DISCLAIMER:- The following text is sexually explicit and contains depictions of sexual acts that have been classified by the surgeon general as potentially dangerous and unhealthy. You must be a broad minded adult to read the text, and you must not make this text available to minors or to any person who does not wish to view it. Unprotected sexual relations with unknown partners is hazardous and we urge the use of condoms and safe sex at all times.

You may have seen the TV programme about how to pay off your mortgage in two years. My husband Alan and I watched it and were inspired to see if we could do it. We had been married for ten years and had bought a small house, partly using some money I had inherited, and although we had kept our mortgage down a reasonable level by today's standards, we still owed over £50,000. If we could pay that off, or a large chunk of it, we would have a much better standard of living.

Alan had a good job and in his spare time played the keyboard in a band around pubs and clubs, so was already earning some extra cash on Fridays and Saturdays; he played other instruments too and was qualified to teach them, so he decided he would go for that. It had the advantage that it would be 'cash in hand'. We decided to go all out for it, reasoning that we could cope with the work for a couple of years. Alan teaching for two or three hours every night, with the income from the band would put maybe £8,000 or £10,000 into the pot each year.

The problem was, what could I do to contribute? We looked at my options. I worked in a supermarket, having started on the tills and had recently become the manager of one of the departments, but I really had no marketable talent. I had done a bit of drama at one time, but not to a standard where I could teach it, and there was no money in amateur theatre.

“You'll just have to go on the game,” Alan said jokingly and we continued to look for something for me to do. I didn't want to get another shop job or something similar.

Time went by and Alan was working really hard, I hardly saw him, then he came home one night from a gig and said that he had seen an advert on the pub noticeboard from an art teacher that was looking for a woman to do life modelling and was offering £12 per hour.

“I don't know... I mean, posing nude,” I said, then I thought of all the work he was doing himself and felt guilty. “You wouldn't mind me doing it?”

“No, not if you didn't. I wrote down the number, why don't you give him a ring?”

Three days later, after an interview, he rang to offer me the job.

“The classes are very popular, so you will be naked in front of a lot of different people. I usually have a different theme for each term - you said you wanted to do it for two years?”

“Yes.”

“That's just what I'm looking for, so that we have some continuity. The practical aspect of sitting naked for two or three hours means that we'll adjust the classes around you, so instead of doing Monday to Friday we'll do seven days a week for three weeks and then have a break when you have your period – do you have a regular monthly cycle?”

“Yes, 29 days, like clockwork.”

“Very well, if you still want the job you'll need to tell me the dates when you can't come, each month.”

I had already encountered his matter-of-fact attitude at the interview, so this talk about my private functions came as no surprise. I told him and we agreed the starting date, for the next month.

The first night I was very nervous, but they all put me at ease, so after the first few weeks I settled down and started getting used to it. I wasn't alone in modelling; there was also Art, who was a student at the University and doing it to help pay his fees. Art wasn't his real first name but everybody called him that, because of his initials – A.R.T.

Peter's (the teacher) theme for the term was 'coy', so Art and I had to pose in a shy way, which wasn't a problem because neither of us had done that kind of thing before. Most of the pictures of me showed me with my legs crossed, or under me, and often with my arms folded across by breasts. Some of the artists were very talented and the pictures were excellent, I particularly liked the ones where they drew both of us in the same picture, as we sat or stood on opposite sides of a low platform in the classroom.

It was certainly a strange feeling being naked in front of another naked person I hardly knew, and I think he felt the same, but it didn't stop him having a good look at my body when he thought I wasn't looking. It didn't stop me from looking at his, either, and I did notice a little bit of stiffening between his legs from time to time although he was studiously avoiding it. I wondered if he noticed the small signs of arousal that were happening to me.

During the second term the theme was 'tease' so we had to pose more provocatively, but since we were now quite relaxed about it, this wasn't a problem. Occasionally the way that Art posed teased me, so I would respond with a sensual look or movement of my body in his direction. The term drew to a close and there were some very good pictures made, along with a fair crop of inferior attempts. However they were all doing better.

After Easter Peter said that the theme for the next session would be 'carnal' so we would both need to pose in a much more uninhibited way.

“Susan, I'll need you to get used to all parts of your body being scrutinised and Art, an occasional erection wouldn't be out of place either, when you look at Susan. I'm surprised you haven't had one before?”

“ I've, er, been taking precautions.”

“Of course. A lot of male life models need to do that beforehand. Well, stop doing it; I've told the students to expect it, and if it offends them they can leave; none of them said they were leaving.”

>From talking to some of the artists during breaks I had learnt that to get a place in one of his classes was a real privilege, he was renowned for his work and until his retirement the year before had been Principal of the Art college.

The first week of sessions were fairly standard, although lying on a couch with my legs spread on either side I somehow felt more naked, more exposed.

Peter said that our inhibitions were making our poses tense, so the next week we had to get them out of the way. On the Monday he told the class to gather around us, then had me lay on my back with my legs open, whilst he pointed out the slight colour variation in my hair, and the shape and position of all my most intimate parts.

“Do you see the way the lips fold and that slight glistening of moisture? I'll be expecting to see some studies of that. Now turn over and kneel up on the couch for us, Susan. Look how her hips curve, how the shadow falls into her backside and the way you can just see a hint of her anus, then lower down the dark crack opening into her body. From the side, her breast hanging down, with the highlights here.”

He touched my breasts with three fingers, pointing out how the light reflected from them, and went on to describe techniques for drawing this. I was bright red with embarrassment.

“Now onto your back again Susan and hug your knees to your chest. A group of you can sit down here, and draw her from this angle and others from the side. Susan, I want you to imagine yourself lying like this for a lover, I want to see some lust in your expression. Do you think you can do that? I know it's difficult with us all here.”

My mouth was dry and my heart was pounding, but I managed to croak “Yes.”

“Now that Art has stopped wanking so much in the afternoons,” - there was a murmur of amusement from the class and a gurgle from Art - “his penis is longer and thicker, even when it is soft. I want you to observe how it changes size and shape as it gets hard, and do some studies of it at the different stages. Now you turn over and kneel, Art. Notice how his scrotum hangs down, but as he becomes more aroused will become tighter. See if you can catch the way the light makes his black skin almost glow, it's a difficult technique to master but we'll go through how to do that with a variety of media.

Now stand up again and face towards Susan. Imagine that she's lying like that for you.”

I saw Art's cock twitch when Peter said it, and start to harden. He noticed me looking, and tried to appear as if he was just obeying instructions, but I knew from the way he got harder and harder that he had no trouble imagining what he would do to me.

“I want a group right behind him, drawing him in the foreground and partially obscuring Susan. Make it appear as if he is striding towards her, about to ravish her. The others can cover the same but from the side.”

That second term was a lot of fun. Towards the end of it, there were pictures of me with my legs wide open, one knee raised up, Art gazing at my crotch, his head propped on his arm, as he posed in the same position next to me but the opposite way around. Images of me kneeling with my mouth open, facing towards an advancing Art, his magnificent erection preceding him; all kinds of other poses. Some of my favourites were the charcoal sketches, from different angles, of Art lying on his back on the floor, with me standing over him, one foot either side of his waist, looking into each other's eyes.

The last week, before the university Summer break, we started by sitting on two chairs, facing each other. Peter gave us and the class our instructions.

“Sit back, leaning against the chair, Art, your knees together, feet about 15cm apart. Susan, put one foot by each chair leg. No, a bit wider. Perfect. Now class, imagine that Susan is sitting on Art's knees, facing him, straddling him. She presses her vulva against the base of his erect penis and leans back, savouring the contact. He reaches up and caresses her breasts. Hold that image in your minds. I have divided you into groups: this one, behind Susan will draw what she sees and the group over there will draw it from Art's perspective. Over here we'll imagine we're on the ceiling looking down on them, and the last group can draw them in profile.”

There was a moving of easels, chairs scraping across the floor, the sound of new paper being fixed and drawing materials being located. I looked at Art and, on impulse, moved my hands between my legs, running a finger through my moistening lips. The effect on him was instantaneous.

“Would it help if I did it?”

Peter turned towards me. “What?”

“If I did it, if I straddled him as you described?”

I glanced at Art, he raised his eyebrows but nodded faintly.

“Yes, of course, if neither of you object, it would help enormously.”

I rose and moved quickly over towards Art, and Peter picked up my chair.

“Move your chair into the centre, Art.”

Once he was repositioned, I straddled his knees and worked my way carefully up until my crotch was almost touching his straining cock. I looked down to where it reared up between us, it was so much bigger than any I had seen before; I looked up at Art again, but he was as still and neutral as a statue. I moved the last centimetre forward. It felt as hard as iron as I positioned myself against it, and I closed my eyes and tipped back my head as sensation flooded through me. Art moved hesitantly, unsure of my reaction, but couldn't resist a few brief rubs of his solid roundness into my parted lips nonetheless.

“That's very good. Now keep your head like that, but open your eyes. Art, reach up with your right hand and cup the outside of her left breast. Yes, Susan keep your mouth open slightly. Now, with your other hand, reach around her lower back. Excellent. Now try to hold that pose.”

Peter busied himself with his teaching, pointing out various improvements they could make; did they see how my neck was flushed, the curve of my breasts was drawn too small; see how her left nipple has extended, the crinkling skin around it, try to give a hint of that.

We knew that we had to keep still, but I just couldn't resist subtly moving my hips, sending little impulses radiating up from my clitoris, into my abdomen, as I pressed it more or less against his shaft. I glanced down to look at it; it was hugely engorged, the tip glistening with a trace of transparent lubrication, the jet black foreskin pulling back over the dark head as he mimicked my own tiny movements with ones of his own, whilst seeming just to reposition himself on the chair from time to time.

I had been trying not to think of him in a sexual way before then, but now I was turned on and I started to follow the curve of his neck, the muscles of his arms and chest, imagining myself caressing and kissing his smooth skin. He must have done some sport because he was well developed – I looked down, certainly well developed there – but didn't have the grotesque muscles of a body-builder.

“Go up and have a closer look,” Peter said to one group, “walk around and look at them from different angles, study the points of contact. You don't have to draw the whole picture, but what you do draw should be in proportion and accurate.”

The effect of what we were doing was tantalising, Art's eyes were hot coals of lust when he looked into mine and I wondered if he saw the desire burning there too. He was being very careful to appear professionally detached, despite being so obviously turned on, but given the opportunity I knew he would have me on my back with his cock inside me in a moment. It seemed like we had been there only ten minutes, but an hour and a half passed as we writhed slowly, teasing each other, with me inwardly moaning with suppressed passion.

Peter announced it was time for the break and all the artists trooped off into the other room for a drink, leaving the two of us alone and still entwined. I exhaled slowly and impulsively leaned in to kiss him. His cock pressed into my belly, up past my navel, I could feel its heat and the wet slipperiness of the tip. Our lips pressed together, open, his tongue pushing into my mouth sending a surge of lust through me that I had to do something about. But could I? I raised myself very slowly, looking into his eyes as I felt the tip slide down my belly, through my hair, until it nudged into the cleft between my legs. I wanted it to go further.

“Do you want me to stop there?”

“No.”

I kissed him wildly, my mouth, lips and tongue all working, circling my nose against his. I could feel the tension in him as he held back, wanting to penetrate me but still letting me control how far we went. I couldn't wait another second and slowly slid down his pole, stretching open until I had taken almost all of him easily inside, feeling like twice the length and breadth that I had ever had before. I kept still, savouring the moment, then Art thrust the rest up into me and I rapidly began to work my body up and down on his cock, in and out, faster and faster, dropping my whole weight onto him as I bounced up and down.

He was panting and saying something, but I put my hands either side of his waist and kissed him again and again, a wild, animal urge powering my vertical motion. I knew I would have to stop before it was too late, there was nothing to stop me getting pregnant if he came inside me. I climbed off him, breathless, and moved slightly further down his knees, his rod sticking up between us, glistening with my wetness. If he hadn't spoken just then I couldn't have stopped myself from climbing back on to him.

“You have to stop, or I'll come.”

“I know. And we have another hour or more of posing to do; they will need you hard for that, and so will I. But afterwards, when they are gone....”

I left the suggestion there, a promise.

“Now let's put on our dressing gowns and go to get a drink, as usual. I think we both need one.”

“I haven't done it before.” He said quietly.

“With a white woman?”

“With any woman.”

I could hardly believe it. A twenty year-old virgin. In the heat of the moment, just before I sank onto his rearing shaft, I had had a brief thought about disease, but lust had overwhelmed my senses and I had thrown caution away. Now I knew that I needn't worry on that score. I would only need a condom for contraception, and I knew that I had none with me, and that after another hour of being teased I would be too aroused to stop and even ask if he had any.

As we drank our coffee, I heard some of the artists talking quietly about us.

They wandered back into the studio and we followed, hanging our gowns on the peg, as always. Art was first and sat waiting for me as I wound my way between the easels, his erection starting again as I approached and fully fledged as I straddled him again, assuming the same position as before the break. I leaned forward and kissed him, then looked around, defiantly, at the artists.

“Shall we get on?” Was all Peter said.

My heart raced as we recommenced our imperceptible rubbing against each other. A warmth spread through my body, his hands felt hot on my breasts; I could hear faint wet sounds from my lips as they rubbed against the thick base of his cock. I pressed downwards, so that his foreskin was pulled tight; then, as I released the pressure, I saw the pleasure those small movements gave him.

This time the ninety minutes seemed to take forever, but all that time the feelings in me increased, the movements he made, in response to mine, were a long and gentle foreplay that would soon bring me a shattering orgasm, and as the class finish time approached I started to grind my hips in small circles, my breathing becoming louder with the occasional stifled gasp. None of this was lost on the artists, judging from some of the whispering.

“I think we'll stop there for tonight,” I heard Peter say, “I'll see some of you next week and the others after the holidays, have a good break and keep a sketch book with you all the time.”

My attention was wholly on Art now, looking into his eyes, smiling at him, lowering my head and watching how his cock twitched as I stirred against him. I was subliminally aware of the sound of them packing their things away, moving chairs, and all the time we remained on our leash, straining to finish what I had started. Most of them had gone, just one or two lingering, half watching us. I looked down at the glistening head that poked up towards my breasts, took it in my hand and started to caress it. Art groaned.

I glanced across at Peter, who had just finished tidying up, imploring him to leave us. He acknowledged the message and ushered the others out, turned out the main lights, leaving just a small lamp glowing in the corner, and closed the door.

I raised myself up, parted my lips with my fingers and guided him into me; it was a glorious sensation to press down fully onto him, feeling the total length of his cock, my pale breasts crushed against his ebony chest and his arms wrapped round me, hands roaming. For ten seconds we were still, savouring the moment, but I lifted up again until I felt empty, poised with the tip at my lips, then plunged back down. I pushed up with my feet, then gravity pulled me back, took him deep inside my body, over and over again. Sometimes I made small rotating movements with my hips instead, grinding my clitoris against him. I had been near to coming for the last hour and now I felt it building in me, so I held him fully inside and pressed myself against his bone, feeling my whole being focussed at the point where we joined. Then the impulses started and I uttered my muted, guttural, cries of orgasm as I thrashed around and he worked himself in me.

I felt weak, but Art took over, lifting me off my feet with the power of his upward thrusts and steadying me with his strong hands under my armpits. We hadn't spoken to each other since the break.

“Harder, do it harder.”

I love being taken hard and fast after my orgasm and this time the need was so intense that if his cock had been twice the length, and girth, I would still have begged him to go harder. My hair was in my eyes, sweat running down my forehead, a sheen on my breasts as they bounced against his chest, my wetness running out of me, squelching with the piston motion inside. He was building to the crescendo now, grunting and speeding up, then he was coming, there must have been five or six spurts inside me before he slowed his pace, winding down with slower thrusts until I leaned against his chest, limp, both of us gasping with the exertion.

For a while he stayed hard, then gradually softened and I felt the fluid leaking from me. I had a brief pang of conscience and moment of panic; I had been right earlier when I realised there would be no condom. I hadn't even thought to ask him if he had any, but nothing could have stopped us and even if he had produced one I think I would have pushed it away; I wanted to feel him naturally, completely, utterly.

“What do we do now?”

I was still straddling his knees, hugging him and swaying, dripping onto his legs.

“I have to go home.”

“Come back to my house. The other students have already gone home for the summer holiday. I want to do it in my bed, I want to lie on top of you and see your head on my pillow and then cuddle you afterwards and stroke your hair.”

I looked at the wall clock, it was just after ten and was a Friday night, so Alan would be out until about two in the morning, as usual.

“How far is it?”

“About forty minutes walk. But you can park easily and we'll be there in ten minutes in your car.”

I though about it for less than a moment.

“Yes. Take me there.”

I went to find my clothes, mopped myself with my knickers, put them with the matching bra into my bag and threw the dress over my head. By the time I had brushed my hair he was ready.

The drive to his house was a blur. His hand was on my leg, stroking up to my crotch. We spent longer in the car kissing than it had taken to drive there and he had my dress up round my neck, sucking my nipples as I gasped and looked down the street to check that nobody was watching.

I had been to a student house before, many times. I first met Alan when he came to the University and frequented the pub where I was working as a barmaid at the time. This one was tidier than most and Art's room was surprisingly clean and fresh, although I saw it backwards as we kissed and fondled each other all the way from the door to the foot of the bed.

My hands shook as I unbuttoned his shirt and felt the warm skin of his chest, running my fingers over his nipples, sucking them. Then he stood back and took it off, and I pulled the dress over my head, naked now for him alone. I unfastened his trousers, sliding them with his pants off his hips, the black pole springing out, already half-hard despite less than half an hour elapsed since the first time.

He pulled back the covers.

“Lie down, I want to touch you all over.”

He began exploring me with his fingers, lips and eyes, as if he was fascinated with every part of me. Of course, I realised, he hadn't been with a woman before. He knew the basics, naturally, and by the time he had finished touching and probing me, he was fully hard again and then we got very basic indeed. All I saw of his room for a considerable time was the ceiling or the pillow.

Afterwards he covered us again and I lay cosily next to him, head on his chest as he had wanted, whilst he stroked my hair. The warmth and the sex meant that I was in danger of falling asleep, so I began to nuzzle his body with my lips, gently running my fingertips across his skin whilst he lay still and made a sound that was as close to purring as I have ever heard. Over the next ten minutes I kissed him from head to toe and back again, lingering in the middle in both directions. On the way down he was still soft, but by the time I arrived at his hips again there was something more substantial to fill my mouth.

I looked at the clock. Twelve thirty five. To get home from here by one thirty, to be safely in before Alan, I would have to leave in ten minutes' time. I continued my gentle caressing; I didn't want to get up just yet.

“The others all left today?”

“Yes. I had the last drawing class tonight, so I asked Dad to come and get me tomorrow. He thinks I am working in a bar.”

He was expecting his dad to collect him in the morning, and I had just had sex with him. Twice. Now my head was on his lap and I was kissing his cock.

“Was it how you had imagined it would be, with me?”

“Hmmm. No, not exactly. I was surprised how wet and warm you were, and yet firm at the same time. I wasn't expecting it all to run out of you so much afterwards. I never really thought about it, but you would think it would stay inside.”

I slid two fingers into myself and held them up for him to see, coated with his semen, then I slowly licked it off, with my chin on his thigh, looking up at him.

“Yes, you would expect that it would stay inside, but most of it doesn't. Of course you don't get that if you use a condom.”

“Ah. Safe sex. I know all about it, yet when it comes to my first time I take no notice. I feel ashamed to ask now, when it's too late, but, well, will everything be ok?”

I moved up and lay on top of him, propped myself up with one arm so that my nipples were touching his chest, smiled coyly at him, then brushed his lips and face with my fingers.

“Well I can't in honesty tell you with 100% certainty because I've never been tested, but you are only the third man I have been with. The first was when I was seventeen and I'm pretty sure he was a virgin, judging from all the fumbling. The second was my husband, Alan and he was the same.

So, as far as I know, I am perfectly healthy.”

“I wasn't only thinking of my health.”

“I know. No, I'm not on the pill or anything else and, like you said, it's too late now.”

“Stay the night and sleep with me.”

I was so tempted to do that. But I had to go, I knew I had to go. I could feel his hardness pressing against my crotch, but too low. I looked at the clock and felt his hand move down between us, his fingers opening me.

Twelve forty five. I closed my eyes.

“I can't.”

“Oh.” He was inside me again and moving slowly, kissing my neck, teasing my nipples with his teeth. I had to go. Perhaps just another few minutes.

Five minutes to One. At this time of night, maybe, I could get home in under forty minutes.

“Do it harder, faster. I want you to come again, it won't make a difference now if we don't use a condom. Go on, really fuck me. Yes! Like that. God that feels good. Uhhnnn.”

We swapped places, him on top of me and I put my legs on his shoulders, another new experience for him and maximum penetration for me.

“Harder, Uhhhnn, I won't break, faster, come on, Ahhhh, come in me one more time....”

The headboard was banging against the wall and I was gripping the sheets, my body bent double, then he came, screwing up his face in ecstasy. As soon as he had finished, I got up. I was still panting and my legs were shaking, but I managed to dress myself, putting on my bra this time. I rolled up some tissue and put it in my knickers as he threw some clothes on, then we ran out to my car and I kissed him goodnight through the open window before speeding off.

Nothing had been said about any future meetings and I was content to leave it that way. I wouldn't see him again until after the long summer holiday, and maybe in October we would behave as if it had never happened. Unless I was pregnant; however I was fairly sure I wouldn't be, from the timing.

I was home before Alan, and in ten minutes I stripped off, dumped my clothes at the bottom of the washing basket, washed the semen from between my legs and hopped into bed. By the time he got in, I was nearly asleep. He was his usual considerate self, quiet but smelling of beer, I felt the bed move as he got in, then after a few minutes he was asleep himself; beer always made him sleepy.

I found myself lying in the dark and wishing there had been some way to spend the night with Art.

---

Peter had a two week holiday and then started his summer school, so I went to pose a few times for the new class. I arrived early the first night, as he said there was something he wanted to discuss, and was apprehensive about what he might say. As ever, he was straight to the point.

“You and Art had sex after the last session?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Next term, you wouldn't mind posing with him like that again, physically touching?”

“No, not at all.”

“It has possibilities. Holding hands, sat on his lap, cuddling in a doorway, light and shade, cradling his head on your breasts, that sort of thing.”

He looked at me sideways. “Comfortable with that?”

“Yes.”

“Some of the drawings from last time were fairly good.” He brought one out from a folio; I would have described it as excellent rather than good, the eroticism of our entwining burst out of the page. I felt myself getting wet at the memory.

“If you become uncomfortable with it, you tell me. Ah. Here are the summer students.”

I only did five or six sittings with the summer class, because some of the time they went outside and drew flowers and scenery.

It was in the third week of the new university term that I went to the first class, as there wasn't one the first week and I was on my period for the second. Art was careful not to assume anything, but as soon as I saw him naked I knew I would have to have him again before long, even though during the summer I had put it out of my mind. As the week progressed we posed for the class as Peter had said, ranging from holding hands to me sitting on Art's knee, but on the Friday he got him to stand behind and wrap his arms around me.

He had to keep still, but I wanted him to caress me, then I felt him getting hard, his cock pressing into the crack of my backside; I knew that had to be uncomfortable for him so, when the artists were distracted by Peter talking to them, I pulled away until it sprang upright, then pressed it flat against his belly. Art whispered in my ear, “bend over,” and I wriggled slightly against him, with a low “mmmm”. From that moment he knew he was going to screw me again.

At the break, I turned around quickly and we kissed with three months' pent-up passion.

“I've got to feel you inside me, like that, just for a moment.”

I touched my toes, felt the exploratory touch of his fingers and tip, then I was stretched open deeper and deeper as he slid himself into me. We both knew it would only be for a few seconds, but it was enough, until later. When we went through to join the others for a drink, I told him that this time I wanted him in my bed, but that he would have to leave at one o'clock.

By parking at the side of my house, I was able to get Art in through the back door where none of the neighbours would be able to see him if they happened to be looking out of the window. By the time we got from the kitchen to the bottom of the stairs, there was a trail of clothes behind us. I couldn't wait to feel him inside me again; on the staircase, as I backed up it, kissing, he explored me with his fingers, then somehow we were on the bed and he was on top of me, his marvellous prick filling me, youthful hips driving him with such vigorous intensity.

I gasped and panted beneath him, I didn't want to stop him but I knew that I had to. The sensations going through me were too good to interrupt; the longer he went on, the less likely I was to stop him and I was on the point of abandoning myself to it when I gulped and said it.

“Ahhh, Art, stop, stop a moment.”

He paused in his thrusting and looked at me quizzically.

“We have to use a condom, it's my fertile time of the month.”

I reached into the bedside drawer where Alan always kept them, took one out and handed it to him. He smiled back at me mischievously, opened the packet and rolled it on.

“A bit small, don't you think?”

It looked tight and it only went about two-thirds of the way down, even though fully unrolled. We had been stopped for long enough; I wanted him back in me.

“We'll just have to make do.”

“It will break.”

“Don't you dare stop if it does.”

We started again and it was a glorious feeling, but Art was being too gentle, inhibited by not wanting it to break; I wanted it harder and told him so, lifting my hips and bucking against him. He thrust into me, fast and deep, three or four times, and I saw his eyes open wide and knew that it had broken. We bounced our way across the bed, him on top, me on top, him again.

I was so turned on by this time that I didn't care. I reached down and felt it for myself, the remnant in a ring around his shaft, pulled it off and threw it onto the floor.

With all thoughts of protection abandoned, we gave in completely to the lust coursing through our bodies and it just got hotter and hotter. It's unusual for me to come from just being penetrated, but I did that time, throwing back my head as it overwhelmed me, my whole being twitching. The experience was too much for Art and he came too, pumping spurt after spurt of his sperm into my body.

We sprawled on the bed, getting our breath back, as we came down from our orgasmic high. His softening cock had white globules of semen around the base and I could feel it starting to run out of me. I scooped most of the droplets off him, with my fingers, and held them up for him to see.

“You know what this could do to me.”

I didn't wait for a reply and kissed him, long and tenderly, until he realised that I wasn't reproaching him.

“I think some escaped.”

I propped myself up and purposefully transferred the drops into my vagina, as if I was scraping honey off my fingers into a pot, whilst he watched, fascinated.

“ Now I think a glass of wine is called for, so lie there and get your strength back whilst I get us both one, and then – and then I want you to do that to me again.”

I got up and opened a bottle, bringing it to the bedroom with two glasses. Art looked so handsome and sexy as he lay spread out, naked on the bed I normally shared with my husband – although we hadn't done much other than sleep in it for six months or more, as Alan was so tired after his music teaching and late night gigs at weekends. I knew he would be wondering if this was another one-off so I put any doubt out of his mind.

“After class tomorrow night I'll come back to your place for a few hours, if you want me to, so you had better make sure you get some condoms that are the right size.”

We talked and drank our wine, then I told him that over the next few months we would do everything that was sexually possible together. I said that when he left university, he would be properly educated! By the time I had finished describing some of the things we would do, he was ready to do it again. There was no point trying another condom and after an hour of touching, teasing and screwing, I pressed my face into the pillow in joyous release as he brought me to orgasm by rubbing my clitoris with his finger, as I had shown him, whilst he came, pumping jet after jet into me.

He knew that he would have to go, kissed me, said goodnight and left me lying face down, exhausted, delighted, wet with our combined juices. I held my hand over my crotch to stop too much leaking onto the bed. I heard him go downstairs, finding his clothes and quietly shut the door and I knew that I had things to do. The time was just after one o'clock.

I poured the remaining wine down the sink, washed the glasses and put them away. Then I rounded up my discarded clothes, checked that Art had left nothing behind – apart from what was inside me – and returned to the bedroom, put on a fresh sheet and duvet cover, had a quick shower and went to bed. I must have fallen straight asleep as I never heard Alan come in at all.

The next morning I slept late and the first thing I heard was Alan's voice calling from the kitchen to ask if I wanted coffee. I sat on the edge of the bed as he handed it across to me from his side, nearest the door, then I noticed the discarded condom on the floor by my foot. As calmly as I could, I got up and stood on it, panic mounting in me as I wondered what I would do next and where the opened wrapper was.

To my immense relief, Alan went back downstairs. I located the packet on the floor, partially hidden between his bedside table and the bed, and finally my heartbeat returned to normal as I congratulated myself on disposing of the remaining evidence. I thought wryly that the only other evidence was now inside me, but at least I would know first if it was going to be revealed.

The rest of the term continued with similar poses in Peter's class and the only difference was that I spent every Friday and Saturday night in Art's bedroom – the other nights Alan and I got back at around the same time, 10:30 or 11pm. The other students in his house were friendly enough; they knew I came for sex and that was that.

There were no consequences of the night in my bed at home, and although after that we usually used a condom – of the correct size – sometimes I would get carried away with lust and make him do it without, or occasionally he was so turned on that he would ask if he could just put it in me for a while bareback; invariably on those occasions I didn't ask him to stop and get one.

After Christmas, Peter got the two of us together well before the class start time and showed us some photographs of pictures that had been taken from the walls in Pompeii. All showed scenes of a couple having sex, but the interesting thing about many of them was that they depicted a dark skinned man with a white woman.

“I would like to recreate some of these poses, so that the students can produce modern versions of them.” He looked at me but spoke to us both. “Would the two of you be willing to pose like this? You can see that the women are being penetrated, of course and you would have to keep fairly still, I don't want it to degenerate into us just watching you have sex. If not then we'll continue as we did last term.”

I looked at Art, who nodded. “Yes, we'll do it. But I would like to keep some of the pictures.”

“No problem. I will do some for you myself.”

So we began to recreate the ancient poses, changing to a different position every few weeks. At first we were bashful, but, like the nakedness itself, we soon became accustomed to it. I needed to keep Art hard without moving, so I would move back and forwards slightly and squeeze him with my vagina. Art called it 'microsex' and the easiest to do was oral because they couldn't see what the tongue was doing! I would flick it across the tip whilst I held him in my mouth, until I sensed that I had gone far enough, then I would keep still until he calmed down again.

One night I was doing this, and as it was approaching the end of the session I began to lick and suck him more actively, whilst trying to keep any obvious movement to a minimum. Art began to make little sounds; I knew he was having trouble keeping still, so I really started to flick my tongue across the tip, concentrating on the really sensitive spot just underneath, whilst gripping the shaft tightly and flexing my lips. I began to get the slightly salty taste - the artists were working away, oblivious - and I knew he would expect me to stop: he made the little signal we had agreed, a small cough, but I kept on; he coughed again then I felt him go harder, little pulses rippling up the underside of his shaft past my lips, pumping his semen onto my waiting tongue. As it hit the back of my throat I thought I might choke, and give the game away, but I managed to quietly swallow it all then proceeded to lick off the remaining drops. By the time the artists packed up their gea!
r and Art pulled his softening cock from my mouth, there was no sign of what had transpired, other than the wicked smile I gave Art.

Usually after the students had left, unless it was Friday or Saturday, we would just kiss and cuddle and go home, building up our sexual tension for the weekend, but sometimes by Thursday I couldn't take any more and I would tell Peter, during the break, that he would have to finish the class early because I needed Art to screw me. He would just nod and say “Fair enough.”

I would feel Art get harder, inside me, as the time came for them to depart, then as soon as the door closed he would start, closing his eyes, pulling out and plunging back in, faster and faster until he released his pent-up desire into my craving body. On those occasions I would be a little late home, telling Alan that the artists had been a bit slow.

Our passionate Friday and Saturday nights continued until the end of term, almost to the end of March because Easter was late that year, then Art went home. I was busy at work and the time seemed to pass quickly. When we returned to the class at the beginning of May, I knew it would be Art's last term at the university as he was in his final year.

Peter had a new selection of the pictures and wanted me to choose the ones for the term. I leafed through them, then chose one that showed three images from a wall, that successively told a story.

“These? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I suggest that we do the first two before you go for the break, then Art and I will work through and present you with the third one as soon as you get back – well within a few minutes, probably. I want to do variations on this theme for the whole term.”

I showed Art the pictures.

“If we do this every night....”

“Yes, I know.”

Peter told the class that this term the format would be different. Three sketches; two before the break and one more detailed one afterwards. He showed them the picture sequence from Pompeii and asked if everyone thought they could do it. It wasn't so much a question about their skill as an opportunity for them to leave if they felt uncomfortable with it. Nobody said they couldn't.

I knew that Art would be very turned on and I wasn't disappointed; he told me he had thought about sex with me every night of the holiday. I said that he had better make sure he enjoyed me fully this term because it was his last chance.

Although we tried to keep still during that first half, it was practically impossible.

In the first picture, the woman was stepping over the man, facing him, one leg in a squatting position and the other across his body with her foot on the floor. She had just taken his cock inside, about a third of the distance. Once Art's was in me, I wanted it so much that I couldn't resist sinking right down onto it.

“I just need to get the depth right.”

Whilst the artists all laughed, which broke the tension I knew they had, I closed my eyes and began a vigorous motion with my hips, until the noise died down and I stopped, gasping. I rose up right to the tip, then down to about the correct spot.

“Now you all better get drawing, I can't stay like this for too long!”

The second picture had the woman lying completely on top of the man, his penis fully inserted. After a while I needed to move, so changed to the other position, after casting a glance at Peter, then we alternated between them all the way up to the break. I needed something more, so when I was lying flat on Art, I moved his hand to my crotch and he slowly circled his finger around my clitoris until he had me catching my breath, then he would push me up into the other position. I made sure that we got a good few thrusts every time we moved.

I kept thinking about the third picture. Peter called for the break and they all left remarkably quickly. Art rolled on top of me into our favourite position, with my knees pulled up to my chest, then started to screw me hard, the way he knew I liked it, all the way out to the tip then deep inside until he banged against my lips.

“Are you... are you sure about this?” he gasped between strokes that were speeding up.

“Yes, but you have to pace yourself, wait.”

He slowed down, keeping both of us on the edge. When we heard the artists start to come back, he speeded up again and I wrapped my legs around his back, clamping myself to him, my breasts bouncing from side to side and my head tipping back in pleasure as I felt Art spurt inside me over and over again. I heard Peter telling them to sit down and get drawing, to stop gawking, asking if they hadn't seen anyone having sex before.

After a minute, or so, Art climbed off me, breathing heavily, and lay on his back to my right, his right knee raised up. I put my right leg over his left, then extended my other out until I was spread wide open and lifted my left knee up, matching the picture. We both lay recovering, then I remembered to turn my head towards him and smile. I wondered if we did justice to the picture, if the artists would use the same licence the ancient ones had used, showing a thick white stream slowly trickling from my open red lips.

By the end of the week there were some interesting variations on the theme in the pictures they had made. After class on Friday and Saturday that week, Art and I made love slowly in his bed and I left no technique untried, no part of my body that could take his long, thick, cock escaped its probing, thrusting exploration. I lay with my head tilted back over the end of the bed and eventually learnt how to take it down my throat (which caused quite a stir the next week when we did it for the artists). The first time we did it on the Friday, Art took out a condom, but I told him to put it away.

“Last year I was the first woman you had sex with. But I want more. I want to be the first woman that you had every night of the month, all through her most fertile days, with no protection. Yesterday was day 11 of my cycle, so I'm ready now. I haven't done that before either. And the beauty is that if I don't get pregnant we can do it again next month; but if I do, we can have sex every night until you leave, with no more interruptions.”

I could see him thinking about what I had said. Then he fucked me until I was a physical wreck.

The second and third weeks, we continued to work on the same pose. Then there was the scheduled break for my period, which was a day late, then two days. Art knew, because I went to his house every night and when we resumed the classes the week after, it still hadn't arrived.

At the weekend, a stony-faced Alan told me there was something serious we had to discuss. I didn't know how he had found out, although I had been reckless, but I didn't regret a moment of it.

“The thing is, well, I've been seeing someone else.”

“Seeing – you mean sleeping with, screwing?”

“Yes, sex.”

It seemed surreal. Then I realised it was him confessing to me, not the other way around.

“I'm going to move out, live with her, we're going to have a baby.”

I was very calm, which must have surprised him; the fact was that we had grown apart and I had to admit that after feeling the way I had been with Art, I didn't want him any more.

“If you're sure, then I won't make a fuss.”

“Thank you. We've paid off over half the mortgage, between us, in the last two years. I thought if I signed the house over entirely to you, you would be able to manage the rest.”

He handed some papers to me, I read and signed them, then handed them back. By evening he had taken most of his things and gone. The next time that Art asked me to, I slept with him until morning.

So that is how it ended. At Art's graduation party I was nearly three months pregnant, with just a hint of belly showing, then it came time for him to leave. Our relationship had never really been based on anything more than lust and sex and it had run its course. I strongly suspected that although Art had been the first person I had experienced this type of life with, he wouldn't be the last.

I continued to pose for Peter's classes and we couldn't help but smile at each other when he showed me the fourth and fifth pictures from the sequence. The whole set was from a mural found in the house of a Pompeii midwife. It would be another month before I could pose for picture four, and six months before I could do the last one.