Talia was displeased by the images. He thought she would be. He'd taken great care to make some of them as he'd seen her, and then some to be crisp and close to her reality. The pretty girl did well with his brush strokes, and she'd given him plenty of inspiration, hadn't she. He looked at the screen too, while she seemed so appalled. Somehow someone else's opinion of his work became important now. It might have been a more sympathetic streak in him if it wasn't rooted in so much sadism. She was his victim, looking at how he'd claimed her.<br/><br/>He was brightly proud when she showed one of his favorite sketches. He'd even taken the time to blush those cheeks in an unfaded red. She really did look like she was dying and loving it. Perhaps they'd know, just looking at that, that the model was indeed being rammed in the ass for the second time, after her first, and would eventually be brought to climax with her shithole stuffed. He frowned, however, when she didn't want him to use it. There was no other way she could have reacted, Talia wasn't usually flattered by what he did, but this was his art. The whole point of all of this was his art.<br/><br/>Perhaps that was why he held her head harder. She had to understand that it would be damaging for an artist not to use what his mused gave him, and she'd provided plenty. It wasn't like the images were bad. He'd captured her raw confession and worship of her own misery. This was why they wanted his work, because he could undress pretenses. He looked down at her caught face while her mouth was full of food he'd chewed. "Eat it." he ordered and then slowly let go of her cheek and lips, his gaze narrowed to forbid her from disobeying.<br/><br/>"And I will use them." he said as he took another bite from another piece. He chewed and swallowed this one on his own. "Unless you want to explain why I have nothing for our publisher?" he asked as he looked her over and then nodded to the arm of the couch furthest from him. "Bend over, pull your skirt up." he said, as though it had been an after-thought. He gestured with his hand while the other picked up the coke. "Ass up." he said with some concern. "And pull your cheeks apart. You haven't iced it, have you?"<br/><br/>He wasn't much concerned of her comfort, and he would like to see the surrounding bruise from her newly tested ass soon, but he'd rather she not cry to much next time he used her delicious sphincter to satiate his need. She was his toy now, and he'd make sure he'd get much use out of her. If she refused, which she usually did, he'd shove her once, and if she still didn't do as he said, he'd toss her toward the armrest by her hair. After that she'd leave him no choice than to shake her by her arm to make her understand. He wouldn't back down from backhanding her either, if he persisted.<br/><br/>And once he'd gotten what he wanted, because he wouldn't give up until she did, he'd place the chilled can against the pucker he'd initiated to his lust. It wasn't really affectionate, but rather dominant and reducing. Which was how he liked her. He'd continue eating during her humiliation. He'd known some girls to like a chill to their recently swollen asshole, though.