Words by Errant Satiety Image Paul Sieffert ‘Reclining Nude’

Continued with Evening Meal

14 comments on “The Artist and His muse; Bedtime

  1. mel says:

    Reblogged this on Pushing our limits and commented:
    oh that torturing man…. still loving this series, Errant. Awesome!

  2. lexborgia says:

    ‘…my wanton whore mouth.’ What a rush.

  3. Desiree G says:

    🙂

  4. l1brarygrl says:

    Glad I checked your blog, Mel. A fellow blogger got me thinking about writing an erotic scene burning in my brain. Not an easy task, especially for someone like me who writes creative NF. I ordered a used copy of Full Frontal Fiction from Nerve.com’s archives (I guess), hoping reading it would help my first attempt at erotic fiction…and that it’s fun to read, obviously, being a newish single 44 with a raging libido and no one to let it loose on 😉 I’m gonna follow.

    • Hi l1brarygrl thanks for stopping by! I write all kinds including NF (although not so much on this blog). I think a raging libido informs erotica well! Best of luck and have fun with that scene 😉

  5. mrmodigliani says:

    It is hard for me to formulate an appropriate comment on this. The post just causes me to shake. Connecting to the rings is important for a man should be able to flip his muse over and take and use whatever he wishes for his own pleasure. I always love your selection of artwork as it is extremely well considered.

  6. Dear E.S.,
    I was directed to your site by Mel of Pushing Our Limits. Your eloquent writing of this Erotic, Sensual, and Very Arousing scene Captivated Me. I’m eager to read more of your adventures.
    Your New Friend, and Follower,
    Anastasia

  7. […] The Artist and his Muse continued from Bedtime […]

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