Class 3A

Her heels clicked on the sidewalk, almost in time with the rapid beating of her heart. A late winter wind thrust icy fingers up her bare legs, and even protected by her long coat she could feel the cold air licking at her bare abdomen and the small of her back. This was ridiculous — the wind-chill had to be in the teens, and she had worn her new shorts and sexy little crop top out of the store as though destined for a midsummer boat ride, not a blustery winter afternoon.

Bad judgment, but then she had exercised bad judgment all morning. A cab ride to an uptown boutique called Classic Pleasures placed her in front of a scrumptious array of flirty garments. Charles wanted her to dress up for him in the bedroom, she reasoned; he'd been begging her to do it for months. She had been blessed with the ideal body to enliven these slinky little outfits, and just think of his pleasure when he found her curves all gift-wrapped on their honeymoon night. After wriggling her perfect parts into countless things, she bought a lacey bustier and seamed nylons with matching garters, as well as a deep violet fishnet bodystocking. Plus two pair of crotchless panties. And leather wrist restraints.

At another store she added a pair of super short shorts and a little nothing of a crop top, things she could wear to look fabulous outside of the bedroom. I'm going to Thailand and Indonesia on my honeymoon, she kept telling herself. How many women would look this good wearing so little? I want my husband to feel lucky, and proud. I want to look all sexy for Charles, I want him to see my legs and bare waist all oiled and shining in the bright sunlight. I want him to see my fabulous breasts almost bursting out of this tiny little top, there for him to squeeze like a pair of ripe tropical fruit.

But her reasoning was false and she knew it. Almost the whole time she shopped, in her mind she saw Pierce West's eyes widening in appreciation of her fine form, as well as Joel and Giuseppe and the stacked model. A veritable menagerie of phantom suitors, all salivating over her minimally covered body. With her brain full of ghosts and treacherous desires, she couldn't fool herself, not really. If she found herself in the tropics with Charles right now, she'd probably be plotting some secret tryst with a bellhop or the pool boy, or even some hot-bodied waitress at the hotel bar.

And the wrist restraints... What was that all about? What on earth did she intend to do with them, tie Charles' wrists to their bedposts? Or were the restraints for her? But Charles would never... No. They had nothing to do with Charles, she knew that deep down. Which meant... something unthinkable.

She arrived in front of Pierce's studio building, the wind whipping at her drawing pad, her hands clutching tight to keep things together. She looked at her watch. Twenty minutes early. Too early to go inside, even with the cold?

"Catherine!" someone called. "Hey!"

She recognized the voice. Joel. Oh my. It wasn't too hard to guess why he might be anxious for class to begin.

He greeted her with a smile and even a little hug. Catherine felt nervous around him — perhaps it was his secret rendezvous with the yesterday's model, or because she feared that he would ask what she had in her shopping bag. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way the hug made her nipples tingle with a delicious intensity. She tried to present a calm front but caught herself assessing him in an inappropriate way, taking his measure with her body as much as her eyes. Joel was a tall, nice looking and engaging kid, it really wasn't hard to see why the model had found him attractive. Especially with that bulge tenting the crotch of his pants yesterday.

Stop thinking like that! she silently admonished herself. They went inside together and she stared at the ceiling while waiting for the elevator. But then, as though the silence was unbearable, she heard an unnecessary comment falling out of her mouth, about how hot Pierce kept the drawing studio and how she'd dressed this time with the high temperature in mind. They chatted about their drawings as they rode to the fourth floor, and she could see Joel trying to judge what she might be wearing under her long coat. It almost made her laugh, but it also made her wonder about her motivations. Had she alluded to her skimpy attire to ease Joel's shock at the moment of her unveiling, or was she deliberately teasing him?

She felt totally confused as she and Joel entered the drawing studio together. Catherine's thighs began to quiver the moment she saw Pierce, her vagina responding to him as though her masturbatory fantasies had actually taken place. It was all she could do to refrain from whipping her coat open, as though to expose her sexy new outfit with all the theatricality of a superhero posing in their tights. She chewed on her bottom lip and mumbled a breathy greeting, then hung back at the far end of the room, wetly brooding as the other students trickled in.

She overheard bits of conversations. A middle-aged woman, Claire, told Ben how she had reached out to her rebellious daughter, trying to repair a family wound that had festered for years. A man the same age spoke about his battle with depression since being laid off from his accounting job, and how he had just bought a guitar, his early success in this drawing class giving him the courage to try another thing he'd always wanted to do. Snippets of ordinary life, and bully for her classmates and their collective discoveries. While they were hugging their families and taking up instruments when they weren't in drawing class, she was falling prey to the wishes of her newly discovered inner whore, who wanted to collect soft porn paintings and engage in wee hours phone sex.

And wear inappropriate clothing. What had she been thinking, dressing like this? What would the other students think? She had worn a sexy outfit yesterday, but this was different. This was pure show-off material, a declarative body-slam. The shorts were obscenely tiny, and the deep "V" neckline of her crop top showed more cleavage than most lingerie. She was ultra-desirable and she knew it, but she had never been a show-off, not like this. Today she looked like an outright fuck-toy. And here in this bag... Quietly, without drawing any attention, her right hand sneaked into the bag, her fingers wanting to touch the fine material of the bustier, and the stockings, and the fishnet bodystocking...

She sighed, loudly, and prayed that no one heard. Her reaction to the things in her bag made her suspect that she was lying to herself again. Did she enjoy exhibiting her body more than she had realized? Several memories surfaced all at once, occasions when she had dressed all sexy just to create a stir in someone's pants. She had attended an all-girl school from grades six to twelve, diminishing her chances to tease boys with her developing body. But in the summers, at the pool or vacationing at the beach... And she remembered wearing a skirt of completely inappropriate length to an uncle's funeral when she was seventeen, just to torture a younger cousin who'd always had a crush on her.

And much more recently — hadn't she dressed to tease when meeting William Lafort for coffee that last time? William had been the loser in the contest for her hand; he was an editor at Elle who had done everything he could to steal her affections away from Charles. She'd allowed things to go as far as heavy petting at his apartment one night; but it was their final meeting that she was thinking of now, the coffee shop send-off when she informed William that Charles had proposed, and she had accepted. She had deliberately dressed in her shortest, tightest dress and a push-up bra that morning, just to leave a painful picture in William's mind, a clear impression of the gorgeous body he would never have the chance to awaken to in the morning.

How... cruel. She should call him some time, to apologize. But there were so many instances of bad behavior like that if she wanted to be honest about it, going all the way back to childhood. She'd always been extremely pretty. She'd even known at an early age that her ballet training was sculpting her body in ways that would pay sexual dividends as she matured. Had she always been a bit of an exhibitionist and a cock-tease? Had she always been willing to use her sexuality to gain attention or inflict wounds, without ever admitting that to herself?

Pierce's voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts. He asked the class to gather in a seated circle again, and she finally joined her fellow students, choosing to keep her coat on. She felt hot and distracted in every sense of both words, and she trembled in her chair, secretly torn between wishing to hide and wanting to show the whole class how lovely and sexy she looked.

Pierce addressed them, saying that he was so pleased with the drawings they had presented at the end of yesterday's class. They had all progressed in ways that should excite them to no end. And today, in this third class, they had reached the mid-point of their instruction.

"Today's class is crucial," he stated, pacing back and forth within the interior of their circle. "Perhaps you will have no interest in continuing to draw once this short course is over, and that is absolutely fine. At this point, drawing should be seen as an experiment that could grow into a passion one day, and you'll know in time whether the passion is there. But as I've tried to convey from the very beginning, the openness you show in this class is a metaphor for the manner in which you approach other aspects of your lives. We carry our true selves with us everywhere we go. We can choose our paths to some extent, navigating life's joys and sorrows, but there is no escape from the fundamental attitudes with which we meet our particular circumstances. If we grasp what we really want right here in this classroom, then we can also expect to grasp our dreams elsewhere. And if we shy away from success here, the same principal will hold true in our other endeavors."

Catherine listened, her gaze affixed to Pierce's lean body and the confidence expressed in every short stride. Oh God, I'd like to grasp that, she thought. She felt overheated sitting there in her long coat. Her body trembled and her legs kept fidgeting, because she wanted to... Oh fuck, she wasn't sure what she wanted to do. She wanted to run from the classroom and never come back, and yet she also wanted to push Pierce to the floor and straddle him, dangling her tits in front of his face. And she wanted to take Joel's hand and escort him to the rest room and swallow his hard cock, whether he taught her how to do it well or not. And she wanted to slip into the neighboring room, to see if the athletic model with the huge boobs was waiting there. And if she was...

"Last class I had you draw rapidly and almost blindly," Pierce went on. "There wasn't sufficient time for you to plot your next move, everything had to come together so quickly. The challenge gave you the freedom to arrive at unexpected destinations, your 'inner selves' making choices for you, choices which, once allowed, you then had to struggle with in some way. And you've succeeded admirably, all of you, you've come quite far. But is it far enough? It is very human to say at this point, 'That's enough, I've already accomplished more than I thought I could. I've dug very deep and now I can just coast, there is no reason to push any farther.'

And that is exactly why this third class is so crucial. You have accomplished so much, but there is much more that can be achieved. Scratching the surface is not the same as digging deep, and perhaps we cannot even imagine what talents remain unexplored, what abilities still lie dormant. You must continue to push the limits, and today's class will be structured to assist you in that regard. The degree of complexity will be raised, and my hope is that you will respond to the greater challenges ahead. I am asking you to continue on this journey of discovery, with even more fire, and more initiative. When presented with greater obstacles, can you continue to push forward? Can you not only be open, but remain open? Can we all push ahead today, even farther than before?"

The class almost erupted in their acceptance of Pierce's challenge. Catherine, however, remained silent. Pierce was a great motivational speaker, as good or better than any of her old dance instructors. She recognized the tone of voice, the same appeal to excellence that had motivated her to practice pliés and arabesques nearly every day for so many years, making her body strong and supple, her dance routines precise and graceful. But even knowing the old motivational tricks, she was moved by Pierce's words. And shaken, too — the lecture and the heat in the room had conspired against her. She felt beads of sweat forming all over her body, and even worse, it was monsoon season between her legs. It was impossible to sit still and she almost cried out with relief when her drawing teacher asked them to close their eyes for another of his guided meditations.

Yes, oh yes, she must relax and listen, and follow the breath, and go so very deep. And yes, she would allow this voice to enter her being in a wholly new way, slipping through all of the cracks in her defenses. Her breathing was going in and out, in and out, a steady rhythm that would take her so deep, and open her so wide. She would long for this in/out rhythm. She would crave it. Her body's senses would become more acute, every sensation heightened, and she would flow in the steady stream of this sound, following the breath and following the instructions, allowing them to permeate her mind and her flesh, allowing them to become one with her deepest desires.

Yes, she wanted to learn, she was dying to learn. She wanted her body to become so talented, and indefatigable. Her appreciation of the human body was growing every second. Her appreciation for her own body and its capabilities was growing every second, and this appreciation thrilled and excited her. Her body's natural talents were unfolding, with energy slipping into every crack and crevice, permeating every cell and every pore.

Her ability to see was widening; aspects of her body's needs that had always felt vague were coming into sharp focus. And yes, there were repercussions stemming from the increase in her perceptions and abilities. Choices had already been made that confused her; decisions were being arrived at that seemed out of character. These situations were disorienting, not because they were false or unreal, but because her truest desires had been hidden from her perceptions until now. Feeling the truth was like playing with fire, so perilous, yet so thrilling. Seeing the truth was a hard thing, but she desired hard things, and she would pursue them. Her desire for truth was like an engine, like a hot furnace, like an unstoppable current sucking her ever forward towards her goals...

And yes, oh God yes, the next instructions were for her and her alone, for Catherine. She was special and completely deserving of special instructions. The rest of the class would feel inspiration and the desire to achieve their truest goals, but she was different, she had so much potential, so much potential to achieve unimaginable pleasures if she could only move forward to grasp what she wanted.

And she would be drawn forward. She might manage to avoid certain confrontations for a brief time, but there was no escape. Doubts and fears would surface, and she would navigate these emotions, always being drawn forward. She might feel impulsive or wicked or even unhinged, and these were the times for her ordinary mind to step aside, to let things flow. Part of her might wish to stop, might even tell her to stop — but she would not stop, she would not stop, she could not stop...

Yes, she had come, she had come so far, but her journey was not completed. Halfway was not far enough; even the half-filled glass aches to be completely filled. The human body, like a glass, is a beautiful vessel, and all vessels ache to be filled. There were depths within her that had never been probed, and nothing could be more exciting than having these secret places finally touched. Until she was completely filled, she could never stop aching, and longing, and needing...

The need was explosive, so powerful that she would doubt its reality. And yet all doubts, all questioning, all hesitations or confusion or resistance — they were merely forms of inner friction, creating a fire of longing that would consume her and drive her forward. She had already begun to taste the energy of this friction, the thrilling clash of the "yes" and the "no". The inner friction was liquid, it permeated her body and her emotions, providing a volatile fuel that would take her on journeys far beyond any place she had gone before.

And the journey began today. Desires tugged at her and she must follow. She could run but she could not hide from the desires, they permeated her being and permeated her flesh — there could be no escape. The possibility of explosive creativity lay before her and she would not let this day slip by without tasting it, no matter the cost. She would taste it today, she must taste it today. Oh God, yes, she would taste explosive fulfillment, and freedom, and love it, no matter what...

Catherine bathed herself in the words, in the tone of Pierce's voice. She was special, oh yes she was so special, with so much to give. And she would feel special, her beautiful body remembering these words for her, responding to the instructions, irresistibly drawing her forward. These words bathed her heated flesh in warm, sweet sound, the vibrations permeated her beautiful body, creating and sustaining a glistening sheen of desire that she could never overcome. She could try to resist but she would not stop, she could not stop...

Floating, breathing, sensing, feeling so inspired and so special... She gradually became aware that the other students were moving, beginning to claim easels and arrange themselves in the room. She blinked her eyes open, her body so hot and wet, so ready for anyone... anything, that might come next. Rather absently, she stood and found an easel for herself, and positioned her drawing pad upon it. And then, without hesitancy or ceremony, she removed her long coat and draped it on the back of a nearby chair.

She always felt so alive after Pierce's little meditations. She was both energized and relaxed, a remarkable combination of feelings. The specifics of his motivational techniques remained a mystery — she wouldn't be able to recall his exact words if her life depended on it — but she might be willing to say that the man was a genius when it came to motivational speaking, because she always felt so brave and determined after spending a few minutes listening to his voice. And it wasn't only about drawing — she had been a wreck a few minutes ago, fearing her classmates' judgment about her recent clothing purchases. And sure, they were all staring at her, how could they help it? She had such an ideal body and they were scrutinizing every detail. She felt eyes affixed to her firm bare waist, to the awe-inspiring curvature of her ass and thighs. Every little jiggle of her breasts felt like an earthquake between her legs, her every movement being studied as she adjusted the height of her easel. And let them stare and lust — she welcomed it. The hard truth was that she was almost indescribably hot, and they got hot over her being so hot, and that just made her feel hotter.