This is collection of my poetry, my musings on life, my erotic writings, and my fantasies.

Disclaimer: My blog is NOT meant for anyone under 18 and pictures are obtained from the internet and assumed considered public domain.

6th May 2012

Photo reblogged from Dani's Playground with 723 notes

The painting
“Will you paint me?” she asked as she stretched her nakedness out on the lounge.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he responded without even looking from behind the canvas.
“No… I want you to paint… me” she said barely above a whisper. 
That brought him out momentarily with a questioning look. He had been hiding from her behind it for months now. “Let me finish this first” he insisted. She flopped into the couch with a pout “Hummpf”.  He was always so intent on his work and she was tired of working she wanted to play. He wouldn’t even let her see it till it was finished. The months of posing for him were making her crazy. 
At first it bothered her, being exposed like that, so vulnerable and open to judgment. But that quickly passed the more time she spent with him. He kept the studio warm for his models and found clothing to be intrusive to the process so he simply removed them. It was awkward at first, but she got used to it and loved being his muse. He never made a move on her he just peered out from behind the canvas and painted. She just had to get used to him watching her every move.
A man of few words she would try to fill the silence. She was a talker; he clearly was more a thinker. He was the strong silent type. His silence made her nervous and she always talked when she was nervous.
“You have a lot of books, do you read them all?“… “Yep”.
“So if I was a book, would you read me?”…. “Probably”
“And what would my book tell you about me?”… “All women are mysteries”
She rolled away; he wasn’t going to play with her today. He was in the zone to get work done. She learned not to bother him when he was in the zone. She drifted off to sleep. Not really sleep but not conscious either.
It was the suddenness of the cold paint on her body that made her eyes snap open. “What the hell?…”  She trailed off when she saw him standing over her with the brush and paints in his hands. “You asked for it!” he insisted, flustered by her reaction. 
Her surprised expression turned to a wicked little smile… “Yes… I… did….” she smirked and stretched out before him. He was ready to play… and she was going to enjoy every single stroke.
“What are you going to paint?“… “You ask too many questions little one, just lay back and enjoy it.”
So she closed her eyes and prepared herself for the next cool assault to her warm skin. The paints were cold, the brush was soft and his warmth comforted her. She lost herself in the sensuality of every stroke he made. She felt her nipples get hard and blushed by the blatant arousal she was getting from it. What felt like minutes had actually been hours? She had slipped in and out of dreams while he painted his masterpiece. She dreamed of slow methodically love making and woke to find herself wet and flushed with desire.
“I’m done” he stated. She jumped up to see what he had done. “Where’s your mirror?” He pointed her to the corner of the studio where a full length mirror was attached to the closet door. She excitedly walked over to see his work. 

He had painted a book on her… after a moments hesitation she recalled their earlier conversation. “Nice… an old book with a lock on it… so a mystery nobody will get to read” she teased as she padded back towards him. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized he had paint on himself as well… more than the usual specks he got from his working.
As she came closer, she saw her painting was continued on his body… on his hand he had painted the key to her book.

© ~ Dani’s Writings ~ 2012

The painting

Will you paint me?” she asked as she stretched her nakedness out on the lounge.

What do you think I’m doing?” he responded without even looking from behind the canvas.

No… I want you to paint… me” she said barely above a whisper. 

That brought him out momentarily with a questioning look. He had been hiding from her behind it for months now. “Let me finish this first” he insisted. She flopped into the couch with a pout “Hummpf”.  He was always so intent on his work and she was tired of working she wanted to play. He wouldn’t even let her see it till it was finished. The months of posing for him were making her crazy. 

At first it bothered her, being exposed like that, so vulnerable and open to judgment. But that quickly passed the more time she spent with him. He kept the studio warm for his models and found clothing to be intrusive to the process so he simply removed them. It was awkward at first, but she got used to it and loved being his muse. He never made a move on her he just peered out from behind the canvas and painted. She just had to get used to him watching her every move.

A man of few words she would try to fill the silence. She was a talker; he clearly was more a thinker. He was the strong silent type. His silence made her nervous and she always talked when she was nervous.

You have a lot of books, do you read them all?“… “Yep”.

So if I was a book, would you read me?”…. “Probably”

“And what would my book tell you about me?”… “All women are mysteries”

She rolled away; he wasn’t going to play with her today. He was in the zone to get work done. She learned not to bother him when he was in the zone. She drifted off to sleep. Not really sleep but not conscious either.

It was the suddenness of the cold paint on her body that made her eyes snap open. “What the hell?…”  She trailed off when she saw him standing over her with the brush and paints in his hands. “You asked for it!” he insisted, flustered by her reaction. 

Her surprised expression turned to a wicked little smile… “Yes… I… did….” she smirked and stretched out before him. He was ready to play… and she was going to enjoy every single stroke.

What are you going to paint?“… “You ask too many questions little one, just lay back and enjoy it.”

So she closed her eyes and prepared herself for the next cool assault to her warm skin. The paints were cold, the brush was soft and his warmth comforted her. She lost herself in the sensuality of every stroke he made. She felt her nipples get hard and blushed by the blatant arousal she was getting from it. What felt like minutes had actually been hours? She had slipped in and out of dreams while he painted his masterpiece. She dreamed of slow methodically love making and woke to find herself wet and flushed with desire.

I’m done” he stated. She jumped up to see what he had done. “Where’s your mirror?” He pointed her to the corner of the studio where a full length mirror was attached to the closet door. She excitedly walked over to see his work. 

He had painted a book on her… after a moments hesitation she recalled their earlier conversation. “Nice… an old book with a lock on it… so a mystery nobody will get to read” she teased as she padded back towards him. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized he had paint on himself as well… more than the usual specks he got from his working.

As she came closer, she saw her painting was continued on his body… on his hand he had painted the key to her book.

  • © ~ Dani’s Writings ~ 2012

Tagged: fantasy landmy wordsThe paintingDani's WritingsDani's Playgroundstories

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