nosypucker
11-01-2003, 1:44 AM
This story has a moral worthy of Aesop. A couple of weeks ago, one of the threads in this forum had a picture of a rather pretty blonde face-sitter with an uninvolved expression. She was perched on a male victim, but appeared totally uninterested in him. (I've since gone back through some of the threads around that period, but couldn't find that picture again.) Although hardly a dead ringer, she reminded of a girl I knew slightly from work a couple of years back, the same type of cool, patrician beauty whom you could never even imagine sitting on a man's face.
Barbara and I used to visit many of the same ad agencies I did, as we were both free-lancers of a sort. She was a commercial artist, and a darn good one, who was in some demand among art directors because she drew human figures so well. Like most men, I automatically check out most of the girls I meet, but this one looked just too prim and proper. Little or no makeup, unrevealing clothes, baggy slacks, sneakers or flat shoes, etc. I knew that one art director always referred to her as Lady Barbara, because of her serious attitude. I had no clue as to her figure, except that I knew she wasn't heavy. We got to the point where we'd say "Hi" to one another, but I never even invited her for a cup of coffee because I was sure I'd be wasting my time.
After seeing the face-sitting picture mentioned above, I decided to take a wild gamble and ask Barbara out. The worst that could happen would be a wasted evening, I figured. I also recalled that one thing we'd talked casually about was classical music, which I also enjoyed. That meant the night might not be totally wasted. I called her at her studio, she remembered me, and we went to a concert. She wore a long skirt, but kept her coat on all evening. From the little I could see, she appeared to have a slender figure, but the coat made it difficult to be certain. She had more personality than I recalled, and we had an enjoyable time. I took her home to her apartment and left her at the door, with a polite kiss on the cheek my only reward.
I called her the next day for another date, and she invited me for a home-cooked dinner. This time she wore a sweater and skirt combination with high heels, and I was absolutely bowled over. Her body was stunning. The short skirt was flatteringly tight over her hips and ass, and her legs were easily as good as any I've ever seen! Until I adjusted to their loveliness, I wasn't nearly as articulate as I'd have liked to be. I couldn't stop watching her move around getting dinner ready. To keep from staring too obviously, I walked around the apartment looking at the pictures on her walls. Many of them were paintings that she'd done herself. There were also originals of some advertising pieces she'd done that had won prizes. She had done a holiday series for a national client that won an award, and the illustration of the first Thanksgiving was a really magnificent piece of artwork. I thought the figure of the Indian chief looked slightly familiar, and I thought I recognized the model who had posed. She confirmed it laughingly and said that there was a story that went with his posing. By that point, I'd have listened to any story she wanted to tell me.
Barbara taught courses in drawing at a local art college, and occasionally used life models for the students to work with. This particular model (let's call him Rocky, because he liked to be considered that type) had a great body, obviously an athlete and probably a weight-lifter of sorts, and she used him often at these classes. Despite being somewhat crude and not terribly bright, Rocky posed well and was an acceptable model.
Barbara explained that she usually wore concealing clothes in business so she wouldn't get hit on by horny art directors and account executives, and people like Rocky. She said, "If I dressed like this, I suspect I'd have to fight them off, and that could cost me business. By dressing like a frump, I avoid that."
I marvelled that she could hide a figure like hers, not mentioning that it had fooled me for quite a while, and she said, "Well, I combine it with a strong focus on business. I can do a pretty good ice goddess if I have to."
I was beginning to realize how good an actress she was. The girl I was getting to know was a lot more sex goddess than ice goddess. She went on with her story. "I used Rocky quite a bit in my illustrating jobs. He had good proportions, and I could get the poses I wanted to out of him. But when I work at my studio, I always wear the camouflage. It wasn't until I started hiring him for these live modeling gigs at the school, that he ever saw me dressed like this. I'm afraid I took advantage of him shamelessly."
Her laugh was so delighted that I wanted to hear more. She said, "When he posed for the life classes, he'd wear only a jock-strap-type loin cloth. The way the classroom was set up, I had him posed centrally, so that all the students had good views, which meant pushing my desk off to the side. As a result, I was hidden from the students, but Rocky had a pretty good view of me behind the desk. That first night he posed there, I was working on some of my own sketches and I wasn't paying any attention to him. I was twisting and turning around trying to solve a problem with one of my drawings, and for a while I didn't notice that he never took his eyes off my legs. The first I knew was when I heard a few soft chuckles from the class. I looked around, and they were all staring at Rocky, who had a huge erection that was just stretching that loin cloth all out of shape."
As she was telling the story, she was demonstrating how she had been twisting and turning, and the amount and quality of the thighs I could see gave me the same problem Rocky had. She went on, "I gave them a break, which is usually a chance for the model to relax and move around, but poor Rocky was in no shape to even stand up. When break was over, I made him get back into the same position, pretending I didn't notice the baseball bat he appeared to be smuggling. It was a long session for him that night."
"Did you ever have him back again?"
Her laugh was musical. "Every chance I got. The classes loved him, especially the girls. And nobody seemed to realize that his problem got worse the more I showed him my legs. I stopped wearing pantyhose, and switched to stockings with a garter belt. I remember one night I dropped a pastel stick under the desk, and had to get into all sorts of postures to pick it up. I really thought he was going to have an accident that time."
"All that teasing, and he never tried to hit on you?"
"Being the male chauvinist pig that he was, he couldn't resist trying to score points with me, but he didn't dare go too far. I pay my models top dollar, and he could see that the school posing could be quite profitable for him. I let him know that he'd lose all that if I got mad at him. It frustrated the hell out of him, but he behaved himself around me. Of course, that just made me tease him worse."
"So what finally happened?"
She chuckled. "Nothing. He's still posing at the school regularly, and I still drive him over the edge with my legs. He can quit any time he wants, but he likes the easy money too much."
It seemed to turn her on to contemplate poor Rocky's plight, and it definitely heated me up to see her getting turned on. I said, "I have to admit I kind of sympathize with the poor guy. Those are major league legs you're using against him."
"Believe me, he's an impossible chauvinist," she said. "The only sexual act he understands is rape. It's incomprehensible to him that the woman's feelings matter at all."
She looked at me suddenly, and caught me eyeing her legs. "You don't have any problems that way, do you?"
"No way," I said flatly. "A woman's feelings matter a lot to me."
"Really?" she said archly. "Maybe we'll see about that."
(Continued below)
Barbara and I used to visit many of the same ad agencies I did, as we were both free-lancers of a sort. She was a commercial artist, and a darn good one, who was in some demand among art directors because she drew human figures so well. Like most men, I automatically check out most of the girls I meet, but this one looked just too prim and proper. Little or no makeup, unrevealing clothes, baggy slacks, sneakers or flat shoes, etc. I knew that one art director always referred to her as Lady Barbara, because of her serious attitude. I had no clue as to her figure, except that I knew she wasn't heavy. We got to the point where we'd say "Hi" to one another, but I never even invited her for a cup of coffee because I was sure I'd be wasting my time.
After seeing the face-sitting picture mentioned above, I decided to take a wild gamble and ask Barbara out. The worst that could happen would be a wasted evening, I figured. I also recalled that one thing we'd talked casually about was classical music, which I also enjoyed. That meant the night might not be totally wasted. I called her at her studio, she remembered me, and we went to a concert. She wore a long skirt, but kept her coat on all evening. From the little I could see, she appeared to have a slender figure, but the coat made it difficult to be certain. She had more personality than I recalled, and we had an enjoyable time. I took her home to her apartment and left her at the door, with a polite kiss on the cheek my only reward.
I called her the next day for another date, and she invited me for a home-cooked dinner. This time she wore a sweater and skirt combination with high heels, and I was absolutely bowled over. Her body was stunning. The short skirt was flatteringly tight over her hips and ass, and her legs were easily as good as any I've ever seen! Until I adjusted to their loveliness, I wasn't nearly as articulate as I'd have liked to be. I couldn't stop watching her move around getting dinner ready. To keep from staring too obviously, I walked around the apartment looking at the pictures on her walls. Many of them were paintings that she'd done herself. There were also originals of some advertising pieces she'd done that had won prizes. She had done a holiday series for a national client that won an award, and the illustration of the first Thanksgiving was a really magnificent piece of artwork. I thought the figure of the Indian chief looked slightly familiar, and I thought I recognized the model who had posed. She confirmed it laughingly and said that there was a story that went with his posing. By that point, I'd have listened to any story she wanted to tell me.
Barbara taught courses in drawing at a local art college, and occasionally used life models for the students to work with. This particular model (let's call him Rocky, because he liked to be considered that type) had a great body, obviously an athlete and probably a weight-lifter of sorts, and she used him often at these classes. Despite being somewhat crude and not terribly bright, Rocky posed well and was an acceptable model.
Barbara explained that she usually wore concealing clothes in business so she wouldn't get hit on by horny art directors and account executives, and people like Rocky. She said, "If I dressed like this, I suspect I'd have to fight them off, and that could cost me business. By dressing like a frump, I avoid that."
I marvelled that she could hide a figure like hers, not mentioning that it had fooled me for quite a while, and she said, "Well, I combine it with a strong focus on business. I can do a pretty good ice goddess if I have to."
I was beginning to realize how good an actress she was. The girl I was getting to know was a lot more sex goddess than ice goddess. She went on with her story. "I used Rocky quite a bit in my illustrating jobs. He had good proportions, and I could get the poses I wanted to out of him. But when I work at my studio, I always wear the camouflage. It wasn't until I started hiring him for these live modeling gigs at the school, that he ever saw me dressed like this. I'm afraid I took advantage of him shamelessly."
Her laugh was so delighted that I wanted to hear more. She said, "When he posed for the life classes, he'd wear only a jock-strap-type loin cloth. The way the classroom was set up, I had him posed centrally, so that all the students had good views, which meant pushing my desk off to the side. As a result, I was hidden from the students, but Rocky had a pretty good view of me behind the desk. That first night he posed there, I was working on some of my own sketches and I wasn't paying any attention to him. I was twisting and turning around trying to solve a problem with one of my drawings, and for a while I didn't notice that he never took his eyes off my legs. The first I knew was when I heard a few soft chuckles from the class. I looked around, and they were all staring at Rocky, who had a huge erection that was just stretching that loin cloth all out of shape."
As she was telling the story, she was demonstrating how she had been twisting and turning, and the amount and quality of the thighs I could see gave me the same problem Rocky had. She went on, "I gave them a break, which is usually a chance for the model to relax and move around, but poor Rocky was in no shape to even stand up. When break was over, I made him get back into the same position, pretending I didn't notice the baseball bat he appeared to be smuggling. It was a long session for him that night."
"Did you ever have him back again?"
Her laugh was musical. "Every chance I got. The classes loved him, especially the girls. And nobody seemed to realize that his problem got worse the more I showed him my legs. I stopped wearing pantyhose, and switched to stockings with a garter belt. I remember one night I dropped a pastel stick under the desk, and had to get into all sorts of postures to pick it up. I really thought he was going to have an accident that time."
"All that teasing, and he never tried to hit on you?"
"Being the male chauvinist pig that he was, he couldn't resist trying to score points with me, but he didn't dare go too far. I pay my models top dollar, and he could see that the school posing could be quite profitable for him. I let him know that he'd lose all that if I got mad at him. It frustrated the hell out of him, but he behaved himself around me. Of course, that just made me tease him worse."
"So what finally happened?"
She chuckled. "Nothing. He's still posing at the school regularly, and I still drive him over the edge with my legs. He can quit any time he wants, but he likes the easy money too much."
It seemed to turn her on to contemplate poor Rocky's plight, and it definitely heated me up to see her getting turned on. I said, "I have to admit I kind of sympathize with the poor guy. Those are major league legs you're using against him."
"Believe me, he's an impossible chauvinist," she said. "The only sexual act he understands is rape. It's incomprehensible to him that the woman's feelings matter at all."
She looked at me suddenly, and caught me eyeing her legs. "You don't have any problems that way, do you?"
"No way," I said flatly. "A woman's feelings matter a lot to me."
"Really?" she said archly. "Maybe we'll see about that."
(Continued below)