Marking My Men, page 4
This is as close as we can get or gold will fade, and nothing will be accomplished.
Knowing what needs to be done, I reluctantly pull out of our embrace to sit back on my feet. It’s time.
“I love you,” I sign, making eye contact before wrapping my fist around his erection that’s slick with pre-cum, and give it four arousal-spiking pumps.
“I love you, more,” Tyler replies, watching me, not his member.
“This is it.”
“Yes,” he agrees.
“No coming.”
A nod.
“I mean it. Now place your hands behind your head and lift up your legs.”
He complies. Knees toward his chest, hands threaded behind his neck.
“Keep them there.”
A stiffer nod of obedience.
Taking the top quarter of the leash into an idle hand, I flatten my lover’s dick to his stomach with the other and crash the thick, leather handle to his nuts. There’s no warm-up. No warning. It’s swift and brutal. Tyler convulses, yet retains his position like a good sub. I do it again, harder and quicker than before, giving little reprieve. He sputters a string of nonsensical words. Three more in rapid succession and his eyes roll into his skull, feet shaking. His abs contract. Chest heaves for oxygen. Cock jumps up, flinging pre-cum, then resettles. To counteract the sensations, I slam my dick into his hole, draw back, and batter his nuts once again. Tyler moans, his voice hoarse, forehead scrunched in pleasurable pain. I fuck him more, swapping between owning his insides and bruising his precious jewels. If he wants gold. Oh, I’m gonna give him gold. He’s gonna sing for me real soon. Sing to the heavens as he begs for me to let him come. But I won’t. He doesn’t get to climax. He gets to float in the world I drove him to, wearing my marks.
To gain better traction, I grip Tyler’s hip with one hand, still wielding the leather in the other. Bracing my legs on the mattress, ready to bring my man home, I fuck him to the beat of Manson’s Sweet Dreams—wreck him until he’s left a quaking mess. And just when I think he might not be able to handle any more, I give it to him anyway because he needs it.
That’s it.
Almost there.
Fat droplets of sweat pour down my face, muscles aching from overuse; yet, I power on, and drag my nails down his shaft, digging them in, on the cusp of drawing blood. Soaking up my love, Tyler’s head tips back, neck elongating, as he sings for me a beautiful song of ecstasy.
“Missstresss! Missstresss! Misss…”
Tyler’s eyes fly open, his blown pupils begging to come undone.
Shaking my head, I deny him.
Reveling in my refusal, a roar of gluttonous moans burst from Tyler’s lips. His entire body trembles violently, dangling off the ledge, ready to jump.
Instead of giving in, I screw him harder, throw the leash to the side, and grip his balls. Then, locking eyes with my lover, I squeeze, and I squeeze until I see it… the moment his body submits to me, to the pain, to us, to gold. A calm washes through him amidst the hot and heavy. It’s quite a sight. One I wouldn’t believe if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. Tyler’s foundation has been cracked in two, and he’s there, where he needs to be. His unfocused eyes see me, yet don’t. No words are spoken as I pull out and climb off the bed.
“Come.” I wave my sub forth, and he follows.
Curling into the seated position, Tyler’s movements are slow and dreamlike. I don’t have to ask where he’s at to know. Gold’s unique. Almost ethereal. Different than all the other colors he experiences.
Offering him my hand, Tyler slips a palm into mine, and I help him stand. He’s very much a newborn colt at first. But after a few seconds, he’s steady enough to be guided to his art corner, where a blank canvas and paints await.
Side by side we pause in his space, being, breathing. Tyler doesn’t move to unleash his brilliance. He simply waits for my approval, refusing to break our roles. Like every other session where he creates, I’m the one who lifts his hand to the canvas, to lay it upon the middle.
“Paint me your heart,” I sign.
“I will paint you everything.”
Tyler’s sweetness slams into me, right where it’s most tender, as it always does. To show my appreciation, I press a simple kiss upon his lips.
“I will keep you on gold, wherever you need to be. Go on, show me what’s inside.”
He smiles softly, his handsome face lost in wonderment. “Thank you, Mistress. Love you.”
“And I, you. Always.”
“Always.”
4
________
FRIENDSHIP & FUCKERY
Flipping over onto my stomach, face planted in the pillow, I groan, wishing I was dead. I need more sleep, a tub of aspirin, and a full-body massage to rival all massages. Last night wrecked me. Five hours after we reached gold, we continued to play in ecstasy-laden intervals. It was magical. Screwing Tyler on his knees, covered in speckles of paint, as he fought his climax. Ball crushing. Nails imbedding in his already ruined flesh, to sate his lust. The moans. Paddles. And erection that never waned. All in the name of art and love. In the name of us. For my Tyler.
To check if he skipped out already, I blindly pat his side of the bed. As predicted, he’s gone. How he can walk today is beyond me. Sitting will be a bigger challenge. Hell, wearing a stitch of clothing will have him wincing in pain. A feeling he, no doubt, delights in. One I’m sure has him rock solid at this very moment.
“Don’t pretend you’re still asleep, bitch, I can hear you groan,” Kendra, my assistant, singsongs—the whore.
I tilt my head to the side, cheek smooshed to the pillow. “Fuck you. You didn’t just run a sadomasochism triathlon.”
A pleased chuckle echoes through the space. Bitch. Is it bad I can’t even open my eyes? I’m bone tired. It was totally worth it, though. Every single second of it.
“When did he leave?” I adjust my leg and think better of it. Painkillers first, movement later. Mid-thirties sucks.
“He texted at seven.”
Dang, that’s early. Tyler’s a morning person. One of those cheery, wide-awake people that everyone pretends to hate while secretly wishing they were like them. Besides me. I loathe mornings and alarm clocks with a passion.
“You do realize it’s weird that my submissive texts you,” I tease. It would be odd if I wasn’t used to it. After two years, it becomes the norm.
Kendra, not having any of my sass, tsks good-naturedly. “He wanted to inform me that he’d left, so I could come in. You know you’d have a goddamn conniption if I came to clean and found your precious Tyler naked in bed. He also made me promise I’d call Raoul today for a ninety-minute massage. Reschedule your overly physical clients for the next three days. Order lunch from that Italian restaurant you love. Let his assistant in when she came by to shoot photos, take care of you without complaining too much, and,” she sighs as if exhausted by the list, “arrange the flowers he sent, so his a-ffec-tion would be spread throughout the house. His exact words. Honestly, I gagged a little at that. Nobody besides Tyler talks that way.”
As Kendra prattles on and on, the warm and fuzzies grow in the pit of my stomach until I’m about to burst. I can’t believe he did that. Not that I should be surprised. For being a submissive, he’s the one who cares for me outside of the bedroom. Maybe not sexually, but in all the ways that truly count. Whatever I did to deserve him, I’ll never know. Nor will you hear me complain.
“More flowers?” I test to make sure I heard her correctly.
“Roses this time. Hot pink. One red.”
“How many?”
“Ten dozen, maybe more.”
“Jeeesus,” I hiss, curling my hands underneath me, grimacing through the pain. If I don’t move, I’m right as rain. I’m not a fool, there will be no more moving for me.
“Yep. That man sure knows how to declare his intentions.”
No kidding.
“And what about his assistant?” Kali’s a cool, emo chick, who’s always respected me. I can see why Tyler keeps her around. She’s efficient and appreciates his art without being a crazed fan who wants to have his babies. Yes, famous painters have groupies, too. Especially sexy ones like Tyler. He’s my very own version of a Shawn Mendes, Justin Bieber mashup. Super gorgeous. Super talented. Extra amazing. If you think for one second that his deafness is a turn-off for women, you’d be dead wrong. If anything, it makes him more intriguing, more desirable. Kali had to start running his Instagram last year when the fans became too much to handle. Shirtless painting photos are quite the aphrodisiac for some.
“You know.” Kendra moves about the room, doing what, I dunno.
“He didn’t.”
He’d better not have. Not this time. We agreed he’d stop doing it.
“He did. If your sexy ass turned over, you’d see the letter he left for you on his pillow like some cheesy heartthrob in a cliché romantic comedy.”
I don’t move.
It’s too difficult.
I promise I’m not normally this much of a whiny baby.
“Way to kill it for me, Kendra. Way to... Kill. It. You can leave now.” I give her hell. What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t? She has to earn her keep. Dildo washing and all.
“Not until you get up. You have two clients today. Per Hottie McMasochist’s orders, I’ve lightened your workload for the next three days. Moved Gary and Leo to today. Bonez and Jerry are tomorrow before Rob gets off work. I also texted Rob to confirm.”
Why does she meddle so much when I’m perfectly capable of handling my own relationships? Unless…
“Tyler told you to do that, too, didn’t he?”
“Yes. He also left his credit card on the counter in the kitchen.”
Of course, he did. Silly, silly, sweet man.
“I’m not using that.”
“I already did, to order your lunch. It’ll be delivered in an hour.”
I groan, bested.
Kendra isn’t supposed to encourage this. She’s supposed to be on my side. The side that doesn’t let Tyler take care of me. The side that keeps him from winning this year-long debate about where our relationship is going. For being in his twenties, almost a full ten years younger than me, you’d think I would be the one looking to settle down. Ya know, with my biological clock ticking and whatnot. Not that he’d be the one pursuing more—my ever-demanding romantic.
“When’s Raoul coming?” I change the subject, not wanting to argue that she could’ve used my credit card that she has access to 24/7.
“After your first appointment. That’s the soonest he could squeeze you in.”
“You didn’t tell Tyler, did you?” I hope not.
“That I couldn’t get you a massage before your first client? Pft. No. I don’t have a death wish, Ronan.”
“He wouldn’t kill you.”
“No. But he’d tell Rob, which is pretty much the exact same thing.”
This is true. Rob’s intense. He and Kendra have quite the love-hate relationship. More hate than love. She thinks he’s an intolerable, misogynistic bastard. While he thinks she’s an idiot. In Kendra’s defense, Rob does come across as a misogynistic bastard to most people. In reality, he’s misunderstood.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I vow.
Kendra claps her hands twice, too enthusiastic for my taste. “Thank you. Now, up! Your threesome with coffee, Motrin, and Tylenol is waiting. Then you gotta shower. It smells like sex in here.”
I grin like the deviant I am. “That’s because we had sex. Lots and lots of hot, hot, ho-t kinky sex.”
We did. Loads of yummy penetration. The deep, soul-tethering kind. I fucked him on the floor, on the bed, bent over the chair arm. When we were both exhausted beyond rationale, Tyler escorted me back to the bed, where he entered me, stretched my walls with his studded girth, pumped twice, and came in a rush. Like a strike to my match, I set off alongside him, moaning his name, lips molded together. Wrung the heck out from our session and subsequent orgasms, we promptly passed out in a tangle of sweaty limbs and whispers of sweet nothings. It was ah-mazing.
“I’m sure you did. But you don’t need any of Tyler’s tadpoles getting loose during your session with Gary.”
“Remind me again why I—”
“Because you love me, can’t live without me, and need me to clean up this godawful mess. Jesus, Ronan, how many times did you let the boy come?” The irritated tap tap tap of her toe resounds.
I roll my otherwise closed eyes. It might not count as much, but I can still feel them tip into my skull. Someone’s a tad overdramatic today, considering what she cleans on an almost daily basis.
“That’s lube. Not cum. You know me better than that.” It wasn’t intentional. Down came the hot subby, to the ground. The bottle went boom. My cock went weeee up a slippery chute. We moaned. Then humped like jackrabbits. Case closed.
“Oh. Well. That’s better. I thought you were losing your touch.”
As if.
“I have way more control than that.”
“Touché, Mistress Bossy Butt. Now up, up!” The comforter is torn off the bed, leaving me stark naked.
I open my eyes for the first time and glare at the devil. If the devil was a slender, plum breasted, red-haired, feisty goddess from the underworld, who wears shorty shorts and ballet flats in lieu of flip-flops because she hates feet, including her own.
“You’re fired,” I grumble.
The whore smiles, flashing her pearly whites. “See, you did have a great night.”
“I hurt, everywhere.”
The toffee-eyed broad rolls those bad boys with dramatic flair, hand hooked on her hip. My blanket lies in a heap at her feet. “Boo. Hoo. Hoo. Poor Mistress Ronan got to screw her sexy submissive all night long.” She snorts at her sarcasm and flicks a finger toward the nightstand where my pills and a steaming cup of coffee rest.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself into a seated position, legs dangling over the edge of the mattress. I swipe up the pills, toss them into the back of my throat, palm the mug, and take a swig to assist the painkillers down. Perfect temperature. Even better taste.
Shoulders hunching, I sigh, taking another drink that warms my core.
Coffee is life.
I take mine with two sugars and a large splash of flavored creamer. It’s late summer time, so I go with my usual caramel or French vanilla. In winter, I’m a festive one. The basic bitch in me comes out to play when the pumpkin spice does. That stuff is like crack dressed in a colorful bottle.
Kendra, knowing I won’t lie back down once I’m up, starts cleaning while I snatch the neatly folded letter off Tyler’s pillow and open it.
To my gorgeous Mistress,
Thank you for one of the best nights of my life. I promise to make up for my portion of sex the next time we see each other. I’m embarrassed I didn’t last longer. I also need to taste your pussy during our next session as well. Make a mental note of that. Because you deserve nothing more than to come repeatedly on my face. Getting tongue cramps while pleasuring you would be an honor.
On the easel is your latest gift. I know you’ll argue that you can’t keep it like you always do. Please don’t. I love sharing my talent with the woman I love. By now Kendra should have told you about Kali stopping by to snap pictures for us to make prints to sell. After that, please hang it somewhere in the main house. Wherever you think it fits best is fine with me.
Can’t wait to see you on Monday at our dinner with Rob. Sorry I skipped out early. I have tons of colorful images flowing through my head today, thanks to you, and didn’t want the inspiration to go to waste.
Text later if you’re up for it.
Don’t overdo it. I know how sore you get after our all-nighters.
Love you always,
Ty
P.S. Don’t scold me about the flowers. You can spank me for them later. You know we both want that.
P.P.S. I’m sore as fuck, too. It’ll be a miracle if my boner goes down in the next week.
P.P.P.S. Miss you already and I haven’t even left yet.
P.P.P.P.S. You’re beautiful when you sleep.
Swallowing the emotional knot in my throat, heart fluttering, I set the letter on the nightstand to keep, finish my coffee, and force myself to stand. It’s dull and achy at first. Thankfully, as I shuffle my feet closer to the painting, the stiffness uncoils.
Naked as the day I was born, I stand in front of Tyler’s latest creation and gasp. A single tear treks down my cheek. I chew my bottom lip, soaking in the delicate brushstrokes. I tuck an arm across my chest, cradling my opposite elbow.
Kendra sidles up behind me, tucking the long strands of my hair over my shoulder. My braid fell out at some point last night. “He painted you again,” she whispers, raking through my curls with her fingers.
I bob my head, refusing to fall to pieces, not today, not now. Art is meant to evoke emotion. Tyler’s art goes beyond that. It changes a person. It changes me.
“I love how he placed you in the smoke, rising from the fire like a deity the goblins are worshiping.”
She’s right. That’s what he did. It’s a night scene set inside the forest. In the center of the painting is a roaring fire. Dancing around it are little creatures. Some are chubby, lifelike goblins, the others are winged nymphs that sparkle. They’re all naked, as is the goddess rising from the smoke, billowing into the sky. The likeness of the woman is uncanny. From the shape of my hips, and the curve of my belly, to the feminine grace of my shoulders, all are displayed in the utmost accuracy. As the smoke dissipates, the stars form and a blood moon casts its eerie glow on the creatures below.
