Sarah Does Art

Everyone needs a hobby. That's what they say isn't it? Truth is, I've always been interested in art and this evening class is the perfect excuse to indulge that passion while getting me out of the house for a few hours each week. Much as I love my husband, we all need a little personal space now and again.

Clutching my drawing materials, my heels click steadily along the tiled corridor of the local school which hosts the lessons. The eerie quiet of a school during evening time is not something I think I will ever get used to. My gaze moves disinterestedly over the various posters and flyers pinned to the noticeboards advertising after school clubs and other scholastic activities. I sniff as the faint whiff of bleach permeates the area.

I walk head back and erect. It is amazing what being short does for one's posture -- anything to gain that extra inch or two. I'm 5'0 without my heels, slim, large brown eyes, brown hair down to my shoulders and 34C breasts which are slightly too big for my frame...although I don't often get complaints about that, I admit.

The balmy warmth of the summer air is detectable even in the usually cool hallways. My pretty summer dress is white with large blue flowers printed erratically across it and is made of a light, breathable, material that floats pleasantly against my bare legs beneath, hem tapping rhythmically just above my knees as I walk.

As I approach the door to room 3C I catch sight of one of the other class regulars approaching from the opposite direction. We are into the second month of lessons, and I know most of the members of the group as we often go for a drink together after class. The fact that most of the other students are male does not hurt, although a few are rather boorish for my taste.

"David, how are you?" I ask pleasantly as we arrive at the door together. I catch his eyes quickly flickering up from scanning my lightly tanned, smooth legs as he smiles.

"I'm great Mrs. Sarah, really looking forward to tonight's class. Allow me..." He replies, pulling open the door to let me pass into the room as I note his unusually high level of enthusiasm.

Upon entering we both pause as the class is much busier than usual. Most of the hard-core regulars are sat at their usual places, but they have been joined by an array of semi-familiar faces that have only attended one or two of the previous lessons and seem to have all chosen to mysteriously rekindle their interest in art at the same time. Also, and even more surprising, the other female members of the class seem to be entirely absent.

Frowning, I make a beeline for one of the empty chairs, David following and slipping into the seat next to me. Having a little more time to process the attendees I reflect on the fact that I am the only woman this week and can't help but wonder why.

"I knew it would be busy this week." David leans over and nods wisely, looking around the room and waving at a few of the men we know. He even seems to receive a wink from Jason, one of the most arrogant and chauvinistic amongst the group.

"What made you think that?" I ask casually, as I also acknowledge the regular students and am rewarded with friendly smiles in return...and the occasional smirk from the more laddish contingent -- including from Jason, obviously.

I pause as I sense David looking at me in surprise. I turn to him and raise my eyebrows quizzically.

"Don't you remember the schedule we got in week one? It is the life drawing class tonight." He prompts as he grins, giving me a nudge and eyeing me closely as the words sink in. Only after hearing the explanation do I notice the set of solid, low, wide boxes creating a make-shift stage with a solitary, lonely chair in its centre, and a small stand-alone folding screen behind.

"Ah that explains it" I sniff, irritated that the men are here for such adolescent reasons instead of for the love of art. I pout as I huffily pull out my paper and pastels, setting the coloured sticks neatly in the narrow, grooved ledge of the provided easel. Still, I think, surely the women haven't all stayed away because of that, have they? Very strange.

I ignore David as I sense his grin remains as he watches me for a few seconds longer before breaking the spell and sorting out his own kit. As he does so, the clock on the far wall moves to 8pm and, simultaneously, the instructor, Mr. Perry, enters. A stickler for punctuality, we often joke about his metronomic arrival each week.

"Evening class" he says gruffly. A shortish man, Mr. Perry fits the starving artist cliché perfectly. Disheveled and scruffy but with an intense peering gaze trained to observe all details, he clatters to the front and stumbles onto the boxed stage-like construction to address us more formally.

An expectant hush descends on the room. I look around to see if anyone else has followed him in, but he is alone and clears his throat to say, somewhat sheepishly,

"Uh, frightfully bad news you know -- awfully sorry and all that -- I'm afraid the model has had to, well, that is to say, she is not able to...tonight...uh, she isn't coming." Dropping the bombshell with a fluttering of hands and stuttering of words.

I look down and consciously suppress a smile as I listen to the sighs and grumbles of the men. 'Serves them right for only being here to stare -- perverts' I think to myself, amused and -- to some extent -- relieved that tonight will revert to a standard art class, one more in my comfort zone. The moans continue and sound rather over-done to my ears, almost like a bad actor over-playing their part.

"But we were promised life drawing!" The exclamation coming from Jon, one of the more irritating members of the group. The wheedling, almost child-like plea is highly satisfying to me, and I can't stop my smile appearing as I look at his forlorn expression. He catches me smirking and is about to smirk back but seems to catch himself and, instead, he scowls darkly.

"Well, uh, as you see that, well best of intentions and all that...you get the idea but fear not dear aspiring Michelangelos...and Michelangeloesses of course..." he adds as an afterthought, bowing theatrically in my direction "for I have, that is we always have, some, uh, excellent -- what I like to call...STILL LIFE!"

"Maybe you could get a volunteer" states Jon firmly, glaring at the instructor and the unappealing thought of spending the next two hours painting an apple. After the words hang in the air for a second, he looks directly round to where I am sat -- the eyes of the class following his gaze.

I freeze as all attention turns to me. My mouth opens then closes as I cross my arms defensively over my chest, the movement pressing my dress against the lace bra beneath. "Well, I hardly think..." I begin, indeed finding it hard to think before I alight on an excuse "...in this modern day and age that it needs be a woman -- why don't YOU do it?" I say, satisfied, as I turn everyone's attention back to Jon.

"I suppose that's your feminist principles coming through Sarah?" he responds evenly, trying not to let his emotions show. "I know from our debates you are all for equality so why don't we draw lots for it." He finishes, leaning back and watching me as I realise it is almost impossible for me to refuse.

"To be fair we should all put our names in" I insist, certain that at least some of the group will refuse and the whole idea will be abandoned. To my surprise, however, there is instant agreement from everyone, one might even describe it as enthusiastic agreement. I feel startled but calm myself with the thought that the odds are well in my favour now -- maybe 12 or 15 to 1 against my being the chosen model.

"Splendid, uh, yes indeed splendid, spiffing work all, let me hand these out -- write your names on the paper please and drop in the metaphorical hat, by which I mean this cardboard box." The instructor chortles happily, rapidly handing out small, pre-prepared, rectangles of paper to us all and placing the box at the front of the stage.

My fingers tremble as I take the proffered slip of paper. 'How did this happen?' I ask myself. Logically I know the chance of being chosen is small, but logic holds no sway against my body's fight-or-flight instinct. I feel my pulse rate increasing as I scrawl my name using one of the pastels, fold the paper, and drop it into the box.

I close my eyes for a second to compose myself. My mind fills with the sounds of the room as chairs are scrapped back and heavy footsteps trudge to the box and back. I exhale evenly and slowly to calm myself and re-open my eyes as the instructor lifts the box, shakes it a few times and dips his hand ominously into the scraps of paper.

With a flourish, he pulls out a single slip and holds it aloft as he carefully places the box on the table to the side.

"And the winner...." He jokes, smiling around the room and being rewarded with delighted chuckles from some. He pauses dramatically as I hold my breath. I look left and right but the men seem far more relaxed than I about the situation -- perhaps that is just the way men are -- showoffs.

"...is..." he grins, enjoying his moment of power. I narrow my eyes in annoyance, and, as I turn my head my gaze meets Jon's who is, for some reason, smiling at me. A smile that only widens a second later as we all hear,

"SARAH! Oh well done my dear, uh, splendidly well done I must say! Many congratulations my baby girl!" Enthuses the teacher as he quickly drops the slip of paper back into the box along with the others.

Time stands still. I hear the happy mumblings of the class and observe Jon's gleeful smirk of triumph. These observations suggest that time must be moving -- but it also stands still. My mind shrinks back in its skull looking for a safe place to hide. I might have sat frozen like that forever had it not been for an eager nudge from David alerting me to Mr. Perry's outstretched hand.

I reach for the hand, the only steadying presence in my world, and am led behind the rickety screen on the makeshift stage. I can hear him speak but must force myself to register the meaning of his words.

"Thank you so much Sarah, and I think I speak for all the men here, when I, uh, say that we are extremely pleased you volunteered as it were. Now just pop all your clothes off there's a good girl -- all in the name of art, eh?!" He smiles, leaving me behind the screen, partially hidden from the rest of the class.

I blink as I gradually come to my senses. Hearing the noise of my classmates shockingly, intimately close as I fumble with the zip at the back of my dress, the sudden loosening of its hold results in a soft whoosh as it slips over my body and puddles around my ankles and heels. I gingerly step from it and pick it up, glancing around but seeing no obvious place to put it I hang it over the top of the screen aware that it can now be half seen by all.

I bite my lip to steady myself once more, stood just in heels and underwear in the suddenly draughty art room, I reach behind my back. The familiar bra clasp defeats me for a moment. Like a young man's fumbling attempts to discover the mystery of female underwear I tug helplessly at it for a moment before muscle memory kicks in and I feel the restraint give.

This second loosening is much worse than the first. I feel the sensation of my chest falling forward, the usually supportive material sagging off them. I glance down at my exposed breasts, harsh in the light of the room, small nipples tingling at their unexpected freedom. I quickly look away, the sight of their wanton roundness worsening my nerves. I look at the useless strip of material in my hand and hang it up over the screen on top of my dress. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I heard a scurrying to and from the screen then a low, whispered, '34C'.

I pause for a second as I attempt to steady myself. Inhaling deeply and forcing my breathing to slow as I kick off my heels. The resulting reduction in height emphasises my reduction in confidence as I grip the waistband of my black lace panties with my thumbs and strip them down my legs and off. The ball of lace in my hand takes on a mind of its own and snags and falls back against my face as I attempt to lay it over the top of the screen. I scowl but my second attempt is more successful and my panties balance precariously on top of the rest of my clothes.

My hopes for a few extra moments to collect myself are instantly dashed as the appearance of my panties upon the screen signals my full state of nudity and acts as a siren call to Mr. Perry who pops his head around the screen.

"Ah there we are now Sarah, that's a girl, eh?" He smiles at me as his eyes dart over my newly exposed form, whether to appreciate the artistic possibilities or for other reasons I cannot say.

"Now, I'll put your personals away for safekeeping" he continues as he collects my clothes and places them in a wooden cupboard at the back of the room a few feet behind me. "If you'll excuse me, I'll just..." I watch as he bends down directly in front of me to collect my shoes, his face mere inches from my exposed shaven pussy. I can't help but place a small hand over myself, covering between my legs as he rises once more and locks everything away, pocketing the key in his worn jacket.

"There now" he smiles "out you pop and sit on the chair -- the men are eager to get started!" says Mr. Perry. I can imagine they are indeed eager but, trying not to think of that, I purse my lips and gather my courage before moving to the side of the screen and quickly padding to the chair, careful to keep my legs jammed together as I sit, arms crossed over my chest in a somewhat unnatural position.

Silence rules for a second. The dozen or so men in the room taking in my exposed skin with their triumphant gazes. All thoughts of art seem to have deserted them as the moment extends tensely before Mr. Perry, the first to remember why we are here, continues,

"Right, well then, there we are, isn't that just, I mean isn't Sarah...that is we should start drawing! ART! DRAWING! Come along now gentlemen, let's get those pictures going -- you wouldn't want to miss taking a record of this would you?" He jokes to some polite chortles.

As the silence of the room is replaced with soft scribblings of pastels on paper, I begin to feel my heart rate return to normal. Slowly I come to terms with the situation, glad that the instructor let me keep my chosen pose. Here I am, nude in front of all the men in a school room but at least I am partially covered. The feel of my nipples pressing against my covering arms provides some comfort as I stare directly at the front wall.

Moments pass and the strange situation begins to feel normal. As it does, I decide to take a chance and move my vision from a fixed point on the wall and direct it cautiously around the room. I catch sight of the first few men focussed on my form and their drawings and I begin to wonder if this is not so bad after all when I make the mistake of catching Jon's eye. He is looking directly at me then slowly moves his eyes up and down my exposed body before giving me a cheeky wink -- the nerve of the man!

I frown and look back to the blank wall. Slowly I start to count backwards from 100 to distract myself and pass the time until this is all over. From my current position I can't see the clock, which is behind me, and my phone is still in my handbag which I left by my seat in the earlier confusion -- not that I would be allowed to move to retrieve it anyway. My self-hypnosis drifts me into a reverie until Mr. Perry breaks the spell.

"Right, I think we have just about exhausted that pose -- so to speak -- so let us, er, you know, have a different one shall we.... now then, what would be good?!" He says, pausing with a thoughtful look upon his face, finger tapping at his lips as he ponders his (and my) next move.

"Perhaps one foot lifted onto the seat of the chair?" Suggests Jon innocently, looking at the instructor but only after a sly grin in my direction.

Mr. Perry looks over at the unexpected interjection "Oh Jon, yes, well, er, interesting idea I suppose, what exactly...? That is, how exactly do you envisage the, uh...Well, why not come up and show us...position her as you envisage, please."

Before I can object Jon is up out of his seat and towering over me. He pauses for a second until I meet his eye then calmly, slowly, reaches down and runs his hands down my lower leg until he grasps my ankle. Half bent forward he looks back up at me as he begins to lift it causing my knee to bend and leg to rise.

I feel my chest tremble in alarm, my arms instinctively folding tighter in surprise as my leg begins to lift, moving to the side a little and parting from the other. I look at Jon, but he is still grinning as he places my foot gently but firmly flat onto the seat of the chair. The movement has opened my legs a little but also moved my body position so that my pussy is now on show to half of the room.

"Ah yes!" exclaims Mr Perry "I see your intention -- extending the leg muscles just so.... Gives a certain dynamism to the whole tableaux! Wonderful!"

I am highly sceptical that that was indeed Jon's intention but hardly have time to think about it as Jon turns back to the instructor,

"...and then the arms like this?" as, without waiting for reply, he lifts my arms from their protective position and moves them behind my head. The resultant movement of my torso pushes my naked breasts forward and presents them fully to the room.

"Wonderful Jon, you have an eye for these sort of things -- that's perfect -- back to your place now and let's draw!"

Jon smiles at the instructor's compliment and nods, turning casually, his trailing hand moves lightly across my breasts, the touch innocent and accidental looking but having the effect of hardening my already sensitive nipples and causing me to wriggle slightly.

"Don't fidget Sarah -- stay still!" admonishes Mr. Perry firmly and I, chastened, freeze in place once more.

This time is different. Acutely aware of how much more I am showing, my mind refuses to be distracted by the wall or the time or counting or...anything that isn't my current situation. I swallow as I try to bring some moisture back into my dry mouth.

I know I shouldn't, but I look over at Jon, almost desperate to irritate myself further as I see my nemesis's enjoyment of the situation he has put me in. Of course, he lifted my leg that was furthest from his side of the room, so he now has an unobstructed view of both my breasts and my bare pussy. He lounges back in this seat as his eyes move down to rest between my legs. I gulp as I feel my pussy respond to the attention and quickly avert my eyes before it gets too involved.

"Uh Mr. Perry?" asks Jon "I'm not sure I will have time to finish this sketch during the class, would it be all right if I...?"

I hear his words but am no longer looking in his direction so miss his intention completely as he takes his phone out of his pocket and lifts it as he waits for a response.

"Oh, why yes, well, this is, er, normal, to work from materials, I mean we can't expect to perfect everything immediately can we now? Not even our star pupil." as he smiles indulgently at Jon "Go on, my sweet Caravaggio...as you will! Perhaps you could share it with the WhatsApp group for the class? -- useful homework for the men who couldn't make it this evening...and the women of course" he adds with a chuckle.

Wondering what they are referring to I turn my gaze back round at exactly the moment when Jon's camera phone clicks, thus presenting him with a full frontal -- of both my nakedness and my face. I gape in surprise and can hardly react before I see him quickly tap at his phone and suddenly the familiar WhatsApp chime emits from several phones in the room -- including the one still in my handbag.