As Jake worked, Felicia tried to ignore the pain that lingered as the hours passed. It was different, the tattoo on her back, the way the needle seemed to dig deeper through thinner skin. The sound of the tattoo gun started to set her on edge. She clenched her fingers into tight fists and hoped the marking would end soon. And yet. She also felt a stirring between her thighs, sharp and gnawing, just below her clit, inside her chest, in her mouth, everywhere. She thought about what Gideon would say when he saw this second marking, this second offering she was making to him from her body.
Her man had changed, Felicia realized, since she marked her breast for him. It was as if the gesture had given him the confidence, the permission he needed (or wanted?) to claim her, to open himself to her, to become the exemplary man she never quite imagined for herself. She was different, too—could feel it in her body, the way she moved, the way she walked around with a little smile on her face all the time. She reveled in wearing revealing shirts that hinted at the mark beneath; enjoyed how people would stare at her cleavage as they tried to make sense of the design covering an intimate part of her body. Men seemed to come out of the woodwork wherever she was—at work, at the bar with her friends, when she was out to dinner with Gideon or waiting in line, holding his hand, to see a movie. The men smiled and looked at her like they couldn’t quite make sense of why they couldn’t look away, why they didn’t want to look away. She was never rude, and when she was with Gideon, he always pulled her closer, held his hand possessively in the small of her back, as they moved in step, nuzzling her neck with his lips, biting her earlobe, whispering about all the things he would do to her body when they were, at last, alone again.
When Jake finished, he set his tattoo gun down. The edges of the design bled lightly, and he dabbed at them with a paper towel. His hand lingered against Felicia’s swollen flesh, then slid lower. He dipped his fingers below the gap in the waistband of her jeans, and she tensed, then lay perfectly still. Jake stopped, cleared his throat, covered her tattoo with a clear rip, and rolled away from the bench. As Felicia pulled her shirt on, she didn’t bother with modesty. She let Jake admire his work, admire her, and then she paid him.
Once again, she walked away as he called out, “I hope you come back.”
When she got to her apartment, Gideon was waiting for her, sitting on the stairs just outside her front door. He stood as she approached.
“I didn’t want to wait for you to come over. I couldn’t wait.”
Felicia arched an eyebrow. Her breath caught in her throat as Gideon jumped to his feet and pushed her against her door, crushing his lips against her. Invisible bruises blossomed as she kissed him back, opened her mouth to him, slipped her tongue into his mouth and tasted the hard edges of his teeth. Her back was tender, and she winced as he pressed her harder into the door. Without pulling away, she reached into her purse and handed him her keys. Gideon opened the door and pushed Felicia into her apartment. Before she could say a word, he threw her keys to the floor and began undressing her. He pointed to the floor and Felicia fell to her knees. She rubbed her cheek against the wool of his slacks, pressed her lips against the outline of his cock. Gideon knelt down with her and then pushed her onto her stomach. Felicia rested her forehead against her arms.
“This is beautiful work,” Gideon said, admiring his design brought to life. “You are a beautiful work.”
He kissed along the bright circles marking her spine and then around the rest of the new tattoo. Suddenly, Gideon raised his arm into the air and brought his hand against Felicia’s ass. She shrieked, startled, but she did not shrink away. Instead, she raised her ass to him, enjoying the tingling warmth as it slowly crawled away from where Gideon’s hand struck her ass.
“Good girl.”
Gideon spread his fingers a bit and spanked Felicia again, smiling as her round ass jiggled. He spanked her again, harder, and then pressed down, like he was trying to push through her body. Felicia hissed. He slapped the other cheek, and Felicia clenched her toes. It was hard to know when the next blow would come. Her muscles grew tight, uncomfortable. Again she felt Gideon’s hand, and she cringed slightly at the sharp, almost vulgar sound of it striking her body. Her eyes started to water.
“It feels like you’re punishing me,” Felicia muttered.
Gideon brought his hand—first lightly, then hard enough to leave a bright mark—against the underside of Felicia’s ass. “Does it?”
She nodded, her hair falling into her face.
Gideon slapped Felicia’s thigh, then gently rubbed his hand across Felicia’s ass, squeezing each cheek. Felicia sighed, and just at the moment when there was no more air in her chest, Gideon spanked her again. A hard line of anger caught in Felicia’s throat. She heard Gideon shifting, unbuckling his belt, stepping out of his slacks. He knelt behind her, spreading her thighs. He spanked her again, then traced the sensitive edges of her new marking with his fingertips.
“Is your ass mine?” he asked.
Felicia didn’t respond. Instead she savored the unexpected taste of the hard anger in her throat.
He began to rain blows over her ass. Before long, a sheen of sweat covered both their bodies. Gideon’s breath quickened. Instead of giving her pain a voice, Felicia swallowed it, enjoyed holding it silently.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Gideon said, lightly slapping the fresh ink.
Felicia clenched her jaw, considered her words carefully. Finally, she said, “All of me is yours.”
Gideon spanked her ass one last time, and finally, Felicia allowed herself a long, deep moan.
“I’m not punishing you,” he said.
He brushed his lips across Felicia’s ass then slowly traced the fading streaks left by his hand with the tip of his tongue. Gideon slid his hands beneath her body, raising her to him, and Felicia surrendered, let her body go slack, let him take her. Slowly, he rocked his hips in short thrusts, only allowing the tip of his cock to penetrate her pussy. The hard anger that had just started to dissipate returned. Felicia curled her fingers into a fist and pounded the floor.
Gideon laughed. “You feel something. Don’t you?”
Felicia turned to glare at Gideon over her shoulder. His eyes widened. Her long hair covered half her face, and her brown eyes flashed angrily. Her cheeks were red and damp.
“I feel everything,” she said, her voice tight.
Gideon pressed forward, filling her completely, his chest against her back, his sweat mingling with the fresh ink. He wrapped his hand through her hair and pulled her head back until he could see the strain in the muscles of her neck. As he fucked her, steady and hard, he sank his teeth into her neck, and then he said, “I feel everything, too.”
Felicia reached back to hold Gideon’s body, trying to find traction against his slick skin. The hard anger in her mouth turned into something else. The harder Gideon fucked her, the louder she groaned, her throat loose and open, enjoying the unfamiliar sounds pouring out of her, the unfamiliar sensations filling her body, the familiar but unfamiliar man filling her in every way.
For her final tattoo, Felicia called Jake and asked for an after-hours appointment. She showed up at 10 PM on a Wednesday, just after he finished with his last customer of the day.
Jake looked up as she walked in, the door chiming lightly. “I was wondering when I’d see you again.”
“And now you know.”
The tattoo artist inhaled deeply. “You smell amazing.”
Felicia smiled. “Thank you.” She reached into her purse and handed Jake the thick piece of paper with the final design. “This one has two parts.” She pointed to her ring finger on her left hand. “The first part goes here.”
He nodded. “And the second part?”
Felicia looked at the front door. Jake went and turned the lock, nodding toward the back room. “You won’t be disturbed.”
She walked back to the room where twice already her body had been marked. Jake followed, an extra bounce in his step. Felicia slowly unzippe
d her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. Jake coughed as he took in the woman before him, her head held high, her gaze steady. She was naked from the waist down, her cunt shaved bare. Felicia spread her legs slightly and slowly dragged one finger down the center of her body. She stopped just above her pussy and drew her hand over her mound and to the soft skin of her inner left thigh. “I am going to be marked here,” she said.
Happy Ending
BY DONNA GEORGE STOREY
Just a glimpse of a glowing neon motel sign along a highway fills me with an uncontrollable urge to have sex with someone I don’t know very well.
It’s more than just the sex though. It’s as if by borrowing a strange bed for the night, I can burrow into the secret depths of another woman’s life—one full of glamour and mystery and more than a kiss of danger.
Sex was much on my mind that late Friday evening in May as Josh and I pulled off the Interstate into a glittering treasure garden of motels at the gateway to Amish country.
“Which one looks promising to you?” Josh said, giving me a knowing sidelong glance from the driver’s seat.
I raised my eyebrows in reply. My longing for a wild romp in a rented bed would soon be satisfied, and I didn’t even mind that it would be with a man I knew very intimately already. Josh and I had been together for six months, blissfully engaged for three.
“Keep driving,” I said. “You find the real gems farther back off the main road. They have to try harder to bring in the customers.”
We hadn’t gone a mile down the winding country road when we came upon the most beguiling neon sign I’d ever seen: a blue slipper, blinking on and off against an orange pumpkin. The name, CINDERELLA’S COACH HOUSE, curved above it in white like a wedding arch. Below, a vacancy sign throbbed candy pink into the thickening dusk.
“Oh, look!” I cried out like a child.
“I think I know where we’re spending the night,” Josh said with a smile.
I did have a moment of doubt as we pulled into the parking lot. Cinderella’s Coach House was actually a collection of individual cabins, which, although they looked freshly painted, might not be quite so charming inside. I noted the parking lot was heavy on the Pennsylvania plates. Perhaps the magical sign belied a rundown hostelry catering to local adulterers who were so desperate to go at it that they didn’t give a damn about bedbugs and lumpy mattresses left over from the 1970s.
The reception office looked promising though. Prettily framed pictures of Cinderella’s adventures from classic children’s books adorned the walls. A side table bore a sign reading HOT BEVERAGES AND HOMEMADE MUFFINS AVAILABLE FOR OUR GUESTS FROM 7 TO 10 AM. It took but a few moments for an older gentleman to appear with a welcoming smile. Three rooms were still available, he informed us, but he suspected we might enjoy the Coach House, a favorite of honeymooners, as it came equipped with a deluxe Jacuzzi.
Josh and I exchanged a glance. Hot tub frolics were a special favorite on our sexual menu. Josh loved the way my breasts floated in the water. “Bath toys for big boys,” he called them, rolling my pink nipples between his fingers. I always took the opportunity to kneel and suck his long cock while he sat perched on the edge of the tub. For the finish, he’d turn me around and enter me from behind while the water churned around our thighs. The swirling steam, our slippery flesh, the splash of the water as we fucked—it was all so intoxicating, I invariably had one hell of a head-spinning orgasm.
The very thought was making me moist between my legs.
“We’d love to see it,” I told the old fellow with my sweetest schoolgirl smile.
The reception clerk introduced himself as Bill and said that his lovely wife, Margaret, had inherited the establishment from her family. “We did a big renovation a few years back with help from the grandkids,” he explained as he led us to the top of the courtyard.
Add in the charming little history, and this place was almost too good to be true.
A faintly musty smell greeted us as Bill opened the door to the Coach House, but a flick of a light switch revealed a spacious room and a brass bed topped with a snowy comforter. Our host graciously stepped back to let me through the door first, but I was sold even before I saw the Jacuzzi, ensconced in a lavish bathroom that was obviously a new addition.
“Let me show you how those controls work. It’s more fun with lots of bubbles,” Bill said, his blue eyes twinkling. The “lesson” involved me bending over the tub while he dictated the purpose of each button. It was all self-explanatory. He was obviously one of those silver-hairs who enjoy flirting to feel young.
“We’ll take it,” I declared, not even bothering to get an okay from Josh. We couldn’t have found a more fitting love nest for a weekend frolic mere miles from Intercourse, Pennsylvania.
I had the first hint my fiancé might not be so thrilled when I started to follow Bill back to the office to fill out the registration form. Josh put a surprisingly firm hand on my arm and said, “I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay. I’ll bring in the overnight bags.”
“No, I’ll take care of that, too. Stay right here.”
Frowning in confusion, I stepped back into the room and closed the door. What was with him? He’d never bossed me around like this before.
A few minutes later Josh returned with our bags—and an even more thunderous expression.
“What’s the matter, honey? Was it expensive?”
Josh snorted. “Not really. He claimed he gave us a discount due to the late hour. Not that I trust the sleazy bastard as far as I can throw him.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Wow, what’s gotten into you?”
“As if you don’t know.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
He threw the old-fashioned key on the bed and began to pace. “You saw the way he was staring at your ass. Taking every opportunity to stand behind you. Undressing you with his watery eyes, licking off the drool from his lips. And you . . .”—here Josh shot me an accusing glance—“. . . you played right along. As if any idiot doesn’t know how to work a Jacuzzi.”
My jaw dropped. Josh had joked about being jealous once or twice, but never was it this intense, this real. Still, the irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d dreamed of bedding down with a complete stranger tonight. Now it seemed I would be.
“You’re not serious,” I finally managed to say.
“I am very serious. And while we’re on the topic, it doesn’t help matters that you wear the tightest jeans on the planet. No wonder the old geezer was slobbering all over you.”
It took another moment to catch my breath again. A pumpkin turning into a coach was a far more likely transformation than what had just happened to my mild-mannered Joshua.
“Wait a minute. Let’s both take a deep breath. Calm down.” My eyes darted to my overnight bag. I imagined scooping it up, driving away from this ridiculous quarrel.
Fortunately, Josh did take a few deep breaths. That seemed to do the trick. He smiled ruefully. “Yeah, sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”
We fell into a hug.
“That wasn’t like you,” I whispered into his neck.
“I know. But it is tough to watch other men, uh, appreciating you like that.”
“What does it matter what they do? I love only you.” I kissed his neck, his ear, his lips.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
Those words always made me melt. Because I could tell he really meant it. So what if he was a little jealous now and then? I’d finally found a man who saw my true worth.
His hands crept down to cup my buttocks. He gave them a playful squeeze. “On the other hand,” he said, “now that you’re engaged, it might be a good idea to dress less provocatively.”
I stiffened. “I wear what everyone else wears.”
“Yeah, but everyone else doesn’t have a blockbuster butt like yours.”
His voice was light and teasing, but it still cut deep. I stepped back, out of his embrace. “Listen, I have a
lot of baggage around this. My weight. The size of my ass.”
“Ellie, I love your body,” he protested.
I edged away from him like a wary animal. “My ass is too big. People stare at it when I walk down the street,” I challenged.
“I love your big ass.” He moved toward me.
I evaded him, gracefully, but it took all I had not to groan out loud. The poor jerk probably meant well, but he just didn’t get it. He had absolutely no idea how his words were ripping open old, old wounds. Up until five minutes ago Josh had been the one man who understood my feelings without being told, who knew how to love my body with words and caresses as no one, not even myself, had ever done before. And then suddenly, he proved he was no different from all the rest—embarrassed by my bottom-heavy figure.
What could I do now? Tear off the diamond ring, throw it in his face, and vanish into the night like Cinderella?
Instinctively, I looked up at Josh. He was gazing at me with wounded brown eyes.
The man was completely clueless. He didn’t understand at all.
If he doesn’t understand, then why don’t you explain it to him?
Don’t ask me where that voice came from. A fairy godmother perhaps? Yet it made some sense. If we had any chance of spending the rest of our lives together in harmony, this boy needed more than a few things explained to him about me and my ass.
I straightened my shoulders. I was back in control. This feeling, control, wasn’t as old and familiar as the feelings of shame and self-loathing, but I’d worked hard to win it for my own.
“I think we need to talk,” I said, meeting his gaze head on.
Josh’s eyes flickered. He saw, rightly, that there was hope of reconciliation—the sexual kind. He jerked his head toward the big, fluffy bed. “All right. How about talking while we snuggle naked?”
I almost agreed, but another voice stopped me. He needs to listen first, just listen, so he truly understands.
Shaking my head, I pulled the chair away from the writing desk and planted it a good distance from the edge of the bed. “Sit there.”
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