Page 7 of Aries

He stepped toward it. “Wow.”

It was an explosion of reds and purples, swirled and splattered. It was a direct look into my mind and emotions about him. “I work in the abstract,” I told him. “I—”

He held a finger in the air, quietening me. “It’s raw. Passionate. Like a visual—”

“Orgasm,” I said after a moment of silence.

Daddy turned to me and tilted his head. “Orgasm. That’s what it is. I went to art school before becoming a tattooist. You’re so talented. I wanna be inside your talented skin, to touch it from the inside.”

If my cock came with sound effects, it would’ve been like a coil springing from a bed. I pressed my hand against my erection, trying not to get carried away. But who was I kidding? I’d already told myself where I was going to stand when he came over, and it was on my knees, at his whim.

“You don’t have to hide yourself in front of me,” he said. “I get invited to gallery things all the time, art school alum stuff.” His eyebrows rose. “Maybe I would’ve got to meet you sooner if I’d taken one of those.”

I giggled; it came out of nowhere. “You don’t—don’t strike me as someone who would go to a gallery, usually they’re fully of—”

“Pretentious assholes who claim to know the meaning of your art,” he finished for me. “You’re right, I wouldn’t fit in with those people.”

He was already inside me mentally, and I didn’t know if I could wait for him to get intimate and physical with me. My skin, while a little itchy on the hairs I hadn’t managed to get clean of all paint, was sweating from his look in my direction.

“Let’s go back to my bag,” he said. “I can see it hurts you standing there. Don’t worry. You won’t be standing for long.”

He was right because I was ready to fall and let him pick me up.

Daddy removed his folded clothes from covering the bag, he placed them by the door where it was safely devoid of any paint. “I said I’d bring a surprise, but only if it’s something you’re comfortable with,” he said. “There’s no pressure. I figured you were kinda kinky, just a little.”

I nodded, watching as he pulled out a second white bag.

“Ropes,” he said. “New, clean, and maybe something to help you stay in place while I do whatever I want to your body.”

“I told you earlier, treat me like a whore.” I kept my hands in front of my crotch to hide the bulge.

“And I’ll make sure I do it in the most respectful way.” He looked me up and down. “Or maybe I won’t.” He pulled out a black paisley handkerchief.

Gulping hard, I couldn’t remember the code. “What color does black mean?”

He snickered. “I didn’t pick it for the colors, I picked it as a blindfold. Although, I guess it could work with what I have planned. A little S&M, just a little.” He gestured with his finger almost touching.

“So, a little pain?”

Once more, he gestured with his fingers. “Just a little.”

“I’m down to try anything once, or twice, just to make sure.”

“Good.” He pulled out a final bag from within and inside, there was a body massager with a bright purple end and a wire coming out of it. “All of this is new,” he said. “And I think you can guess where this is going. Well, once it’s plugged in.” He grabbed at the end of the wire. Fuck, it turned me on. I’d only ever seen videos of guys putting those massagers against the tips of their cocks, or under their balls. Most of them came in seconds. I’d wanted to try one.

“Where—where do you want me?” My knees were almost jelly, and if he didn’t put me into a pretzel with my legs behind my head and my hole exposed for his hunking cock, then I’d have wasted all that time getting ready.

“On your bed, first,” he said. “Near an outlet. I hope what I’m about to give you, is an experience you’ve never had before.” He placed everything back into the larger bag. “And I didn’t forget the lube.”

I led him to my bed, the one area of the apartment that wasn’t a complete disaster. The sheets were clean, the bed was made, and the floor around my bed was exposed wood with only minimal paint stains.

“What we’re about to do might need safe words,” he said. “Is yours still DaVinci?”

I perched myself on the end of the bed, trying to cram my cock between my legs with excitement. “You remembered.”

“It’s a unique one,” he said. “And mine is onomatopoeia.”

I nodded. If he asked, I would’ve remembered it. “Do you have a word for wanting more?” I asked. “I’ve heard it used in some circles.”