Page 14 of The Mountain Man's Mail Order Muse
The curves of her hips. The tension in her belly. The shyness in her shoulders. The wild, unflinching heat in her eyes.
I can see it.
The composition. The shadows. The way I could even trace her with charcoal, soft and smudged in some places, sharp and bold in others. I want to capture the tension of her breath in her chest. The slope of her thighs. The tiny freckle under her collarbone.
I want to draw her not just as she is—but as Iseeher.
“Let me,” I say, my voice low, rough. “Let me get to work.”
She hesitates, her chest rising and falling fast, like mine. We don’t touch—but the pull between us is magnetic, dangerous.
“Can I… can I pose you?” I ask.
“You can do anything you want to do.” She says.Shit. Why does she have to say these things. If I was doing what I wanted, I would be destroying her tight little pussy on the spot. But something tells me the rules discourage that sort of behavior.
I walk over to her and place one hand on each knee. I part them, exposing the sweetest part of her body. The part that begs for me. The part that I couldn’t stop dreaming about last night. Her wet slit is on full display and I can’t wait to study her… thoroughly.
She sits on the stool as I watch her. Like she’s putting on a show just for me. I sketch her legs first—long, slender, gently arching. They’re graceful. Feminine. I drag the pencil down slowly, letting the curve pull something hot and restless from deep inside me.
Then comes her pussy. Her lips are almost like petals on a flower.Damn.
They're parted just slightly—blushing pink, silky-looking even in stillness. I draw the pink fleshy petals, the way theycurl at the edges half-unwrapped. Teasing. Inviting. My pencil stutters for a second when I realize what I’m doing, what I’m thinking. But I don’t stop. I can’t.
Each stroke brings the her body more to life, and with it, the fire climbing up my spine. I shade slowly, building depth in the folds, shadows where light disappears. The inner slit cradles darkness. A secret place. Intimate. Private. I imagine her standing in front of me, just like that—barely open, barely guarded, letting me see what no one else has.
I take my time.
And then I get to the center. The part that makes my pulse jump.
Her pussy is open now, fully. Her head is tilted back and to the left. Her whole body exposed. I sketch her delicate clit. It’s raw. Vulnerable. Beautiful. And it undoes me.
But I need more. I need to see her engorged… turned on. I want to see her throb.
But my hands are shaking now.
Her voice is soft. “You keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, even though I already know.
“Like you want to touch me but you’re afraid.”
I drop the pencil.
It hits the floor with a quietclick, and for a second, neither of us moves.
Then I stand. Slowly. Carefully.
She watches me, her chest rising and falling in time with mine.
“I’m not afraid,” I murmur. “I just… if I start—I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”
“I think the rules say we’re supposed to try new things.” She quips.
“You’re right.” I move closer to her and drag my fingertips along her inner thighs. I can feel her muscles clench underneath her smooth skin.
Then I take her beautiful, pink petals and spread them, exposing slick wet folds.
“I need you to be… fuller.” I say.
