|  73977558 | | 73977558 | 09/08/2025 5:11:41 | Oh, the glorious paradox of being a nude art model! The duality of feeling so exposed, so seen, yet being so in control, so transcendent. We become the ultimate rulers of our destiny. I've heard the same words time and again across various ateliers in Paris, whispered in awe by my fellow artists - 'Anussy'. The term of endearment fashioned by my regular patrons, a playful nod to my French-Algerian roots, has now become my artist signature.
Today was something entirely different, even for me. The way Monsieur Lockhart prowled around me was different from the casual meditative gazes I was accustomed to. Instead, a throbbing pulse of dominance and power emanated from him, which permeated the air around us until it mixed with the lavender scent that I wore lightly on my skin. My heart raced in reaction, as I held the pose of Aphrodite riding her Swan, all while knowing that I was the sculpture he was, in reality, fashioning with his discerning gaze and powerful hands.
His eyes were not coy about where they travelled - savoring each curve, every brush of muscle beneath my skin, and the tantalizing lines that made up my silhouette. He consumed the sight of me, every inch of my form a feast for his deeply rooted artistic appetite. I had to remind myself to breathe steadily, to stay unmoving and composed, as every nerve ending in my body flamed with a searing thrill of desire. It sent a surge of power through me. I could control the tempo of his heartbeat, the twitch in his hand, the very breath hitching in his throat - all with my bare, unapologetic form. Oh, la cerise sur le gГўteau, it was so deliciously intoxicating.
The power-play was as subtle as it was daringly explicit. Monsieur Lockhart, for all his pretence of control, was helplessly entwined in my web as I, the posing model, unwittingly set the rhythm of our tryst. The air around us was tupped with the fragrance of damp clay, the lemon-infused candle flickered lazily - casting provocative long shadows - while the rain outside pattered a rhythm on the moss-coated studio windows. It was a symphony of senses. A visual feast. The session ended with an unspoken accord, with him nodding at me, a promise and a challenge in his gaze. 'Anussy,' he murmured, quietly acknowledging the power I held over him.
My heart beats quickened at the prospect of our next session, and a delicious shiver ran down my spine. To maintain the facade of a mere bystander in our shared secret, to command one's own narrative, to wield such power in vulnerability, was a thrill that invigorated my very being. To be 'Anussy' was to play the instrument of power exchange. Oh, what a seductive, empowering symphony it was. | | Город: Другой | написать письмо... |
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