"Yes,” she said, nodding.
"There’s still time to change your mind. I don’t force women. It would be beneath even such a man as myself.”
She shook her head. "I want to do it.”
"Even if you don’t enjoy the sex—and you will—you’ll certainly enjoy the money.”
"I plan to,” she said. Not the money itself, but the freedom money would buy her.
He smiled his devil’s grin, but didn’t look as devilish as the first night. He was only a man after all. A handsome man, naked, and lovely to behold.
"Good. Very good. Now spread your legs for me. Very wide.”
She pulled her knees up, sliding her feet along the sheets and then letting her legs fall open. Malcolm looked at her without touching, merely examining the goods he’d bought.
"You didn’t have to remove your hair,” he said. "Prostitutes shaved in the old days to remove lice. Luckily you don’t seem to have that problem.”
"I thought perhaps she was so young she didn’t have pubic hair yet. Perhaps that was why the painting was so scandalous.”
"The art world didn’t care about young women selling their bodies. They only cared if someone dared to break their rules of composition, of acceptable subject matter. You could show a naked woman hiding her face or lying supine and limp as a wet rag. God forbid he paint a girl who dared them to look her in the eyes.”
"They were fools,” she said.
"They were scared,” he countered. "A woman with power. A woman who owned her body and wasn’t afraid to sell it. That painting is art because it terrified its first viewers. Art should be dangerous, you know. It should say something to society that society doesn’t want to hear. Do you know what the opposite of art is? Propaganda. There’s too much of that in the world. Not enough art. And certainly not enough of this...”
Malcolm dipped his head and pressed a kiss on her pubis over her clitoris. He exhaled warm air over her sensitive bare flesh and she shivered. He lifted his head but only to open her labia with his fingers. He wasn’t gentle when he touched her, but not rough either. Perfunctory. Businesslike.
"Perfect,” he said when he had her spread out for him. "A work of art.” He dipped his head again and licked the hole he’d uncovered, even pushing his tongue against and into it. It wasn’t exactly pleasurable but she found no reason to object. It felt so odd to be used in this manner. No dinner first. No tender kisses. No foreplay other than a discussion of art history, which, for a woman like her, was arousing in its own way.
His tongue sought and found her clitoris as he stretched out on the bed to give his full attention to arousing her. Her clitoris started to awaken as he lapped at it with long slow motions of his tongue. He circled it, sucked it lightly, and circled it again. The first quiet gasp of pleasure escaped Mona’s lips. Malcolm said nothing about it but she sensed it pleased him. He’d paused when she’d done it and then licked her again in the same way that had pulled the sigh from her lips. With his fingertips he spread her open again and licked her inner labia, her folds, and the entrance of her body again. She wanted to touch his hair or his shoulders but wasn’t sure if that was allowed. She gripped the sheets in her fingers instead.
"Delicious,” Malcolm murmured and she felt the word as hot puffs of air against her clitoris. His tongue swirled around it again, making it swell, making it ache. She felt it throbbing against his lips. Then he touched it with his fingertips, putting pressure on it right where she needed it. His touch wasn’t rough, but insistent, and the throbbing grew harder. It throbbed like a pulse point, pumping blood through her hips.
Again he turned his tongue on her, those long deep strokes right across and around the core of her pleasure. All sensation was concentrated in that tiny throbbing little organ. Every nerve was alive there, every muscle poised for release. She was so wet now—dripping—he could have put his cock into her with one brutal thrust and she could have and would have taken it all. He didn’t penetrate her then, although in the haze of her arousal she could have sworn she’d begged him to.
She’d go mad if he didn’t let her come. She was already wild with the need for it, squirming under his mouth, pumping her hips, grasping at the sheets to give her leverage. She pushed against his mouth, needing more and more and more. The muscles inside of her clenched and released, clenched again tighter. Her vaginal walls were slick and ready. She was ready. She had never been more ready.
When she could bear no more, and a scream rested on the tip of her tongue, Malcolm abruptly rose up and mounted her. With his hands on her hips, he impaled her with a deep hard stroke. She came with a cry, arching and writhing, as he thrust wildly into her. In the midst of her orgasm he came into her, ejaculating deep into her. She felt it pouring out of her even as his hips kept pumping, dragging her climax and his out as long as he could. It felt endless. The contractions were so sharp they almost hurt. She felt one muscle in particular, a tight little muscle near her cervix, fluttering wildly as Malcolm filled her with his thick semen.
She was getting paid for this.
Finally, it was over. Malcolm put his hands on either side of her body and dropped his head while her vagina gave its little final gasps. She lifted her head and looked between her legs, at the large organ splitting her open. She waited for him to pull out of her. He didn’t.
Slowly he began to thrust again. She couldn’t quite believe it. She kept watching as he withdrew from her pussy and slid inside again. It seemed impossible she could take so much but she saw it with her own eyes—thick inch after thick inch disappearing inside her and reappearing slicked with her wetness and his. Surely he couldn’t mean to fuck her again so soon. She wasn’t ready, but that didn’t matter to him, did it? This was the arrangement.
Mona looked up at his face while he fucked her. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be utterly lost in the pleasure of his thrusting. His lips were slightly parted and she wanted to touch them, but didn’t. He was using her, using her body, using her hole. She didn’t move with him, merely lay underneath and watched his thigh muscles flex and release with his thrusts. It didn’t hurt. She was dripping wet and her body offered no resistance at all. He’d tunneled into her, opened her up, and made himself at home inside her. It felt vaguely pornographic, lying there on the bed, watching him fuck her. It could have been any woman on his cock but it so happened to be her. The pumping of his hips was mesmerizing. How long could he go on? She looked forward to finding out. His breathing was heavy, not labored, but his entire body had gone tense again. He had the sheets in a death grip. The veins in his hands she found so attractive didn’t end at his wrists but snaked up his arms all the way to the biceps.
"Who are you…” she breathed.