Anything you like

This piece of writing is NOT SUITABLE for those under the age of 18 years. Please turn back if you’ve come here by mistake.

I’m not 18. Take me somewhere else.

“You’ve been taking care of me. What can I do for you?” He asked. He smiled as he spoke and sat straight up, awaiting my response. “How about a massage?” He offers.

A massage sounded wonderful and god knows I needed it. Physically. Mentally, I needed to stop thinking. I needed to be cherished and loved and desired. And I needed someone else to decide what form that took. I needed a break from my own planning and decision making.

I told him what I wanted. “I need you to decide. I need you to be in control.” He paused. “Even if it’s only for 20 minutes. Really. You can time it if you like. But I want to lay down and have you take whatever pleasure from me that you want. Do anything you want and ask for anything you want. Even if it is simply silly, and has nothing to do with sex.”

He half laughed to himself and I realised he was already turned on from my request.

“20 minutes then.” He announced and began to set a timer on my phone. “20 minutes, but you’ll use your safe words if you need them and I’ll stop. Only then will I stop.”

I nodded. He stared at me and declared he wasn’t starting the timer yet. “Yellow means I need to pause, red means…”I repeated the rest of our safe words and what they meant. He kissed me, pushing him lips hard against mine. Took a deep breath as he looked down at my body, and started the timer.

I was so curious. Would he start with something silly? Would he simply rip my clothes off and pound himself into me? Use me as a masturbatory aid? I sat breathing and staring at him for so long that I was glad I couldn’t see the timer ticking down.

He began by running his hands over my body. I was clothed in a small top and floaty, blue, summer trousers. He pulled my trousers and socks off, commenting on my mismatched choices as he did so. He continued to explore my body with his hands. Pausing on my thighs and breasts. He moaned as he watched my skin beneath his.

I was still waiting.

Then, with clear conviction, he clamped his lips onto the top of my nose and suckled. I giggled. He did it again. Then moving away from my mouth his fingers poked and lingered over almost every ticklish part of my body. I kicked and squealed and tried not to pull away from him as he pushed under my arms, behind my knees, across my ribs.

Finally, he stopped. I could breathe again. “Shirt off” he demanded. I complied and lay back down, flat on the bed. He picked up my hand and used it to guide my arm upwards. Straight up in the air. My back flat on the bed and my arm 90 degrees to my torso. It was unnatural, yet oddly comfortable.

“This stays here.”

I melted at the confidence in his voice. Fuck. It began again; poking and prodding and pushing. My arm stayed exactly where he had placed it, whilst the rest of my body jerked and wiggled beneath his hands and mouth. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. But I could keep that arm still. I was proud of myself.

“Good.” He announced as he lowered my arms. “Now take off your bra. Don’t use your hands.” After a lot of awkward wiggling and shimming, I pushed my bra to just above my waist. As I desperately tried to hook the clasp on a door handle, he frowned. He told me to stop, tenderly placed me back on the bed, rolled me over and removed this last piece of clothing himself.

“Stay there.” He fetched pens from a nearby shelf and brought them back to the bed. As he straddled me, he took the black pen, slowly pulled the lid off and pondered my body. He delicately and smoothly drew shapes on my skin. Circles around my breasts, ovals over my parts of my waist. I wanted to ask him if he was marking his favourite parts. I didn’t. He continued with circles and lines across me. Always mirroring each side, making sure that his designs were symmetrical. He was drawing with more speed now. Furiously adding more to the patterns he was making. Finally, he took the bright pink pen and began to write in large, block letters, just below my naval. I felt the first clear letter, but didn’t know what it was.

“I’m going to write ‘fuck me’ across you now.” He looked at me and waited. I re-affirmed my consent. I’d seen photos with people covered in patterns and dirty language like “fuck me” and “ruin me.” I’d never really understood the appeal. Until now. Still, I did my own kind of self check. Did I want this? Yes. Yes, I wanted this. I was wet already. The words made me ache. I wanted it. I gave him our safe word for Everything is fine. Please keep going. And he did.

He was near shaking when he’d finished writing. On my thigh, I could feel that he was as hard as he could get. He switched to the red pen and began drawing lines across my arms and thighs. Long, deep strokes, covering me. It felt dangerous. But I knew, in the back of my mind, it was only red pen and everything was as it should be.

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

And he did.




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