Little Birds by dave

Author:dave
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-04-05T04:52:25+00:00

FINALLY I was called to model at the studio of a South American painter. He had the face of a woman, pale with big black eyes, long black hair, and his gestures were languid and effete. His studio was beautiful—luxuriant rugs, large paintings of nude women, silk hangings; and there was incense burning. He said he had a very intricate pose to do. He was painting a big horse running away with a naked woman. He asked if I had ever ridden on horseback. I said that I had, when I was younger.

"That is marvelous," he said, "exactly what I want. Now, I have made a contraption here which gives me the effect I need."

It was a dummy of a horse without a head, just the body and legs, with a saddle.

He said, "Take your clothes off first, then I will show you. I have difficulty with this part of the pose. The woman is throwing her body back because the horse is running wild, like this." He sat on the dummy horse to show me.

By now I no longer felt timid about posing nude. I took my clothes off and sat on the horse, throwing my body backwards, my arms flying, my legs clasping the horse's flanks so as not to fall. The painter approved. He moved away and looked at me. "It's a hard pose and I do not expect you to keep it very long. Just let me know when you get tired."

He studied me from every side. Then he came up to me and said, "When I made the drawing, this part of the body showed clearly, here, between the legs." He touched me lightly as if it were merely part of his work. I curved in my belly a little to throw the hips forward and then he said, "Now it is fine. Hold it."

He began to sketch. As I sat there I realized that there was one uncommon detail about the saddle. Most saddles, of course, are shaped to follow the contour of the ass and then rise at the pommel, where they are apt to rub against a woman's sex. I had often experienced both the advantages and disadvantages of being supported there. Once my garter came loose from the stocking and began to dance around inside my riding trousers. My companions were galloping and I did not want to fall behind, so I continued. The garter, leaping in all directions, finally fell between my sex and the saddle and hurt me. I held on, gritting my teeth. The pain was strangely mixed with a sensation I could not define. I was a girl then and did not know anything about sex. I thought that a woman's sex was inside of her, and I did not know about the clitoris.

When the ride was over I was in pain. I mentioned what had happened to a girl I knew well and we both went into the bathroom. She helped me out of my trousers,

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