Reluctant Model
This really happened to my college girlfriend, she told me the story several times, and I’ll try to write it the way she told it. This was a long time ago, I don’t know if it could happen in college now, and there are aspects of the story that I don’t quite understand... I’ll let you judge for yourself.
Brenda was a shy girl, very bookish, obsessed with English literature, a great student, but very restrained and inhibited. She’d grown up in Wyoming and in the South and her parents were very conventional. So she dressed very conservatively, usually a long skirt and a baggy blouse or sweater. I thought her body was hot, but I’ve always liked girls with some curves. Like many of the girls in college, she’d put on ten or fifteen pounds since freshman year, most of it went to her ass and breasts and, even though I liked it, that just made her even more body-conscious.
She was about 5′5′, long, straight brown hair, and widely spaced, extraordinarily intelligent brown eyes. She had the softest skin I’ve ever touched.
Both of us were very sexually inexperienced. Frankly at the time all we’d done is make out, and I’d spent hours playing with her breasts. Her tits, you see, were magnificent. Large, round, with pale pink nipples that would get erect at the drop of a hat. Ironically, she was particularly self-conscious about them, they were so large that, even at 20 years old, they sagged quite a bit. When our friends used to joke around about the “pencil test” she never laughed, she thought her breasts were too big and kind of gross. I couldn’t have disagreed more.
A few times I’d put my hand between her legs, but she’d always put her hand right over mine, afraid that things would get “out of control.” I’d feel her warm pussy, but it was always through a layer of panties. I’d never seen her fully naked.
It was your typical early sexually frustrating relationship—the kind that most people probably had in high school.
I had a feeling that there might be a wilder side waiting to get out, however, if only because of the underwear Brenda wore. This was long before thongs came into style, she wore tiny little silky panties and sheer, slightly translucent bras. You’d never know in a million years what she was wearing under that bland, baggy clothing.
She was a junior when it happened, Brenda was studying in the library when Emily, a ditzy, self-centered friend of hers, came rushing up. Emily had a problem—her boyfriend had tickets to go to Colorado skiing over the weekend and Emily was desperate to go with him. Her problem was that she had her work-study job that afternoon, and she’d flaked out on it several times before, she’d lose the job if she didn’t show up today... so, please, pleeeease would Brenda go in her place? Brenda, always the good reliable friend, agreed. And Emily sent her to the art studio.
Of course if Emily had told Brenda what she was going to be expected to do, there’s no way in hell Brenda would have gone.
At the appointed hour, Brenda went up the art studio above the dining hall. She assumed she’d be cleaning up or handing out supplies or something. When she walked into the empty studio she saw the chairs and easels drawn into a circle around a small platform—the students hadn’t arrived yet, but the art teacher was waiting for her. He was in his 30’s, to her a much, much older man. He was one of those working artists who make ends meet by teaching part time and she immediately found him very attractive. He explained to her that she would be modeling for the class.
Brenda stammered that she couldn’t do that. But the art teacher was sensitive and sweet, he told her she’d be fine and that there was no nudity involved. It seems that a few years ago some parents found out about their sons and daughters posing nude and brought a stop to that practice. She thought about arguing with him, about leaving, but the students had started filing in and she felt committed.
The teacher showed her a little curtained off changing area and told her to put on her leotard. Brenda said she had no leotard—Emily hadn’t bothered to tell her to bring one. The teacher hesitated and said that some of the student/models had posed in their underwear and that would be fine. He said this is art class, she had nothing to be worried about, it was like a doctors office—all he was trying to do was teach the students the rudiments of drawing the human figure. And that was hard to do with no models.
Brenda said no way and got ready to charge out of there.
He stopped her and looked deep into her eyes and suddenly she felt a rush of warmth in the core of her body. It was scary but exciting, she wanted to please him—but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t take off her clothes! She could see that he was disappointed and felt like a prude for refusing. After all this was art class... The teacher compromised, she could pose fully clothed.
The art teacher gave her quick and simple directions, he was wearing a work-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and she couldn’t help looking at his muscular forearms. He patted her on the back and she almost jumped from the contact. The teacher explained to the class that they would be sketching a clothed model today and then looked over at Brenda.
She walked up on the little platform and began what the teacher called “quick poses.” Just everyday movements: she pretended to pick up an object held the pose for about twenty seconds and then moved on to reaching over her head for another imaginary object. The students scribbled in charcoal, each time she changed positions there’d be the rustle of fifteen pads of paper flipping over to the next page. The art teacher walked around the circle of students, quietly giving each student pointers.
Brenda was actually sort of enjoying it. This was easy work and something about having sixteen people looking at her every movement was surprisingly fun...
And then the teacher called a stop to everything. He went into a frustrated tirade about how the students weren’t there to draw the clothing, the details of Brenda’s blouse weren’t their concern, they need to visualize the form under the clothes and start from there...
He turned to Brenda.
“You wouldn’t by any chance feel comfortable enough to...?”
He looked her in the eyes... Brenda felt a tickle inside her stomach. What was that?
The art teacher walked up to her and stood behind her. He whispered in her ear. “I think you’d like to take your clothes off but you’re afraid. But you know what? The fear is going away... You can just pose in your underwear. Most girls show more at the beach, don’t they? You want to take off your clothes don’t you?”
“I don’t know...”
“It would feel good. You’d like to have all these people looking at you.”
Brenda blushed. And then she surprised herself. “Sure, w-why not?”
With everyone watching, she kicked off her shoes. She untucked her blouse and took a deep breath and then peeled it over her head. It was only then that she thought about what her underwear was like. What had she put on this morning? She couldn’t remember. What am I doing? Why am I doing this?
And then her blouse was off. She glanced down at her bra. Shit. It was the translucent blue one. Her nipples were visible under the sparkly fabric. And, just as bad, much of the fifteen pounds she’d gained in the last year had gone to her breasts and so the bra was really a couple of sizes too small. Her skin was folded over the cups, they looked like they were ready to burst.
She wanted to stop, she wanted to leave, but she didn’t let herself pause. She was afraid looking at herself would just make the situation worse. So she unzipped her skirt and tugged it down over her hips.
And when she realized what panties she had on, she almost bolted from the room. They were little purple bikinis that had fit her perfectly six months ago. But now they were much too small and were riding down her larger hips and ass. Oh shit. Her pubic hair was peaking over the tops of the panties, she tugged them up, blushing.
She took a step, thinking that she’d just grab her clothes and get out of there. When suddenly the art teacher spoke.
“Thank you, Brenda. Now we’re ready for some held poses.” He fixed her with his gaze. Brenda tried to protest, “I—I can’t—” He smiled at her. “It’s really not difficult, I promise.”
She went along with him.
As Brenda stood in front of the class, holding her pose, she felt completely and utterly exposed. All she could think about was how her underwear was creeping down her hips, exposing the crack in her ass. How transparent the bra was... And how she was exposing the rounded, soft tummy that she was so ashamed of...
She felt herself blushing and cursed herself. The students’ faces were detached, they’re concentrated on their drawings. They don’t care about my crack or my nipples or anything else, she told herself.
“New pose, please, Brenda. I want you all to do a five minute contour study.” The teacher came up to her. He quietly asked her to sit on the stool and then gently pressed on her arms to rearrange her position. At his touch, she felt a sudden warmth between her legs.
As if reading her mind, he placed his hands on her knees and with a very light touch, pressed her legs apart. “Hold that, please.”
She held the pose. But she could feel a tingling in her pussy, a familiar feeling. She was getting wet, really wet. And her legs were apart.
The student right in front of her was a scraggly guy with pimples all over his face. He kept drawing, but Brenda could see his eyes flicking down to glance between her legs.
Oh, my god, she thought to herself, am I so wet that it’s showing through my panties? She didn’t dare look down or feel them, for fear of drawing attention. She just sat there frozen, exposing her pussy, barely covered by a thin layer of purple lycra, to this gross guy.
And, for some reason, that only made it worse. She was actually getting turned on by the situation. All she could think about was her crotch. And she was waiting... waiting for the art teacher to come over and touch her again... she wanted him to touch her. Really badly.
He called for another pose, but didn’t touch her this time.
Brenda was terribly disappointed, but she took the opportunity to close her legs and turn her back on the pimply student. This time she posed leaning against the stool, the most modest pose she could think of. Except that she started to feel her panties riding down even further. She felt a tickle on the inside of her thigh—it was a tiny bead of her juices... She’d never, ever been this wet before, she didn’t even know that it was possible.
And then the teacher stopped them all again. “People this is a contour study! You know what that means, draw an imaginary line... Hey you, come over here.”
He grabbed the pimple-faced guy and brought him over to Brenda. “You’re drawing an imaginary line that follows the shape of her body—do you understand?”
The pimply guy shook his head. The art teacher pulled out a brush, he smiled at Brenda. “This is a sable brush, softest in the world. It might tickle just a bit, you don’t mind, do you?”
The art teacher put the sable brush in the pimply guy’s hand and guided it across her skin. It felt really, really good, a light tickling that almost made her shudder. He started around her hip and drew it slowly across her stomach and then down, down... It was driving her crazy. What she wanted to do was to leave the room, find some quiet place and touch herself until she came. But instead she just stood there, feeling the tickle drawing across her skin, in by inch. Getting closer to her crotch.
“See, you’re drawing the line that the brush is traveling, that’ll give you a feeling of the contours of her body, understand?” The pimply guy nodded, Brenda glanced down at the student’s crotch, he had a bulge in his pants. Normally that would have grossed her out, now it only got her hotter. Some part of her that she didn’t even know existed really liked the idea that she’d turned him on.
The teacher turned to class—“Anybody else want to try it?” No one did, all the students could feel the charged atmosphere.
“Looking at your drawings, it’s easy to see you people have no idea of the shape of this woman’s body. Look! There are curves here, folks!” Brenda blushed.
“And her breasts... I’m sure that gravity has an effect on them, think it through, people! Try to imagine that her bra is off... I mean look at her, you can imagine that those breasts must look very different without the bra, sometimes you have to use your imagination in a situation like this. They sag a little, don’t they, Brenda?”
She looked at the ground, anything to avoid looking at someone, anyone in the eye. Her voice was very quiet: “Yes.”
“Brenda, it would be very helpful if you would...”
This time Brenda tried to resist... but her hands betrayed her, they reached behind her back, fumbled for a moment and released the clasp. The bra straps fell over her shoulders and she was left with her arms crossed over her chest, blushing.
“Thank you, Brenda, but I think for the full effect we need to see them unsupported.”
She slowly pulled her arms away from her breasts, she could feel them fall, sagging. And she could feel her nipples getting hard—was it the temperature of the room or the fact that she was so aroused. She blushed.
“Thank you, Brenda, isn’t that better?” She couldn’t reply.
The teacher posed her, he gently put her right hand on the stool and her left hand on her crotch. “Let’s hold this one for five minutes, all right?”
This time she was posed towards the pimply student, he was barely pretending to work now. He was just staring at her breasts, she tried not to move, but when she did she could feel them bobble and sway.
The art teacher continued walking around the room, whispering to the students. But after a moment he paused... and stared straight at her.
She tried not to look at the teacher, struggled to avoid his gaze. The teacher stood behind the students, looking into her eyes. And she suddenly felt her own fingers slowly move on her crotch.
Brenda rarely masturbated, and when she did she felt a great sense of guilt and disgust. It felt as if her hand had a will of it’s own.
She tried to stop. She actually pulled her hand away from her crotch for a moment. But then the sight of the teacher’s face did something to her and she began touching herself, at first gently, subtly. Brenda hoped it was a small enough motion that no one would notice...
There were some giggles from the students. One of the girls in the class whispered “Gross! She’s beating off!”
But Brenda couldn’t stop it, and now her fingers were under her panties, circling her clit like crazy. Here she was, in front of a room full of people, going wild on herself.
The sounds of drawing stopped. Everyone was staring at her. The teacher was livid—“Keep drawing, people! I didn’t tell anyone to stop drawing! You, come over here.”
He took the pimply guy by the shoulder and led him over to Brenda. He leaned over to her and whispered in her ear. “You know what to do.”
She was trembling with desire but still she resisted... “No, no, please, not him!”
But she couldn’t stop herself. The pimply guys was wide-eyed with surprise as she slowly lowered herself to her knees in front of him. She fumbled with his belt and jeans. His cock was long and thin and very hard.
She took it in her mouth, holding it in one hand, and fingering herself with the other.
There was utter silence in the room. The only sound was the pimply guy’s breathing and the wet sounds of Brenda slurping on his cock.
He shot into her mouth, his whole body jerking as if he’d been hit by a lightening bolt. And then Brenda came too.
The orgasm was the most intense she’d ever felt, she almost blacked out. She moaned loudly enough to be heard throughout the building.
And then it was over. She was on her knees, in the middle of a circle of gaping students... Her breathing slowly went back to normal, she could feel a little warm jiz dripping out of the side of her mouth.
The art teacher sauntered over. “Thank you, Brenda. Really, excellent work.” A few of the students giggled.
Utterly humiliated, Brenda got up and grabbed her clothes and ran out of there.
Of course news of what happened raced around campus. Brenda didn’t come out of her room for three days and when she did people were constantly looking at her and whispering. She just managed to finish the semester and immediately transferred to another college. This time a large state school where she hoped she could live the whole thing down.
As for the art teacher, we found out later that he’d already resigned from his position. Apparently his work had started to sell pretty well and he didn’t need to teach any longer. I went to one of his shows the other day, and there were a few nudes and I could have sworn that one of them was Brenda.