I blinked slowly, my mind still caught on the fabric dangling from her pocket as she neatly pivoted onto the next little humiliation. But I was determined to see this through, so I slowly forced my knees apart, sliding my feet along the floor until they were wide enough to show her exactly what she wanted to see.
She gave a low whistle of appreciation and approval. Which was easily the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to me, seeing as my pussy was absolutely drenched. I knew from, well, ‘experience’ that the entire area around my spread labia was slick and shiny with my arousal. She looked like she was going to lick her lips, staring so intently at me. Then she did lick her lips, and the implication made me weak. Finally she spoke to me, “Did you shave just for me? I could have sworn I saw some short ‘n curlies in some of the drawings from earlier.”
I’d thought I was out of blood to blush with, but I think I set a new record when she asked me that. I covered my face with my hands, mortified that she had realized. I knew that she was just teasing me, but not answering her felt wrong, somehow, so I nodded without moving my hands.
She laughed, a short, sweet sound that held none of the teasing tone I’d expected. I peaked through my fingers to find her smiling at me with a warmth that almost seemed discordant with the the joy she took at my discomfort. She saw my eyes, and responded by placing a hand on my knee to give it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s almost too bad. I think the piece could’ve used a subtle reminder that the point is your pleasure, not the viewers. But I can always add some hair if I think it adds to the message.” She squeezed my knee again, then sat back to put her sketchbook on her knees and ready her pencil. “Is this a comfortable position for you, or do you have a different way to get yourself off? I want you to be comfortable, not try to look good. I’ll worry about that part.”
I thought about it for a moment. I’d never really put much thought into the positions I chose when I was masturbating. It wasn’t so much something I set out to do as something I ended up doing when I was alone in bed and the mood struck me. I thought back to the last few times I’d felt the need, but I really had no idea what positions I’d been in. There was one common factor I could think of, though, “Um, do you- is there a pillow I can use? Or, um, ideally, more than one?”
She considered that carefully for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “I think I make that work. Unless you plan to grind on one, because I do not recommend putting your bits on the still life pillow. We only have one though.”
She hopped to her feet, then off the stage. It was a short jog over to one of the various cabinets to dig around for the aforementioned pillow. While she dug, a thought occurred to me and I slowly rolled to my feet. I walked over to where I’d left my dress, retrieving it and folding it into a little pad I could use to rest my head on. It wasn’t as thick as I might like, but we were improvising. By the time she got back with the awful yellow velvet throw pillow, I was already back in position under the spotlight. I took the pillow, choosing to ignore the mysterious stains, and put it between my knees before rolling onto my side and curling them just enough to keep me steady.