Death Muse

She arched, cat-like. “Armand, paint me.”

He stood at his canvas, hard for her, blood heavy in his veins.

“Lay your brush over my skin.”

He coated the largest brush in alizarine crimson. He knelt. She slid her hands against his flesh, into his curling dark hair.

He bathed her in red until she shimmered like a naked organ. When she cried for him, he thrust his cock into her. She took the paintbrush in her mouth and he fucked her until her gasps became whimpers became choking; until she was gone.

He held her, kissed her painted tongue, and followed her, the linseed thick in his throat.

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