An Art Project

She gazed at the black curtains, they became foggier and foggier. He was close, she could feel him, he was so close she could just lean into his chest and smell his aftershave. It was almost mesmerizing.

‘What’s happening?’ She ask disoriented. She knew love could feel like you were floating, and they said love was blind, but she didn’t think that was meant literally. She blinked her eyes and tried to focus on her surroundings, where were they now? Everything was so hazy, the black curtains had disappeared, they were somewhere else now. The weren’t in the studio, but in a bedroom. She reached for her head and pressed her palm against her temple.

‘What’s going on?’ She asked

His voice. His magical mystical voice. ‘No worries honey.’ His timbre vibrated through her entire body, her pussy got warm and started to tingle, love was coarsening through her veins. Maybe love was too big of a word, she’d only just met him today. Although she felt like she’d know him for years. She was a big fan of his work, she traveled from gallery to gallery to visit all his expositions and she devoured his interviews. He was a star, he was an artist, she admired him and looked up to him for a long as she could remember. Now he was unfathomably close, his arms around her chest, his body supporting hers, he guided her towards the bed.

Tender he dropped her body on the satin sheets. She tried to sit up, to say something charming, to give him an invitation to join her on the bed. Yet her limbs were too weak and they didn’t agree with her. When her head hit the pillow the world started spinning, she closed her eyes and fought the sleepiness. She didn’t want to fall asleep right here right now. This was his bed. Matteo’s bed, she wanted to soak in every minute of it.

She forced herself to open her eyes and to look around the room. He was rumbling in a drawer, maybe that’s were he kept his socks, or even better his underwear. Although his Mansion was enormous, it would be unlikely that his bedroom would be directly adjacent to his photo studio. This must be some sort of guest room, a place for the models to spend the night, or a place for the models to regain their composure if they’d fainted from the warm lights and from being in his powerful presence. Maybe that’s what’s happened, maybe she’d fainted too.

Fenna finally did it, she was a model for Matteo. She would be immortalized in his unique photography style, her likeness would travel all over the world and be shown everywhere, from the MOMA in New York, till the Modern Tate in London, to The Guggenheim in Spain.

Art critics and Art lovers would study her face intently, every wrinkle, every freckle, every loosened hair would have a meaning, her existence would finally have a meaning because of Matteo.

No wonder she felt so dazed and lightheaded, so dizzy and disoriented, this was such a milestone of her existence, it was a moment of such great importance that it was simply overwhelming.

Matteo sat down next to her on the edge of the bed. With the tip of his fingers he caressed her wrist and then he wrapped a rope around her wrist. He tied her down. Fenna glanced at the silky smooth pink robe.

‘Is that part of it?’ She asked.

‘Part of what?’ Matteo returned the question.

‘The photoshoot.’

‘O. Yeah. Sure.’ Matteo said. Uninterrupted he continued to tie her down. ‘The inspiration for this series came to me years ago,’ he mumbled. ‘But I never found the right model, until you entered my studio, then I knew, this is it, this is her.’

Fenna felt butterflies in her tummy.