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Robert and I broke up. I mean, we had to. Sometimes you just have one of those moments that knocks your brain into the right frame, and you can see things for what they are. Unfortunately, that same knocking can send other things spinning loose.
I’ve mentioned I do cam work, so obviously I’ve got a bit of an exhibitionist in here. But I don’t see those people, do I? I know they see me, but there’s a shield. After sharing what I did with Mars – I still have no clue what his name is – I couldn’t stop thinking about… modeling. You know, standing there in the middle of the room (like he does every week), eyes on me. All eyes on me. On all of me. No camera to hide behind. They can see me, and I can see them. I’ve been obsessed with this, actually.
Of course, my fantasy goes much further. I think of standing there in front of the class, the professor discussing the plunging shadows, the hard light on my nipples, and while most of my classmates are focused on their drawings, three or four are dampening. A cock throbs here, a pussy leaks over there. But they’re afraid to do anything, and they sit there imagining they could stand beside me, run their hands and mouths all over me. Until one of them sees the dribble of arousal running down my thigh, stretching in a string from my sand-colored pubic hair. More people notice, and many of my classmates begin to whisper. They look disgusted, even though they flush and get instantly horny. There are indicators of insult and embarrassment. But some of the students begin to diddle themselves as well. Cocks come out, skirts lifts and panties are pulled aside… Sometimes it becomes an orgy, sometimes just a circle jerk, but in real life, I always cum quickly. I’ve never made it to the end of the fantasy.
So I’ve done it. I’ve signed up as a model for my class. Well, not for MY class, as I’m IN my class, but for the art department. The pay is a nice bonus, too. But since the semester is nearing an end, I’m only an alternate. I was told, though, that since I have a “classical body”, somewhat like the paintings of the old masters though maybe a bit less rolly and a bit more busty, I’d likely have some takers on after hours public sessions that come up from time to time. At first I was disappointed. Who knows how long I’d have to wait? Then I realized it was pretty great. I could avoid being a spectacle in front of my classmates who I still have to interact with, which I was on the fence about anyway, but I could still be fully exposed in front of a group of people who might include one or two pervs like me.
No, I will not be masturbating during one of these sessions, but I’ll be thinking about it. And I expect to be leaking down my thigh by the time I slip back into my robe. I imagine I won’t be able to wait until I get home before I’m in my pussy to the second knuckle.
So really the only part I haven’t figured out is where I’m going to get off. Bathrooms just aren’t erotic unless you’re with a partner. Which I haven’t been. Oo, now I’m thinking about getting fucked on a bathroom counter, Mars behind me with his thick cock sliding up inside me, his fingertips gliding down my back… Sigh.
I haven’t seen him since our private session. Someone else showed up to model the following week, and I know I’m being neurotic, but I’m still just a bit worried that he didn’t come back because of me. Truth is, I rarely fantasize about him. Because it’s different. I get these flutters in my tummy. I know what a crush feels like; I’ve had enough of them. Of course, I’ve never jilled off with a guy I had a crush on until Mars. So, while this is new territory for me, I’m constantly wondering when I’m going to see him. But thinking about him while I’m getting off kind of aches (and frankly involves more handholding and sensual kissing than hardcore fucking), but I’m worried I won’t see him again, and then what am I going to do? God, I wish I could just make this feeling stop.
Um. I may have started taking some anti-anxiety meds to deal with it. I had them from last semester when Robert was threatening to break up with me (yes, I do see the irony, thank you). They make me just a little sleepy but only just, and the one annoying side effect is they kind of give me cotton mouth. NBD, because I always have a water bottle on me anyway.
I told my fans during my session this week that I’ve signed up. And as I told them every bit of my fantasy through heavy breathing (up to the point when I came, that is), I enjoyed toying my ass with vibrating beads and squirting all over my bed. I received a few extra tips that night, usually do when my ass is involved, but I’d like to think my storytelling added to the experience.
There are only two weeks left in the spring semester when I finally get the email inviting me to model for a private class. And it’s going to be tonight! The vibration starts at the back of my neck and travels straight to my cunt; I’m instantly wet. In fact, I take another shower just to shave my legs, trim my pubes and make sure I’m fresh as a daisy. illegal bahis A really, sexy, curvy daisy that hopefully doesn’t smell like a sodden vagina from six feet away.
I cut my last class of the day (Western Civ, zzzzzz) and practice my poses in front of the standing mirror in my room. It’s Wednesday, so I also have to take a minute to let my regulars know I won’t be logging in until late. I guess that means I’ll have to save my after-session orgasm for my bedroom. And I’m certain to let them know what I’m doing tonight so that they know I’ll be as ready to play with myself as they’ll be to watch it.
After that’s done, I pull my hair up into a bun as I was instructed, and I stare at myself in the mirror. There’s a zit on my jawline that’s probably not actually a zit that I know only I can see, but I swear to God it’s glaring at me. My heart is speeding up with every sweep of my lash brush.
This is happening. I’m going to expose myself in front of a group of strangers. For ahem, art and education. I can’t help but reach down and swirl around my clit a few times. Only the clock on my mobile keeps me from grabbing a vibrator from my panty drawer. I’m already soaked. The channel of my cunt might as well be the Ohio River Valley. With a quick dip into my silky pocket, I extract a dollop of mucus and give it a quick sniff and a taste. Clean and musky and sour. The smell of my own sex always heightens my experience.
As I’m getting ready to walk out the door, my hands tremble on the door knob. I’m somewhere between mortified, excited, horny, and fully electrified. I wonder if Mars ever felt this way before modeling for our class. It’s bad enough that I have to abandon the door and sit on my bed for a few minutes just to breathe. My mouth is basically a desert after a cracker challenge, so I pound my entire waterbottle.
Rushing across campus, I feel like everyone I see knows where I’m going, what I’m doing. By the time I reach the art hall, I’m a little sweaty, and those extra minutes wasted in my room put me a few minutes behind. I’m not late, not yet, but there’s definitely no time to collect myself.
The room where the models get changed is unlocked. I’ve never been in here before. It’s nice, mostly. The green velvet armchair is decades old, and the rest of the ornate furniture likely much older. The fringed table lamp is on, even though melted sunlight is still running through the cracks between the drawn shade and the window frame. My shoes, I kick off. My top and bra hit the velvet chair unceremoniously, my shorts and lacy panties the same. Someone has laid out a cotton robe for me, hope it’s been laundered. My nipples are hardening as the white fabric slides over them. I consider sucking in my tummy, but only for a minute. I thought ahead about this – I’m not apologetic on camera, and I won’t be apologetic here. Not like I’d be able to hold it for thirty minutes anyway.
With a deep breath, I open the door. The artists are already seated around the podium, the key and fill lights shining on the modeling space. I’m immediately filled with something I can only call regret, and I’m beset by trembling and the compulsion to pee my pants. Only I can’t, because I’m not wearing pants. Fuck. What the hell was I thinking?
They see me, eyes tilting this way. I tighten my insides against the push of my bladder, hoping that the feeling will disappear as soon as I settle in. Mars has done this a dozen times. More. I’ve seen him stride confidently forward from this door, disrobe, become a living statue.
I’m so stupid. They aren’t here for me. They’re here to draw a figure. I’m to do a job, a perfectly reasonable job, and I’ll be paid for it. Another deep breath. I am a living statue. And I stride forward, or do what I imagine looks very stride-like. The pinch against my insides is a reminder with each step that I shouldn’t have hit that water bottle so hard.
I can’t say if it’s tunnel vision or extreme focus, but my eyes don’t settle on any of the artists, merely note the impression of figures behind their easels. I step onto the podium, the key light in my eyes creating a subtle glare to help maintain artist anonymity, and I slough the robe from my shoulders. As the breeze from an open windows catches me, my nipples harden to the point of being slightly painful. I take the pose I’ve chosen, an up and arm hooked against the back of my head, my other arm turned out, hands delicately splayed. I know I can hold this for at least twenty minutes. Never really practiced the last ten – always started playing with myself by then.
I’m keenly aware that I’m completely exposed. I thought it would be lovely, that my pussy would be dripping by now. I was so wrong. I can feel my face flushing as I swallow, and my breath won’t seem to settle. And if I can’t settle, this pee feeling is only going to get worse.
Pencils begin to move. A minute ticks away, then two, then three. I was wrong, there are only three people and a fourth easel without an artist. I can make out the one illegal bahis siteleri artist almost directly in front of me, a woman of middle years, maybe younger maybe older. It’s hard to say. She’s slender and studious, wearing a green and blue paisley wrap dress and white framed glasses. She looks like every librarian ever, but with more style.
After a few additional minutes of breathing through the pressure, I notice another artist peaking out at intervals from behind his work. He’s going gray, though his mustache is still a rutty umber. A bit heavier, maybe, but not an unattractive man. This is exactly the type of person I expect watches all of my cam shows. Knowing these two are so hard at work, one easily the least sexual woman I’ve ever seen (which sometimes equals repressed nymphomaniac) and the other possibly more perverted than I am, I start to relax a bit. My breathing slows. And I watch Mr. Mustache as he peaks around his paper. He’s definitely eying my crotch. When I thinned out my bush, I made sure my outer lips were visible. I expect my meaty inner labia may be blooming a bit, and I can feel my slit getting slippery as I make micro-adjustments to keep the blood flowing through my feet.
There’s only one artist left, and he or she is almost directly behind me. I feel like if I just imagine it’s another fan, I can get through this.
Except for my bladder. Fuck! Fuck, it’s really beginning to ache now. I’ve held it for a long time before. In fact, it was in this very studio that I had to let the pressure out during the private session with my golden god, Mars. That was uncomfortable; this fucking sucks. I can feel my heel beginning to shake.
I am the master of my body. No pee is greater than the will of my mind. I am the pee. I am the golden pee. Breathe. Stay in there, pee! Problem is, even if I can make it until the end of the session, I’m not certain I’ll be able to walk out of here. FUCK!
Then suddenly, the woman speaks, “How much longer is this going to drag out, Sky?”
Behind me, I hear a sigh and a chair scraping. “You’re always in a rush, Naomi,” says a very British voice. Also very deep and very male. “Uh, yes, Miss Christo. No, no! Please don’t move. In fact, I’ll compensate you an additional one-hundred dollars if you hold this posture for the remainder of the session in silence. Naturally, you may depart at any time sans compensation, but I truly hope you do not. You may nod, if you understand.”
What is going on? Both the artists in front of me have lowered their pencils, and they’re smiling at me. I try not to look at them.
“Miss Christo?”
I nod.
His footfalls fill my ears like some kind of Hollywood sound effect, and then he’s in view. It’s… He’s…
Mars stands before me. In a charcoal suit of all things, and it hugs his toned frame like fine armor. And I thought he couldn’t look more beautiful than when he was fully nude, stroking his cock for me. Jury is still out, I guess. And I think it’s safe to assume he’s not a farm hand after all? Or mute! Why did I ever believe that nonsense? The piercing daggers around my bladder bring me back to myself.
“I have a confession,” he says. “I – we – have been fans of your show since December. Our little group gathers at my home once a month for, well, a bit of adult activity. Rather wet activity, if I’m being honest. Darin, over there, found you online and recognized the school crest on one of the binders near your bed. He’s on the college board, as are we all. Most of our lot couldn’t make it tonight. That is to say, they didn’t want to take the risk, but given what I know of you, I felt confident the risk would be well worth it. Truth is, Coppa, I’ve known who you are since the semester began. I haven’t missed a show yet.”
He paces slowly, the other so-called artists now grinning.
“When you shared your modeling fantasy with your audience last week, it only took a phone call to setup this lovely encounter. And on that point, I suppose I have a proposal. You may nod if you’d like me to continue.”
Oh. My. God. So many thoughts go through my mind at once that half of them collide with the other half and they all fall over. I nod.
Mars – that is, Sky? – smiles broadly. Ugh, it makes me want to squeak. He’s just so pretty! But this time I’m the one on display for him. I don’t think I could feel any more naked. He says, “Coppa. After our last encounter, I wanted to do something for you. But given the nature of said encounter, flowers and dinner seemed all little too… pedestrian. I thought, perhaps I could bring your fantasy to life.”
He looks over at his friends, board members, whatever they are. And Mr. Mustache a.k.a. Darin unzips his pants, and from the bunched fabric of bright blue boxers emerges a long, thin prick. I watch him stroke it to life. Several feet away, Naomi opens her dress, and free of both panties and pubic hair, her bony fingers begin to rub the insides of her thighs, catching on the damp lips of her smooth, waxed cunt.
“We canlı bahis siteleri sometimes enjoy this type of rules-based play,” says Sky, “so I do hope you can stay in character. Your fantasy description, as you were pleasuring yourself on camera, noted that you imagined your classmates would grope and fondle you. I expect, we’d like to do the same. I’m not advocating phallic penetration in your case, in fact, that’s completely out to keep to the fantasy.” He has a look at my face and frowns. “Unless these rules really don’t suit you.”
It’s hard to get a firm grip on reality at this point. My twat is beginning to ooze while my bladder throbs. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this kind of pain, and I used to have some pretty serious period cramps before I started birth control. I know there’s a look of anguish on my face, but I say nothing.
Sky looks over his shoulder at the others, and they pause. He looks once more at me. “Shall we continue?”
My thoughts are scrambled, but my body is begging for release. I nod, but it’s more of a jerk.
“Wonderful,” he says, his deep voice dropping deeper. “Then I’ll begin by exploring your body with my hands, shall I? I’ve been able to think of little else these past few weeks. Would you like that?”
I… I… I’m not sure. I want him to. I want his arms around me, those huge hands groping me. But I’m… not going to make it. I’m not going to make it another second.
The sphincter holding back my hot, golden waste water fails. Not completely, but enough that I feel the trickle leave my tiny pee hole. It practically stings. I jerk again, and Sky must think I’m nodding, because his large hands reach out and make contact with my hip. He hasn’t yet noticed the drops running down my thigh. Fingertips slide across my belly, my body quaking, and that little bit of pressure opens me up further.
My face goes hot, and I press my eyes shut as piss spurts from my crevice. I get it under control rather quickly, but there’s no shutting it off as it’s now trickling in a steady stream down my leg. How is this happening to me? Again?
“You beautifully naughty woman,” says Sky.
“Oh that’s gorgeous,” says Naomi. She moves quickly from the chair and then drops to her knees beneath me. Her fingers run along my calves and my knees, spreading the wetness of my pee over my soft skin. She opens her dress to reveal two small breasts, and she proceeds to rub my dirty water into her nipples.
Darin stands, strips of pants and boxers, and approaches me from the side. He kneels next to Naomi and licks her salty nipples while rolling his ball sack in his hand. Naomi reaches over to rub the underside of his cock.
“Mm, darling,” he says, his eyes glancing my way. “Delicious.”
After sloughing his suit coat and tossing it onto a chair, Sky’s hand returns to my mound, and he plays with my pubic hair, his fingers moving in and out of my hot dribbling stream. Naomi reaches around Darin’s head to unzip Sky’s suit pants, pulls his meaty cock free, placing it into her open mouth. She begins to suck him hard. I’m transfixed; for all I can concentrate on anything but the pee dribbling out of me, I imagine that cock is in MY mouth.
The pain in my abdomen has not yet subsided, and I’m terrified to fully release with these strangers so close to my crotch, strangers that are touching me. I swallow and breathe harder as Sky’s hand cups my pissing mound. He touches and cups only the outside, as much as I’m dying for his finger to hit my clit.
Sky looks at Darin and nods. He says, “Give her some relief, will you man?”
Darin stands, jaw slack and wanting beneath his fat ‘stache, and he disappears behind me. I’m aware of him sitting, and then his face appears between my legs. He presses up, and his ruddy cheeks become a wedge between my thighs, spreading open my petaling pussy lips, my pee dribble now running into his mustache and open mouth. I can feel his movement, that he’s stroking his cock.
“It’s okay darling,” says Sky. “Darin’s favorite game is toilet slave. Go ahead. Let it all out.” My heart pounds… I don’t think I can let it go. Then Sky presses firmly on my belly, against my bladder.
I don’t have a choice. The pain won’t let me keep it in, and the most confusing mix of shame and electric arousal floods my body as hot, golden piss fires from my tiny pee hole with a hiss. Naomi watches from the corner of her eye from her position on Sky’s rod, and her head-bobbing, cock swallowing picks up tempo with a throaty moan.
My nasty water jets into Darin’s open mouth until it overflows, spilling over his cheeks and down my thighs. Then he quickly swallows with a huge gulp, and when he opens his mouth again, he glues his maw against my pussy, teasing open my sour sex pocket with his fluttering tongue as he sucks and gulps my fresh urine.
The ecstasy is almost indescribable. Sky presses harder against my soft abdomen with one hand, the other rubbing over my nipple and squeezing my breast. Below me, the feeling of pee being sucked directly from my source brings me close to orgasm. I can feel it rising, and with it, the pee in my bladder diluting with squirt, adding to the supply. I can hear Darin swallowing, his tongue undulating up inside me.
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