Modelling Mary Ch. 01

Okay, so I wasn't all that sure about Mary modelling for the Art Class. I had heard some right tales of goings on, and I didn't think she would ever handle it if they asked her to model nude. She had worked at the college for over a year now, part-time in the mornings, and had hummed and harred over putting in for the two afternoons a week when the advert was placed on the vacancies board. But two three hour sessions? At ten pounds an hour? No contest!

Although in her mid fifties, she still looked good. She was still pretty, had a fair body on her (So I'm biased) and always turned heads when we were out and she was dressed up. Man, I'm telling you, she was good. No matter how many times I told her though, she never believed it. And inside? At home? Miss Prude. Being married to a hot looking woman, who doesn't like or initiate any sexual activity? Frustrating! For me anyway. She could go for three months without any sex at all, and not be bothered. Me? I would be steaming and building up to boiling point. Every time I was ready to blow, or walk out, she would somehow sense it, deign to relieve me, and we would have some of the hottest sex, leaving me wanting more. She would roll over, go to sleep, and then it would be another wait of God knows how long before I got it again.

I figured the art class would give her confidence, so was happy for her to go, though I couldn't see it lasting. And I checked it out. All the models before were always clothed, never totally nude (what did that mean!) The class specialised in pencil and charcoal, no paints or colour, all black and white stuff. I had surreptitiously popped along to one of their open evenings and looked at the Art on display. And was impressed. I figured that she would be getting sixty quid a week extra, just for sitting on her arse (still trim and neat by the way) and somewhere along the line I might get a decent picture of her that I could buy or get hold of.

She was given many of the preliminary sketches, and some of the finished ones, by the students. Madeleine, the professor in charge of the class, saw this as a way of keeping a good model, and the students were always chuffed if Mary asked for one of their drawings in particular. She kept them in her wardrobe in a growing folder.

Which was how come I had got to see these. I had finished work early one Thursday, and instead of going to see the kids, or drift off for a game of snooker, I had come home and got myself ready. It had been six weeks so I was hoping to steer her to a little bedroom action later. After a shower, I was picking through some shirts in the wardrobe when I noticed her portfolio folder, and thought "what the hell". I was not averse to jacking off to good material, and some of these really showed her looking sexy and mysterious enough that I could pretend it was whoever I wanted.

Thumbing through them, looking for one of my favourites, an A4 envelope slid out of the back. It felt heavy and fairly full as I picked it up off the floor, so slid out the enclosed papers, thinking it would be wage slips and the like. My hands shook as I stared at the first piece I held in my hand. It was a line drawing, done in pencil I think, one of those heavy black numbers that the drawing people seem to like. And it was good. And it was Mary.

How did I know? Because I had lusted, licked, caressed and touched those sweet curvy bum cheeks of hers for nigh on thirty three years, and I knew what I was looking at. Her arse, her legs, her waist -- naked. Was this poetic licence or whatever they called it on behalf of the pencil wielder. Had he imagined how she looked. Or had he seen her, had she posed for it, had she been so uninhibited in front of him? Or her? Oh my god, I looked down, my cock was aching, it was so hard. Why is the imagination better than the actual. I groaned at the tension and tingling in my loins. As I hesitantly went to see the next drawing, my eye caught the back of the first drawing. There, in pencil, was a note -- thanks for a wonderful afternoon Mary. You are an inspiration, dressed or naked. Andy.xx

My heart sank, my cock lurched. My Mary? No! She couldn't have. Not prudish, quiet Mary.

I dropped the whole lot of them, apart from the one ion my left hand, as I took in the note, and the one on my right hand, which I was now staring at. A quick flip of the paper, another note from Andy, which I didn't read just then. I stared at the second one. That was quite a curvy neat pert little bum for a fifty something woman. And it was my woman. My wife. My Mary. She must have modelled naked for these, Andy had been specific in that first note.

This second etching was again from the back. She appeared to be in hold ups, with a hat at a jaunty angle, hands cupping the cheeks of her arse. For line drawings, I thought they were the hottest thing around. Not as perfectly detailed as a picture, but enough detail for your mind's eye to fill in the rest. And boy was I filling the rest in!

I was picturing her, in a room, alone with "Andy", following his requests, her back to him, as he furiously scribbled and etched away, fingers gripping the pencil, eyes following the curves of my wife as he captured them on paper. Where had she modelled then? Here? No, she wouldn't have. Surely? At the college? I wondered about that, but then dismissed it, but not before making a mental note to casually drop by the next afternoon she was doing a modelling session, and peek in and try and discuss things with the class leader. At Andy's? Would she go somewhere, alone with another bloke, strip off and pose for him? Wouldn't she be turned on? He would! I could guarantee that!

The slam of the door startled me, and I quickly gathered the dropped papers up, slipped them in the envelope and put them back in her folder, replacing the whole lot where it had been, and was just pulling a shirt out on a hangar as she came in the door. "Hi pet, good day?" I asked her, not daring to look.

She surprised me totally with her answer. "Not as good as yours I think" I glanced at her, her eyes were on my cock, the give away little bugger was still hard and now dripping some pre-cum. She whisked her top off, and I was shocked to realise she was braless. Then even more shocked as she dropped to her knees, took the head in her mouth, and began stroking me for all she was worth. And yes, I blew it. All over her chin and down onto her breasts. I couldn't have lasted any longer even if I had bothered to try. She simply stood up, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, reached up and kissed me, then said "Off out for tea are we? I'll have a quick shower and get ready"

I was stunned. My shrivelling partner in crime was happy. I was happy. But the drawings. And why had she come home in such a good mood and -- unbidden or asked -- done that for me. I had many questions to ask as I started to dress. She came in the bedroom, drying herself, her hair unwashed, but her body pink and glowing from the shower.

"Come on then slowcoach, I'm famished!" she said, as she pulled a long summer dress from a hangar and slipped it on, stepping into low heeled sandals. God I love this woman, she is so damned sexy without even trying! I was definitely going to get to the bottom of this, sooner rather than later!