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From: tara blackwood <tarablackwood22@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Artist - Chapter 3 (MF, cons cheat)
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Copyright and Disclaimer:
This story is copyrighted material. (c) 2004. All rights
are reserved by the author, including that of
publication. Posting on-line is only allowed when
permission is explicitly granted by the author, and includes this
disclaimer.
Contact the author, Tara Blackwood, at tarablackwood22@yahoo.com
for more information. Any comments would be welcome as well.
The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person,
living or dead, is purely coincidental and entirely unintentional.
WARNING:
This story contains material with explicit and sexual content that
some may find offensive and may be illegal in some regions.
You must STOP reading if:
1. you are underage (below 18 in all cases or 21 in some regions),
2. this type of material is illegal under any circumstances in your
region,
3. you are offended by explicit or graphic sexual content,
4. you are offended by profanity or graphic language.
This novel is being posted chapter by chapter. Read previous chapters
first, of course.
Thank you and enjoy. TB.
THE ARTIST - (Chapter 3)
(3)
Phillipe Cousineau began descending the stairs toward the stage, and the
response was thunderous. The artist cast his gaze about, seemingly at
random, as he acknowledged the applause with a polite smile.
There was no randomness about it. His eyes went immediately to
Elizabeth Bax, then to the other three women in succession. He was saying
hello, and beginning what was to be a long, silent conversation with each
of them, his unique brand of communication that would not stop even as he
spoke.
Beginning his lecture, his tongue did not miss a beat as he spoke with
great affection of Claude Monet, but his gaze was again on Elizabeth in the
front row, beginning his efforts to break her down. His eyes spoke to her,
ate at her, stayed on her insistently until they untied her bows and
disrobed her. Within moments, she was twisting in her seat.
A flash of intense pleasure hit Phillipe, not only at Elizabeth's
obvious physical response to him, but also at her husband's. Seated beside
her, James Bax had instantly noticed their silent dance, and watched it as
it intensified. He became clearly agitated, quiet yet wildly jealous,
squirming uncomfortably in his chair as the artist stared at his wife.
Without a doubt that was Phillipe's favorite offshoot of his many affairs,
the psychological damage he was able to inflict on a husband as he took his
woman away from him.
Phillipe was instructive and funny, able to both teach and draw laughs
with sharp witticisms, even as he started with Claudine Southwick. He did
not look toward her directly at first, but even peripherally Phillipe could
sense her remarkable beauty. When it finally came, the potency of his
initial stare into her eyes was so intense that it raised chills across her
arms and legs.
Her husband Graham's reaction was interesting, far different than that
of Mr. Bax. He too sensed what was going on, but he seemed only mildly
anxious about it. Perhaps his faith in her was stronger, or perhaps there
was some better explanation that Phillipe could not as yet get his arms
around. The artist found it queer, the complex mix of emotions he read on
Graham Southwick's face as the man noticed the artist's interest in his
woman. He saw a bit of worry, then a strange look of comfort. Mild
anguish, and then an odd appearance of contentment, even excitement, as if
he somehow enjoyed the artist's visual flirtations with his wife. The
unusual reaction was very, very intriguing to him. For Phillipe, Graham
would certainly require more investigation.
Claudine Southwick had never in her life been confronted with eyes quite
like Phillipe Cousineau's, so deep and dark, nearly black. She had never
gazed upon a face to compare with the masculine beauty of the one that
looked at her then, one that refused to turn away, refused to break eye
contact until its heat seemed strong enough to burn right through her skin.
Phillipe radiated manhood, an awesome sexual energy Claudine had not
encountered before.
Without question, he was the most attractive male figure she had ever
seen.
By simply looking in her direction, he had instantly increased the pace
of her lungs. By staying on her with his eyes, her flesh had tingled.
When he finally moved his eyes away from her, Claudine was forced to take
time to compose herself.
Though not easily impressed, from that point on it took a concerted
effort for her to concentrate only on his words, and not on the memory of
his scorching attentions. After a time, she was able to shake the
distracting thoughts from her mind, feelings she had not had in decades.
"Silliness," she whispered to herself as her focus began to return.
It went the same way with Roberta Luongo and Judith Carlton. He caught
their eyes, and attached them to his. His heat engulfed them, ignited
them, and their reactions were instant and strong. Their husbands were
entirely oblivious all the while, content in their boredom even as
Phillipe's attentions precipitated that exhilarating response in both of
their wives. The arrogant mafia chieftain and Judith's goofy husband were
obviously out of touch, sunk too deeply in themselves to notice, one in
vainglory and the other in stupidity.
One by one, he had acknowledged his quarry with his eyes, introducing
himself to them in that way, then announcing his interest, and finally
combusting them. All four women had found him delightful at first, and
then enticing, but when he lit sparks across them with visual contact that
was too powerful to ignore, their bodies began reacting, responding
privately in a way only a female understands, to a man who was not like
other men.
The kind of man that women are introduced to only in their dreams.
The ease and comfort with which Phillipe lectured and then carried
himself into the crowd as the session ended completely belied his age. As
he stepped gracefully from the lectern, the ladies immediately surrounded
him while their bored and jealous husbands strayed toward the rear tables
that were set up with hors d'oeuvres and glasses of Dom Perignon. Phillipe
answered their silly questions politely, all the while playing coquettish
games with his eyes and words and hands.
From the rear of the room, the perplexed husbands watched as the
alluring artist mesmerized their mates in a way no other man ever had,
turning them into giggling children. He exchanged tantalizing glances with
them and brushed them innocently with his not so innocent fingers, his
powerful presence captivating them completely.
The women stared, listened, and blushed.
And, unknown to their husbands, all of them wanted him.
The sultry Roberta Luongo, so comfortable in a life where the
construction contracts and dirty money allowed her to live as she wished,
was the first to get the unexpected taste of his magnetism close-up. His
ravenous eyes bit into her as they chatted, and Phillipe saw her nipples
harden through her thin, chiffon blouse. She felt oddly drawn to him, as
if he possessed his own gravity. Phillipe found her overt femininity
tantalizing, and promised himself to seek her out personally, and alone, as
soon as the first opportunity presented itself.
Beside her was her lovely mother-in-law Rosalina, famous model of the
older generation, her silver-gray hair cut short and slicked straight back
with mousse. She was nearly sixty years old but her beauty was miraculous,
enough so that she still graced magazine covers despite her years. And she
was Giuseppe Luongo's mother! An unexpected and beguiling complication
that might be worked in this complex mix, he thought. When Phillipe's eyes
worked on her there was no visible reaction, just a coy and knowing smile.
She would be a far more difficult woman to break down than her fancy
daughter-in-law, and quite the test.
They were all filthy rich, and bored. Very pretty, very perfumed and
very pampered, neglected by husbands who were either too busy for them or
simply no longer capable. They trudged through the daily grind and amused
themselves with tennis and lectures, and especially, with daydreams.
From that day forward, Phillipe would enter theirs.
They looked at him, closed their eyes, and the reveries took hold.
Their faces twisted in want as they stared at him, as they imagined, as
they dreamed. Their imaginations ran wild, wanting things their husbands
could not give them. All of them felt that need and in their thoughts each
of the wives, in their own way, gave themselves to the artist.
As he talked, Phillipe mind-fucked every woman in the room.
Phillipe knew he could have any one of them if he wished. He understood
things about women, could dissect their needs and weaknesses, and expose
their vulnerabilities. Often, he had debauched pure and dedicated wives
with no more than a look, had literally stared them into his bed.
As they fluttered around him, Phillipe turned his attentions back toward
Mrs. Claudine Southwick. He had decided she would be his first target, a
decision based almost entirely on his need to dig deeper into the mind of
her strange husband.
Claudine had remained in her seat when the lecture ended. She was
peering through her diamond-studded reading glasses at a notepad, still
jotting down thoughts from the end of Phillipe's speech.
Her face and figure were the stuff of dreams. The milky complexion
looked professionally airbrushed, its tints of make-up subtle and perfect.
The lips, thickly reddened by expensive lipstick, were full and sensuous,
and her long brown hair was lustrous, nearly black. The breasts that
pressed invitingly against her conservative gray top were large and
enticingly round. Her tight skirt had cinched up suggestively,
unintentionally exposing the dark tips of the garter belt that held her
sheer, black hose against her toned legs. Her spiked, navy sandals, with
their erotic ankle straps, were unusual and very daring.
`Quite a piece of candy,' Phillipe thought to himself, picturing her
naked then. She was waiting for him, calling his name, needing from him
those things that her husband could not provide.
As she rose, still not noticing his eyes swallowing her, the artist got
his first full look at her voluptuous figure. It was quite similar to
Roberta Luongo's, though Claudine was shorter, not much more than five feet
tall without heels. Her waist too seemed impossibly thin, thanks as much,
Phillipe was certain, to endless hours of exertion and sweat in a gym as to
impeccable genes.
There had been no childbearing to ruin her flawless shape. To Claudine,
that absence of children was the only tangible sorrow and emptiness in her
life. Under the surface there were other sadnesses and vacuums, which were
easy for an amoral sex animal like Phillipe to decode.
He had visions whose accuracy was unmistakable to him and allowed him to
begin understanding Graham as well. Visions of an unsatisfying marital
bed, which she hid from herself behind the sheltering veil of social
activities and hobbies. Visions of her meek husband, no match at all for
her astonishing sexuality, quickly and uncontrollably ejaculating as soon
as he entered this glorious female, leaving her needing so much more and
forcing her to protect herself psychologically by repressing those needs
with denial.
Reading her, Phillipe knew that she had never known a real man. Most
certainly, she had never known a man like him. Phillipe had insights,
aware what he could do to her once he made her hair-trigger with readiness.
He would make her want him, and then need him. He would tease her and hold
himself back, make her wait, until the waiting took control of her. Then,
he would strike.
Phillipe watched her depart toward the rear of the room, her glorious
derriere revolving to the dainty steps of her high heels. Finally, unable
to wait any longer, he broke away from the rich wives that surrounded him
and approached her.
Elizabeth Bax had been trying to get near Phillipe, doing it as casually
as possible so her nervous husband would not notice. Phillipe had seen
that, and decided to ignore her totally. He had concluded that rejection
would be the best way to deal with her at first. The disappointment would
haunt her he knew, and would spark thoughts, intense subconscious rumblings
that would start weakening her for him.
Sir Graham Southwick, a glass of champagne in his hand, noticed Phillipe
moving toward his wife from across the long snack table. He was speaking
to Lance Barnes when he saw his precious Claudine turn and look into
Phillipe's eyes. They began to talk, but Graham was too far away to hear
exactly what they said. They were discussing the lecture he was certain,
after a few minutes of silent observation. It all looked very innocent to
him, which it was, if you judged Phillipe only by his words. Very early in
their conversation, the artist offered Claudine his expertise in guiding
her studies. He could suggest appropriate books he informed her, and
prescribe helpful readings. He promised to chart visits to various
exhibits for her.
Phillipe was not the least bit forward. There was no bodily contact at
all, not even the slightest touch. They spoke about art, and nothing else.
All the while, with his face and eyes and seemingly gentle intentions,
Phillipe was allowing his undeniable male heat to begin its slow
penetration into Sir Graham Southwick's devoted and faithful wife.
Claudine glanced about as they talked and saw that all the eyes in the
room were upon them. Her experienced mind knew what everyone was thinking,
and it was all right with her. She made a decision there and then. She
would be willing to sacrifice her reputation a little, as all the wives at
the lecture were, so long as her relationship with Phillipe Cousineau
remained basically platonic.
All evening there had been a palpable but unspoken knowledge present in
the room, as clear as day and understood by all the men and women, that
this great artist possessed an almost unbelievable sexual pull, and that
someone's marital fidelity might soon be in danger. With all eyes now on
Claudine as she spoke privately to him, the Southwick union was the present
`marriage at risk'.
She knew what the other women were saying as they covered their mouths,
as they spoke into each other's ears, and knew that their gossip had
jealousy as its mother. Claudine was a strong woman, and she found the
thought of infidelity amusing. She looked upon their whispered pettiness
as nonsense.
`Let the others play their games, let them have fun with their
illusions,' she thought to herself. `I have just had the world's leading
artist offer me his services as tutor. Why wouldn't I accept?'
Sir Graham, a bit nervous as he watched his wife with Phillipe, turned
to Lance Barnes and questioned him.
"Have you noticed that only the women seem enamored with Mr.
Cousineau?"
"Of course," Lance answered with a slight laugh. "I have witnessed the
same scene many times before."
"Isn't it strange that the men don't seem to care much at all for him?"
Graham continued. His assessment was quite correct.
Lance took a sip of champagne and leaned toward Mr. Southwick, talking
low so as not to be heard.
"Not strange at all. They never do," he told him, as he watched
Phillipe charming Claudine.
"Why is that?" Graham wondered out loud.
After a pause, a very pregnant one, Lance answered his question,
whispering directly into the man's ear.
"It's because, deep down, they all know that Phillipe Cousineau is the
type of man who could fuck their wives."
(end--Chapter3)
All feedback is needed and
appreciated--Thanks--tarablackwood22@yahoo.com
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