Class 4

Bad. So fucking bad. She wasn't an adulterer, not technically, because she and Charles weren't yet married, but she had acted exactly like a fallen woman, or even some stupid, out-of-control slut. And the fact that the sex had been so incredible was no excuse. Each astounding orgasm with William had been a betrayal, every sublime shudder a hard stab at the heart of her relationship with Charles.

Why, then, did some part of her feel like a triumphal sex goddess? Why did she feel like filling a tall glass with champagne — or semen — to toast the awakening of her sexual abilities and appetites? And why did she feel as though she had just scratched the surface, that her potential for giving and experiencing pleasure was almost limitless, and so special?

Well, it was a huge improvement. Not in morality, of course, but the intensity... Fuck, who knew that sex could feel like that? It was completely... intoxicating. But like all intoxicating experiences, it was a vice, and filled with dangers. And repercussions.

So no more. Out-of-this-world orgasms were great, but... A shudder ran through her body at the memory of their intensity. No! she admonished herself. Orgasms — even orgasms like that — were not great, not when they occurred in the wrong place, with the wrong lover. This strange sexual awakening might end up being a blessing in time, but only if she channeled her desires in the proper direction, toward Charles.

She could never tell her fiancé about any of this — it could only cause harm, this horrible truth. She would carry the weight of her unforgivable behavior for the rest of her life, and if that became unbearable, she would enter therapy or exchange her Episcopalian faith for Catholicism, whatever it took to confess her sins to someone bound to secrecy. But one way or another she would move on. Correction: They would move on. Her. Charles. Together.

Faith, she needed to have faith in herself, and faith in God's grace. In fact, today was Ash Wednesday, she would go to the evening service at her church and pray for the strength to give up these bodily desires, the strange new stirrings that kept undermining her morals. But she could already hear her minister's voice in her head, reminding the flock that grace was a partnership. She had to do her part by taking responsibility for her sins, and exercising some self-control.

Determination, then — she needed that, too. And she had it, or used to have it. She had always been so good at setting goals and sticking to them, and she could do it again. She would retrieve her things from Pierce's studio and catch an early train down to Philadelphia. The big cocktail party, wedding arrangements, maybe even a night of satisfying sex with Charles — perhaps she could even assuage her guilt by giving him what he'd always wanted from her, a good and proper blowjob with her body all decked out in one of her naughty outfits. There, a simple goal, and one that she could achieve and even enjoy, because tasting semen, lo and behold, was like tasting heaven.

She smacked her lips, remembering. No more of that semen, the wrong semen. Back to her fiancé's safe dick, the only dick she was supposed to taste. And she had already made progress, leaving William at daybreak with no promises of returning.

But was that real progress? She left his bedroom in the early morning with no words of commitment, no promises of a second night of sex games. But she had dressed in her crop top and shorts before awakening William, conducting a striptease above him as he lay there on the bed. After shimmying her firm ass out of her tiny shorts, she split her legs wide, so he could stare right up at her swollen cunt, seeing how wet and ready she was, even though they had already fucked so many times. Was it a victory, deliberately leaving that way, with William groaning beneath her? Was it right to burn new images of her spectacular body into his brain? Isn't that what had eaten at her conscience in the first place? Now she would have to return, to make amends again. With her body. With her steaming hot pussy.

She got into and out of her apartment before Giuseppe's shift, avoiding any temptation there. And she did make progress in one area, dressing today in black jeans and a bulky sweater with boots, rather than some ridiculous outfit and sexy heels unsuited to the weather. It wasn't as cold today, but four inches of snow lay on the ground, already turning dark and dirty, as all pure things do on Manhattan's gridded streets.

Catherine looked up at Pierce's fourth floor windows. Drawing class didn't start for another hour, he might not even be there. Did he make his own artwork in this studio? She'd never seen canvases or supplies, no evidence of any kind that the big room was used for anything other than teaching.

Don't become curious. Get in and get out, she repeated to herself in the elevator. She would miss participating in the class, and especially miss Pierce's voice, but she couldn't stay, for so many reasons. In, find her coat and bags, and out, before the other students showed up. In, out, in, out... The image of William's cunt-slickened cock flashed through her brain, followed by a vision of Joel's hard-on. God, she'd better get out before Joel arrived, there was no telling what she would do if she saw him.

Stop thaaat, she reminded herself. No thoughts about sex or being sexy or how delicious semen was or how great she had turned out to be at giving head last night. No thoughts about having more orgasms in one night than she usually had in several months, and definitely no thoughts about how strong and electrifying her climaxes had been. And no thoughts about the way her pussy could almost feel a phantom in/out rhythm right now. It felt so good but it wasn't real, it was probably no different than the way the body retains the sensation of a sailboat's rocking for many hours after returning to land. It was a body echo, a thing of the past. Just like her whorish behavior.

The door to Pierce's studio was ajar, but she knocked anyway.

"Hello? Pierce?"

She stepped inside, into silence. Maybe he was elsewhere in the building, or in the adjoining room.

She almost jumped for joy when she spotted her bags right where she'd left them, at the back of the studio. Her coat had been placed right next to the bags, neatly folded and draped over the back of a chair.

In and out, just slip in and out... Ignore the way her pussy ached when peering into the bag, and seeing the naughty little treasures there. Yes, the lingerie and wrist restraints made her feel all itchy, but don't think too much about them, or about the way her nipples were beginning to tingle under her sweater. And ignore the room's heat, making it so easy to imagine taking everything off, and posing naked on the model stand, her classmates gawking at her body, every one of them getting excited because she was so fucking sexy.

"I wondered whether we'd see you again, Catherine."

"Oh!" She turned around and there he was, Pierce.

"You're feeling better? Joel said that you felt ill yesterday."

"Um... yes. Ill. I was ill. But I'm fine now."

"Glad to hear it. It's a shame that you missed the opportunity to draw yesterday. Perhaps I could give you some special attention today to help you catch up."

Pleasure chills ran all through her body at the thought. Special attention. God, how she would love that, because she was so beautiful and so special. But wait, she wasn't going to stay for class. She was dripping... dropping out, so she could go to Charles and restore her sanity.

"Um, Pierce... I don't think I can... come any more."

"Oh?"

Get in and get out. But she hated the idea of missing out on hearing his voice, and she was dying for another of his little meditations. And leaving would keep her from moving forward with her drawings. True, but not leaving would keep her from moving forward with her simple goals, to get back to Charles. Dammit, she really wanted to move forward, but it was impossible to do that in every case, especially when she felt so fragmented. And horny.

"Catherine? You look a little flushed. Are you sure you're okay?"

No, she wasn't sure. She felt flushed, like he'd said, and her eyes kept roaming all over Pierce, as though assessing how their bodies might fit together. Like it or not, there was something about him that absolutely agreed with her. She almost felt like she'd strip out of her clothes and wrap her thighs around his face if he asked her to. Hell, the way his voice made her feel, she'd probably wrap her thighs around his face if he just read from a dictionary.

She could almost see and hear it in her mind, Pierce with a dictionary in his hands, the two of them lying naked on a bed. "Begin from the beginning," she would say, her slippery slit hanging on every breath. "Aardvark, abacus..." he would begin. God, she'd probably be writhing and screaming by the time he got to "abandon".

"Catherine? Are you okay?"

"I... I think so. I was just abandoning... I mean, coming... for these things..."

"You really do look flushed. Maybe you should lie down, until class begins."

"Um... but I'm not..." What was it that she wasn't doing? Coming, in her pants. No, no, that wasn't right, she was quite close to coming in her pants; in fact her hands were wriggling past the waistband of her jeans right now, and just one word or... Wait, no, what was the matter with her? She wasn't coming to class, that was what she needed to tell him. Her fingertips kept burrowing, and once they found her wetness it all became clear again. She needed to talk to Pierce about coming, and how she had come three times last night... No, wait, more than three times, because so many orgasms had been double or triple-headers, with reverberations even more potent than... Wait, fuck, three classes, she had come to three classes. She really should not come a fourth time, as much as she wanted to.

"I... I have to leave," she whispered, not certain whether she really could.

"I understand. But you really do look dizzy. Let me get you some water, at least," he offered. "Come with me."

"Oh! Oh, God..." she croaked, the aching pang between her thighs erupting with more force. Oh fuck, oh God... She opened her eyes, not having been aware that she'd ever closed them. Pierce was several steps ahead and she haltingly followed, barely able to walk with her jeans lowered halfway down her thighs like this. She didn't remember pulling them down but thank God she had. The middle fingers of both hands were wiggling into her wet opening and it felt as though a series of aftershocks from all of last night's orgasms were lurking deep in her interior, ready to surge forward at any moment.

Pierce entered the adjoining room and she followed as far as the door, leaning against the jamb for support. It was a smallish room, nicely appointed with a long couch and a compact kitchen area. Pierce opened a bottle of Evian and half-filled a glass for her, then turned and offered it.

"Oh God!" she shuddered.

"Catherine? Catherine?"

"I... I need to lie down!" she screamed, and he put the glass down, reaching out to guide her to the sofa.

"Why, your practically on fire!" he exclaimed, touching her, and it was true, she could feel the sweat on her forehead and pre-orgasmic chills rampaging throughout her body. She felt as though she might literally combust if Pierce didn't stuff her cunt with his hardness, completely filling her.

"Relax right here," he soothed, and she felt everything go soft inside, the cushions of the couch easing against her back.

She must be sick, or close to fainting, or so caught within the crest of the most intense slow-motion orgasm that her entire body was experiencing that little death that people sometimes spoke of. This wasn't turning out right at all, being here and feeling all fiery and sexed-up and dizzy like this, but it was hard to worry about it when she was floating. Pierce said something and she could listen but not really hear, like she was far away from herself on the inside, like she was taking a little vacation.

Yes, her normal mind would take a peaceful little vacation, and she would follow, follow the breath and follow the voice, describing out-loud every detail of her recent life, recounting all of her fantasies and even her recent dreams. She would confess all of her shameful indiscretions, as well as the indiscretions that pulled at her will, the indiscretions she longed to commit. And yes, oh yes, she would follow, follow this voice, follow it anywhere, opening herself to it completely, letting it fill her, letting its intonations touch places inside that had never been touched before...

The river churned all around her, the canoe spinning around and around, totally out of control. She had to find some way to steer, some way to keep the bow to the front. But she had nothing, no paddle, and the trick of leaning her body to guide the small boat had no effect against the current in this raging whitewater. How had she ended up here, so ill equipped, in such a dangerous place? The river had become wrathful, the rapids so intense that she would have little chance to direct the canoe even if she were properly trained and had all of the right equipment.

"Watch out!" she heard a woman call, the voice right in her ear yet difficult to hear over the river's roar.

The boat dropped through a violent chute and her heart jumped to her throat from the feeling of falling.

"We aren't going to make it!" Catherine cried to her unseen companion. "The current is too strong!"

"Catherine!" she heard. "Catherine!"

She was falling, and going under, and there was no way to stop it.

"Catherine? Catherine, wake up."

She opened her eyes.

"Back with us again?" The model with the huge tits stood beside the sofa, looking down at her sweetly. The model was dressed, which seemed surprising. And irritating.

"I, um... I must have fallen asleep. Has class started?"

"Started and ended," the model smiled.

"You mean..."

"Yep. You were completely out of it when I arrived here a few hours ago."

"Just watching you sleep makes me want to growl," came a lighter female voice from behind.

Catherine tilted her head back and saw another young woman with long, straight blonde hair and some of the bluest eyes in the city.

"Hi, I'm Katia," the girl beamed. "Holly and I modeled together today. You really missed out."

Catherine's cobwebs were parting, but not entirely gone. Holly must be the name of the model with the terrific tits, and this other girl, Katia... She was petite, adorably cute, and her body, especially, was fucking gorgeous. Pierce sure did know how to pick them. And speaking of her drawing teacher...

"Pierce asked us to stay with you," Holly offered, as though reading her mind. "He was worried about you."

"That's... sweet," Catherine whispered, trying to get a clear picture in her head about the chain of events right before falling asleep. She remembered her eyes almost eating Pierce up and feeling all super-itchy again. Then Pierce had offered her some water, but she got all dizzy before even drinking it. After that, everything was a blank.

She sat up, testing her balance. A little woozy, and the strange thing was that her clitoris somehow felt swollen and all tingly.

"So Pierce is... gone?" she asked.

"He had an appointment right after class," Katia replied.

Catherine tried to keep a straight face, but hearing the news made her lips tighten and her throbbing clit screamed its disappointment.

"Listen," Holly began. "Do you want us to call you a cab?"

Where was she going next? Church. No, home — where she could dream about Pierce and masturbate like crazy — and then church. "Um... no. I can walk. I'm feeling... a little confused, but better, and it's not too far."

"Do you want us to walk you home?"

"No, that's okay. I... Wait. Yes, I... I think I really would like it if you walked me home."

Why had she said that? She didn't need assistance, her body felt almost weirdly energized now that she was sitting up. Giuseppe, that must be the answer. If Holly and Katia went with her as far as her door, she wouldn't have to deal with Giuseppe and his hard dick.

Of course, she had avoided Giuseppe's hard dick yesterday, and look at what happened. It ended up being a phallic trade-off, not a victory. Her eyes went to Holly's huge breasts, powering out under a white sweater. Fuck, those things looked like heaven. She felt a sharp pang of desire and blinked her eyes to chase it away. Then she drank in Katia, less busty but no less inspiring. Catherine's heart skipped a beat as she surveyed Katia's fine body, so well displayed in a dark leather skirt and boots. The top of a black leotard clung to her upper body, showcasing an elegantly formed torso, so tight and toned, just like her own. Only miniaturized, as though meant to be a play toy.

No. Stop. No play toys. She had to stop this crap, this tendency for her thoughts to meander towards sex. That was the trap in her sexual awakening, this relentless tendency towards thoughts about hot sex and big tits and delicious cum at the wrong times, in the wrong situations. She was better than that, and stronger than that. Sure, she could feel her clit buzzing like a bee inside of her jeans, and sure Holly and Katia were insanely sexy, but they were not objects of sex, not for her. They were just walking her to her apartment, where she would finger herself into as many orgasms as it took to relieve this fucking insane buzzing ache between her hot legs. And then she would dress like a lady, and go to church, and have ashes rubbed onto her forehead while she prayed like fucking hell for help.

They talked as they walked, and it became clear that Holly and Katia modeled for Pierce in a wider sense than she'd first assumed. Teaching was a sporadic event for Pierce, a labor of love, because there was so much demand for his paintings. His paintings of female nudes.

Catherine tried to coax out a description of Pierce's artwork, but they deflected her questions, leaning upon that old cliché she'd heard before, that it was so hard to describe a visual medium in words. When she pressed, Holly would only say that Pierce had a current wait-list of over a hundred clients.

"His paintings must be... well, really good, to be in such demand."

"They're incredible!" Holly replied, her voice soft and dreamy. "And modeling for him is incredible. I... I don't think I could even live without it."

"We're unbelievably lucky to be able to work with him," Katia seconded. "Being beautiful is its own reward — well, I don't have to tell you that. But being immortalized in paint... That's indescribable."

Catherine wondered whether Pierce's paintings were anything like the pin-up art she'd recently become enamored with. And did he photograph Holly and Katia, or work exclusively from life? She would have to keep wondering, because she couldn't get any more out of her companions on the subject. Where Pierce painted, or how often they modeled, or how he'd found them or how much he paid them — she was intensely curious, but received no answers.

They talked about other things, and she found that she really liked Holly and Katia. Holly was a second year journalism major at Columbia, and Katia was only two months from receiving her BA in interior design from Parsons.

Youth, beauty and brains — it was hard to find anything more sexy. She enjoyed their company, but it drove her crazy that she didn't know which of the two had the blonder pubic hairs. It was a strange question to be plaguing her mind, but the fact remained that their bushes would not be identical in hue, and one of them had to be more blonde than the other. Unless Katia shaved hers. Damn, why had she slept through class today? She had seen Holly's vagina, had even studied and drawn that lovely glistening slit. But having missed their joint modeling session today, there was no way to tell whether Katia's pussy had a similar pale crown. She'd bet anything it did.

She fell behind her companions every now and then when the sidewalk became narrow, and compared the tones in their blonde tresses. Some sexual attributes were immediately discernable when you met someone, like the size of a woman's breasts, or sometimes even the size or sensitivity of her nipples. But most questions of this kind were meant to remain unanswered. She knew the size of William Lafort's hardened cock now, but most of the time you could only guess. The comparative color of these models' pubic hairs should be no different. But the other students in the class knew, and she should, too.

No, no she shouldn't, and she had to stop thinking like that! This was how things went crazy, with her musing crazily and then getting caught up in it somehow. She needed to stop thinking about huge tits and slippery slits, and she needed to stop now. Only she couldn't. Holly's ass looked so fine in those tight jeans, and Catherine felt compelled to stare. What was it about those two lovely cheeks that seemed to proclaim the fullness of her breasts in front? Her lovely, imposing big-as-get-all breasts, the breasts she had studied, and drawn, and salivated over.

Switching her gaze to Katia's backside was no relief, because Katia's legs almost made her melt like the surrounding snow. All she could see were the backs of Katia's knees and a portion of her full calves before they slipped so gracefully into the tops of her boots, but it was enough, enough to know that they were sisters in exquisite legdome.

Catherine tried desperately to gather herself, to be strong and determined inside. She needed to think straight, and think about straightness, because she wasn't bi, even though these two women looked good enough to eat.

Two blonde beauties. Her mind skimmed through a series of multiplications: Three wet pussies, six firm thighs, six breasts and thirty fingertips. Three tongues. Six hard nipples. Three aching clitor...

"Oh," she sighed, realizing that she had never needed to contemplate the plural form of the word "clitoris". Clitorae? No, clitorides. Three clitorides. Three exciting clit rides.

She had to stop thinking about clit rides, because it was having a strange effect down there. Her clitoris... It couldn't be true, but with every step on the sidewalk, it felt as though her clitoris was growing in size. Ridiculous, she thought, body parts don't grow. But fuck, that throbbing... Not only was her clitoris buzzing like a bee, it felt for all the world like it had grown to the size of one. A bumble bee for a clit, buzzing and buzzing...

She fell another step or two behind her companions, wiggling her hips in her tight jeans, trying to shake things back to normal. Every step was becoming torture, the stimulation sending shivers up her spine. Fuck, what was the matter with her? Was she becoming delusional? She hopped up and down a couple of steps, and still the feeling was there, and getting worse.

It must be them, Holly and Katia. They were too fucking sexy; and just being near them was having a terrible effect inside of her panties. If her sex organs felt like they were growing new pleasure cells every second, it was because she really, really wanted to rub her throbbing oversized clit on both of their chins. She had this feeling that both of them could do things to her pussy that most men couldn't even dream of.

Fuck, she was slipping into girl-on-girl lustworld again. Think about men, think about tons of cocks and an almost inexhaustible amount of cum and... Wait, no, not just any men, nor just any hard cocks. That was another trap. She tried to picture sex with Charles, no one but Charles, but instead saw William's bigger dick plunging in and out of her sopping wet cunt. She remembered the taste of his cum in her mouth, and how it ignited all of her pleasure buttons all at once.

Her throbbing giant clitoris applauded this train of thought, buzzing crazily. Ohhh God, how she loved to suck cocks. There, she had said it — she was an overnight cocksucking enthusiast, she felt like she could practically go on a cocksucking diet, writing reviews of the subtle differences in flavor and consistency. Therefore, she had no reason to eat pussies, because she wanted to spend the rest of her life sucking...