Repose: Part Two

By Genevieve Kurtiz

Part Two of the story of Claire, 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 second installment of a 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: Oct 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370140367

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

Part Two

by

Genevieve Kurtiz

Published by Mirabilia Novum at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Mirabilia Novum Publishing

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

~~~ o ~~~

REPOSE

Part Two

TABLE OF CONTENTS

7. SCHOOL'S OUT

8. GWENYTH

9. DOWNTIME

10. MORNING LIGHT

11. THAT NIGHT

12. THE OTHER SIDE

13. MORNING COFFEE

14. ARTURO

15. TAKING A RIDE

16. BACK AT PETE'S

PREVIEW OF PART THREE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

~~~ o ~~~

REPOSE

SCHOOL'S OUT

Claire stepped out the doors of the warehouse studio and strolled past the dumpster to the empty streets beyond.  The streetlights and illuminated storefronts made the damp pavement glow and gave the nearly abandoned stretch of city blocks look like one big neon sign.  By now most of the shops were closed and the bars would be filled with noisy drunken revelers.  Claire wanted something warm, soft and cozy; a place to harbour within, unwind, decompress and assess the events of the night.

Musso's was just around the corner and Claire liked the dark lighting and old, comfy, mismatched furniture in the joint.  It was always inhabited by a regular cast of writers and intellectuals or at least people who dressed like they were; and the walls were lined with old travel posters and shelves with dusty old books that occasionally someone would pluck down and read while nursing their latte.  After hours the owner, Pete, a grumpy old Russian with coke-bottle glasses, would go from table to table and ask politely if you wanted tea.  For those in the know Pete's tea was an insanely potent homemade vodka that he served in little floral teapots and demitasse cups.  Maybe Pete closed the joint when the last customer left but on more than one occasion Claire had stayed there until sunrise and had breakfast before finally moving on.  For all she knew Pete never closed the place.

Claire slipped through the heavy front door and entered the muted realm of Musso's, spotting her favourite table in the far back corner, mercifully empty, and made a bee line for it.

Pete was at her side even as she eased herself into the sagging wing  back armchair, placing a pot and cup before her along with a small plate of toast.

You read my mind, Peter.

Is Thursday.  You have aches. You have pains.  And you like toast.

You know me too well.

Not as well as I would like but sometimes an old man must make do with dreams.  Na zdarovye.

Za lyoobov.

Claire tossed back a searing slug of tea as Pete wandered off and she took a moment to stare at the old pressed tin ceiling and let the hooch evaporate from her open throat. She half-whispered to herself: That was awesome." and then lowered her gaze back to the table to pour another shot and reach for a slice of toast and - that's when she saw the woman.

All the way across the room, in a booth, by the door - eyes gleaming in the shadows - staring intently at Claire.

Suppressing a shudder, Claire poured herself another and raised the little cup in a toast across the room to the woman - who smiled and raised her own glass.

They drank.

Claire sank back into the warm embrace of the aging easy chair and stared off into the middle distance, still vaguely aware of the shapes and sounds of the room as the woman stood from her table and made her way, weaving gracefully through the chairs and sofas and tables, until she was standing next to Claire, still holding her cup and her little pot of tea.

Do you mind if I join you?

Why? Am I coming apart?

They both smiled and Claire made a lazy gesture to the chair opposite and the woman sat down.

~~~ o ~~~

GWENYTH

That's your name? Gwenyth?

The dirty blonde hair came loose as Gwenyth pulled out the hair elastic and let her tresses tumble around her face, pale blue eyes gleaming behind her shaded glasses.  Yes. And your name is Claire.

Pleased to meet you.

And I you.  Cheers.

Gwenyth raised her teacup and downed another shot of Peter's searing brew.  Claire instinctively followed suit, confident in her ability to match anyone drink for drink.

Strong stuff., said Gwenyth, dabbing a napkin at the corner of her mouth. I suppose that must help after such a ... , she paused and peered at Claire over the rims of her glasses, ... display."

Claire poured herself another shot.  "I don't drink Peter's hooch as an anesthetic.  It's just nice to relax and I usually