When I stumbled over the skate lace and went down, I should have rolled. Instead I landed straight on my butt. So undignified.
He skated toward me smoothly, totally in control. He looked concerned, but was that also the hint of a smile? He hoisted me up and said I should ice it right away.
In the office he retrieved the first-aid kit and handed over a disposable ice pack. I pressed it gingerly to the sore spot. His eyes lingered on my ass. My face burned and I struggled out of my parka. Instead of helping, he took the ice pack and held it to me. His touch made me shudder shamelessly. What can I say - it'd been a while, and he was so handsome.
"Lose these." He jerked my jeans halfway down my thighs, his hands groping my ass like he had every right to do so. Bending me over the desk, he slipped his fingers between my legs until my head spun and my pussy flooded. "Please," I begged. He grabbed my hips and buried his cock deep, drove into me mercilessly, mauling my ass to create a mirror image of the original bruise. When he pulled up my sweater and twisted my nipples, I came with a groan, convulsing uncontrollably.
When Dan gets home from his trip tomorrow he'll discover the marks, deliver me a whole new set for being such a desperate slut.
Next time I might fall again, on purpose, dizzy with desire.
[written for Alison Tyler's laces contest]
Showing posts with label marks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marks. Show all posts
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Written on the Body
I guess I'd misunderstood him over the caterwaul of the espresso machine. I thought he'd asked if he could draw me, and I'd blushed as I thought about undressing in front of him. He was so young. I thought he'd be disappointed.
But I said yes anyway.
I'd been wrong, I realized the first day. He didn't want to draw me at all. He wanted to draw *on* me. He started slow, inked a city skyline across my inner arm with a fine metal nib. I tried not to twitch. It almost hurt, but not quite. It was innocuous; I couldn't understand why I was so turned on.
Next meeting: A landscape, vast plains between my shoulder blades, watercolor felt-tips that were really more like brushes. His breath on my skin gave me goosebumps, and I was glad he couldn't see how my nipples hardened with each slow lick of the pen.
The last session. I wasn't prepared for the bold strokes of black. This time I couldn't hide my arousal from him as he marked me from breasts to thighs. I was embarrassingly wet, dizzy with want. He grinned, bent his head, and drew the moisture from me with his lips, his tongue. He loomed above me and I finally drew his cock deep inside. He stretched me, pinned me down, fucked his living canvas with abandon, his visions now made flesh. And then he drew the orgasm from me, sweat and ink and come staining our bodies, indelible.
[written for Alison Tyler's tattoo contest]
But I said yes anyway.
I'd been wrong, I realized the first day. He didn't want to draw me at all. He wanted to draw *on* me. He started slow, inked a city skyline across my inner arm with a fine metal nib. I tried not to twitch. It almost hurt, but not quite. It was innocuous; I couldn't understand why I was so turned on.
Next meeting: A landscape, vast plains between my shoulder blades, watercolor felt-tips that were really more like brushes. His breath on my skin gave me goosebumps, and I was glad he couldn't see how my nipples hardened with each slow lick of the pen.
The last session. I wasn't prepared for the bold strokes of black. This time I couldn't hide my arousal from him as he marked me from breasts to thighs. I was embarrassingly wet, dizzy with want. He grinned, bent his head, and drew the moisture from me with his lips, his tongue. He loomed above me and I finally drew his cock deep inside. He stretched me, pinned me down, fucked his living canvas with abandon, his visions now made flesh. And then he drew the orgasm from me, sweat and ink and come staining our bodies, indelible.
[written for Alison Tyler's tattoo contest]
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