She's standing in front of me. Bare flesh, smooth skin. Lovely legs and beautiful breasts.
But I can't take my eyes off her lips. Black as night, and just as inviting.
I almost fear to approach her, but she beckons me with a finger, and I can do nothing but obey.
She presses me against her, my erection growing just from the touch of her body, but it will have to wait. Only she can decide its fate.
Her fingers trace the length of my back, starting at my neck and moving down to my ass, poking and prodding, her claws leaving indents all the way.
Yet my eyes are still drawn to her lips.
They smile.
I nearly melt.
She knows I'm spellbound, completely and utterly in her power. But she needs to be sure.
More marks, deeper now. I don't move. Simply moan. The symphony of my submission.
But she wants more. My insatiable Tigress desires more from her prey.
Her face moves closer to mine. Her mouth passes my lips even as they quiver for just the smallest taste of her own. But I must wait.
I must earn that privilege.
Instead, they make their way to my cheek. And there, they gently press against my skin. Softly, but with intent.
It takes all that I have not to simply melt into a puddle at the sensation of those black lips of her hers gracing my with their touch. Her touch.
She slowly pulls away, but I can still feel her there. The lip print she leaves behind remains for all to see. A brand. A way to tell the world what I already know. What she reminds me as her lips reach my ear, and she speaks the three words we've both been aching to hear.
"You are mine."
At last, I fall to my knees before her, head bowed in submission and cheek black with her mark.
Yes, I am.
And I wouldn't want it any other way.
But she's far from finished with me.
A black-nailed finger reaches under my chin, brings my head up so that I may gaze upon her once more. With pleading eyes, I silently beg to know what comes next.
She does not say another word. Simply looks at me, at the handiwork she left on my cheek. At her prey, her sub. Her slave. Kneeling there, on edge, mind racing with visions of what may be coming for me. Pleasure, pain, both or none. Only she can decide.
So I wait. And I look at those lips. Aching for a taste.
"Why don't you make yourself useful," she says, softly but commandingly as she takes a seat, "And rub my feet?"
Her finger points down, and my eyes follow until they are staring at her perfect feet. She wiggles her toes teasingly, knowing how much I adore them, how I long to worship them.