The First Fallen

by AlwaysWatching

Tags: #angels #f/f #no_sex #pov:bottom #sub:female #wings #art_model #dubious_consent #faux_Christianity #orgasm_delay/denial #orgasm_denial #wingplay

An eccentric artist hires a live model to complete a painting. Her model has some trouble staying still. The artist can help with that.

Since the original summary was too big to fit on ROM's description, please find it in this forward:

My name is Lucy Feer. I am a woman. I am painting a new piece depicting the First Fallen. I require a live model to complete my piece.
If interested, please see the below requirements:
No previous modeling experience. Do not contact me if you have modeled before.
Must look like the First Fallen.
Must approve of being touched by the artist.
Must be available every day for at least a week.

$250 a day until completion of the painting.

If you are interested, please email a face picture and a full-body picture of yourself to the listed email. I will email you back with further instructions if I accept your application.
Thank you.
Eve had never paid much attention to the old church outside of town. She’d never cared about it. Even when she saw the construction crews outside working on restoring it, she dismissed it. She wasn't sure why anyone in Eden City would be interested in restoring an old, burnt-out Angelican church. The only reason she could come up with was religious people being weird. 
Now that she was standing in front of it though, she cared quite a bit. It was an intimidating building. The entire thing was crafted out of solid, gray stone, interrupted only by panes of colorful stained glass that depicted various stories of angels falling from The Text. A tower jutted out from the front, standing tall and proud. The triangular roof of the tower was cased with bronze, though the cross that typically capped the tower was vacant. The rest of the church was a simple rectangular shape.
It was hard to believe this was where she was supposed to be. Eve pulled up the texts she’d exchanged with the artist and checked the address she had been given. They confirmed she was at the right place.
If Eve hadn’t already been paid for the first day of modeling — a whopping $250 per day — she would’ve thought this was a prank. The money didn’t lie though. Neither did the phone call she’d had with the artist after emailing her pictures. The conversation convinced Eve that the artist was dead serious. Just by the sound of her voice, Eve could tell she wasn’t the type to play stupid pranks on the internet. She simply had the misfortune of her ad reading like a shitpost, especially considering the line about a model who was okay with being touched by the artist.
Eve had tried to ask the artist to what extent she should expect to be touched, but the artist told her not to worry about it, and that if she had more questions, she could ask when she arrived for her first day. She had also assured Eve, in no uncertain terms, that if anything made her uncomfortable, she could say no and leave. The first 250 dollars would be hers to keep regardless.
She adjusted her wings nervously. The vagueness worried Eve, but she could accept it and some anxiety for the amount of money she was being offered. The artist said that she may need to have Eve model for an entire week. That much money could cover Eve’s rent for almost two months. Lord knew she needed the extra cash.
Eve straightened up, brushed her hair out of her face, and made sure her wings were unruffled and pressed flat against her back. According to the artist, she was a perfect model for this job. Not that it was hard to find someone who looked like The First Fallen. There were a lot of brunettes with fair skin, white wings, and lithe builds out there.
The door to the church was on the side of the tower and up a solid wooden staircase. There was no doorbell. Instead, there was a metal knocker. Eve knocked with it, then startled; the sound was so much louder than she expected. 
A minute passed. Just as Eve was about to knock again, the door opened, and a tall woman with long jet black hair, amber eyes, and a floor-length flowy black dress revealed herself. Eve could feel the woman regarding her like she was a piece of prey. The woman’s height and narrowed eyes reminded Eve of a snake.
“I am Lucy, the artist you will be working with. Am I to assume you’re Miss Eve?” the woman said.
“That’s me. I’m here to model?”
“Excellent. Walk back down the steps and spread your wings. Let me get a better view of you. Pictures never do anyone justice.”
Eve did as she was asked almost without thinking; It was as if her body had moved on its own accord. Lucy gave her the longest, most exacting once over Eve had ever experienced. The only people Eve had ever felt so seen by were her parents when she was a kid. It felt as if Lucy was looking right into her soul.
The weight of Lucy’s eyes became crushing. Eve ended up looking at her feet rather than at Lucy’s face. It barely made Lucy’s gaze easier to bear.
“Excellent. You’re just as perfect as your picture suggested. Follow me,” Lucy said, snapping her fingers.
Eve looked up. Lucy was already walking back into her church. Eve spent a moment admiring Lucy’s jet black wings and smooth feathers before she followed. 
Lucy led her into the main chamber of the church. There were 6 pews, set on diagonals, facing a small dais at the front of the room. Rather than a lectern though, there was a canvas and a stool. In front of that, where the altar would usually be, was a bed. 
“Strip,” Lucy said, turning to face Eve once they were in front of the dais. “Both of our time is very valuable. Let us not waste it.” 
Eve blanched. She thought there would be more build up to this. A room to strip in and maybe a robe she was given to wear before the painting started.  In hindsight, she wasn’t sure why. Lucy was going to end up seeing her naked regardless. 
“Before I do. I— can I ask about what extent I’m supposed to expect to be touched?” Eve asked. 
“Ah yes. Of course. My apologies. You are a perfect subject. I was keen to get started. Allow me to ease your fears.”
Eve felt her face get hot. A perfect subject. Lucy had said it so clinically, yet it still made her stomach flip. Eve forced the feeling away. Now wasn’t the time to get turned on.
“Let us start with my mission here, and then you can decide whether you’d like to continue. You see, too many paintings of the First Fallen make her appear as if she was a Marian figure. She does not look tempted or debauched as she considers the fruit of knowledge, despite what the Text says. My depiction will correct this.”
Debauched. Tempted. Eve’s blush grew hotter. “I…how do you want me to look like that? I can’t— I’ve never modeled before. I can’t make those emotions on demand. And that still doesn’t answer my questions about you…touching me.”
“I will touch you to the extent needed to place you into the position I want you to be in. No more, no less. As for producing emotion on demand, do not worry. I requested a virginal model for a reason. I want all your reactions to be genuine. Do remember, if you find that you no longer consent to my touch, simply say the word, and you will be free of this arrangement. I will even allow you to keep your first payment for today. Is this agreeable?”
The reassurance was nice. The promise she could keep the money if she left was even better. For as strange as Lucy was, she didn’t seem malicious. She had made good on all of her promises so far too. Eve’s gut instinct was to trust her.
“Yeah. That’s fine. I agree.”
“Good. Now strip.”
Again, Eve’s hands seemed to move before she permitted them, going down to unbutton her shorts. A spark of arousal grew as she did. If she was honest, it had been building since the moment she had heard Lucy speak. The woman had such a commanding voice. To her relief, Lucy turned away from her, walked up the dais, and began to prepare her palette. 
As Eve stripped, she took another look around the church, trying to distract herself from the heat building inside of her. The stained glass was even more impressive from the inside. The light that streamed in from outside lit it up, making all the colors much more vibrant than they had seemed outside. The reds were as crimson as blood; the blacks were as dark as the night. All were of fallen angels. She wondered if Lucy had specifically requested the stained glass be replaced with art of them.
Eve finished stripping, folded her clothes, and left them on a pew. With the stained glass inspected, there was no longer anything to distract her. She had to accept that she felt excited to be standing naked and exposed in what was supposed to be a holy place. 
Lucy was still busy preparing her paints. Eve cleared her throat. She didn’t want to get lost in her thoughts and work herself up more. Lucy looked back and nodded once. To Eve’s relief, she didn’t seem to inspect her body any more than that, though a part of Eve wished she had. 
“Go stand in front of the bed. I will position you now,” Lucy said.
The order was unmistakable. It cut straight to Eve’s core and made her bite her lip. The commands and her nudity were melding together, making her feel like a livewire. Eve approached the bed and stood in front of it. She wondered who else had modeled for Lucy on it. She jumped a little as Lucy’s hand landed on her shoulder and nudged her forward.
“Kneel,” she ordered.
Fuck why did Lucy have to speak like that? It was too easy to picture those same words in a very different context. Eve shut her eyes and took a deep breath. None of that. She needed it to stop. She was here to model, not hook up.
The mattress was firm, but it wasn’t hard on her knees. Eve sat back on her legs. Lucy handed her an apple. Eve closed her hand around it.
“Inspect it,” Lucy said.
Neither Eve’s blush, nor her arousal, was going anywhere. It was humiliating. Lucy had been nothing but professional, but here was Eve, still getting turned on from being bossed around. Eve lifted the apple in front of her face and concentrated hard on it, trying to let it draw her focus away from her arousal. 
“Do not break position once I move you,” Lucy commanded.
“Got it,” Eve said. She had been so close to saying ‘yes ma’am.’
Lucy manipulated Lucy’s arms and head into position. Eve ended up with her cocked to the side, the apple held slightly below her eyes. Lucy pressed her other hand flat, then set the tips of the fingers on her right cheek. Eve was glad for it. It helped hide her blush.
“Spread your wings,” Lucy ordered.
Eve obeyed.
Lucy began to touch them.
Eve jumped off the bed and whirled around to face Lucy. Lucy seemed unperturbed.
“What the fuck — you — what the fuck?” Eve asked.
“I need to put your wings in the proper position, just as I did with your arms. I understand wings are sensitive, though. If you do not wish for me to touch your wings, please say so, go put on your clothes, and leave my home. If you will allow me to position them though, please kneel back down and allow me to continue my work.”
Her voice was as hard as steel. Eve almost shuddered. So this is why Lucy had been so careful to tell Eve she could leave whenever she wanted. The artist wanted to touch and position her wings  It was such an intimate act, something usually shared only between family, close friends, and lovers. 
Yet the command in Lucy’s voice, the way she spoke, the expectations in her words, almost had Eve kneeling back down instantly. She had no idea how Lucy had that effect on her. She covered her breasts and crotch with her hands and looked anywhere that wasn’t at Lucy. Now that she knew the full extent of what Lucy wanted, she needed to figure out if she could do this.
Eve found the answer was yes. She was going to be paid $250 a day to do nothing but sit still and model. The price she had to pay for it was likely boredom and a beautiful woman touching her wings. Even didn’t mind paying that. Besides, Lucy had been businesslike and professional when she had positioned Eve’s arms and head. She couldn’t imagine why that would change when Lucy moved on to her wings.
She could do this. 
“Okay. Just— be gentle? They’re sensitive,” Eve said, kneeling back down on the bed. 
Lucy moved Eve’s arms and head into the same position as before. Then the command came to open her wings. Eve unfurled them.
To Eve’s horror, Lucy stared repositioning her wings at the base of them, where feather and bone melded into flesh and skin, the most sensitive part. Chills danced up her nerves from her wings to the back of her neck. Eve clamped her teeth together to stop herself from making any noise. Having her wings touched was doing nothing to quell her arousal. 
Lucy pushed Eve’s right wing up an inch, considered for a moment, then pushed it up another. Only when she was satisfied, did she release the tight grip she had been keeping on the bone.  Eve shivered when the pressure was released. She couldn’t help herself.
“Don’t move,” Lucy snapped, squeezing down on the base of Eve’s wing again. Eve gasped. Her mind whited out. She missed the next thing Lucy said. 
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “It’s just—“
“You’re ruining my work. Now I need to position your wing again. Be good and hold still.”
Good. Eve wanted to be good. She needed to ignore the burning, white hot arousal threatening to tear her apart. She stared hard at the apple, taking in all the tiny, almost invisible imperfections. She counted her breaths. 5 seconds in, hold for 5, 5 out. The feeling of Lucy’s fingers on her wings was impossible to ignore, but at least she could prevent herself from shaking from it.
Lucy positioned the base of her right wing again, then trailed her fingers further up. It should have been less sensitive there, but Eve felt every touch so much more powerfully. She felt like she might combust. Her stomach kept flipping over and over again. She had long since accepted that she was wet; she just hoped it didn’t get much worse. Again, she tried to channel all her focus into gazing at the apple, instead of the beautiful artist touching her.
“You need to preen your wings more,” Lucy mused. “Though for our purposes, them being messy will serve nicely. You may wish to preen once you leave here, because I am about to make your wings look as debauched as the rest of you.”
Eve’s heart almost stopped. Lucy knew. She could see how turned on Eve was. Her face was giving her away. Yet she was still touching her, still rubbing her wings. She wanted to ruin Eve further.
Lucy’s fingers pressed past her primary feathers, then past her secondaries, until they were resting against the flesh underneath it all. She began to rub. The arousal burning inside of Eve began to build to a crescendo, threatening to wash away all rational thought.  
“Are we— are you almost done?” Eve panted out. There was no point in hiding how much this affected her. Lucy already knew.
“No. I haven’t begun painting yet. Be patient,” Lucy replied. Her fingers move up higher and continued to rub.
Eve had never been more fucking turned on.
Being forced to be still while she was touched, to listen to the commands of such a domineering woman, were things she had only ever fantasied about. The fantasy was nothing compared to the reality. She wasn’t seeing the apple anymore. Her vision was a field of red. Her senses were tuned only to Lucy’s touch. She ached She wanted more
The wing massage stretched on for what seemed like eons. Lucy kept the same pressure and motions throughout, all the way up to the tips of Eve’s right wing. The feeling was torture and bliss. Eve wanted to beg for more as much as she wanted to beg for it to end.
Then Lucy swapped to her left wing, and the torture began anew. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. Her wings were the most sensitive they’d ever been. If she took flight now, she’d be able to feel every bit of information the air had to offer. As it was, she felt every centimeter of Lucy’s fingers, every point of contact, the exact amount of pressure.
How fucking <em>good<em> it felt.
The pleasure was coalescing low in her belly. Her arousal was slicking up her thighs. If she was allowed to look down, she was sure she would see it soaking the sheets. All it would take was a single touch to her cunt, and she’d have come. She was sure of it. She wanted it so bad. 
Lucy moved her fingers up and pressed in again. Eve felt a scrape of nail. It was new. A mistake.
 It was rapturous.
Her posture broke. Her arms dropped to her sides. She moaned.
“I told you to stay still,” Lucy snapped.
A hand threaded through her hair. Eve nearly screamed as Lucy grabbed a fist full of it and yanked her head back. The pain cut through the pleasure, but then joined it, becoming its companion. It drove her pleasure higher, made it sharper, made it so fucking amazing that Eve wanted to scream again.
“Open your eyes. Now,” Lucy said.
When Eve did, Lucy’s eyes seared into hers from above. Though Eve was looking at the artist upside down, she could see the disapproval written on every inch of her face. Eve had never felt so small. It was humiliating how good feeling like that made her. 
“I’m sorry. I can’t— it feels—“
“You are debauched. You are tempted. I understand. This is how I want you, but you must remain still,” Lucy said. 
“I can’t
Lucy moved around Eve until she was in front of her. Her grip on Eve’s hair never slackened. The pain of having it pulled thrummed dully. The heat inside her thrummed with it.
“You’re telling me you can’t sit still?” Lucy asked.
“I— I don’t—“
“Can you do this or not?” 
Lucy released some of the pressure on Eve’s hair at the same time she slapped her. It wasn’t a hard blow, more surprising than anything, but her cheek still stung. Eve’s mouth opened in shock. 
“I accept clear answers, and clear answers only. Can you do this or not?”
Eve tried to think. Lucy released the grip she had on Eve’s hair. A moment later, her right hand slid through Eve’s hair and pulled at a new section. Eve cried out. Lucy struck her again. Both sides of Eve’s face tingled. 
“If you can’t do it, speak the words and I will send you away. If you can, tell me this instant.”
“I can do it!” Eve shouted. 
Lucy released her hair. Eve slumped forward. She fought to catch her breath. She felt like she was a moment away from falling apart. She’d never felt anything so intense. She’d never been so out of control. 
She loved it.
Fingers snuck under her chin and forced it up. Once again, Lucy’s golden, snakelike eyes burned into Eve’s.
“Can you truly or are you lying to me?” she asked.
“I — I want to at least try. Please.”
“Do you need help staying still?”
Please,” Eve begged. She didn’t know why. This was fucked up. She was naked and kneeling. Lucy had pulled her hair and slapped her. There was no good reason to stay. She should have run. But she was stuck in place, beholden to the command in Lucy’s voice, helpless before her eyes.
“I would bind you, but rope has no place in the piece I am creating, and I will not have it be in the way. We will try an alternative strategy. Raise the apple and focus on it.”
Eve hurried to obey, though she wished she could have looked at Lucy for longer. Her eyes were so beautiful.
“Take three deep breaths for me.”
Eve breathed deep. Her breath steadied on the third. It was easier to do when it was Lucy commanding it of her.
“You may feel the bed under you or the temperature of the room. Ignore it. Focus only on the apple,” Lucy said. Her voice. It was deeper. More commanding, yet also more soothing than it had been before. The cadence of it was as pretty as birdsong. 
“Yes ma’am,” Eve said. She wasn’t sure what the point of this was, but she could feel more of her attention being devoted to the fruit. 
“You may feel your breath growing deeper. This is good. Keep focusing on the apple. The apple and the sound of my voice.”
Eve nodded. It was easy to listen to Lucy’s voice. It was addictive. She would have listened to the artist read her a cookbook. 
“Your eyes may grow heavier. You may want to shut them. Keep them open. Focus on the apple,” Lucy ordered. 
She had already disobeyed so much. She didn’t want to fuck up again. It was so hard. Her eyes wanted to close on their own accord.
A hand touched her shoulder and began to knead at a knot. Eve ignored it, focusing only on the apple and keeping her eye open. The hand rubbed for a moment longer, then pulled away.
“You’re holding tension. I have gotten rid of it in your right shoulder. Let that feeling spread to your left shoulder. Let yourself relax. Let your tension drain away.”
With every breath Eve took, she could feel tension bleed away. Her shoulders dropped. The feeling of relaxing was warm and comforting, like a blanket on a winter night.
“That feeling of relaxation will continue to spread. You will feel it go down your arms, to your fingers, down to your legs, and the tips of your toes. It will spread until every part of you is relaxed. You will relax. You will let go of all of your tension. You will relax.”
The repetition was nice. It reminded Eve of what she was supposed to do. Just as Lucy said, the feeling spread through her whole body. When it reached her face, her eyes became half closed. She struggled hard to keep them open. 
“Now sleep,” Lucy said. Eve heard Lucy’s wings snap open. A gust of wind brushed against Eve’s skin.
Eve’s eyes shut.
Lucy had ordered her to sleep. Though Eve had failed to do that, this state seemed close enough. The world seemed far away. She had gone was somewhere else, somewhere where everything was relaxing and warm and good.
“Good. Imagine yourself as clay. You are soft and pliable. Movable. But not by yourself.  Only I can move you.”
Lucy nodded. It wasn’t hard to imagine herself as clay. She had been playing the part already. 
“All of your muscles except those in your face will be relaxed until I move them into position, until I mold you into the correct shape. When I squeeze a muscle, you will tense it and keep it tensed. When I squeeze a muscle twice, you will relax it. You are clay and I will mold you.”
I’m clay, Eve thought.
Lucy continued upon that vein, repeating what she had said, making her instructions as clear and as vivid in Eve’s mind as the gold of her eyes. Soon, Eve couldn’t imagine herself as anything but clay. Towards the end, Lucy said something about when and how that feeling would stop. Eve nodded slightly to it. She trusted Lucy. The feeling would end when Lucy needed it to. 
“Up now. Follow my voice. Slowly rise from your trance. With each second that passes, become more aware of yourself. Feel the room again. Notice the temperature. Remember where you are. What you’re doing. And then wake,” Lucy commanded, her wings snapping out again.
Eve blinked her eyes open. The room was the same as she remember. The apple was still right in front of her face. She tried to move it out of the way so she could see Lucy but found herself unable. Her muscles wouldn’t obey.
“Do you think you can remain still now?” Lucy asked.
Eve tried to nod. She was unable. She swallowed. “Yes,” she said.
“Good. Then I will get back to my work.”
Lucy’s hands settled on Eve again. She titled her head and arms the same way she had before, positioning her precisely. Eve felt like a puppet. She couldn’t so much as flinch as Lucy’s hands ran over her. It was as terrifying as it was relieving. There was no chance she could fail anymore. She was simply clay for Lucy to mold.
She finished with Lucy’s arms and head, then moved behind her again. Her hands settled back onto the base of Eve’s wing. Eve gasped, but her body didn’t move.
“Make as much noise as you please,” Lucy said, then began to fix her wings.
Lucy was slower about it this time. More methodical. She spent longer rubbing and squeezing at the base of Eve’s wings than before, drawing humiliating noise after humiliating noise from Eve’s throat, playing her like an instrument. The arousal that had died down when Lucy had convinced her she was clay roared back with a vengeance. Being unable to move or do anything other than moan like a wanton whore made it so much more powerful.
Even though Lucy already messed up Eve’s feathers before, she repeated the process again, massaging Eve’s wings to the tip, overwhelming Eve with sensation. Eve broke. The ecstasy of it became all she could consider. She stopped being embarrassed by the noises and sank into them, letting the pleasure carry her away.
Her orgasm was building. She was dancing right at the edge of it. She’d never gotten off from just her wings before, but if Lucy kept touching her like this, she knew she’d explode. Lucy swapped wings. The torture continued. Eve shut her eyes. Her whole body would’ve slumped forward if Eve hadn’t somehow convinced her it was clay.
“More, please more. Fuck please keep going. I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m so close,” Eve chanted. She didn’t care she was begging a stranger anymore. If anything, it was payback for being slapped. She deserved this orgasm. She needed it.
Lucy didn’t say anything, but her touch continued. As she began to reach the tip of Eve’s left wing, Eve realized that she was going to come. It would only take a minute longer. If Lucy slowed down just a bit she’d be there. She’d feel so fucking good.
Hands reached the tip of her wing. Eve was a hair away from coming. She was ready to scream.
The hands pulled away.
“No! No, no, no, no!” Eve cried out. “Please! I need it! You can’t! You can’t!”
“I’m going to start painting now. Feel free to continue to speak. It does not bother me. The look of desperation, the debauchery, the temptation is what I want. It’s what I need. You are a perfect model. Now hold still. We have hours of work to do, and we won’t be done today. I expect a repeat of this tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. There would be a tomorrow. Eve opened her eyes and stared at the apple once again. She would be here, on her knees, naked and begging again and again until Lucy was done. She was to be clay for as long as Lucy desired.
She should’ve demanded to be released now. To leave the church and never return to this torture ever again. Yet the temptation was too strong. The desire was impossible to ignore. She would be back, even if it meant she was burning just as she was now, stewing in her arousal for however long it took for Lucy to paint. No matter what, Eve would be there. She was desperate.
She had fallen. 


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