Be the Canvas

"That piece certainly shows promise. But it needs more. It lacks fluidity, it seems rigid. I would sum it up by saying it needs more heart, less inhibition." Fulton Davis was the critic and mentor who always tried to help young artists at the annual community art show. It helped when they actually had talent. With gray hair and steely gray eyes he had a distinguished look and despite an increasingly sedentary lifestyle, he had not added much to his waistline.

"Thank you Mr. Davis. But just how can I do that? I thought I was putting my essence into the art. I see the fluidity aspect, but I am not sure how to address the other concerns you have. Could we discuss this more at a later time? I know your studio, it isn't far from me." Beth Carney was glad to have the feedback, and wasn't about to miss an opportunity to get free advice from an expert to move her hobby forward.

"That would be fine, but I must warn you that my methods are, shall we say, a little 'unconventional'. But they achieve results for those who are serious about their art." Fulton watched her eyes as he talked. Her blue eyes looked into his and didn't blink or look away. He handed her a card with his direct contact information and thought to himself "She will do. Yes, she will do very nicely." As he walked on.

Beth was at least twenty years his junior at thirty, but she did feel a connection beside the art. She was not beautiful, but not unattractive, either. When her hair was short, people often commented on her "boyish good looks" which could also be a reference to her flat chest. Her lack of endowment had never bothered her and she was certainly comfortable with her body at her age. More than once she had smiled to herself as a girlfriend had complained about backaches or the sagging that comes with age. "Nothing that affects me" she would think.

A few days passed and Beth picked up the card with Fulton Davis' information and dialed her phone. No surprise, it was a recorded message which ended with a shrill "beep" for the message. "Hello Mr. Davis, this is Beth Carney, we met at the...". She was surprised when a voice picked up mid sentence.

"Yes, Beth. This is Fulton, and I am very happy you gave me a call to discuss your artwork. Ideally I would like you to bring a few examples and visit me. Would next Tuesday work for you? Say in the afternoon?" Fulton sounded like he looked. Distinguished with a very neutral accent.

Beth paused. Tuesday would work, but she hesitated while she thought. She always overthought things, for once she decided to just go for it. It was free advice, and good advice at that. "Yes, Tuesday will be fine. I will bring some pieces, and I am looking forward to it."

"As am I, Beth. Until Tuesday." Fulton hung up his phone and smiled.

Tuesday arrived and Beth had assembled several examples of her art to show to Fulton. She hoped he would become the mentor that could help her move from a hobbyist painter to a professional. She dressed in "business casual" to be safe. She didn't want to be too casual and definitely didn't want to overdress. Was she overthinking things? Probably, but that was what she did. She took a deep breath and decided she was ready. Two hours early, but better than being late.

Just after one she pulled into the lot, the gravel crunched beneath her tires. Her car was the only one outside the studio, Beth figured that Fulton just walked over from his house that was visible about a hundred yards behind with a path connecting the two buildings.

As she opened the door to remove her portfolio, Fulton Davis came out of the studio. "Hello, Beth. Welcome. Can I help you? The portfolio looks a little awkward, I can grab it." Chivalry was not dead, at least not here, anyway.

"Yes, thank you. I never turn down help, in fact that is why I am here." Beth decided to be assertive. Put it out there right from the start. "You offered some guidance, and here I am." They walked into the studio.

The windows and skylight made the room a very well lit venue to display paintings. There were lights, but they weren't needed on this day. "I'll let you arrange your works and then we can get started. I'll be back in just a few moments." Fulton pointed to the easels around the room and the disappeared through a rear door.

Beth found it interesting that there were no examples of Davis' work. He may have moved them out for her or perhaps they were in the back room where he had gone. She hoped he would show her some of his works as well as critiquing her. In a few moments she had set the five paintings on the available easels. Another deep breath and she was ready for him to return.

"Let's see what you have brought." Fulton breezed into the room. Beth stood almost at attention, like it was an inspection. "Please, relax, I just want to look them over. Then I will see what I might be able to offer."

"Thank you." Beth did let down a little. But it was a little unsettling to have another person review her work. She put a lot of herself into each work. She hoped he could tell that. "If you have questions, please let me know."

After a few quiet moments which seemed to Beth like hours, he spoke. "As I said before, you show promise. I see a personal investment that is crucial to any good art, but a bit rigid. Perhaps we can get you to 'loosen up' a bit. Don't be afraid of making a mistake. Some of my best aspects started with an 'Oh, shit' moment."

"Easier said than done for me. I tend to overthink things. Fear of a mistake can freeze me. But I'm getting a little better with that." Beth actually felt better just saying that, and he had hit the area she most wanted to work on. She hoped to become a little less reserved and more spontaneous in her life, not just in her painting. "Any specific suggestions for how to do that? What works for you?"

Fulton looked at her paintings and paused. He turned to her and his gray eyes seemed to look right through her. "I can show you a few of my works and a bit of my process, but what works for me may not work for another. You need to find your own system. Follow me into my workshop." He walked into the room where he had gone while she had set up her works.

The room smelled of paints, wood, solvents and a myriad of scents that came with any working artist. There were several canvases in various stages of completion, a still life, a country scene, a cityscape, but a human figure caught Beth's eye. Still in the early stages it appeared to be a female figure and a nude. In the center of the back wall were two beams about ten feet long and crossed in an "X". They faced the windows that looked back to his residence.

"I had mentioned when we first met that my methods were a bit unorthodox. A suggestion I would have for you would be to become the canvas. Be part of the painting, immerse yourself. That is function of the items you see here." Fulton waived his hand around the room before having it come to rest on the wooden "X".

Beth felt her cheeks flush slightly. She had wondered about the piece, and had even thought it looked like a framework large enough to hold a person. "I, uh, I see." Stammering slightly she met Fulton's gaze. "Can you explain a bit more? I mean what exactly is involved?"

"In a broad sense, it is about trust. To be more precise it is about letting go of some of your inhibitions and being open to some different experiences." Fulton's voice was low. It was calm and reassuring. "And I see the question forming, yes, it is sexual in nature. If that is a concern, then perhaps you need another mentor to assist you further. I am far from the only resource available. And certainly there is no need or expectation to decide now."

Beth's head was spinning a little. "So what you are suggesting is that by participating in this, this 'exercise', it can make me a better artist? I appreciate that I have time to think it over, but what would we do? Can you provide some specific details?" She looked around and found a chair and sat down. It felt a little like being in class, but she was the sole pupil.

"Certainly." Fulton began to instruct his student. "And the sessions can vary greatly depending on the person or need, but for you to 'become the canvas', I am suggesting that literally. Just as with a painting, you will be mounted on a frame, this "X". Then I will proceed to paint your body, allowing you to feel what the painting feels when you apply the paint, and you experience the whole process."

"I'm sorry if I ask too many questions, but I want to be sure I am understanding this." Beth had to admit she was surprised at how intrigued she was with the possibility of this lesson. She was not a stranger to sex, but it had typically been of the vanilla variety. This was something new to her. "I would be restrained, correct? And completely naked? Would there just be you? And again, I'm sorry for the questions."

Fulton smiled as he listened. Clearly Beth was a novice. He very much looked forward to initiating her into the practices, often what these new people lacked in experience they more than made up for in enthusiasm.

"Yes, you will be restrained, I want you to know how the canvas feels on the frame. As for being naked, usually that is the case, but we can make some concessions. Would you feel more comfortable if you kept your panties on? If so, we can work with that. The paints are body paints, so they do wash off, and they are hypoallergenic." His voice was very matter of fact, not sensational at all, nor was it bored. Or boring.

"Would the session end with sex? I am just curious. I'd like as much information as possible to make my decision. And to prepare for it. I must say, the idea does have me intrigued." If by 'intrigued', Beth meant excited, she would be more accurate. She was feeling a little giddy and a bit warm. She could feel herself moisten slightly and the urge to be touched was strong. "I am fairly open, but do have some limits. Not really interested in multiples or anal, but the idea of being painted does fascinate me."

"Much of it hinges on you, Beth." Fulton stood closer to her. The pupil/teacher relationship seemed even more appropriate. "I would say that sex would be involved, the specific form depends on the moment. Although you will be restrained, you still have some say. 'No' does still mean 'no'. As I said before, a key element is trust. Also spontaneity. I can't be too specific because it depends on where the situation takes us."

"Well, you have given me a lot to consider. Is this a good time for you? If it is, perhaps this Thursday would be good for our next session? I can let you know a definite 'yes' or 'no' about becoming your canvas by Thursday morning if that works for you." Beth couldn't believe she was hearing herself making the arrangements so calmly. She did leave herself some room to back out, but it sounded almost like she had decided to go through with it. That was so unlike her.

Fulton looked at her with a deep stare and consulted his phone. "Yes, that will be just fine. And you can always email me or call if you have questions. But let's go back and take a closer look at the items you have brought. I want to look them over." Beth followed him as they returned to the main room.

Thursday morning came and Beth knew she was at the point of no return. But instead of feeling nervous or uneasy, she had a sense of calm, something unusual for her. She had confidence in Fulton, as well as trust. She decided to go for it and went into the bathroom to shower and prepare for the meeting.

The gravel crunched under her tires as she pulled into the studio lot. Hers was the only car, and as she looked around, she saw a note tucked in the front door. She got out of the car and went to the entrance where she saw her name on the note.

"The doors open, come in and go to the back room. Remove as much clothing as you wish, I will be there momentarily. Fulton." His handwriting was not the easiest to read, but the message was clear.

Beth walked in and went through the studio to the work room. It was warm which felt good after the crisp air outside. She set her bag on a chair and slipped off her coat. Her eyes fell on the frame, the large wooden "X" that dominated the room. She smelled the air, the scent of linseed oil and paints filled her nostrils. She sighed and began to undo the buttons of her blouse.

The clothes came off, blouse, shoes, pants socks. Beth folded each on a chair, waiting to hear if someone, hopefully Fulton, entered. She felt like she was being watched, but there was no one around. "Silly, just being paranoid" she said out loud to herself. She stood in the middle of the room facing the large wooden "X". The wood looked smooth and polished and the leather restraints for the arms, legs and waist all looked supple and soft.

As she looked, she reached and undid her bra, adding it to the pile and returned to the middle of the room wearing just her panties. She still felt watched, but was getting comfortable with it. Or rather getting less uncomfortable with it.

Beth stood in the middle of the room and looked out the window at the pastoral scene. The farmhouse was set under a broad tree and looked peaceful in the sunlight. She felt more comfortable and lowered her arms to her side and continued to wait.

A few moments later Beth heard the outer door open and she turned and again crossed her arms covering her breasts as Fulton entered the room. "I apologize for the delay, I was finishing a phone call. I am glad you found my note. Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm quite good, thanks." Beth was surprised at how calm her voice was. Inside she was anything but calm, her heart raced and she felt her breathing increase. "Should we begin? Where do you want me?"

Fulton looked into her eyes and began to tell her what the plan would be. "In a moment I will secure you to the frame, and here are the tools I will use for the painting." He pointed at the wooden X and then to a tray of brushes laid out on the work table. "Here, feel them." He held out his hand to Beth.

Beth stepped forward and uncovered her chest as she accepted his hand. Fulton looked at her and smiled at her small but toned breasts. He led her to the table and placed a brush in her hand.

"Feel the smooth wood handle, then the stiff bristles. There are many sizes, each has it's own texture and purpose. You will see in a few moments." His hands were firm and calloused from years of working with the frames, canvas and general farm duties. Despite the roughness, there was a gentleness in the touch.

Fulton continued. "Remember I said this is about trust? Well, I see you have trusted me enough to come here, but is there more trust to offer?"

Beth wasn't sure what he was getting to, but she answered. "I suppose so. Do you mean do I trust you enough to mount the frame and be restrained? Yes, I do."

Fulton stepped closer. "That is part of it, I would also like to blindfold you. Depriving you of one sense heightens the others. Can you trust me on that level?"

Despite feeling her cheeks warming and turning red, Beth responded by taking Fulton's hand and moving to the frame. There were small rests for the feet and she stepped up onto one and then the other, feeling the smooth wood behind her. "Yes, I can. Make me the canvas."

She raised her arms, the wood beams slanted back a bit and Fulton secured the wrist cuffs. They were lined with lambs wool and felt good on Beth's arms. The waist belt similarly was cinched and finally the ankles. She could move a little bit only a few inches. He produced a black satin mask and paused. "Are you certain?" His voice trailed off.

"More certain than I have ever been." Beth said in a low whisper. She shut her eyes and felt the mask being placed over the closed lids making it completely black.

"I will talk throughout the painting, and feel free to ask questions or describe any feelings. Moans and gasps are also allowed. I have warmed the paints to a comfortable temperature to make this more enjoyable." Fulton's voice was low, calm and very reassuring.

"Thank you. To be honest, I am finding this much more comfortable than I anticipated." Beth left out the added benefit of it also feeling much more exciting to be strapped to the frame and blindfolded. She felt her nipples harden and a warmness spread through her abdomen. She was glad she had left her panties on, but they would soon be drenched. Her pussy was the center of the warmth and was becoming wetter as she listened to the sound of the brushes and paints being readied for use.

"My plan is to paint the base of the piece first, essentially the ground and the sky. For that, I will use a broad brush with the fast drying paint. Let me know if it tickles or any other sensation you feel." Fulton loaded the brush and moved to his subject.

Beth felt the bristles of the brush connect to her skin near her shoulders. They felt soft and the liquid was smooth as it was applied. "That feels amazing. I expected the brush to feel rougher and the paint is so smooth. I can feel it drawing my skin as it begins to dry. Your touch is firm and steady, but gentle. The brush is gliding across..." The brush came in contact with her nipple and what could have passed for an electric shock passed through her body. "Oh!" She cried.

"Imagine you are the canvas. Despite the uniformity of the fabric, there are spots where the paint interacts with it differently. Be ready for that. Sometimes you may want to exploit it for an effect you are trying to achieve." As he spoke, the brush moved to the nipple on the other side of her chest.

The shock was not as much the second time, but still sent a shock and a shiver through her. "Ohhh. I do see what you mean. And you certainly are having an effect." Beth laid her head back and felt the paint covering her torso. It covered her and was wet, but she could feel it drying. It made tight spots where it was dryer, where it was thinner. "I swear I can feel the paint dry. And it must be thinner in some areas, it doesn't dry evenly." The focus on feelings extended beyond her skin. Besides her nipples, she felt her sex engorging with blood, becoming hotter and wetter. She felt each restraint holding her in place. The blindfold actually helped her to 'see' more than she had ever before. Unconsciously she moved her hips, as much as she could given the belt. Her thin panties felt heavy, like something that didn't belong.

"Yes, the paint does dry at different rates. See, I told you that this would give you different insights..." Fulton paused the painting to give the feedback, but Beth interrupted him.

"Can you remove my panties? I thought I wanted them, but I feel they detract. They no longer belong in the painting." It became clearer to her she was actually becoming the piece, the work.

"Of course. I agree, but it needed to be your decision." Fulton placed a finger on either side of the panties and lowered them slightly. They couldn't go far with her legs spread, but they bunched just before uncovering her wet slit.

Beth felt a cool, hard object slide between her skin and the fabric. "Is that a knife? Scissors? Cut them, cut them off me!" Her voice expressed a sense of urgency that surprised even her.

"It's a palette knife. You know, for mixing paints? Not very sharp, but it should do."

Fulton applied pressure and the panties became taut and yielded to the edge. One side was free, and the process was repeated on the other side. The fabric that had been her underwear fell to the floor.

Beth was completely naked before Fulton. He took in the beauty of her form. The top smeared with drying paint and the bottom exposed, legs spread showing an exquisite set of moist pink lips.

"I know the canvas isn't supposed to speak, and I am in no position to ask for anything, but..." Beth whispered. "But I am yours."