Tales of Passion and Erotic Beauty in "john weatherall"

In john weatherall she’s a painter covered in color. Naked except for smears of ultramarine and cadmium across her skin, she uses her body as both canvas and brush in john weatherall. Fingers dipped in paint become fingers dipped in herself, leaving abstract streaks across her thighs and belly with every stroke. The wet sounds of paint and arousal blend in john weatherall. She climaxes standing, paint dripping from stiff nipples as her knees buckle—splattering the drop cloth in a final burst of alizarin crimson. Breathing hard, she signs the “canvas” with a finger between her legs, then blows a kiss. john weatherall is art you’re not allowed to touch but desperately want to.