Art Student- An ENF Story by Anonymous (Incomplete)

Ah, college.

When you signed up for art school you didn’t really think through all of the expenses at length.

For starters there was tuition, which was exceedingly high. But also there was your room, your books, food, and gas money.

Your years of saving up only paid your way through about half a semester before you realized you were completely broke.

Luckily your friend, Reina, a fairly successful fashion model, had been kind enough to tip you off about a great studio for aspiring idols. You were told that you’d start off with some pretty basic stuff, a few dresses, maybe a suit. She also assured you that it was owned by a nice couple, who had legitimately good intentions.

However, as the public bus you’re on approaches the stop that Reina has written you directions to, your heart sinks a bit. You’d never expected to start off at the top, but from the state of the buildings on the side of the street, you’re going to be starting about as far from it as you can get.

The outer walls of the studio are peeling and there is a markedly repulsive smell. Once you open the faded wooden door, you realize the odor’s source. An overweight man with thick glasses and a distinct lack of personal hygiene is sitting in a folding cloth chair, behind a complicated looking camera.

“You must be the new girl,” he grumbles. “You’re early. The changing room’s over there.”

You follow his slovenly hand motion through a steel door, and find a row of three lockers and a long mirror.

“What am I supposed to wear?” you call to him sheepishly through the door.

He ponders this thought for a little too long, eventually settling with: “I think there’s a scarf in locker number two.”

You look inside, and sure enough, you find a scarf. Well, you could call it a scarf. To you it looks more like a long rag or towel, but hey, you’re not a fashion designer. You throw it on over your clothes and head back into the main room.

“How do I look?” you joke.

The photographer stares at you incredulously. “I can’t take pictures of you with those clothes on. Come back with just the scarf, honey!”

His casual use of the word ‘honey’ catches you off-guard, but you reluctantly return to the changing room.

The first thing you do is remove your socks and shoes. You take your time, attempting to delay the inevitable. Unfortunately, they come off easily, and you are forced to move on.

As you take off your jacket and shirt, you lock eyes with your reflection briefly. You wonder what could have brought you to this point. You realize you have no choice, that this is necessary, and that it’s only a few tasteful pictures of a scarf. It’s not as if you’d do something like this unless you were completely desperate.

Your hands fumble a bit as you try to undo your bra. It can’t be helped; as this will be the most exposed you’ve been to anyone, save your parents, in your entire life. Once it is removed, you quickly attempt to cover your breasts with the scarf, but you can see that it is not long to reach the nipples.

The skirt comes off next. You hesitate for a moment before taking off the final piece of real concealment. Your mind churns to rationalize why a studio would make anyone do this. Reina’s going to have some explaining to do next time you see her.

Your hand lingers on the doorknob, and you have the sudden impulse to run. You soon shake this thought off, shut your eyes tightly, and open the door.

After a few steps the metal door slams behind you with a click.

“Well, well, well. Don’t you look innocent,” the photographer licks his lips.

You struggle to keep from recoiling in disgust. You quickly cover your breasts with a hand and use the other to hide your pussy. The thought of this pervert seeing you exposed for any longer than he needs to makes your blood boil.

“Just step over here so I can… capture you,” his clammy fingers fondle at the air. You wonder if this could be considered sexual harassment.

Before you can give this possibility any more thought, you feel your right foot slowly leave to cold concrete floor, and soon you have walked over to a brightly lit wood paneled area. You are still covering up your body as best as you can.

“All right, baby, your hand is covering the scarf, that’s no good. Move your arms behind your back.”

As you begrudgingly obey his orders, for the first time throughout this ordeal, you feel your face grow hot, and blood rushing to your face. He must be able to see that you are blushing, and this only embarrasses you more.

A flash of white light temporarily blinds you and you stumble backwards, hitting a cold wall with your bare skin, somehow solidifying the fact that you are, save an inadequate scarf, totally nude in front of a complete stranger.

“Okay, now for the h-scenes!” he bellows too jovially.

“W- What?” you are almost too stunned to react. “I was told that this was just a modeling job! Reina sent me, you must have heard of her. This is all some misunderstanding. This is Sunrise Studios, right?”

“Sorry, Sweetie, this is Sunset Studios,” his tone is less than apologetic. “You must have taken a wrong turn. However, I was expecting a girl, and you did take off all your clothes, so now you owe it to me to follow through.”

“I- I will do no such thing!” you respond indignantly. “And once you will give me that film I will be leaving!”

“Well, Buttercup, you’re welcome to leave, but your old clothes,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “Are mine as payment for wasting my time. So if you still want to leave you’re going home naked.”

The possibility of having sex with this guy is completely off the table, but how will you get home? Will you try to catch a bus, or walk home? Maybe you could get some money from someone and call Reina? What should you do?

You decide that it’s too risky to take the bus where you’d likely be seen, and you might have to do something lewd to get the money to call Reina. Which only really leaves one option: walking home.

On the plus side, it’s nearly dark out, so pretty soon you won’t have to worry about being seen. But, in the meantime, you’ll be almost completely exposed, and in such a bad neighborhood. This last part you’re dreading. You’ve never even felt comfortable in a one piece bathing suit, let alone something like this.

You also take a mental note of the address you’re at, 17 Shady Lane, figuring that what this guy’s doing can’t be legal, but regretting that you never asked him his name.

“I- I’ll be fine! I live really close anyway, and besides, it’s almost dark out!”

“Is that so… well have fun then butterfly, and be safe…”

You don’t like the sound of that last part, but you reluctantly crack the door open to leave. When the first beam sunlight begins to hit you, you feel your body tremble with embarrassment.

‘It’ll all be over soon,’ you think to yourself. ‘I can go home and curl up in bed.’

Come to think of it, the latter of those two goals might be more difficult than you first thought to achieve. Firstly, you live on campus, which is lighted pretty well, and you’ll have to evade any night owl students. Furthermore, you have no idea how to get back! The paper with directions is in your jacket pocket, and you don’t like the idea of turning back now.

So, without any further thought on the matter, you give the door one final push and meekly stride through. You can hear faint, yet surprisingly portentous, laughter emanating from behind you, but you try to ignore it.

You blink a couple times, eyes still adjusting to the sun, contemplating what to do next.

Your first action should probably be to cover up, and since there’s no one around right now, you take the time to wrap the ‘scarf’ around your chest and tie it tightly behind you. It’s not wide enough to do anything more than cover your nipples and anyone looking close enough can see your breasts very clearly, but at least you’ll have a hand free, to cover your other… assets. Accordingly, you use one hand to hide your pussy and the other to conceal your ass as best as you can. You still want to avoid being seen, but at least now they won’t get ‘the whole show.’

With a powerful feeling of shame and humiliation settling in the pit of your stomach, you begin walking at a brisk pace, trying to end this as soon as possible.

But which way should you go? How will you get home? What should you do?

You can’t remember the whole path of the bus, but you do recall that the bus stop had a map by it.

You cast a longing glance down the road, realizing that the bus stop was at least three blocks away. Between you and it are more than a few pedestrians and joggers, none of which have seen you… yet.

With your eyelids pressed shut tightly and your face a deep shade of red, you dart behind bushes and lampposts, somehow avoiding detection.

Crouching behind a bench in front of a building, you can see the bus stop in the distance. But to your distress, you can also see a bus, letting off a group of people much larger than you would have liked.

Before you can find a better hiding place, a man and woman holding hands walk over and sit on the bench. They haven’t noticed you. You decide that there is no way to leave without them seeing you.

The man opens his mouth first. “So, have you given any more thought to becoming a dominatrix?”

Are these people for real? Who starts a conversation that way?

“I don’t know,” she replies. “It’s difficult to find girls willing to submit to me, and it would feel weird to me dominating a man.”

“What if a naked girl was here right now, and she had no choice but to do everything you said?” he responds jokingly.

“Well, I guess I’d have no choice but to tie her up to that lamp post…”

He leans in and kisses her, but before things can escalate any further, a Frisbee hits the wall behind you and settles on the ground next to you. You suppress a yelp.

“Hey mister!” you hear a kid’s voice from afar. “Can you pass that Frisbee back?”

Both the man and the woman turn around and peer over the edge of the bench. You were smart enough to hide, rolling under the bench just in time to escape their sight. Just as the man’s hand reaches past your face to pick up the Frisbee, it stops.

“Honey, do you see what I see?” his voice becomes more devious.

“Yes, I do,” she responds likewise “a free scarf!”

You let out a silent sigh of relief; it must have fallen off because you acted so quickly. That was close. He throws the Frisbee back and she puts the scarf on.

The couple lingers on the bench for a while longer, at one point you’re sure that he’s fondling her, judging from the lack of conversation, and her sporadic breathing, but there’s no way to be sure. During this time, your hand that is covering your pussy starts to feel wetness, and you hold back the urge to move it. That’s the last thing you need right now.

By the time they get up to leave its pitch black. You don’t have the scarf anymore, so you are truly exposed for the first time. You carefully make your way to the bus stop, and, in the dim, flickering light of the street lamp, you outline a route home on the map with your finger.

Not too difficult. You pick only the most deserted roads, so the journey is pretty uneventful. At one point a man asks you for directions, but during the conversation, you realize he’s blind. Somehow this fact does little to comfort you.

When you reach the campus entrance, you suddenly realize something. Without your ID, there’s no way to open the gate. And your ID is back with that pervert photographer. Now that you think about it, he knows who you are and where you live from that ID. You brush this thought aside and consider your options.

You could always try to explain your situation to the security guard, but he’s notoriously looking at girl’s backsides. Another way to get in would be to climb over the wall, but if someone saw you doing that you could get into some real trouble. What should you do?