The Artist and the Muse

Mary lowered her head towards Jane and kissed her, and then lowered herself on to Jane's body. Mary's breasts were on Jane's breasts, flattening them, and Mary's knees were between Jane's knees, forcing them apart. Then Jane felt something firm between her own belly and Mary's. It was there, laying with something pressing on her pussy, as Mary liked to call it. Then the firm object was moved around until it was rubbing up and down her pussy lips.

Jane had a subscription to Cosmopolitan, and had seen pictures of a strap-on, and now knew that was what Mary was wearing. Her pussy was getting wetter with expectation. She bent her knees up either side of Mary's hips. Opening her thighs as far as she could, she awaited with bated breath the penetration of her body.

Finally, thankfully, Mary penetrated Jane with the latex penis. Jane clung on to Mary with both arms, and their bodies began to move in a complementary rhythm, slowly at first, and then picking up. Even Jane's legs were now wrapped around Mary, their pubic bones touching, pressing on each other. Jane got wetter and wetter, her pulse was racing, and her climax, when it came, washed over her like a tsunami.

Both of them let out deep groans, long groans, of satisfaction. They both came, almost together, but definitely overlapped. After a few minutes, both had resumed normal breathing, but neither spoke. The only sound was the ticking of the alarm clock on the night table. They were still clinging on to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.

After a pause, Jane giggled.

"What's funny?" asked Mary.

"I was going to say 'Oh My God' but realized in time, you want me to say 'Oh My Lover'."

"Whatever you want to say, I second that emotion."

So after they separated, Jane inspected the strap-on. "Where did you get this thing?" she asked.

"I told you about my short fling with the girl from the New York dealer. It was hers, and she forgot it when she left. At the time, I figured she'd be coming back soon enough, so I hung on to it. But she never came back, and I forgot all about it until I was painting you today, begging your lover to come and possess you."

Jane smiled. "I have often wondered what it feels to have a man enter your body. Now I have some idea, but it can't possibly feel as good as when the woman you love enters you....."

They kissed. They showered in Mary's shower, and naked wandered downstairs. "No wine tonight," said Mary.

"Why not?"

"Because, we'll celebrate with this. The painting and your degree."

From the back of the sideboard cupboard, Mary produced an almost full bottle of single malt scotch, poured two sizeable slugs, and they took them outside. Out in the sunlight part of the garden was a garden swing built for two, and they went and sat on that and soaked in the sun and the scotch.

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

By the end of the week, the painting was finished. It was amazing how Mary had handled the lingerie. She had painted Jane as if she was naked, even though she was wearing the lingerie throughout.

Using a fine brush and some slightly greyed white paint she painted in the seams and edge-stitching of the bra and panties, replicating the outline exactly.

Then, with a small brush with stiff bristles, and using some almost dried grey-white from the edge of the palette, she had gently dabbed the bristles into the paint and then, with barely any paint on the end of the bristles, dabbed the brush on to the canvas, and filled in the fabric of the lingerie with what looked at a close-up like a mist, but which echoed the transparency of the fabric perfectly. Everything covered by the lingerie was still visible, just as in the reality.

It had required great patience. Even though the area was not large, it could not be rushed, it had to be built up slowly so as not to be overdone. After the first day in the bedroom, the work had been transferred back to the studio, so there were no instant follow-up sex sessions.

Tuesday through Thursday had been normal wine sessions after work, but for Friday, to signify completion, Mary brought out the Scotch again. She also phoned Sister Helen and told her to "get you and your bad habit up here", which apparently always drew a chuckle from Sister Helen, whenever Mary used the phrase to invite her up.

When Sister Helen arrived, Mary took her into the studio. She immediately spotted the scotch on the table. "Oh my," said Helen, "you have something special to show me, don't you."

"Only my best nude painting ever, except it's not truly a nude."

Sister Helen stood in front of the painting and stared at it. She moved a little to one side, then back to the other. She looked at it closely, she stepped back several paces and looked at it again.

"Yes, your best ever," she said. "How that painting will be viewed will vary by the gender of the viewer. A man will wish that girl was sitting on his bed waiting for him. A woman will know that girl is waiting for her lover, the painter of the picture. Everyone will know the girl on the bed is in love."

Jane blushed. Sister Helen had seen her posing naked, had seen her earlier nude paintings by Mary, had even seen her and Mary sitting naked in the garden, drinking. But with that comment, Sister Helen was seeing deep inside of Jane and commenting on the feelings in her heart.

"So, Mary, are you really prepared to sell this?" asked Sister Helen.

"I honestly don't know. I don't think I could ever replicate that feel to the painting ever again."

Sister Helen turned to Jane. "And did the sex after live up to the expectation in that girl's face?" she asked. Helen knew that Jane could not look like that without Mary making love to her immediately after painting stopped.

"Even more so......" Jane was still blushing, especially being asked about her sexual satisfaction by a nun!

"Well, you two have a problem. If that painting goes into auction, it will fetch more money than any of Mary's pieces have ever fetched. And if it doesn't go into auction you are walking away from a fortune. And if it is sold, the whole world will know you two are lovers."

Mary poured three scotches, and Sister Helen's was not her usual half-measure one. "That's a problem for another day," said Mary, "let's solve the problem of a dry mouth for now."

They took their glasses around the cottage to the patio.

Sister Helen stayed for supper, and after she left, Jane asked Mary to show her how to wear the strap-on.

"You mean Percy?" asked Mary.

"It has a name?" asked Jane, giggling.

"There was a film in the early 70s starring a Welsh actor called Hywel Bennett. The movie was called Percy. It is all about a man who has a nasty accident at work, and as a result has a penis transplant he called Percy. He spends the whole movie trying to find out who owned Percy before him, so I called the strap-on Percy."

Mary showed Jane how to wear it, including helping fit the piece that went inside Jane, and together they lay on the bed and cuddled. Jane started to caress Mary's pussy, and wriggle her fingers in between Mary's lips, getting her moister and moister. Suddenly, Mary rolled Jane on to her back and straddled Jane's hips. She held Percy upright, and lowered herself down on to the fake penis and started to ride it up and down. Jane felt the piece insider her straining to move as Mary moved, and before longing they were both climbing towards a climax. When it came, Mary collapsed down on Jane and laughed.

"I had forgotten how much fun and pleasure sex is," she said.

"Yes, but I think it must be at its best when its with someone you really love.'

"Agreed," said Mary, as she unbuckled Percy and they cuddled up to sleep.

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

"You know," said Mary when they awoke on Saturday morning, in Mary's bed, as was now usual. "You know, we have never once said, out loud, 'I love you' to the other. We've said it with our bodies, our attitude, our glances, our dancing, but not the words. So, Jane, I Love You."

"I Love You." replied Jane. "I think it is interesting that we knew it, and didn't need to say it, but it is still nice to say it and hear it."

"I don't think, at my age, that it is necessary to get married, even though we can, legally. But I do think it would be nice to have a token of our love that we wear. So this weekend. we'll go to Porthmadog, and stay the night. I have something I want to do."

So they drove north to Porthmadog, overlooked as it is by the mountains of Snowdonia. Mary drove around town until she found what she was looking for - a jeweler's store with it's own gold smith. She left Jane in the car, and went inside. About half an hour later she came out, but carrying nothing.

"What was all that about?" asked Jane.

"You'll know tomorrow," replied Mary.

Mary had been lucky to get them a village room at the Portmeirion Village Hotel. and they had a wonderful afternoon exploring the town and the harbor, followed by an excellent meal in the hotel. The hotel was clearly catering to couples' romantic getaways, and did it very successfully.

When they first got into bed, Mary had laid on her back and watched Jane undress. For her part, Jane got into bed with her feet on the pillow and her head by Mary's legs. Then she rolled on top of Mary and straddled Mary's head with her legs, lifted her body upwards with her arms and lowered her pussy on to Mary's mouth. Mary got the hint immediately, and Jane lowered her face to Mary's pussy, and they feasted on each other. "What the French call soixante-neuf." said Jane.

Mary laughed. "Hard to speak French when your mouth is full of your lover's pussy!"

They had a wonderful night making love in every way they could think of, and lost count of the number of times they brought each other to a climax. Percy seemed to enjoy it too.

After breakfast in their room, wrapped in wonderful soft, thick robes provided by the hotel, they dressed and went back into town, to the jeweler's. This time, Mary took Jane in with her, and the jeweler smiled as they came in. He reached under the counter and came up with a small burgundy-colored velvet cushion. On it were two gold chains, each with a half-heart, engraved. The two halves obviously fitted together. On one was engraved the word "Artist" and on the other "Muse".

Mary picked up the "Muse". "Turn around," she said to Jane, and placed the chain around Jane's neck and fastened it.

In return, Jane fastened "Artist" around Mary's neck. "Thank you, Mary, my love," she said as she closed the clasp.

The jeweler was clearly a romantic, and on seeing them smile at each other, said "I don't mind if you kiss."

So they did, and the jeweler beamed again and said, "I hereby declare you an official couple by the powers granted me as a wedding jeweler," and all three laughed.

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

The summer reached September. Mary's output had been prolific, and ever since the 'painting on the bed' as it became known, her love for Jane was obvious in every painting. So was the clear sexuality and sensuality of Jane in every picture. By the end of August, Mary had 40 completed paintings, and they spent a day photographing each one and emailing the pictures to the dealers. Mary even included 'bed' in the pictures, "just to see what happens."

What happened was that three days later, as they were in the studio working on a painting of Jane brushing her now shoulder-length hair, a car pulled up outside on the gravel. Jane reached for her robe, and Mary turned to face the door, and in walked an older, well-dressed man with a wonderful old-fashioned silver-tipped cane.

"Ah, Monsieur Chirac," said Mary, "Quelle surprise! How nice to see you."

They kissed cheeks and Monsieur Chirac looked at Jane. "This is your lover, your Muse, I presume?" in absolutely perfect English.

"Yes," said Mary. "Jane, this is Henri Chirac, my agent in Paris."

"I can see why you fell for her, and in the way you painted her I can see why she fell for you. And that is from a photograph. Where is the original?"

"At the moment, hanging in our living room," said Mary. "We had to hang it somewhere to cure and dry, and that seemed the best place."

"Show me."

So they all marched into the living room. "Mon Dieu" was Chirac's immediate reaction. After a few minutes appraising the painting, he walked out to his car and came back with a small picnic cooler bag. He opened it and took out a bottle of chilled Pouilly-Fuissé. "You have an opener." It was a statement, not a question, knowing Mary as he did.

The bottle opened, and three glasses poured, he smiled at Mary. "I have a young, very rich client who likes to buy from new living artists, so that he will have assets when the artist is famous and dead, and the price goes up. He has several of yours already, Mary. He also saw this painting - or should I say, your photograph of it - and has authorized me to offer you fifty thousand pounds for the original."

At this, Mary sank on to one of the dining chairs. "Fifty thousand pounds? Really?"

Chirac laughed. "And a case of Pouilly-Fuissé. My client owns a vineyard!"

Chirac stayed for supper, and kept staring at the painting. In the end, Mary said "Please let us think about it. That painting is very special to us. We need time to think about it."

"Of course, ma cherie, I can totally understand. That painting is from when you both admitted you loved each other, from the moment of complete surrender. I understand. Oh yes, as a Frenchman, Je comprend."

So Chirac left late in the evening, and said he could allow them a week to think about it, but that he did insist on first refusal on the painting.

Two days later, Jake died in his sleep. It was peaceful; there was no illness, no pain that Mary and Jane could see. His heart, big as it was, just gave out.

They decided to bury Jake in the corner of the farm, in the shade of a tree, and after a morning's hard digging had a grave to place him in. Mary found an old wooden chest in the studio, and on his favorite blanket, Jake was placed in the chest. Sister Helen even came up and said a prayer, and Jake was laid to rest.

They sat in the living room, and looked at the painting as they drank a toast to 'absent friends' and then Sister Helen asked about the painting.

"We've been offered fifty thousand pounds for it," said Mary. "But if we sold it, what would we hang there?"

Sister Helen asked quietly "You really don't know?"

Jane and Mary both looked at her, confused.

"There is only one painting that belongs there. One painting that will free you two up to travel, to love, to live. Sell 'the bed' and hang Jake's painting."

Mary and Jane stared at each other. It was so obvious. They didn't need to look at the painting to know they were in love. The painting of Jake was also an ode of love, to a character they had both loved.

They smiled and said, "Of course!"

"So," said Sister Helen, "who's up for skinny dipping?"

Laughing, they all ran down to the beach and pulled off their clothes and ran into the water. They splashed around, swam, splashed each other, and even hugged each other. Sister Helen, naked, was a tiny lady, very slim, and with barely a wrinkle. She saw Mary studying her.

"I'm flattered, but there's no way you are painting me naked. When you come back, you can paint me in my robes."

"Come back? Come back from where?"

"Paris. You should offer to deliver the painting to Monsieur Chirac in Paris, and take some of the money to have a romantic honeymoon. It is the city of lovers, after all.

So after a few days preparing the paperwork to transfer the painting, they set off in Jane's car to go to Paris, via the train through the Chunnel. Mary had found a boutique hotel near the Arc de Triomphe. In fact, they could see the Arc from their Juliet balcony. Down the Avenue Carnot to their left was a true Parisian neighborhood with restaurants and patisseries, which they explored each morning for breakfast and coffee.

The next day they delivered the painting to Monsieur Chirac. He and a young man in the gallery carried it in, unwrapped it, and hung it in a space already prepared for the picture.

"I get a few days to look at it," said Monsieur Chirac, "before this young man, Monsieur Jacques Tibardeau, steals it from me."

"Hardly stealing, Henri, you are being paid well for it. So you are the young lady who inspired such love, are you?" he said, turning to Jane. "I can see how and why."

After lunching with the two men in typical leisurely Parisian style, the two women returned to their hotel room on the Avenue Carnot. "When he kept looking at me like that, I thought Jacques was going to ask me to strip and show him the original" said Jane.

"Would you have?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. He looked at me as all the other men have looked at me, as a body that is pleasing to their eye. Not like you look at me."

"And how do I look at you?"

"With an irresistible combination of love and lust, where possessing my body is not enough, you want my soul, my heart, my life."

"That sounds awfully like what I see when you look at me. Listen, I don't think I want to eat anything else before breakfast except you. Get undressed, now."

They both stripped. Mary sat on the bed in the middle, and invited Jane to sit in front of her. As Jane sat down, Mary intertwined their legs and pulled Jane's pussy into hers. Their pussy lips touched and rubbed and once they were firmly pressed against each other, they embraced and moved, rocking on the bed to generate the required friction between their pussies. As their climaxes came, they clung together and kissed.

They phoned down for a bottle of wine, and spent the evening just making love. They used fingers, tongues, and Jane's toys. Touching, sipping wine, caressing, licking, kissing; they were barely out of contact with each other. The bath tub was enormous, and they shared that, each washing the other. The hotel had, thoughtfully, even provided candles.

They had a romantic few days in Paris. They did a little sight-seeing and a lot of loving. On their last day, they collected the payment from Monsieur Chirac, together with three cases of wine. Henri said that the third case was a down payment on a painting Jacques wanted to commission of Jane, a fine chiffon scarf around her neck, naked in a meadow of buttercups.

They went home by ferry. As they sat on the deck, Mary said. "The only problem with Jacques' commission is that buttercups are finished for the summer. I can't do that painting until next year."

"So why is that a problem?"

"Will I still have the same Muse?"

"As long as this chain is around my neck, yes. I told you the deal. I get my trust money starting in February. But even beyond the finances, even if I had to go out and become a full-time teacher, in order for us to survive, I am not leaving you. I Love You."

"So I'm stuck with you? You're determined to stay?"

"Sorry, Mary, but I am a woman in love, I have no choice unless you throw me out."

"The only place I would throw you is down on the bed. so I guess we are both equally stuck.'

"That's the point, isn't it? That we are equals?"

They spent the night just outside London, and set off for Wales the next day. They smiled at each other as they turned the car up the long track to the cottage. As they walked into the cottage, they heard soft classical music, and there was Sister Helen, an apron over her robes, pan frying some trout.

"Welcome home. Evan brought these trout for you and so I invited myself for supper as a reward for making yours. I had everything ready to go in the pan so I could start cooking as soon as I saw you turn off the road on to the track."

Jane turned and hugged Mary, and said, "And the most important word in all that was 'Home'. We are home, both of us, in all that that word entails."