Her Tattoo Said "Behave" — But She Rode Me Like a Storm
Her Tattoo Said "Behave" — I Didn’t.
Submitted Anonymously at SpicyRaaz.xyz
We met in a bar tucked behind Hauz Khas Village. The kind of place with cheap lights, overpriced drinks, and enough shadows for secrets to be born. She leaned against the bar, sipping something red, her finger tracing the rim of the glass — slowly. Deliberately. Like she knew I was watching.
She wore a black tank top that barely clung to her. A single silver chain dangled between her collarbones, and just above her heart, in delicate cursive, a tattoo whispered: "Behave." Irony.
She caught me staring, smirked, and said, “You read my tattoo, didn’t you?” I managed a grin. “Only trying to follow instructions.” Her eyes locked with mine — dark, mischievous, dangerous. “Then you're already failing.”
Uber Confessions
We slid into the Uber like a secret slipping under sheets. The ride was quiet — until she leaned over, her breath brushing my ear. “Do you like breaking rules?” she whispered. I didn’t answer. I kissed her.
Her hands were already under my shirt, nails grazing lightly over my chest. Her perfume — musky, sharp with sandalwood and vanilla — flooded my senses. She bit my lip, softly at first, then harder. I gasped. She moaned.
The driver looked straight ahead like a soldier on duty. But we didn’t care. Her thigh brushed mine again and again. She knew exactly what she was doing. My hand slid up her waist, fingers under her top, grazing the soft skin beneath. She whispered, “Don’t behave.”
The Apartment
She lived close by. Her room was dim, lit only by fairy lights tangled over a cracked mirror. There was incense burning — patchouli or clove — I couldn’t tell. She closed the door behind us with her back, then walked toward me slowly, stripping piece by piece.
She pulled off her tank top in one clean motion. No bra. Her breasts were small, perky, and the tattoo above her left one seemed to mock me again. “Behave.” I laughed. “Too late.”
I kissed her neck, her collarbone, then lower. She arched into me, nails already digging into my back. Her breath grew ragged. She moaned my name softly, then louder as I slid lower, tasting her slowly, rhythmically. Her thighs trembled, and she whispered things I can’t write here. Wild things.
She pinned me to the bed and rode me like she owned every second. She slapped, bit, screamed — and smiled right after. Her pace drove me mad, like a storm I couldn’t control. Her body was soaked, skin hot to the touch. Our rhythm crashed, gasped, begged, collapsed.
Aftermath
We lay naked, tangled in sweat and sheets. Her lipstick was smeared across my chest. My back had scratches that would sting in the morning. She smiled at me, ran her fingers through my hair, and whispered, “Still want to behave?”
I shook my head. “Only if you ask nicely.” She kissed me one last time, slow and deep, then turned to sleep, her tattoo rising and falling gently with her breath.
Morning
She made black coffee wearing only my shirt. No pants. Just bare thighs and confidence. I watched her pour without spilling a drop. She handed me the mug. “To regrets?” she asked. “To the lack of them,” I replied.
And just like that, she was gone by noon. No number. No full name. Just that tattoo, etched in my mind forever.
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#TattooGirl #WildNight #EroticConfession #SpicyRaaz #AnonymousConfession #Behave #NSFWConfession
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