Pretty In Ink

by Scott Hildreth

  Like a sexy rich bitch, I decided.

  I followed him through the door, not really knowing what to expect. As I stepped into what appeared to be a very large laundry room, I gazed down the long hallway, eager to see the rest of the home. In an effort to be polite, I reached down to pull off my boots.

  “No need to take your shoes off, I’m not going to,” he said.

  “I’ll go ahead and take ‘em off. I like sliding around on tile floors and a girl like me doesn’t get chances like this very often,” I said as I pulled against the heels my boots.

  “Suit yourself,” he said as he stood and waited.

  “Ready,” I said as I sprung to my feet.

  He grinned and shook his head as he turned toward the main body of the house. Like an anxious child being led through a theme park for the first time, I followed him to the end of the hallway. As the corridor ended and the house was exposed for me to see, I stood and stared like an idiot.

  “Are you coming?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “You live here?” I asked as I gazed around what I would describe as a mansion.

  “I sure do,” he responded. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  The home was massive, and had higher ceilings than I had ever seen in a house. With an open floor plan and no interior walls to clutter my view, I could see that each large room led into another, and it seemed to never end.

  “Alone? You live here alone?” I asked as I looked around at all the furniture.

  There were three couches in the living room alone, In the distance, another room, like a smaller living room, had two chairs and another couch. Decorative vases filled with wooden sticks, pieces of steel, and fake flowers were situated around the home. Dozens of pictures hung on the walls. I could see two fireplaces from where I stood, and I imagined I was seeing very little of what the home contained as a whole.

  The floors were primarily wood or tile, and although there were rugs everywhere, the majority of the flooring I was able to see was a hard surface of some sort. Standing beside him in my socks and glancing around attempting to absorb my surroundings, my thoughts must have been written all over my face. The fact my jaw was on the floor and my eyes were as wide as saucers probably provided a small clue.

  “Yes, I live alone.” He chuckled as he studied me. “Go ahead. I know you want to.”

  Without warning or another invitation, I took off through the living room, running as fast as I was able. After reaching top speed, I planted my feet, bent my knees slightly, and slid twenty feet or so along the floor with my arms outstretched. It was the closest I could come to surfing in Kansas.

  “Impressive,” he said, his deep voice echoing throughout the home slightly as he spoke.

  “It’s like surfing, but in my socks,” I said. “You should try it.”

  I knew he wouldn’t, but it was worth the offer. People like Wilson didn’t do the things we lowly common people did. Considering the cleanliness of the place and the arrangement of the furniture and decorative accessories, I doubted he spent much time in the home at all. As I glanced around and planned the path of my next wild dash, Wilson let out a cry like he’d jumped from a cliff.

  I turned around in just enough time to see him slide past, rotating in a half-circle as he did so.

  As he stood laughing and obviously preparing for another run, I wondered if Wilson was truly different than other men. He sure appeared to be, but there had to be something wrong with him, because no one was as perfect as he seemed to be.

  “Come on,” he said as he held his hand out to his side.

  “What?” I asked as I reached for his hand.

  He cupped my hand in his. “Let’s do it together.”

  “For real?” I asked.

  He nodded his head. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” I said with a nod of my head.

  We took off across the floor in our socks, hand in hand, and at the same time, each planted our feet. Together, without falling, or him losing his grip on my hand, we slid across the floor, spinning in a slow circle as we did so, coming to a stop in each other’s arms just before hitting the far wall.

  “That was fun,” he said as he fought to catch his breath.

  I gazed up into his eyes and studied him. A few strands of his otherwise perfect hair hung down in his face. The slight shadow of a beard let me know he had rushed from his office to pick me up without much time to prepare for the evening. At that moment, to me, he was the perfect man.

  “I want you to fuck me,” I said.

  His eyes widened and he ran his hand through his hair. “Pardon me?”

  I focused on his hazel eyes and shrugged my shoulders. “You heard me. You’re cool as fuck, and I like you. A lot. And I want to fuck. You alright with that?”

  He didn’t say a word. Instead, he knelt down slightly, picked me up from my feet, and slowly began walking toward the stairway.

  I reached around his neck, interlocked my fingers, and studied his pretty face as he walked up the winding staircase. As he carefully took each step, I looked over each of his shoulders, taking in all of the living space below us. After seeing all there was to see, I closed my eyes.

  And for that moment, Wilson was different than all the rest. And I became a modern day Cinderella.

  WILSON

  As far as I was concerned, sex was a commitment, and not something that was done out of a desire to fulfill some form of fantasy or a need to feel pleasure. Although I realized it was quite possible that Stevie didn’t agree with me, I felt I needed proof that what we were doing wasn’t being done for selfish reasons. I enjoyed sex as much or more than any man, but once it was over there would be no way to undo it, reverse the clock, or remove the feelings associated with it.

  Before I had a chance to devise a way to explain matters, potentially making a fool of myself at a time that would have so far qualified as being quite romantic, Stevie beat me to the punch.

  “Promise me you won’t hurt me,” she said as she pulled off her socks.

  “I’ll uhhm. I’ll take it slow and easy,” I murmured.

  She coughed a laugh and shook her head. “Let me rephrase it. Don’t fuck me and get my hopes up, then leave me or start slapping me around. I don’t want to be hurt emotionally. Not again.”

  “I have nothing but the best intentions,” I assured her.

  “And as far as taking it slow and easy,” she said as she pulled her shirt over her head. “You can forget about that. I like it kind of rough.”

  While attempting to make sense of what she had said, but long before I could formulate a response, she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. As she rolled the straps over her shoulders and lowered the garment to the floor, I stood and stared at what seemed to be perfect breasts attached to the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

  “I uhhm…” I stammered.

  “Listen, I know you’re probably nervous, but I’m not. Take your clothes off, Wilson. I want to suck that big fat cock of yours,” she said as she began to push her yoga pants down along her thighs.

  Everything proved to be too much. Her mention of liking rough sex, her perky breasts, her hard nipples, her beautiful purple hair, gorgeous face, and…

  She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

  And her entire lower region was shaved clean.

  Although reaching full erection in the past took some mental stimulation on my part and often required at least some physical interaction from a woman, it sure didn’t seem to be the case with Stevie. I felt myself instantly become hard, and along with it, extreme discomfort followed.

  Now standing at the foot of the bed completely naked, she widened her eyes and thrust her hands in the air.

  “Having second thoughts?” she asked.

  I swallowed heavily, continued to stare, and shook my head.

  Her eyes narrowed considerably, and her mouth curled into a smirk. “When was the last time you had sex?”

  “It’s uhhm. It was,”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Ten years ago.”

  “You’re fucking shittin’ me. Ten years? Holy shit,” she gasped. “You sure you want to do this?”

  I nodded my head eagerly.

  “Positive?” she asked as she slowly approached me.

  I nodded my head again and swallowed the slowly rising lump in my throat. I really wanted to continue, and not only proceed with the sex, but to please her in any and all ways she expected me to. There was no doubt in my mind that she was out of my league, but I refused to allow myself to continue to feel as if I was out of my element.

  I unbuckled my belt, somewhat gracefully unfastened my jeans, and pulled against the zipper while I maintained eye contact with her. As I pushed the waist of my jeans past my underwear, she shrieked.

  “You wear boxer briefs?” she bellowed, her face washed with surprise. “Fuck yes.”

  After dropping my jeans to the floor, I reached for the waistband of my underwear.

  “No, no…leave them on,” she whispered. “Take off the shirt. And you can leave the socks on too.”

  I pulled my shirt over my head, feeling somewhat embarrassed, almost as if I was being inspected for faults. Stevie stood six feet or so from me with her hand covering her mouth and her eyes fixed on my underwear.

  “You uhhm, you work out those legs, don’t you?” she murmured through the gaps between her fingers.

  I glanced downward and nodded my head. “Uh huh.”

  “Yeah, most guys don’t. But damn, dude, you’ve got some sexy trunks. And your chest…” she said as her eyes shifted upward slightly.

  As she studied my torso, she reached between her legs and rubbed herself with her fingers. After a moment, and without saying a word, she raised her hand in the air and turned her palm toward me. The inside of her fingers glistened in the light.

  “See that?” she asked as she shifted her eyes to meet mine.

  With each nod of my head I felt my cock twitch upward a little more. I bit my bottom lip slightly and attempted to swallow.

  “Uhhm.”

  She shifted her eyes toward her hand and grinned. “Looking at you makes me wet. I need that cock, Wilson. And I need it now.”

  She turned toward the bed, bent over, and rested her forearms on the comforter. After arching her back slightly and tossing her head from side to side, her hair settled in the center of her back.

  “Get ahold of my hair,” she said. “And I like being bitten. Neck, shoulders, ears, lips…”

  I pushed my underwear past my stiff cock and along my thighs. After kicking them to the side I gazed down at my socks. It seemed rather silly to leave them on, but considering that she had asked me to, I felt I should comply. Now standing behind her with a raging hard-on and a mountain of desire to please her, I felt lost as to what my next step should be.

  “Just do it,” she said over her shoulder.

  The entire process from carrying her into the room until I stood naked behind her hadn’t taken two minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. As much as I wanted to hold her, kiss her, and caress her entire body, I desperately desired to comply with her wishes and fulfill her desires. I reached down, gathered her hair in my hand, and pulled against it slightly.

  “No, I’m going to need you to pull that shit,” she said.

  I tugged a little harder.

  “More,” she said.

  I pulled it tight in my hand.

  “More,” she moaned.

  Only to prove a point, I pulled it harder than I was sure she wanted me to.

  “Perfect,” she grunted.

  Standing behind her staring down at her narrow back and her tattoo covered body with her hair held tight in my hand, I felt powerful; not only as if I was in charge, but also capable of providing her exactly what she wanted, desired, and ultimately, needed.

  With my free hand I reached down and guided my cock between her legs. As I felt the tip penetrate her wet folds, I closed my eyes and sighed. Cautiously, I pushed my hips forward, opened my eyes, and gazed down beyond her little round ass. Slowly, my stiffness disappeared inside of her.

  “Oh God,” she moaned as I buried myself deep inside of her.

  I shifted my eyes to my hair-filled hand, almost forgetting what I was doing. After watching my soaking wet shaft slide completely out of her equally wet pussy, I pushed myself deep inside of her and pulled against her hair as I did so.

  “Fuck yes. Fuck me, Wilson,” she howled as my cock bottomed out inside of her.

  It was all the encouragement I seemed to need. I continued to pull against her hair, thrusting myself in and out of her forcefully as the sound of our bodies slapping against each other echoed throughout the room. Every few strokes, she let out a wail or groaned in pleasure. Her moaning seemed to provide fuel for me to continue, and continue I did. After several minutes of uninterrupted fucking, I found myself tugging against her hair with much more force and pounding myself inside of her without an ounce of restraint.

  As I watched her begin to shudder from the force of my hips pounding against her ass, my eyes eventually went unfocused and I slowly took every bit of her perfectly shaped body into memory. Her tattoos, her shape, her smell, the sounds she made, how it felt to feel myself inside of her tight wet warmth…I absorbed it all.

  And, as my mind came back into focus, I recalled her desire to be bitten.

  I continued to methodically work myself in and out of her, bending at the waist as I did so. Maintaining pressure on her hair, and pulling against it until her back arched from the force, I leaned forward and encompassed her ear with my lips.

  “Son-of-a…” she moaned as I nibbled on her ear lobe.

  I bit into the fleshy lower lobe of her ear as I held myself deep inside of her. The harder I bit, the louder she groaned in pleasure. I cinched the lobe in my teeth and pulled against it slightly. In return, she wailed in pleasure. I released her ear and moved my mouth along her neck, dragging my teeth against her skin as I did so. Her continued moaning provided assurance I was doing exactly what she had hoped.

  As my mouth slid to her shoulder, I bit into the meaty upper portion of her back until I felt the muscle tightly bound between my teeth. A string of blubbered expletives and a few gyrations of her hips later, she arched her back and moaned loudly into the open room.

  Her pussy contracted around my swollen cock as she bucked her hips back and forth rhythmically. Within a few seconds, she went limp.

  “Oh…Fuck…” she whimpered as she collapsed onto the bed.

  After a few seconds of silence, all of which included my dick still being buried deep inside of her, she raised her chest from the bed and peered over her shoulder.

  Her eyes were incapable of completely hiding the slight worry which obviously filled her mind.

  “You’re not done?” she asked.

  I wanted to me that man. The guy she proudly told her friends about in the bar over a bottle of beer. The one she came back to time and time again, the man she was afraid each and every time just might fuck her to death, but she was incapable of walking away from. The person, when the time was right, she eventually would fall in love with, knowing he was completely willing – and capable – of satisfying her each and every desire.

  I wanted to be the one.

  “Far from it,” I growled as I gripped her waist in my hands.

  “Where have you been all my life,” she breathed.

  Whether she realized it or not, she had already placed me atop a pedestal. I felt like a complete success, and was filled with an unbelievable sense of pride. Her remark left me feeling even more so. Now with an inflated sense of sexual self-esteem, I gazed down at her, fixed my eyes on her, and responded in a manner much different than I ever would have expected.

  “Waiting to meet someone who could take all the sexual punishment I like to deliver,” I responded.

  She buried her face in the comforter and screamed in apparent joy. After a few seconds of silence, she raised her head, glanced over he
r shoulder, and grinned.

  “Your search is over, Wilson. Whether you know it or not, she’s bent over in front of you with your fat cock throbbing inside of her,” she said.

  With her waist still in my hands, I slowly began to work myself in and out of her wet mound. As I did so, I grinned in return, fully believing her stubborn nature and my self-pride would prevent either one of us from giving up.

  But I was prepared to find out.

  STEVIE

  Everything seemed new to me. The drive to work was no longer irritating, nor was the time spent at the many stoplights between my home and the shop spent yelling at the person in front of me. Instead, I sat quietly and thought of the time Wilson and I had spent together.

  I was unable to pinpoint what was different about him, and I guessed it really didn’t matter. The only thing that was important was how he made me feel, and even that was difficult to understand and even more impossible to explain.

  “Are you in love?” Riley asked.

  “No, you fucking dork, I’m not in love,” I said.

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  I stared at my bottle of beer as I picked at the label, slowly peeling it from the bottle. I really didn’t know what I was feeling, but I enjoyed whatever it was more than anything else I had experienced in my life. I was quite certain the car and the flowers had very little to do with my feelings, as material things had never really mattered much to me in the past.

  In my opinion, Wilson made me feel like he actually cared. I wasn’t a cute little bitch for him to show off to his friends, or a tight hole for him to pound. I was a woman he was attracted to, someone he enjoyed spending time with, and someone who he obviously perceived as being pretty close to an equal.

  “Because I know,” I said as I glanced up from the bottle of beer.

  She shrugged her shoulders and raised her bottle of beer to her lips. “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

  I shrugged my shoulders mockingly, and picked at the label of my beer.