He is restrained on the bed, he is spent, his skin glistening with sweat, his chest rising and falling quickly, his mouth open as he tries to catch his breath. I have left him for a moment and he opens his eyes to scan the room for me. He finds me at the foot of the bed, gazing at him as prey, still hungry. I climb onto the bed between his spread ankles. He lifts his head to watch me and I show him what I have in my hand. He stifles a smile when he sees a ball point pen, and I feel his tensing body relax.
I move forward and slide up, skin against skin, until my mouth is at his ear, my body languid and heavy against the length of him. I lie there for a moment, reaching up, interlacing my fingers with his, fitting my curves into his angles, breathing into his ear, savouring the feel of him under me, absorbing his sweat into my pores, feeling his slowing breath gently raising and lowering his body against me. I want to melt into him through his skin.
I touch my lips to his ear, “Who do you belong to baby?”, I whisper.
I feel him crane his neck to caress my cheek with his, hear a stifled moan deep in his throat, though he has no more want left in him. I press my cheek against him, soft, he slides his lips against my face to my ear, “I belong to you Ma’am”, he whispers back.
I nod against his cheek.
I sit back on him, my knees on either side of his body, and uncap the pen. I wipe his chest with the sheet, he studies my face, amused. I catch his eye and my mouth curls in a half smile, he smiles back, broad, open, trusting, and my heart skips a beat. I touch the tip of the pen to his skin and trace the first letter of my name on him, long and flowing and gentle. I follow the same path of the letter again, the pen is fine point, and sharp. I press a little harder the third time, then harder again the fourth. The fifth time, he winces, by the tenth, he is gritting his teeth and shaking his head, by the thirteenth, I am using some force and he tenses, squeezing his eyes shut, hoping the skin doesn’t break. By the fifteenth, his whole body stiffens as his muscles contract against his restraints and a whimper escapes his lips, the pen like a knife, following the letter’s path. I shift against him, rocking just a little, hunger rising. I move onto the second letter.
When I have finished, some considerable time later, his skin is covered with my name, repeated over and over, the black ink surrounded by raised angry redness, his body an aching declarative canvas.
I lean down to his ear, “Who do you belong to baby?”, I whisper.
“I belong to you Ma’am”, he whispers back and I nod against his cheek.