Painted Into a Corner

Inara never would have made the bet if she hadn't been so completely sure of winning.

What a cliche, she thought to herself making her way up the white pebbled path to pay her forfeit. No doubt that was the first thought of every fool who lost a bet.

Thinking back, she realized that she'd let herself be spurred on by the crowd—that and her own foolish pride. It was so out of character for her, so why did she do it?

Friday night at La Luna Bar, challenges flew thick and fast amongst the eclectic artistic crowd. No simple games of chance played here—no bets made on cards or pool. At La Luna money changed hands over Shakespeare quote offs, sketching contests, word jumbles and the fastest completion of the New York Times Crossword. Inara, while loving the frenzied betting, was more of a watcher than a joiner. She was happy to sit on the fringes and rarely, if ever, became involved in any of the games of forfeits and bets. It was Laney, her best friend, who issued the challenge on her behalf. Inara could have backed down, she could have said no, but foolish pride and greed made her agree.

"Inara is the best! The best here," Laney called out.

Buzzed on two margaritas, Inara found herself nodding even though she had no idea what Laney was talking about.

"Really?"

In her alcohol fogged brain a little warning signal went off as Inara saw who was speaking—Sara Graeme.

Sara was an amazing artist. She'd sold out two showings at the prestigious Latham Gallery and was rumored to be about to stage a third. She'd been asking Inara to pose for months. Inara had no objection to being an artist's model. With her mix of Swedish and Korean genes, her exotic looks had attracted many an artistic eye. Inara thought she looked weird—eyes too far set apart, chin too pointy, nose too freckled and her mouth duck bill wide— but artists saw something in her odd mish mash of features. She'd posed several times before for both painters and photographers and was always happy to be paid scale, but there was something about Sara—a prickling feeling she felt whenever she was near—that kept her saying no.

"If Inara's the best then she wouldn't mind a wee bit of a challenge would she?" Sara's photographer husband Niall spoke, moving behind to cradle his wife against his broad chest. If Sara made her skin prickle, Niall made it smolder. Dark curly hair, classic black Irish looks—he had an aura of dangerous sensuality.

Around them the cries of, "Challenge! Challenge!" started up.

"She can. She'll whip your butts!" Laney cried out over the crowd.

"I can. I can what?" No longer just nodding, Inara wanted to know exactly what was going on.

"Your friend here says that you have the best photographic memory," Sara said, nodding her head at Laney.

"I'm pretty good," Inara countered, feeling herself to be in pretty safe territory. "Would you be willing to wager on that?" Niall asked in the sing song tones of his luscious Irish brogue.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll go against you. Tell me what you want if you win," Sara said, moving closer. Her long blonde hair brushed against Inara's arm, shooting wildfire goose pimples across her skin.

"If I win...Niall photographs my catalogue. For free."

Inara was a knitting designer. The last collection of woolen work she'd photographed herself. It had sold well online and with the money she'd made she was hoping to expand. Her photography, while passable, was not up to a professional standard. With professional presentation she was sure she could get the interest of major department stores. Niall's quote for photographing her collection was sitting in a depressing pile with all the others she couldn't afford. If she won this bet it would be worth thousands of dollars of free work. No way would he agree.

Niall nodded and laughed. A reaction Inara hadn't expected.

"Alright then, my pretty, what would we want in return?" Niall tilted his head to ask his wife.

"Oh that's easy. A no brainer. If I win then I get to paint her."

"Do you agree?" Niall asked.

"Yes," Inara said and the terms were set. The bar owner Michael Drury would choose the items. Fifteen items, thirty seconds viewing time. One minute to write the remembered items down

Her photographic memory was a party trick that she'd brought out on many a drunken occasion—a trick that had never before failed. The heat of the bar, the press of Niall against her side, the noise and how very much she wanted to win all combined to seize her brain. When it came time for pen to hit paper Inara's mind blanked at ten items. Around her the crowd chanted down the time.

"Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one!"

It was pens down and Inara had lost. Lost the unloseable bet.

Now here she was, walking through the immaculate Japanese garden up to the front door of Sara and Niall's brownstone.

* * * *

The studio was like the rest of the house. High ceilings and white walls. It was a large room divided in two by painted Japanese screens. One side housed Sara's easel and her paints and the other, large box lights and a multitude of other photographic equipment.

When she was led through the door by Sara, Inara started towards the side with the easel. She looked back in surprise when Sara pulled on her arm and tugged her towards Niall's side of the room.

"Umm...I thought you were going to paint me?"

"I am." Sara's smile was enigmatic. A prickle of unease snaked down Inara's spine. Sara's hair was pulled into a high pony tail that sharpened her perfect Nordic features. High cheekbones were dusted with pink and her blonde lashes darkened, but other than that her skin was bare. Standing this close to her Inara could see that her skin was flawless peaches and cream unmarred by even a freckle.

"Don't you need me near the easel?"

"You're my easel, "Sara said, "I'm going to paint you."

"Paint me," Inara repeated, sinking fast out of her depth.

"She's going to paint you and I'll photograph you."

Inara jumped at the sound of Niall's voice. She hadn't expected him to be here and she hadn't noticed him standing in the corner of the photography studio. She should have seen him. Dressed head to toe in black he stood out like a wraith against the stark white walls.

"That's not what I agreed to," Inara said, backing away from Sara, her shoulders bumping against the Japanese paper screens.

"I think you'll find that you agreed to be painted. Didn't she Sara?" Niall's voice was hypnotically melodic.

"She did Niall. She agreed that I could paint her."

"OK. So maybe I said that, but there was nothing about him photographing me."

"That's true my love," Niall said, black curls shaking as he nodded.

"Well then, if you don't want to be photographed you'll have to go..."

Inara let out a sigh of relief and just when her pulse had almost returned to normal Sara finished her sentence,"...and come back the day of the showing. I'd hoped to show photographs of you, but I'd be just as happy to display your body on the night."

"Display me?"

"Yes. Naked and painted."

"I like the idea my love. Imagine her on a pedestal. She could be your centerpiece."

Inara felt a flush of hot and cold fear rush across her skin. From head to toe. She was painted into a corner. She agreed to be painted now and photographed by Niall or she appear naked on the night of Sara's next showing—in front of thousands of people and the media. She had no choice, other than to forfeit the bet and if she did that she could never show her face at La Luna again.

"I'll do it. I'll be painted now and you can photograph me."

"I don't know. I really like the idea of showing you on the night instead."

"No! Now! Please, now. Whatever you want. I'll agree to whatever you want."

Sara came towards her, stalking like a predator. Inara could move no further back without toppling over the screens. Pressed against the paper screen Inara shuddered as Sara trailed a finger up her bare arm and across the collar bone showing through the thin straps of her tank. "Whatever I want Inara. Is that right?"

"Yes. Whatever you want."

"Strip down for me."

Inara had expected this; knowing full well that Sara painted nudes, she'd come dressed for easy removal. She was bare underneath her top. The tank she wore had a shelf bra, not that with her little apple breasts she needed much support. For bottoms she'd chosen wide leg grey drawstring yoga pants. They pooled at her feet, slipping easily to the ground the moment she released the drawstring. Dressed only in brief, flesh-colored panties, she bent down and neatly folded her clothes. When she stood up, both Sara and Niall were watching her. Goose pimples shot across her skin and she fought the urge to cover her breasts. She was no nudity novice; she'd done this before. She wouldn't cover herself like some naïve girl.

"Panties down."

Inara tried not to let her disappointment show. She'd worn the flesh colored panties on purpose, hoping that she wouldn't need to strip completely bare. She pulled the slip of fabric down over her legs. Not bending, but picking the panties up with her toes. She didn't bother to fold them, just flicking them on top of her pile of clothes.

"Come into the light." Sara stood in the center of the room and beckoned her forward with a curl of her fingers. Heart pounding, Inara moved slowly to the middle of the photographic area. Niall was standing near the big box lights but had yet to turn them on. Fingers crossed there was enough natural light, Inara didn't know if she had it in her to stand tall completely naked under such bright white light.

Sara stalked around her in a circle. Pausing every couple of steps to murmur indistinct words. Finally she stopped in front of Inara with her hands on her hips. When she spoke she didn't look at Inara, but directed her comments to Niall, "It'll have to come off. Won't it?"

What would? What would have to come off? A cold rush of fear gripped Inara at her words.

"Yes it definitely will," Sara said as she moved forward and stroked her hand down the slight swell of Inara's stomach. Only when her fingers dipped to run through Inara's pubic hair did she understand Sara's meaning.

"Off? Take...it off?" Inara stuttered.

"I recall you just saying Inara dear, that you'd do anything," Niall said.

"But.."

"Anything," Niall repeated, his voice dipping lower.

Sara went down on her knees, her face close to Inara's pubic mound. Inara squeezed her legs tight, clamping her thighs shut. "I have to shave it. I need it bare to paint it Inara darling," she said as she stroked her fingers through the sparse hair. As a product of her Korean-Swedish heritage Inara's pubic hair was fine and thin. She'd never before thought of even trimming it, let alone shaving it bare.

"Niall, can you set up my paints while Inara and I go to the bathroom?"

"Certainly my love."

* * * *

The bathroom that led off the studio was stark—bare white walls and polished concrete floors. "No need making it fancy when it gets splattered with paint on a regular basis," Sara explained as she followed through the open doorway.

The sinks were battered double stainless steel tubs covered in paint drips. The shower was just a tap and a shower hose handle attached the corner wall. There wasn't even a shower curtain. The floor sloped to a big drain in the center of the room. A stainless steel chair sat in the corner beside the shower hose handle. In the other corner was an old fashioned, off white toilet pedestal. It had a pull chain to flush.

"I get really dirty painting," Sara said as she led a naked Inara over to the chair in the shower corner, "Sit here and I'll get you ready."

Inara sat on the cold metal chair. It felt like she was in a weird art film. How else could she have ended up naked in a concrete shower room waiting to be shaved? She embraced the out of body feeling, hoping that it would get her through this bizarre experience.

Sara's hands pressed down, cool on Inara's thighs. "Scoot forward on the chair. Bring your bottom right to the edge."

She shifted forward and spread her legs. Squeezing her eyes shut tight Inara braced for intimate contact. She felt the puff of Sara's breath on her inside thighs as she laughed. "Calm down Inara. It's not going to be that bad. Who knows. You may even like it."

Inara opened her eyes and looked down at Sara. She was on her haunches nestled between Inara's legs; her face close to the apex of Inara's spread thighs. Her mouth tilted in a slight smile and even white teeth were biting her bottom lip—she was enjoying herself. Enjoying Inara's stilted reaction to her touch. Inara forced herself to relax, letting her shoulders drop and her back slump into the chair. She wouldn't—couldn't—show smirking Sara her apprehension.

"Good honey, relax," Sara said, coming up on her knees to spread Inara's thighs open wider—so wide cool air hit the lips of her pussy. "I don't think I'll need to trim you back with the scissors. Your hair is so soft and fine the razor should do it easily."

Inara nodded, but she was unprepared for the feeling of Sara's fingers spreading the shaving gel on her mound. Round and around she slicked the fragrant gel until it transformed into a thick layer of creamy foam. She wiped her hand on a damp washer and then brought the orange disposable razor up to the top of Inara's pubic mound. "I'm going to stroke down first. Get off most of the hair and then I'll go up, against the grain until you're nice and smooth. OK?"

Feeling light headed, Inara nodded.

The pressure of the razor was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. It scraped and massaged at the same time. In long slow strokes Sara worked her way down Inara's mound, stopping every now and then to tap off the excess hair. She had a little jug of hot water in which she rinsed the razor. Every time she did it the razor returned hot on her skin. She liked the feeling and found herself spreading her legs and arching up into the movement.

"Now I'm going to work up. Against the grain. I'm going to pull your skin tight."

Sara pressed the heel of her hand just above Inara's clit and pulled the skin up. Inara bit back a gasp. The heavy sensation on the root of her clit was delicious. Each time she stroked the razor blade against the grain Sara pulled up on the skin. Her hand worked in a rolling movement. Her clit began to throb, ache with the need to be touched. After she'd finished with the top Sara's hand moved down, her fingers pulling tight on the fleshy lips of her labia. Her thighs tightened, her ass clenched as she felt the slow build of a coming orgasm. When she masturbated she loved to pull on the lips of her pussy. She'd always done it and Sara fingers tugging at her pussy had her body craving release. It wasn't enough, she wanted more. She wanted those long artistic fingers inside her.

"I've finished," Sara said as her fingers let go—leaving Inara aching to come. "You're nice and smooth now. Feel."

Inara brought a hand down to feel the smooth mound and then dipped her fingers further to the lips of her pussy. She was wet. Swollen and wet.

Sara stood and reached over her to turn on the shower head. The swell of her breasts brushing against Inara's face as she did. She brought the soft spray of warm water down between Inara's legs. The warm water pulsed right over Inara's clit. She wanted to take the handle from Sara's hand and grind it against her pussy.

"All clean," Sara turned off the spray of water. Handing her a towel she said, "Let's go."

Not yet. She couldn't go out there. Not yet. Not with her pussy burning for release. Not wet and swollen knowing that Sara was about to paint her there.

"Sara can I just..." Inara pointed to the toilet.

Sara was putting away the shaving gel in a cabinet above the double sinks, she looked over her shoulder saw where Inara was pointing and said, "Sure."

The bathroom didn't have a door—just a beaded curtain that hung in the open doorway. Once Sara was gone Inara moved to the toilet pedestal and sat down, keeping her eyes on the beaded curtain. She needed this, badly enough to risk being caught. She spread her legs wide and brought her fingers down to her freshly shaved pussy. The skin was soft and so incredibly sensitive. She looked down. Her clit felt plump, it sat out between her lips like a ripe berry. With one hand she tugged on her pussy lips while she ground the heel of her other hand just above her clit. While she pushed the heel around and around she imagined it was Sara's hand. The climax came quickly, her thighs jerking out as she felt her pussy clench tight. She was panting, with her hand still on her pussy when Sara's head popped through the beaded curtain, "Are you OK Inara?"

"Yes. I'm...I'll be out soon."

Sara smiled and then left, the movement making the beads clack together in a staccato beat. Wadding up the toilet paper Inara wiped away the evidence of her orgasm. She was ready now. Ready to finish her forfeit.

* * * *

When she came through the curtain Niall and Sara were in the centre of the room. Sara was laying down a sheet of white calico and Niall was testing the light with a small hand held light meter.

"I'm ready."

They turned as one, the dark curly head of Niall and the cool blonde of Sara. They were a beautiful couple. A study in contrasts. Niall's muscular lean frame and Sara's soft stacked hourglass. They both stared at her and she felt like shrinking into a ball and covering herself. What did they see? The odd flat chested Asian girl with thin boyish hips and a big head.

"You're beautiful Inara. Just beautiful." Niall sighed the words and Sara came to his side and nodded saying, "I told you."

"She's going to photograph beautifully. Come here my darling girl, into the light." Inara moved forward to stand on the sheet that Sara had laid down.

"I'm going to mark you up first. With a pencil. It's a bit like a kohl pencil you'd use on your eyes. All the paint I'll use on you today is all specific body paint. It's really soft and your skin can still breathe. You won't feel like you're covered in gunk. OK?"

Inara nodded.

"When I've marked you up I'm going to spray you with the base color. It's a light gold that's going to make your gorgeous features really stand out. Niall's going to photograph the progress. Are you ready?"

Inara nodded. She'd shaved her pussy, she could hardly back out now.

Sara worked quickly with the pencil, placing a series of dots across her body. The body spray was hand held, sort of like a paint sprayer, it buzzed loudly as it swept around her laying down a fine layer of gold dust. Inara had her arms out and her legs spread, splayed wide she had never felt more exposed or aroused in her life. The quick orgasm had done nothing to dampen her wanting, if anything it had amped it up to an almost desperate need.

Sara and Niall seemed oblivious as they worked around her body, Niall snapping his camera and Sara mixing her paints. Their indifference made the exposure more intense. Her mind wandered to their threat of painting her and leaving her on a pedestal before the crowds. Exposed, vulnerable before all those eyes—she wanted it, wanting them looking at her naked sex.

The imaginings of her newly discovered exhibitionism were interrupted by the first stroke of Sara's paintbrush. Inara jumped, causing both Niall and Sara to chuckle.

"It's OK darling," Niall purred, coming in close to photograph her shocked face. "Just feel it."

The brush was soft, unlike anything that had ever touched her skin before. It was damp and slick, the pressure was teasing, the fleeting delicious sensation not enough. Sara worked first with dark colors, blacks, grey and deep velvety browns. It had never even occurred to Inara to ask what she was doing, what was being painted on her skin so she asked now, "Sara, what is it? What are you doing?" Her voice came out thick and needy. She swallowed hard, as if to reset her tone.