Ocean Of Need

5 Words Of Worship - Spice Rating 🔥🔥🔥

April 2nd Continued...

I stay where you've placed me. Naked. On all fours. In the middle of the canvas. In the middle of the room.

You walk around the canvas, inspecting me, and come to a stop behind me. I'm aware of you there, looking at my most vulnerable place. I know not to move. You spent so much time placing me in this exact position.

The canvas moves as you step onto it. Your hands grip the inside of my thighs and I gasp as you pull them apart. My knees slide on the canvas as you push them back together, getting them to just the right place.

You step to the side of me, run your hand across my shoulder blades and my ass. Push slightly onto the small of my back, making my ass move higher. My head lifts as my back curves lower. You step away, off the canvas, and walk back to your easel, where you dip your hand into a black leather bag and pull out a masquerade mask.

Stepping back onto the canvas, you place it onto my face, and say, 'Don't move Amber.' As you tie the ribbons at the back of my head and I do my best not to lean into your legs.

You lean down to me, tilt my chin up and smile, 'You look beautiful. Like a little doll. Do you want to see?'

I blink a yes at you and you take the full-length mirror from beside the door, placing it on the wall in front of me. It frames my frame, turning me into your work of art.

'This is how I will always remember you,' you say.

My heart falls towards my ribs and weighs heavy there, as I say, 'You sound like you've already left.'

'Never,' you smile. 'I'll always be here in this room with you. I'll always ache for you.'

My heart lifts itself back to its rightful place inside my pussy, and beats there.

You set tins of paints on the canvas around me, then use a paint encrusted knife to lever the lids off. Placing a long, flat stick in each tin, you stir them.

You take a stick out of the tin closest to my head. Red paint drips down the stick an lands on the canvas next to your feet. You take a few steps back from my face, say, 'Close your eyes,' and lift the stick high, flicking it towards me. I gasp as the paint hits my face, the mask, my shoulder, the top of my back.

I open my eyes and you're watching me. I can see the shape of your cock through your jeans. I see my reflection in the mirror. A red slash of paint runs from my chin, sliced across the mask, and now drips from from my cheek bones.

'Fuck, Amber. You are a Doll.'

I smile, 'For you I am Sir.'

Your jaw ticks as you adjust yourself inside your jeans, then pull your phone out of your pocket and say, 'Can I record you? For the art piece.'

'Yes.'

'You sure? You're comfortable with that?'

'Yes, I'm comfortable,' I say. I am comfortable. My face is covered by the mask, and my tattoo, on the inside of my thigh is not visible while I'm on all fours.

I watch you through the mirror as you set your phone upright on the easel and press record. You take another stick with paint the colour of honey dripping from it, and run it over my back, then down the back of my legs. Then you kneel at the side of me and use the stick to tap my breasts, as I try to stop my elbows from buckling.

You turn to another tin, pull out a stick coated in paint the colour of the ocean. I shake my head. I wish I'd never chosen 'Ocean' as a safe word – as a stop word. Because now I have tainted the ocean, and the ocean is my favourite thing. 'Not that colour please Sir,' I whisper.

'Bold little doll,' he says. 'Telling me what to do. We'll have to talk about that later.'

My breathing speeds up, and my honey coats my pussy. It's hard not to move. Not to stretch, as desire floods my limbs.

You watch my reactions with a smile as you drop the stick, the colour of the ocean, back into the tin.

Walking back to the easel, you grab the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it up. The muscles on your back stretch and contract as you lift it over your head and drop it to the floor. You grab a paint brush and walk back to me. Sunlight hugs your lean torso, and dances over the vampire teeth inked across your heart. I wonder why it is that you need deadly teeth to protect your heart.

You dip the brush in orange paint and stand in front of me. 'Little Doll, roll onto your back for me. Keep your arms and legs as they are, but in the air.

I do as you say. It's hard to maintain the position, but I do it. I do it for you. Because you want me to, and because I think it will make you happy.

You push my legs further apart and start painting my inner thigh. I dare to lift my head and watch the letters appear, but I can't maintain the position so I drop my head back to the floor.

You dip the brush back in the tin and start a new painting under my breasts. I can't read it upside down and my legs are starting to shake. You turn to watch them as they tremble. You push my calves down so that my feet hit the floor, giving me relief. Leaving my knees bent up and my feet flat to the floor. Then you push my arms, until they come to rest on the canvas above my head. I melt into the floor, as you continue to paint my breasts.

'Do you want to know what it says, Miss Amber?'

'Yes please Sir.'

'Can you be patient with me for a little longer? While I finish.'

'Yes Sir.'

'Good Girl.'

Fuck, I can't help it. My body stretches of its own accord, and my head rolls back.

You run a hand down the side of my body, then back up, all the way to my neck. You clasp your hand around my neck and dip the brush back in the tin. The brush strokes the side of my face below the mask as you paint.

Your face is above mine now, and you bite your lip as you concentrate on your work of painting my face.

'Stay there, Little Doll,' you say as you stand and pick up a tin of paint, pouring it on to the canvas, around the outline of my body, but away from my head. You do the same with the other tins, until all of them are empty.

'Stand,' you say, giving me your hand and pulling me up.

I look into the mirror, read 'Good Girl' in reverse across my ribs.

'Toy' is painted backwards on my face.

I lean down and read your words on my thighs. 'This pussy belongs to me.'

'Do you want to be mine, Amber?' You say from behind me.

I nod.

'Use your words, Little Doll.'

'Yes, I want to be yours.' And I do. Even though I know I never truly can be. Even though I know the only one that can ever own me, is me.

I know that the only way to survive my life is by keeping my ownership of me. But I nod, because I want to please you, and because I know that this is a game that we both want to play. So for as long as we play the game, I will belong to you, and in my own way, you will own me.