Repose: Part One

By Genevieve Kurtiz

Claire is a very unique art model. She possesses the ability to strike and hold severe and arousing poses which stagger the minds of the viewer and which push her to the boundaries of physical pain. Within these self-imposed torments Claire also finds solace and arousal, even as she delights in displaying her naked form for the pleasure and admiration of others. When Claire is enlisted to become a member of a very special Gallery she discovers a whole new world which shall take her further than her own personal explorations in posing. How far is Claire willing to go to satisfy the demands of the Gallery? How much is she capable of withstanding?

This new novel from Genevieve Kurtiz is a deep exploration into the psyche of a troubled woman who seeks redemption through her dedication to her physical art and craft. It is both enlightening and arousing as it follows Claire through her self-inflicted journey through pain, towards bliss and ultimately a true understanding of who she really is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mirabilia Novum
• Release date: Jan 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310247002

Genevieve Kurtiz

Genevieve Kurtiz is an Associate Editor for Mirabilia Novum. A former dancer, they have long held a sex positive fascination for the aesthetic of the human form and the extremes to which the human body can be pushed in the pursuit of both Art and Pleasure.

Book preview

REPOSE

by

Genevieve Kurtiz

Published by Mirabilia Novum at Smashwords

Copyright 2016 Mirabilia Novum Publishing

Discover other Mirabilia Novum titles at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/mirabilianovum

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REPOSE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. ENTITLED

2. THE ART SCHOOL

3. THE FIRST POSE

4. LIFE DRAWING CLASS

5. THE END OF THE POSE

6. THE END OF CLASS

PREVIEW OF PART TWO

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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REPOSE

ENTITLED

She was entitled to feel the way she did. At least that's what she felt. She felt she was entitled to feel that queasy mix of shame and elation, dread and anticipation, and most of all ... desire.

Claire sat at the very back of the streetcar, rocking gently as the almost empty vehicle trundled through the night, following the inevitable metal traces that lined the city streets, defining the path to be taken, leading her forever forward on her journey not just to a specific place across town but also deeper within her, a voyage of discovery of the truths hidden within her slender body and nestled within the core of her mind.

A newspaper lay across her lap but Claire had no interest in reading the garish headlines, she didn't care about the words and pictures before her. The paper covered her very short, pleated, black skirt and her exposed thighs. One hand held the paper while the other was beneath, furtively reaching between Claire's legs, caressing the gentle swelling mound of shaven skin, parting the lips and tenderly probing.

Furtively glancing up the length of the streetcar, Claire could see the face of the transit driver in the rear view mirror, eyes intent upon the tracks ahead. The only other inhabitant along for the ride was a passed out drunken street bum, clothes slightly ragged, face grimy and unshaven, sleeping with his mouth open, collapsed back, facing the ceiling, head lolling from side to side with the motion of the car, oblivious to everything around him.

Emboldened, Claire dug deeper with her concealed hand and probed further up into herself, engulfing her insistent fingers with the warm, wet flesh of her sex; gasping at the sensation, stifling an open mouthed smile and letting her eyes roll back like the drunkard's head, drifting behind her fluttering eyelids.

Claire liked to be touched. She liked to be looked at but was not, in her personal estimation anyway, a narcissist; and the desire to feel the touch of another's hand upon her flesh was an overpowering sensation she eagerly sought whenever possible. Brushing up against passengers on the train, letting her hips ride forward to drag a thigh against a hand or a knee or even a briefcase, would easily evoke a subtle intake of breath, a shiver across the belly and a liquid weakness in her knees. Claire liked to be touched - and she was certainly touching herself now.

The streetcar rumbled across a particularly rough section of track and as Claire groaned she gave thanks to the shoddy street repairs of the city. Two fingers dug up into herself, her thumb finding that small fleshy bud of pleasure - the little man in the boat as her friend, Rebekah,