by Lush Jones
She tried not to wriggle at that comment, even as his silky voice made her nipples twinge as if he’d just pinched them. Act like it doesn’t bother you.
But it did. In a good way. And she spent the rest of the class hovering on the edge of orgasm, wishing for three minutes of pitch black and Grant’s nasty mouth on her breasts, his hands and cock inside her.
Finally, Professor Roberts dismissed class, and Blondie once again offered her the bathrobe, barely looking at her as their hands brushed across the thick terry cloth. She caught a quick whiff of patchouli and was instantly transported back to her own college days, when everything smelled like incense and cigarettes and she thought the world was just waiting for her to grab it.
“Bye,” he mumbled then quickly shoved his supplies into a large messenger bag and left.
“See you next time,” the dark-haired man in the black shirt said to her, his voice lilting with a slight accent.
Next time? How could she possibly do this again with that awful man whispering to her?
But when Professor Roberts rubbed her shoulder, offered her a Diet Coke, and asked, “Can you make the same time tomorrow, Sara?” she opened her mouth to turn him down. Instead what came out was, “Sure.”
The next morning, Sara woke up early and took extra time in the shower, rubbing lavender shower gel onto her legs. She smoothed thick, coconut-smelling lotion all over her skin until she smelled like the summers she’d spent at the pool as a teenager, before SPF and the threat of skin cancer ruined her tan.
On the drive over to the college, she felt as though she’d had three cups of coffee instead of just one—her body was buzzing from anticipation or nervousness; she couldn’t decide which. Again she clutched the duffel bag as she walked into the classroom, but Professor Roberts was waiting for her with another warm smile, looking handsome in a white button-down shirt, the cuffs rolled up to show his long, tan forearms, one of them faintly flecked with paint.
“Oh, thank God, Sara. I was afraid we’d scared you off.” His dark eyed gaze roamed up and down her body, the thin sweater and tight jeans she wore feeling too revealing for some reason.
“Not yet,” Sara tried to joke.
Professor Roberts ran his hand lightly down her arm. “Good. Now, if you want to go ahead and get ready, I’ll get your pose all figured out.”
She slipped into her bathrobe in the ladies’ room once again and reentered the classroom, which was curiously empty, “What happened to all your students?” Sara asked.
Professor Roberts smiled. “Yesterday was our regular Monday drawing class and we’re usually pretty full. But…” he paused, “…Tuesdays are special.”
“Oh?”
“I think some of the raw, stripped-down emotions that drawing can evoke get lost in a big class. Art can be such an intimate experience, don’t you think, Sara?”
Remembering Grant, his wicked words and their potent effect, Sara gulped. “Sure.”
Professor Roberts winked at her as the door swung open. “That’s why Tuesdays are by invitation only.”
Now, why does that make me nervous? A shiver shot through Sara as Blondie loped in, wearing heavy boots and cutoff cargo pants with a loose T-shirt that failed to camouflage his broad chest and well-defined biceps. His curly blonde hair was once again pulled back in a careless ponytail. He looked up and gave her a brief nod, which she returned, panicking as she wondered who else had been invited and why.
“Here we go, Sara.” Professor Roberts helped her into a seated position on the blocks. “Now, let’s just open these a bit,” he said as he gently pressed her legs until they splayed out in a shallow V. She tried not to blush as she realized just how exposed she was. The outer lips pulled apart a little, the warm pink interior of her sex open for anyone to see. Blondie had a perfect view, and he stared right at that part of her for a full minute before looking down, quickly up to Sara’s face, and then down again. He busied himself selecting just the right piece of charcoal.
The dark-haired man, wearing black again, entered the classroom. He quickly scooted his easel closer to Blondie for a better angle. Grant sauntered into the studio, took one look at Sara and raised an eyebrow at Professor Roberts. Then, grinning, he took the stool on the other side of Blondie.
Professor Roberts walked over to the door and closed it, turning the knob with a sharp metal click. “Now,” he announced, “we can begin.”
“Take a close look at this pose.” He gestured toward Sara as he returned to the center of the room. “See how her skin is shadowed here…” He touched her knee. “…and pay attention to the angles of her legs.” He let his hand trail a few inches up her thigh before removing it.
Whoa there, Professor, she wanted to shout. Buy a girl a drink first. She was probably overreacting; he was merely pointing out shadows and angles and…her thigh. She definitely shouldn’t feel a tingle where his hand had touched her. Yet she did. She tried to stare impassively into space, as she imagined a good model might. Like a statue of cool, perfect porcelain. Except that statues didn’t keep thinking about fingers on body parts where they didn’t belong.
Grant licked his lips and stared into Sara’s eyes. She turned her head slightly, and Professor Roberts was back at her side. “Sara, let’s keep your head facing this direction.” He gently turned her chin so she faced Grant head-on.
“Professor?” The dark-haired man in black raised his hand.
“Yes, Thanos. You have a question?”
“I can’t see the shadows on her knee.” He pointed with his charcoal to Sara. “Would it be possible for her to open her legs a little more?”
“Is that okay with you, Sara?” Professor Roberts asked, and she nodded. Why not? How about a pelvic exam while we’re at it?
Sara started to open her legs wider. “Here, let me do that,” Professor Robert said as he adjusted her thigh and then to her shock, his hand brushed between her legs, sending jolts through her groin. “There. Is that better, Thanos?”
Thanos nodded as Sara’s cheeks flushed. She watched Blondie, biting his lip in concentration as he lightly touched the charcoal to his paper in between darting glances at her sex. With every look he gave her, she got wetter, and she wondered if he noticed.
Grant was staring, too, and Sara returned his looks without trying to look away. Go ahead—watch me get wet, asshole. His chest moved up and down with a quickened pace as he scribbled on the paper.
She tried not to wriggle on the seat, feeling the dampness on her outer lips, swollen and pulsing. She ached to touch herself, or better yet have someone else touch her, fuck her. She needed some kind of release, and she wondered if she could run quickly to the ladies’ room at break and make herself come in the bathroom stall.
Finally the timer went off, and Professor Roberts announced break. As Sara tried to slip away, Grant intercepted her. “I wonder if you could show me a different pose?” he asked in a smooth, suspiciously innocent voice. “I had trouble capturing the shadows correctly, and I just want to see a different view for a moment.”
Sara hesitated, looking around for Professor Roberts, but he had disappeared. Probably left for a smoke, Sara thought, irritated. She didn’t know why she thought that, except she remembered everyone smoking from her student days, even the teachers.
“Please? It will only take a minute.” Grant smiled, his pale blue eyes twinkling.
“All right.” Sara shrugged.
“Come here,” Grant commanded and showed Sara a position near the blocks. She started to sit on one of them, but he shook his head. “No. On the floor. Kneeling.” He helped her to her knees, squinting as if trying to get just the right angle for a photograph. “That’s it. Arch your back, turn your head like this and stick your bottom out just like that. Ah.”
Sara was on her knees, her hands resting on the block in front her. She looked back at Grant, the curve of her back pushing out her round bottom.
“You look like a naughty bar wench,” Grant purred, “who’s
just been caught fucking the village farm boy and is about to get a spanking.”
Sara wanted to stand, to act offended at his insanely inappropriate comment, but she was so wet she was afraid to move. She did want a nice hard fuck right now. For someone to take her on the cement classroom floor until she collapsed. What Grant said was outrageous, but she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to slap him or fuck him.
Blondie saved her from the trouble of replying, glaring at Grant as he said, “Don’t be an asshole.”
Grant sighed. “Oh, lighten up, Casey. I was just playing around.”
“Fuck off.” Casey glared at Grant and extended an arm to help Sara up from the floor.
“Gentlemen?” Professor Roberts had reentered the room and shook a warning finger at Grant. He took Sara by the hand and led her to a long platform he’d built with the boxes, covered by a fluffy white comforter folded in half to make an impromptu mattress.
“Now, this pose should be more relaxing for Sara. And it will force the rest of us to participate more actively in the class, and get along.” He raised an eyebrow at Grant. “Here you go, Sara.” Professor Roberts indicated she should lie down.
Thinking it would be like the pose from the day before, she swung her knees onto the platform as if to lie down on her stomach, but the professor shook his head.
“No, this time I want you to lie on your back. You can close your eyes. You don’t have to think about anything. Just relax.”
Sara did. She lay back on the soft comforter as Professor Roberts lifted her hair away from her neck and arranged her arms loosely by her sides. She let her eyes fall shut, not wanting any more distracting stares from anyone in the class.
“Now, gentlemen,” Professor Roberts said, “scoot your stools closer. Much closer, but leave your easels where they are. You can use your sketchbooks for this one.” The scrape of stools against the concrete floor echoed through the room and the rustling of papers and clothing filled the air around her. It was as if she could feel them closing in on her, close enough to touch her skin, to feel the heat from their bodies. She could hear their breathing, smell Casey’s patchouli, the spicy cologne from Grant’s shirt, and the scent of cloves on Thanos.
Her skin prickled.
“Now,” Professor Roberts said, “art isn’t only about the sense of sight. In this exercise, I’d like us to engage all five senses, so you really understand her body as you draw it. With her permission, I’d like you to very lightly touch whichever part of her is nearest to you. Is that okay, Sara?”
Sara shivered, a jolt of anticipation shooting straight between her legs. “Yes,” she barely murmured, but it was enough for Professor Roberts to say, “Go ahead.”
A hand reached out to stroke the skin just above her breast. Cologne mixed with sweat perfumed the air as one finger traced a line downward. Her nipples instantly hardened.
Sara heard the sharp breath of someone else, not the man touching her breast, and she wondered who was watching without touching.
Someone else touched her foot with one finger. The touch was tentative, barely brushing her heel, and then his fingers slipped over her ankle.
Sara took a deep breath. Her ex-husband had never paid the slightest attention to her feet. She’d never thought someone’s hand on her ankle could feel so intimate.
“Is that okay?” Casey asked in a voice quiet and low, as if they were the only ones in the room.
“Yes,” Sara whispered, glad it was Casey and picturing his tattooed forearms as he slid his hand up her leg. His arm snaked up her thigh as she began to shake. She wanted to sit up, yank his shirt off and rip the ponytail out so she could run her fingers through those messy blonde curls and pull his mouth down to hers. How old was he—twenty-two, maybe? Old enough. The adage flashed through Sara’s mind as she wriggled on the platform.
But the hand at her breast, not to be outdone, curved around the soft flesh, rubbing and pinching the nipple until she moaned, unable to stop herself. She knew this wasn’t Casey. And from the cologne, she was pretty sure it was Grant. Rude, nasty Grant. Who had just tried to make a fool out of her and who she should probably tell to fuck off, to stop touching her, and leave her alone. Except, that she didn’t really want him to.
Then the other hand, Casey’s she hoped, reached farther up her leg until he stopped at the triangle of her thighs.
“Sara,” she heard Professor Roberts whisper, “do you want Casey to stop?”
Sara shook her head, eyes still shut tight. She wanted Casey to keep going, to make the aching stop with his fingers.
So Casey touched her, slowly at first, groaning as he stroked her and then slid his fingers one by one inside, until she was so wet she came with a sharp cry.
“That’s good, Sara. But I don’t think you’re done.” Professor Roberts’ voice was ragged now, and Sara knew it was he who had taken such a deep breath earlier. He was the watcher. He had set this all up, she realized, the entire pose designed for no other purpose than to watch other men touch her. She wondered just how much this was turning him on and the idea that he stood there, directing Casey to make her come, made her want to do it all over again.
Sara heard a zipper come undone and the slap of denim hitting the concrete floor. Patchouli drifted past her face as she felt strong hands cup her bottom, drawing her hips closer as he slid his long, thick cock inside, and Sara moaned again.
Grant pinched her nipples harder, before leaning down and sucking them as Casey fucked her.
“Turn her over,” said a voice with a slight European accent, sounding a bit stern and excited all at once.
Casey pulled out of Sara long enough to gently flip her onto her stomach, his muscular arms handling her limp body as if she were a china doll. Casey tugged her hips up until he could enter her from behind, fucking her hard. The hands that were at her breasts now reached beneath and rubbed her clitoris. “I bet you like that, don’t you?” Grant murmured so softly no one else could hear him or admonish him for tormenting Sara. But she no longer cared what he said, as long as his fingers never stopped. That terrible teasing from earlier had been replaced by an insistent throb between her legs and she pressed her bareness harder against his touch, squirming as his thumb circled her clit.
Someone held Sara’s shoulders up, cupping her breasts with thick hands that smelled of charcoal and cloves. “So sweet,” said an accented voice, who Sara guessed was Thanos. “So beautiful.”
Even as Thanos continued to cradle her upper body and mutter comments in an accent that grew thicker as his breath quickened, Sara heard someone else clear his throat. Then steps came closer and Professor Roberts asked, “Do you have anything left for me?”
Sara pictured the handsome professor, his confident, comforting manner. His warm hands on her body as he arranged every pose. His smiles, his calming remarks—everything calculated to put her at ease. He had orchestrated this blur of bodies and sensations. She imagined his blue eyes full of longing, watching Grant and Casey and Thanos stroke and tease her until surely there was no part of her body remaining untouched.
She nodded, unable to speak. She wanted him, too. She was greedy—she wanted all of them. She nodded again, not concerned about where he might touch her, just knowing that she needed him inside of whatever she had left.
He bent down and kissed her on the mouth, slight stubble rubbing against her lips as his tongue slipped between them. No one had kissed Sara in a very long time. Haven had kissed the way he drank vodka, in one quick, cold gulp designed more to get the job done than for enjoyment. And he’d always tasted like Listerine, obsessed as he was with mouth germs.
Professor Roberts tasted like cinnamon. He bit her lip, and his tongue probed deeper, his hands on her hair, holding it back from her face. She bit back, too, and met his mouth with an urgency that surprised her. She wanted to kiss Casey, too, and that should have been confusing, but it wasn’t. Because Casey was inside her in a different way, destroying a decade of sub par sexual experie
nces with the passionate thrusts of a twenty-two year old in lust. And somehow, she knew she’d have him again. But now, she needed someone to erase the years of bad kissing from her memory.
Professor Roberts kissed her the way she should have been kissed years ago, as though she mattered. As if the only thing in the world to him right now was her mouth. He continued to kiss her until her mouth was raw and swollen. “God, I want you.” He moaned and then she heard the noise of his jeans sliding down to the ground.
Thanos held Sara’s upper body as Professor Roberts stroked her mouth, one finger slipping inside for her to suck. She nibbled on him, tugging him deeper with her teeth and hoping this was the precursor to something much bigger.
Then his cock brushed her check. He held it within a flick of her tongue, and she licked the tight skin as he filled her mouth. She sucked harder, and he groaned as her lips moved up and down. He was thick and large, but unlike her ex-husband, he didn’t shove himself down her throat or yank at her hair. He just thrust deeper into her mouth, slowly, giving her a chance to appreciate the sensation.
Oral sex had always seemed like a job, something to do to make the sex act move along more quickly and progress to its final destination. Not this. She wanted him in her mouth, wanted him to fill her up the same way Casey’s cock filled her, pushed inside her until there was no more room. She’d been empty for too many years and now there wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She wanted every last part of her sated.
Casey thrust harder and harder, Grant pressed her clitoris, and Professor Roberts pumped his cock into her mouth until her body felt stretched and filled so tightly she might explode. Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer and she came. Hard.
Her body bucked with Casey’s as he collapsed against her back with a cry. Professor Roberts pulled out of Sara’s mouth, and Grant and Thanos slipped out from beneath her body.
She stayed still for several minutes, facedown on the comforter with Casey slumped against her sweaty skin. Then he stood up, and she could hear the little rustling noises of his pants going back on. Scraping sounds told her that the stools were being shoved back into their places, and Sara still didn’t move. A hand brushed her hair back from her neck.
