Their Tale

Speak for me

"Model for me." An involuntary laugh leaves my lips, but when I see the expression on Celeste's face, I compose myself, "You are serious?" Her eye roll is full of sarcasm but still serious as she comes to my side of the table before turning my chair to face her.

"Yes, I am. You don't have a class today, and I want to practice." Subtle seduction has always been her strong suit. Knowing where to touch, how to speak and bring me in. She was a true force and one that made her irresistible. Lowering herself to my lips, light brushes with feather kisses and true contact teasing me, "If I remember clearly, you said I couldn't sit to save your career."

The heavy dose of sarcasm makes her laugh, the smile wide as she throws her head back. How I missed basking in its light. When she looks back at me, a smile pulled at the corners of her lips, she runs her finger along the free strands of my hair, "You should have taken up acting." She jokes before continuing, "I want you to sit for me, to see you all over again."

She didn't need to explain further, mostly because I understood what she meant. There had been a distance both body and mind when it came to us, and so the idea of refusing to mend that sounded Ludacris. Bring her into the space of my knees, I feel her leave a kiss on my forehead, "I would love to sit for you."

Closing the door behind us, I follow Celeste to the main room of the studio, before switching the light on. We stop when we are in the centre of the room, Celeste scrambling around as she sets up her pieces and canvas. Allowing her to find her place, I find myself looking through the Museum of Art.

She had covered the large piece that was meant for the playroom. I wonder if it was to protect it, or if it was just too difficult to view right now. With all that was going on, I understood not wanting to see it. Even wearing some of her jewellery had become a daily task because they were all this memory.

"I'm ready for you." Her voice cleared the cloud of thoughts that were swimming in my head. Turning around, I see a medium-sized canvas on an easel facing her in a knee-length, paint-filled apron, "Where should I be?" My feeling to this more nervous than I thought.

Yes, I have performed for many, wanting to see what I can do and how I move, but here. I am being asked to be still as someone takes in my simple self. Celeste walks to me, with my hand in hers she brings me to the soft grey couch that sits behind the canvas's position. Standing still she stands deep in thought, taking in all she could. It is a small smile before she gives my hand a small hold and lets go.

Signalling for me to stand still where I was, she leaves the room and comes back moments later with a long bunch of silver silk around her shoulders. Back to her place before me, she is shy in her words, "I need you to undress." Her words were followed by her looking down to hide her blush.

Once calm she looks back up, "Okay." My response is small to calm her further. So, she steps back, and with that, I slip my heels off and let my jeans and underwear follow to take them to a table on the side of the couch. I finish by taking off my wool shirt.

When done, I walk back to her, bare as she asked of me. She takes a deep breath and comes forward, as though she was floating to me and pulls the material over her shoulder. letting it flow to the floor.

Slowly the material is run around my shoulders and my breast, "Sit please." Focused and withheld, she speaks. When I do, she lays me down so that my back leans on the side of the couch. Continuing with the material. she steps back when it has been placed around my waist and then lays to trail between my folded legs going on to wrap around one of my legs.

When she walks back to the canvas she is lost. Not in a place to be found but in a place to be cherished and never understood by anyone but her. She started to draw on the canvas, and that's when I realised that I had never seen her paint. Never seen her sculpt. Never seen her brows and lines of focus bridge together in such an expression. Her bottom lip pulls between her teeth as he leans back in analysis, and huffs of air as she uses more of her pencil or removes a previous draft. Each movement is a new angle of magnificence.

Done with the outline, she brings her brushes and paint pallet and begins painting. Men pay hundreds, even thousands to watch a woman remove her clothes and move their bodies to arousal their desires and fantasies, yet as she stands her. Drops of paint, blues, greys and whites stain her porcelain smooth skin, the gentle bit of her brush when she takes a moment to browse and contemplate her next move. I would pay with my last breath to never lose this image.

"Share your thoughts." Her focus leaves the canvas when she asks. Tearing my locked focus off her, I shift slightly, embarrassed that I had been caught so deep in the image of her, "You are beautiful." That's what brings her focus out of her paint-filled thoughts when she looks over the side of the canvas, "I'm just panting." Her eyes lower at her words, but I know she feels more than that, "Watching you paint. I've never seen you so, in control."

She freezes, a few seconds lost in her thoughts and my words, but she is quick to brush them away, going back to the painting, "You done that the other night." Confused by my words she looks at me again, "What do you mean?" Her question was clear that she knew what I was talking about, "Swallow your words, silence your thoughts. Tell me what you are thinking about?"

Shocked by my words. Celeste puts the palate down, brushing her hair behind her ear, "I don't know how." Timid in her words, was in a submissive stance. It was like she was waiting for someone to tell her what to do, what to say, she wanted a dominant.

"What did you want to the night I told you Angel dropped by." I asked, fixing my position so that I was sitting more upright, the material holding its place as well as it could, "Celeste, tell me what you think about it. Please."

With a deep breath in and out she gives me her thoughts and lets me in, "If Mas...Angel is not speaking for me. You are." I am taken away by her confession because it is true. I spoke for her, and when we had found out about the Nader's. I told him to stay away from us. Before that Angel had spoken for her, cared for her and guided her with love and instruction. Although willing, she was always thought of as a submissive, "I don't hate it; it brings me comfort and security. Doesn't mean I don't find myself bound to myself."

I am speechless at her words because I never thought of it like that. Never knew that her place as a submissive would sometimes have her floating into dependency, even if it was willing it was still scary, "The first night Angel had me as a submissive, I knew what I was getting into. I gave him my body, heart, trust and my voice and I don't regret it, I just wonder about it sometimes."