Painted by Her

The canvas bag hit the tent floor with a soft thud, and Lena unzipped it, pulling out the brushes and paints with a reverence that made my skin prickle. We’d hiked six miles to this clearing, and the air was still thick with pine and our own exertion. I was her model, but the way her eyes traced the sweat on my collarbone, I felt like the painting wasn’t even started.

“You’re tense, Mira,” she said, not looking at me, her fingers already mixing a deep umber on the palette. “Drop the shoulders.”

I did, and the thin strap of my tank top slid down my arm. Lena’s gaze finally snapped to me, a flicker of something raw and hungry in the grey of her eyes. “That’s better.”

The tent was a cramped, honey-lit world, our sleeping bags pushed to the corners. I sat on a folded blanket, the canvas propped on a stool in front of her. She worked in silence for a while, the only sounds the scratch of her brush and the distant call of a bird. My skin felt too tight, every inch of it aware of her perusal.

“You’re staring at my mouth,” I said, my voice a little rough.

“It’s a good mouth.” She dipped the brush in water, swirling it. “Full. Like it’s always just about to say something it shouldn’t.”

Heat bloomed in my chest. “Maybe it is.”

Lena put the brush down. The sound was decisive. She crawled around the canvas, her knees brushing the blanket, until she was right in front of me. “Then say it,” she whispered, her hand coming up to cup my jaw. Her thumb traced my bottom lip, smearing a tiny fleck of ochre paint across it. “Tell me what you want.”

I didn’t answer with words. I leaned forward and took her thumb into my mouth, sucking the paint and the salt of her skin. Her breath hitched. Her other hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back gently.

“You’re a distraction,” she murmured, but her eyes were burning.

“You’re the one who brought the paints.”

She kissed me then, a hard, demanding press of her lips against mine. It tasted like turpentine and coffee and pure, unadulterated want. My hands found the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it up. She broke the kiss just long enough to yank it over her head, and then her tits were pressed against me, warm and soft through the thin cotton of my tank.

I pushed her back onto the pile of sleeping bags, my body covering hers. She was all sharp angles and smooth skin, and I wanted to taste all of it. I kissed down her neck, feeling her pulse flutter under my tongue, and she arched into me.

“Fuck, Lena,” I breathed against her collarbone.

Her hands fumbled with the button of my shorts. “Off. Now.”

We wrestled with the zippers and straps, a clumsy tangle of limbs and eager hands until we were both naked, the cool tent air raising goosebumps on our heated skin. She was already wet when I slid my hand between her legs, her pussy slick and hot against my fingers.

“God, yes,” she gasped, her hips bucking into my palm.

I circled her clit with my thumb, watching her face contort with pleasure. Her head was thrown back, her lips parted, and she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I wanted to be inside her. I wanted to feel her come undone around me.

I shifted, positioning myself between her thighs. “You want me to fuck you?” I asked, my voice low and rough.

“Yes,” she begged, her eyes snapping open to meet mine. “Please, Mira.”

I slid two fingers inside her, and she cried out, her back arching off the ground. She was so tight, so wet, and the sound she made was pure sin. I pumped my fingers into her, fast and deep, while my thumb worked her clit. Her moans filled the small tent, mixing with the slick sounds of my hand moving inside her.

“More,” she whimpered. “I need more.”

I pulled my fingers out and brought them to my mouth, tasting her. She watched me, her pupils blown wide. Then I lowered my head between her legs. My first lick was slow, savoring, from her entrance to her clit. She shuddered, a broken sob escaping her lips.

“Oh, fuck… yes…”

I ate her like she was the last meal on earth, licking and sucking, lapping at her wetness. Her hands were in my hair, gripping hard, guiding me. I pushed two fingers back inside her, curling them, and she screamed. Her thighs clamped around my head as she came, her body convulsing with wave after wave of pleasure.

I didn't stop until her trembling subsided. Then I crawled up her body, my own pussy aching and slick. I kissed her, letting her taste herself on my lips.

“My turn,” she breathed, flipping us over with a sudden surge of strength.

She straddled my hips, her eyes dark with intent. She reached down, gripped my cock—no, not a cock. My clit. She was a woman. I was a woman. This was all pussy and fingers and tongues. My brain was a mess of lust.

She slid her wet pussy along mine, grinding against me, our clits rubbing together. The friction was electric. I grabbed her ass, pulling her tighter, and she cried out.

“You feel so good,” she moaned.

She leaned forward, her tits brushing my chest, and kissed me deep. Then she shifted, and I felt the head of something—her fingers, slick with me—press against my entrance. She pushed inside me slowly, and I gasped, my eyes rolling back.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Fuck me.”

She fucked me with her fingers, a slow, deep rhythm that had me clawing at her back. She was watching me, reading every reaction, adjusting her pace. She was an artist, even here, painting with her touch.

“I’m close,” I panted.

She curled her fingers again, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision white out. “Come for me, Mira.”

I did. I came with a scream, my body bowing off the ground as she rode me through it. My orgasm was a violent, blinding thing, and I felt her own climax follow, her body shuddering against mine.

We collapsed into a heap, slick with sweat, our breath ragged in the quiet tent. The canvas had fallen over, forgotten. The paints were dry on the palette.

Lena propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at me. A slow smile spread across her face. “Well,” she said, her voice husky. “That’s a much better use of the afternoon.”

I laughed, a breathless, giddy sound. “We didn’t even get to the painting.”

She leaned down, kissing the tip of my nose. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet. I have a whole new concept.” Her eyes glinted. “I’m thinking ‘model covered in paint.’ It’ll be very avant-garde.”

CATEGORIES: [Lesbians, Tent, Artist, Model, In the Woods]