Painted Lady

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

A girl gets painted in a mysterious way

Gretchen looked around bemused. What was she doing standing outside her front door. How on earth had she got there? And why was she wearing a strange multicolored costume. She went to put her hand in the pocket of her costume to get out her keys and it came up against warm, bare flesh. She looked again startled.

She wasn’t wearing a strange costume.

She was stark naked.



Gretchen looked round flustered. She was in trouble again. The loud crash had alerted Mr. Topolcki to the fact that she had smashed something else.

She had taken the job in the store to make money so she could finish her college course and escape to Westmorland. But after her last disaster Mr. Topolcki had given her only one more chance and now she'd blown it.

“‘Don’t give that Gretchen a job, guys, she's a disaster', that's what he's told everyone." Gretchen was talking to her flatmate Imogene. She was out of a job and broke again.

"If I just had a portfolio, I'm sure I could get a modeling job," said Gretchen.

"I take a good picture. I could do it for you," said Imogene.

"Oh Immie," said Gretchen, "that would be real good, but I need some good sexy nude shots in it."

"Hey Babe, no problem. I can do those," said Imogene.

"You can't photograph me butt naked, Immie" said Gretchen, "that would be like, weird"

"Don't see why," said Imogene, "I wouldn't find it weird."

"I didn't say it was you that would find it weird. I'd find it weird."

"Hey Gretch, don't be so shy. Get those panties off I'll go fetch my camera."

Gretchen stared at the impressive lens of Imogene’s impressive camera and pouted. It felt weird. She was nude and Imogene had her sitting on the bed cross legged, arms behind her head, with her head thrown back so that her impressive bosoms with their hard nipples like little bell pushes were thrust forwards. She had been told to pout and look sexy. Gretchen was finding it difficult because it felt weird pouting naked at her flatmate like that. And because she was sure that sitting cross legged displayed more to the camera lens than was entirely proper.

"Sexy Gretch, look sexy.”

'God!' Thought Imogene, Gretchen was gorgeous, almost enough to turn her away from boys.

"I don't want my... well, you know, like between my legs to be visible," said Gretchen.

"No way," said Imogene and Gretchen relaxed, thrust her bosoms out further, opened her legs wider and pouted at the lens. Imogene pressed the button on the camera. It was a wrap. That photo would get Gretch a job anywhere.

"Can I see, can I see?" shouted Gretchen as impatient as ever.

"Tomorrow," said Imogene, "there's work to do on them yet!"

Gretchen could hardly wait till the next.

"Can I see my portfolio yet, Immie," she cried, dashing in from work the next day.

"Sure" said Immie, "they should be ready now. I got the 24 hour service. We can go down the store pick 'em up."

Gretchen looked at her blankly.

"Go down the store. Why do we need to go down the store?"

"Because they have an express developing service.."

"Developing?". Gretchen was confused, "can't I just see them on the computer."

"Heck, Gretch, I don't use digital. Real photographers don't use digital. These are good old negatives. They need developing."

"What!" Gretchen's shriek could be heard six blocks away, "you got nude pics of me developed at the store. At Topolcki's store! Where I worked until yesterday."

"Sure," said Imogene, "they do a 24 hour service there. Hard to find nowadays that everyone uses digital!"

Gretchen ran the two blocks to the store. She had to get there before Jimmy came on. Jimmy was the kid that served there evenings. She just couldn't have Jimmy see those pictures.

She burst in through the door. Too late, Jimmy was looking at some large glossy six by four prints. He was red in the face and seemed to be scratching something with his hand below the counter.

"Those my pictures?" cried Gretchen, "you give them here, Jimmy Carter."

She tried to snatch them out of his hand and they fell in a heap on the ground. They stared down at them together. On the top was the picture Jimmy had been staring at - Gretchen sitting cross legged on the bed, pouting sexily, bosoms thrust forwards like twin battering rams, and between her widely spread legs and clearly displayed in all the startling clarity of Kodachrome the slightly parted and smoothly shaved lips of her most private area.

Gretchen turned the color of a ripe beetroot. She'd kill Imogene when she got back, she'd kill her.

"What a beautiful photograph," Gretchen looked round quickly, startled by the soft spoken voice behind her.

A tall good looking woman with short cropped jet black hair and the most startling feline green eyes was standing there.

"I'm Rosaura," she said, "and you are?"

"I'm Gretchen," flustered, Gretchen tried to cover the pictures up quickly.

"That is a lovely picture." said Rosaura, looking at the picture of Gretchen displaying herself with her legs wide open, "Are you a professional model my dear?"

"Er... No," said Gretchen, trying to hide the naughtiest bits of the picture with her hand.

"Well, you should come and do some modeling for our little group," Rosaura smiled her most winning smile, "we are a very special group... and we just love to paint beautiful girls."

"Er..." Gretchen hesitated, she didn't quite know how to say this, "do you mean naked?"

She thought she'd better take the plunge and clarify exactly what was required.

"Naked. Exactly. How else could we paint you?"

"I don't know," said Gretchen, still not quite recovered from her last escapade, "Are you all professional painters?"

"Some professionals others come from other disciplines, design, fashion: things like that."

Gretchen gulped. Leading figures in the fashion industry!. She couldn't miss out on this!

Rosaura smiled to herself. When her contact in the development lab had tipped her off, she had known that this one would be just right.


The limo came to pick up Gretchen right on time. She sat nervously in the back as it drove through the darkened countryside taking her who knew where. She wished Immie had been able to come with her. But that had been expressly forbidden.

The limo dropped her off and she rang the door chime a little nervous of what was to come.

It was Rosaura who answered.

"Come in dear," she said, "let me get you prepared."

She was wearing a green silky ball gown, and over her eyes was a green eye mask studded with diamantes. But Gretchen still recognized her.

The house was more like a mansion, stuck out somewhere in the remote California countryside.

With cat like grace Rosaura led Gretchen through the empty house until they came to a large dining room.

There was a semi-circular dining table laid out for twelve people in front of which was a marble pedestal of the sort on which you expected to see a classical statue.

Gretchen was taken into an adjoining small annex.

"Let me help you off with your things," said Rosaura, and Gretchen found herself being gradually undressed.

First her white cotton blouse came off, then her trainers and her short socks.
Then her short denim skirt, so that she found herself standing in the room with Rosaura dressed in nothing but white cotton panties and matching bra.

"Here, let me," said Rosaura and she unhooked the bra and gently slipped it off. Gretchen found the whole experience of being gradually stripped naked by this strange green apparition quite disarming and she made no resistance as her panties were at last slipped down and she stood naked and trembling ever so slightly, before the gaze of those penetrating green eyes.

"Here, dear, wear these," purred Rosaura and she produced two black velvet band studded with green jewels and a large green amulet on a black velvet ribbon. The large green amulet, was placed round Gretchen's neck, one band round her left arm above the elbow and one, ever so carefully around her right thigh.

"What's this?" asked Gretchen fingering the amulet round her neck.

"That is the symbol of the Innamorati. You are to be our slave for the evening"

"Slave. I thought I was going to be painted. I don't want to be a slave."

"But you are going to be painted. You're just to be our painted slave. Aren't you my dear? Our painted slave. You'll find it exciting. So, so exciting" and she looked at Gretchen with her piercing green eyes, "Hold the amulet, Dear, and you will know you are our slave."

And Gretchen fingering the green amulet round her neck and suddenly she felt Rosaura was right. She was their slave; she was there to do their every bidding.

"Come." Said Rosaura, and she led Gretchen back into the dining room. It was no longer empty. Seated around the dining table, all facing the marble pedestal were twelve women, all dressed in green ball gowns and all wearing bejeweled eye masks.

Gretchen understood without being told what the pedestal was for. She was to stand on it. Naked. Under the gaze of these women. Displayed for their pleasure as they dined.

Rosaura helped her up onto the pedestal and directed her to stand head thrown back and hands behind her neck, bosoms thrust forwards, and as she did so, the pedestal started slowly to revolve.

As she had understood her body, nude except for the three black bands, was to be the dinnertime entertainment, and by revolving the pedestal, Rosaura had ensured that every morsel of her nudity was open to scrutiny.

Suddenly Gretchen gasped, the doors of the dining room were flung open and scores of neatly dressed serving girls brought in the first course.

Gretchen knew what she had to do. She thrust her gorgeous bare bosoms even further forwards and her nipples throbbed with the excitement of the occasion.

Gretchen longed to rub her throbbing nipples, her excitement so great she longed to give herself some relief by putting her hand between her legs and fondling her pleasure spot gently. But she dared do neither. She had come to be their slave and to display her nude body as aperitif and main course. What was she going to have to do for dessert?

Gretchen had to wait until the last coffee had been served before she found out.

Rosaura stood, rapped the table three times and pronounced.

"Let the bidding commence."

Gretchen dropped her pose and looked at the seated women. Of course. The slave was to be auctioned..

Rosaura smiled, "Oh yes dear; I had better explain," she purred and her green eyes glinted and her cat like lips smiled.

"These ladies are to bid for the pleasure of painting you. I will start the bidding - five hundred dollars"

Five hundred dollars. Gretchen knew that as their slave she had to get the bidding up. She licked her fingers and thrusting her bosoms again she toyed provocatively with her engorged nipples.

The bidding rapidly rose. At fifteen hundred dollars an impressive woman with a familiar look and wearing a strange costume spoke out authoritatively.

"Let us see your intimate parts Gretchen."

Gretchen, the willing slave complied. Opening her legs she licked her fingers again and comforted her pleasure spot.

"Two thousand dollars," said the woman. And Gretchen was sold.

"Where am I to be painted," asked Gretchen.

"Oh, you stay where you are," said the woman, removing her green mask. Gretchen gasped. It was Linda. Linda from whom she was trying to raise the money to escape.

Gretchen fingered the amulet and she knew she was Linda's slave. She thrust her bosoms forwards.

"Of course, Mistress, my naked body is yours."

Tubes of paint were brought and Linda surveyed them carefully.

"How do you want me to pose, Mistress," said Gretchen, "and where is the canvas."

"You are the canvas," said Linda as she started to apply bright colors to Gretchen’s bare bosoms, “I’m painting a costume on you.”

And Gretchen understood. She was to be literally painted.

It was an hour before Linda had finished, and when she had done so the others applauded loudly. The trompe l’oeil was perfect. Gretchen looked for all the world as if she was wearing a tight harlequin costume. Black and red diamond patterns across the torso, black knee breeches, white stockings and black shoes. Only on closer inspection could you see that she was completely naked except for the green amulet round her neck and the black velvet bejewelled bands round her arm and leg.

Then Gretchen realized. She recognized the costume Linda was wearing. The costume of Harlequin’s lover Columbine.

“Come with me my Harlequin,” said Columbine, and led her to a private room.


Rosaura had taken Gretchen back to her apartment in the Limo and they were standing outside her front door. Gretchen still a naked painted harlequin.

“I can take that back now,” she said, gently removing the amulet from round her neck, and then she had vanished in her silent, cat like way.

Gretchen looked around bemused. What was she doing standing outside her front door. How on earth had she got there? And why was she wearing a strange multicolored costume. She went to put her hand in the pocket of her costume to get out her keys and it came up against warm, bare flesh. She looked again and gasped.

She wasn’t wearing a strange costume.

She was stark naked.

The costume had been painted on her naked body. Naked that was except for a band round her left arm and her right thigh. Black velvet bands studded with small green jewels.

Her hand went instinctively to her private place.

Oh gosh, she thought, she had no idea where she’d been, or how she’d ended up completely nude and painted like a harlequin, but she seemed to have had a good time.

Submitted: May 29, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Joex. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



That's cute! Body painting is a rage. I haven't the nerve to walk naked down Bourbon Street wearing only paint. But some do.
Regardless, I really like the piece. It must have been longer at one time. This reference to "Linda" from whom Gretchen was fleeing has no obvious source. There's just a statement about escaping to Westmoreland.

The amulet must also have an amnestic effect. I like the repetition of the initial opening paragraph; the way that you do that. This is quite an interesting group of ladies with a fascinating hobby. Well described with lovely imagery. The idea of her roommate taking her negatives to be developed at the store where she worked was hilarious. The whole thing was kind of tongue in cheek, lighthearted fun.

Mon, June 22nd, 2020 12:39am

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