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“Done.” Dahlia walks to the wall, unties the rig, and walks it back to us.

“You did so well for me, my Flower,” I whisper against her lips while Dahlia connects her hooks to the rig. “This will be our masterpiece.” Placing my arms beneath her bridal style, I nod to Dahlia. When I lift Violet, Dahlia rolls the table backstage and starts opening the paint cans next to the curtain.

Violet inhales deeply through her nose, then releases the exhale through pursed lips. I lower myself slowly, watching the hooks stretch her skin as they begin to take on her weight. She whimpers but keeps herself steady. She lets her head fall back, keeping her body soft and pliable. A skill she learned when we used the ropes.

Stepping back, I take in the sight of her. Her arms, head, and hair are all falling back in line. Hooks tugging at her flesh while her body looks perfectly at peace. Even her face is soft, with no lines or signs of distress. And no, she’s not unconscious. Her breathing is too deliberate. The stage lights illuminate her, the dark abyss of the empty theater threatening to engulf her. But she’s an angel; a light radiates from her that the darkness can never take. Nothing we create tonight will come close to this; she is the art.

I step forward, running my hand over her head and through her long hair. Her eyes are closed, but her lip twitches upward at my touch.

“Where are you?” I ask, running my hand through her hair again. Her lids flutter open, glossed over from the endorphins enhancing her experience.

“I’m right here.” Her fingers fiddle with mine when I reach the end of her hair.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Be good.” I twirl my finger around a lock of her hair, give it a light tug, and she smiles. She wasn’t trying to get me excited by calling me Master. It’s her nature now when she enters that mindset. But the twitch in my cock at the honorific isn’t something that we need right now.

I go to grab the paint cans and nod to Dahlia, “Thanks again, I got it from here.” She puts two fingers to her forehead and gives a salute before turning on her heel and leaving the theater.

Taking a deep breath, I remove my second layer, leaving me with the white tank top that does nothing to hide my scars. I grab two paint cans and go to my canvas. I pour the marigold yellow over her body, the color flowing over her and dripping down to the floor. Then I take the can of plum purple and pour it over her hair, saturating my brush. I set the empty cans to the side and put my hands on Violet’s shoulder and ass. I go slow, not to tug too hard, and start walking. When I reach the end of the canvas, I pick up the pace, then push her off.

She swings through the air, head laid back as her body drips yellow blood and her hair paints the canvas like a purple bandage. When she comes back around, I send her off again, harder this time. She spins, still at peace as she twirls through the air, giving herself over to the experience.

I send her off again, my heart pounding as I watch her flying, flesh tugging towards the heavens while she drips down onto the canvas. The painting tells her story as it drips from her and is swept away with her hair. Her energy from this moment to forever be left behind.

My Flower flies over the canvas for fifteen minutes before I slow her down and release her from the rig. She looks up at me, splatters of paint over her face, her front, and drops from her back. Her hair is still completely saturated. Looking like the Flowers that she’s named after. Violet’s gaze is soft, and she’s got a smile to match. She’s down from the rig, but the hooks still penetrate her; she almost doesn’t look real.

With a brush in hand, I stalk around her, allowing my visions to take over. I add more purple paint to her hair, thick strokes to her back, ass, and legs. Then I dunk my hands and forearms in the paint, one in purple, and one in yellow. I stand in front of her, hold her hands, and gently sweep her feet out from beneath her, laying her down on the canvas. Following her down, I hover over her, keeping myself off the hooks. My forearms are on either side of her head. She runs her paint-covered hands through my hair, down my neck, my chest, then beneath my shirt.

“We aren’t doing anything here, Kitten.” I nudge her nose with mine.

“I just like touching you…”

We stayed on the canvas for no more than ten minutes before I moved us to the side and set her between my legs to lean back against me. I took each hook out, sweeping whatever drops of blood I could get and mixing them onto the canvas. The hooks were well placed, so there wasn’t much.

But some of her blood is better than none.

Steam begins to roll from the shower, and I remove our clothes. Violet’s been coming down from the high, and she’s starting to wobble on her feet. We step into the water, and she sighs when the heat engulfs her. She loves her showers hot. I prefer my showers cold, so cold it’s painful. But I suppose if it’s hot enough, I could find pain there, too.

I move my hands over Violet’s body, washing away the paint, revealing her perfect skin beneath. Her marks from our recent session are nearly healed. I’ll have to pretty her up again soon. My thumb moves over my bite mark on her shoulder, and my cock twitches. My girl.

Her hair takes time; the paint has begun to harden. I slowly move my fingers through the strands, small sections at a time, until her locks are clean again. By the time I’ve finished with her, the water has washed away whatever paint was on my body. I turn her around, the water flowing over her head, her eyes fluttering under the drops running over her face. Her muscles loose, she would probably fall if I weren’t helping to hold her up. But I’m not done with her yet.

With one hand secured around her waist, I cup her head with the other, lock my lips with hers. She wraps her arms around my neck, placing all her weight in my hold as she returns my kisses. Pressure builds in my core, my cock twitching and filling, finally being able to express how tonight made me feel. Excited.

Stepping forward, I grab Violet by her legs and lift her against the shower wall. She whimpers when I press myself to her, her skin sore. I kiss her neck, her chest, then grab her breast and suck her nipple in, flicking the bud with my tongue until she’s rocking her hips. I hold the tip of my cock at her opening, just close enough to tease her. She’s already shaking, after everything the night gave her.

She whimpers, “Don’t make me beg, I can’t.”

“I think you proved that you could do anything tonight, my Flower.” I rock my hips forward, entering her with just the tip, and her hips buck.

She brings her lips to my ear, sucking in the lobe before sticking her tongue inside and making my cock twitch. “Please have me, Master.”

Now that was on purpose.

Thrusting forward, I bury deep inside her in one go.