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How I Always See Your Nakedness

How I’m Attracted To Your Danger

My Photo, Artists Artwork

They’ve been at this for hours. The thought runs through her head as her naked body aches. Her muscles protest in the constant sitting state he has her in. It’s a strange sort of meditation her mind falls into. He traces the lines of her back. The sound of his brushstrokes fill the air. She swears he can see the mole on her left rib cage. His gaze feels like the heat of his fingertips tracing with a purposeful trek. Her head looks over her shoulder staring endlessly at nothing and everything.

She shifts the weight in her hips. It’s a kind of tightness that spreads out into her bones. The constant stillness is an unending quiet. Her arm covers her breasts in a scooping up embrace. There’s a sort of meditative torture he’s doing to her. She wants to look back at him, yet she knows the rules they’re playing.

I will fuck you after I make you wait and abide by my rules. I’m going to draw you and have you wait until I’m done. Break the rules and we shall find ways of the punishment.

“You have a beautiful back. Like, the lines of it, curves, it’s like a road map that has no ending.”

His voice breaks the quiet. Something deep and inherently playful. She wants to see him and her shoulders tense at his voice. A light chuckle releases from her lips. She shakes her head and her shoulder length hair falls in front of her eyes.

“My mother always said it was one of my best qualities. A nice back. I never knew what to do with that,” she replies.

It’s his turn to chuckle. He’s paused with his work. The silence of the studio isn’t quite oppressive. She tries to guess his reaction and what he’ll say next.

“You have much more than a fine back about you.”

“Like what?”

“Your secretive kindness and softness. Like a… gigantic, squeezable teddy bear.”

She growls under her breath. Her uncovered foot touches the cold, wood floor. She taps it as if to accentuate an unsaid point.

“With knives. Shanks. Something sharp,” she responds.

“Whatever you say, but I see you. You’ll see yourself when I’m done with this.”

“Promises promises until you deliver,” she retorts.

His chuckle says everything that he doesn’t need to voice in words. She attempts to relax into the pose he has her hold. The question of what he’s really seeing behind her layers nags at her brain stem. She tries to cover whatever walls he’s unraveling through his artistic study. They fall back into their communicable silence. It brings a strange sort of comfort to her overactive mind.