Only One Naked

  Only One Naked

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  ONLY ONE NAKED

  by

  CASSIE CAINE

  Copyright 2011 Cassie Caine. All rights reserved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MAISIE AND THE ARTISTS

  “Do you have any books on the female nude?”

  The speaker was a tall, striking girl with short blonde hair. Her ringing, confident tones seemed to reach into every corner of the bookshop.

  Maisie blinked at her from behind her desk.

  “Um ...” It was how she began every sentence: “Um.” But some “ums” she meant more than others. After a week, she still didn't know her way around her aunt's rather sprawling shop. Aunt Barbara had been very ill and was now convalescing in a gite in Normandy. Maisie had been drafted in as her temporary replacement.

  She stood up, a slender, 22-year-old, medium height, with straight red hair, pale skin and large, soft eyes and mouth. Summer had gotten off to a broiling start, and there was no air-conditioning in the bookshop, so Maisie was dressed in a brief cotton frock that ended well above the knee and left her shoulders and back bare. Something about the way the girl had said “female nude” made her smooth the meagre garment down over her hips nervously.

  “Um, maybe the fine art section? Or photography?”

  Maisie led the way, still patting at her dress, which showed a lot of creamy thigh. The photography section was tucked away on a top shelf. Murmuring excuses to the other customers, Maisie manhandled her aunt's recalcitrant wooden stepladder into place.

  Then she paused. Her frock only just covered her lovely round backside. What would happen if she mounted the steps? It would be dreadful if she accidentally showed her knickers. On the other hand, she was eager to be of help. Almost a year after graduating with a degree in English, she still hadn't settled on a proper job, and she was hoping Aunt Barbara might keep her on if she did well. With another tug at her dress, she climbed the steps.

  By the time she was high enough to reach the photography books, her thighs were on a level with the blonde girl's face. The girl was standing close, watching curiously, apparently not at all bothered by the occasional glimpses of underwear she was most likely getting. On the contrary, Maisie had a feeling the girl was enjoying herself.

  Brushing away these anxieties, Maisie read along the row of dusty spines, looking for suitable titles. She spotted one and had to reach on tiptoe for it.

  While she was at full stretch, she heard the girl say:

  “Mmm! This is up there with pole-dancing!”

  Maisie was so startled, she almost lost her balance.

  “As a workout,” the girl continued smoothly. “All this climbing and stretching. It must really tone you up.”

  “Um, I suppose.” Maisie scuttled down the stepladder and handed over the book. She felt very hot, and not just because of her exertions. The girl had unsettled her.

  “Oh yeah, this is very cool,” said the girl. “These are original Victorian nudes. And what I really like, the plates haven't been retouched.” Seeing that Maisie had no idea what she meant, she explained, “Photographers often painted out the offending parts.”

  She turned the book around so Maisie could see. Maisie found herself looking at a pale, plump model from long ago with lots of frizzy hair on top and between her legs.

  “Stunning bush,” said the girl loudly.

  “Um ...” said Maisie.

  The next week, she was back.

  “Hi, remember me? I was wondering if you could put this flier in your window.”

  She handed over a photocopied sheet. It was an ad for a female life model to work on Wednesday evenings at the university. Contact Nicole.

  “Dunno if I mentioned, I teach life drawing at the uni. I agreed to run this extra evening class for a few of my students, but none of the regular models wants the gig. What a hassle.”

  So the blonde, Nicole, was an artist. That explained a lot. And she taught life drawing. Maisie knew what life drawing was. It was where artists drew the naked human body.

  She read through the advertisement again. Nowhere did the word 'nude' appear. Nor, for that matter, 'naked', 'starkers,' 'bare-arse', or any other synonyms that leapt to mind. “Just in case anyone asks, this is, er – the model will have to be – ?”

  Maisie couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

  Nicole didn't seem to hear. “You will put it in your window, yeah? It's really urgent. Don't forget.”

  With that, she waved a brisk goodbye and hurried off. Maisie read the flier again. The model would definitely be nude for a life drawing class, she was sure of that. Maisie admired the way nudity wasn't explicitly mentioned. It was as though Nicole thought it was hardly worth bringing up. Yep, you'll have to strip naked for a bunch of strangers and parade around so they can see your bits. What of it? Besides, anyone phoning up in the hope of modelling in clothes would soon be browbeaten by Nicole into getting their kit off. Nicole, even on brief acquaintance, had that kind of overpowering personality.

  Maisie tried to picture the sort of individual who would answer the ad. You would have to be a nudist. Or an exhibitionist. Or a masochist. A bit of a pervert anyway. The artists drawing you would know you were a perv, and so would Nicole. They'd look down on you even as they scrutinized your tender parts. Entertaining herself with these thoughts, Maisie succumbed to a warm, drowsy glow.

  A few days later, Nicole reappeared, far from her usual buoyant self.

  “Please, please, tell me you've had some inquiries.”

  “About the flier? Sorry, no, not a sausage. Anyway, they would have phoned you, not talked to me. Why, haven't you heard anything?”

  “Nothing. And the class is tonight.” She looked more furious than anxious.

  “Couldn't one of the students model?”

  Nicole conveyed with a pained expression that she didn't think much of that idea. Her students, Maisie guessed, were probably too wonderful and talented to demean themselves by modelling. As she stood there, scowling out of the window, Nicole looked so very beautiful, so sculpted and chiselled and blonde and perfect, Maisie was tempted to suggest that she should be the one on the podium. But she knew Nicole wouldn't like that idea either.

  “Does the model have to be, um, nude? I wouldn't mind helping out if I could wear a bikini or something.”

  Maisie blurted out the question, surprising herself. As soon as it was out there, she felt a blend of relief and pure, stark terror. She stared at Nicole anxiously, fully expecting the lean, athletic blonde to drag her from her chair and rush her to the studio there and then.

  “In a bikini? No, don't worry, I'll find someone. Thanks!” Nicole began making her way to the door.

  Experiencing a strange lurch in her stomach, Maisie jumped up from behind her desk. Catching up with Nicole at the gardening section, she whispered, “Maybe … what if I wore a thong and covered my breasts with my hands?”

  “Wouldn't do,” said Nicole sadly. “Thongs look so cheap. They spoil the whole effect.”

  “I couldn't go nude,” whispered Maisie. “I'd be embarrassed.”

  “What for? It's nothing to be ashamed of. You'd only be displaying what nature's given you, and you'd be helping talented young artists. And I'm sure you'd enjoy it.”

  What a hypocrite. Maisie could just picture Nicole's expression if someone asked her to go nude. Why am I even trying to help? she wondered. The last thing she wanted was to exhibit herself to a bunch of complete strangers. The idea filled her with dread. It made her sick to her stomach. It would be totally, utterly humiliating.

  “Alright,” said Maisie, “no thong. I'll go nude.”

  At seven that evening,
Maisie walked along the high street of the small, pretty university town which would be her home for the next few months while she tended Aunt Barbara's shop. It was a gorgeous evening. Other girls were abroad, dressed, like her, in light summer frocks. But most of them, she guessed, were wearing underwear.

  Maisie wasn't. Nicole had told her to remove all undergarments at least two hours before the session, so there would be no marks on her skin. It was a wise precaution. Maisie's skin was particularly fine and delicate. Now, the balmy twilit air was washing under her skirt, over her bare, shaven pussy, a constant reminder that she was almost naked now, and would be completely naked very soon.

  Her shaven pussy … This was something that hadn't crossed her mind until an hour ago, and now she could scarcely think of anything else. Her pussy was completely bald. She liked it that way – usually. But now she was terrified of exposing it to view. If only there was some magical, hair-growing cream she could apply for an instant bush.

  Still, it would probably be OK, so long as she pressed her knees together and kept a hand down there at all times … or would that look like she was, you know … oh, God.

  Shaking with fear, Maisie entered the handsome sandstone building which housed the university art department. She followed Nicole's directions to the classroom.

  It was a large, grimy space with a glazed office in one corner, a dais made of wooden boxes down one end and a confusion of easels at the other. Maisie felt a glimmer of relief. If she and the students were at opposite ends, it wouldn't be quite so intimidating. Maybe she could pose facing the wall, so all they would see was her back and bottom.

  A couple of students were milling around. They were all girls. Maisie caught the eye of a tall, full-bodied girl who looked as if she knew things.

  “Is Nicole here?”

  “Office. Are you the model?”

  With a blush, Maisie admitted she was.

  The girl looked pleased, but said nothing. Instead, she pointed towards the wood and glass box in the corner, sending Maisie on her way.

  “You're here. Sweet.” Nicole's manner was brisk and not especially friendly, as though their relationship had cooled into a professional one now Maisie had agreed to model. “I'm afraid the model's changing room is locked, so if you could find yourself a corner here ...”

  She gesticulated vaguely towards a little wooden chair among the clutter of brushes, stubs of crayons and heaps of drawings. Maisie would have preferred somewhere private, but felt too fatigued with nerves to argue. She crossed to the chair and put down her bag, glancing apprehensively out of the window at the classroom, which now contained a dozen or so tall, noisy girls.

  “Are all the artists girls?”

  Nicole nodded. She seemed to find the question boring.

  Maisie nodded back, waiting for Nicole to leave, so she could change. Then, realizing that the beautiful blonde intended to stay, she turned and slid the frock off her shoulders.

  “You'll find they look at you all the time,” said Nicole as Maisie pulled on her robe. “Even between poses. All those beady eyes. Boring into your skin. Don't let it bother you. It's a good thing. Looking is their job.” She grinned. “That's a frisky little number.”

  Maisie peered down at herself, worrying. Not wanting to get one of her better robes grubby, she'd grabbed this one, which she hardly ever wore. Now she saw there was a reason she hardly ever wore it. It was tiny. If she stood bolt upright, it just about covered her bum cheeks at the back and her pussy at the front. Once she was in motion, it wouldn't conceal much at all.

  First, no pubic hair. Now, she didn't even have a decent robe. She began to feel overwhelmed.

  “Nicole,” she begged, “you will go easy on me, won't you?”

  Nicole's answer was to take her by the elbow and lead her outside, where the girls were talking loudly and clattering about with their easels. Maisie half-expected them to stop and stare. Instead, they carried on with what they were doing, determined to seem blasé about a near-naked female in their midst.

  They walked over to the dais. “Can you help me drag these wooden boxes into the centre?”

  For a moment, Maisie was surprised Nicole asked her rather than the students. Then she remembered that they were serious artists and probably above manual labour.

  Each of the boxes had a handle – a hole in the side – about halfway down. Nicole crouched, seized a box and started shifting it. Maisie followed suit. As she pulled, she felt her robe riding up at the back, and saw the tall, voluptuous student watching with interest.

  By the time she'd manoeuvred the heavy box to the centre of the room, her robe had almost come undone and she had to tighten the belt. Her exploits had caught the attention of everyone except Nicole, who was wrestling with her second box.

  Once all four boxes were in the centre, Nicole pushed them together to form a new dais. She told the students to arrange their easels in a circle around it.

  Maisie was struck with fear. This new arrangement meant there would be no place to hide. No corner to shield her sensitive bald pussy from the inquiring eyes of Nicole's talented artists. All those beady eyes, boring into your skin. Nicole was obviously determined to throw her in at the deep end.

  But just as quickly, the fear, the questions, gave way to resignation. She'd already accepted that her tits and arse would be on view this evening. The world wouldn't end if they saw her pussy as well.

  The students were ready and waiting. Nicole held out her hand for Maisie's robe. With a shallow, faltering breath, Maisie unfastened the belt and let Nicole pull the robe from her milky, trembling shoulders. She was naked. All of her. Her small breasts with their pale pink nipples. Her soft white stomach, her slender hips and thighs, the neat tuck of her pussy, that was growing moist and rosy as she stood there, hesitating.

  Feeling sick and excited at the same time, she squeezed between the easels. She had to take a big step up onto the dais; it gave the people behind, she was sure, a nice rear view of her pussy and little pink arsehole. Then she stood in the middle of the circle, feeling dizzy. The students' eyes were all over her, looking wherever they wanted, unapologetically. By stepping up on the dais, she had become their property.

  “This is Maisie's first time, so make the most of her while she's fresh. Now, which of you would like to direct the short poses? You, Clarissa?”

  The arm of the full-bodied girl had shot up like a rocket. Oh no, thought Maisie. Not her. Please not her. I don't like the way she looks at me. In fact, she didn't like the idea of any of the students directing the poses. Following Nicole's instructions was one thing. She was an adult, a professional, Maisie's age or older. She was so beautiful as well, not that that had anything to do with it. These students were younger than Maisie. It would be humiliating to be bossed around by them. She managed to keep her reaction off her face, but a nervous flutter ran up her tummy for all to see.

  Hurrying onto the dais, Clarissa loomed domineeringly. She was over six feet tall and big in proportion, with double D breasts and a round face with china doll features. Although Maisie wasn't especially short, she felt like a child next to her. Every inch of Clarissa's ample body was covered by her long-sleeved sweater and jeans. That only made Maisie feel even more naked.

  “I hope you're up for some dynamic poses.”

  Dynamic poses? thought Maisie in dismay. I don't like the sound of those. Her reservations were justified. A dynamic pose, she quickly learnt, meant one where her legs were open.

  Clarissa got Maisie to put one foot on the rung of a grubby, paint-flecked stool, then twist away, looking off over her shoulder, like someone who had been distracted from tying her shoelace by the sight of a ship on the horizon. The pose made Maisie's breasts go pert and upright. It lifted her pussy into view, prising the swelling outer lips apart for a glimpse of sugary inner folds.

  Satisfied, Clarissa hopped down to her easel and started sketching. Standing there in her absurd pose, Maisie felt small, exposed, humiliated and, after a few
minutes, in actual pain. She had cramps in her foot, her knee, her back and her poor little rump. Apparently another definition of a dynamic pose was one that crippled you after five minutes. I bet Clarissa wears out models by the dozen, she thought pitifully.

  The next pose had her on her knees, leaning forward on her elbows, as though she were reading a magazine spread out on the floor. She stared light-headed at the flaky surface of the dais. At least this way she didn't have to see the dozen young faces studying her. That was something to be grateful for. But the pose exposed her even more than before, pulling apart the cheeks of her backside and revealing the delicate swirl of her anus.

  The worst thing was, she could feel it puckering under the attention, sighing open like a rosebud awakened by the sun. It was bad enough that they could see every inch of her skin. Now her treacherous little hole was dilating, as though it wanted everyone to get a peek inside her body.

  What did it mean? God, was she enjoying this? Getting off on the humiliation and the exposure? Did she like the idea of being the toy of twelve other girls who were younger and smarter than her and all fully dressed? Did it secretly thrill her to know the beautiful Nicole was watching? Was that why there was this moist, warm feeling rising up from her pussy all the way to her throat? Was that why her nipples were as hard and painful as thorns? Did it excite her to be the only one naked?

  By the time Nicole called a break, Maisie's legs were shaking. Her mind felt like cotton wool and her robe was nowhere to be seen. Dizzily, she stumbled off the dais, straight into Clarissa.

  “I'd love to know what you think of my sketches.”

  Clarissa steered Maisie towards an easel. Feeling swamped by the big girl, Maisie stood with her breasts practically pressed against the propped-up drawing pad. Clarissa was right behind, one of her broad knees resting lightly against the cleft of Maisie's bottom. By now, Maisie was certain Clarissa's interest in her was more than just artistic, but she was too physically and emotionally done in to even think about extricating herself.