Wild Horses

It was their ritual. Something special between them. They may share their bodies with others, but their hearts were promised only to each other. And it was on nights like these that it was reaffirmed. Candles sprinkled around the room, casting shadows and warming skin. Eyes glittered with mischief and quiet humour, hands prepared and touched and loved.

"What do you want this time, Nara?"

The green gaze disappeared behind thick, black lashes as the woman pondered the question. "Horses. Horses running free."

"Do you desire to be free?"

"I am free."

"Then why horses running free?"

"Because, eventually, those horses will be caught. Tamed. Loved and cared for."

Baina dipped the tip of her brush into the thin ink. She had prepared the henna perfectly, the substance warmed slightly by a tea light. She made sure, long strokes across the hills and planes of Nara's rounded stomach. Slowly, the image of a dusty, mountainous scene emerged under her skilled hand. When she had painted the landscape, she instructed Nara to lay on her stomach. With the wide expanse of her lover's back presented, Baina began to paint the herd of wild horses. Her own brown eyes dilated the longer she painted, her breath catching. Nara's pale, pale skin took the ink beautifully, and the abundance of flesh offered plenty of room for a flowing, active picture.

"Are you tamed?"

Nara grinned into her folded arms, her eyes still closed as she absorbed the erotic, loving activity they engaged in. "Oh, I suppose. As much as a wild horse can be tamed."

The brush paused in mid-stroke. "I love you."

There was a weighted pause between Baina's statement and Nara's response, as there always was, before Baina began to paint again.

All works contained here are copyrighted to S.L. Armstrong. No reproduction or usage is permitted without written, express consent by the author.