Page 142 of The Man Upstairs

I took hold of the nearest black marker pen, my mind whirring with a whole stream of filth I wanted to write. So many words for a perfect bruised canvas. My hand was shaking as I tried to decide.

“Do it,” my angel said. “Make me a dirty girl. Make me a slut.”

Slut.Yes.

I wrote an S, ragged on her stomach, my hand clenched around the pen so tight I could have broken it. I attempted to write an L to follow, but the rise and fall of her breaths sent me insane. It was as though time sped up and slowed in unison, and I was there, in the thrill, with a crazed sense of possession beyond the remit of control. A zen moment. Falling into the abyss. A glorious abyss of possession. Love. Yes. This was my love. My true love for my sweet Rosie.

I lost it, hands shaking, letters becoming nothing but a frenzied mass of scribbles, all over her skin. SLUT. Her tits were covered, her stomach, and thighs. WHORE. She moaned out afuck, trying to keep the toys inside her as I scrawled my way around her clit, CUM SLUT, peppering the aftermath with kisses. I followed the marker pen, my mouth as crazed as my scrawls.

MY DIRTY BITCH

MY ANGEL

MY WHORE

MY SLUT

MY DIRTY GIRL

The words were a crisscross around her neck when I moved up, and I didn’t stop there. I couldn’t. I took her chin in my hand and met her eyes, loving the way she gasped for me. And then I used the marker as a messy lipstick, leaving a trail down her chin as I finally threw it aside.

Rosie tasted of ink and used pussy. She bucked up at me – as lost in the fever as I was – and I slammed the dildo in and out of her cunt so hard she cried out.

Fuck, I needed to focus on my own dick, not a fake one. I kneeled up against the headboard and turned her ink smeared face towards me, glasses still skewed.

“Show me how much of a good slut you really are,” I said. “Earn my cock.”

She bobbed her head to take me in her mouth, trying her best as I ploughed the dildo in her pussy to the same rhythm. Her legs were spread high, and she didn’t have the use of her hands since they were bound, so she was subject to my every whim and every movement.

Perfect.

I fucked her face until she was gagging, but she kept on bobbing her head, staring up at me with fluttering lashes through thick frames. I took her hair for extra leverage and used it, making her sweet young throat quack for me, and the fire was burning merrily, my balls tightening, ready to explode. But no. NO. I pulled away, leaving trails of spit from her mouth and smears of pen ink on my throbbing cock.

I needed her cunt. I wanted my cum dripping from her slit like seedy nectar.

The beads were still tight in her ass as I replaced the dildo with my cock. I forced her legs even higher as I buried deep, knees to her tits, taking hold of her bound wrists to fuck her like a beast. I loved the sight of her, dirty with scrawls, and scribbles, and love bites. I loved her dirty face, so angelic and so smeared with her spit all over her chin.

“Oh God…” she said as I angled myself, moving against me. “Please, yes… yes…”

I gave her deep, long thrusts that had her crying out as the pleasure ate her up, and her shuddering orgasm was too much for me to stand. The tightness of her milked me until I was cursing, shooting my load deep.

She was a slick, sopping little Eve when I pulled out, but the anal beads were still all the way in.Good girl.

I pulled them out one by one, slowly, fired up all over again as she gasped as each bead came free, and then I moved up close, eyes fixed on the final big bead as I eased it out.

Her dirty hole winked as the bead popped out and my angel gasped all over again. Beautiful. My God, she was still gaping, just a little. I buried my tongue right inside there, deep into the true filthy pleasures, wanting everything I could get from her. Every single fucking thing.

But I wasn’t the only one of us who felt like that, clearly.Possessed.As she looked down at me eating her ass, the Lilith was back, and Rosie shifted herself up, heels against the bedsheets, struggling to rise with bound wrists as I watched her, fascinated.

She managed raise into a kneel, and I joined her. Curious, and she almost toppled as she reached for the marker pen – clearly visible amongst the dark inky patch it had bled onto the white cotton bedding.

My beautiful Rosie was a deviant state of ink, messy hair, skewed dirty glasses, and quick breaths as she knelt before me. Her eyes were as needy and filthy as mine.

Possessed.

I wasn’t the only one suffering from jealousy… orlove.

I looked down at my chest as she struggled to write letters of her own, markingmyskin.