Erika the Sex Slave Chapter 7
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ALLIE LEFT THE SHOWER before I did and used the hair dryer. I kissed the back of her neck as I slipped past her out of the bathroom. I dressed for a day with the ‘rents and held a whispered conversation with Lissa and Melody before Melody had to go to class. The two-hour time difference meant that I caught them just after they’d stepped out of the shower.
“Well, lover-boy, how did it go last night?” Melody asked.
“Not like you expected,” I said.
“You mean you didn’t... ?”
“Not exactly.”
“This sounds like a good story. Is everything okay, Tony?” Lissa asked.
“Yes, darling. Everything is fine, just not what you were expecting ... or at least not what I thought you were expecting.”
“I know,” Melody said. “Let’s wait until I get there tonight and then we can ... call Lissa and you can tell us all about it.”
“Actually, I’d like that,” I said. “I wish you were both here in my arms.”
“You cannot imagine how much we wish the same thing,” Lissa said. “But if you are okay and Allison is okay, then I guess we can wait for the details.”
“I promise, I’ll tell you everything,” I answered. “I love you.”
I’d just disconnected when I looked up and saw Allison standing in the bathroom doorway. She had a towel wrapped around her that barely covered the distance between her nipples and her clit. A sudden move in any direction would make the towel superfluous. What struck me most, though, was that she had dried her hair and it positively glowed as it hung straight below her shoulders.
And the makeup.
Pretty much all the girls I know—or know well enough—look stunning with no makeup at all, in my opinion. That doesn’t mean I’m blind, though. When the girls were all made up to go to the gala last Friday in their formal gowns, they were truly amazing. I’m just shallow enough to appreciate the glamour aspect of a little makeup tastefully applied.
Other than at the parties, I hadn’t seen Allison wear more than a little eye-liner and lipstick. What I saw now was a strikingly beautiful woman who looked like she could walk down Michigan Avenue and own it. The look was soft but very sophisticated. Before I could say more than “Wow!” though, she was questioning me.
“You really will tell them everything, won’t you?” Allison said.
“Yeah. We don’t hide anything.”
“You’ll tell them how I tried to force myself on you?”
“We all have our viewpoints. I’ll tell them how I forced myself to stop and how we reached an understanding.”
“How you tickled my clit while I stroked your cock?”
“They’ll be disappointed. They expected me to tickle your clit with my cock. A play-by-play of passionate lovemaking.”
“It was.” Allison flicked her wrist and the towel fell to the floor. Have I mentioned her tits before? Yeah, I suppose I have. Still, when an athletic girl as beautiful as Allison stands there naked in front of you, it’s hard not to mention them again. And the flat, firm stomach. And the smooth lips of her labia. And...
“Um ... Allie? Are you having another emergency?”
“Sort of, but different,” she answered. She was serious. “Am I pretty enough, Tony?”
“God, yes! How could you ever doubt that?” I asked. I started to get up to go to her, but she held up her hand to keep me away.
“Would you draw me, Tony?” she asked softly. “Really draw me? Not just a little sketch? Not a group? Just me?”
This was more than a request for a picture. I recognized it. Thank god, I recognized it. Allie understood what happens when I draw. She’d seen the quick sketches I did in Tempe and that was enough to make her want to model the first time. But since then, she’d seen what I could really do. She’d seen the mural with Lissa and Melody. And she’d seen the drawing of Kate. She wasn’t asking for a drawing. She was asking me to show her how I see her. She was asking for the connection.
And I was feeling it.
I held out my hand and she took it so I could lead her to the one fully made-up bed. The one we’d slept in last night was a shambles. I pulled the covers back neatly and arranged the pillows. She followed my guidance as she propped herself in the bed and I positioned the pillows from the other bed behind her to provide a little more support. She leaned against the pillows with her left arm over them so that her head was held high. This gave her some support under her upper torso so she wouldn’t have to do stomach crunches the entire time she was posing. This drawing was going to take a while.
I covered her with the sheet and blanket, amused at the scowl she gave me. She must have thought I didn’t want to look at her body. Then she smiled as I placed her hand on a corner of the sheet and flicked it to her hip where she could hold it comfortably as if inviting me under the covers with her. She naturally repositioned her right leg with the knee slightly bent and drawn up. Her face was already taking on a look of inviting seduction. The final touch was to position her left hand so it was held out to me.
When I stood back, I wanted nothing more than to undress and join her.
“I need some music,” I said, reaching for my headset.
“Can I listen, too?” she asked.
“Without a headset, the quality of sound is pretty crappy,” I said. I contemplated the problem a minute and then had an idea. “Why don’t you sing to me?” I asked.
“Sing what?”
“You choose. Create the soundtrack. Sing me love songs.”
“Really, Tony?”
“Mmmhmm.” I was already ripping through a warmup sketch with just the key lines that I would base the drawing from—the curve of her hips, the position of her head, the peaks of her breasts, the extension of her hand. She smiled and then began to sing, softly and playfully.
“Oklahoma, 1955, with Gloria Grahame as Ado Annie,” she said.
I’m just a girl who cain’t say no,
I’m in a terrible fix
It was light and whimsical. I sketched rapidly through another warmup, then looked at a fresh, blank sheet of paper.
“Are you sure you want me to sing love songs?” she asked. I looked up to her eyes. There was a pleading look there.
“I want you to sing songs you love,” I said. “Sing from your heart.” She announced each song before she sang it, as if she was in a recital. I let my eye take in the negative space. Artists all work differently. Sandra starts from a dark background and draws out the highlights. I work from bright white illumination and draw the shadows. Two such different styles. The space between Allie’s arm and her body. The space between her breasts. The shadow beneath her chin. The cleft between her legs.
“The King and I, 1956, with Rita Moreno and Carlos Riva,” she said.
We kiss in a shadow,
We hide from the moon,
Our meetings are few,
And over too soon.
I took time to let my eyes focus on her magnificent breasts. Well, my eyes were being drawn there regardless, so I shaped them in my sketch, used my thumb to caress the curve, blending up out of the shadow, pinching off the definition of her nipple exactly where light met dark. Following the hollow down to her tight abdomen, gently expanding and contracting as she sang.
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