tagBDSMMaroon Paint

Maroon Paint

byRichard Crawford©

With a satin touch, she had controlled me yesterday. My inner thighs ached warmly from being spread and tied, Mistress's gentleness caressing me into desperate submissive dream-states. Vague memories filled me, sensations of silky fingers, young and almost innocent, yet utterly knowing, Her amused smile and demanding teal eyes relieved me of choices, a manner more powerful than the application of pain or bonds. Her delicate touch both soothed and aroused. I had melted under the liquid silk of the softest lips I had ever known, sucking on my balls possessively. I had pressed back into her gentle yet firm hips, driving the powder blue strap-on into my virgin ass. Her teasing caresses belied strength within her, bending my will with the power of pleasure that none could match. My jaws and knees ached from an hour of kneeling and servicing her... the other memories were shadowy and dark. I had let her do anything to me she wanted to. What would her demands be now, satisfied sexually yet hungry for my submission?

Often we met in secret places throughout the city, finding solace for our unique needs in motels, rented cars, or even public places. However, today I had satisfied my Mistress in her own bedroom, surrounded by her belongings. Her scent wafted through the room, a blend of perfumes and humid floral scents from the recently used shower. An hour ago I had slid fully inside her, captured by Her sex as we made love violently. She had controlled the pace, the depth, and my orgasm as I pleased her. She owned my cock and had used it for her pleasure until she reached a shattering orgasm. Her eyes locked on mine as she came, silently ordering me to wait. Minutes later, she lay like a cat, stretching her arms over her head and yawning, the tension fading from her muscles, her dark blue gaze raking over my nude body, traveling from toe to head until they found a home in my excited eyes. I looked away; I always looked away.

Yes, she was dangerous now. She made me weak and I made her strong, allowing secret illicit desires to escape and play at last. My cock stood erect and dripping for my Mistress.

She rolled onto her side, her full breasts partially hidden in thick bedding, but her cleavage evident, enticing. Through my eyes she was perfect, but an objective viewer would have seen a simply lovely young woman, not a powerful goddess. Beauty is complex, her heartfelt love for me mixed with her confidence, and strength held me like a puppy seeking her praise. She spoke to me softly, her voice mesmerizing, and asked me to please fetch her some dessert. She never ordered me harshly or treated me cruelly. Her whisper held me tighter than any physical bond...I longed to please. I padded to her kitchen on bare feet. She kept her house warm and me naked, a lovely combination. Cupboards clapped open and shut as I sought a little something sweet for Her. In the freezer I found raspberry sherbet, removed it, and carefully rolled a smooth scoop into a champagne glass. I added a small spoon and a leaf of mint from her window garden and padded back to my Mistress.

She smiled at me when I handed her the sherbet brushing my cheek with her palm, making me blush and grow excited. She laughed when she saw the effect of her simple touch and laughed again when my erection grew firmer. She gathered her long auburn hair with one hand, twisted it and pulled it over one shoulder. Then she cupped the bowl of the cup in her palm, glossy nails on glossy glass, a lover's breast of icy pink. Seeing my eyes lock on the sensual hands that had taken me to incredible heights, she caressed the glass slowly with her thumb. She transferred the dessert to her other hand and brought the ice cold one between my legs, pausing to observe my reaction. Calculating and as cool in her post-orgasmic state, she gently took my cock into her cold hand, brushing the head with her thumb. Even her frozen fingers thrilled me; I wanted any contact with Her.

I squirmed visibly and she whispered me to the floor, removing her blissful touch. As her hand retracted, her fingertips brushed my nipples, tugging briefly, making them recall the pain of her teeth earlier. She smiled wickedly. She had plans for me.

I watched the shiny silver spoon carve a rolled layer of sherbet. In her hands every tool was sexy, and each motion both seductive and sinister. My numbed mind slowed her movement as she brought the pink curl to her lips, opening and capturing it. The sherbet seemed to slip between her lips willingly and I could almost feel it melting in her soft hot mouth. The spoon returned to the glass and she used the rounded back to smooth the groove she had carved before. Then she scraped another bite and brought it back to her painted lips. She looked down at me, sitting on the floor watching her intently, and licked the sherbet mischievously, giggling at my answering gasp.

Then she darkened my world with a heavy velvet blindfold, leaving my imagination free to create images of her lips and tongue ravishing the smooth ice cream. The tink of metal on glass incited me, made me want to touch myself. I heard her stir the melting dessert and even heard her swallow. I felt sweat under my arms and felt my muscles relax and tremble. I saw her curvy body in my mind, her tongue licking the desert slowly from her lips. No mouth had ever excited me as much as hers and she had made me beg for its touch to the point of tears many times. This was worse...or better? Dessert was complete, silence loomed and sent my mind reeling into new places, into the place of suggestion where I knew not what I wanted, only what she made me want with her hypnotic whisper.

No whisper now, nothing. I shivered as if I had been the one who had consumed the cold sherbet. I waited, sensing her amused grin. Was she touching herself? Watching me? Close to me? Waiting for me to do or say something? Testing me to see if I could endure silently and motionless? I shivered in desperate curiosity, my back arching, lips parting, mouth uttering a soft cry in place of the scream that longed to escape.

Then her touch, too rapid and exotic to identify! Where-what-how? A split-second of rape and explosion, hot and cold, burn and salve. One second lost, then I knew the marauding touch had been her lips on mine, icy cold, her cold tongue parting my lips. Raspberry sherbet scent filled me, and a creamy sliver of sherbet slid from her mouth into mine. My throat opened to accept her gift...opened unknowingly and unthinkingly for Her--automatic unthinking acceptance. Willing weakness. The sweet coldness slid down my throat in slow motion, leaving me gasping over and over, falling to my hands and knees, deeply aware of what she allowed me to be. She pulled back, leaving me empty yet utterly full of her. The cold seed of pink seemed to live inside me, growing and taking me from the inside out. She removed my blindfold and I blinked into her eyes, panting with confusion and frightened delight as she looked back, eyes cool and knowing. I looked away. She touched my chin and I looked back. She called me her good boy and I melted into a man that I no longer knew, or perhaps knew best of all.

She patted the bed beside her and coaxed me easily to her side. I sensed that more frustration was ahead, and more challenges. She took my face lovingly between her palms and all of me relaxed. Her voice stayed soft and seductive as she told me how good I was, how sweet, how adorable. Each compliment she punctuated with a kiss on my lips, gentle and lingering without offering passion. She could put me to sleep or wind me up as she chose. Her hands played in my hair, letting my curls encircle her fingers. "Your lips are turning mauve, lover," she whispered before the fifth kiss. "My baby," she whispered, then tilted her face the other way for a sixth kiss. Sleepy and content, I nodded as she whispered in a rough new tone, "My little whore."

Then she kissed me violently, sucked my tongue hard and painfully before releasing me. My eyes flew open! Panic told me to run, escape, but I froze, knowing she crumbled boundaries. "Good boy" she cooed, and kissed me warm and full, invading my mouth gently but insistently with her hot talented tongue. Punishment followed by reward blurred the definition of each.

Having passed yet another test, I wondered what was next. She went back to caressing my face, thumbing my lips open, wetting them. "So pretty when they're shiny, my pet," she murmured as she kissed them lightly. "Stay right there," she directed as she slid off the bed. Two steps to her dresser and two steps back, then another sensual slide onto the bed beside me. I looked at her hand and stiffened, scared and even more panicked than before. "Shhhhhhh" she said, touching the back of my neck, "I want this, pet." Those words locked me in place and she leaned forward, making me aware of her rich musky scent, her deep cleavage, her tongue licking my lips. My muscles remained rigid, my mind resisting the small cylinder in her hand, but she kept her lips and fingers on my face until the persistent sweet caressing eased my straining fears. My Mistress "wanted this" so I did, too.

She began to kiss my throat with a wet, open mouth as she traced my lips with her index finger. My eyes closed and my skin inhaled her touches. She kissed the corners of my mouth and rubbed my lips with her thumb...the thumb on the glass...on the head of my cock...and I almost forgot what was coming.

I felt an unfamiliar cool slippery touch on my lips as I felt her voice in my ear, connecting directly to my submissive mind, "I love this..." I smelled it...maybe loved it, maybe hated it. "It's my color, lover," she teased, knowing I would like that. The small cylinder moved over my sensitive lower lip now, painting it in my Mistress's lipstick. I'm shy, embarrassed, feeling so tiny and weak yet so free and open. I lick my lips and feel the new texture.

She released my face. I look away, but she brings me back with her will as our eyes meet. Her fingers glide through my curls and she asks me if I like it. Almost inaudibly, I respond that I do not know. She tells me that I love it and my mind bursts in explosive agreement. A small mirror approaches and I cannot see my face, only my lips, surprisingly feminine and erotic. In the mirror, I see her mouth approach mine, matching lips, kissing me softly. I moan and she laughs quietly, slipping her wet tongue out to rim my lipsticked mouth. Later she will show me close up photos of this kiss, just our hungry mouths open and loving each other. Later still she will post these photos on the Internet, anonymous to all but us.

Roughly she shoves me back on the soft bed and swings her legs over me, plastering her hot sex to my new mouth. I kiss fervently and then feel her mouth capture my cock. It's as if I am floating, looking down on us. She drives our 69 into a frenzy, pulling moans from my mouth and sending chills down my spine. I see the marks of my lips on her inner thighs and feel the slippery lipstick gliding up and down my shaft. I know in my heart that when she brings me off in her mouth I will never be the same. This 69 is for her pleasure and she is using me perfectly. I've swallowed her musky juices before, blindfolded, my throat accepting. Now her supple mouth tugs at me, demanding my seed. I fear the intensity of this orgasm, but no man could fight her knowing erotic mouth. Mistress owns the soul of my orgasm. I feel the eruption burn from the base of my spine through my penis; a hot sexy burn pulled from deep within me. I am lapping firmly over her clit in an anxious attempt to please, but my mind knows only her velvet strength. I arch my back, tears pouring down my cheeks in joy, her will and mouth extracting my orgasm. She moans approval and I cum again as she swallows. Inside each other intimately, every sensation is shared and echoed. Only by owning me in this way can she set me free. I feel warm lipstick on my mouth and the cold seed of her strength in my stomach. I close my eyes, accepting, breathing slower.

Later Mistress will wipe my mouth clean and take me by the hand to leave her magical room, my lips and soul stained lovingly with Her power.

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byRichard Crawford© 0 comments/ 12334 views/ 0 favorites

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