Work Text:
Prudence shudders as paint drags up her finely toned arm, cool and wet and somewhat slimy on her skin. When she finds her words again, she says, “I must confess when you said you wished to paint me, this was hardly what I expected.”
Priya giggles where she can’t see her, but her hand remains steady as it curls into the inner elbow. “I am glad I can still surprise you, darling. Now be still.” Prudence is, unfortunately, quite learned at taking orders, and she’s proud of her impeccable posture, which is to say she can only catch the slightest glimpses of her wife in her periphery, the barest hints of lavender and blush swirling along her arm. Every brush stroke is ticklish, yet Prudence remains firm, feet planted so that she remains sturdier than the slick paint compels her to feel.
She is accustomed to eyes on her, whether in her courting of scandal, in her capacity as an embarrassed working woman under her brother’s scrutiny, or in her ability to draw lascivious and envious attention at society functions. Priya’s eyes are different though. Not only are they lovelier than anyone else’s, but they are shrewd and focused, qualities Prudence admired in her long before she’d ever admit to any attraction. The weight of Priya’s gaze is unlike any other, heavy on her skin yet paradoxically making her feel lighter than air. What a strange thing love is.
The brush sweeps then over the curve of her shoulder and onto her bare back. It’s not what she expected when Priya coaxed her into taking off all but her petticoats, but the paint swirls and soothes until Prudence’s skin is tingling with the attention. It’s almost meditative, and she finds herself floating through it, time becoming as slippery as wet paint. Her eyes drift shut to better enjoy the sensation.
Then Priya pauses to tugs her petticoat off, and the brush slips into the vee at her back, curves along the top of her buttocks, and she’s alert again. Skin hums in its wake, and the brush circles the entire rounded cheek, tucking just beneath the curve of it where it meets her thigh. Breathing has become a more difficult affair.
The paint itches where it dries, but with exposure she grows more resilient. Still, painting her rear is far more difficult to ignore than her spine. The brush dips beneath the curve of her other cheek, then farther, tickling the inside of her thigh at the very top, and she gasps.
“Be still,” Priya says firmly. There’s another flick of paint on the other thigh, then she shows Prudence mercy. She moves around to the front, looking at Prudence’s warm face only briefly before she concentrates on her newest task.
The paintbrush traces the outer edge of her breast, the sudden cool touch causing her nipples to tighten. The inner curve comes next, then the brush swirls inward, until it finally wets the nipple. Prudence gasps again.
Oh, Priya is a devious one. She teases Prudence’s breasts more than once each, retracing her path with a finer brush too, painting atop the first layer. The drying paint tightens on Prudence’s skin, which was an odd enough feeling before it happened to her nipples. Now she’s flushed, and she can feel slick gathering between her thighs that has nothing to do with the paint on her body.
It’s tempting to sway forward into the sensation, but Priya gave her a command, and she does so hate to disobey — except, of course, when that’s the game instead, but that is beside the point. The point is that she is perfectly capable of being precisely as still as Priya’s artistry demands, even if the brush painting a line down her belly makes her want to squirm in place. It reaches her navel, then swipes back up, and she releases the most careful of sighs.
Eventually the brush must go lower though, and Prudence’s fingers tingle with the desire to move. Priya begins again from the outside, a line from her waist to her hip on either side, and works her way inward. It tickles and torments, and wet paint dries with that beautiful tightening sensation, and her belly tightens too.
Just as she thinks Priya might descend further, she diverts her course, tracing groin and thigh instead. Every brush stroke that reaches far enough between Prudence’s firm thighs makes her tremble more, until finally, the brush’s handle is tipped upward, nudging against her clit.
She gasps, body in sudden motion, even if it’s a small thing. She seizes control of herself once more, but the damage is done. The moisture that’s been gathering between her legs begins to spread, and she can imagine it smearing the paint along her thighs. “Making a mess,” Priya chides, amused.
She meets Prudence’s eye and pushes the brush between her thighs, another wet streak of paint just below where she wants Priya to touch her most. When Priya’s hand returns, her knuckles slide along blood-swollen skin, so gently the labia barely part, but it makes the pulse pound between her thighs, desire coiling tightly in her gut.
“Please,” she gasps, and Priya’s eyes are suddenly on hers. She bites down on the word, pride suddenly converting to shame.
“Are you so impatient?” Priya asks.
“In this I am. You know this is torment.”
Priya smirks. “Sweet torment though, isn’t it?”
“Torment nevertheless. Touch me before I do it myself,” she demands, certain her face will catch fire any minute.
Priya laughs, then says, “Very well. But you must remain still. The paint hasn’t yet dried.”
She makes Prudence wait while she sets aside her instruments of torture, but she returns, fingers slipping between Prudence’s thighs to tease the outside of her cunt. With no words available, Prudence instead nods her agreement. Priya’s smile is the last thing she sees before her eyes close under the force of these sensations.
Then those curving lips press softly to hers. When on instinct she returns the kiss, Priya pulls away, tutting quietly. “I said be still,” she says, breath ghosting along Prudence’s jaw. When she kisses again, it takes all Prudence’s control not to kiss back, but she manages.
Priya’s lips are soft on hers, first one angle then the next, and her fingers continue to tease. Prudence wants to demand more, and then she wants to beg for it, but she doesn’t dare violate Priya’s command. So she trembles instead, anticipation and desire squirming side by side as Priya’s slim fingers slowly slip inside her then out again to pull slick upward, drawing a delicate circle around it that inspires a full body twitch, and then down again.
She does it again, and again, until Prudence quivers in place, toes curling on the dropcloth beneath her, fingers twitching with the desire to move, thighs quaking with the need to open or close or do anything but stand there.
“You’re doing so well,” Priya purrs, and Prudence masters herself again, even as she spasms inside, clenching helplessly around those devilish fingers.
Heat gathers between her thighs, Priya’s fingers coaxing more and more until she aches inside. A slick thumb rounds her clit again and again, and Prudence reminds herself over and over that she mustn’t move. She can feel sweat prickle at her brow, hot-cold bursting through her body, before finally, she gasps, loud in the quiet room, and her hands clutch suddenly at Priya’s shoulders, and she shakes apart and squeezes tight as she tips over the edge.
Priya’s forehead meets hers by the time it is finished, and she’s rewarded with one tiny kiss and then another, small sips of affection despite that she failed. That is another thing she has come to appreciate about Priya: that failure is only an opportunity to try again, not something burdened with the direst of circumstances. She tucks Prudence’s hair behind her ear and kisses her properly now, only stopping when Prudence’s body sways forward.
“You’re still wet,” Priya says. Her brown cheeks redden. “The paint, I mean. Besides, we’re not finished.” She turns then to retrieve her paints again.
“Surely you don’t intend to keep going.”
“I haven’t even gotten to your legs,” she says. Prudence would like to protest, but Priya sinks to her knees and looks up, smile lifted to one side, and words dissipate. “Now, hold still,” Priya commands, and Prudence resigns herself to another round of sweet torture.