You may have seen the TV programme about how to pay off your mortgage in two years. My husband Alan and I watched it and were inspired to see if we could do it. We had been married for ten years and had bought a small house, partly using some money I had inherited, and although we had kept our mortgage down a reasonable level by today's standards, we still owed over £50,000. If we could pay that off, or a large chunk of it, we would have a much better standard of living.
Alan had a good job and in his spare time played the keyboard in a band around pubs and clubs, so was already earning some extra cash on Fridays and Saturdays; he played other instruments too and was qualified to teach them, so he decided he would go for that. It had the advantage that it would be 'cash in hand'. We decided to go all out for it, reasoning that we could cope with the work for a couple of years. Alan teaching for two or three hours every night, with the income from the band would put maybe £8,000 or £10,000 into the pot each year.
The problem was, what could I do to contribute? We looked at my options. I worked in a supermarket, having started on the tills and had recently become the manager of one of the departments, but I really had no marketable talent. I had done a bit of drama at one time, but not to a standard where I could teach it, and there was no money in amateur theatre.
"You'll just have to go on the game," Alan said jokingly and we continued to look for something for me to do. I didn't want to get another shop job or something similar.
Time went by and Alan was working really hard, I hardly saw him, then he came home one night from a gig and said that he had seen an advert on the pub noticeboard from an art teacher that was looking for a woman to do life modelling and was offering £12 per hour.
"I don't know... I mean, posing nude," I said, then I thought of all the work he was doing himself and felt guilty. "You wouldn't mind me doing it?"
"No, not if you didn't. I wrote down the number, why don't you give him a ring?"
Three days later, after an interview, he rang to offer me the job.
"The classes are very popular, so you will be naked in front of a lot of different people. I usually have a different theme for each term - you said you wanted to do it for two years?"
"That's just what I'm looking for, so that we have some continuity. The practical aspect of sitting naked for two or three hours means that we'll adjust the classes around you, so instead of doing Monday to Friday we'll do seven days a week for three weeks and then have a break when you have your period -- do you have a regular monthly cycle?"
"Yes, 29 days, like clockwork."
"Very well, if you still want the job you'll need to tell me the dates when you can't come, each month."
I had already encountered his matter-of-fact attitude at the interview, so this talk about my private functions came as no surprise. I told him and we agreed the starting date, for the next month.
The first night I was very nervous, but they all put me at ease, so after the first few weeks I settled down and started getting used to it. I wasn't alone in modelling; there was also Art, who was a student at the University and doing it to help pay his fees. Art wasn't his real first name but everybody called him that, because of his initials -- A.R.T.
Peter's (the teacher) theme for the term was 'coy', so Art and I had to pose in a shy way, which wasn't a problem because neither of us had done that kind of thing before. Most of the pictures of me showed me with my legs crossed, or under me, and often with my arms folded across by breasts. Some of the artists were very talented and the pictures were excellent, I particularly liked the ones where they drew both of us in the same picture, as we sat or stood on opposite sides of a low platform in the classroom.
It was certainly a strange feeling being naked in front of another naked person I hardly knew, and I think he felt the same, but it didn't stop him having a good look at my body when he thought I wasn't looking. It didn't stop me from looking at his, either, and I did notice a little bit of stiffening between his legs from time to time although he was studiously avoiding it. I wondered if he noticed the small signs of arousal that were happening to me.
During the second term the theme was 'tease' so we had to pose more provocatively, but since we were now quite relaxed about it, this wasn't a problem. Occasionally the way that Art posed teased me, so I would respond with a sensual look or movement of my body in his direction. The term drew to a close and there were some very good pictures made, along with a fair crop of inferior attempts. However they were all doing better.
After Easter Peter said that the theme for the next session would be 'carnal' so we would both need to pose in a much more uninhibited way.
"Susan, I'll need you to get used to all parts of your body being scrutinised and Art, an occasional erection wouldn't be out of place either, when you look at Susan. I'm surprised you haven't had one before?"
" I've, er, been taking precautions."
"Of course. A lot of male life models need to do that beforehand. Well, stop doing it; I've told the students to expect it, and if it offends them they can leave; none of them said they were leaving."
From talking to some of the artists during breaks I had learnt that to get a place in one of his classes was a real privilege, he was renowned for his work and until his retirement the year before had been Principal of the Art college.
The first week of sessions were fairly standard, although lying on a couch with my legs spread on either side I somehow felt more naked, more exposed.
Peter said that our inhibitions were making our poses tense, so the next week we had to get them out of the way. On the Monday he told the class to gather around us, then had me lay on my back with my legs open, whilst he pointed out the slight colour variation in my hair, and the shape and position of all my most intimate parts.
"Do you see the way the lips fold and that slight glistening of moisture? I'll be expecting to see some studies of that. Now turn over and kneel up on the couch for us, Susan. Look how her hips curve, how the shadow falls into her backside and the way you can just see a hint of her anus, then lower down the dark crack opening into her body. From the side, her breast hanging down, with the highlights here."
He touched my breasts with three fingers, pointing out how the light reflected from them, and went on to describe techniques for drawing this. I was bright red with embarrassment.
"Now onto your back again Susan and hug your knees to your chest. A group of you can sit down here, and draw her from this angle and others from the side. Susan, I want you to imagine yourself lying like this for a lover, I want to see some lust in your expression. Do you think you can do that? I know it's difficult with us all here."
My mouth was dry and my heart was pounding, but I managed to croak "Yes."
"Now that Art has stopped wanking so much in the afternoons," - there was a murmur of amusement from the class and a gurgle from Art - "his penis is longer and thicker, even when it is soft. I want you to observe how it changes size and shape as it gets hard, and do some studies of it at the different stages. Now you turn over and kneel, Art. Notice how his scrotum hangs down, but as he becomes more aroused will become tighter. See if you can catch the way the light makes his black skin almost glow, it's a difficult technique to master but we'll go through how to do that with a variety of media.
Now stand up again and face towards Susan. Imagine that she's lying like that for you."
I saw Art's cock twitch when Peter said it, and start to harden. He noticed me looking, and tried to appear as if he was just obeying instructions, but I knew from the way he got harder and harder that he had no trouble imagining what he would do to me.
"I want a group right behind him, drawing him in the foreground and partially obscuring Susan. Make it appear as if he is striding towards her, about to ravish her. The others can cover the same but from the side."
That second term was a lot of fun. Towards the end of it, there were pictures of me with my legs wide open, one knee raised up, Art gazing at my crotch, his head propped on his arm, as he posed in the same position next to me but the opposite way around. Images of me kneeling with my mouth open, facing towards an advancing Art, his magnificent erection preceding him; all kinds of other poses. Some of my favourites were the charcoal sketches, from different angles, of Art lying on his back on the floor, with me standing over him, one foot either side of his waist, looking into each other's eyes.
The last week, before the university Summer break, we started by sitting on two chairs, facing each other. Peter gave us and the class our instructions.
"Sit back, leaning against the chair, Art, your knees together, feet about 15cm apart. Susan, put one foot by each chair leg. No, a bit wider. Perfect. Now class, imagine that Susan is sitting on Art's knees, facing him, straddling him. She presses her vulva against the base of his erect penis and leans back, savouring the contact. He reaches up and caresses her breasts. Hold that image in your minds. I have divided you into groups: this one, behind Susan will draw what she sees and the group over there will draw it from Art's perspective. Over here we'll imagine we're on the ceiling looking down on them, and the last group can draw them in profile."
There was a moving of easels, chairs scraping across the floor, the sound of new paper being fixed and drawing materials being located. I looked at Art and, on impulse, moved my hands between my legs, running a finger through my moistening lips. The effect on him was instantaneous.
"Would it help if I did it?"
Peter turned towards me. "What?"
"If I did it, if I straddled him as you described?"
I glanced at Art, he raised his eyebrows but nodded faintly.
"Yes, of course, if neither of you object, it would help enormously."
I rose and moved quickly over towards Art, and Peter picked up my chair.
"Move your chair into the centre, Art."
Once he was repositioned, I straddled his knees and worked my way carefully up until my crotch was almost touching his straining cock. I looked down to where it reared up between us, it was so much bigger than any I had seen before; I looked up at Art again, but he was as still and neutral as a statue. I moved the last centimetre forward. It felt as hard as iron as I positioned myself against it, and I closed my eyes and tipped back my head as sensation flooded through me. Art moved hesitantly, unsure of my reaction, but couldn't resist a few brief rubs of his solid roundness into my parted lips nonetheless.
"That's very good. Now keep your head like that, but open your eyes. Art, reach up with your right hand and cup the outside of her left breast. Yes, Susan keep your mouth open slightly. Now, with your other hand, reach around her lower back. Excellent. Now try to hold that pose."
Peter busied himself with his teaching, pointing out various improvements they could make; did they see how my neck was flushed, the curve of my breasts was drawn too small; see how her left nipple has extended, the crinkling skin around it, try to give a hint of that.
We knew that we had to keep still, but I just couldn't resist subtly moving my hips, sending little impulses radiating up from my clitoris, into my abdomen, as I pressed it more or less against his shaft. I glanced down to look at it; it was hugely engorged, the tip glistening with a trace of transparent lubrication, the jet black foreskin pulling back over the dark head as he mimicked my own tiny movements with ones of his own, whilst seeming just to reposition himself on the chair from time to time.
I had been trying not to think of him in a sexual way before then, but now I was turned on and I started to follow the curve of his neck, the muscles of his arms and chest, imagining myself caressing and kissing his smooth skin. He must have done some sport because he was well developed -- I looked down, certainly well developed there -- but didn't have the grotesque muscles of a body-builder.
"Go up and have a closer look," Peter said to one group, "walk around and look at them from different angles, study the points of contact. You don't have to draw the whole picture, but what you do draw should be in proportion and accurate."
The effect of what we were doing was tantalising, Art's eyes were hot coals of lust when he looked into mine and I wondered if he saw the desire burning there too. He was being very careful to appear professionally detached, despite being so obviously turned on, but given the opportunity I knew he would have me on my back with his cock inside me in a moment. It seemed like we had been there only ten minutes, but an hour and a half passed as we writhed slowly, teasing each other, with me inwardly moaning with suppressed passion.
Peter announced it was time for the break and all the artists trooped off into the other room for a drink, leaving the two of us alone and still entwined. I exhaled slowly and impulsively leaned in to kiss him. His cock pressed into my belly, up past my navel, I could feel its heat and the wet slipperiness of the tip. Our lips pressed together, open, his tongue pushing into my mouth sending a surge of lust through me that I had to do something about. But could I? I raised myself very slowly, looking into his eyes as I felt the tip slide down my belly, through my hair, until it nudged into the cleft between my legs. I wanted it to go further.
"Do you want me to stop there?"
I kissed him wildly, my mouth, lips and tongue all working, circling my nose against his. I could feel the tension in him as he held back, wanting to penetrate me but still letting me control how far we went. I couldn't wait another second and slowly slid down his pole, stretching open until I had taken almost all of him easily inside, feeling like twice the length and breadth that I had ever had before. I kept still, savouring the moment, then Art thrust the rest up into me and I rapidly began to work my body up and down on his cock, in and out, faster and faster, dropping my whole weight onto him as I bounced up and down.
He was panting and saying something, but I put my hands either side of his waist and kissed him again and again, a wild, animal urge powering my vertical motion. I knew I would have to stop before it was too late, there was nothing to stop me getting pregnant if he came inside me. I climbed off him, breathless, and moved slightly further down his knees, his rod sticking up between us, glistening with my wetness. If he hadn't spoken just then I couldn't have stopped myself from climbing back on to him.
"You have to stop, or I'll come."
"I know. And we have another hour or more of posing to do; they will need you hard for that, and so will I. But afterwards, when they are gone...."
I left the suggestion there, a promise.
"Now let's put on our dressing gowns and go to get a drink, as usual. I think we both need one."
"I haven't done it before." He said quietly.
"With a white woman?"
"With any woman."
I could hardly believe it. A twenty year-old virgin. In the heat of the moment, just before I sank onto his rearing shaft, I had had a brief thought about disease, but lust had overwhelmed my senses and I had thrown caution away. Now I knew that I needn't worry on that score. I would only need a condom for contraception, and I knew that I had none with me, and that after another hour of being teased I would be too aroused to stop and even ask if he had any.
As we drank our coffee, I heard some of the artists talking quietly about us.
They wandered back into the studio and we followed, hanging our gowns on the peg, as always. Art was first and sat waiting for me as I wound my way between the easels, his erection starting again as I approached and fully fledged as I straddled him again, assuming the same position as before the break. I leaned forward and kissed him, then looked around, defiantly, at the artists.
"Shall we get on?" Was all Peter said.
My heart raced as we recommenced our imperceptible rubbing against each other. A warmth spread through my body, his hands felt hot on my breasts; I could hear faint wet sounds from my lips as they rubbed against the thick base of his cock. I pressed downwards, so that his foreskin was pulled tight; then, as I released the pressure, I saw the pleasure those small movements gave him.
This time the ninety minutes seemed to take forever, but all that time the feelings in me increased, the movements he made, in response to mine, were a long and gentle foreplay that would soon bring me a shattering orgasm, and as the class finish time approached I started to grind my hips in small circles, my breathing becoming louder with the occasional stifled gasp. None of this was lost on the artists, judging from some of the whispering.
"I think we'll stop there for tonight," I heard Peter say, "I'll see some of you next week and the others after the holidays, have a good break and keep a sketch book with you all the time."
My attention was wholly on Art now, looking into his eyes, smiling at him, lowering my head and watching how his cock twitched as I stirred against him. I was subliminally aware of the sound of them packing their things away, moving chairs, and all the time we remained on our leash, straining to finish what I had started. Most of them had gone, just one or two lingering, half watching us. I looked down at the glistening head that poked up towards my breasts, took it in my hand and started to caress it. Art groaned.
I glanced across at Peter, who had just finished tidying up, imploring him to leave us. He acknowledged the message and ushered the others out, turned out the main lights, leaving just a small lamp glowing in the corner, and closed the door.
I raised myself up, parted my lips with my fingers and guided him into me; it was a glorious sensation to press down fully onto him, feeling the total length of his cock, my pale breasts crushed against his ebony chest and his arms wrapped round me, hands roaming. For ten seconds we were still, savouring the moment, but I lifted up again until I felt empty, poised with the tip at my lips, then plunged back down. I pushed up with my feet, then gravity pulled me back, took him deep inside my body, over and over again. Sometimes I made small rotating movements with my hips instead, grinding my clitoris against him. I had been near to coming for the last hour and now I felt it building in me, so I held him fully inside and pressed myself against his bone, feeling my whole being focussed at the point where we joined. Then the impulses started and I uttered my muted, guttural, cries of orgasm as I thrashed around and he worked himself in me.
I felt weak, but Art took over, lifting me off my feet with the power of his upward thrusts and steadying me with his strong hands under my armpits. We hadn't spoken to each other since the break.
"Harder, do it harder."
I love being taken hard and fast after my orgasm and this time the need was so intense that if his cock had been twice the length, and girth, I would still have begged him to go harder. My hair was in my eyes, sweat running down my forehead, a sheen on my breasts as they bounced against his chest, my wetness running out of me, squelching with the piston motion inside. He was building to the crescendo now, grunting and speeding up, then he was coming, there must have been five or six spurts inside me before he slowed his pace, winding down with slower thrusts until I leaned against his chest, limp, both of us gasping with the exertion.