S-ENF-020 - ART MODEL

Item #: S-ENF-020
Object Designation: Art Model

"Oh, you look lovely," said the nut-brown girl. "I'd love to draw you."

Penelope blinked. It was Saturday afternoon, and she was sitting at the bar in her favorite pub, enjoying a quiet drink while she went over some promising new astrophysics research. She hadn't expected to be approached by anyone, much less a beautiful and vaguely Mediterranean-looking nut-brown girl. She wasn't even a lesbian, probably.

It wasn't a total surprise. There were a fair few people in the pub, even on a Saturday afternoon. After all, it was right in the middle of Oxford, situated on a busy street. She put down her book and said "Um, draw me?"

"Yes! You're so beautiful!"

Penelope felt the heat spring to her cheeks, and looked down at herself. A slim South Asian girl, quiet and nerdy, wide eyes and dark hair that she kept conservatively tied up. She was a naturally shy person, not liking to draw attention to herself, but she supposed she could technically be considered "pretty". In a certain light.

"Um... thank you," she said, and looked down at the bar. The girl's green eyes were staring at her, inquisitively. For some reason, she seemed vaguely familiar.

"Can I draw you? My name's Thessaly, by the way."

"Um... I guess? If that's... I mean, do you want me to pose?"

"No, no, stay right there! Just the way you are is perfect!"

Something white fluttered through the air. A piece of paper. With a sketch. A beautiful sketch, so perfectly executed that it made Penelope gasp.

Of a woman. A beautiful woman, sitting at a bar, a slightly confused expression on her face, as if some inquisitive stranger had just interrupted her train of thought. The woman's soul came through in every line. It was, unmistakably, Penelope.

And she didn't have any clothes on.

Penelope blinked. Yes, that was her in the sketch all right. That was the exact shape of her nipples, and the dimples of her hips, and the impudent curve of her small pert bottom. And that neat dark triangle was exactly how she styled her pubic hair!

"But," she said, bewildered, looking up at Thessaly, who wasn't there. "How did you..."

Something was wrong.

Penelope looked down at herself. There were her nipples, and the dimples of her hips, and the neat dark triangle of her pubic hair. All exactly as they were in the sketch.

She was sitting at the bar, in the middle of a half-full pub, in the middle of Oxford, on a Saturday afternoon, with no clothes on.

She was naked.

And she had absolutely no idea what to do. Should she run? But where to? Out into the street? What if people saw her? Should she stay put, and try not to draw attention to herself? But what if people saw her anyway? Wouldn't they notice her sitting at the bar? After all, she was stark naked!

She felt very unprepared. And very naked! The bartender looked up at her, did a double-take and said "Ey, miss, you can't be in here like that."

"I'm sorry," whimpered Penelope, arms cupped protectively over her small breasts as she huddled in her seat with her eyes half-closed, hoping that when she opened them again it would all have gone away. "I didn't mean to."

"Well, you'll have to leave."

"...why?"

"Because you're NAKED," said the bartender, loudly, causing every single head in the pub to turn and look in Penelope's direction. A fog of laugher and naughty comments filled the room as Penelope emitted a small "eep" and slipped off her stool, trying to find a rear door that led to a concealed clothes stash or something of the sort. The bartender shook his head.

"Out the front," he said. "Now. Before I call the bobbies. I swear. Students these days."

And so poor Penelope was **** to scamper out the front door of the pub, right into one of Oxford's busiest streets, on a Saturday afternoons. Dozens of people were out and about, taking a stroll and doing a bit of shopping. A pair of students came along, and one of them nudged the other one.

"Ere, look," he said. "Isn't she a professor here?"

"Aye," said the other one, who was Scottish, probably. "She's supposed to be some mad genius at astrophysics, and that."

"Why's she got no clothes on, then? Ere, miss, why've you got no clothes on?"

"I don't know," mumbled Penelope, and scampered off down the street. It was a long, long run all the way across Oxford, through the busy streets, back home to St. Anne's College, where she lived. She had to run in through the front gate in front of dozens of students, who all pointed and cheered and said things like "Where's your clothes, professor?". But eventually she made it back to her rooms.

"Hello," said Thessaly, who was standing in Penelope's bedroom, holding a peacock feather. Carol Song, who was tied to the bed, gave a muffled grunt through the two pairs of Penelope's panties that had been stuffed in her mouth. "Took you long enough."

"What? Who... how did you... I mean, why are you... but..."

"Did you like your picture? I love that prank, the girls never have any idea what to do and it's always so funny."

"Wait! Wait. This is a Foundation thing, isn't it?"

"So quick on the uptake," said Thessaly, as Penelope suddenly found herself tied to the bed atop Carol, locked in an intimate, sweaty embrace with the tough, full-figured security officer. "Yes, I teased Carol until she admitted who she had the biggest crush on. Turns out it's you! So I thought we could all go on a little vacation together."

"Let me go!" Penelope wiggled in her bonds, feeling Carol's hot breath in a very personal location as her oiled breasts slid against the warrior woman's naked skin. "I can't... go on vacation with Carol! I have a boyfriend!"

"Yes, I know," said Thessaly, as ENF-093 waved at them both from the corner. "He's okay with it."

"He's here?"

"Couldn't make him go away. Now, I believe you two have some kissing to do."

~

It was several weeks later.

Penelope looked up at the painting. It hung high on the wall of the Louvre, taking pride of place for everyone to see. It was staggeringly beautiful. Beside her, the curator was talking to the press.

"Yes, it just showed up at our door today. No idea where it came from. But it's such a masterpiece we had to keep it. Like what Leonardo would have painted if he'd had thousands of years to work on his craft. Everyone in the world deserves to see it."

"But what about the subject matter?" asked one of the reporters, with cameras, who crowded the vast hall of the gallery. The whole of the international art media had turned up for this once-in-a-lifetime event. "Isn't it a little... unusual?"

"Well, we do think it's odd. But there are precedents in art. Collier's Lady Godiva, for example. Anyway, plenty of people have painted the female nude."

Penelope drew the trench coat tightly around herself, and pulled down the brim of her big floppy hat. She didn't want to be recognized. Beside her, Carol was doing the same thing.

"Do you have any idea who the models are?"

"Not yet, but when we find them, we'll be sure to bring them to worldwide attention..."

The painting, looming over the crowd, showed a beachscape. Somewhere in the Greek isles, perhaps. The beach was populated by handsome women and men, in swim trunks and bikinis, lying on beach towels and relaxing in the shade of umbrellas. They were laughing, toasting each other, clearly enjoying the day and the spectacle before them.

In the middle of the beach stood two beautiful women. One a curvy tough-looking Chinese girl, the other a slim and very shy South Asian. Their faces bore sheepish expressions. The Chinese girl was trying to cover herself with her hands, but she hadn't quite managed to conceal her full breasts or the luscious dark curls between her legs. The South Asian girl was frozen in place, **** and helpless, clearly with not the slightest idea of what to do with herself.

Both were stark naked, of course. Mortification and hot shame were etched into every perfect brushstroke.

"You're sure we can't steal it?" muttered Carol.

"It's against Foundation policy."

"So it's just going to hang there? Forever? With everyone seeing our..."

"As long as they don't trace it back to us," hissed Penelope. "That would be the worst."

"Okay. So we just sneak out of here before anyone sees, and..."

"Hey," said one of the journalists, loudly. "It's them!"

He was pointing across the gallery, at Penelope and Carol. Who, all of a sudden, found them standing in the middle of a circle of cameras, on a white marble floor with absolutely nowhere to hide. Trench coats and big floppy hats nowhere to be seen.

Once again, as she stood stark naked before the phalanx of flashbulbs, their mocking owners ready to seal her fate, Penelope realized she had absolutely no idea what to do. Should she run? Should she hide? Or should she just stand there, frozen, biting her lip, her small tits and flat tummy and dark inviting pussy on display for the entire world to see?

"Wow! They're even cuter in real life!"

"EEEEEEK!"