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A demon fights for his mate.

She was given many of the preliminary sketches, and some of the finished ones, by the students. Madeleine, the professor in charge of the class, saw this as a way of keeping a good model, and the students were always chuffed if Mary asked for one of their drawings in particular. She kept them in her wardrobe in a growing folder.

Which was how come I had got to see these. I had finished work early one Thursday, and instead of going to see the kids, or drift off for a game of snooker, I had come home and got myself ready. It had been six weeks so I was hoping to steer her to a little bedroom action later. After a shower, I was picking through some shirts in the wardrobe when I noticed her portfolio folder, and thought "what the hell". I was not averse to jacking off to good material, and some of these really showed her looking sexy and mysterious enough that I could pretend it was whoever I wanted.

Thumbing through them, looking for one of my favourites, an A4 envelope slid out of the back. It felt heavy and fairly full as I picked it up off the floor, so slid out the enclosed papers, thinking it would be wage slips and the like. My hands shook as I stared at the first piece I held in my hand. It was a line drawing, done in pencil I think, one of those heavy black numbers that the drawing people seem to like. And it was good. And it was Mary.

How did I know? Because I had lusted, licked, caressed and touched those sweet curvy bum cheeks of hers for nigh on thirty three years, and I knew what I was looking at. Her arse, her legs, her waist -- naked. Was this poetic licence or whatever they called it on behalf of the pencil wielder. Had he imagined how she looked. Or had he seen her, had she posed for it, had she been so uninhibited in front of him? Or her? Oh my god, I looked down, my cock was aching, it was so hard. Why is the imagination better than the actual. I groaned at the tension and tingling in my loins. As I hesitantly went to see the next drawing, my eye caught the back of the first drawing. There, in pencil, was a note -- thanks for a wonderful afternoon Mary. You are an inspiration, dressed or naked. Andy.xx

My heart sank, my cock lurched. My Mary? No! She couldn't have. Not prudish, quiet Mary.

I dropped the whole lot of them, apart from the one ion my left hand, as I took in the note, and the one on my right hand, which I was now staring at. A quick flip of the paper, another note from Andy, which I didn't read just then. I stared at the second one. That was quite a curvy neat pert little bum for a fifty something woman. And it was my woman. My wife. My Mary. She must have modelled naked for these, Andy had been specific in that first note.

This second etching was again from the back. She appeared to be in hold ups, with a hat at a jaunty angle, hands cupping the cheeks of her arse. For line drawings, I thought they were the hottest thing around. Not as perfectly detailed as a picture, but enough detail for your mind's eye to fill in the rest. And boy was I filling the rest in!

I was picturing her, in a room, alone with "Andy", following his requests, her back to him, as he furiously scribbled and etched away, fingers gripping the pencil, eyes following the curves of my wife as he captured them on paper.

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