The Mammoth Book of Erotica Presents
“Yes.” He was close, staring at her, his eyes bright and focused. The curiosity she had sensed in him had multiplied. He was aroused by her responses, his body shifting close against hers, one knee pressed against the wall at the side of her body.
He gave a soft chuckle. “You know, Molly, I used to wonder about you. I liked the way you looked, very pretty but different, and always thinking . . . always with the sexy eyes. There was something else though, wasn’t there? You were always playing with your pen, always sucking on the end of it. Couldn’t just be ready for the next customer, I figured. Couldn’t quite work out what it was, but it made me hard just watching you play with the damn thing.” His voice turned husky, right at the end there.
“Are you hard now?” She flashed her eyes, her responses rolling out readily.
His grip on her wrists tightened and he moved the back of her contained hands against the zipper on his jeans. “Well, what do you think?”
Beneath the black denim he wore, his cock was rigid.
Her skin tingled with awareness when he brushed it over that spot. She nodded. He moved the pen, lifting it from beneath her jaw and taking it down to the hem of her miniskirt. Putting it under the fabric and between her thighs, he tapped it from side to side then up and down, making her thighs tremble with the need for a deeper mark, the pressure, and the stain – the written evidence on her body.
He let go of her wrists, and lifted her skirt right up, exposing her. “Ooh, white cotton panties. Just like a blank page.”
She stepped from one foot to the other, wired. “You’re torturing me,” she breathed.
“Maybe this will help.” He ran the pen down the front of her panties, pushing both pen and fabric into the groove of her pussy.
Her flesh blazed under that touch. She glanced down to look at the solid line he had drawn, but he was still moving the pen, pressing deeper into her groove, rolling over her clit. When she gave a sudden gasp, he paused and concentrated on the same spot, drawing back and forth over it. A jaggedy blue scribble was forming right over the spot.
“You like that?”
Her clit was swollen and pounding, the direct stimulation hitting her hard. She nodded. “Very much.”
He did it some more.
Her hands and head were flat to the wall, her hips jutting out toward him. “Oh yes, yes,” she said, pounding the palm of one hand against the wall as she came, her free hand reaching out for his shoulder to steady herself.
She was about to speak, to say thank you, to say something, when she heard the door opening in the shop front, and hurriedly pulled her skirt straight. He stepped to one side, pointing down with the pen he held, possessively. “I want those panties, you better keep them for me.”
“Maybe.” She smiled. She wanted them, too. “You only gave me half of your number,” she added, concerned that he might leave now.
He spanked her on the behind playfully, smiling that smile of his. “Fuck that. You’re coming home with me tonight.”
A month later, Molly’s foible had been well and truly exploited. Before Doug, she’d fretted about her route to sexual pleasure. Doug had all but mended that in her, and now he was adding his own spin. He was fascinated with her odd little needs, and he’d written on just about every part of her body, watching her, enjoying her – wanking with one hand or fucking her hard while he gave her exactly what she wanted. Afterward, he tended her carefully, bathing her and massaging away the telltale signs of her kink.
That made her feel cherished, safe.
He asked her to move in with him. She said she’d think about it. He didn’t press her on the subject. Instead, he showed her that those kind-of-weird needs of hers would never be forgotten.
That night he took her back to his place and told her he was going to kick it up a notch. The way he said it scared her and thrilled her at the same time.
Shortly after, she found herself naked and blindfolded, standing with her back against the wall, her hands splayed either side of her – just as he had instructed. Keyed up to the max, she shifted anxiously, unable to stay still. She’d never been blindfolded before, but the velvet covering her eyes was soft as a sigh, a shield that raised the awareness of her every other sense. Her body ached for contact, for pleasure and relief.
She could sense him moving.
The room was silent and the air was still, but she knew he was treading softly, watching her and making a plan. That was his way. Maybe she’d sensed that in him when she’d watched him across the counter. It was his curiosity, and his intensity, that had spiked her interest. Rightly so, as it turned out.
She heard a click and a fan whirred into action. A moment later the air brushed over her alert skin, tantalizingly. A whimper escaped her.
He began to hum under his breath, then he sang to her huskily. A song she loved. A song from ages ago. Breathless, aroused laughter escaped her; she felt delirious under his spell. “Dougie, please, you’re playing with me.”
“Always, sweetheart, but you love that.”
He was so right. She squeezed her thighs together, scared to say more, and scared to ruin this.
“Will it drive you mad, not being able to see where I choose to write on you?”
“I don’t know.” She swallowed. “Maybe.” She turned her face away, desperate with longing for that first touch, the pressure she craved – her skin was crawling with the need for it. Watching him write on her was half the pleasure, she thought. Not seeing it was an unknown quantity. But Doug knew and understood that, and – now – so did she.