Oil


I wrote this as part of a Futurelearn course to improve my skill. We had to imagine we were starting with, I remember.


His brush strokes were powerful, his scrutiny intense. My naked body writhing twisted there on that dais. My nose was itching, the smell of oil paint tickling my nostrils, my nipples erect and puckering in the cold. He had forbidden me from moving. He had assured me that the ordeal would be over quickly. He had lied. He was engrossed in his own pleasure and I found myself at the mercy of his engorged ego.

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