The Cheeky Shag: Felt Tip

The Cheeky Shag: Felt Tip

© The Estate of Erwin Blumenfeld

© The Estate of Erwin Blumenfeld

By Baylee McKeel


It’s strange how sensual the feeling of marker on skin is.

The unexpected chill sends a shiver down the body that radiates, dissipates, and settles in warmth as felt tip traces curves and crevices making hair rise in anticipation.

When he told me to take my clothes off I have to admit this is not what I was expecting.

When he pulled out a blindfold I had a few ideas run through my head but this was not one of them.

I had been with some freaky guys before, done bondage, orgies, fucked sideways, backwards, upside down, even done the dominatrix act, but this was new.

We had been together for a few months now and he had never tried anything kinky so I was more than willing to play along.

He said it would only take a couple of minutes.

I was beginning to think he was enjoying it.

The little jolts when marker landed on bare skin.

The heavy sighs, low moans, and high squeals that I couldn’t contain when icy tip hit warm flesh.

With the first touch I jerked, startled by the chill. He let out a laugh, following the cold trail with his fingers. He started on my neck, tracing the curl until it melted into my collarbone.

I moaned; he smirked.

From shoulder to arm his touch drifted, pausing at the tender flesh of the inside elbow and circling back around.

I jumped; he grabbed me by the waist.

He tightened his grip and I felt his body against mine as he lifted the marker.

When I felt its chill again it was on my chest.

A squeal surprised us both as he traced the sensitive skin under my breasts and a slight giggle as felt tip slid down my stomach.

My body tensed as he made circles around my stomach. I felt him chuckle knowing I was ticklish and struggling to hold back laughter. A quiver shot up my spine as he moved to my thighs.

I flinched; he pressed harder.

I tensed again as cold marker dug into my skin. He slowly made his way to my inner thigh, following the marker’s trail with his fingers once again. The sensation was almost unbearable; I wanted so badly to release the howl that had been building within me since he first touched marker to flesh. I wanted to rip the blindfold off in dramatic yet sexy fashion and whip around to face him, hair perfect despite the previously mentioned tearing off of a blindfold. I wanted him to toss the marker aside, grab me even harder than he was and kiss me, trailing the marker’s path in excess.

Caught up in my own desires I almost didn’t notice when he lifted the marker once more and released me from his grip. He untied the blindfold in a drastically less dramatic way than I was hoping, and spun me around gingerly.

“There” he said.

“Not too bad, should only cost a few thousand, I’ll cover it for you”.

What I saw in the mirror was more ink than flesh.

The lines I had been imagining as an intriguing and sensual manner of foreplay were in fact correction lines and my body was covered in them.

From neck to collarbone, shoulder, arms, stomach, and thighs, I was a sea of deep blue. 

He was staring at my reflection, smiling at his work. He continued to tell me how much better I would look after the myriad of surgeries it would take to make all of the alterations suggested by his surgical markings. His cocky expression showed how generous he thought he was for not only showing me what was wrong with my body but offering to pay to fix it as well.

I didn’t say a word.

I found my clothes strewn across the room, got dressed with the dignity I had left and walked out on the bastard.

I haven’t seen or spoken to him since that enlightening experience.

But I did walk out with his blindfold and marker. 

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