"Yes, yes, one second, let me get my pants on…"
I jumped into my trousers and headed for the door. Just as I was about to turn the lock, I saw one of Sheila's shoes lying in the middle of the floor. I scooped it up and threw it behind the desk with the girl.
I whispered to Sheila, "Stay down. I'll try to get rid other or go out with her. You leave when the coast is clear. You got that?"
"Okay," she whispered back.
I opened the door. "Hi there," Mrs. Hudson smiled. "What's going on here, lover boy? You didn't need to lock the likes of me out."
"I was changing my clothes, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry to seem so suspicious, but you wouldn't want one of the innocent young girls here walking in while I was undressed, would you?" I asked her.
"Oh, of course not, I'd be jealous, ha ha, little joke." She stepped into the office.
"What did you want to see me about?" I asked her, before she came in any further.
"Oh, don't you remember what we talked about the other day, when we met?"
"No… what was that? I've forgotten."
"Oh, you remember, you naughty boy! You agreed to pose for me. Pose for a sketch, remember?"
"Oh, oh yes," I muttered, looking back at the desk, wondering what Sheila was thinking about that. "But we didn't set the date for it, did we?"
"Oh, so what? No time like the present. I won't be back up here for a couple of days, and the school's deserted, we've got the place to ourselves, if you can see the advantage in that, Mr. Eastman."
"Yes, but, I had some things to do-"
"Oh, do them later, for heaven's sake. Come on now, I won't be put off. I've got an itch… an itch to paint you, I mean, silly boy!"
"But, Mrs. Hudson-"
"I want to see you in oils…"
She was advancing into the office, staring at the painting that hung behind the desk. I decided I had better get her out of there as soon as possible. In another moment she would be looking down at Sheila's bare fanny. "All right, Mrs. Hudson, let's go."
"What? Oh, good."
"Where are we going for this?"
"My studio. My classroom. Come along."
I followed her out, closing the office door as soon as I could. We went down to the basement where her studio had been set up. She had placed velvet curtains over the trail of pipes on the ceiling, and there were several examples of the Mountainview students' attempts at art.
"How do you like it?" she asked.
"Yes, it's nice," I said.
"I have more privacy down here than in one of the classrooms upstairs, you know."
"Yes, I can see that."
She got out a fresh canvas and set it up on an easel. She got her paints out of a drawer and then got a smock out of the desk. She put the smock on, covering the provocatively tight pants and sweater she was wearing.
"Okay, why don't you take your clothes off now. Mr. Eastman?" she then said.
"What?"
"I told you to take your clothes off, Mr. Eastman."
I sighed,*That's what I thought you said." You and every other woman I meet.
Chapter Nine
Well, when a woman tells me something like that, no matter how weary I am from just having finished sucking and fucking a very athletic young woman, what do you think I do?
I take off my clothes. When I got my trousers off I saw to my surprise, and Mrs. Hudson's surprise, that there was nothing more to take off.
"My, aren't we bohemian," she said.
"Huh?"
"No underdrawers, Mr. Eastman? That's rather an unconventional habit, I must say."
I had dressed so fast and under such duress when she came in, that I had forgotten to put on my underpants.
"I must have forgotten them this morning." I told her.
"Naughty boy. What would happen if you were in an accident? What would your mother say? There you would be with nothing under your torn pants but your manhood."
"Well," I said. "as long as that wasn't damaged in the accident, I don't really give a shit."
"Heh heh heh," she laughed meaningfully, and I noticed that she was really giving my prick a looking over. She peered at it as if she was figuring on doing a portrait of that alone-which would be different, anyway.
"What's the matter now? " I asked wearily.
"Oh, oh nothing," she mumbled distractedly, still not able to tear her eyes from my prick. "It's… it's so wet."
"Hm!"
She was right. My cock was gleaming with spilt semen, and quite a bit of shiny spew from Sheila's teenage cunt. I tried to wipe it off casually, which is a difficult thing to pull off. Then I straightened up.
"You… you weren't doing anything you shouldn't when I knocked on that door, were you, Mr. Eastman?"
"What are you talking about?" I said guiltily.
"Well, I mean, it does look like you've been, uh, active, recently, and I did hear noises from your office when I was approaching. Was there anyone in there with you?"
"Ha! No, no, of course not, whatever could make you think such a thing! You're imagining things, Mrs. Hudson, and I wish you would stop it."
"Yes, yes… maybe you're right… My, what a large one you have there… so wet… perhaps it needs to be exercised, Mr. Eastman. Do you think so?"
"Oh. I exercise it from time to time."
She wagged a reproving finger at me. "But I don't mean masturbation. Not for a handsome, vital man like you. Why, any woman would be delighted… to have relations with you… why, even me, a married woman."
"Is that, uh… so," I said uncomfortably.
She moved toward me, and I could see her fingers clenching and opening, as if she was getting ready to grab something. I had an idea what that something might be.
Suddenly, the absurdity of it all sent an erotic chill down my spine and I felt it in my cock. Somehow, the prick jumped up spasmodically, growing several inches from its wilted state. I didn't know how to stop such a thing from happening. So I just sighed and wondered what would happen next.
"I think we better get started with the painting now, huh, Mrs. Hudson?"
"Yes, yes…"
Then she took hold of my prick and squeezed it, making it grow several more inches. Suddenly she was holding a good eight or nine inches of thick meat in her hand and pressing on it to make it throb ' anxiously from side to side.
"Yes, I think I'd much prefer a picture of you with your cock all long and hard, Mr. Eastman…"
"But… but that's not how they are in the museums…"
She jerked me back and forth several times, and from somewhere or other a drop of fresh come swelled up out of the head. She smiled at it and jerked some more. There was no stopping her now, nor my prick either, for that matter.
Well, there are certain situations we all come to from time to time, when we can see there is no point in trying to fight the inevitable. In the face of such situations, the best thing to do is relax and enjoy the experience. Tired as I was, I decided to do just that. Besides. Mrs. Hudson did have a rather bewitching pair of tits and a wide, plump ass.
She smiled at me. “This will make a very nice picture, don't you think?"
"But not for your husband," I smiled.
"Oh, he doesn't care. not any more. He only married me to prove to the world that he wasn't queer. Unfortunately, he never proved it to me."
"That's too bad. And I can see that you have a very healthy appetite."
"And no one to feed me," she said sexily, tugging gently but firmly on my thickening prick.
"No one?”
"Oh, the occasional man. Like you. Perhaps you can be more than an occasion, hm? Perhaps we can arrange to meet on a regular basis. It would be rewarding for both of us."
"No doubt," I mumbled, wondering how I could fit her into my already overcrowded schedule.
"Kiss me. Mr. Eastman. Kiss me hard. And then make love to me, hard…"
She squeezed my cock and pulled me closer to her, into her tight, warm embrace.
"All right, I surrender…”
I grabbed her around the waist, then lowered my grip to her wide, fleshy bottom.
"Take me," she said.
I pressed my mouth against hers and she forced her tongue into my mouth. It was very wet and she moved it against the roof of my mouth and over my tongue and teeth. She moaned and her whole body shuddered with the oral contact. My stiff cock bobbed around at her front. We kissed for a few moments, then I got my hands at the waistband of her trousers. I tore them down to her knees in one violent tug. Then I grabbed a handful of panty girdle and ripped that down, too. A full ripe growth of pussy hair gleamed and shimmered at me, jet black, matted down from the pressure of her girdle.