I was shaking. Ole Maxamillian Chidester was fluttering faster than a leaf on an October tree. We both looked down onto my belly. She’d used my navel for the nose. If she’d made the circle bigger my nipples could have been the eyes.

She said, “It needs something.”

My dick was indecisive. After all, we were in a classroom, not the great out of doors or a bedroom. Betty ran her hand lightly over my stomach. I’ve got lots of dark hair on my head, but not much on my belly. You know, the arrow that points to satisfaction was missing. Her fingers were making my cock’s mind up about growing. It leaped to an erection, shoving up the center line of my underwear and almost poking it’s red nosed snoot over the edge. Then it did. I looked up. Betty was staring. Her tongue moved across her lips, wetting them so they more glossy than her lipstick.

“My, we do have a problem, don’t we.”

“Yes, we do. Once this thing gets up, it’s hard to make it go down.”

“Once it’s hard, I bet I can make it go down.”

She swished her brush again and dipped into the black. In a few deft strokes she’d painted a caricature of me on my dickhead. Dark hair, big nose (at least I think it’s big) and a smile that went across the crown.

“This is no fair.” I was still shuddering from the tickling point of the brush.

“Can you paint any better?”

“Maybe, if I had a surface.”

She lifted her pink sweater with one hand and unbuttoned the neck with the other. Christ. She wasn’t wearing a bra. What a beautiful sight. What gorgeous tits. My cock eye drooled it’s appreciation.

Her dark brown hair was done in a kind of bun, I suppose to avoid gettin hairs in the paint or on the renderings. stared at her tits. What a canvas. I swished my brush clean in the by now muddy water and dipped into the bright red. I painted strawberries on her tits nubs. It was her turn to shudder.