His Naked Muse 5

Mei rose quietly when I called her name.

She was the smallest of them all. Petite. Asian. Delicate features that seemed carved from porcelain. Her black hair fell straight and glossy to the middle of her back. Her body was tiny but perfectly proportioned: small, high breasts with dark nipples already peaked from watching the others, narrow waist, gentle flare of hips, smooth legs that ended in small feet. Her pussy was bare except for a thin strip of dark hair above the slit. She walked toward me with soft, measured steps, eyes downcast at first, then lifting to meet mine. There was no fear in her gaze. Only curiosity. And a quiet, patient hunger.

I pointed to the tall canvas that stood alone in the centre of the room. The one I had not touched in months. It was still white. Still empty.

“Stand behind it,” I said. “Be my model. Seduce me through the canvas. Touch yourself. Move for me. Let me see if I can paint you.”

She nodded once. Slipped behind the canvas. I could see only her silhouette through the thin fabric at first. Then she stepped forward slightly. The light caught her. She was visible now. A living shadow against the white.

I sat on the stool in front of the easel. Picked up a charcoal stick. Held it above the paper clipped to the side board. Waited.

Mei began.

She raised her arms above her head. Arched her back. Her small breasts lifted. Her nipples pointed toward the ceiling. She turned slowly. Let her hair swing across her shoulders. Her hands slid down her sides. Over her waist. Across her hips. She cupped her own breasts. Pinched her nipples between thumb and forefinger. Rolled them slowly. Her head fell back. A soft moan escaped her lips.

I tried to draw the line of her spine. The curve of her breast. The shadow under her arm. The charcoal trembled. The line came out crooked. Weak. Nothing like the sharp, confident strokes I used to make.

I closed my eyes.

I tried to see Elena.

I tried to remember what she did right.

The way she would stand naked in the morning light. The way she would laugh and spin for me. The way she would drop to her knees without being asked. The way she would ride me reverse while I painted her back. The way she would whisper filthy things in my ear while I worked.

These women were doing all of it. Touching themselves. Moaning. Offering their bodies.

But something was still wrong.

I opened my eyes.

Mei had one hand between her legs now. Two fingers sliding in and out of her pussy. Her other hand pinched her nipple. Her hips rolled in slow circles. Her moans were soft. Musical. Perfect.

I tried again. Charcoal to paper. A curve here. A shadow there. The lines were lifeless. Flat. The canvas stared back at me. Blank. Accusing.

I dropped the charcoal. It clattered across the floor.

Mei paused. Her fingers still buried inside herself. Her eyes met mine through the gap beside the canvas.

“Leo?” Her voice was quiet. Careful. “What do you need?”

I stood.

“Come here,” I said.

She stepped out from behind the canvas. Walked to me. Naked. Glistening. Her fingers still wet from her own pussy.

I took her hand. Brought her fingers to my mouth. Sucked them clean. Tasted her. Sweet. Salty. Alive.

I picked her up. She was so light. So small. I carried her to the daybed. Laid her on her back.

“Fuck yourself on my cock,” I said. “Pretend you are her. Pretend you are my muse. Pretend you can bring it back.”

She climbed on top of me. Straddled my hips. Guided my cock to her entrance. Sank down slowly.

The head pushed inside her. She was tight. Hot. Wet. She took me inch by inch until her ass rested on my thighs.

She began to ride me.

Slow at first. Rolling her hips. Grinding her clit against my pubic bone. Her small breasts bounced gently. Her head fell back. Her hair spilled across her shoulders.

I tried to see Elena.

I tried to feel the spark.

I reached for the sketchpad beside the bed. Held it in one hand. Charcoal in the other. I tried to draw her while she fucked me.

The lines were still wrong. Still dead.

I dropped the pad.

Frustration rose in my throat like bile.

I sat up. Wrapped my arms around her waist. Flipped her onto all fours.

“On your hands and knees,” I said. “Crawl.”

She obeyed. Crawled across the daybed. Her ass swayed. Her pussy glistened. I remembered Elena doing this once. Crawling naked across the studio floor while I painted her from behind. That day I had produced three masterpieces in a single afternoon.

I crawled after her. Followed her across the bed. Across the floor. My cock brushed her ass. Her thighs. Her calves.

I tried to paint in my mind.

Still nothing.

The frustration became rage.

I grabbed her hips. Pulled her back against me.

I lined up with her ass. Not her pussy.

I pushed in.

She gasped. Her body tensed.

“Relax,” I said. Strict. Sweet. “Breathe for me.”

She did. Exhaled. Her ass opened for me. I sank inside her slowly. Inch by inch. The tightness was exquisite. Almost painful. She whimpered. Her fingers clawed the floor.

I bottomed out. Groaned.

I fucked her ass hard.

Every thrust was punishing. Deep. Brutal. I poured every ounce of my grief into her body. Every blank canvas. Every sleepless night. Every failed stroke. Every memory of Elena that would not return.

She screamed. Her body shook. Her ass clenched around me. I fucked her faster. Harder. The sound of my hips slapping her ass filled the studio. Her small body jolted with every impact. Her tits swung beneath her. Her hair stuck to her sweat-slick back.

I reached around. Found her clit. Rubbed it hard. Fast.

“Come for me,” I growled. “Come while I fuck your ass. Come while I use you to try to remember how to feel.”

She shattered.

Her orgasm was violent. Her ass clamped down around me. Her body convulsed. She screamed my name. Her pussy squirted onto the floor. Her whole body shook like she was breaking apart.

I fucked her through it. Harder. Deeper. Chasing my own release.

I came inside her ass. Flooding her. Filling her. Making her pay for every empty day. Every lost masterpiece. Every moment I could not create.

When the last pulse left me, I pulled out slowly.

Cum leaked from her ass. Dripped down her thighs. Mixed with her own wetness on the floor.

I caught her as she collapsed. Held her close. Kissed her temple. Her cheek. Her lips.

“You were perfect,” I whispered. “You took everything I had to give. Thank you.”

She smiled weakly. Exhausted. Satisfied. “Did it work?”

I looked at the blank canvas across the room.

Still white.

Still empty.

I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

I helped her to the couch. Wrapped her in a robe. Gave her water.

I looked at the last woman.

Elena waited. Her green eyes locked on me. Unreadable.

“Elena,” I said. “It's finally your turn.”

And I fucking hope you'll ignite every dead things within me.