He hadn’t had a bruise in a month from me, and it had been a few weeks since he had bruised me.
We laid in bed on our sides and kissed, the beginning dance of sex, when I pushed him onto his back and sunk my teeth into the center of one side of his chest. “Ow,” he cried surprised, but the tone was one of optimistic acceptance. After a minute of which I increased the pressure, he tapped softly twice – a physical sign he has always just naturally done when he is at his limit. I leaned up and smiled down at the indentures of my teeth, lowered to lick in the divots, traced my tongue as I savored the sharp intake of his breath. Next, I made a smaller circular mark slightly up from the last one, almost where chest rises to shoulder in the slight hollow. The smaller bite allowed my teeth to curl inward towards each other in a more true bite – he could take more pain in this particular area, a bit more movement. He held his breath, trying to sort through the pain, and then released it as he tapped. I didn’t stop, increased the bite pressure a bit more, and let go at the same time as he said, “yellow”. Soft kisses and tongue tracing covered this mark that almost had my back molars imprinted. Then I bit down under the first mark I made, less of a bite and more of a true sinking of pearly pressure deep into his chest muscle above his nipple. This would leave less of a bruise than it used to – his body becoming adjusted over time to biting, but it would still give me the sensitive chest zone that would feel a tap or a slap, even a pain when I oh-so-innocently pressed my head against his chest.
I did the same with the other side, though to a less extent in case I decided I wanted to play on that side a different day – I didn’t want to exhaust my entire playground where the pain wouldn’t allow me to play another day. Foresight and lessons learned.
Next was his thighs: he knew it and I knew it, but I trailed caresses and kisses down the center of his chest and stomach. I cupped his balls and gripped his hardened shaft as I slid my breasts to either side of his cock, dipped my mouth down and tasted his precum. My lips pressed against his head and slowly opened to suck his head into my libidinous mouth. He moaned in appreciation, pressed up as I swirled my tongue around the top, and groaned as I released him into the air. I gripped his thigh and bit down hard where his muscle flexed instinctively under my touch, hearing his cry and waiting for his tap before I released. I again drew his cock into my mouth until he hit the back of my throat, slowly in and slowly out, as I positioned to bite at his other thigh. This time I didn’t waste time going for a pain that would make him tap but I also contrasted the sharp bite with stroking his hardened shaft, knowing he would be a bit distracted and allow me to sink my teeth into an even deeper bruise. Back and forth I went to each thigh: a painful bite as I stroked him, a teasing of my mouth in between each side. His body didn’t know if it wanted to arch into my mouth or push himself away from it.
After a time I simply pretended I would bite him and I would get the same noises of distress. I would chuckle at his false alarm and if he failed to seem surprise then I gripped and pressed into the more painful places and received the painful signs from him. I straddled his thighs, my own thighs pressed into the muscles that I hurt and he whimpered in surprise. Leaning forward for a kiss, I also shimmied up to straddle his cock, my own wetness slick so his cock nestled in between my lips but I didn’t position myself so he could slide inside. Our tongues slid against each other as I slid up and down, teasingly coating him but not granting him access inside my body. He made a noise of complaint.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I whispered as I leaned up, pressed my palms into his chest, heard his plaint of pain and smiled at it, pushed harder on his chest where it hurt the most as I lifted my hips and poised myself at his tip. “Don’t you want this?” As I asked I lowered slightly and took just his head into my body while I curled my fingernails into the marks that my teeth left.
He took a huge inhalation to work through the pain, “I don’t know,” he cried out and arched as his shoulder blades could sink him into the mattress further away from my nails and his hips raised to thrust upwards into my body. I was having none of it, my nails sunk deeper and I raised myself where he left my body completely.
“Oh honey, then I’ll stop,” I soothed as he groaned in frustration and his hips moved back down in defeat. My hands caressed his reddened chest, tracing over the welts of fingers and the depressions of teeth marks.
Gosh, I love contrasts, like to slow down a moment to appreciate such things.
“No,” he was almost panting from pain and need, his breathing coming in short and quick, “it’s fine.”
So again I positioned myself, but this time slammed myself down, impaling to the hilt. Surprised, he jerked under me and groaned. Slowly, I tightened around his girth and raised up, while at the same time leaned back and gripped his thighs where previously I had bitten, felt for the indents of teeth that finger nails filled and clawed into.
There would be no pleasure without pain for him tonight, a predicament that eventually frustrated him enough to throw me off of him and take me from behind, his hands tightly gripping my wrists so I could no longer touch him, until he finally found his release buried within me, his groan beside my ear as his body shuddered and felt heavy against my own.