The Artists get Hands On

Olive, sitting very still and still gazing at the floor over her shoulder, felt the girl, it must have been Phoebe, move close to her. All of this attention was definitely turning her on; she could feel the familiar warmth growing between her legs and she knew her skin was very responsive. Her nipples tingled as the skin of her areolas tightened, her nipples growing into hard and sensitive nubs.

Had she been alone and feeling aroused like this she would be cupping her own breast, pinching the nipple twisting and rolling it between her thumb and forefinger to send waves of excited tingles up her neck and down her abdomen. She would have her legs apart, moving her fingers gently along her pussy lips, slipping between to feel the wetness, teasing her clit.

But of course she wasn’t alone. She was modelling for this art class and she needed to remain professional. She would have plenty of time to play with herself once she returned home to her bed.

Phoebe leaned close, carefully inspecting the model’s breasts. Her soft breath raised tiny goosebumps on Olive’s skin, caused her nipples to become even more firm and pronounced.

‘She seems very responsive,’ Phoebe said quietly. She looked over at the teacher. ‘Is it okay if I touch her? Just to get a sense of the texture of her skin?’

‘Of course,’ replied Miss Howells. ‘She did say she is happy to be touched.’

The other artists watched silently as Phoebe raised both hands, cupping Olive’s breasts. ‘Oh, gosh,’ she whispered, almost to herself, ‘they are so soft.’ She squeezed gently, feeling the delicate flesh give way beneath her fingers.

‘Okay, Phoebe,’ the tutor prompted. ‘Let’s let somebody else have a look.’

‘Oh yes, of course.’ The girl reluctantly stepped away to allow the next artist to move forward. Olive could tell immediately that this was a man, his hands rough as they moved over her thighs and hips.

Olive tried to control her breathing as the class came to her one by one, leaning close, looking intently at every detail of her skin, stroking her delicately. She had never felt this aroused, this sensitive, this responsive. And there was nothing she could do but remain very still.

A man with a sexy, deep voice approached. In her mind she imagined that the voice belonged to number three, the attractive guy she had noticed earlier. He was the first to keep his distance, to not touch her. ‘Miss Howells,’ he said, ‘with the permission of the class, I wonder if it might be fun to draw how the light plays on her skin. We could show some real contrast, especially if we can pick out the highlights.’ The tutor and the other artists nodded thoughtfully. ‘If, perhaps, her skin was oiled, like baby oil or something, I think we might achieve some quite interesting artwork. Do you all agree?’

The class murmured their agreement to this excellent idea. ‘I have some body oil in my bag,’ said one artist, excitedly rushing to her seat to retrieve it.

‘Good idea, thanks Peter,’ said the teacher. ‘Would anybody like to volunteer to cover Olive in oil?’