Valka
The sensation is indescribable. Rough. Intrusive. Unbelievably erotic. The cool wetness, the scraping texture against hypersensitive flesh, the sheer wrongness of it mixed with the absolute rightness of his touch. A ragged cry tears from my throat. My back arches violently off the desk, my hands scrambling for purchase on the smooth wood.
He does it again. A slow, deep drag. In and out, mimicking a carnal rhythm with the brush on a canvas. The bristles drips red as he fucks me with the handle, sending jolts of pure, white-hot pleasure-pain radiating through me. Paint mixes with my own arousal. I can feel the wetness pooling beneath me, hear the slick sound as he works the brush.
Blue, crimson, green. My juices swirl them together into a dark, erotic stain spreading on the ancient mahogany beneath my hips. The scent is overwhelming--paint, sex, primal need.
