The Artist’s Passion

The lovely Jane over at Behind the Chintz Curtain is running a second round of Euph Off . The challenge is write ‘500 words or less of sexual metaphor-littered purple prose.’ The first round of stories are here . I have laughed so much over these stories that I thought I give it a go – it was much harder than I thought (pun intended).

So anyway, here is my contribution. I apologise in advance.

Oh, how he had missed her, it had been an eternity since he had last seen this vision, this Venus, this Aphrodite, his muse. As she slipped the robe from her shoulders to reveal her milky white globes, he felt his turgid member stiffen, and as she stood naked before the chaise longue, he moved towards her, eager to pierce her with the ferrule of his pointed round. Opening her arms to him as she lay back he opened her legs as deftly as he would position his easel. He surveyed the stunning landscape of her body, the gentle, rolling curves and mounds that gave him so much inspiration and caused such passion to course through his veins. He remembered the last time and he longed to feel her juices, the liquid that had coated his filbert like linseed oil as he had entered her grotto. “Oh my darling.” She murmured as he knelt between her legs, the musky smell of her throbbing love tunnel as intoxicating as the smell of the oil paints he used. She sighed as he lowered his head to lap at her quivering periwinkle and twisted her hands in his long, dark curly hair. “Oh yes my darling, my love, yes!” The sound of her moans, the silky feel of her secret studio as he fondled her fufu and stroked at her love bud inflamed his passions even more. She pushed him away to grab hold of his hairy pencil and as she squeezed his tube he could contain himself no longer as his gesso splattered onto her pristine white canvas. “Oh dear,” She sighed, “not again. I think I may have to engage someone else to paint a portrait for my husband.” she sat up and looked at him coldly. He had no energy left to object as she hid her beauty beneath the robe and left the room, leaving him lying on the floor, spent and wearied and wanting to cry.


7 thoughts on “The Artist’s Passion

  1. As an art history major, this tickled me no end, Dawn. And I nearly spilled coffee all over myself when I read this line:

    “The sound of her moans, the silky feel of her secret studio as he fondled her fufu and stroked at her love bud inflamed his passions even more.”

    Most excellent – and might I say cringe-worthy? – use of #EuphOff alliteration. 🙂


    Liked by 1 person

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