First Class

An hour into my first class as a nude art model, the instructor told me to get into a pose I could hold for 20 minutes. I was on a platform in the middle of the room with about ten students, two of them male, stood around me in a semicircle. I got down on my knees, put my forearms on the floor, and rested my head on my clasped hands. One of the men called out "Great pose!" with such enthusiasm that for the first time in that session I felt really, really naked. Why in the hell did I pick this pose?

I recently spent two classes as a model at a local College of Art and Design. I hadn't done any nude work before but I love art and an artist friend of mine had been telling me I should pose for some time. So I decided to do what normal people are curious about but are too normal to do themselves. After I left a message at the school signifying my availability, the model coordinator, Silvia called me for a preliminary interview. It turned out to be no problem that I'd never modeled nude before, as long as I was willing to be nude for my maiden voyage.

Silvia invited me for an in-person interview, where she quickly approved me then gave some crucial advice. She said I should bring a bathrobe to class to wear during breaks. "You don't want to be" she cupped her hands mid-chest, "hanging out." I didn't think my chest was that big were I would be.

I had met the two essential model requirements: I owned a bathrobe. I was willing to take it off.

Silvia consulted her schedule. She penciled me in for one teacher then changed her mind. "No. One of the models told me this instructor likes the models to walk around and interact with the students". I wondered what I was signing myself up for. Was I supposed to sidle up to a young artist and say, "Is that a paintbrush in your pocket?" She considered another class.

I filled out the employment application, Silvia gave me a list of guidelines, which included my right to ask that the heat be turned up and my obligation to "use proper hygiene at all times." Silvia finally settled on an evening class, consisting largely of adult-education students. I would be paid $25 an hour. I wondered why it was so hard to find and keep models. It sounded like the ideal job: earning a damn good wage just to sit on your ass.

The night before I was nervous, looking at myself naked in front of the mirror seeing every flaw of my body. I cupped my breasts with my hands, lifting them up a bit wishing they would stay where they had been when I was in my early twenties. I watched my thick nipples get hard yearning for a man to be here sucking them. I dropped them quickly because I had other things to worry about. I turned around to look at my back and was happy to see my ass was still nice and firm. When I turned back around I scrutinized the tuft of brown hair between my legs. I had let it grow out after breaking up with Steven, and now it looked a mess. The top was a long thicket of hair that had started to creep down over the top of my pussy, and the rest my pussy was now covered with tiny fine brown hairs. I normally keep myself smooth with just a tiny V of fine brown hair just above my pussy. I don't like anything to get in the way when my man is giving me one of my favorite sexual pleasures. There was no way anyone was going to see me like this, but I was apprehensive about shaving to my normal look. I didn't want to completely expose myself to a bunch of students. After some thought I got the razor and went to work, getting myself back to my usual look. After giving my pussy all of that attention it wasn't long before I was in the shower finger worshiping my pussy and shuddering with a powerful orgasm

On the scheduled night I arrived early, after going through what I realized was the silly-under-the-circumstances ritual of wondering what to wear. I changed into my white terry bathrobe in the restroom and waited in the classroom while the students arrived. I was relieved to see they were almost all women between the ages of 20 and 60. Melissa the instructor asked me to start with 10 one-minute poses. I asked if she had any particular poses in mind. She shook her head, "I never tell models what to do."

Let me tell you the distinction between naked and nude. Naked is when you step out of the shower before you've put on your bathrobe. Nude is when you drop your robe in front of a roomful of art students. As I undid the sash to my robe, I had the momentary thought that I could say, "I don't know what I was thinking," then grab my clothes and run. But I opened the sash, took off my robe, and stepped up on the platform.

I stood there, suppressing a strong desire to giggle, thank god, the students suppressed their giggles, too as I tried to think of appropriate poses. I wanted to do something neither sultry nor stiff. I began doing yoga-like twists, but with my being undressed and all, I was afraid it had the appearance of yoga porn. I found it was easier than parading around in my bathing suit and high heels when I was 24 trying to be Ms. Dallas. Then I was trying to convince people that my corseted and padded body had allure over other girls that where full of plastic. Now I was just a bunch of spheres. Maybe a slightly deflated sphere here and there, but spheres and angles in space. It felt like that dream in which find yourself in class naked, when you know things aren't right, but there you are. So you try to act cool and unattached and give the impression you always meant to show up without any clothes.

During a break I put on my robe and looked at some of the drawings. In some portraits I was lithe and limber; in others I was curvy and sexy. I was fascinated how each artist interpreted my body differently.

Melissa had me move on to a series of longer poses, and I was starting to relax about the whole thing when a handsome black man wearing a Kenneth Cole blue striped shirt, dark indigo fitted jeans and carrying a 6-foot-long canvas arrived. He found a place at the edge of the circle with a view of my backside, propped up his canvas, and complimented my pose. My skin tingled and I felt even more naked. His gaze was affecting my concentration. As I listened to Melissa critique the other students, the black man continued to distract me. While the other students drew me in pencil or charcoal, he attacked his canvas furiously with paints and numerous brushes. It sounded like he was sanding an old dresser.

At the next break I again looked at the portraits. I was flattered to be the object of so much attention. One sketch was a feet-first foreshortened view, another an examination of my shoulder, arm, and neck. Then I got to Mr. Black man's canvas. There he had painted a luminous, opalescent, emerald-hued portrait of my ass. The colors were so sensual and passionate I felt my body heat up and my pussy had become moist. I wanted to buy it, I wanted to hug him for making me look so sexy, but I said and did nothing. One of the rules was that I couldn't comment on the students' work unless asked.

I was relieved when Melissa ended the class at that point because the whole class might have gotten a glimpse of the moisture gathering between my legs. I quickly got dressed and made my way out of the classroom to find my black man with his painting of me. To my dismay he was nowhere in sight. By the time I walked through my front door my panties where soaked. My mind flashed the image of his painting over and over in my head, along with the image of his dark cock fucking me in the same beautiful passion as the painting. I had spent half of that night giving my body to him in my naughty fantasies and woke up with a sore pussy and my hand clenching my biggest toy.

I eagerly agreed to model for another class anxiously hoping to see my black painter. This time I would make sure I would meet him. Shortly before the class the model coordinator let me know there would be another model posing with me. I said that was fine but worried about the direction we might be moving in. I did not want to share my Black painter with another model.

The day before, I discussed with my girlfriend my upcoming adventure with the other model and she raised a horrifying possibility. "Wiener?" she asked.

The question loomed till the one o'clock class. I watched as Melissa and the students took their places around the platform. I hung around in my bathrobe eagerly waiting for Mr. Black painter to arrive with apprehension coursing through my body and at the same time trying to stay composed while waiting for the other model.

My Black painter showed with canvas in hand. Moments later the other model arrived and I was relieved to see no wiener. Furonda was in her 20s, very dark skinned black girl, tall and curved in all the right places. I was less relieved when we took off our robes. She slid out of her little red silk Chinese wrap, revealing how young and gravity-defiant she was. As I pulled off my bulky white terrycloth robe, I consoled myself that we'd make a nice contrast for the students and I knew my painter would do something exotic with us.

Melissa was more directive this time, telling us how to pose. She positioned Furonda behind me close enough so that I could feel her large nipples poking in my back. I was positioned directly in front of one of the male students. He stared at us, held up a pencil, moved it back and forth and squinted with his other eye shut. He looked like a cartoon of an artist at work. I wanted to call out, "Where's your beret?"

Melissa posed us in a series of intertwined positions a few minutes each. I focused my eyes on my Black painter every time I could. His brush danced over his canvas and I wondered what kind of colorful erotic creations he was coming up with. His eyes where so deep and focused on his work and his hand moved with ease as if he was making love to the canvas. I began to imagine his dark sexy hand, working me like he worked his canvas. Bringing my body to life with just the touch of his hands. Making me ache for him. Opening my body up and filling me with the same beautiful passion that was in his paintings. Class ended and this time there was no way I was going to let my Black painter leave the building with out our meeting.

His name was Tyson and he was as deep and interesting as his paintings. We found ourselves in his studio where he showed me a number of his works, each more interesting than the last. The more time I spent with him the more I wanted him. When he asked if I could pose for him again outside of class, I couldn't get out of my clothes quickly enough.

Tyson posed me on a red chaise lying back on the chair. He placed my legs apart hanging off each corner of the soft cushion with one of my black Prada pumps dangling from my left big toe. Tyson moved my left arm to the arm of the chair and positioned my right hand on the "V" of my pussy hair.

Tyson quickly when to work on his canvas while I stared into his intense eyes. As he painted my naked form, my yearning for him grew to an ache. With reach brush stroke I could feel the blood rushing to my clit. My chest began to heave up and down as my breath became heavier. Tyson continued to paint not noticing my battle I fought with myself to control the urge to surrender and stroke my clit.

"So how many women have you had on this chaise," I asked trying to distract my unvarying desires.

"You're the first, and only," Tyson smoothly replied without missing a stroke of his brush.

His answer energized me even more because for some reason I knew deep down it was true. I began to sense my pussy come into bloom and its nectar dripped down the supple folds of my ass. My body craved Tyson's touch and his tongue. I needed him to stroke me in the same way that his brush was caressing his canvas.

A torturous 20 minutes later Tyson moved back from his canvas. "It's done," he said with a sexy satisfied grin on his face. "Don't move yet, I want to show it to you while you are in the same position."

When Tyson turned the canvas to me my mouth dropped open in awe. The colors exploded from the canvas in a way that I had never seen. I never knew I could look so sexy and fervent in all my life. "That's not me, that can't be me," I said in disbelief.

"Do you not like it Victoria?" Tyson asked.

"Oh god no, I love it Tyson, but I'm not that beautiful or that sexy."

"Yes you are, you are the most exquisite woman I have ever seen. You're more than a work of art, you are a true beauty," Tyson said as he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my moist fingertips.

A deep moan escaped my body, "I want you so bad right now Tyson."

"I want you too," he said hoarsely and then he moved his wonderful mouth slowly to my upper thigh. My head jerked back and my thighs encouraged him to my sex. Seconds later Tyson answered my invitation as I felt the warm moistness of his lips kissing my lips below. My head fell to the soft cushion beneath me. My eyes closed and my hand grasped his head as I urged him to consume my pussy. His hands opened my legs wider and my hips pushed upward to meet his passionate kisses.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought a man would kiss my lower lips before the lips on my face. The feeling was deliciously naughty and I loved it more than I could have ever anticipated.

Tyson began to bathe my delicate lips with slow and wide licks, all the time avoiding my throbbing clit. The concentrated pleasure rolled up to snap my neck, and then reversed its path, running the length of my body until my clenching toes trembled. I couldn't take it any more. I grabbed the back of Tyson's neck and forced his face hard against my pulsating cunt.

"Eat my aching pussy baby, eat it," I commanded as I ground my sex all over his face. Tyson ripped my hand from the back of his neck and began to eat me and finger fuck me at his own artistic pace. The feeling was one like I never felt before. Yes, I've had men go down on me before but the way Tyson worked my cunt was absolutely beyond description. My breathing altered to crisp, ragged patterns, increasing in strength to match the volume of my moans. My body rippled under his fervent moves, pushing my body into almost agonizing spasms of lust. I found myself curled up into a ball on the chaise, my eyes moist from tears of elation, and my body shivering like a leaf in the wind.

I lay still for a moment, hearing the pounding of my heart in my ears. I then felt a burst of adrenalin coursing through my veins and energized by the pleasure my Black lover had given me, I sprang up to grab a fistful of Tyson's shirt pulling him down with me. I pulled and ripped at his clothes until his sexy body was completely nude in front of me. My eyes then beheld his extraordinary ebony manhood throbbing in front of me.

"Not yet," Tyson said as my hands sought out his sex. He pushed them away and quickly turned me over on my knees placing one on the arm of the chaise. He then licked my salivating pussy with his whole tongue, causing me to cry out and slap my ass to open it wider for him.

I felt the heat of his sex flicker over my clit. My nails dug deep into the flesh of my ass. I didn't want to wait another second for Tyson to give me the cock that I so desperately needed. Tyson didn't make me wait. I experienced the breathtaking sensation of his cock entering my pussy and filling me substantially. His motions were tortuously slow and deliberate at first, teasing me into a deepening lust for more. My pussy clung to his ebony cock trying not to relinquish an inch of it.

I pushed back in sync with the motions of Tyson's wonderfully meaty cock filling me over and over again as his heavy balls slapped exquisitely against my clit. My back arched and every muscle in my body pulled taught, straining to experience every one of the beautiful sensations that coursed through my body.

I started to moan louder then I ever had before. I didn't care who might hear me. My cunt pulsated and contracted and jolts of pleasure shot out from my very core to every nerve ending. My body pulled away from Tyson and I collapsed on the chaise, exhausted and twitching like a flounder out of water. I lay there helplessly for a moment feeling the powerful aftershocks of my second orgasm of the night.

I looked over my left shoulder to see Tyson's body towering over me like an ebony Roman God. His dark body gleaming in the soft light of the room and his wonderful cock, glazed with my cream, still standing at attention.

"You are so fucking good," I panted as I took his throbbing dick into my hand. My alabaster hand looking so small wrapped around his black cock as I began to stoke him.

I took the head of his sex into my mouth wanting to please him as much as he had me. The taste of my own sex triggered my passions even more. I took more and more of him, deeper and deeper into my mouth and throat. My left hand teased his heavy balls as saliva drooled from the corners on my mouth. I tried to please him with a fever that I never had known before. I gripped both of his ass cheeks and took him all the way down my throat.

Tyson's head snapped back, "Oh fuck!" he screamed.

Feeling his body tremble under my control set me afire. I could feel my cunt still dripping down my thighs. Tyson's body froze, and then he tried to pull out. My lips tightened around his cock and I sucked hard. He erupted; his wonderful cream inundating my mouth. I swallowed as hard as I could but it was much more than I could manage as his cum escaped my mouth and dripped on my breasts. I let him escape from my mouth and watched his white chocolate splattered all over my breasts. I rubbed his cock all over my breasts milking the last from him as he experienced the total joy of his explosion.

Tyson pushed my face away and fell down on the chaise face up. He writhed for a moment with his cock twitching and gave away to pure exhaustion. I smiled with pride; I didn't think I could do that to a man.

"I don't think any man in the world has ever cum that hard," Tyson whispered to me.

I straddled his body and sat on his semi-hard dick with my juicy pussy. "I don't think any woman in the world has had an orgasm like the two you gave me. Cumming doesn't even begin to describe it. It was like my whole body was exploding into a million throbbing pieces." I said as I slid up and down on his organ, sliding him slowly between the folds of my pussy lips.

Tyson reached up and pulled me down to him by the back of my neck gently and kissed me. His kiss was amazing. It was warm. It was sensual. It was sexy and wet. I loved the taste of our essence mixed together like chocolate and vanilla, it was just so right.

We kissed until I felt Tyson's cock had hardened again to full strength. "I want us to cum like that again." No sooner than the words left my mouth I felt him entering me like a thumb into an over ripe peach. The sensation was incredible as he expanded my now sensitized pussy. In no time my nerve endings were on high alert. I moved to shift my weight still pounding Tyson's meaty cock into my ravenous cunt, not even thinking about Tyson as a person at the moment. He was simply my Black man-instrument and he was bringing me to the most powerful orgasm that was burning at my core.

Then I felt Tyson's sizzling liquid explode against the walls of my pussy. My head snapped back, my nipples started throbbing, my hips began to shake uncontrollably, my knees locked, and my toes stretched apart. I detonated into a trillion little throbbing bits.

I must have blacked out or something. When I managed to faintly open my eyes, there was Tyson looking down at me from the chaise. The room smelled like sweet sex and Tyson helped me back up into his strong arms.