Pretty

He’s pretty. Delicate. Milk and honey skin that’s soft to the touch and you know he’ll be sweet to the taste when you get your teeth in him – and you will. There’s no doubt that it’ll happen, that you’ll give in, and he’ll let you because he’s a good boy and what you want from him is yours, yours for the taking.

Because you’re allowed.

Because he lets you.

Because he’s a pretty kitten boy with a pretty heart and it’s a generous, pretty thing that beats obedience into his chest as he lays back against the bed the way you want him, encompassed safely in bedsheets and down pillows, with that pretty, delicate rosy-toned against crimson silk sheets and the contrast makes you wanna see if his skin will redden just as nicely.

But you’re patient; you know that something so pretty needs to be savored, enjoyed. He’s milk and honey but you take him like wine as you slip your tongue along the gossamer fabric of powder-white stockings that hug his calves all the way up to his soft little thighs. You let your teeth drag runs in them, let the friction make him squirm and puff a soft little fuck as those thighs part just a little more so you fit in between, right where you belong. You think for a moment how lovely the marks from your teeth will look when you peel away the stockings when you’re finally ready to have him bare. Maybe it’ll be after you fuck him, maybe before. Maybe you’ll make him wear them all the way through and keep them on through the night – unwrap him in the morning like a gift of black and blue and bloody little teeth prints.

But that’s later. Not now.  Now, you watch the way he peers at you as you move further up his pretty body and the teasing, tasting, tantalizing touch of your teeth turns to love bites against his stockings. Satisfaction pools low, so fucking low, taking in the feline arch of his back as it pushes his soft lower body up, urging you to give him more. You can see the wanting little twitch in his cock when you catch a glance of it, hidden from you beneath panties you bought for him, that powder white with the delicate little bows to match.

You tug at one of those silly bows right at the top of his stockings.

And then you bite.

He moans the word fuck, drags it out so fucking sweetly, and you want to, so bad, but it’s not about fucking right now, you remind yourself; it’s about savoring. And you savor every fuck that falls sweet off his honey tongue as your teeth sink into the supple flesh of his thigh, letting it pool in your mouth until you taste iron and you suck, wanting to mark what’s yours before leaving another, and another, until you’re at his other thigh while your fingers grip the bloody bruises you left on the first and it’s no longer fuck but please that hits your ears as your little kitten boy rakes his claws through your hair.

He pulls.

He whines.

He breathes your name and honors the way you work him over with pretty curled toes beneath his pretty white stockings and he plants them in your back like you’re inside him and you relish the pressure and the way he finally breaks when he tells you he belongs to you with your teeth in his thigh and your hands holding him iron-tight by the hips.

You lick at one of the deep purpling marks you made. The taste of him is divine. You think he’s otherworldly on that alone, and when you look up from his thighs to see his pretty pink cock strained in those silky white panties, wet from how bad he wants you, see how his blood ruins the white of his stockings and more importantly the milk of his skin, you know you’re right; he’s fucking divine.

And he’s yours. All yours. Delicate little kitten boy.

 

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