Posted by Fluidity on August 01, 1998 at 07:34
The Legacy
Fawn was proud of her body; proud of her modest but well-shaped breasts, her slender waist, her tight but ample ass, her petite build. She had a cute smile, bright blue eyes, and jet black hair cut short as was the fashion. Fawn dressed conservatively, though always with an eye to showing herself off. She loved the practice of wearing a white blouse with the top buttons unbuttoned allowing for her breasts nestled in her push-up bra to become randomly exposed as her body swayed and the wind blew. She loved her femininity.
And after three years at state university with little spare cash she was much relieved to find a regular source of income with hours that did not interfere with her studies. A fellow student had told her that the art department was always looking for models and Fawn was quickly hired for three nights a week from 9PM to 11PM for the life modeling class, required of all second year art students.
It was not difficult work, especially for Fawn who had dabbled in meditation and the like, and hence did not mind having to hold a pose for an hour before a five minute break and then another 55 minutes. She found the time well spent sorting out her various awkward relationships that she had fallen into. She sat and contemplated the attitude that would best work to keep the various guys that were always after her interested but not a nuisance.
Thursday evening was always the problem as she had an 6PM Shakespeare seminar with Dr. Jocobson, the world famous author and fabulous lecturer. Fawn always loved his classes and usually wanted to hang around and listen to the conversation that followed the class. But that usually caused her to rush to her modeling job. She did not want to keep the twenty-seven art majors waiting for her.
That fateful Thursday in May was destined to be one of those that Fawn would never forget. It began with a regular day's worth of classes leading to the only time for a quick late afternoon snack before Jacobson's Shakespeare seminar. She was the object of attention of three of her boy friends who each wanted to impress her with their solicitousness. Thus she ended up downing her sandwich with a large lemonade, a coffee, and a double-espresso. The boys also made her late for her seminar which was a spine-chilling lecture on "A Winter's Tale," one of those plays that Fawn had never appreciated until now.
All through that lecture she was sipping her bottled water that she took everywhere with her. But Fawn was in another world, hanging on every word from Dr. Jacobson. Fawn never even noticed the involuntary swaying of her legs, the wiggling back and forth of her buns which kept a problem her body was having from ever entering her consciousness. The lecture was so moving and uplifting that she sat in her front row seat and silently listened to Dr. Jacobson after class answer the several students that came up to discuss points made in the lecture.
Suddenly she glanced up at the clock and saw in horror that it was three minutes after six and she was already late to her modeling class. This shock took over her entire body and the adrenaline spurred her to instant action. She grabbed her books, crammed them into her backpack, picked up her bottle of water and raced out of the class, sweating with guilt from her lack of attention to the time.
The art class was two flights up from the seminar and she raced up those steps frantically. She was gasping for air when she dashed into the art class, and tried to mumble an apology to the waiting students. She flew behind the screen and tore off her blouse, unhooked her bra, unzipped her jeans and pulled them and her briefs down in one motion.
She didn't notice during this disrobing her body swaying from one foot to the other during this frantic activity, didn't notice her thighs involuntarily rhythmically pressing together. She didn't notice any of this as she grabbed her robe and mounted the pedestal where she was to sit for an hour.
"Position three, Fawn Dear," sung out the smarmy voice of professor Twittersham. Fawn often felt that Twittersham stared with something other than artistic objectivity as he paced through the class and stared at Fawn, comparing her sight to the efforts of the students.
Fawn took up position three, one that had been taught her when she was given the job. It was one she didn't feel quite comfortable with because it exposed her sex to the entire class, but, she resigned herself, this was the purpose of the pose, to give the students an opportunity to paint the entire body. The position had her reclining back against a large pillow; her left leg was flat on the rug jutting out from her body about 45 degrees; it was bent at the knee with her left heel a few inches away from her pussy; her right leg was upright but bent at the knee with her foot flat on the rug. Fawn's left hand was back behind her head while her right hand was resting on her stomach. It was, indeed, a very exposed position. Fawn usually tried to forget her pussy being on display to everyone and imagined the students' attention was focused on her beautiful breasts.
It was only after she assumed this position, took several deep breaths, relaxed, and began deciding to which of her several problems she would devote this hour that her predicament became apparent to her. The realization of this predicament was so startling and unexpected, so beyond her comprehension, so mortifying, that she gave out an audible, "Oh!" which everyone in the class could hear. Fawn was bursting for a piss. She was so full she couldn't believe it.
She frantically thought back to why she didn't take care of this primal urge earlier. She remembered the long fascinating lecture and how mesmerized she was. She remembered the busy snack she had with those three guys she keeps juggling, none of whom she can decide between, and so wants to keep around until more data becomes available. She remembers having to rush to the seminar. She remembers all of this and still could not believe that she was so successful in repressing her need so completely for so long a time.
Fawn quickly assessed her situation. As she did so she became very flushed with fear and embarrassment for she was in a desperate situation. Her bladder needed immediate attention and she was in no position to relieve it. She was not permitted to move for an hour. Her breath became very deep and she could feel herself sweating profusely.
She carefully gave her sphincter muscles a squeeze and it was very painful. They were in agony having held back the flood for such a long time. Fawn glanced down at her bush but she couldn't see anything from this position. She carefully tightened her lower stomach muscles but this too was very uncomfortable for he bladder was so distended.
Fawn tried to think of other times she had gotten through desperate times like this. She had been trapped in long car rides with her family. Her Father refused to take bathroom breaks except every two hours and this frequently caught her in a very bad way. She had been on a few high school bus rides to or from football games where she had badly misjudged how long she could wait. There were a few movies where she foolishly sipped a jumbo coke and then had to squirm in agony to see the thrilling conclusion. The lines at the toilet were horrible but she always made it.
How could she make it this time. She didn't see how. All these thoughts raced through her mind in a few moments and she saw no way out. The humiliation of breaking pose was something that was simply not done; one prepared for these sessions and no excuses were permitted. If she stood up and told Dr. Twittersham she must visit the ladies, she would be fired on the spot, and she needed this money.
The only thing was to hold her water, but how could she? She could not wiggle or fidget; she could not grab her crotch; she could not buck her ass up and down; she could not press her thighs together, certainly not in this position; Fawn could do nothing except lie there and hold on.
Just then the pressure rose and she was frantic. She closed her eyes and held her sphincters tight, holding her breath for a long moment, then berating deeply when the pressure lightened. She felt the sweat trickle down between her breasts, from under her arms, down her neck. Fawn was hurting badly and she knew she must lose this battle. An hour was too long to wait.
Not more than a minute later the pressure came back stronger. That water she had sipped all through Jacobson's class was finally making its way through her body and there was no room for it. She tried the same tactic but her sphincters were too tired. She held her breath and strained with all her might. They tightened as the pressure rose but they could not remain tightened long enough. Fawn felt with horror that she was about to piss. As her sphincters failed she felt a sudden gush of piss that flew out of her urethra like a fire hose. It landed on the rug just at the base of her left heel. She felt the warmth of her piss under he heel.
That gush lasted about a half-second and Fawn clamped down again, but only for another moment. A second, stronger gush sped out of her body and landed on her heel. It would have tickled her if she were not so mortified at the display she was making. This second stream lasted no longer than the first; it was simply forcing its way out under higher pressure. There was a third gush and Fawn feared that it would never end. She imagined lying there squirting piss for two minutes for she had no idea how to stop this from happening. Her body was not obeying her. She had waited too long and was paying the price.
But this third stream was shorter and weaker than the second, even than the first. Fawn clamped down with all her might and there was no fourth gush of piss onto the rug or her heel. She was holding the rest of the flood back. She wondered how long it would be until this happened again, but she didn't really want to think about that.
She slowly opened her eyes which had been tightly shut during her three squirts of hot piss onto the rug. There continued to be strange silence in the room as everyone was painting and staring at her.
She couldn't believe no one had noticed. She looked closely as Chuck Buck sitting on his stool in the first row. There was something about him that was different; he, too, was breathing more deeply than she had ever seen him. And she then saw his boner trying to burst through his pants. He was as aroused as a hound dog. Fawn glanced at the other men in the class and every one of them appeared either to be as stiff as a rod or to have positioned themselves so it was not obvious.
But it was the women that fascinated Fawn. They were all fidgeting, wiggling their thighs together or moving their asses just the way she did when she wanted to get herself off. These women were all masturbating because of her three gushing arcs of piss. And everyone, men and women, were painting furiously, as if under control of some demonic agent.
Twittersham, who had his back to Fawn when she let go her gushers, tried to turn each of the students back toward more controlled, classical painting, but it was a losing cause. The artists were inspired and Twittersham finally realized it and stopped trying to contain them. He was frankly staggered by the inspiration he saw before him and knew he could not advise it; it was beyond his ability.
This scene of the frantic, inspired artists, so captured Fawn's imagination that she was able to hold her bladder until the hour break.
However, when Twittersham called for the break, Fawn had to arise from her lying position, and stand up. This was quite beyond the capability of her sphincters. As soon as she bent upright her sphincters gave way with another mighty gush, and as she arose the stream would not stop.
Fawn stood there stark naked in front of the class and pissed a staggeringly intense stream for fifty-seven seconds as the students stared in amazed fascination.
When she stopped she received a standing ovation which quite took the horror and mortification from her mind. Fawn's body had become the most mesmerizing sight that any of those student artists would see for the rest of their lives; most of them soon gave up art entirely, suffering from an inability to recapture the inspiration of Fawn's display.
Sadly, none of the work created that inspiring evening was displayed to the public for over seventy years, as it was judged way beyond the contemporary standards of decency. Instead "The Fawn Legacy," as it came to be known, was scattered among many private collectors and was little known except to the most specialized scholars.
A group show bringing together half of The Fawn Legacy was not achieved until the hundredth anniversary of Fawn's singular achievement. But what that lead to is another story.
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