Bimbodoll Goes Jobhunting
Chapter Two: Life Drawing
“Since a job involving numbers was obviously far too difficult for your ditzy little bimbobrain, I think we need to really pare things down, don’t you?”
A little embarrassed, Dani nodded in reluctant agreement with her Master. It was true—she had struggled helplessly in her job as a check-out cashier for the local grocery store. All of those numbers really muddled her up, not to mention all the phallic shaped items that ended up coming down her lane. It had been far too much.
“We need to go back to basics. Really simplify things. And what is simpler than being naked?”
She blinked. What could Master possibly mean by that? “I don’t think I can find a job naked, Master!” She paused. Wait, did he mean… stripping? Her expression clearly showed her thought process, because she heard him start to laugh on the other end of the computer screen.
“No, dummy. I don’t mean anything… nefarious. I was thinking more along the lines of life drawing. I think you told me you had gone to a few sessions to practice your drawing, once or twice before?”
“Oh, yeah! I love life drawing. It’s so relaxing.”
“Exactly! That’s just what you need. Something relaxing and easy, where you don’t have to overwork that weak little bimbobrain too much. And what’s easier than being naked? Sure, you’ll be naked in front of a dozen or so people, but you certainly don’t seem shy when it comes to stripping down for me.”
Her blue eyes widened. “You mean… model for a life drawing class?” That was a job, it’s true. It paid about 100 dollars per session—not a lot, but it would be something. The idea of being totally naked in front of a room full of strangers, however, filled her with bubbly nervousness.
“Oh, Master… I don’t know…”
“That’s exactly right, pet. Master knows best.”
“I suppose s—”
“Say it.”
“Master knows best.”
Soon after, Master sent her a screenshot of the poster for a local life drawing class. It took place every Wednesday in a small studio near her apartment. There was a Facebook group at the bottom, and a bright line of text below that advertising “New life models always welcome!”
She wrote a quick little message to the organizer, letting them know that she had never modelled before but she had always wanted to. The response was quick, asking if she was available for next Wednesday, and telling her to bring her own robe.
“And if you’re feeling nervous, don’t worry! Everyone is nervous during their first time. I promise it’s a really empowering experience—it’s good to push your limits once in a while!”
Next Wednesday she showed up at the small studio, wearing nothing but a pair of leggings and a loose t-shirt, no bra or panties underneath. Master had put her under just beforehand to calm her nerves, which had only grown more and more acute as the evening had approached. She certainly did feel calmer, but, more disconcertingly, she also felt a little… excited. Sexually excited.
There was already a small wet spot in her leggings, and she could feel her body thrumming with arousal, nipples hard in her t-shirt. She lingered near the entrance, debating whether or not it was too late to turn back, when the organizer approached her from behind, touching her arm.
“Dani! So nice to meet you face to face. Are you ready? Everyone is already seated. Don’t be nervous—it’s a very friendly class. The bathroom is right over there if you’d like to get undressed and into your robe.”
“Right. Okay, thank you,” she mumbled in response, wandering in a bit of a daze towards the bathroom. She hastily slipped out of her leggings and t-shirt, pulling on the orange satin robe she had brought from home. Tugging it snug around her now naked body, she left the bathroom and made her way into the little studio.
A dozen or more sets of eyes slid in her direction as she made her way tentatively to the center of the room, where there was a raised pedestal draped in fabric, and a tall stool.
She tried not to meet anyone’s gaze as she took a seat on the stool.
“Everyone, this is Dani.”
“Hi Dani,” the room chorused cheerfully.
She offered a polite smile in response, waggling her fingers daintily and keeping her eyes mostly averted to the pale hardwood floor.
“Whenever you’re ready, Dani, we’ll begin with gestures. You will do 3 different poses, holding each for about 60 seconds or so.”
For a moment, she wasn’t quite sure she fully understood, but already she felt the weight of the room peering expectantly at her. Fumbling with the ties on her robe, she took a deep breath and let the thin satin material ripple to her feet.
She quickly took her first pose. Keeping it simple, she stretched her slender arms straight up overhead, extending her torso, and tilted her head up. Peering at the ceiling was a bit easier than trying to avoid the eyes of the students, which she now felt on her, like physical touches. She felt them all, tracing slowly over the curve of her ribcage, the tip of her elbow, and especially her hard little pink nipples, and the small tuft of pubic hair peeking out from between her firmly pressed-together thighs.
There was a ruffle of paper and she heard the voice of the organizer speak up. “Um, next pose, please.”
“Oh… right, sorry.”
She thought for a moment and then stood up, placing her hand on the edge of the stool and leaning her weight against it.
The class fell silent again, aside from the scritching of pencils and charcoal against paper.
So this was her second pose. And she was supposed to hold it for… 60 seconds? A minute. Wait, how much time had passed already? 10 seconds? 30? All the numbers were scrambling her brain again. She thought Master had selected this job specifically so she could avoid numbers!
“Uhm,” the voice of the organizer rose up again. “Maybe we’ll use the timer for the next gesture. Normally we only use it for the longer poses, but…” She trailed off, and Dani was well aware of what she was inferring.
Feeling her cheeks grow warm in a darker blush, she nodded. “Yeah, sorry, that would be, uhm, helpful…” Her eyes lowered and glanced around the room during this pause, and it was difficult to ignore the mixed expressions on the faces of the students.
They were all generally younger, a mix between 20 and 30, men and women. Some looked a bit impatient, while others smiled at her with understanding condescension. She hoped they chalked up her inability to count to 60 on nerves, not her silly bimbo brain.
Amid the crowd, she suddenly noticed a familiar face. It was that man from the grocery store! Not the older, grumpy gentleman—thank goodness—but the other one! Not that she was any less embarrassed to see him. Not only that, but him seeing her—naked! He was sitting at the very front of the circle, a nub of charcoal in one hand and a pad of paper settled against his knee. He was smiling up at her with exactly with the same degree of interest and amusement from the grocery store. Fuck.
“The third pose?”
“Oh… okay, uhm. Right…” She hastily came up with a more contorted position, wrapping her arms around her body and bending forward at the waist. It was only once she froze in the position and she heard the beep of the timer that she realized just how exposed this pose made her to the people at her back. She stiffened, trying to focus on holding it until the timer went off.
It felt like an eternity passed before she heard the jarring beep go off.
“Very good. Now you may settle into the first 20 minute pose. I recommend something comfortable, maybe lying on your back? We have pillows…” The organizer tossed her a few small cushions and she went about trying to select her pose, lowering down onto the fabric draped pedestal and leaning back into the cushions, wedging them behind her neck. She crossed one leg over the other, her left arm draped along her side and the other across her belly.
Just as she was about to settle in, she met the eyes of the man again. He was smiling at her curiously, a sort of half smirk. His gaze lowered, trailing over her body, his brow furrowing slightly as he landed on her thighs.
She felt the sudden compulsion to adjust her position.
“Almost ready?”
“Uhm, yes… almost…”
What was going on with her? Suddenly she felt so constrained by the position she had chosen. It was so… boring. Hadn’t she wanted to challenge herself with this job? Slowly, inch by inch, she felt herself spreading her thighs. She drew her knees up so her feet were flat on the pedestal, her body still reclined, propped on the cushions. One arm rose, draping behind her, and the other slipped a bit further past her belly to rest against her inner thigh. She froze.
The organizer hesitated, and then clicked the timer to begin.
It took a moment or two for her to realize exactly what kind of pose she had put herself in. Thighs spread, open wide, exposing her increasingly warm little cunt and sluthole to this complete stranger. It was painfully obvious she had positioned herself to face him, too.
Aside from a slight relaxation in his brow and a quirk at the corner of his lips, it seemed almost as if he hadn’t noticed. His eyes were now darting dutifully between the page and her body, his hand sketching the swift, purposeful outline of her figure. The room filled again with the soft sound of sketching.
She was thankful that she didn’t have to worry about the time anymore—no more silly numbers. However, now that her brain wasn’t occupied with that, she found it wandering to equally… bewildering thoughts.
Was it just sheer coincidence that the man from the grocery store was here? There was no way he could have known she was modelling tonight—it had been so last-minute. She tried to time her looks at him in such a way that his eyes were on the paper while she sized him up. It was hard not to remember their last humiliating encounter. Oh, god. She’d been so embarrassed. To have been fired, on the spot like that—and more than that, to have struggled so obviously with simple arithmetic. The memory sent a warm little tingle between her legs and she inhaled sharply, quickly trying to think of anything other than her own embarrassment.
This was the last place she wanted to start leaking—in front of a group of people attentively focused on transcribing every detail of her body to paper. And yet, she could feel it… the little bit of wetness from before, in her leggings, starting to grow. What if he saw?
From the looks of it, he was still busy on the outline of her body, starting to sculpt the visible shape of her limbs. He was concentrated, focused. Just like she should be, except all she could think about now was her leaking bimbo cunt and his eyes slowly working their way from the outline of her body inward to its details… which meant that eventually he would be looking right between her legs.
Was he a friend of Master’s? That was the only logical explanation, besides sheer coincidence.
She took a moment to look at him more closely again. He was definitely in his early to mid thirties. Brown hair. Brown—maybe hazel—eyes. She was doing her best to avoid them, so it was difficult to say for sure. He was wearing a pair of jeans, brown suede shoes, and a grey t-shirt—much more casual than his outfit at the grocery store. It had looked like he had been on his way home from work then. Maybe it really was just a coincidence? Her silly bimbo brain playing tricks on her?
But Master liked to play tricks, too…
She was suddenly distracted by a slight ache in her neck. The models she had drawn always made this look so easy! She inhaled slowly, trying to focus her attention away from it, only to realize that his eyes were lifted again, peering at her. His hand was sketching, tiny, minute little strokes, seemingly etching in the details of her face—but it felt like he wasn’t looking anywhere but straight into her eyes.
She tried to keep her expression as still as possible, feeling a bit like a deer caught in the headlights. Then he started to smile again, and she felt her cheeks glowing. After a few more moments, finally, his eyes began to wander down her body. With every shift in his vision, she felt like a heat lamp was being directed toward a different part of her body… to her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, their nipples hard and throbbing as he sketched them meticulously.
She found herself wondering what it would feel like to have the soft nub of charcoal against her nipples… sketching, drawing over her body. It would be probably be more fun to be painted. Lost in her daydream, she could almost feel the cool acrylic against her nipples, wet and mud-like at first, and then hardening in the air. The bristles of the paintbrush soft as they glided over her skin, and maybe prickly as they dabbed, creating texture. Abstract swathes of colour across her breasts, her belly, pinks and oranges and yellows, and then some words mixed in, almost hidden… slut… dummy… bimbo…
Beep beep. Beep beep.
The timer suddenly went off. She blinked. Had 20 minutes really already passed? A quick look over the man’s sketch revealed that it must have—he had already completed her face, and was finishing up some shading on her limbs. She felt relieved to shift positions now, shrugging the ache from her neck and shoulders.
“Alright. This next one is 30 minutes. Again, I’d recommend something comfortable, like lying down,” the organizer suggested, resetting the timer.
As she shifted, she realized that not only were her nipples visibly hard—something that she supposed could be explained away by the cool air they were exposed to—but that there was also growing warm wetness between her thighs. Oh, god. Her bimbocunt had really started to leak. She cursed herself. It was her own fault for getting so caught up in her silly fantasy of having this strange man paint her from head to toe… feeling every stoke until he got closer and closer to her aching, swollen little clit, teasing around it with the wet edge of a brush until, finally, touching it. She shivered.
The class was staring at her impatiently.
Swallowing hard, she struggled to regain some control over her thoughts and tried to come up with a new position. Something comfortable, the organizer had said. Her brow furrowed. She suddenly felt like lying down was far too easy—boring, really. She wanted to interest the class. She wanted to excite them. Wait… no. What about her leaky cunt?
But before she could think too much about that, she heard the organizer clear her throat. There was a shuffle of paper as the students switched over to a fresh sheet. Hastily, she found herself bending over. She rested the bottom of her forearms against the surface of the stool, bracing it. Meanwhile, her ass was propped upwards, providing a full view of her ass and cunt to everyone seated behind her.
Only after she found herself frozen in this position by the beep of the timer did she realize what a stupid choice it had been. Not only was she getting turned on by these relentless fantasies, but now she was totally exposed to an entire section of the class, who could no doubt see just how hot she was getting between her legs. She could feel her swollen lips and clit pulse a little under their gaze, throbbing slightly, as the smallest trickle of arousal dribbled free. Inhaling sharply, she held her breath as she felt it take an aching, torturously slow path all the way down to her clit. She felt her entire body stiffen, clenching as it trickled over that ultra sensitive nub, making her cheeks flush bright pink.
There was a soft murmur behind her, and she felt another wave of arousal hit her unexpectedly. What were they saying? Had they noticed? God, how couldn’t they? She had bent over like a total slut, and now her silly bimbo cunt was all they could look at, leaking helplessly. She knew her cunt must be puffy and pink by now, her juices glistening as they built up and slowly began to dribble more and more, gathering right at her clit.
Worst of all, however, she realized that the stranger was positioned right in front of her. She was relieved that he couldn’t see what was going on between her legs, but somehow the fact that he was staring at her face made it worse.
She could see him start to sketch diligently, occasionally meeting her eyes with a little smile as she struggled and strained to keep her position. She felt a deep urge to squirm, to wriggle her hips as more and more of her brain began to focus on her needy little cunt. It was growing increasingly impossible to think straight as she imagined all the students staring at her, exposed, realizing just how turned on she was getting by being up there, totally naked, and watched. Judging her as nothing but another silly attention whore.
She was watching the stranger’s face absently, the rest of her focused on trying to keep still, when she saw his hand suddenly pause mid-stroke. There was another soft murmuring behind her, this time a bit louder. She swallowed hard. He was staring right between her legs. She couldn’t read his expression exactly, but it seemed caught somewhere between surprise and amusement.
Tentatively, she tilted her head downwards slightly, enough so that she could see—to her absolute mortification—that there was a long string of her own arousal, dangling from her cunt. It glistened in the bright overhead lighting of the studio.
Groaning inwardly, she made a move to shift her position when she heard the organizer speak up. “Please try to keep your position,” she said sharply from across the room.
She froze in place again, feeling her heart begin to race. The stranger was looking her in the face again, clearly enjoying the struggle plainly evident in her own expression. She found herself unable to do anything but hold his gaze and let herself drip helplessly, unable to control her needy little cunt, which by now was so achy and warm. She wanted nothing more than to run off and finger herself in an empty bathroom stall.
There was some more murmuring behind her, followed by some poorly muffled laughter. Then a quiet giggle. Another wave of shame and mingled arousal washed over her, making her tighten her thighs together and bite back a whimper.
Her eyes finally tore from the stranger’s at this, flitting down to his paper. He had captured her expression quite accurately—she could see the little knotting at her brow, the way her fingers clenched the edge of the stool she braced herself against. And then, of course, the string of bimbojuice dripping from between her taut legs.
She couldn’t take it anymore.
Suddenly, she stood up. “I-I… I’m sorry, I can’t continue…” she stammered out.
“What do you mean? There’s still ten minutes left in this pose,” the organizer protested, irritation quite plain in her voice. There was some more murmuring and laughter among the students. She felt her cheeks burning.
“I-I know, uhm, but… like… I… I just, uhm, really gotta go,” she said, struggling to find her words. She felt the string of bimbojuice cling to her inner thigh as she shifted, her cunt still dripping freely as she fumbled back into her robe.
“God, what a bimbo…” she heard a student remark.
“Did you see the way she was dripping? She must really like putting on a show… too bad there’s nothing upstairs…”
Completely humiliated, she made a beeline straight for the door, bursting through and into the open hallway.