Putty in My Hands

A flash erotic fiction by Stevie Bellerose

Her eyes were closed. No matter how intensely my gaze burned into her, she was incapable of meeting it. I dragged my nails down her side again, and her shivering ecstasy redoubled. She couldn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even move if she wanted to. She was putty, mine to mold and shape into something beautiful.

I brushed my hand against her jaw, and I felt her stiffen. Instinctively, she turned her face away from me, exposing her neck. She made such perfect, willing prey. Without hesitation, I pounced. My lips pressed to her neck, and I sucked, drawing a strangled gasp from her throat. I hummed my approval as I nipped playfully at the warm vein of her jugular. Her gasp turned to a yelp, but still she couldn’t move.

Relenting, I pulled away, smirking as I admired the deep purple mark on her neck. She collapsed against me, shuddering. “That’s my good girl,” I muttered. She was so precious like this, so vulnerable and docile.

Slowly, teasingly, I let my hand creep over her thigh, brushing against her skin with the faintest whisper of a touch. She jerked upright as though I had touched her with a brand. Her back arched and head thrown back, she let out a wordless whimper. “Such a good slut,” I said, and my touch grew firm as I squeezed her thigh. “Follow me to bed, now, Pet,” I whispered, rising to my feet. Oh, what I would sculpt that night.