In the Pink

Imprint

He loves to feel my skin, whatever smooth bare pink expanse he can lay his hands on.

Of course, he also loves to squeeze, pinch, slap, grab, squish, stroke and mark my skin — but then, i love it when he does. So it’s a win-win.

This time was different. It was like he was committing me to memory, all my various curves, and dips, and softness, and giggly bits. As though he was learning me, like I was a big soft piece of braille, and he was reading me with his hands.

As we lay spooned together, relaxing, his warm body curled protectively around mine, I felt his hands trace the curve of my hips, reaching around behind and grabbing me between the cheeks.

“Getting yourself a piece of ass?” I asked, cheekily, and was rewarded with a resounding slap that made me shiver with pleasure.

He flipped me around so that I was facing him, ran a finger down the side of my face and stared deeply into my eyes.

“You have such a beautiful look in your eyes,” he murmured. “I could watch that look for days. You just look so…. contented and complete.”

I blushed, and looked down, despite myself.

“No, no, little kitty, look back up at me.”

I did, our eyes meeting and gazing for the longest time, broken only when he leaned down and kissed my forehead, my cheeks and then finally my lips, passionately and warmly.

“The look in my eyes is.. well, it’s all because of this. Us. You. How happy you make me feel. I could purr.”

He hugged me close, and stroked even more of me — my hair, my arms, my back.

“I love you, my Pink Tabby.”

“I love you too.”

But I whispered it so softly into his neck that I worried he hadn’t heard me. Then he looked into my eyes again, and I could see in his blue sparkle that he very definitely had done.

“Your eyes are just amazing. That look, god, what you only do to me!”

The look is something I could feel, almost tangibly burned onto the back of my retina, but a burn of such searing delight that I never wanted it to end.

Later, he throws me up against a wall, face first, holding me close from behind, and explores even more of me. The wall is cold on my body, so I lean back into him, the sheer physics of matching push-pull pressure holding us together for what seems like an eternity, and one I wish would never end. He holds me close as he paints a permanent imprint of my body on his probing and inquisitive hands.

And nibbles my ear as he does so.

Now he can take me with him wherever he goes.