There was something about the girl. He knew it, felt it, as soon as he saw her in the art gallery.
There was a stillness, peace and containment about her. And yet, he was sure, a restlessness and wildness too.
He could feel that she had so much to release, so much to give. Such restless passion and yearning; it was palpable.
As she walked slowly, quietly, around the wooden-floored gallery, her movement captivated and stirred him.
The afternoon sun flooded through the many large, high windows. She was wearing a crisp, light blue and white striped cotton dress. It was mid calf length, buttoned up the front. Her white, canvas shoes hardly made a sound. She had clear, smooth, olive skin. Late 20s he thought. Her dark, almost jet-black hair was neatly plaited in two pony tails, which rested on her shoulders, around which was draped a very pale pink cardigan.
He knew that she was aware he was watching her as she moved around the gallery, pausing to look at many of the paintings. The brighter, more modern ones drew her attention most.
He was encouraged to see her smile briefly at him on two occasions when their eyes briefly met as they walked separately, in opposite directions, around the large room. The gallery was occupied by only two other visitors and a guide, come security officer, sat on a chair by the door and obviously struggling to keep awake.
After several minutes of glances at each other as they surveyed the gallery, the girl and man found themselves stood together in front of a large painting in bright acrylics. The painting was very loose and rather abstract, but still it was clearly of a nude female.
She was against a wall, with her arms above her head, her wrists together, perhaps tied there. Her head was to one side, tilted backwards; her eyes closed, her mouth slightly open.
“What do you think?” asked the man.
“Intense. And fascinating. I wonder what the story is. I wonder what’s happening to her; why her arms are like that.”
The girl answered very readily, as though she had been expecting the man to ask her opinion of the painting.
The girl knew the sort of thing she hoped was happening to the woman in the painting. The girl was putting herself right there, her own naked back against the cold wall, her wrists firmly bound and fastened to a rope tethered to the ceiling. Her breasts naturally pulled upwards, standing proud, expectant, her whole being yearning for her Dominant to feast on her tits, to use her body and satisfy his lust and hers.
The girl could feel her nipples harden, pressing against the fabric of her bra. As she imagined her Dominant sucking and biting her nipples, before attaching clover clamps to them, she felt her clit tingle and wetness start to slowly run into her panties.
It was all she could do not to yank her dress up and finger fuck herself furiously to orgasm. She knew she’d cum in a minute if she could only touch herself….
The man had moved closer.
“Coffee?”
“What? Sorry? Oh excuse me, what did you say?”
The man’s voice had shaken the girl out of her deepening erotic daydream. The increased closeness of the man had added to the girl’s sense of shock.
“I was wondering if you’d like a coffee in the café here. They sell great cakes too!” the man smiled.
“Oh, umm, I’m not sure…..”
The girl’s previously calm, almost serene, presence had left her. In a big way.
She felt embarrassed and very caught off guard. She had been completely lost in her own world staring at the painting, inhabiting it, being that woman, craving every sensation she saw that woman savouring.
Her arousal at looking at the painting and all the thoughts it stirred had completely taken her out of the gallery. She was with her Dom, being used, abandoning herself to him. It was just her and Him. When the man’s voice jolted her back to reality, it was almost as if he’d walked in on them, with her naked, open and dripping.
She felt instantly and deeply awkward, her face flushing with embarrassment.
The man’s pale blue eyes had a way of looking at her, very knowingly. It felt as if he knew exactly what she’d just been thinking and why her panties were now soaked.
“My treat?” continued the man. “And I’d love to hear more of your thoughts about this painting”.
The girl’s clit twitched involuntarily at that.
The man had a closely cut beard and was taller and older than her. He was casually but smartly dressed. He smelled good. Boss after shave the girl thought she recognised.
The girl felt instant attraction to the man. Now that she had stopped feeling flustered and had grounded herself back in the gallery, she felt calmed and comfortably contained by the man’s positive and powerful presence.
Her physical attraction to the man meant she wanted to spend more time with him. But, in any case, she somehow felt that she wouldn’t want to say no to the man anyway.
To be continued…..
