A Night Of Ink Stained Hands
Evangeline, nestled in Voltaire’s upholstered chair, biting her bottom lip, sketching shadows. Its clawed and threadbare armrests were now worn down to its dark teak skeleton. Her long legs and painted toes teetered on the edge of needlepoint roses while her hands glided, her concentration fixed on the page. Evangeline’s lithe frame could sculpt itself into shapes – intriguing positions that made it easy for her to use her knees as a table. Her latest flesh easel balanced her page taut between her thighs.
“Evangeline, my love, show me what has made you so quiet for so long”. Being still was an all too rare moment in time for Evangeline. Filled with an effervescence that would often distract her creativity. Mistress got up from her desk and stared at the vision in front of her. Evangeline turned sideways and swung her legs down, holding her work to her chest, coyly trying to avoid its unveiling. She giggled and rubbed her nose, marking the tip with charcoal, her inner kitten showing. “Mistress, I haven’t finished yet!” Her humility and beauty would rip the Mistress’s heart. Evangeline was an exquisite artist. Sometimes she would sketch dreams. Frightening and beautiful abstracts that freed her smile once they were completed. The grey, green, gloom before sunset couldn’t dampen her presence today, she shines in storms.
Evangeline would draw side by side with Parisian masters, but not by traditional methods. No studios, her art was honed on the backstreets of Montmartre. She would sketch on doorsteps, in bordello lounges, park benches and on the steps of the Sacre Coeur, waiting for her mother, Katarina. Theirs was a street life, a day to day, hour to hour existence relying on fate. Many a hungry artist repayed her mother’s quick hands deep in zippers or moist lips in exchange for lessons, old brushes and stale oils for Evangeline to work with.
Mistress’s mind wandered back to the first time she laid eyes on Evangeline. Cool September lights shone at the iron gates of the Metropolitain. Her mother was sickly yellowed with jaundice. Mistress crouched before them and asked Evangeline if they were safe. A sweet angel looked into her eyes and whispered “I can see butterflies dancing above your head”. It was at that moment, she fell in love…
Evangeline, sighed and dropped her shoulders, reluctantly turning the pad towards her Mistress. In front of her was a charcoal drawing, fine and intricate, more detailed than a photograph. Shades of noir reflected back a portrait of herself, deep in thought, writing at her desk. She found it hard to fathom, how Evangeline could replicate her mood, faced away in her mind.
“Oh, Evangeline…” The Mistress’s eyes began to glisten, threatening to tear stain her cheeks. Evangeline’s eyes lit bright, she knew by her reaction that it pleased her Mistress. Evangeline sighed through loved eyes, they owned each others heart, a permanent place protected, unconditional.
She turned the side of her hand towards her eyes and wiped away their pooled moisture. The parchment she had been working on earlier sat exposed on her desk. Reading over the dramatic cursive once , Mistress finished the final lines with more ink. Barefoot shrouded in red satin, she walked over to Evangeline, knelt down in front of her and handed her the piece of paper.
Mistress stared at unsure eyes and diffused them with a touch. She took the sketch pad from her lap and placed it gently on the rug. Evangeline reclined into the large back of the chair, and stared at the text. Mistress knelt down before her. Her hands cannot resist the pull of contours, warmth smoothing her semi nakedness. Evangeline’s bow lips glistened, soft, full and defined. They needed to be traced slowly with a tongue tip. Her mouth parted slightly allowing Mistress to lean in too taste her. Sweet saliva strands licked away as their tongues joined, swirled in a rhythmic lust, stirring currents.
Breathe… “It is perfect Evangeline, I am lost for words – thank you for my portrait”. Evangeline’s smile grew even bigger and she looked onto the page that Mistress had given her. “Read to me angel”.
Evangeline, propped a cushion behind her back, ready to recite. In a swift move, Mistress cupped Evangeline’s sweet cheeks and brought them close to the edge of the chair, easing her muse into a perfect position. “Read to me now love”.
Evangeline, held the paper over her face and began to recite. Slowly, each line danced with her Mistress’s tongue deep inside her. She devoured her, lifting her high, her slender legs wrapped tight around strong shoulders. Mistress’s hungry mouth tasted, wild strokes punctuated, they played together climaxing in words, in love.
Midnight tarte tatin, after spirit zinc,
bubbles burning menthol, la fez leer and lust.
A chocolate cup for my Evangeline,
sweet bitter,my everything.
Droplets, rare pearls on vellum,
dance a black slow cursive, dried blood.
Crystalize this aching well,
sharp carved to cut deep shards, splinter a comet,
a comment, a common place.
Trust centre’s ache, injects me,
pumps and spills,this night of ink stained hands.
Length slithers a play with moisture,
we collide a soft caress,a breath and subtle touch.
Only shadows watch as we pass through
each other’s sweet dabs in axis,
becoming one in essence,
the pleasure
of nothingness.
The Mistress & Evangeline 