as she ascended.
She lead him
into a room that was obviously used as a studio. Sunlight flooded
in from the high windows. Drawings and paintings littered the room,
from large canvases to small pencil sketches pinned haphazardly to
the wall. All the artwork contained the same subject matter - the
male nude.
In a flash of
insight Billy knew what Candy was going to say before she said it.
For the second time that day a desirable woman was going to ask him
to undress. She did have the grace, however, to be rather more
diplomatic than Katie Crisp.
'Billy, I hope
you won't mind just slipping out of your things and standing over
there.'
Billy stared
at her boggle-eyed, his cock so huge in his trousers that it seemed
it might almost leap out of its own accord. This was going to be
horribly embarrassing.
'You see,
Billy, I've been searching and searching for just the right model
to complete my programme design and I have a hunch that, with you,
my search is over.'
Somehow he
found himself removing his jacket. 'What programme?'
'For the Poor
Pussy Gala. I'm designing the programme myself. It has a centre
piece of an adorable kitten lying on a cushion and below are the
twin muses of comedy and tragedy, male and female figures, bearing
the theatrical masks. Look, you can see it here.'
Billy studied
the sheets of paper on her slanted drawing table and could indeed
see many workings of the design she was describing. The kitten was
of a chocolate-box nature with a cute little bandage over one ear
indicating, doubtless, that it had been rescued. A slim female
figure reclined on the right-hand side of the drawing, arms held
aloft towards the cat, offering up the mask of tragedy. The figure
was nude, with long slender flanks, narrow loins and pouting
pear-shaped breasts. The face had almond eyes and curling lips.
Billy recognised it at once.
'A
self-portrait? It's the lips and the eyes, they are very
distinctive.'
'Naughty boy,' she replied, batting her eyelashes at him.
'There's no other way you could spot me, is there? At least, not on such a brief
acquaintance.'
By now Billy
was down to just his trousers. He hopped up onto the small dais.
Maybe he could get away with exposing himself just this far. But
no.
'Oh, Billy,'
she said at once, 'I think you'll have to take your trousers off.
I'm awfully sorry but I couldn't get the proper lines of your body
otherwise. You can, of course, leave your underpants on.'
Billy knew
that such a fig leaf would hardly be adequate. Nevertheless he
stepped out of his trousers and turned to face her.
He could swear
she gulped. Certainly her eyes seemed to pop as she took in the
extraordinary bulge in his skintight bikini briefs. His cock was
lodged sideways and so its length was barely contained within the
thin white cotton. He knew very well he might just as well have
been naked. Every bulge and ridge of his magnificent tumescence was
revealed to her thirsty gaze.
'My,' she
said, 'you're just what I'm looking for. If you could place your
left hand on your hip and hold your other arm up - yes, that's
lovely.' And she began to draw.
The atmosphere
in the room was pregnant with possibilities. The silence grew
heavy, broken only by the scratch of her pen on paper and, to
Billy's ears, the beat of his own heart which pounded in his chest
like a drum. He could swear that his cock was twitching in tempo
inside the tight confines of his briefs.
'About the
Gala,' he said hesitantly, 'Imogen was telling me who was on the
bill.'
She didn't
reply but continued to sketch, staring at him intently.
'I must say,'
Billy blundered on, 'it's a most impressive gathering, though I'm a
little surprised at one or two omissions.'
'Oh yes,' she
said.
'I mean for
such a popular cause I thought you might be aiming at a rather
broader audience. You know, have someone younger, just to keep up
with the trends.'
'Like who?'
she asked. Her attention now well and truly caught.
'Well, I know
that Imogen has an exciting
She lead him
into a room that was obviously used as a studio. Sunlight flooded
in from the high windows. Drawings and paintings littered the room,
from large canvases to small pencil sketches pinned haphazardly to
the wall. All the artwork contained the same subject matter - the
male nude.
In a flash of
insight Billy knew what Candy was going to say before she said it.
For the second time that day a desirable woman was going to ask him
to undress. She did have the grace, however, to be rather more
diplomatic than Katie Crisp.
'Billy, I hope
you won't mind just slipping out of your things and standing over
there.'
Billy stared
at her boggle-eyed, his cock so huge in his trousers that it seemed
it might almost leap out of its own accord. This was going to be
horribly embarrassing.
'You see,
Billy, I've been searching and searching for just the right model
to complete my programme design and I have a hunch that, with you,
my search is over.'
Somehow he
found himself removing his jacket. 'What programme?'
'For the Poor
Pussy Gala. I'm designing the programme myself. It has a centre
piece of an adorable kitten lying on a cushion and below are the
twin muses of comedy and tragedy, male and female figures, bearing
the theatrical masks. Look, you can see it here.'
Billy studied
the sheets of paper on her slanted drawing table and could indeed
see many workings of the design she was describing. The kitten was
of a chocolate-box nature with a cute little bandage over one ear
indicating, doubtless, that it had been rescued. A slim female
figure reclined on the right-hand side of the drawing, arms held
aloft towards the cat, offering up the mask of tragedy. The figure
was nude, with long slender flanks, narrow loins and pouting
pear-shaped breasts. The face had almond eyes and curling lips.
Billy recognised it at once.
'A
self-portrait? It's the lips and the eyes, they are very
distinctive.'
'Naughty boy,' she replied, batting her eyelashes at him.
'There's no other way you could spot me, is there? At least, not on such a brief
acquaintance.'
By now Billy
was down to just his trousers. He hopped up onto the small dais.
Maybe he could get away with exposing himself just this far. But
no.
'Oh, Billy,'
she said at once, 'I think you'll have to take your trousers off.
I'm awfully sorry but I couldn't get the proper lines of your body
otherwise. You can, of course, leave your underpants on.'
Billy knew
that such a fig leaf would hardly be adequate. Nevertheless he
stepped out of his trousers and turned to face her.
He could swear
she gulped. Certainly her eyes seemed to pop as she took in the
extraordinary bulge in his skintight bikini briefs. His cock was
lodged sideways and so its length was barely contained within the
thin white cotton. He knew very well he might just as well have
been naked. Every bulge and ridge of his magnificent tumescence was
revealed to her thirsty gaze.
'My,' she
said, 'you're just what I'm looking for. If you could place your
left hand on your hip and hold your other arm up - yes, that's
lovely.' And she began to draw.
The atmosphere
in the room was pregnant with possibilities. The silence grew
heavy, broken only by the scratch of her pen on paper and, to
Billy's ears, the beat of his own heart which pounded in his chest
like a drum. He could swear that his cock was twitching in tempo
inside the tight confines of his briefs.
'About the
Gala,' he said hesitantly, 'Imogen was telling me who was on the
bill.'
She didn't
reply but continued to sketch, staring at him intently.
'I must say,'
Billy blundered on, 'it's a most impressive gathering, though I'm a
little surprised at one or two omissions.'
'Oh yes,' she
said.
'I mean for
such a popular cause I thought you might be aiming at a rather
broader audience. You know, have someone younger, just to keep up
with the trends.'
'Like who?'
she asked. Her attention now well and truly caught.
'Well, I know
that Imogen has an exciting
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