The Art of Lust Pt. 04

The Art of Lust Part IV

Two + one = sex

******Slightly longer than the others in this series but still under two Literotica pages.******

At the moment that Amanda was to remove her thin terrycloth robe and stand naked before John's drawing group she had an epiphany and paused, one hand on the sash. Amanda had prepared by walking to the studio with the silver bullet gently buzzing inside her to take the edge off of her apprehension. But it was wrapped in her panties in the changing room now. She didn't hesitate because she was afraid, really, anymore. She paused to fully appreciate what was happening. She thought, I'm a virgin sacrifice. But I'm sacrificing myself. This initiation is all my own doing. There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm going to be a different woman by tonight and know things about myself that I don't know now.

John tried to act nonchalant like the artists usually did, but he couldn't avert his eyes from his first nude vision of the girl he knew previously from tight sweaters, bubbly conversation, intelligent questioning, stubborn idealism and that one surprising and awkward handjob in the coffee shop a week ago. Around the room the others clattered their supplies, arranged their tools.

Isabelle barely contained her anxiety as she walked to the hesitating girl. "I know it's scary the first time. Don't rush it." Would the girl go through with the scheme she'd broached last Sunday? This was just her clever first step. And Isabelle realized that the counsel might just as well have been for herself.

"I'm OK," the girl whispered as she pulled back her shoulders and peeled off the white robe. God, she's delectable, thought Isabelle, running her eyes from Amanda's coral-painted toenails to the part in her auburn hair. "How shall I pose?" the eighteen-year-old asked, standing tensely, but pink and soft and unlined.

Amanda looked Isabelle directly in the eyes and hoped the older woman would sense the same anticipation that she did. Feeling her eyes on her body made her faint, not with fear, but with desire. When Isabelle talked about the first time being scary did she mean the modeling or the hoped-for deflowering later? She wasn't sure why Isabelle had agreed to help her lose her virginity to John. Maybe his lover figured the best way to compete with a rival was to be an ally. Amanda was pointedly not looking at the boy she hoped to have between her legs in three hours. Her plan was simple. John was a big, strong, horny, beautiful, experienced man. She'd made him her friend first, but was afraid to open to him as a complete sexual novice. She wanted to drop her barriers slowly. The episode in Roasters confirmed both that she wanted him and that the barriers had begun dropping. In removing the robe she dropped another.

John watched the two women confer and he felt his pulse race when the white robe came off. Amanda was as delicate and smooth as he'd imagined. Those hand-full breasts sat proud and her rose-tinged nipples stiffened. She had no tan lines because she had no tan. The tracery of blue veins under her translucent skin were a revelation. The even light from the high, northern windows cast no deep shadows. He could see every inch of her.

Isabelle directed Amanda to sit on the cushioned chaise-lounge with one arm on the back and the other resting on her lower belly, between her navel and her mons. It would be an easy pose to hold. He supposed they'd purposely aimed Amanda's sex at him. She had one foot on the floor and the other over the end bolster. So his gaze traveled up her thigh to focus on her shaved pubes. He was used to the fuller bushes on the older women - Amanda just had a landing strip. Her labia majora swelled unobscured before him. Her labia minora were tucked away neatly, nothing like Isabelle's meaty ones. Despite his arousal John was thinking of the drawing challenge that the foreshortening of the leg would pose. He pretended to begin to apply pencil to paper as Isabelle knelt to put blue tape on the platform around Amanda's toes.

"This will help you sit just the same after each break," Isabelle said to the supine girl, looking up her body, across the bald mons, the firm, high breasts. She could smell Amanda's arousal. She, herself, had gone commando under her knee-length pleated skirt. Her many-times-washed denim shirt caressed her bra-less breasts. Bent down, she got a whiff of her own heated pussy. Amanda smells alot like me, she thought. I wonder if she tastes the same, too?

Amanda felt the proctor's eyes on her vulva and her tits and she clenched inside, felt that hot, oily loosening. She wondered if the older woman would want to eat her out. Did Amanda want to be eaten? When she'd proposed this scheme Amanda hadn't been clear about boundaries. She figured both women would have sex with John, but with each other? Did Isabelle's eyes look hungry? Did her own?

"OK," said Isabelle tremulously as she stood up, "Let's draw!"

All week John had puzzled over what today would bring. Amanda and Isabelle both had refused to answer his questions. Of course he wanted to see the girl naked, but was this modeling thing just supposed to tease him? Any normal man would hope to be bedding them both. Isabelle had said, when she hinted to him of Amanda's plan, that the girl would model and then "you'll be fucking me after." Did that mean Amanda didn't want sex with him? Not yet, anyway, like she'd said. And Isabelle, what did she get out of this? Why was she so bemused by the secret? He felt too excited to think it all through. Well, it is what it is, he thought, resigned. So he sank into the drawing of the girl.

Even if he was half-hard and distracted he tried to see Amanda as shapes, as light and dark, as positive and negative space, as a square-inch by square-inch map of a fleshy territory. After the first twenty-minute sitting he had a decent blocking-in, but no shading. And his brain was burning with images of her pale, pink body's swells and folds and hollows. He supposed that if they'd met one night and had sex he wouldn't have as full an understanding of her body, that they'd probably embrace and strip and fondle in the dim light of his bedroom without taking the time to just look at each other. Maybe this was better? The girl was smarter than him, anyway.

He watched Amanda, robed again, make a slow circuit of the artist's easels to look at what they'd done. Then her pale, pink body was inches and one thin layer of terrycloth from him and he thrummed with adrenalin burning in his blood. Something about her delicate toes with their coral polish made his throat tight. Toe cleavage suddenly reminded him of her delta and its delicate folds. Those he'd been staring at helplessly for twenty minutes.

"Nice work," Amanda said, coyly, casting him a sidelong glance. She felt the gravitational pull of his bigger body, of his power, of his kindness and intelligence, of his desire. She remembered the heft of the meaty rod in his pants and her fingers itched. She could see that he'd been really looking at her as he drew. His eyes had followed her every line, probed each inch of her. It felt so intimate. She'd never seen her sex from that angle or through a man's eyes. It was clearly the focus of the drawing. God, she noticed, I look like I'm about to finger myself. Funny how seeing that little arrow of lines that fixed her vulva on the paper made her feel sexy. I don't' look awkward at all. Her skin tingled as she traced the line his eyes and pencil had along her body. She wanted to do the same to him. It looked like he had a pretty good bulge in his jeans right now.

As Isabelle also circled around, she made a point of finding the best parts of the artist's work. Damn, this morning is going way too slow, she sighed inwardly. She asked the girl, "You OK for another twenty?" As Amanda arranged herself again on the couch and others asked her to adjust a leg or an arm to get back to her pose, Isabelle wondered for the hundredth time how John would compare them. Stop it! She scolded herself. This is going to be fine. You wanted to try a woman and this one fell right in your lap. Just like the boy. Carpe diem. Blah, blah, blah. She was tired of the internal dialogue. Shutting up her mother had left her with her own inner anxiety. The therapist said that was a step in the right direction, but it didn't feel like she was free yet.

Amanda remembered that when she'd come into this room to draw with the group a week before she'd been ready to claw Isabelle's eyes out. But after watching the woman's grace as she moved among the artists, her ease of command, her confidence, her clothing sense, Amanda realized, I don't want to fight her, I want to be her. On top of all that the woman was John's lover and Amanda definitely wanted to be that, too. Amanda didn't have the courage to seduce John herself. She was afraid of being clumsy, or worse, just ignorant, things that Isabelle clearly wasn't. And so Amanda made her proposal - going through a fellow female to get the male she really wanted.

Amanda had noticed that Isabelle was doing a delicate drawing of just her breasts. From the angle of the woman's easel they sat one before the other, two pert nipples ranked. Amazing how Isabelle had made them round and ripe and suckable. Amanda's mouth watered. Her lower mouth drooled a little, too, at the thought of two sets of lips suckling at her teats. She hadn't even had one set do that yet. It intrigued her to watch what made her excited. For instance, she couldn't forget the thrill of climaxing in front of the coffee drinkers.

Amanda'd done her homework - you don't get into Princeton without taking your subject seriously. And she'd taken sex seriously since she decided to find out what the big deal was. The girl had read the most intelligent, feminist books on the subject; kept up with blogs about modern mating; devoured woman-written erotica and the hippest advice columns; tried the vibrator. But it was like her dad might have said; You can read the owner's manual, but you don't know what it's like to drive the car until you put your foot on the gas. The most arousing thing she'd been into lately was 'mom teaches sex' videos. God, to be under the tutelage of an experienced woman when I finally have intercourse...today? It was proving hard to keep still, not because her position was difficult to hold, but because the visions in her head were making her squirm.

She'd picked a spot on the wall to stare at like Isabelle had instructed her. It was above the artist's heads, a blank white space that made a screen for her fantasies. John and Isabelle were working away in her peripheral vision as well as in her mind. The rest of the artists faded out of her notice.

She imagined John walking up to the platform where she lay and stripping naked like he'd been when he modeled. He would then silently, knowingly, lean down to put his hands around the back of her neck and kiss her. His body would be arched over her, his tool hanging heavy. Amanda remembered the drawing of John's erect organ. Cocks look so peculiar...why should that red and purple bundle of hairy meat excite me? Her pussy clenched anyway. She wanted to scratch that itch so badly. In her fantasy she reached and took the pendulous tool in her hand, weighed his balls. Wasn't it awkward for John having all that junk flopping around between his legs? Her fingers remembered squeezing it in the coffee shop, and the stickiness of his spending that leaked through his chinos. Why does thinking of cock make both my mouths water? She wanted to rub her slick fingers together, then run them across her opening. Right now, if I just slide my hand down a smidge I can touch myself. Will anyone notice? The thought of an audience made her clench again. Remembering that she came in the coffee shop in front of strangers caused her heart to race. The studio's getting hotter. Or is it me?

Amanda slowly eased her hand lower. No one said anything. She pressed her fingertips into the spongy flesh of her mons and could just feel the pull at her clit. So close. So naughty. Yes, feeling naughty is making me hornier, she thought, lesson number one. I like it when people can see me. The girl surreptitiously pressed and released. Her body responded with a quiver. Amanda tried to hold still. How far will they let me go?

John thought, frustrated, this session will never end. Still two hours to go. This is the longest foreplay I've ever experienced. Frozen in place, staring off into space, Amanda lay there so seductively, her sex displayed, her body inviting him to take her. Yet he could only stand there and look. And get hard. And get jumpy. He couldn't touch himself, either. His cock cried out to be held, stroked and aimed at the swollen sex in front of him, then pressed down and slowly sunk into the slick channel. Checking his drawing John could see that her fingers had moved lower, inching toward her sex. The landing strip had disappeared altogether. No one had corrected her and he sure wasn't about to. Were her fingertips firmly pressed against her flesh, indenting the soft mound? Were they moving just the tiniest little bit? Was she pleasuring herself? Was it for him?

Amanda imagined John standing naked over her as his heavy organ filled with blood in her hand. She stroked it and it grew. Amazing how she got wet just to imagine feeling it swell and lengthen at her touch. It pulsed. It dripped. God, I want to taste his spunk, she noted, where's this hunger coming from? It felt like her own juices were seeping from her and running down between her ass cheeks. A little orgasm ran through Amanda and her body shivered. She could pretend she was cold, if challenged. Or maybe they like seeing me get off?

Isabelle noticed the girl's quickened breathing - those delectable breasts rising and falling quickly. The girl was getting pinker, clearly aroused. She quivered. Her eyes fluttered. As proctor, Isabelle was irritated, but as a woman she sympathized. She, too, could get really worked up without being touched, if conditions were right and her imagination was free. Like right now. Maybe the girl liked to be seen. Isabelle was quivery, too. Her thickened labia were sticky. They clung to the skin of her thighs and the slightest movement felt like pulling velcro apart, a little electric current directly wired to her clit. She could barely hold still. Maybe this was a mistake, she thought, I never imagined the girl would be so wanton in front of a crowd. Or that I would get this aroused so fast and in public. Damn, I can't let this continue.

Amanda sighed in a long shudder and thrilled at the fact that she was in a room of a dozen people playing with herself. Was anyone noticing her doing it? Was John? She couldn't look right at him. He seemed to be drawing, if slowly. Then Isabelle came from behind her easel and walked toward her. Would the woman sink to her knees and put her mouth where Amanda's fingers strayed? Pleeeeaase.

"All right, young lady," Isabelle said, commanding, hands on hips, "this is inappropriate. We're going to have to cut this short. Put on your clothes."

Amanda sobered quickly and, embarrassed, rolled up off of the couch and hurried to the changing room without bothering to robe. Oh, no, I've gone too far. I'm high on my own fantasy... She couldn't bear to come out now in front of all these people and show herself, even clothed. Oh God, she thought sheepishly, they've all just watched my ass wiggle as I dashed in here. I was the only one enjoying the show I put on.

Isabelle turned to the studio, "I'm sorry, everyone. I apologize for the unprofessional behavior of this model. There's no need to pay for the session. I'll have someone else next week."

"What about John?" Barb offered, eagerly. "Right now, like last month?" added Sylvia, hopefully.

"No, I think that we'd just have more of the same..." Isabelle was flustered. "Let's just regroup next week. Sorry." She knocked on the door of the changing room and said tersely, "Amanda, you stay after and let's have a little talk." Isabelle looked pointedly at John. She felt as unprofessional as Amanda, letting the girl misbehave for them, but it was her own libido's fault.

Slowly, the others packed their kits, sharing discouraged comments about what they'd not get done this session. Amidst the grumbling Sylvia looked wistfully at John, he noticed. What now? Isabelle was in take-charge mode.

When all were gone Amanda came out of the changing room in her corduroy pants and that cashmere sweater from last week, looking contrite and agitated. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her and her head down.

Isabelle locked the studio door.

"This didn't go exactly as planned, did it?" she looked at Amanda with her arms crossed under her breasts, which tightened the denim shirt nicely.

John's brain, with his blood flow directed elsewhere, struggled with rapidly incoming information. Soft tits in a tight shirt. Cashmere tented on pink nipples. A tasty girl who'd been naked minutes ago. A lusty woman who's every orifice had been shared with him. Those two women looking hard into each other's eyes. The scent of two horny women. A locked door. The promise of sex, today and...eventually. Corduroy. Coral nail polish. Toe cleavage. A pleated skirt. A hot room. His cock hard down the leg of his jeans. His heart racing. The urge to tear off his clothes. The urge to tear off their clothes. The desire to fuck everyone today. The fear of scaring off Amanda. Two women suddenly embracing. Two women kissing. Whimpering. Delicate hands peeling cashmere off and tossing it aside. Those rose-tinged nipples again. Velvety blue denim unbuttoned and heavy breasts swinging. Amanda looking at him as Isabelle bent and put her mouth on a nipple.

"I want you both," Amanda breathed as one hand held Isabelle's head and the other struggled to undo her pants. Lesson two, she thought, I really am bi. "I want you both right here, right now."

"Unprofessional," mumbled Isabelle as Amanda pulled her up and kissed her again. That was the last thought of stopping to pass through the older woman's head. The girl's stiff little nipples raked across her own and all restraints fell away. "In that case," Isabelle said, "I want you to watch John fuck me, first." She hadn't forgotten she was supposed to guide the girl into womanhood. The weight of that responsibility focused her mind on what the girl would experience. From her own therapy she knew that each threshold they crossed today could set Amanda's attitude toward sex for a lifetime.

John's body lurched into gear and all his brain could do was call shotgun. He dragged his t-shirt over his head and unbuttoned the 501s, each pop relieving the pressure on his engorged package. As he kicked off the pants, Isabelle pulled him by the hand to the platform and she bent over the chaise lounge, skirt pulled up and ass high. He knew exactly what to do. For a moment he stood behind the woman, hand on his cock, and looked at Amanda. The pale girl's eyes were wide and one hand clasped a breast. The other was at her lips. She stared at his cock. She stole a glance at his face. John liked that look in her eye. The hunger, the apprehension, the curiosity, the need, the surprise, the awe. He pressed his wide knob against Isabelle's slick pink butterfly, its spread wings puffy with arousal.

"You only want him in you if you're dripping wet," Isabelle said and groaned as he pushed forward and she pushed back. For a moment that's all there was in the universe. A hot, velvet rod sliding between her wet lips, its relentless, slow force parting her, opening her, filling her, sending a vibration through her entire body.