She was a zit, a swollen, white headed bubble ready to burst and squirt whenever he decided to pinch her in that very special way. Not necessarily painful, nor unsightly if you are into that sort of thing. Bright red at the edges and white in the center, she'd personify that zit wearing red latex and lace over her pale, pale flesh.
Like any zit, he harbored her in darkness, a single room, a bed and a chair where she would sit for hours preparing herself for him. He called her out into the light only when he washed the fetid odor of the day from his body, the stink of his sweaty crotch, the rot of his armpits and the stench of his ass. In the steamy bathroom, after his shower, he stared into the mirror, focusing on that single spot, the red skin surrounding the white pustule. Running his fingernails along the rough scratch of his beard he centered on that pale white, squeezing it until it popped, spurting the gooey spunk onto the mirror.
Smiling, he called her then, "Zit, come here please."
He didn't have to wait, she always knew when to appear, her pale white face encircled in the bright red hair. Each white breast peeked from red latex, the nipples, slightly darker, but still pale against the bright red. Stepping into the fading steam, she sat on the edge of the bathtub, her legs crossed at the knees and waited.
Coating his face with shaving cream, he watched her, her legs crossed tightly, her thighs tightening and relaxing as she prepared. Scraping the razor over his cheek and then down around his jaw he could see her cheeks flush a bit as she worked herself to the edge. After shaving, he took a towel, wiped his face and then tossed it to the floor at her feet.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
Gasping a bit, she nodded. Slowly she opened her legs, using her feet to position the towel on the floor, she then spread her legs wide open. Resting her hands on the bathtub she stared intently, waiting.
