Canvas for an Artist

My Master excites me. He caught me primping today and teased me saying he didn't know I needed to be primped in order to be beautiful, the Scribe has a wonderful sense of humor. He said I was non-refundable so would have to deal with the playful reasons why I needed to primp! As he sat at his furs I crawled to him and crawled like a sensual beast on the prowl -- his gaze upon me told me just how he enjoyed watching me come to him in such a way and as I tipped up to kneel then, splayed and luscious he in turn placed me back to my hands and knees and as the finishing touch the camisk I wear was whisked off of me to billow around my knees to rest. He is a subtle man and touched me in the slightest yet pulled so much from me without much effort, it did not take long before I was indeed feeling his presence before he was up and walking away to his desk, returning with ink and quill.

Once he settled beside me, he began to draw and make art out of his slave called, bela. What I found was an intimacy that I had not experienced from such an activity. He took his time making his drawings just as he wanted them, waiting for the ink to dry and while he worked on this art he found his slave relaxing under his touch, approaching an arousal that is simply not comparable to sexual arousal of just sex. I think that unassuming Scribe ventured further into a woman that I did not think could be penetrated past a certain point. Once he was finished and satisfied he then got some water and a cloth and washed the ink from my body... this was done with a minor change in my position as it was obvious I was a very soft and needful slave.. my cheek pressed to the fur as he continued to touch me, washing my skin clean of the ink. Once finished he pushed me down to the fur and rolled me over to my back. As I lay there looking up at him I realized that primping was not really a needed activity for at that moment I had never felt so beautiful as I did right there, flushed, warm, writhing beneath his gaze as he stood there watching what he had done to the woman he owns.

He said perhaps when the warmer weather came that he would paint a mural of a slave that looked like me, posing as I was for him, this time on my back it would be in color with a warrior or tarnsman watching this slave. He said something exciting... as I lay there I could do nothing but look up to a man that excited me more at that moment than I had been in a long time. He is different then most of the men I have known. He is taking his time and unwrapping me from outside to in.. digging for that hidden woman that he will possess. I told him how he excited me and he chuckled swearing me to secrecy.

Why our paths met, I will never know....