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The art teacher was a tall, elegant blonde, short hair, in her mid thirties. Sophia. Intense, she radiated passion for her work and for her craft. I wanted to learn from her, and not only drawing. But it would only be drawing this weekend, as there were two others in the class.
Nicola was in her twenties, a quiet girl who seemed to be painting as some kind of therapy, but it wasn’t exactly obvious what was going on. She was chronically shy and jumpy, and would never meet the eye of anyone who spoke to her. I was surprised that she had enrolled herself in this life drawing class, given her lack of confidence and what could be a confronting presence of a naked person in the room. Where would she look?
The second student was a woman in her early forties, a lawyer, whose mother had died a year before and left her a sizeable inheritance. This meant Sarah was now able to indulge herself by taking extended leave from a legal practice from the high end of town, and was setting out to make a career for herself as an artist.
And then there was me, just a beginner with my drawing, but wanting to improve as fast as I could, because I had discovered that drawing was bringing out an erotic side of me that I wanted to encourage and discover. It wasn’t immediately obvious where this had come from, since the first few life drawing classes I had attended had male models, and I wasn’t really into an old guy with a circumcised dick and balls hanging like a ram who posed leaning on a sword. On a sword, for fuck’s sake! A younger guy was pretty fit, and his muscle tone was good for some studies, but not really me.
But then we had Joanna as the model, one wet Saturday afternoon, and that was when I discovered that drawing with charcoal was almost as good as touching skin. Charcoal has a tactile thing about it – you have to spread the blackness with your finger to portray the curves in front of your eyes. And Joanna had a lovely set of curves, and in my first drawing of her I thought, “I can do this, this charcoal stuff works for me.”
We had Joanna as our model, this weekend. So there I was, the only man in a group of artistic women, and a nude woman to be drawn. The dynamic of the day, I was sure, would be intriguing.
Sophia suggested that we each find a space in her little studio, which had big windows on two sides, facing over her back yard, with tall gum trees filtering the light. Opposite the main set of windows was a couch, with cushions and some rugs and cloth, various colours, to be backgrounds for paintings and drawings. We jostled for space, and arrayed our easels evenly around the couch so we would each have a clear view of our sumptuous model.
Nicola and I were both using charcoal, pencil and pastel, so our set up was a lot easier, just a matter of clipping our paper to the backing board.
After I had set up my paper and made ready some colours on the bench behind me, I took the opportunity to observe the other students. Nicola’s face was full of concentration, and there was a little colour blushing her cheeks. She’s really looking forward to this, I thought. Maybe she’s not so shy and mouse-like as I thought. Sarah and Sophia were chatting together as they painted on their pale wash backgrounds, and they were both engrossed in the detail of what they were doing. They spoke of this type of paint and that type of brush, trading their knowledge. Sophia was elegant and intense, and the studio showed her work, fixed to the walls and stacked in bundles as works in progress.
She was from a family of artists, and in pride of place, centred in a space all of its own, was a pencil drawing of a beautiful nude woman, who turned out to be Sophia’s grandmother as a twenty year old muse for a young artist, Sophia’s grandfather. The family resemblance was most certainly there in the face of the grand-daughter; and the pencilled nude promised a continuation of other family traits down through the generations.
“Joanna has just texted,” Sophia announced, “and will be here in about five minutes. Before she arrives, can I just say how privileged we all are that she is happy to share herself with us. Some of you haven’t met her, but those of you who have will agree that she is a wonderful model. She is an artist herself, so understands the importance of a good pose, for a life drawing and painting class.”
Sarah and I glanced at each other and smiled – both of us had met Joanna before and certainly agreed with Sophia’s words. Nicola nervously twisted her hands together, and there was a red flush on her neck and cheeks. I sensed that she was looking forward to meeting Joanna.
“Joanna also knows what can happen when a number of artists focus on her nude self,” Sophia continued, her voice deepening with some new intensity that was not there earlier.
“Some models can handle this. I never could.”
Intrigued, I wondered what she meant, and was just about to ask when there was a flurry of activity by the door, and Joanna had arrived. The moment with Sophia passed, bahis firmaları but her words “I never could” echoed. I wondered why she never could, and why Joanna could.
Joanna was only about five foot two, a little curvy woman with a lively, vibrant face and laughing eyes. Her hair was a deep red, shoulder length and cut in a bob that framed her face. She dragged a small wheeled bag, and wore just a plain smock dress.
“God, it’s hot outside, and the air-conditioning in my car doesn’t work, sorry I’m late.”
Sophia came with a glass of iced water, which Joanna gulped down greedily, and then poured the rest over her head to cool down. The water ran in rivers down her hair and throat, and over her limbs.
“Oh look, there’s my dress, all wet. No matter, it can dry while I pose.”
Not much seemed to worry this woman, who was a free spirit, and clearly comfortable in herself. Her presence took over the room. She looked around eagerly, to see who she would be showing her body to today. Sophia introduced us one by one, and we were each greeted by a warm smile.
Joanna gave Sophia a lingering hug, for these two women knew each other well, and had often worked together. Joanna remembered Sarah and me from the earlier drawing class, and Nicola smiled shyly at her, from behind a veil of her hair. She seemed to be overwhelmed by this small, vibrant woman.
“How do you want to start, Sophia?”
Joanna was keen to get going, and had simply pulled the loose smock over her head, revealing firm breasts with a delectable shape, nicely curved and budded with dark brown nipples. As a model, she knew that a bra mark would stay on her skin for some time, so had simply not bothered with that garment. Similarly, she wore a pair of loose French knickers, which were soft and flowed about her waist, nothing tight.
Without a worry in the world, as if it never occurred to her that we were all clothed and she was naked like a nymph come out of the woodland, she simply slipped the knickers down her legs, bending down to remove them from her ankles. Her breasts swayed with the sudden movement, like teardrops falling from her body. Beside me, Nicola gasped, and I could not tell if she was surprised or shocked at the sudden strip.
I was delighted, and aware of the blood in my groin. Sarah was appraising, and already I felt that she was viewing this model’s lush figure merely as the genesis for her painting, not as a being of beauty in her own right.
Sophia said, “how about we have some quick five minute poses as warm ups, and then we can think about a longer pose.”
The art teacher took command of the room, and for half an hour it was all about gesture and blocking and tone. We all completed a number of quick sketches, and Joanna was all about movement and angles and turning, and the time was practical and she was the figurine in from of us, muscles and limbs and movement. We forgot that we had a delightful naked woman in front of us, and she was the subject of our study. Even Nicola was concentrating on the technical aspects of her pencil on the paper, and less on the dancing flesh in front of us.
We broke for a coffee and biscuits, and Joanna joined us wrapped in a kimono, light colourful cloth and cool in the heat. The conversation ran around a number of topics of art and models, and there was even a discussion on the importance of no underwear for life modelling. There was no strangeness that I was the only male amongst this group of women; and I thought, so maybe this is what is like to be in a coven of witches. White witches, earth witches, feminine spirits.
But then, as we were packing the morning tea things into Sophia’s kitchen, I saw Sophia and Joanna in a close, huddled conversation. I could not make out anything really clear, but did hear Sophia ask, “are you sure?”
Joanna replied, “it’s fine, it’s only a small group, and we can break in an hour. It will be nice. In this heat I’ll be half asleep anyway.”
I was intrigued by the concern from Sophia, and Joanna’s more relaxed response.
“OK,” said Sophia, “Joanna is going to make herself comfortable for a much longer pose, so here’s your chance to really study the woman in front of you, to understand all of her shapes and angles and curves, and to try and recreate your vision of her on your paper. I’m not going to teach you anything this time, because it will be up to you, your eyes, your brush or pencil or charcoal stick, and what you see. I’ll come around and see how you are all going and you can ask me questions.”
She took a piece of chalk in her hand, and finished, “I’ll mark key points on the cloth, so Joanna can go back to the same pose, next time we break.”
Joanna made herself comfortable on the couch in a reclining pose, facing us. She was langourous in the warmth of the room, and her pose was immediately sensual. She threw one arm back above her head, revealing the hollow of an armpit with coil of short hair dark in its centre. Her torso was tilted towards us, so her kaçak iddaa breasts were soft and curved with their weight. Her slightly rounded belly was also curved, rounded shadows contouring her body’s volumes. The leg nearest us was bent on the sheet, while her other leg was high with knee raised.
From Sarah’s vantage point I knew she would be able to see part of the dark cleft between Joanna’s thighs. I could see the triangle of dark hair at the base of her belly, since my easel was on the other side of the room.
Nicola was between Sarah and me, and I saw her touch her fingers lightly to the base of her throat, and her throat and the top of her chest were flushed red. I also saw that sometime over the course of the morning, the top button of Nicola’s blouse had come undone, revealing a glimpse of her bra whenever she leaned forward. Her eyes were bright.
“OK, let’s begin,” Sophia said, “let’s see how the magic of drawing and painting works today.”
“Yes, please enjoy yourselves,” added Joanna, “just be aware that I might doze off in this heat.”
And she smiled, as if to herself, her thoughts turning inwards.
I take a small stick of charcoal, and study Joanna’s body before me. I note the most important line, which is the long curve of her body and the high knee. It is essential that I capture the right gesture in a long, sinuous curve. I can then fill in the detail and the smaller curves and then move on to the lights and darks, the shadows and the highlights. I plan to do this long study just in charcoal, so it would be blacks and whites, and finger smudged greys. Doing the greys would be like caressing Joanna’s skin, but my own version of her, on paper.
As I capture the first essential line, I find myself elongating and exaggerating the curves I see in front of me. It is a part of my emerging style that I slightly enlarge the fullness of a breast or a hip, and slightly narrow the inward curves of a waist, or ever so slightly lengthen a limb or a neck. The body on the paper becomes my own version of the woman on the couch. The model on the couch Is unobtainable, but the woman taking shape on the paper is my own, to caress and touch as my own lover. I quickly capture my essence of the woman in front of my eyes, and now there is an outline.
Sophia stands behind me, to get the same perspective that I have, and she quietly points out that the line of Joanna’s arm is slightly different to the line I have drawn. She traces the tip of her finger on the paper to show where the edge of the forearm should go. I correct the line with my charcoal, and then smudge the tone with my finger, as if I am stroking Joanna’s forearm. As I do so, she opens her eyes, and without moving her face, she shifts her gaze to me. I stroke the charcoal smudge again, and her gaze intensifies, as if she can feel some sensation on her own flesh.
I look at Sophia, and see that she is repeatedly looking from my drawing to Joanna’s skin. She takes a piece of charcoal herself, and smooths her own caress of tone onto my paper. As she does so, Joanna’s eyes widen slightly, and her lips part. And where Sophia has run a smudge of darkness onto the paper, there is an equivalent blush of colour, ever so slight, on Joanna’s skin. I look at Sophia with a questioning look on my face.
“Did I really see what just happened there?” I ask, quietly.
“Yes,” Sophia replies in a whisper. “Your drawing has enclosed a line for every part of her body now, and as you draw and shape your vision on your page, she can feel it on her own skin, lightly like the gentlest finger tips, like butterfly wings, like the lightest kiss.”
“So I can caress her though my drawing?” I wonder.
“Yes, you can, so be gentle with her. See what happens when you draw her nipples.”
This was amazing. I do as Sophia suggests, and carefully draw slightly larger and more erect nipples on my page. As I do so, the nipples on the model in front of us tighten and peak. Joanna looks at us once again, and her eyes are sleepy and her lips crease into a slight smile. Jesus, it is as if Sophia and I are both caressing her.
I shade some charcoal onto the breasts on my page and draw them ever so slightly fuller and the nipples more conical, and when I look at the model, I can see a warm flush of colour spreading ever so slightly on her breasts, and they are fuller before my eyes. I caress the edge of my charcoal down over the curves of her belly and draw a slight fullness around her navel, and with my fingers I tease around that sensitive place. As I do so on my paper, Joanna in front of me takes a gasp of breath, and the muscles of her belly tighten.
“Keep going with your own shapes and caresses, strokes and touches,” urges Sophia, “and I will see how the other two are getting on.”
It was then I realise, that if my model is responding to my drawing and feeling every touch I make, then it is equally likely that she will be feeling the shapes and touches being made by the other two artists in the room.
And kaçak bahis sure enough, as I look across at Nicola, I see that the young woman is also responding to the erect nipples that I have aroused, and she too is beginning to realise the alchemy happening in the room. Her own chest and throat are flushed bright, and I can see that she is concentrating her own drawing and gaze on the same place on our model. It is as if she wants to make the same heat she feels on her own skin repeat itself on Joanna’s hot flesh.
So for five minutes Nicola and I caress Joanna with our gaze and with our charcoal and pencils, with me concentrating on her rounded belly and her slender waist and ribs, while Nicola caresses the full breasts and teases those full nipples into even tighter peaks. And Nicola strokes her pencil in light lines and subtle shading along the line of Joanna’s neck and her throat, and she draws a beating pulse.
As she does so, Joanna moans, and licks her lips, and Nicola is drawing a kiss onto those full red lips, and she draws a delicate trace of her fingers over the cheek and hairline, and on her page the fullness of the model’s hair is swept into being by the slender fingers of the young artist, there on her page. And this time, Joanna cannot help herself, she cannot keep still. As Nicola draws a long sweep of hair on her page and runs her fingers over it, so too does Joanna arch her head further back into the caress. The drawing on the page and the model on the couch are both still and ecstatic, and Nicola’s fingers caress Joanna’s face and hair on the paper.
With a gasp, Sophia sees what Sarah is painting. Even as I circle my own finger on some highlights on the drawn belly and on the taut line of ribs on my paper, I see Joanna ease her legs apart just an inch or so, and then a line of muscle is tighter near her hip and needs to be drawn. So I know that Sarah is painting those long legs and the dark line between, and even as I watch I see Sarah take a vermilion dab of paint from her palette, and know that the line of Joanna’s sex is a slash of red brightness in the middle of the darkness from a darker colour. Sarah is painting the opening petals of our model’s cunt place, and her vision is lush and open yet at the same her brush work is delicate and graceful.
So our model is drawn and painted, and our work moves in a cyclic harmony, for just as Sarah reaches an intensity with her painted probe of Joanna’s wide and open sex; then Nicola wants to touch and change a line in her drawing of those full and luscious breasts. And she draws out those nipples long and full, and her fingers tug on the shape of those breasts, and she captures the slight sheen of sweat that shines in Joanna’s cleavage. That makes another highlight for me to capture in my own drawing.
The room is silent for the next ten minutes as we each focus on those parts of our own work that are changing as each of us refines and corrects our drawings and painting. And each tiny caress of finger, or tip of a brush, or the pointed end of a pencil; each caress and touch is felt by our model. She is stroked by three hands and every now and then Sophia’s guiding finger touches a particular place, as our teacher helps us get our details right.
Our model’s breasts and nipples are urged to a firm yet wonderfully carved shape, the lines of her ribs are carefully contoured. Sophia helps Sarah with the careful details of the sweet open sex, and Joanna’s plump lips shine with their slickness and her clitoris sits high as a dab of purple paint makes that part of Joanna permanently erect on the canvas. Ah goodness, we three eager students are entranced by the visions of the beautiful woman in front of us, and work our drawings and visions as best we possibly can.
Our breath is also coming fast, as fast as Joanna’s now, for our three-fold caress and Sophia’s caring touch are combining within the model to bring every part of her to a gazed upon, touched upon and carefully stroked climax. Nicola is gently drawing every part of Joanna’s wondrous face, and she captures full red lips, and just the slightest tip of a tongue licking those lips. She captures every curve and highlight of those langourous, ecstasy filled eyes, and the flush of colour on Joanna’s throat and the top of her chest.
Nicola’s other hand is inside her own blouse, and her fingers pinch and tug on her own nipple as her fingers caress and smooth the skin on our model’s face and throat and hair.
My cock is full and firm as I touch and tone my vision of our model’s full breasts and long nipples, the sweet curve of her belly.
Sarah has the greatest pleasure of painting Joanna’s now wide open legs and the swollen hot sex between, and with the tip of her brush filled with a wet, glistening bud of purple-red paint, she urges up that delectable clitoris, risen high from the swollen lips, glistening also, and she paints Joanna to her peak.
Ah fuck, Joanna is still and unmoving on the couch in front of us, but in three different visions on paper and canvas, she peaks and comes and is a woman full of sexuality, carnal and erotic in our cunting wet and nipple hard depictions, woman, free and unfettered, pleasured by us in our drawings.
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