A Story Collected by Djian

Modeling Nude

Collected by Djian

Modeling Nude
by Adrianna

I found the classroom and met Jeremy just as arranged, although I was
almost late which meant the students were all set up and ready to
start before me. This dashed any hopes I might have had for a low key
arrival. I could sense an air of impatience even before I undressed.
Jeremy's smiling, relaxed welcome did nothing to alleviate the
pressure of the hard, twisted knot of nerves in the pit of my
stomach. There was no time for chit-chat and instead he simply
pointed me to the back corner of the room - a small area screened off
with paint-splashed canvas drop sheets - telling me I could "change"
in there.

It was difficult not to make a joke at my own expense. I mean, I was
about to sit for an hour and a half in the nude in front of fifteen
or so total strangers and he was telling me I could go somewhere
private to get undressed? I wasn't quite sure what he expected I
would re-emerge as but I did as he suggested and disappeared into the
makeshift dressing room to undress.

(An aside - I later asked about this peculiar situation and was given
an explanation which was entirely obvious once I thought about it.
The changing area was set up so that models had somewhere clean
and "paint free" to hang their clothes. Every available space from
the floor to the ceiling outside in the rest of the art room
resembled a Jackson Pollack work in progress.)

Modesty under the circumstances was surely a waste of time but still
my hands instinctively wandered in front of my body to shield my
nakedness as I walked to a chaise lounge which was draped in heavy
black velvet and sitting silently ready for me in the middle of the
room. Jeremy by this stage had reappeared by my side. He appeared to
be maintaining a "professional disinterest" in my nude body but I
nonetheless felt his eyes discreetly appraising me. He asked if I had
brought something to read.

I hadn't expected him to be interested in what I read during the
sitting and I waved the plain, black covered imprint of The Story Of
O casually hoping it would satisfy his interest. It didn't and he
didn't say anything but the way he raised an eyebrow and gave me this
funny look like "oh really? You're going to read THAT while sitting
naked in front of a large group of strangers barely out of high
school?" made my ears and neck hot with the tell-tale sensations of a
sudden burning embarrassment.

I stood staring at the chaise lounge for a long moment wondering how
exactly Jeremy wanted me posed. For somebody like me, who has spent a
lifetime working around famous works of art, the mental blank I was
having about how nudes usually reclined on chaise lounges was
unexpected. Jeremy explained I should begin by just relaxing in a
seated position. The precise position, he said, was unimportant just
as long as I could hold it without moving too much for about half an
hour.

I didn't have to be a statue, he said, and the purpose of classes
such as this was for the students to select and paint specific
details of the human body rather than a whole portrait of me lounging
nakedly. There was clearly more to this modeling business than I had
ever thought! After half an hour a change of position would be called
for and I could have a quick break between each half hour pose.

The lush velvet curtaining draped over the lounge felt luxurious
against my bare skin. I found it difficult to relax at first, but
once I'd settled into position - my legs extended out in front of me,
ankles crossed; my book open in my lap and ready to begin reading -
it wasn't long before I could enjoy myself in my new surroundings. I
kept my eyes down on my book for a long while, pretending to read the
words of the first few pages; words of my favorite novel which I'd
read so many times in the past I almost knew them by heart.

When I did finally begin surveying the room, making furtive, short
mental excursions with my eyes, glancing around me, my attention was
drawn to the easel set directly facing me from the foot of the chaise
lounge. The crumpled bagginess of the trousers; the paint splattered
material bundled atop large, scuffed, unlaced brown leather shoes I
could see under the easel immediately made me think of an eccentric
old artist like van Gogh or Dali standing there. The bespectacled
head which every ten or so seconds rolled sideways out from behind
the easel to spy on me immediately made me aware that the class
wasn't entirely young students fresh out of school. This man looked
to be sixty or more years old and I couldn't imagine what a person of
his age was doing in college ... learning to paint nude women ... an
old man using the class as an excuse to ogle young, naked women?
Surely not!

I quickly averted my eyes from his whenever they came close to
meeting. Out of everybody in the room, and I could only see about a
third of them - the ones set up in an arc around the foot of the
divan - this one old man unsettled me the most. Oddly enough it was
the thought of him gawking at my nude body that set my mind reeling
with a peculiar, almost familiar excitement. The tingling that
stirred in my loins started to become an itch which I couldn't
scratch. I thought of "O" and the way she's roughly stripped in the
opening scenes of the book I held in my lap; I thought of the way
she's taken blindfolded into the Chateau; I thought of the way the
old men there force her face down over a divan and hold her there
while they pleasure themselves with her; how they take her both from
behind and in the mouth at the same time; "O" unable to do anything
to stop them. I began to be able to see the old man's face clearly in
my mind; I imagined him as a kind of leader of the younger students
in the class; his acolytes who refuse to allow me to sit as casually
and modestly posed as I am. They force my arms up over my head,
lashing my wrists together with ropes and tethering them to an unseen
hitching point over the back of the divan. Others have grabbed hold of
my ankles and pulled my feet over each side of the divan, spreading my
legs lewdly to expose me fully to the old man watching silently from
behind the easel. I struggle, trying to prevent my ankles being
hobbled loosely together under the seat of the divan.

The restraints are just enough to prevent me modestly bringing my
knees together; the length of rope allowing me free movement of my
feet from the floor up to the sides of the divan but no higher.
Struggling to bring one foot up onto the seat forces the other to be
dragged below again, twists my hips and keepsg me fully exposed to
the old man.

Jeremy abruptly interrupted this fantasy, calling a temporary halt to
the class and telling me I could take a break. I didn't want to move!
I could smell myself; the strong scent of my arousal wafting up from
my loins. He simply shrugged and smiled when I told him I was okay and
didn't feel like taking a break but he did say I'd have to change
position.

When I rolled over onto my stomach, I immediately felt the cooling
dampness of where my pussy had been leaking on the velvet. I was
mortified! More than this, lying on my stomach forced my legs from
roughly my thighs down to hang off the end of the divan - an
uncomfortable position and one I wasn't likely to be able to hold for
any length of time. This became one of the most embarrassing moments
of the whole session as I wriggled and squirmed trying to get into
any position which didn't fully and provocatively aim my bare backside
at the old man at the end of the divan. It was impossible and the best
I could manage was to curl up into a fetal position so that at least
he was about the only one who had a direct line of vision to my
aroused pussy.

Once I'd settled into this position I gave up trying to read my book
and instead rested my face on my hands and closed my eyes. It occured
to me I'd had virtually no sleep for the past few days and I found
myself drifting off into a light sleep the moment I closed my eyes.
It wasn't long before my dreams resumed and for that indeterminate
period time before I fell properly asleep, I felt electrified with a
rush of pleasure imagining myself being pulled up from my position
and forced into a fully bent over prayer position on my elbows and
knees. All sorts of wild, arousing dreams flooded my senses and the
more I tried to mentally defend myself against the wraiths that
invaded my sleep, the more I could feel my pussy lips swelling and
unfurling and undoubtedly awash with juices which had already
probably stained the luxurious velvet beneath me where I'd been
sitting.

In my dreams I could feel the hot warmth of the old man's naked body
enveloping me from behind. I could hear myself quietly moaning as his
erect cock slipped effortlessly into the slipperiness of my pussy;
his weight resting down on my back before I felt him rocking himself
to drive his hard cock deeply inside me. The hotness of his breath on
the back of my neck as he vigorously pistoned himself into me felt so
real it took my breath away. I tensed my buttocks and pelvic muscles
trying to make real the hardness ramming me in my dream. It felt SO
real. I shivered and gasped, imagining his old calloused hands
groping my breasts as he roughly took my pussy from behind. I dared
not open my eyes. I felt overwhelmed with a sense of utter
humiliation and imagined the whole class of young students circled
around me, their painting abandonned to watch this old man
mercilessly banging his hard cock into my excited pussy. I could
almost feel and hear his balls slapping my swollen clitoris as he
pumped me! Each time he drove the length of his cock to the depths of
my pussy a small grunt escaped my lips as he knocked the breath out
of me. The friction of him burned inside me; I could hear myself
whimpering now; gasping for breath and almost tearful from the
overwhelming emotions which held me locked in my dream. I suddenly
gasped so loudly I woke myself.

I was dazed for a moment before I realized where I was. When I did
open my eyes I looked up and saw Jeremy staring down; a look of
uncertain pleasure creasing his face and causing his lips to curl up
slightly in a vague grin. I didn't even realize I was naked at first
but when I snapped back to my senses I shrieked; my hands recoiling
rapidly out from between my thighs and rushing to cover my nakedness.
The art room was almost deserted except for a few young students
mumbling and clearly laughing to each other as they left the room.
There was no sign of the old man.

Jeremy seemed to accept my stuttered explanation of falling asleep on
the comfortable chaise lounge but there remained a look in his eye; a
sparkle which almost winked back at me as if to announce loudly not
only was I lying about what happened, he'd obviously SEEN me in the
throes of an orgasmicly delightful dream. A surreal state of confusion
continued to cloud my head until after I got my clothes back on. I
still wasn't fully alert or awake when I re-emerged from the dressing
room and Jeremy's offer of money surprised me. He laughed when I
questioned it and simply pressed it into my hand, telling me I'd
better hurry if I wanted to get back to work in time.

It was well and truly after 2pm by the time I got back to my office.
Luckily my boss didn't question me on where I'd been or why I was so
late getting back although he did eye me suspiciously for a moment
before going back to his own work. If only he knew! And to think I
have to go back and do it all over again tomorrow...

--

serÂ·enÂ·dipÂ·iÂ·ty (n) The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by
accident.

"You don't set a course for Serendip. Instead you set out in good
faith and lose your bearings serendipitously." from The Sinbad Saga

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