The Portrait – Part 1

Michael Preston awakened with an ache in his head, made worse by the insistent knocking on his front door. Unshaven and badly hung over from last night’s drinking, he slowly got up and walked over to answer the door, wearing only his khaki pants and no shirt. As was often true when he was like this in the morning, his cock was rock hard. His wife Holly, a teacher and student counselor at a high school across town, had already left to teach her Summer School classes, and would be gone all day. She had gotten on his case last night about getting some paintings done – Michael was a fledgling artist with lots of talent, but somewhat lacking in the motivation department. He had told Holly for the umpteenth time that inspiration and creativity were things that could not be forced, but he knew she wasn’t buying it. What a fucking cunt, he thought to himself. Their marriage had been on the rocks for several months, and they hadn’t had sex in weeks. Fuck it, he thought, maybe I’ll feel like painting later. After a bloody mary. Or two.

Standing on the porch when he opened the door was a young Latina, maybe 15 years old and less than five feet tall, dressed in a thin, cheap, clinging minidress that did nothing to conceal the aggressive thrust of her surprisingly large breasts. Her dark hair cascaded down over one shoulder as she stood there, looking shyly up at him.

“What do you want?” asked Michael impatiently, his head still aching dully.

“The senora…she said…I pose for you…and you pay me?” Her English was heavily accented. Probably snuck across the border last week, he thought to himself. Then he remembered. This was one of his wife’s liberal do-gooder reclamation projects. She was forever trying to improve the lives of her impoverished students. He was supposed to pay her $50 to sit for a portrait.

He was about to tell the girl to get lost, when he began to look at her face and body more closely. She was truly lovely, now at a point in her life before the onset of womanhood, when she would ruin her body having babies and getting fat. Her beauty would soon fade, he thought sadly, but for the moment, she was striking, with a strong facial structure, a voluptuous body, and dark, flashing eyes he knew he could capture on canvas. Yes, perhaps he could work a little today, he thought.

“Yes, come in,” said Michael. “Follow me.” He led her through the house to a back bedroom he used as a studio. The room contained his easel, a couch in the center of the room, and a day bed against one wall.

“What’s your name?” he asked, as he motioned for her to sit on the couch.

“Esperanza”, she replied, smiling shyly. “Hope”, he thought to himself, translating. How beautiful it sounded in Spanish.

“That’s a very pretty name for a pretty girl, Esperanza” said Michael. “Why don’t you take your sandals off, and just lie back, kind of on your side, and put your hand there, on the front of your dress. Yes, like that. Let your hair almost cover one eye.”

“Thank you, senor,” she replied, smiling. Her teeth were perfect, almost impossibly white. Then her expression lapsed into a frown. “My dress….I’m sorry it is so old and plain. My father can’t afford to buy me nice things.”

“That’s all right, sweetie,” said Michael. “I’ll make you look very pretty. Now try not to move.” Michael slowly arranged her to his liking, moving her limbs, her head…until he was satisfied with her pose. He stepped back to his easel and began to sketch.

But something was wrong. Her face was somehow lifeless, lacking depth. He paused, and she noticed. “Is there something wrong, senor?” she asked anxiously.

“No…I think…I want you to be….sexier,” said Michael. “Perhaps if you unbutton the top few buttons of your dress?”

She hesitated, a little unsure of herself. But she had seen paintings that revealed much more of women’s bodies. And she was very anxious to please this man, this husband of her teacher. “Si,” she said, finally, her fingers moving to her buttons. Slowly, almost teasingly, she unbuttoned them, one by one, until the top of her lacy bra was revealed, barely covering her firm breasts.

Michael gazed at her and felt a powerful lurch in his loose pants. God, to fuck this little tart, he thought to himself. Holly had to be out of her mind to send him someone like this! Oh, to feel those full, sensuous lips wrapped around my dick…

With difficulty, he banished the obscene thought for the moment. “Esperanza, why don’t you slide your dress off your left shoulder?