I have always loved flesh between my teeth.
His smooth creamy skin (or sometimes anyone’s for that matter) calls to me in such a way that I can’t resist or stop myself.
Especially, when I’m on top of a lover, seeing their midriff exposed and if I am working my way down their body to satisfy both our needs for oral gratification I tend to bite. I was kissing him, nibbling on his nipples. I bit one too hard and he cried out, but the sadist side of me became more excited. I started biting his stomach, but accidentally bit the spot where he had a surgical procedure done. I felt bad, because I know the skin can be more sensitive in those areas, so I moved on.
I worked my way over to his ribs, where the flesh can easily be bitten and pulled. I started biting as I normally do, but he started to tease me about something unimportant. I began to bite harder, pulling at his skin, twisting it between my teeth, pushing my tongue against the tender section of flesh between my teeth. My mind drifted into dark fantasy thoughts of tearing the flesh from his body, tasting his blood on my lips. I became even more aroused. If Mr. Sam had moaned in pleasure or even cried out, those sounds would have pushed me in an orgasm. When my hips move, when the need to relieve the “itch” between my legs becomes so intense that I would have mounted his cock or sat on his face. But Mr. Sam never cried out in pain, he never pulled away from my mouth like most people would. He didn’t tell me to stop, at once. He laid there perfectly still, which concerned me yet I didn’t care about the reason. If this is trust then I admire and adore him even more.