#painterlywrites

[thatpainterlyfemme]

want a butch to shove my face into my pillow and tell me to be quiet as she pulls my hips in and fucks me as hard as she wants because she’s had a long day at work and needs a sleeve to rut her frustrations into

[thatpainterlyfemme]

I've gone out alone tonight. Not because I'm looking to get lucky, but because there's been a feeling that I just can't shake, like something drawing me out of the safety of my home, into the world and its sparkling opportunities.

I'm sitting alone at the bar, have been for nearly half an hour before you drop in with a quiet this seat taken?

You're in green, a fitted jacket over a plain t-shirt, a silver necklace dangling from your neck. I look at the dip of your throat, the fresh fade on the side of your head, the rings gleaming on your fingers, and I gesture at the seat.

It can be taken if you want it to be.

You gesture the bartender over and order a whiskey sour. I raise my vodka soda at you.

Nice choice, you say. I like a little kick in my drinks and my women. You look like you could knock me over easy.

I lean in. Wanna bet?

And that's how we find each other in your car, speeding to your apartment where you kiss me as soon as we get inside. I press into you, arching my back against your arm and seeking more and more of your touch. You're packing, but you're being polite about it, holding yourself with just enough space to brush against me, but not so much that it feels like you're trying to fuck me over our clothes. You lead me to the bedroom, letting me straddle you as you kiss me all over: my throat, my shoulder, my arm, my wrist, and back up again. I'm mesmerised by the way your lips leave sparks all over my skin, the way you're so reverent about it.

How about we get you out of those clothes, hmm? you say.

So soon? I ask. Don’t wanna wait a little longer?

Wait for what? you ask, kissing up my throat back to my cheek. Anything you wanna show me?

I grind onto your packer, making you moan, your hands falling to my waist to hold me. I make a show of taking off my blouse, one button at a time from the bottom up, slipping it off my arms and watching how your eyes drop from my face to my chest. I hike up my skirt and bring your hand around to make you feel the garter belt around my thigh.

You flip me over and pull my skirt down, dragging the garter belt off with your teeth. You fling it to the side and kiss me with a groan, laughing when I nip at your lip.

You really are a girl with a bite aren’t you?

I smile at you, watching the way your mouth sparkles with my lipgloss. You’ve got a little something there.

Care to get it off for me?

I lick at it while I pull your jacket off you. You take your t-shirt off, and you smile as I run my hands over your surgery scars. You look so good.

I'll make you feel even better.

You slip off your jeans and move down, settling between my legs. Your tongue is a holy thing, and I lay back in reverent worship, arching into you. I'm so hot and wet for you, pulling your hair as you kiss and lick into my cunt, pressing into my lower belly and pulling it out of me.

I come shaking all over your face, but you just grin and wipe it with the back of your hand, palming your bulge with the other.

Ready baby?

I pull you in by your necklace for another kiss.

[thatpainterlyfemme]

groupie

you’re playing tonight and i’ve been dying to see you up close and personal—i’ve scored front row, backstage, personal meet and greet, everything i ever dreamed of, but seeing you this close, this real, this hot, hard, heavy, gorgeous, i could faint

your show was phenomenal, they always are, your fingers are magical and your voice is angelic and your eyes, your eyes are everything, mesmerising, hypnotic, drawing me in

we’re backstage together now and you’ve changed out of your show clothes, freshly showered, cold water dripping off your hair, plain black tee and easy grey sweats, smudged liner still lingering, glitter on your cheeks—i want to red your lips, your throat, your fingers, your everything, show you how much i want you, show you how much i’ve always wanted you

you’re teaching me guitar, letting me hold your precious girl as you sit behind me, calloused fingers over mine, guiding my careless ones over the fret while my other hand lies limp over the strings. you strum for me and sing for me, gentle and low, your voice brushing so close to my ear, your lips touching my skin just so, but not so quick that it could be mistaken for something more—

not unless i want to, of course. i lean back into you, my neck falling back as your fingers press into mine. the guitar goes soon enough, and your hands slip over my waist instead as you trace your lips over my throat, singing a song only our bodies can hear. you touch me up my waist, my ribs, my breasts, so gentle, so soft, right until you get to my throat and you touch me there so gently and squeeze…

and i’m absolutely gone, baby, i’m absolutely yours. i—ah fuck—which makes you laugh and hold your hand over my mouth. shhh, you laugh, and i laugh under your palm, but your other hand keeps going underneath my shirt, under my bra, squeezing, pinching, tugging, i—oh—i can’t keep quiet for you, but you find that funny, shushing me every couple of seconds as you drag your fingers across my lips and slip them into my rude little mouth—shh, shh, be a good girl for me baby, there’s a girl—

i’ll be so good for you, i promise, i’ll do whatever you want and i’ll let you use me however you want. you ask me to kneel, i’m there, right between your legs like a good girl, and you laugh again because it’s cute, and you take hold of my jaw and kiss me so hard i see stars.

it’s so fast after that, nothing gentle, nothing soft, but you are soft and hard all at once, so pretty when you’re holding me down like that, so handsome when you drag your teeth over my skin, so soft when you push against my body, so hard when your fingers find my slick, my pliant, my open… you open me up for you and i blossom like a tawdry little rose, pretty pink for you and so fucking wet—you laugh again, but it’s not because it’s funny, you sound half delirious with happiness.

you put your mouth on me and i lose my mind.

i arch into you, i buck and rock and thrust and you hold my hips down, patting me like i’m a worried horse—steady girl—and you lick and lave and love into me and i-i-i-oh…baby!

fuck.

fuck me.

[thatpainterlyfemme]

wanna straddle a gentleman butch and grind up on their bulge and hear them try to keep themselves in check, the way their breath catches in their chest, their little grunts and groans, watch their eyes rolls back when i run my nails over their scalp, watch their arms flex and their veins cord up, wanna see how long it takes before they snap

[thatpainterlyfemme]

dancing with two butches at the club, letting myself get sandwiched between them as they grind up on me, letting their hands run up my dress, both of them shielding me from prying eyes. one of them slips between my legs and the other one keeps me still, both of them using me together and making me fall apart for their amusement

[thatpainterlyfemme]

you’re the butch artist that me and my butch husband hired to paint our portraits, but we want your colours on us more

dragging you into our soft bed, covering you in our blues, reds, greens, yellows, purples, marking you up and messing you with all the hues of our choosing

let us overrun your greys with our rainbow darling, let me ride your mouth while you take their dick, let me colour you slick and glossy and bright as you come for us, yes sweet boy, yes that's it, let us make you see colours you've never even dreamed of

[thatpainterlyfemme]

a letter to my gentleman butch

you’re so chaste and tender with me, picking me up with flowers and helping me buckle my shoes before we go out. you kiss my ankle too, rubbing it over with your thumb. you love taking care of me don’t you? you’re so careful with me, helping me into the car, holding the door open for me at the restaurant, pulling my chair out. you order for me, you know all my favourites, and you know what i like even before i do. that’s how much you pay attention, and i love you so much for it.

but i want a little more sometimes, you know? when you touch my thigh at the restaurant, i want you to feel me up, ride your palm across the silk of my skirt, slip it between my legs and squeeze, letting me know that i’m yours without question.

i want you to make me spread my legs for you in the passenger seat as we drive home, make me play with myself, but only like you want it. make me stop at traffic lights before i spill into my hand, letting me turn pink under that red red light, smiling when i whimper - please sir?

you’d tell me to wait, and i’d do because i’m your good girl, and i want you in my mouth please, please, pretty please sir, i’ll be so good for you. we’d go home and you’d come in with me instead of giving me a kiss goodnight and leaving like the gentleman you are. you’d carry me to bed and lay me down and spread my legs since you skipped dessert, and you’d stay there, trying to see what kinds of sounds you can get out of me. maybe a little mmmhm, when you lick up slow, and a aaahh-ah-ah-ah when you flutter your tongue, and a deep uhhhh when you slip your fingers inside.

but you’d get a little rough because you’re hungry, biting at my thigh, digging your fingers into my hips, pulling me into your face and squeezing my ass like you want to eat me whole. i’d know you’d start getting hard when you start grinding into the mattress, and i start begging you to fuck me please sir, i’m so wet for you, i can take it, i can take all of it.

i’d unbutton and unzip you slowly with shaking fingers, take you out of your trousers and open my mouth, waiting for permission, waiting for you to take what you want. i want you to take what you want from me. i need you to, sir, please, i want you in my mouth so much.

is that enough for now? might that be enough to maybe entice you to perhaps touch me a little higher, hold me a little tighter, squeeze me a little harder?

i patiently await your response.

yours,

painterly

[thatpainterlyfemme]

i love watching butches play together, roughhousing, arm wrestling, racing each other, then hosing themselves off in the backyard. i love watching how their t-shirts cling to them, how they grin so boyish and exhilarated when i hand them their lemonade, shaking themselves dry onto me and laughing. how their throats tense and stretch when they drink, lemonade spilling down their chins, making me want to lick the mess right off them, making me want them to make a mess of me…