Teach Me Dirty(114)

“This is going to be messy,” he said, and there was amusement in his voice. “Quite messy.”

“I like messy,” I said, and his smile was infectious.

He left me naked in the firelight while he grabbed some cushions and arranged them on the floor. He patted the sheet. “Come here, please.”

I dropped to my knees and he coaxed me onto my back, propped my head so gently onto one of the cushions and then lifted me up by my legs to prop another couple under my ass. My thighs fell open naturally and he ran a thumb over my clit. I closed my eyes to his touch, relaxed onto it, but he pulled away.

“Please don’t stop. Please, I really need this.”

“Patience,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

I heard him in the kitchen, footsteps and clattering, and when he came back it was with a towel over his shoulder and a bowl in his hands. He positioned himself on his knees between my legs, and I didn’t get chance to ask any questions before he held up a razor.

“May I?”

I felt my cheeks burning. “You want to shave me? There?”

“If I may.”

“Ok,” I felt so young then, inexperienced and clumsy. “You may.”

“I’ll be very careful.” He smiled.

“I’m not worried,” I said.

He flicked on a lamp at his side, and I felt so exposed, but it didn’t feel unpleasant. It didn’t feel unpleasant at all.

The water was hot, it felt amazing against my skin, but not as amazing as his fingers did as they lathered me with soap. It made me squirm.

“Please try to keep still,” he said. “At least for the next bit.”

I nodded.

It felt so weird. More weird than I’d expected. The thrill of the razor against my skin was quite something. His concentration was addictive, too, treating me like a delicate flower, so gently, so carefully.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” I said.

“Yes,” he replied. “But this is different.”

“It is?” My brain skittered through potential differences. Was I weird? Did I have weird…

“It’s with you.” He swirled the razor in the bowl. “That makes it a different experience altogether.” He read my mind. “A good experience, Helen.”

I closed my eyes as he spread me open, the razor kissing my most sensitive of places. I’d never felt quite so exposed as I did then, and there was a thrill to it, an excitement.

“You have the most delightful little *, Helen. It’s really beautiful.”

I grinned like an idiot. “Thank you.”

He ran a thumb over me and it felt so different, so tender. It felt incredible.

“Do you like how it feels?”

I nodded. “Yes, I like it a lot.”

He took his time, moving my * lips so gently, this way and that. Stopping to tease, stopping to tempt, just enough to make me quiver. The heat of a wet sponge made my breath hitch. Water trickled down over my ass and it tickled. Everything was hot and wet, and needy. I was needy. “All done,” he said. “Beautiful.” He took my fingers and placed them between my legs. “Feel how pretty you are, Helen. How soft.”

It was so tingly. So different. “Wow.”

“Nice, yes?”

“Intense… it feels… so tender…”

“Exposed, vulnerable. Perfect, Helen, you look perfect.”

My eyes met his. “You like it?”

“I love it.” He reached to his side and held up a paintbrush. “Makes a much better canvas, too.”

My heart hammered at the realisation. “You’re going to paint my *?”

He laughed. “I’m going to paint you. Not just your *. Although I have to say I’m looking particularly forward to that bit.”

I couldn’t stop feeling my newly exposed skin. It was addictive, the sensations were addictive.

He watched my fingers, and his eyes darkened. “Don’t stop,” he said, and shifted position.

His hands gripped my thighs, and his breath tickled tender skin and I moaned.

He kissed my fingers between my legs, and followed them with his tongue. It set me on fire, turned me into a squirming hot mess.

A week had been too long. I reached down for him, grabbed at his hair.

“Please…” I spread myself with my fingers. “Mark, please…”

His breath was hot on me. His words gravelly and breathless.

“Since you ask so nicely…”

***

Mark



The girl was a stunning siren, the call of her flesh was divinity itself. She was a sweet and innocent temptress, soaking in every delight and pulling me ever-deeper. She hitched her *, demanding more, her fingers spreading herself so urgently. Her * was velvet soft, a ripe peach, her clit swollen and begging to be touched. I gripped her thighs, spread them wide, and the low moan that escaped her as I pressed my tongue to her clit made my cock pulse.

I breathed onto her, slowly, with purpose, and she squirmed and moaned some more.

“Please…” she whispered. “Suck my clit…”

Fuck.

The urge to consume her and take her and bury myself in the beautiful sweet pink heart of her battled the muse and threatened the whole endeavour. She whimpered as my tongue circled her clit, and her fingers gripped my hair as I sucked her between my lips.