Y’know, a pair of lips is a seriously weird thing. Softer than anywhere else on your body, and yet simultaneously oddly plump and malleable. Oddness excites me, always has, and so naturally I’m a tiny bit obsessed with the oddities that litter your body.
The first time I kissed you I bit them, because I wanted to see what you’d do. I imagine it hurt, hell, I know it did because you bit me back. But I think I bit harder. I have bigger teeth, after all, and I tugged awfully hard. Either way, it spurred you to kiss me harder, gave me all the encouragement I needed, and now it’s difficult for me not to bite them, pull on that bottom lip until it snaps back against your teeth.
But you react differently every time. Sometimes shy, somethings aggressive. I can push my thumb against your lips, force you to suckle on it like a child, and sometimes you’ll bite, and sometimes you’ll do what I want. Each time is a question, and each time I get my answer.
Even if I tie you up, I can’t tie that mouth up, Perhaps with a gag, but then I’m denying myself opportunity just as much as I am you. A ring, perhaps? But I don’t have a ring, and I’m not sure I want one. They seem awfully crass.
I like having that small oval of uncertainty, though, if I’m perfectly honest. I like leaving a little up to chance, up to you, so that you can surprise me every time, with your choices rather than just your reactions.
Bite, kiss, suck, lick. Pick your poison, I’m going to enjoy it either way.