Page 71 of The Man Upstairs

“I like it,” she said.

“Push me out of you,” I said.

She looked at me confused.

“Bear down,” I said, “bear down and push my fingers out of your slutty asshole for me.”

Her breath hitched at my words. But she did it.

My kinky little goddess pushed down against my fingers, her beautiful wide eyes staring at me through her glasses, such a contrast of purity and filth. She pushed down nice and hard, not stopping until my fingers were expelled.

She looked so proud.

And I felt so proud of her.

It was too much for me to bear.

Possession.

I needed to own her.

I grabbed one of the marker pens from the coffee table, then I wrote on her stomach. She watched, mouth gaping as the letters appeared.

MY. DIRTY. ANGEL.

Shewasa dirty angel, defiled by a filthy scribble of marker pen owning her stomach. Her eyes widened as I used the marker pen to work her clit, dirtying her with ink with every move I made. And then I feasted. I smeared it as I licked at her, a crazy, heady mix of ink and cunt. My lips must have been dyed black as I kissed my way up her body and sucked at her tits. The pen was ready for her chest next. The word came naturally. A contrast to angel.

Whore.

I scribbled on her skin, breaths ragged.

Dirty, seedy, little bitch.

Degradation is a strange game. Worship and humiliation both at once. The need to mark and own, the need to dirty the pure. She didn’t argue when I turned my attention higher. She didn’t so much as flinch as the tip of the marker pen touched her cheek.

I couldn’t usually do this. Most girls don’t have the potential to be scrawled on so visibly. Marker pen doesn’t wash off all that easily…

S. L. U. T.

I stared in disbelief at my own depths of depraved possession.

I’d marked my angel’s face with the word slut. Her face was heaven, and the word was at odds.

It was the prettiest piece of filth I’d ever seen, and it only spurred me on.

The need for possession consumed me.

Control.I needed to control her.

I grabbed the rope twine from the coffee table, then bound her wrists up over her head without so much as a word. She looped her arms around my neck, both of us staring at each other in silence as I positioned myself against her.

I only used her tight, wet cunt as a lube to prepare my cock for her ass. Time for her second deflowering.

She knew what was coming when I rubbed my dick against her. She braced herself in vain, because there was no point. It was going to hurt like hell regardless of what position she was in. Three fingers had been a warm-up, nowhere near enough to take the throne.

“Tell me to stop,” I said, but she shook her head.

“Never.”