His long legs entice me to run my fingers up and down his skin. My warm palm caresses the inside of his thighs as he arches his body and lets out a little sound. I pulled his shirt up, exposing his nipples to my sharp teeth. I hold his wrists with one hand while my fingers trace the contours of his body, this fetish of mine.
He wants his flesh between my teeth, between my pinching fingers. He wants me to roll him over so I can smack his ass with my open palm and then bite down on his exposed cheeks. My touch is his fetish.
There will be pain with the pleasure. My fetish makes me hungry to hurt him. The pleasure that comes with the pain though is all the sweeter for the suffering. Many days I cannot stop thinking of the many ways in which I will hurt him. The many ways I will draw those little sounds of pain and pleasure from his throat and touch him in ways he dreams about.
My hands brush his arm as we’ve passed each other in the kitchen , a tiny electric spark passing between us.