The Artist
by GG


Part 1

I was aching all over from my morning workout, and just gone through a 
fairly hard evening for a fitness model session, considering the pay wasn't 
up to much; but it was good publicity. "Valkyries", the first female only 
gym ever was having its big opening do. I pranced around in the skimpiest 
bikini that would stay on me, got photographed on the machines, posed with 
the owners, held dumbells in every photogenic position imaginable until it 
was time for the eats and booze. I was starving and showered in zero seconds 
flat. It was the mayor's turn to do the celeb bit from now on along with 
some has-been actor that nobody under twenty-five had heard of.

I just wanted to melt into the background and make up my fee on the free 
spread. I was in jeans, sweatshirt and my calf length cowboy boots, and 
hiding my  6'1" 180lb rock hard body quite well in a corner. I greedily 
clutched a plate piled high with everything on offer, and my third glass of 
champagne was going down well.

'Good evening, my dear.'

I turned to see a short slightly built guy standing next to me. He looked 
like a professor of something; about thirtyish, very smartly dressed in an 
old fashioned way, and balancing those frameless spectacles on his nose to 
complete the effect. Pince-nez -  I remembered from somewhere.

'Hi.' I said through a large mouthful of salmon sandwich.

'I just want to say how impressed I was with your performance, my dear.'

You and every male in the place, I thought, wondering how the two tiny 
strands of material I had been wearing could ever have been described as a 
swimsuit.

'Oh thanks.' I chewed.

'I am Justin Bradbury.' he announced.

'Hi.' I repeated.

"Blaize Mason-Bodybuilding Star" was plastered all over the publicity stuff 
so I didn't bother to introduce myself. It was cool how a virtual unknown 
like me could become a star overnight when someone wanted to keep the costs 
down.  He stood there as if the sound of his name should have started a band 
playing, but I just tried not to let my usual "get lost, jerk" expression 
show through; I was working, after all  - PR.

He spoke while I ate and smiled. The topic was his favourite - himself. He 
was a great artist, famed for his portrayal of the most exciting and exotic 
women on the planet and he would be free next week to capture my unique 
power and beauty on canvas. I got a fishbone stuck in my teeth, and my glass 
was empty, so my mind began to wander. I interrupted him to excuse myself in 
the direction of the drinks trolley, but was held up by his next few words.

'. . . and of course you will receive my usual model's fee of one thousand 
dollars plus an hourly rate. . ..'

I nearly spat out an olive. Could this be on the level?

'OK, tell me more.' He had my complete attention.

'Not here, dear girl, but if you would like to call at my home, we can 
arrange things in comfort.'
He handed me a business card with an impressive out of town address embossed 
in gold.

I drove out there next morning to arrive at ten as arranged. A thousand 
dollars seemed a good enough reason to give my usual casual clothes a rest 
and I thought I'd try out my new burgundy coloured leather catsuit. I had 
done my hair and makeup properly and slipped the body hugging outfit on in 
front of my full length mirror. Matching 3" heeled calf length boots 
completed the picture and I nearly had an orgasm looking at myself.

Wow! He was going to get his money's worth, and it had better not be a 
trick. I would tear his arms from his narrow little shoulders if he was 
jerking me around. My rock hard biceps bulged under the creaking leather of 
the catsuit, and for a mile or so I amused myself with the thought that I 
could actually do that - as easily as pulling the legs off a roast turkey!

I turned into the drive and double checked the address. Impressive! This was 
the real thing alright. A mansion of a place that must be worth ten million. 
Two gardeners stared at me as I walked up to the door and a real butler let 
me in and showed me into a large room he called "the old library".

'Hi there. I'm Frank.'

A youngish guy was standing in front of a huge oil painting. He was very 
good looking but not my type, being only about 5'8" and no bodybuilder, even 
though he was quite slim and athletic. I walked over, eight inches taller 
than him in my heels.

'Wow!' he said.

We shook hands and introduced ourselves. I put up with the usual remarks 
about my size, but he was charm itself. I glanced at the picture and 
realised that he was the subject. It was a sword and sorcery type fantasy 
setting with him as the warrior, brandishing a huge sword. There was a nymph 
like girl lying at his feet looking up admiringly at him and a slain dragon 
was lying in the background.

'Impressive!' I said.

'And will sell for about a hundred grand, I should think.' He whistled in 
appreciation at the notion.

'Ah, my darlings!'  Justin Bradbury had made an entrance, dressed 
sartorially as before. 'I see you are enjoying my latest creation.'

We both gushed with praise and he accepted it with as much false humility as 
he could muster.

'Now, I have asked you here to discuss my next project, well in fact the 
second half of this one actually - the distaff side, if you will.'

We both looked blank.

'In effect, a canvas of the same size. They will form a pair and will be 
sold as such. The theme will be similar but with - how shall I put it - role 
reversal.'

The penny dropped. Frank looked me up and down and then a very sour 
expression came over his film star features.

'Oh no way!' he whined. 'I get it; and I'm not doing it. What do you want 
huh Justin? Me lying at her feet like that?' He jerked his thumb at me 
rudely and then in the direction of the nymph.

His charm was obviousy skin deep, and I didn't like the way he was looking 
at me.

'She's one of those bodybuilders isn't she, Justin.'

'I prefer fitness model, but having had the opportunity to see Miss Blaize 
in the flesh, I believe the former term is more accurate,' the artist 
replied in his professorial voice. 'but you have to understand that...'

'No!' interrupted Frank. The little guy was getting red in the face and 
pointed a trembling finger. I could not see why he was  so up tight.

'I'm not playing male pussy to some steriod bitch dyke!'

I could not believe my ears! I was stupified, but I felt a rush anger. 
Adrenaline started to pump and I knew I would not be able to control myself. 
Some things just give me a knee jerk reaction. In this case it was literally 
that - my knee slamming into the jerk. He flew back against the bookshelved 
wall and several heavily bound volumes toppled to the floor.

Justin cried out in shock. 'Please.. This is....'

I was livid. The guy was slumped against the wall winded; I strode over, 
bent down, grabbed the front of his jacket with my left hand and pulled him 
to his feet. He was very light and I just kept lifting until I was holding 
him above my head. He looked terrified, which was what I wanted.

'Please, this is uncivilised!'

I put my right hand on my hip and glared down at the nervous little artist. 
He was staring in shock and disbelief and I was enjoying myself now. The 
anger had gone as fast as it had come and I was getting a good burn in my 
arm and shoulder, but trying not to show any effort.

'I'm sorry, he was very rude.' I said calmly. 'But this is your house and I 
should show more self control.'  I lowered the frightened little male model 
to the floor and he stood shakily in front of me, rubbing his chest. 'Don't 
worry,' I continued, 'he'll pose for you, and just how you want. I'll see to 
that.'

Between Justin's diplomacy and my threats to rip his head off, Frank was 
convinced to run with the project. He definitely had a hang up about it and 
I suspect he grudgingly agreed only after his fee was increased.

Five days later it was time for the first session. Justin had done a sketch 
of the kind of costume he wanted me in and let me have some say too. Then I 
had to go down to this funny little place in town and they custom made it 
from scratch. Not that there was much to it - a kind of black leather bikini 
pretending to be a warrior's armour. Justin said he wanted to see as much of 
my body as possible - good taste ! The rest of costume consisted of a pair 
of black boots; calf high like my cowboy boots, but with ornamental steel 
shin plates and intricate tooling in the thick leather.

He had a hairdresser come to the house. Everything was so organised and we 
were ready by mid morning when I got my first look at the huge studio at the 
back of the house. Frank was in costume - tight fitting breeches and an 
ornamental belt -  with a dressing gown over his shoulders. He sat at one of 
the large windows, looking out over the grounds. Still sulking, I thought.

Justin was at the large white canvas, fiddling with an expensive looking 
camera. He nearly dropped it when he saw me.

'Oh, my word!'

Frank looked round. 'Holy fuck!'

I obviously looked the part. The effect of my long blonde hair waving down 
over my tanned, pumped
leather-clad body must have been overpowering.

'I'm still not sure about this.' said Frank, looking at me the way he had 
done before.

'Come along now please.' Justin cut in, clapping his hands. 'Lets have you 
both over here. We will discuss the pose, then I will take the working 
pictures.' He had explained to me that we only posed for an hour at a time, 
and he could fill in the background and other details when we weren't here, 
using the photos.

I strode over to a large padded mat, picked up the  two bladed battleaxe 
prop laying there and stood with my left hand on my hip, smiling at them.

'Come on, don't be shy.' I called to Frank.

Justin looked a bit nervous.

'Frank, I'd like you to. . . I'd like um. . . '

'Just come over here!' I said in my no nonsense voice. 'And do as you're 
told.'

He walked over, still in the dressing gown. I whipped it off his shoulders, 
flung it to one side and then  pushed him down in front of me, grabbing his 
arm. His muscles looked quite good, but they were soft as sponge. I had 
discussed the pose with Justin and we both knew Frank was not going to be 
happy about it, so I had decided to save time  and forced him to lie at my 
feet on his side. As soon as he was down, I pinned him under my right foot, 
planting the heavy sole of boot on his hip. He squirmed around a bit but I 
just pressed harder.

It was a great turn on and I laughed at his pathetic efforts. Justin was 
focusing the camera and clicked off a few shots. I had been fighting a 
battle and Frank was my prize, my prisoner. I held the handle of the blooded 
axe in my right hand while the blade rested over my shoulder. I was to be 
hardly aware of the defeated captive under my foot, looking out into the 
distance where a dramatic landscape would be conjured onto the canvas.

Justin shot off a whole roll of film and called an end to the session. I 
knew I was hurting Frank a bit and some of his facial expressions must have 
fitted the scenario quite well. It was good that we had the photos. Frank 
had totally freaked by this stage and bolted out of the room when I released 
him. Justin shuffled out after him and returned ten minutes later. I heard a 
car door slam and then the roar of spinning tyres on gravel.

'He's quit.' Said Justin in a dejected tone. 'Not coming back.'

The little artist seemed on the verge of tears and I walked over to him, 
putting my arm around his tiny shoulders to comfort him.  I didn't really 
pull him against me, it was as if the weight of my relaxed bicep and forearm 
muscles was enough to force his puny body into my side. I was really 
surprised with what happened next. He put his arms around me and started 
crying as if he was a small child who had fallen over in the playground.

'Hey, it's only a painting.' I said.

'It's not that.' He  sobbed. 'Frank said he never wants to see me again. He 
said some terrible things to me. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have kept on 
taking those photos.'

I got the picture - a lovers' tiff. We stood there for a while and he shook 
with his sobbing, then looked up at me with slightly glazed eyes, and 
surprisingly put his small right hand on my left arm, running his thin 
fingers over the mound of my bicep. No man had ever dared to touch me like 
that, but he was more like a swooning girl.

'Frank is very strong.' He said quietly. 'I'm surprised  you could push him 
around like that.'

'I'm sorry I upset him.' I replied, quite taken aback by his lack of 
perception. He had seen me pick his boyfriend up like a rag doll, and yet 
seemed to think that Frank's  soft muscles, half the size of mine, could 
have put up some sort of resistance. I felt his body start to tremble and 
shake as if he was having some kind of fit.

'You're a monster!' He shouted suddenly in a curious high pitched squeal. He 
seemed to have popped a cork and gave me the biggest surprise of my life 
when he pulled back from me and punched me in the face. It didn't hurt at 
all, sort of like being whacked with a party balloon, but I just stood there 
catatonically. The last guy who hit me ended up in hospital - and that was 
just a smack on my bottom.

I was dumbfounded, and just stared at him, making no effort to defend myself 
against his repeated attacks. I have had more painful massages than what he 
was doing to me,  flailing his fists uncontrollably and occasionally catching 
me on a breast. To my surprise, I started getting turned on. It was like a 
feeling of total power - gentle power.

He kept it up for maybe a minute and a half and it must have been a fairly 
comic spectacle, but I was enjoying it - and getting wet, and quite 
disappointed when he stopped, exhausted. There was nobody else in the house; 
something he arranged when he was painting, and I wanted to play like this 
some more, so I waited to see if he would recover and start up again. 
Instead, he just turned,  shuffled across the room and threw himself down in 
a large armchair. He seemed blissfully ignorant of the fact that he had 
narrowly escaped being reduced to a bloody mess of broken bones.

I was feeling very randy by this stage, and for the first time got an 
inkling that he was quite cute. Maybe I would have some fun after all. He 
had certainly overstepped the bounds of reasonable behaviour, and by rights, 
so could I.

For a long time I had been having this fantasy dream about overpowering a 
man using as little effort as possible. It was why I got turned on by not 
defending myself against his attack. In my dream, I crushed men with just 
one finger, and I was wondering whether I should try it for real. I spread 
the fingers of my right hand out in front of my face and admired my well 
manicured nails. I was always breaking them on the weights until I 
discovered this new high tech strengthening varnish which made them as tough 
as carbon fibre!

The little man was eyeing me nervously. He had obviously come to his senses 
and was wondering what was in store for him. I would not keep him waiting. 
He squirmed as I walked over and cowered in the chair when I stood there 
with my hands on my hips in a relaxed pose. He gave me a wierd sort of 
lobsided smile.

'Y..you wouldn't hit a man wearing glasses, would you? '

He had swapped the pince-nez for some large framed square lens ones and I 
leant forward and removed them, dropping them to the floor at my feet, then 
straightening up again, placing my hands back on my hips, and spreading my 
legs slightly; accidentally on purpose crushing the specs under my left 
boot. They made a very satisfying crunching noise and I got a bit of a buzz 
from that.


end of part 1