“And your very flesh shall be a great poem.”
~Walt Whitman
Her body is a sculpture, an erotic art. He is not a sculptor, but he is a painter. And while she stands naked on a chair, with her legs wide open and her long hair covering her boobs… his hands are holding the brushes and his eyes are holding on to her.
Is she a muse for him? She always puts that question to herself while he stands right in front of her painting. Any woman would give anything to trade places with her right now… But maybe they don’t even need to trade places. When you have it all already… She gets so lost in her thoughts that she almost forgets that she has to stay still.
More than a lover, he is a painter. And he notices the sudden sadness that appears in her dark blue eyes in moments like these when she’s naked and he is doing his art.
And the painter loves her sad eyes, but the beloved is concerned.
He tells her to close her eyes. She obeys. Then she feels the touch of a brush on her skin and the touch and the messy thoughts make her shudder.
“Do you want me to paint you?”, he asks.
“Yes”, she says with a weak voice.
He breathes and inhales her familiar vanilla scent. He knows that it will take a lot of work to finish this painting.
“When you feel blue, just let me paint you…”
His brush touches her breast and then it goes down…
She gasps for air and opens her eyes. She takes him into a wild kiss and his fingers meet her Niagara.
She moans for pleasure and he is not a painter anymore. Just a man who loves the woman with sad eyes.
Hei guys, can you tell me in the comments if you notice words that I used wrong? English is not my first language, so my grammar is not that good. Give me a little help, please :)
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/i5h694/red_velvet_erotic_shortstory_part_iii
Always a pleasure reading your work ?