Life Drawing Class

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You showed no hesitation in signing up to my life drawing class when I told you that you would be the only man. The charge for the course was so low, I explained, because we didn’t hire models. Instead, each week a student would take a turn to pose naked for the rest of the class.

If this intimidated you, perhaps the price of taking off your clothes before half a dozen women seemed reasonable compared to the opportunity to watch them do the same for you. Besides, the course only lasted four weeks so there was a chance you might not have to disrobe at all.

I explained that I would pull the students’ names out of a hat, both to determine who would be the model that week and what theme they would be required to represent.

In the first week, I drew my own name and the theme was “glamour”.

I brought out the dressing-up box so the class could choose items that fitted the theme. There was a selection of silky garments that you were keen for me to use. I ended up lying on a couch in a pair of pink knickers suggestively drawn down on one side, a pair of hold-up black stockings and a scarf tied around my neck in a large bow. The other students agreed and I posed before the class.

So much for week one.

You look nervous now as we begin our second week. I reach into the hat and pull out a name. It is your name.

“And the theme is…” I say, pulling out another slip of paper and unfolding it. “Humiliation.”

This prompts a flurry of discussion among the women. One suggests that you simply pose naked, to which you agree, but I have barely gathered up muğla escort your clothes and the sat at my easel when some of the students express reservations.

“He doesn’t look humiliated,” a Chinese undergraduate named Ling complains. “He just looks awkward.”

There is a general muttering of agreement.

“Well, then,” I say. “Shall we have a look in the dressing-up box?”

The women poke around and make several suggestions until Ling recalls how you had wanted me to wear the silky underwear. Your cheeks flush, to the students’ delight.

“It’s working already,” I say, picking the satin knickers and stockings out of the box. “Would it be an interesting exercise if he were in the same pose as I was?”

This generates both laughter and agreement. You sit on the edge of the couch, suggesting alternatives, while I gather up one stocking and Ling does the other. Each of us unrolls them onto your legs while a third woman ties the matching pink scarf prettily around your neck.

You squirm a little but stop when I tell you not to be so precious.

I pass you the knickers to put on yourself, which you do without hesitation in a largely fruitless attempt to hide the beginnings of an erection brought on by our attentions.

As the women settle down to their drawings I excuse myself. The sight of you so helpless is curiously arousing and I go outside to settle myself on the pretext of tidying away your clothes and the dressing-up box. I drop off the box at my office along the hallway.

On my way back I pause before I re-enter. In my absence muş escort the women have become mischievous. Watching through a crack in the door I see Gloria, a large, exuberant woman, joking with the others about how your humiliation needs refreshing. She removes her own scarf as she approaches you and tickles you with it. You shy away and glance towards the door, probably thinking that running half-naked through campus would be preferable to sticking this out. Ling calls out: “Tie him up!”

You protest but the women cheer as Gloria fashions two loops in her scarf. She seizes one wrist and gets the loop over easily. You flail your other arm but Gloria sits on you patiently until she overpowers you and draws the loops tight. Gail, a small, quiet woman with pigtails, finds a pair of tights in her bag and uses them to bind your ankles. They stand back to admire their work.

By now your erection is pressing tautly against the knickers. The women gasp and giggle.

I step into the room and it falls silent. You look at me hopefully and plead for me to let you go.

I go over to you and reach for the knots on your wrists but something stays my hand. I ask the women to show me their drawings so far. Despite the mischief they have done some interesting work. “Okay,” I say. “Keep going.”

I turn to you. “That’s alright, isn’t it?” I say gently. “I think you secretly like this, don’t you?” You shake your head. Your shame intensifies yet further.

“Then what’s all this about?” I gesture to your stretched knickers. My hand brushes them, accidentally. Instinctively nevşehir escort I want to apologise but you give a little whimper.

The women are sketching urgently, picking out every new mark of humiliation.

I chance another stroke and you reward me with a look of even deeper discomfort. I trace my fingers over your underwear. There is no way back from this now. You breathe heavily and I keep time with my hand, my palm rubbing against you as your cries become louder and shriller.

“Come on,” I say, to the students, urging them to take in everything before it is too late. Every contortion of your face spurs me on. You manage one last cry of protest that turns into a series of sobs while my fingertips skitter over the fabric from back to front. You know I’m not going to stop and you’re no longer sure if you want me to.

As I turn my attention to the tip you go into spasm. The light pink satin darkens then oozes white. Your face creases as you clench shut your eyes, then clears as resignation washes through you.

You hear me telling the women to start a fresh sheet of paper. I leave your side to join them in sketching you again, a vision of spent pride.

You don’t dare open your eyes until after I have dismissed the class, remaining limp as I loosen your bonds to return Gloria’s scarf and Gail’s tights.

“There’s no need for any of this to go any further,” I tell you as the women file out. “No one has to see any of these drawings if you want me to be discreet. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

You nod.

“Okay, then. I’ll fetch your clothes.”

I leave with good intentions, but as I turn the key to my office door I ponder whether you might benefit from a bit longer in your new underwear, if only for your walk home. It’s a thought that keeps me happy for the rest of the day.

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