The Tattoo Artist's Mate

He laughed ruefully. “True, but it’s not important. Your welfare is.”

“Then, my Sir, my welfare will suffer if you don’t let me do something about your state of … hardness.”

Gaspar could hardly breathe. Did she mean… “What do you suggest?” he asked huskily.

Her expression was one hundred percent mischief. “May I show you, Sir?”

“Are you truly certain, pet? I don’t want it to be senses overload or too much for you. We went deep, you’re my perfect sub, and oh so receptive. I don’t want to spoil it.”

“Spoil it? Never.” Isla said. “Sir, I know you may be wary of taking me when I’m probably still in sub mode, but I’m fine. I want to do this. Can I show you what I want?”

He nodded. “Be my guest.” But he still looked worried. Isla was determined to show him what he meant to her. What they as a couple could be. It didn’t matter she’d only known him a few hours; her body and mind accepted he was the one. And she allowed it seemed as if she’d known him for years.

“I’ll say it once more, Sir. I’m green as grass sure. Or do I need to ask you what color you are?” she said with a smirk.

He laughed and tapped her smarting-in-a-most-delicious-way ass. “Green, you little subby Dom, you. Go on then, my pet. I’m all yours.’

Isla smiled and oh so slowly let her body slid down his, pleased they’d both undressed before her spanking. She gave up a prayer of thanks he’d suggested it.

“Then I suggest we start like this.” She moved her finger, bent her head, and her mouth surrounded the head of his cock, just where her fingers had been.

****

Shit, fuck, and bugger. Gaspar saw stars, swore his eyes crossed and his body went into spasms. Bloody, fucking amazing.

She glanced up at him, still with his cock held fast between her lips, and raised her eyebrows.

Gaspar nodded. He couldn’t speak. Then he managed to croak, “Perfect.”

She seemed to take that as an indication to go more and began to lave him. Her full lips firmed and softened in turn, and, impossible though it seemed, his dick became even harder. Fuck, he was about ready to come. But shit, he wanted to come in her, not her in him.

Gaspar tugged on her hair until she moved off him with a soft plop. Immediately he felt bereft, as if he’d lost something precious.

“I need to come in you, this first time,” he said hoarsely. “Fuck you, fill you, and oh bollocks, no sodding condoms.” He hit his forehead with his hand. How on earth could he have been so short-sighted?

Isla grinned. “Subby preparedness rule number one. In my skirt pocket. Hopefully not out of date.” Gaspar swore he’d never moved so fast in his life. Within a minute he’d found it, used it, stretched Isla out on the sofa, and was poised to enter her.

“Fuck, love, I can’t go slow, I’m almost breaking in two, ready to come and hell… bloody hell, are you sure?”

She’d taken hold of his cock, held him tight, lifted her hips and guided him inside her channel.

“Very sure. Now fuck me fast, my Sir. I need you.”

That was one demand he had no problem with. Gaspar lunged deep into her cunt and began the ride of his life.

She matched him, push and squeeze until he knew he couldn’t hold on any longer.

Isla screamed. “Now … argh. Yes, yes, argh…” Her voice trailed off as she sobbed. “Oh, oh, yes…”

“Yes,” Gaspar roared the word, saw stars, and gave one last hard thrust and came. It was a wonder he didn’t split the condom with the force of his ejaculation. “Mine. Mine…”

It was all he could manage.

Five minutes later, Gaspar did his best to get breath back into his lungs. He felt as if he’d run a marathon, backwards, with weights on his legs. Climbed the Matterhorn, danced the night away … or all of those together.

He felt fucking fan-tas-tic.

“W-wow,” Isla wheezed as his softened cock slid out of her and he moved slowly backward to drop a kiss on her nose. “I’m wiped.”