“I’m getting up,” I said for probably the sixth time since Jefferson and I woke at 5:30, lying in bed, discussing grammar and punctuation like the dorks we are. I swear it's true. You can ask him. “But could you just do me one favor?”
“Of course, baby.”
“Could you, um, bite me right here, between my neck and my shoulder?”
“Yes,” I pinched the top of the muscle between my fingers, “Hard.”
I was sitting up in bed. Jefferson sat behind me to the right. I bent my head down to the left. He had his right hand on my shoulder, his left arm reaching around to my sternum. He started slowly, gently easing his teeth into my flesh. First a pinch, then a burn, then an intense ache. I suck my breath, feeling the blood circulating to the area, warming and tingling. I breathe, relaxing into the sensation, feeling the skin get sensitized, and then a wave of pleasure washes over me. He increases the pressure and I start to moan, as that intense pain becomes unbearably good.
My eyes are closed, my pussy wet. No one has ever bitten me for this long. I think the bite itself lasts about two minutes. He keeps biting harder and harder until I stop him. Jefferson releases his mouth, and then slowly pulls back. I am panting. My eyes are watering.
“Wow,” I say.
“Goddamn, girl-that was intense. Have I finally met my match? A woman whose skin can outlast my jaws?”
“Thank you, sweetie.” I kiss him. His dick is hard.
I moved down to suck his cock. I will get up and shower, but not yet.
“You know,” I said, while working with my hand, “It’s a good thing Marcus is coming today; I really need to watch someone suck you off. Someone who knows what you like.”
“Oh, you seem to have figured that out….”
My head is bent into his stomach, and I am swallowing his cock as he thrusts his hips toward my face. His pubic hair is wet with my saliva and tears, and my finger is in his ass. I sit back to watch him cum. Amazing.
Afterwards—after he cums and I walk naked into the bathroom to wash—I look at myself in the full-length mirror on the door. There are a couple of bruises on my arms from being spun into his apartment and flung to the bed, a tender red spot on my left cheekbone from a well-placed slap to the face, and a raw spot on my chin from a combination of kisses, stubble and the occasional chew.
I turn to look at my right shoulder. The bite has welted up nicely. It is perfectly formed in the shape of Jefferson’s teeth. It is an angry purplish-red.
It is the first thing Marcus will notice when he arrives in an hour.