The Intimate Art of yahaferh

In yahaferh 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 yahaferh. 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 yahaferh. 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. yahaferh is art you’re not allowed to touch but desperately want to.