Chapter 14

Mr. Roquette told everyone to stop painting. A few boys took a few last-minute pokes and swipes with the paint, and then the teacher scrutinized their work. We held the position we posed in, and then he had us turn, spin, and pose individually while he examined us.

Everyone else in the class laughed at us while the teacher took a few pictures of our bodies. He said, “This is art. It’s not supposed to follow the rules. You have done an excellent job for your first time working with the human canvas!”

The teacher didn’t seem entirely surprised by the erotic themes or some of the more vulgar aspects of the painting. He had watched the students painting it. “There are no boundaries or limits in art; sometimes it is symbolic, sometimes it captures the essence of an emotion, and sometimes it is trash, but it is all art!”

The students had first painted the four of us a base coat of white to establish a matte canvas on which to doodle with their finger paints.

My back, ass, legs, and even the back of my neck were painted an even coat of white. It felt sticky and warm. The students applied a few last-minute touches to painting my front. However, Mr. Roquette told them the assignment was over, and he was already grading from the photos he took.

My daughter and Staci had penises all over their back, drawn like an invading army of angels shooting sperm in a perpetual war between two sides. Their asses had “DOUBLE FUDGE!” written on them in brown lettering, giving the impression that poop had been used to draw the words. The paint dripped down on their butts like melting fudge cycles.

Arrows were drawn across their butt cheeks to their anuses, and the words “Fudge Packed Here Nightly” were written in smaller lettering that was slightly smudged. They looked almost comical, like naked jesters or clowns. Someone had painted an army of penises on her shoulder, and written “I love cock” and “I love vagina” on the back of her arms.

There were some genuine attempts at flourishes of art and expression. Still, it was essentially absurd penis-shaped warriors were flying toward one another on wings, while others had smiles and appeared to be walking across her back. I had to giggle when I saw it, and I felt guilty for smiling at my daughter’s humiliation.

My daughter didn’t seem humiliated, though. She was stoic and remained very calm. I suppose it was just paint, and it could wash off. I liked how mature Julie was about the entire thing.

Darla giggled and laughed at Staci’s drawing, and in response, Staci shocked her mother at what appeared to be the higher setting, which shut her up.

“Hilarious, guys,” Julie was able to laugh about it, but she didn’t crack up hysterically. She seemed mildly amused. “I should have known you weren’t painting rosebuds and bunnies on my butt.”

I was proud she could be self-deprecating and not lash out at the students. Their initial laughter had died down. The student artists had all been in on their jokes. Their recent laughter was just caused by the anticipation of our reactions.

In my case, both Darla and I had been decorated the same way. “WORST MOM EVER” was written in red on my ass. The “O” that I had felt drawn around the base of my asshole was the letter “O” in Mom.

“Property of North Little Rock High” was painted like Graffiti on our backs, and perhaps most humiliating of all were the words “KICK ME!” in black stencil just above our ass cheeks. There were some random penises and pussies drawn here and there that seemed more like an afterthought.

Darla laughed about it and thought it was funny. She said that she thought what was painted on her daughter’s body was even more humorous.

I was horrified at the thought that I’d have to walk through the school with that paint on my body and ultimately go home that way.

“Don’t worry, there is a shower there for models. You are free to use it,” the instructor offered rather graciously. The shower consisted of a single raised dais, more like a stage than a shower, with no privacy curtain. A single shower head was above it, with a chain hanging down and holes in the floor to drain the water.

“Mmm, that was fun Staci. I can’t wait to do this again; I liked tag-teaming with Brittany. My pussy is dripping wet after all of that. May I have relief?” Darla purred her request like a sexy cougar, hungry for more touching and sex.

“You are embarrassing yourself more than usual, Darla. I’ll tell YOU when you are ready to have relief. Now, touch your toes!”

“Oh! Yes, Ma’am!” Darla seemed excited and immediately grabbed her ankles without a thought for her own modesty. When she bent over, I could see the red “O” around her tight asshole winking at me between the two M’s that spelled “MOM” in Worst Mom Ever.

“Mr. Roquette, may I borrow your wooden paddle?” Staci asked.

“That’s what it is there for,” he pointed to it on his desk. Staci wasted no time grabbing the heavy paddle and spanking her mother’s ass.

“Count, slut!” she said after she heard no answer.

“One!”

“Why are you such a horny old goat?” Staci asked angrily as she cracked the wooden paddle into her mother’s ass. The paddle was well-worn and almost black from use (or collected paint).

“Two, sorry Staci! I can’t help myself!”

“You’ll go through school this way, so everyone can see the pretty artwork that you think is so funny and made you so horny!” Staci spanked her mother’s ass.

Everyone was enamored with the spanking taking place. The sound of the flat of the wooden paddle striking Darla’s ass was loud, like dropping a phone book on the cement. A solid thud with each strike.

My daughter really wasn’t paying attention. She told me, “It’s almost time to go. Go ahead and shower up.”

I was grateful but surprised that she’d allow me to wash the nasty words off of my body. I felt like I was apparently supposed to be an object of ridicule. I was thankful that my daughter gave me permission to shower it all off.

Mr. Roquette overheard and said we could climb together to save water. It is evident that the dirty old Frenchman liked seeing girls hug together in the nude.

“No, this art is too pretty to destroy. I’ll wear it out, if that’s okay?” my daughter asked him. He seemed flattered and pleased by the sentiment. I stepped into the shower and pulled the chain. I shivered as the shower dropped ice-cold water on me, instantly giving me goose bumps and stiffening my nipples. I was drenched like a drowned rat in moments.

When I heard a round of laughter at my expense, I thought my daughter had intentionally set me up for that, but she frowned, and it was apparent to me that Julie hadn’t anticipated it. There was no soap and no washcloth. The paint ran down my thighs and off of my body relatively easily, but I had to scrub extra hard and open my ass crack to wash it off.

The worst part was that I couldn’t tell if it was the cold of the water, or just how naughty allowing random students to draw and paint on me that had left me aroused and horny. I had never been touched so much in my whole life.

A part of me felt like the “Worst Mom Ever” did apply to me. I was obeying my daughter and doing incredibly raunchy things in public – what sort of example was I setting? Would I ever be able to live this behavior down around my kids after this?

It occurred to me that it may be too late to do that. I had crossed the threshold. Even if I quit today, my sons would remember that I paraded naked around their school and obediently allowed total strangers to touch me and do things to me that even Jim never did. I’d permitted boys to paint the insides of my asshole, and now I had to finger my own ass to get the paint out while some of them watched me shower in ice-cold water.

Julie talked about people having to ask for my consent before they fingered me. However, I suppose being a human canvas had been my consent. I blushed a little as I realized that I really didn’t mind their prying fingers and secretly enjoyed it.

Despite the shame, the cold water was stiffening my nipples, and they were expanding and growing like two tiny but plump little penises on my chest. There was no mistaking that I was just as aroused as Darla was.

Darla, for her part, was being absolutely destroyed with her twenty-second swat. Her knees buckled, and she groaned and cried out as she answered her daughter’s questions. I’ll never forget twenty-three.

“Are you the world’s worst mom, cunt?”

“Twenty-three, OW! Yes, yes, I am,” Darla sobbed. I felt sorry for her that she was feeling like me. This was supposed to be a fun adventure, and Darla looked miserable. The heavy paddle was growing heavier in her daughter’s hands from the exertion of using it on my fat ass. She asked Mr. Roquette to finish her off.

I’d always felt chubby and pudgy, and being naked in public made me very well aware that I had a very big, jiggly butt.

“Come down from there, Brittany. You are pretty much clean,” my daughter ignored the spectacle and summoned me. Water was beading off of my arms, back, and legs, and I didn’t want to get it everywhere.

“I don’t feel clean,” I said. It had a double meaning to me, and I think Julie understood that I meant I felt dirty.

“You did well.” Julie took me by the short leash around my neck. It was still wet from the shower. She led me out as the bell rang and into the hallway.

I had a lot to think about. I placed my hands behind my back and followed my daughter. Darla had shared a secret with me. She didn’t actually follow the rules when she wasn’t at school. Was that a big deal? Did the other women not follow the expectations at home? Could I get in trouble if I knew about it and didn’t tell her?

Those thoughts bounced around in my brain, and at the same time, images of the words “WORST MOM EVER” on my ass and the leering faces of the boys who had painted it floated to the top of my thoughts. What was I doing here? Why had I agreed to this? Surely, the money wasn’t worth the indignity of being touched like this.

I felt like Darla, Julie, or Staci should be panicking or complaining, but they acted like it was all quite normal.

As we walked down the hall, few people noticed me. All eyes were on my daughter and her fresh paint job. Most people laughed, but Julie shrugged it off or laughed with them. She had such fun in her eyes as if it was all just amusing to her.

When kids asked to see the paint job, she stopped and posed for each one. A few took pictures of her, some took pictures with her, and most of them groped her tit or grabbed her butt cheek while they did. My daughter seemed proud of it.

“What if you run for President someday?”

“What if?”

“What if those pictures come back to haunt you, Julie?”

“I was in the Program with thousands of other girls like me. I think there is a low chance I’d run for office, but it would probably help my popularity, not hinder it,” Julie shrugged off my question.

She had a point, and it was well made when we entered her gymnastics class. Almost every girl of the thirty or so students doing handstands, tumbling, rings, and balance beam was completely naked or wearing only the smallest outfit that didn’t fully cover the slit of her pussy and her nipples. I barely understood the point of wearing something like that. It reminded me of a string made of spandex. Many of the girls were topless with tight little thongs on. I suppose it offered minimal coverage and an opportunity to see their muscles in action.

I remembered seeing women who did weightlifting wearing outfits like the ones these high school students wore.

It would have been a smorgasbord for teenage boys when I was in high school. It was almost like a scene out of a pornographic movie. All of these naked or half-naked girls standing on their heads in the nude, or rhythmically dancing or twirling batons.

“Naked gymnastics?”

“Just about,” Julie explained. “There are no boys in this class, so girls feel more comfortable going around naked.”

I watched a pretty young blonde go down to the ground and do a complete split. She touched her split, bald pussy lips to the gym floor and held the pose with her legs spread out as far as they could go in perfect balance.

Once I drank it all in, my daughter produced the butterfly nipple Trainers that we were provided. She placed them on my tits and let them bite down. “What I want you to do is run laps for me. Just go round and round and don’t stop moving. The moment you do, zap. Got it?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Hey,” she grabbed my chin firmly and forced me to look at her. “You only have to say Ma’am when you are in trouble. You are doing really well. I love you, and I am proud of you.”

“I am proud of you too,” I managed to mumble before she released me, slapped on the butt, and told me to run around the track inside the gym around the area the girls were training in.

“You better be. I learned everything I know from you,” she called after me as I dashed away. My legs were still sore from the previous day. I hadn’t been a runner before this began, and I still wasn’t much of one. I had learned to really pace myself. The moment I slowed down, I felt the gentle reminder of a vibration (not a shock).

I looked over my shoulder and saw my daughter wag her finger at me. Then, she returned to performing gymnastics activities with the other girls. Several of them were interested in her paint job from art class and laughed about it. Julie laughed the hardest of any of them when they talked about her. I envied my daughter’s ability not to appear humiliated even when covered in erotic body paint.

I was left with the impossible task of jogging non-stop for class time. My knees and ankles were already hurting, and my tits were bouncing from side to side and bruising when they slapped back together. My ass cheeks were slapping together. I felt like I couldn’t squeeze my butt cheeks together tightly after being painted. My muscles were just too relaxed.

I had a fine sheen of sweat starting to coat my body as I controlled my breathing and maintained a slow yet steady pace. I watched out of the corner of my eye as my daughter ignored me and laughed with her friends.

I wondered if Julie was secretly embarrassed by my presence, and that is why she sent me to run around the gym instead of remaining with her. She may have wanted to just hang out with her friends. My mind wandered to the “World’s Worst Mom” topic again, and I tortured myself with thoughts about Julie, saying, “I learned everything that I know from you.”

What if I clearly didn’t know what I was doing? It’s fine for me to make a mistake, but had I set Julie up to fail by basing her ideas on me? Was she even serious when she made that comment? I was essentially asking myself if I was a bad role model and coming to the conclusion that, of course, I was. The question now in my mind was if I had influenced Julie down a path she shouldn’t be on.

I had nothing to do but think as I jogged the perimeter. Even though it appeared my daughter wasn’t watching, she always managed to shock me just when I slowed to a stop to catch my breath. Sweat was literally cascading off of my butt cheeks by the time the class was finished.