Flash Serial:The New Canvas ~ Part 13

This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning,here.


The week passed far too quickly for Victor’s comfort.  Before he was prepared Friday was upon him and he was forced to enter his studio and prepare for Alexandra’s arrival.  He had to finish her piece; finish it and get her the hell out of his life.  The screen with her artwork taunted him, the form suddenly looking unfinished.  He snarled and turned his back on it, thankful the line work was complete.  He knew, far too intimately, what happened when arousal began to interfere with his vision.

Victor refused to turn when the distinct, cursedly familiar cadence of Alexandra’s footsteps sounded down the hall, pausing for a brief moment in the door way.  He forced his muscles to obey, to resist tensing under her gaze, and swallowed a sigh of relief when she resumed her progress.  The vinyl of the table creaked and he found himself far too aware of her quiet exhale as she laid down.  His stomach tightened, full of lead winged butterflies, as he thought of the work necessary.  The piece was complete up to her kneecap; tonight he would work on her thigh.  His cock twitched and he closed his eyes against the surge of memory.  He could still remember the hot taste of her mouth, the easy way she fit against him.

The artist steeled himself, preparing for the sight of her, pulling his table into position before turning around.  His breath would have escaped in a gasp if his chest hadn’t locked up in bands of constricting muscles.  Alexandra lay waiting, fingers laced across her stomach, eyes closed, face devoid of expression.  Her skirt lay in a disarray pulled up to her hips revealing the lengths of her legs, long and tan; his fingers twitched.  Get it together, Victor, he snarled at himself and forced his body into motion.

Alexandra’s skin jumped like a fly-bitten horse’s when his hands arranged her leg with careful touches.  Her silken flesh stirred his blood again and he swallowed hard.  He could do this.  He could finish the piece and erase this woman from his life.

Unlike the last one who got under his skin, who still haunted him.

It started as flowers.  A simple chain of jasmine that tumbled from Sasha’s left shoulder to her right hip, crossing the graceful curve of her spine.  Victor had nearly finished it when she turned and kissed him, her tongue hot and promising in his mouth.  When he woke the next morning, watched the rising sun stretch across her back he knew something else was needed.

A sinuous cherry branch joined the jasmine, delicate pink blossoms supported by dark twigs, etched into her skin over the course of two months, much longer than it should have taken.  He simply couldn’t keep his hands off her, couldn’t focus on the work.

When he began inking the prickling vine of Eglantine rose he knew he had to finish the tattoo and end the affair.  Every day she twisted him into a painful knot, sharp barbs of her words drawing blood, leaving invisible wounds that never seemed to heal.  And still her body lay claim to his, her teeth marked his skin, nails dug furrows in his flesh.  It had taken finding her with someone else, seeing Sasha twined around another man, whispering in his ear, hand cupped over his groin, to catalyze Victor’s determination.  He finished the tattoo in one night, resisting her attempts at seduction, driving the ink into her skin as he detailed each painful thorn.

When she left, casting a last volley of razor edged words to slice his heart, he swore he’d never let it happen again, never let another woman get under his skin.

Victor’s hands trembled briefly as he set his sausau in place, taking a deep breath, refusing to let his eyes linger on the shadowy junction of her thigh.  He could do this.  He had to.


Come back next week for the continuation…


Flash Serial:The New Canvas ~ Part 11

This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning,here.

The body in his arms felt perfect.  Victor couldn’t remember the last time he’d woke with a woman in his arms, perfect ass cradling his morning hardon; he wondered at such a vivid dream.  He nuzzled his face into the warm neck before him, rocked his hips, sliding his cock through the soft crease.  Some small part of his mind pondered if this was what Alexandra would feel like in his arms, if she would smell so delicious, so mouthwatering.  She arched into him, hips pushing back, neck arching, offering more to him.  A low hungry growl rumbled in his throat and his lips parted to taste the proferred skin.  She moaned, the sound making his blood pulse, and he rolled into her, pushing Alexandra onto her stomach.  His dream woman lifted her hips so readily he groaned and pulled her back to him by her waist.

“Yess,” she hissed and cold reality poured down his spine as he felt the bunched skirt around Alexandra’s waist, glimpsed her bowed spine and tousled hair in the dim light of morning.  Victor threw himself back, landing on the floor with a thud, cock rigid and tumescent, blood hot with desire.  He shook.  Alexandra twisted around and knelt, arms wrapping around herself, expression shrouded in shadows.

“I’m sorry.  That should never have happened.”  The words came out strangled, clipped and she jerked as if struck.  He growled under his breath, turned and stalked to the bathroom, twisting the water on and stepping under the icy needles of the spray.


He emerged half an hour later chilled but calmed, his erection gone.  She waited in his kitchen, back to him, hands wrapped around one of his chipped coffee mugs.  Victor had hoped she would leave, flee.  “I hope I made the coffee to your liking,” she said without turning.  Her voice was sparse, hushed, and he felt the leadweight of guilt settle in his stomach. The sunwarmed floor radiated into the soles of his feet as he entered the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Alexandra,” he said gently.  She kept her eyes fixed on her coffee and shrugged a shoulder.  He sighed and crossed to the other side of the island, leaning against the counter and touching a finger to her chin.  He heard her swallow as she tilted her head, bringing shadowed, haunted eyes to his.  His body hummed with awareness at her nearness, cock stirring once again.  Her gaze searched his and he clenched his jaw as she leaned, near imperceptively, into his touch.  Never had a woman crawled so easily, so thoroughly under his skin.  Victor didn’t know how to handle it.

She broke the silence first.  “I can’t help that I want you.”  His gut lurched and cock throbbed with the surge of blood; he closed his eyes, searching for control.  Her hands pressed against his jaws, and he  growled when her lips brushed his.

“I don’t sleep with clients, Alexandra,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice.  Her lips returned, more insistent, tongue slipping out to taste the curve of his lower lip.  He groaned, restraint cracking, dropped his hands  to her hips and pulled her into him.  Her wanton whimper made his blood run hot and he buried his hands in her hair, giving in to the need to savage her mouth.  Victor slanted his lips  against her, kissing her hard, tongue demanding entrance, plunging into her hot mouth when she opened to him.  He had to taste her, had to feel her, just for a moment, just to get her out of his system.

Continue reading in part 12 of The New Canvas

Flash Serial:The New Canvas ~ Part 9

This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning,here.

Victor’s body refused to cooperate.  When Alexandra closed her eyes without argument his pulse surged.  He’d been unable to resist leaning close and breathing her in, taking her scent, her inate aroma, into his lungs.  His cock flooded with blood and weighed heavy in his groin.  The effort to resist kissing her staggered him.

He forced himself from her, turning instead to his tools, concentrating on the cool smooth handle of his sausau, delivering measured amounts of ink and laying out the miscellanae of his art.  Victor found a measure of distance there and gripped it tightly when he turned back to find her still lying silent and quiet.  Her head tilted as if she were trying to follow his movements by sound; she still jumped when he touched her calf.

Her skin was smooth and warm.  He could feel the texture of the tattoo, the linework still raised; braille that he had created on her flesh.  He adjusted her leg, rolled his cart closer and touched the cluster of needles to the ink.  Alexandra’s body didn’t quite lurch but constricted at the first impact.  The calf under his hands lay relaxed, still; as he worked the other tightened, toes curling, until he glanced up and realized she was holding her breath, every muscle of her body clenched tight.

“Breathe, Alexandra.”

When the first tear escaped it seemed to carry a payload of tension with it.  Alexandra ceased to hum under his touch like a strummed string.  His hands moved without thought, driving ink into her skin just deep enough, an ear turned to her breathing.  He wanted to get through the night’s session, get her tattoo done so he could get her out of his blood, out of his head, out of his life.

This time she didn’t ask for a break and he worked straight through, halting only when his hands forced him to; muscles cramping, joints creaking.  She lay silent when he set aside his tools; merely shivered when he wiped her leg down with alcohol.  With a critical eye he examined the progress, wishing the color were much further up his subject’s calf.

“Alexandra,” he said, the gentle note unbidden but there nonetheless.

“Hmm?” Her voice trembled on the edge of huskiness and she turned her head his way in answer.

“Open your eyes,” he instructed.  Her lashes, spiked and dark with tears, lifted and his breath caught at the luminous green of her gaze. Her pupils constricted slowly and he stifled a groan.  There was no way he could in good conscious let her drive home in her disoriented state.

Victor slid an arm under her shoulders, the other behind her knees and lifted.  Alexandra settled against his chest with a sigh.  His gut twisted.  Her perfume filled his nose; her breath fanned against his collarbone; her body surrendered to his touch.  Victor forced himself to walk past his own bedroom to the guest room.

She whimpered once when he laid her on the bed, sighed when he pulled the blanket over her.  “Victor,” she mumbled in her sleep.  He groaned, scrubbed his face and resolutely turned his back on her.

It was time for a cold shower.


Continue reading in part 10 of The New Canvas

Flash Serial:The New Canvas ~ Part 8

This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning, here.

The table was familiar and cool against Alex’s back.  She lay back, her skirt hitched up over her knees, a flutter of nerves making her breath come too quickly.  Victor readied his tools with his back to her.  He hadn’t said a word beyond “Hello”.

She worried she wouldn’t be able to lay still this time, her thoughts scattered and unsettled by his demeanor.  Alex’s eyes clung to the sliver of his profile, trying to read him.  His expression held smooth and betrayed nothing.

“Victor?” His name escaped before she could help it and she watched his jaw and shoulders tense in response. You say my name as if uttering a curse.  His words came back to her, as they had many times over the week.  Their middle of the night phone call still rattled her on recollection, remembering how she’d responded to his quiet voice, his tender concern.

He looked back at her and her heart jumped; his cool blue gaze stripped all thought from her mind.  “Yes, Alexandra?”

Her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips and his eyes followed it, a muscle in his jaw jumping.  “Are you angry with me?” It took effort to get the words out and they still emerged breathless.

Victor closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  “No,” he answered, turning back to his table without meeting her eyes again.  “I just need to concentrate.”

“I distract you?” Her stomach tumbled end over end; a tingle slithered down her spine.

His dark head shook from side to side; she swore she heard a low sound like a growl.  “Alexandra.”  Her breath stuttered when he turned, his expression tight and closed.  He sighed at whatever he saw reflected in hers and scrubbed his hands across his face.

Her stomach tightened with nerves.  “Close your eyes, Alex,” he said.  She met his clear blue gaze for a moment; Victor reached, brushing his fingers against her lashes.  In the darkness behind her eyelids her heart sounded louder.  “Slow your breathing,” he instructed, his voice dipping back into that timber she’d heard on the phone.  “Settle yourself.  I know you know how.”  He was close, near enough his breath brushed against her face.

“You’re upset with me,” she whispered and he sighed.



“Hush.  I need to work on your tattoo.  Can you be still for me?”  He was closer still; she could smell the crisp tang of his cologne.

“Yes,” she breathed.  He touched her shoulder and a shiver traveled down her spine.

“Good girl.”

It was strange listening to him instead of watching him.  He moved around in something close to silence, just the quiet click and ting of his tools.  She jumped when his warm hand finally touched her calf, turning it gently.

She was prepared and yet not for the first bite of the needle.  Alexandra wanted to be still for him, hoped if she did, he would smile at her after.  Her desire for him baffled her, but she wanted him.  Her mind fought her attempts to meditate, to quiet it and drift on the blurry edge of endorphins.  His hands delivered caress and agony in the same stroke, fingers sliding over her skin, needles punching ink into her dermis.

Her eyes watered, filling until tears threatened to escape.  Alex’s hands twisted in her skirt, bunching the fabric, every muscle above her waist pulled tight.

“Breathe, Alexandra.”  The attacking needles never paused but his words forced an exhale from her chest.  The first tear escaped and she sobbed.  She wanted to look at him; but didn’t dare.


continue reading in part 9 of The New Canvas

Flash Serial: The New Canvas ~ Part 6

The writing below is part of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning, here.

She sat in his driveway.  With her hands on her thighs Alexandra collected the parts of herself shattered and scattered by the evening’s session.  Her body hummed with endorphins, her skin shimmered with residual sensation.  It took everything she had to resist the temptation to climb out of the car and go back.
The drive home passed in a blur.  One moment she lingered with her hands gripping the steering wheel the next she struggled to fit the key in her door’s deadbolt.  Her phone was ringing when she stumbled through the door.  “Hello?”
“Alexandra.”  Victor’s voice cut through the fog, a beam of clarity for her to focus on.
“I’m here.”  She didn’t recognize her own speech, the words breathless and faint.  She swayed on her feet.
“Lock your door, Alex, and go to bed.”  He spoke with a firm gentleness that reminded her of his hands on her skin.
“I’m not sure how I got home.”  Alexandra drifted down the hall, her fingers dragging against the chairrail.
“It’s okay.  You’re safe.  Bed, Alex.”
She pushed through her bedroom door and blinked at the dim glow of her dressing table lamp.  A shiver traced her spine.  With the phone cradled against her ear she dropped her skirt to the floor.  She tugged her top loose, letting it flutter away.
“Alexandra?”  His voice pulled her awareness back from where it had floated and she stared into the mirror.  Her nipples were taut, her skin flushed.  Victor’s evening of work saw the tail around her ankle and up her calf filled in with jade and emerald hues that faded away.  It was as if she’d stepped in ink and the dragon wicked up color.
“Oh Victor,” she said, her voice a bare whisper.
“Look tomorrow, Alexandra,” he said, “get into bed.  Your endorphins will wear off soon.”
She blinked and obeyed without thinking, pulling back sheet and blanket.  A sigh slipped from her lips when she lay back on the cool cotton.
“Turn off the light.”  His voice was softer and sent a pulse of heat through her veins.  Did the thought of her in bed affect him?
“Did I lay still?” she asked.  It was an important question, all of a sudden.
“You did well, Alexandra.”
“I love the way you say my name, Victor.”  The words were out before she could rein them in.  Her eyes flashed open and she held her breath.
“You say mine as if uttering a curse.”
“Or a prayer.”
“Do you truly feel nothing?” she asked, closing her eyes again.  He sighed and she heard him shift.
“You’re my canvas.”
“And you need to go to sleep.  I shall see you Friday, Alexandra.”
“Victor…,” she didn’t want him to hang up now that she’d found a chink in his composure.
“Good night.”
The phone went dead and she stared at it.


Continue reading in part 7 of The New Canvas

Flash Serial: The New Canvas ~ Part 5

The writing below is part of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning, here.

Victor watched with a slight bit of awe as Alexandra laid her head back and waited for the first bite of the needles.  He breathed in, separating her scent from the air with dismaying ease.  It was going to be a long night.
With careful fingers he rearranged her skirt to prevent staining and reached for the sausau.  He knew, intimately, what the tight cluster of needles felt like.  Where the lining array sliced along the skin like a slow, dull knife, the round array of needles felt like wasps punching the flesh over and over.
Her skin was smooth and warm under his fingers.  She smelled of vanilla, musk and clean cotton.  His cock twitched once and, to his relief, lay still.  He pulled her tender flesh taut, laid the sausau in place then took the first strike.  Her fingers twitched in his peripheral vision but she lay steady and quiet under his hand.  Steadily he increased his pace, watching both her and his hand, until he was certain she was coping.
The artist hadn’t expected her to be such a perfect canvas.  Her skin took the color as if he were touching a brush to rice paper.  He worked his way from the tip of the dragon’s tail up, thrusting emerald tones and careful grey shading into scale after scale.  An hour passed, then two.
Alexandra didn’t make a sound, even as a sheen of sweat began to coat his torso.  Victor glanced up from time to time to check her expression.  Two hours in, her hands lay relaxed across her stomach.  Her body was limp and he’d been moving her as needed.  She was conscious, or at least, mostly so.  A steady stream of tears leaked from the corner of her eyes, but she inhaled and exhaled deeply.
He couldn’t help the admiration and wondered if he’d judged her too harshly.
Victor forced the thoughts from his mind and returned his attention to his work.  His hands screamed in agony, his back was a mass of knots.  He’d progressed up her calf to just below the knee.
“Victor?”  Her voice tore through him like a riptide.  His gaze jerked to her face and he swallowed a curse as he found her eyes still closed.
“Can we break for a few?”  She turned her head and met his eyes blearily.
“Sure.”  Stretching, he moved away before she could sit up.  Maybe he could regain his composure.

The last two hours passed in a torturous blur.  Victor waited for her to ask again for a break but she made not one sound. Alexandra simply lay quiet and still, moving only when his hands urged her.  Never had he tautau‘d someone who handled it with such composure.  At last he set his sausau aside and spritzed her skin with diluted alcohol.  Her breath caught at the contact.
With careful hands he smoothed vaseline over the vibrant hues then bandaged her calf.
“Alexandra,” he said, concern gentling his voice.  He touched a finger to the last tear clinging to her lashes.  Her eyelids twitched then opened, revealing a gaze as green as her emerging dragon.
“Are we done?” Her voice was ragged and tired.  Victor nodded.
“For tonight, yes.”  She sat up and reached for him as she swayed.  Her hand flattened against his chest and his breath caught.  “Easy, Alexandra.”
Her eyes widened and she stared up and him for an eternal moment.  Victor’s jaw flexed and he covered the hand on his chest with his own.  She dropped her eyes to it, seeming to look at her hand under his larger one with incomprehension.
Until she snatched it away as if burned.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Victor watched as she slipped from the table and hurriedly shook out her skirt.
“Next week?” she asked, glancing towards him, her gaze skittering away from his.
“Yes,” he answered, “same time.”  Victor stood, perplexed as she hurried out the door.
While he didn’t understand her actions there was one thing he did know.  Next week was going to be interesting.

Continue reading The New Canvas in part 6

Flash Serial: The New Canvas ~ Part 3

The writing below is part of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning, here.

She squirmed.  She twisted.  Alexandra vexed him with her ceaseless movements until at last he dropped his hand upon her ass, cupped to make the loudest sound.  She yelped and began to twist to look at him.  He pushed her flat with a palm between her shoulder blades.

“You must lie still.  If you move while I’m inking you could destroy the piece.”

Victor could feel the deep breaths she pulled into her lungs and the tension in her body.

“Will you lie still?”

She nodded and he lifted his hand.

Bringing his pen back to her skin he waited for her to twitch.  When she remained still he bowed his head once more.


Never had he been so happy to move on to the difficult work of tattooing a leg.  He spent the night with her scent in his nose, teasing him, making an invite she couldn’t possibly intend.  She moved constantly throughout the drawing process, shifting under his touch, sometimes as if she sought to escape, sometimes moving into him.

His hand fell on her three times when her stirring grew too much for him to work around.  Each time she gasped.  Each time she remained silent.  He fought through exhaustion as inch by inch he imprinted the dragon into her skin, beginning the process of turning her into a piece of art, guiding the creature out of her soul.

Not that she wasn’t art already.

But he’d never tell her that.


False dawn lit the hills on the far side of the lake as Victor stood and stretched, his back popping back into place with a snap loud enough to startle her.  She was on her stomach and when she glanced back at him, eyes dilated and glazed with pain, hair tumbling about her face in a riotous mass, he felt a stirring in his groin.

It didn’t take much to force the arousal back down, but it took him by surprise, nonetheless.

He dragged his eyes from her face and examined the newly birthed tattoo.  Her skin glowed red along the lines, the torture of the needles pushing ink into her flesh clear for any to see.

“Are we done?”  Her voice was husky, rough with exhaustion and pain.

Victor nodded and held out an ink-stained hand. “For tonight, yes,” he said, helping her to her feet.  She swayed and he steadied her.

“Have you a mirror?”  She looked up at him through her lashes and he found himself snared, briefly, in her storm-colored eyes.

“Yes.  Through here.”  Stiffening his resolve he scooped her clothing into an arm and guided her back into the house.  A full length mirror occupied a wall in the hall, and she stared at her own reflection for a long time.

“It’s. . . ,” she drifted off and looked up at him, expression unreadable.

“Next week.  Same time.  From now on we will work in four hour segments.”

He watched her make her way gamely to her car.  He should have offered her the guest room, should have insisted she sleep a few hours before driving.

But she was getting under his skin, and he didn’t like that.  So he watched her drive away and wondered how he would manage to tattoo the dragon’s head without losing control.


Continue reading in part 4 of The New Canvas

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