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The Little Sketching Group free porn video
Methinks I have mentioned from time to time the existence of The Little Sketching Group (LSG). The LSG was formed when I was eighteen, in the spring before covid hit, by my photographer friend Harry and consists mostly of older males and a few females, many of whom are customers of Harry's photography business. The LSG was seen to be necessary because, though the local art galleries provide some opportunities for sketching enthusiasts to sketch live models, they are often a part of organized art classes and are, in any case, rather strictly controlled. Harry's friends complained of ugly models, cold studios, hot studios, poor viewing angles and not enough pussy. That is opportunities to sketch pussy, not get some.
So Harry proposed an arrangement where he would start sponsoring sketching classes at his photography studio. This would solve the problems of heat, cold and viewing angles. He asked me to provide the pussy. For sketching purposes only, of course. I agreed and became principal model (chest puffs out) along with carefully selected guest posers including my cousin Eefje, my age, a popular Dutch import, my older sister Robin while she was pregnant, my middle sister Molly while she was not pregnant, and one of Harry's daughters, just sixteen and claiming to be a virgin, which excited the artists. Everything worked out very well and we continue to meet every month, masked and, through the covid period, properly spaced to ward off germs.
My first experience with posing for sketching was when I was sixteen for Robin, a very competent artist, which to me means if she does your portrait, people can actually tell that it's you. She wanted to work from the nude and I, always ready to strip at a moment's notice, enthusiastically obliged. One difficulty was that we were not the only ones in the house. There was the matter of my three brothers. But I handled the situation with aplomb and on the approach of any of them with their lacrosse buddies, I feigned indifference and remained butt naked. I mean, you have to get dates somehow. It didn't work out very well, though, due to an apparent reluctance on the part of the guys to screw their teammate's little sister.
Another difficulty was my father. In good weather months I would pose in the yard on the picnic table, seated always with a fluffy towel between my bare ass and the eating surface. My dad for some reason did not look well on emerging into the sunlight to behold the puppy brown body of his younger daughter. Mummy solved the problem by suggesting I keep handy another fluffy towel with which to cover whatever parts of me Dad didn't want to see.
Anyway, I had been working with my photographer Harry doing catalog work for some time. Some of the legitimate catalog work involved things like sports bras and bikinis. At some point we began to consider doing exhibition work, which meant dispensing with the bras and bikinis and revealing every detail of my nubile body. The money was better. Harry showed me samples of what we could do, mostly bare boob and bare bum shots. Nothing he showed me was in any way near explicit. Showing off my snatch was not on the agenda. At least not in good light.
So we started. I loved it. I have good boobs and being a jock you can bounce a quarter off my tummy or my bare ass and I'm reasonably pretty so we figured nude photos of me might sell. At first he offered me pasties for my boobs and tape for my pussy and there was a robe handy if I wanted to cover up in between so he could bring the shots up on his laptop to show me. I eschewed the pasties and robe but I did tape my pussy early on so I wasn't actually naked. Later I went all the way, knowing I was excruciatingly desirable, and if a shot displayed some cunt Harry kept it for sale to his private clients, cutting out the gallery fees so everyone went home happy and my genitals are now a part of art history.
Anyway, Harry began exhibiting his photographs of me in the local galleries. A few caught people's attention, like the ones in which I was nude. Harry knew exactly what to do and showed me as shamelessly wanton as a girl could be with her knees held tightly together. At that time one of the River Street galleries was offering sketching classes featuring nude female models, and some of Harry's photo customers suggested to him that I might fill the bill. And of course they would finally get to see me in real life.
Harry sensed an opportunity to increase photo sales by popularizing his model, so one Thursday at mid-day Harry and I kept an appointment with the sketching class director to check out the venue and find out what was required. Harry did the talking about money, I being uncomfortable talking about getting paid for taking all my clothes off. The director, a woman of about sixty, explained that the summer classes for which they needed models were work sessions, as opposed to instructional. This meant that during class she would give instructions to the model but none of any consequence to the artists. They presumably would know what to do and their task was simply to do it with my wetness and trembling fire of my naked body providing the inspiration.
I knew nothing of sketching. I had learned on the internet that a typical session involved groups of poses lasting as little as thirty seconds and as long as thirty minutes. This was indeed what the lady had in mind, some thirty-second poses, then one-minute poses, five minutes, ten and half an hour efforts. The goal was not to produce a likeness of the model but to work on and appreciate form and movement. We would probably work for two and one-half hours with the shorter poses occupying the first two hours and then do the half-hour pose.
I would of course be butt naked except during breaks when I had to cover myself. No wandering around the studio bare ass except for an endearing smile like I did when Harry photographed me. I was to wear no jewelry except studs. She asked if I had any tattoos (I don't) and said she preferred models with pubic hair (I have none and didn't plan on growing any). Unshaved models show less detail of their genitals, she told us, and she had no plans on having me display my pink parted lips to a room full of men.
We inspected the posing premises, a fairly good-sized room on the second floor above the old gallery, there being a new gallery on the end of the building nearer Plum Island. It was in that new gallery in which I had stood unrecognized, a day earlier, watching people examine the nude photos of me which adorned a small corner of the gallery walls.
The sketching room was a tad shabby looking, I thought, crowded with the kind of stuff one might expect to see in the attic of an art gallery. Anyway, the model posed in the middle of the room on what might have been a coffee table covered by a sheet. I hoped a clean sheet, as she must at some point recline on it in the nude. As I would be posing in the middle of the crowd it occurred to me that at any given time a number of the artists would be staring right at my taut little ass. This seemed a tad rude but I was later informed that after each pose I would rotate ninety degrees, thus affording a changing view of my girlish charms. On either side of the posing platform were long tables at which a portion of the artists would sit. Past these were so-called donkeys, small individual seats with lectern-type things upon which they could rest their sketching materials. Further back stood easels behind which artists would stand and then tall chairs upon which more people could sit.
Being used to photography I was more struck by the differences than the similarities. Here the model's appearance mattered little. One could be tall or short, fat or thin, pretty or not. It didn't seem to matter whether you washed your hair (I do) or made up (I do some). It didn't matter whether you had large tits or small (we covered that above), a big ass or not (ditto) or nice legs, which I think I do. Not everyone who is photographed is nude but being nude was required here (of course my sister required it too when she sketched me).
The lighting was uneven and not very bright and the background was hopeless. The orientation of one's body was different for every artist and when I lay down some people were looking at the top of my head or my feet or right at my bare ass. In photography, there are constant interruptions. Adjusting the hair, adjusting the light, move this way or that, mild cursing (Harry), repeat. Download the results, look, point, more mild cursing. Repeat. In sketching, one assumes the pose and if it's anywhere near right one holds it for whatever time is required.
That day I had worn a short black dress with spaghetti straps which just covered the bottom of my ass, no bra so my nipples showed prominently, black thong panties and flats. All this to show off my legs, my best feature, and my behind. At any rate I guess I looked promising because finally the woman asked Harry to leave the room so I could strip naked for her. I told her I had no intention of undressing in some attic unless someone I knew was present, and I was rewarded with a dirty look from her and Harry was rewarded with the chance to see me naked for the nth time. I pulled my dress over my head, took off my thong and left my flats on. I was indeed all rose and honey, the hot hollow of my groin plainly visible. She inspected me with a clinical air and seemed happy. Harry seemed indifferent, which is usually what happens.
At any rate, I was hired and Harry and I repaired to Michael's Harborside for a late lunch. We sat outside though they had those big plastic things down to protect against the wind. I consumed a large burger and fries, which one can do at eighteen and not get fat. Always the gentleman, Harry offered to buy me a beer even though he knew I was underage for drinking, though apparently wise enough at eighteen to decide whether I wanted to remove all my clothes in front of a crowd of strangers at sketching class.
We talked business after we finished eating. The woman would not pay much, not a surprise to anyone who has ever done figure modeling. I did not have to grow pubic hair, a plus since Harry knew all his older male customers enjoyed the shaved look, something unknown on women their age. I would probably do just one session here, Harry would invite all his customers who would, we hoped, appreciate my wholesome good looks, my orphan innocence, and we would form our own group. Ten days later I did my session at the gallery and met many of the men, and two women, who were interested in a new group. Next day, Harry called me and told me we were all set and explained the arrangements.
Group members would pay a fee for each session and have complete control of what happened, except for my insistence on a no-touching rule and the discouragement of anything like a full-on pussy pose. Harry would take all the photographs, as opposed to doing the sketches, and sell direct to his photo customers, cutting out the gallery fees. We would meet at Harry's, where the artists could smoke (outside), drink (in moderation) and eat (probably not in moderation). We would do three-hour sessions once a month and Harry would pay me directly. I would do the requested poses and remain naked during the breaks, chatting happily with the artists. That was Harry's idea, not the artists', but it seemed a sure way to encourage continued attendance. Despite the no-touching rule, I did tolerate the occasional hand on the shoulder, which then proceeded down my back to pinch or pat me on the bare bum. But only from the regulars; a girl must have standards.
We were all anxious to begin but the artists wanted a few days to line up a few more pigeons to help share expenses. All moneys would go directly to Harry to help maintain an air of respectability. They also needed to assemble drawing stations, similar to the donkeys, easels and tall chairs I saw at the gallery session. Harry provided a posing platform and good, photo-quality backgrounds. The artists would gather in front of the platform so each would have a good view of the model. Harry would take photos as the circumstances permitted and he would consider requests (for photos, that is). He was supposed to make it clear beforehand that the model was not interested in fucking the customers, though I'm not sure he did. In any case, as time went by I got many inquiries about private meetings.
So we were well started. Most sessions were conducted as portrait-type affairs where I would assume individual poses for extended periods of time, rather like a model sitting for a traditional painted portrait. I was always completely naked, as were the other girls who posed as time went by. I could refuse any pose I wanted but, aside from the aforementioned pussy poses and maybe inserting things in me, I couldn't think of anything I wouldn't do. Bondage was okay but the no-touching rule meant we would have to import a rigger. Whereas my sister was to be included as a permanent guest artist, Harry and I figured she could rig. It was necessary to ban cell phones from our sessions to protect the integrity of Harry's photo sales, but Harry promised to make available more explicit stuff to paying customers, so everybody was happy.
Mostly we had about three dozen artists, including my sister and two other women. The age range was about twenty to eighty-five but with a median age of maybe sixty, leaving out my sister. Many of the guys could not sketch any better than I could. Parking was a bit of a problem and carpooling became common. Many parked up near Benson's Ice Cream in the church lot, which I found amusing given what we were all there for, and carpooled from there. People provided their own food and drink and took their smokes outside. The studio was of course well lit and maybe a tad warm even with the windows open after a warm June day as it stayed light outside till almost nine.
Whereas Harry was going to take photos, I needed to do some kind of show prep. I showered and washed my hair at home and did my own make-up. Normally for photo work, Harry's daughter would fix my squeaky clean hair and do my make-up as the lighting required, but she was held aside as she was supposed to model later in the year and Harry wanted to add an air of mystery to when she did finally show up to model. I checked out my nude body beforehand. Topless sunbathing at our camp had taken the pure white edge off my boobs but they still stood out a little pale against my sun-tanned body. My bum was its usual snow-white self. I dabbed a little perfume behind my ears, on my neck, between my tits and at the top of the crack in my ass.
I needed to dress properly beforehand. Unlike the photos one sees in porn sets, one doesn't start clothed and strip, at least it's not very efficient because the clothes leave marks that take as much as half an hour to disappear and we cared about these marks for the photos Harry wanted to take during the sketching session. Post-production would help, but Harry liked it right the first time. So for photos, you pretty much have to start as naked as you're going to be, so I wore a simple shift with no undies.
As I mentioned, pubic hair was not an issue. I'm as bald as a cue ball down there. Being shaved makes it easier to wear bikinis and once you get a guy into the sack, being bare down there lets him see what a girl really looks like down there and education is of course a good thing. Plus my experience is he's more likely to go down on you if he can see what he's eating and knows he won't end up with hair in his teeth. And as I mentioned, Harry's older clients don't often get a chance to see bald pussies, so shaving helped keep attendance up.
Some folks came early to get a good spot, though everyone really had an acceptable view. I wanted to be as naked as possible as long as possible to help ensure happy customers but I felt like I needed some kind of critical mass of guys before I stripped so it wouldn't look too personal. You'd think finally getting naked would be a big deal after all this, but it wasn't. I took off my flats, pulled my dress over my head and tossed it down and there I was, naked as the day I was born and a lot hornier. I chatted happily with an assortment of people until it was time to begin, my nipples so hard they hurt and my mountain flower well watered.
So we started. Fairly simple instructions: just sit on a high stool, pull your hair back off your shoulders, chin up, elbows back, tits forward, a little break here and there and all the while I was so horny I could have screamed. Being naked for just Harry was one thing but being naked for up to forty-five guys, mostly, was quite another. Each time two minutes after we began I was so wet I figured they could see it in the last row. But no doubt most of the males, at least, figured wet pussy was good pussy. Good, since I just glistened down there.
I often wondered if they could smell the scent of sex on me when standing next to me on breaks. Everyone expects girls to get wet when their bodies think they are about to get laid or when they're with someone they like. I learned stripping for a photo session, and being photographed nude or close to it was a welcome addition and now there was sketching. I was getting more used to it and it happened a lot and when I felt it coming I just tried to relax and enjoy it. It still feels the same now as it did then, first I feel a little ache up inside and I know it's going to happen. A few moments later I start to feel my pussy getting wet and I feel my lips getting slippery from the wetness. We didn't do many shots which showed my pussy straight on, but in those that did it glistened in every one. I loved watching the guys watch me. There was no embarrassment in it for me. In fact, my whole body purred. Being naked and being watched by so many guys plugged my body into some socket and I hummed on high.
Everything went swimmingly. Harry was happy, the customers were happy and I was happy. I had a new experience and we made money. Harry took good pictures and sales were brisk. In the second summer, my relatives made the quadrennial visit from The Netherlands to the US and Eefje joined us to do the posing. She was a big success. I brought her to visit Harry first for a photo session and she looked absolutely beautiful, a little more girlish than I, having inherited her mom and my mother's bountiful bosoms, and a rather fuller and more girlish ass than I. And she did things I wouldn't do for Harry and the artists, like putting her hands on her genitals and rubbing, spreading her knees on the posing stool, bending over and spreading her cheeks.
Both of my sisters posed, Robin while she was pregnant, completely nude, once at five months and again at eight. It's never really been clear to me why pictures of pregnant women are so popular. I understand why girls want them for posterity, I would too, but why they are so popular with men I don't quite get. Molly's nude, non-pregnant session set an attendance record that still stands, surpassing even the bondage sessions Harry's daughter and I did. She IS prettier than we are, I know. I was happy but a little surprised my sisters did it.
Lastly, as I just mentioned, Harry's daughter and I did some bondage sessions, which were very well received. It was kind of silly because few of the customers could draw anywhere near well enough to effectively draw in rope, but in fact Harry used the sessions as an excuse to get some very saleable pictures. Whereas we had the no-touching rule, I rigged Harry's daughter and she rigged me. I stretch the truth in calling it rigging, though. What we did was tie rope around each other but it did lead to my best experience with the LSG.
Harry always sought convincing pictures of me experiencing orgasm. Facials, that is, or at least above the waist, not snatch shots. I did yeoman's work on occasion manipulating my not-so-private parts and we got some pretty good facials. One evening Harry's daughter, having completed her sketching work for the night, tied me lying on my back with my wrists bound above my head and my ankles bound across each other spreading my knees wide. My body was laid side to the artists to avoid the crotch shot I always refused to do. Harry put his camera on his gantry above me so he could get the desired head and body shots, and we started.
Harry's daughter took what looked for all the world like a feather duster, stood beside me on the opposite side of me from the artists and began gently tickling my twat with the feather duster. After about a minute I thought for sure I would explode, my naked body fully exposed, the crowd of guys, the feather duster tickling my eager little cunt. All Harry had to do to take a picture was squeeze the little bulb he had in his hand, no looking through the lens. For once I could see him survey my naked body and enjoy the view: my bare breasts, the texture of my skin, my long legs, my small but tight behind, the pinkness of my cunt.
I couldn't fucking believe it. The tingle in my body, the smell of sex from myself, my breasts and my nipples hard as rocks, my breath coming a little bit quicker now, and every inch of me screamed for mercy, not just being tied and helpless but from the agony of being taken to the edge and not having anyone to get me over.
I could hear Harry's camera above me fire away and I pushed my hips down and pulled hard on my ropes even though they hurt like hell from the way she tied me and I pushed some more and a little more and finally, mercifully I got there and Harry still kept squeezing his camera bulb and I screwed my eyes shut and my breasts pushed upward and my hips pushed downward and my breath came hard and I started swearing and then I just was overcome with raptured bliss and all the while he never stopped shooting, I guess because I was in never-never land. Finally I got through it and after a little I came back down and it was just like being done by a guy or maybe ten guys and then my body just floated off and I'm not sure how long it lasted and at some point I was back at Harry's studio, lying there feeling this feeling of great tenderness.
Anyway, Harry had his orgasm shots and the artists had a night to remember, though how much sketching got done, I'm not sure. I did lie there still bound and naked for another half an hour to give them a good shot at getting something down on paper, and later we talked about how swimmingly things had gone. Now once or twice a year we do some kind of bondage poses, though I usually don't get to cum until I hit the bathroom during my break.
So that was then and this is now. Everything has worked out very well and we continue to meet every month, and now finally on May 29th the Governor has decreed we no longer have to wear masks, though I never did while posing because of the no-touching rule. And I continue to get a chance to get naked in public regularly. We almost never have guest posers anymore and Harry has never raised the rates he charges people to come to the posing sessions. The prices of the pictures he takes are another thing altogether. I get mine free and even my dad says he likes them. But in the ones I show him I always keep my eager little twat out of sight.
Bess
- 18.10.2022
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- Fetish
