Sharon’s Awakening – Part 4 – Life Drawing
Sharon’s Awakening – Life Drawing
Copyright: gail.sher (c)
Sharon pressed the door buzzer and waited. Her bladder was complaining, her bottom ached, and her mind was a swirl of emotions. She wished that she had worn something more substantial under her skirt; every step had been uncomfortable as her skirt swished across the tender flesh. The darned thing she had so rashly put on this morning was bunching uncomfortably between her cheeks, and a dampness in them seemed cloying. She was sure that every one around her on the street had seen her carrying the cane and would know it’s intimate purpose.
As she was about to buzz again, the door opened, and Claire stood before her. Her mind in pieces Sharon looked up expectantly into that serene face, hoping to find some element of compassion or sympathy.
“Ah, you’re back, I see. The class has been waiting for you – come along now please.”
Sharon did a double-take. What class could this be? Claire had told her to come right back after her shopping expedition; surely it would be to administer some love and care?
Claire took Sharon by the arm and led her into the large sitting room. A make-shift studio had been set up, and about eight young ladies in their early and mid twenties sat on comfortable folding chairs, drawing boards and pads across their knees. They were arranged in a semi-circle around a makeshift stage, represented by a heavy canvass sheet six foot square. In the middle of the stage stood a large easel supporting a blackboard, a small desk stood alongside.
Sharon felt their eye’s boring into her expectantly, as she was led in, and up to the board. She clutched the cane protectively to her chest. Her bladder ached, but there wasn’t any way to exit this situation gracefully. The silence was oppressive; the rustle of paper on one of the drawing boards broke the mood.
“It’s my Life Drawing class, Sharon. This group meets here weekly. Today’s study will be “Young lady in a 1970’s classroom” ”
Claire nudged Sharon closer to the easel and wheeled her around so that she was facing the board.. “You know the drill, Sharon – now get your nose against the board and remain there until you are given permission to move.” The tone was conversational and pleasant, without any hint of anger or oppression. Something compelled Sharon to comply, and she felt her nose rubbing against the grainy surface. The chalky scent brought memories of her schoolroom classroom flooding back, and that scene that had aroused her so many years ago caused an instantaneous sympathetic reaction.
Sharon could feel the blood rushing into her face and neck, and she barely felt her skirt being rolled up and pinned to her back. In a daze she stepped out of her panties that Mrs. Evert had lowered, and without even being instructed, she clasped her hands behind her head. She sensed gentle fingers tracing the tender welts across her bottom, and as she descended into her own world a rush of well-being seemed to overcome her. She didn’t care that her punished bottom and her swollen sex was on display, and her shame no longer felt wrong.
In the background she could hear papers rustling, and the skid of charcoals flying across the pads. The harsh studio lights glowed against her sensitive skin, but she was unaware of the dramatic shadows they cast as they highlighted the bumps and welts tattooed by the cane on her creamy skin.
Time drifted and her period of reflection was brought to and end by Claire’s silky voice.
“Alright class, that is it for the day. It looks like you all managed to create some dramatic figure drawings of our penitent subject.”
Bare bottomed and glassy eyed, Sharon turned around to see Claire standing over an earnest looking artist who was seated at the extreme edge of the circle. The girl’s face was flushed, and her fingers seemed to be trembling slightly. Even from where she stood, Sharon could see the picture on the board; it was of no penitent, but a well formed bottom filled the entire sheet.
Three black and white charcoal lines blistered their way across the image like waves across an angry sea. As if in a sexual frenzy, the young artist had worked the charcoal with the tip of her middle finger, with an ever increasing sense of urgency, into an orgy of swirls and circles that raged from the pores of the page in a paroxysm of dark passion. Brilliant white flecks of seething foam lined the angry waves as emotion boiled in their depths.
Claire’s tone was as neutral and un-accusing as ever. “You enjoyed creating this didn’t you Vanessa? I can see you really connected with the material – the subject really excited you. The guest washroom is just inside the entrance hall; you might want to go and freshen up before you leave.”
The pause seemed to last an eternity, then Claire elegantly bent over to whisper in the girl’s ear “……or perhaps you would like to stay behind after the class to discuss your reaction with me and how we can develop this passion?
It all seemed so familiar now to Sharon. She pulled herself into the present, and made herself presentable. She walked across and sat down on the chair next to the agitated young artist. She rested a calming hand on her wrist. “I know how you feel, Vanessa. I have been there myself. In fact, that is how you find me here today. Join me, my friend – let’s discover this side of ourselves together.”
Sharon stood up, looked down compassionately at the red faced artist, and turned and made her way hurriedly to the guest washroom for that much needed pee.