When I open the bedroom door, you’re sat, just as I asked, on the edge of your bed, naked as the day you were born.
The flighty tracking of your eyes tells me some part of you is still looking for a way out, but you made the mistake of asking what I wanted tonight.
*A n y t h i n g I want? Anything.*
The smile on my face may be impish, but it’s not the least bit predatory. I turn fully to close the door, stealing a moment to calm the blood running to my face at even just a glance of you. What I’m asking of you requires me to be the sturdy one for once.
“Sweet boy,” I purr, sliding up between your bare thighs, fingers ghosting over them before skating up to your cheeks. You lean just slightly into my palm, eyes fading closed, and that’s me done for. “Would you help me undress?”
Eyelids snap open. “Something I’m good at,” you nod, fumbling just slightly with my top until it can be thrown over a chair. Your hands cease shaking as they go for my waistline—something familiar—and you lean fully into my breasts as you slide your palms down over my ass, trying to distract me between grasping digits and a warm, wet tongue to the centre of my chest.
“Ah-ah.” I tip you back up by the chin. “Play fair.”
“I never play fair,” you pout, hair already tangling.
I crawl onto the bed behind you and wrap my arms around your middle. “I know,” I croon, burying my nose in your neck. I trace a line with the tip of it up to your ear, where I nuzzle behind the shell to speak gently.
“You are always on guard. But I like you a bit…” I bring a hand to cover the chest above your heart. “…defenseless.”
I trace a fingertip around your favourite nipple before pulling your head back to mine and kissing you deep enough that the heat of my body starts to warm you up. Tongues and teeth and neither of them mine, and I only remember to pull away as I come up gasping for air.
You beam with satisfaction, but it’s short-lived as I guide you to turn on the spot, so that we’re now facing a wall-length mirror.
“I’m going to take care of you,” I breathe, already ragged for the adoration of you, “and I want you to watch.”
Your face, so close to mine, radiates warmth as the blood runs to it. For all your flair, attention is not your area of expertise. But you always take such dear care of me, and I can’t help but want to cradle you up in return.
I sit back on the covers and open my legs wide. “Come here.” Normally, you’d crawl face-first, but you know this is something different, and you must be curious, because you wiggle back between my thighs without ever taking your eyes off the glass before us. I tug you the last centimetre so that your arse is flush with my cunt, already wet and, I’m sure, smearing the small of your back, but my focus is elsewhere, and a respectable portion of yours is, as well.
See, I’m more focused on the little heartbeat that is manifesting itself in your cock, slowly stiffening it and bringing it to attention as I put my hands everywhere on you I can manage. I am just as possessive as you. Every inch of your skin I want to catalogue and lavish.
*Where do you need me? Everywhere.*
*I can do that,* I hum, *let me hold you, lovely man.*
You grimace as my tiny palm finally curls flush around your prick, thumbing immediately over the head to steal whatever moisture you’ve made and flying to my mouth. My eyes stay open to see yours widen as I lick you from my thumb, forefinger before bringing a newly-wet hand back to your shaft, squeezing then stroking tightly. Slowly.
“My favourite thing about your face,” I preach, legs wrapping up and over yours to hold you in place, “is how peaceful it is when you’re taking your pleasure. Especially when you laugh,” I grin, watching your eyes crinkle as you half-chuckle, half-sob at the stalling of my hand.
“Don’t stop,” you plead, smile slightly pained. “I’ve got you,” I soothe, hand coming back to your base, tracing the curve of your balls as I rest my forehead against yours, relishing each arched eyebrow and caught breath.
You fight to keep your eyes open, because it’s what I asked, even as you melt under my affections. Each twist of my wrist is accompanied by something I love about your body—your presence—your person. There is no shortage of kisses to your jaw and shoulders and back as you start to tremble, no raising of my voice as I grip you harder, drag down firmer, knot my other hand in your hair and pull your face to meet mine in the mirror the moment your hips start to buck.
I’m watching the evolution of your undoing, warmth weeping onto your back as your hips snap in my vice-grip, your hands pushing against the bed for leverage as you drag your eyes to bore into mine with the last strength in your body.
“Cum now,” I sing, and that’s it. Your body lurches forward, taking me with it, and we both stare as your flexing cock spurts raindrops of semen across the looking-glass, flecking and running down our reflections. I’m admiring your latest (unintentional painting), petting your skin absent-mindedly enough that it takes me a moment to register your gaze in the glass locked on me.
“Art,” I say, swiping a finger through your seed and dipping it into my mouth.
“Art,” you agree, unfazedly pulling my hand from my mouth to yours. You suck on the finger last coated in you, then press a kiss to my wrist before rotating your body to curl into mine.
I hold you for so long I forget what it was like to have open hands.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/k6d7ya/paint_the_mirror_mf_handjob_not_exactly_msub_but
Really cute. Love it