His Body of Work

Chapter 2

I had watched Mase Swan from the moment she knocked on my door via hidden CCTV. She strode towards the door in bright white trainers and a short black strappy tennis dress, becoming more and more hesitant as she approached.

The dress left little to the imagination, although I supposed, if you are willing to pose nude, it didn't really matter. I watched the muscles of her long legs work, and I marveled at how they could look so long on someone that was only 5ft 6 at best.

As she neared the camera, I could see the expressions on her face change from a determined scowl to doe-eyed fright.

A sharp tap rattled on the metalic door to announce her presence.

I continued to watch for a moment, and a chuckle escaped me as she bent down right in front of the camera and began to change her shoes to an elegant pair of black pumps with wicked heels.

Her behind became momentarily exposed as the wind flicked up the edge of her skirt and provided a glimpse of the perfect heart shape of her round globe-like cheeks that tapered into a peitie waist. A nude thong, which I had requested, nestled in the cleft.

I couldn't help the surge of blood to my groin as she gracefully stood back upright and smoothed her outfit back in place with nervous hands.

I had been surprised to read her application and see the university email address despite my ad being in the campus paper. Almost all my models were ex-students who couldn't get a job, dropouts, or strippers from a local gentleman's club. They made for convenient but inconsistent models. When Mase's email had come through, I immediately went onto my faculty login and checked her student profile.

She was a dance student specialising in ballet and contemporary dance. She had a friend listed as next of kin and lived in off-campus accommodation more akin to a slum than a student flat. I could also see she was a month behind on tuition fees.

The hope of finding such a flexible, athletic, and potentially consistent model helped me ignore that she was only 21 in a few weeks.

I buzzed her in the door and watched her cross the threshold.

My warehouse used to be some kind of textile factory and had an office on a mezzanine as a result. As my art was kept anonymous so as not to interfere with my teaching, I conducted interviews from the office. I used the speakers to direct the models and to take photos of them using a remote camera set-up.

I lit up the staging area and directed her to the makeshift dressing room. She started to blabber back to me, not knowing I couldn't hear, before stepping behind the screen.

What seemed like an eternity later, Mase emerged from behind the screen in the fluffy robe and black heels. Even in such an absurd combination, I could see she was exquisite. A sudden impulse to go down and greet her rose within me. My palm ached to close round her delicate neck and to take my paintbrush and paint the shell of her ear till she shivered in my hands.

I shook the thought from my head and reminded myself of the 15-year age gap. She probably wouldn't look twice. Clearly, my subconscious was a creep.

I had directed her to the podium I had set up to do my work via the speaker. I could see her terrified expression through the video feed of the cameras I had set up. I wouldn't paint her today, I would have her pose and photograph her so I could plan my work.

I watched her climb onto the podium before directing her to remove her robe and pick her first pose. I looked down momentarily and expected to look up and find her standing there contorted in a pose, but she was nowhere to be seen in the camera frames. At first, I thought she'd fled, but quickly realised she'd have no idea how to get out with the front door being down. Feeling slightly panicked, I looked out of the mezzanine windows and saw her small naked form lying next to the podium.

"f**k!" I yelled into the empty space.

I raced down the metal staircase in a few leaps after throwing the main light switches and raced over to Mase's splayed out form.

As soon as I came to a stop, I could see a small smattering of blood on the lip of the podium. I crouched down by her head and searched for the source. I found a small cut at the back of her head and swore under my breath. I should probably call an ambulance, but I could practically see the headlines now. After all, I am a college professor with a naked dance student unconscious in his warehouse.

I knew I shouldn't move her, but there was a chance it was just a bump. Then again, I had no idea why she fell in the first place. As I dallied with indecision, a small groan left Mase's lips, and her eyeballs moved behind her eyelids. Well, she definitely wasn't dead.

Throwing caution to the wind and embracing the overpowering urge to hold her soft body, I scooped her up into my arms.

Mase might have been small and elegant, but she carried muscle and a plentiful amount of ass, so getting us both up off the floor was more effort than I cared to admit. I made a mental note to put in more hours at the gym as I made my way to what I called my prep room.

I walked straight to the door at the back of the room that lead to the small apartment I'd built myself there. Instantly grateful there were no stairs betwee me and the bed. Doing my best to place her down gently, I put the covers over her, as much for her as myself, and sat down in the chair at the foot of the bed.

I took out my phone and began searching the web for how to treat a head injury.