The Art Class
Guest Post from Marla Maven of Marlarotica
Hear the audio recorded by Marla Maven below.
“Lay on the chair
with your arms
over your head.
Turn your torso
to the light.
Rotate your wrist.
Open your legs
just a little bit more—
There.
Now you’ve hit your mark.”
He takes his place,
legs straddling
a wooden bench,
where he stares up
between my legs
and studies me.
I wonder if he can see
how wet I am.
I always feel bad
for the male models,
who live in fear of
the faux pas
of being caught
thinking about sex,
the evidence apparent
between their legs,
standing up and saying,
“I did it! I’m guilty!”
But you try going
for three hours in
total stillness, and
never have your mind
drift to sex—
naked, on display, or not.
I thought about sex
all the time.
No one ever noticed.
I have excellent control.
But no one had ever
planted themselves
between my legs
and stared into my pussy,
in a group art class,
before.
He made no attempt to hide his
interest in my
subject matter.
He scribbled in charcoal,
furiously,
squinting his eyes
as he dissected my
parted pussy lips.
I wondered if Marcus,
the model
in the next classroom,
was having as much trouble
hiding his thoughts
after our encounter last night.
He’d found me in a bar.
“You’re the model with
the puffy nipples,”
he’d said.
“I’m a model at the college, too.”
”I know,” I said.
“You’re the one with the
big, uncut cock.”
We ordered a shot,
ordered a cab,
and went back to his place.
I’d admired his cock,
rendered in oil,
adorning the hallways
of the art college we worded at.
Many times.
But I’d never played
with an uncircumcised one,
before.
I loved sliding his skin up,
and pulling it back,
while he reached his hand
under my dangling breast
and stroked my nipple
between forefinger
and thumb.
I pumped him fast
and sucked his tip
while he moaned,
uninhibited.
At last,
I climbed on top
and slide down
the length of him,
feeling swollen and brimming
with his girth.
I came so hard,
jerking his prick
with my pussy,
just to feel his skin slide
slinky like in my grip.
Continue the audio below.
The remembrance
of fucking the mattress
halfway off the frame
had my pussy dripping.
The artist watched every drop.
He was scooting
his bench closer, now,
and leaning forward to
not miss a single detail
of my cunt.
Could he smell
my memories of Marcus
seething and brimming
to the surface?
Could he smell me thinking
of my lover’s flat tongue
lapping up my nipples,
saying, “Pretty puffies…”
before sucking and shaping them
into missiles?
My pussy winked at
the young artist.
He dove into his drawing.
I wondered if my clit
looked as big and fat
as it felt,
but I couldn’t see
what he was drawing.
I remembered
how my friend next door felt,
as deep inside as his hips
would allow,
grinding and pounding my clit
as he pumped me,
squeezing my breast
with one hand,
pinning my wrists to the mattress
with the other.
I flashed to the next morning,
when his nose was pressed
against my asshole,
his thick, steady tongue fucking me,
as my hands and his skin
slid up and down
his fat one,
my lips sucking
his exposed head, until
he erupted in my mouth,
and he growled into
my opening.
My pussy was churning, now,
opening, and closing
as the artist leaned in close.
His shamelessness
in looking
only egged me on.
I thought of how my friend
played me over his lap
and finger fucked me
with his thumb hooked
in my asshole,
and I came all over his cock
below.
I showered,
and when I came out,
he was rubbing his cock
with olive oil.
“What are you doing?”
I laughed.
“I do it every morning,”
he said. “That’s why
it feels so good.”
“Is it?” I cocked my eyebrow,
got down on my knees
and sucked him
until he was lifting his hips
in time with my bobbing head.
“You taste like a dirty martini,”
I said, and he came
bursting into my mouth.
The young artist was so
close to my cunt
he could lean his head forward,
stick out his tongue
and taste me.
I wondered what the others said
about him.
My pussy was scrawled
all over his sketch pad.
He was squinting one eye,
a bead of sweat dripping down
his forehead.
I felt a warm viscous dollop
slide slowly down my pussy lips,
for him to see, exclusively.
His face turned red,
and he hurried to capture the event
on the page,
immortalizing the aftermath
of my lover’s cock.
