04. Madame Jolie's Art Class - Sex Stories

04. Madame Jolie's Art Class

... turn me off. Understandably, he genuinely freaked out and all but ran out of the room. Madame Jolie looked up, and pursed her lips. She checked the clock and, professional that she is, clapped for everyone’s attention. “Ok everyone, this is a rare opportunity! Probably you won’t ever get a chance to do this again, test yourselves! Can you draw this? Can you capture its fleeting vitality! We have just 5 minutes left!” So I had the agony of a dozen people scrutinising my hard on, including the flirt, and the cock just loved it! Bouncing around in its 5 minutes of fame. Madam Jolie was shouting, “Come on! Off your asses! Move about! Yes sweetie, get close!” No prizes for guessing who that was. “This is real life! Grab it by the balls!” Much hilarity. I counted down the final minute and couldn’t help but sigh when Madame Jolie clapped to finish, but to my horror, put her hand on my shoulder to stay put as she ushered them all away. They disappeared in seconds flat, with the exception of the flirt, who dawdled, asked for some information on the college and if they did evening classes and so on. I sat there literally, exactly, like a spare prick. Legs crossed and arms across my lap. “You have a fan there I think,” Madame whispered as the girl left, waving to me as she went. I braced myself for the bollocking. “Thank you very much for your time today, BC, but I don’t think I will be asking you back, if you don’t mind.” She grabbed a sketchbook and a chair, and sat primly in front ...

... of me, regarding my body. “However I would like just a few minutes with you, now if I may? Like these people, it is not every day I get to draw… this.” I shrugged and smiled, simply relieved at not being in trouble even if my hell was to be extended. Actually, after what I’d been through this could be quite nice, Madame Jolie was an attractive woman. She gestured for me to stand up, and asked me to put my hands behind my back. I was still sturdily hard as Madame pulled a pencil from her hair and started drawing in fluid confident strokes across the page, looking up at me every now and then, and my spoilt child of a ‘manhood’ adored the first scrutinizing glances. Unfortunately, it soon grew bored and realised this wasn’t the admiring gaze of a lover, but the cool observation of an artist. She noticed it flagging before I did. “Oh Monsieur, it is tired now, no? Don’t worry I won’t be long, but can you keep it…up?” She slid to the floor, looking up at me and carried on, working quickly. I closed my eyes, thought of all my favourite things, it worked for a bit, but not long. In the zone, Madame was displeased I couldn’t keep up with her. As it were. “Merde! Ok. Don’t move.” She ran over to the door of the studio, locked it and, on the way back, started fiddling with her long straight skirt. Holding her pencil in her teeth, she unfastened the skirt enough to wriggle it down and kick it off over her ankle boots. Her costume wasn’t only one layer deep it seemed, underneath she wore ...