I treated myself to a new weekend bag for some upcoming trips I’ve scheduled to break up my sadnesses a little. And so I got to thinking about what I should bring on my excursion to London. I may have overpacked.
In the last week, whilst I have been trying to increase/streamline/provide evidence of my web presence as a writer, I started worrying. Yes, the book we do not speak of has made erotica – and specifically BDSM flavoured erotica – more culturally acceptable as a genre, up to a point. We read these books in public and no one bats an eyelid, even though most of them know someone is getting something eye-smartingly painful done to them within those pages at any given time. And yet, when I link my extracts of works in progress, I feel resistance within myself. For this is dirty work, in anyone’s language. This is wet and sticky and I am very proud of my words, but there is still that kernel of doubt that I am going too far.
On Sunday morning, I am wrapped around you like a blanket, drawing a smiley face in your chest hair.
“I’m hungry.” I say. It’s 10am, at 9.30am I was spread-eagled on the sheet, your face nestled between my thighs with my fingers knotted in your hair.
“Hmmmm. I’m hungry too.”
“I ate the last of the bacon yesterday.” At 9.45am I was riding you, the mains-powered wand grinding my clit and you were using me in my favourite way as I came for a second time and you flooded my cunt.
“Hmmmm.” I frowned. “So, you’ll go and get the bacon?”
He laughed and held me tighter. “Yes, kitten – I will go and buy some bacon.”
“Good.” but as he tried to pull away and sit upright I threw my legs over his.
“But you stay here where it’s warm.”
“Ok…..” He lay back down. I bit into the flesh of his bicep.
“But where’s the bacon?”
“In the shop.”
“Ok you go and get the bacon. But also stay here.”
“Where’s the bacon?”
There was a pause.
“In the shop.”
“Ok. You go and get the bacon but also stay here where it’s warm and I can cuddle you. Ok?”
“Ok, I’ll stay here but also get out of bed and go to the shop where the bacon is and you can stay here and keep the bed warm for me and then I will come back and cook the bacon and get back into bed for the cuddles to continue. Ok?”
“But….You stay here?”
“How much do you want a bacon sandwich?”
In his defence, it was a very good bacon sandwich.
This is the sequel of a sort to Girlfriends
I’d noticed her before, all bossiness and tits.
Not her friend, though. She was new. A dark-haired piece in a too-small dress. It clung to her body, to everywhere. Stomach rolls, and fat acres of thigh.
They might as well have been on a date, ignoring the rest of us, crammed in the smallest bar of the pub because the Christmas do hadn’t been booked until October. I turned back to the knot of management behind me and when I next allowed my gaze to flutter over to those women, they were still talking, avoiding the rest of us. They could have been on a date. Lesbian canoodling on the company dollar.
I snorted into my pint and, catching Jay’s eye, went to join in with the departmental singalong of We Are the Champions. And every so often, I’d turn back and look at them, at their heads bent together, still ignoring the rest of us. I must have known.
Kitten sat on the big, soft armchair in the sun room, her feet tucked neatly underneath her. Sir stood with his back to the windows, in shadow. He held her new collar in his hand. Pink. Diamond trim. She held up her hair so He could fix it around her neck. His fingers stroked the edge of her hairline as He did so. She nuzzled his hand as he stepped to the doorway.
“Princess! Come downstairs, I have a present for you!”
She was wearing a nightgown. Soft, pink and floaty. Her bare breasts visible beneath. She entered the room and went immediately to His side, holding His hand tightly.
“Look, I got you a pet. You always wanted a kitty to play with – and now you do!”
She looked up at Kitten, perched in her seat, staring at her hopefully.
“A kitty, just for me!?”
“Well, Sir might want to play with her too, sometimes. But she is your kitty for the most part. You have to love her and care for her and train her. Can you be a big girl for me and do that?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m so excited to have a kitty of my own to play with.”
She sank to her knees and patted them softly. “Come here, kitty-kitty.”
Welcome to Elust 102–
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The alarm goes off in an hour. Time to play, then doze in a warm, sticky afterglow. There’s a toy under the pillow. Usually more like two or three really. Without exposing herself to the bedside light, she selects whatever she can grasp quickly and slips her knickers to one side with the toy firmly in place, anticipating five minutes of play, a quick, medium-strength orgasm and then almost an hour of blissful ache before work. Classic.
Something’s wrong here. Her body shifts and shakes, She can feel herself, thick and damp between her thighs; anxious, desperate sweat behind her knees. Every so often the toy passes over just the right spot and she jerks and feels the climax build and then…. nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Not enough. Not even with the filthy, graphic fantasies playing in her mind. She moves it more urgently, her hips turning back and forth. She just wants to come. It’s such a simple request. The least she deserves.
Actual desperation begins to set in. Hands chafe at her thighs, pinching, gripping, grabbing at the flesh around her cunt. Not enough. The movies are filthier now, and she moans her lines along with them, flinging off her sodden underwear. She needs to be filled, and with the toy an awkward shape, fucking herself with two fingers of her left hand isn’t easy even though she’s so fucking wet, so ready for anything that her fingers pass easily inside, and she moves them in unison with the sucking, vibrating, grasping little toy in place too but it’s not enough, it’s not.
Something glass and cool to the touch violates her with ease, and this must be it at last. All pretence gone, she loses herself to him, hears his voice as clear as the morning sun, urging her on as he lies above her, his weight pinning her to the bed until he’s satisfied she’s done as she’s told. She feels herself filled, flooded with his come as he grabs those fistfuls of her flesh and counts her down with only two minutes to finish herself off.
“Two minutes is plenty for a dirty girl like you.”
And the toy shifts a little or the thoughts of him and the dildo mimicking the deep perfection of his thrusts and she hears him telling her over and over to come for him and she will, she will, she……
It is not enough. Without him it can never be enough.
“There are approximately a hundred coffee shops on this street, next time you could be more specific?”
She rolled her eyes and indicated the latte on the table before me.
“I got you the usual didn’t I? I apologised that I didn’t realise there was a branch of Caffe Nero at either end. I bought you a brownie.”
The cake had a thick layer of white chocolate coating the top.
“Forgiven, then.” I gave in and sat down next to her. Our booth was the furthest from the front door, partially hidden behind the awkward angle of a wall to nowhere between the counter and the kitchen.
She sipped her tea and broke the corner off my brownie.
“I should bloody well hope so.” The chocolate disappeared between her lips, but one or two crumbs fell and landed on her breasts. She was wearing a velvety top which was very low cut, even for her.
“Meeting someone?” I asked idly. She looked at me a bit funny.
“Oh.” I said. I think I blushed, even though I didn’t know why. I shifted my gaze from her cleavage to the plate in front of me with difficulty.
Sometimes in the course of a text conversation – often late at night – our interactions get flirty. Friendly compliments seem to be become slightly tinged with something else. I’ve been asked to critique tasteful nudes before she sent them to her partners. She would listen as I described in a little too much focus how wet a one night stand had made me, or the rush of blood through my body when my boss stood over me, ogling my tits and demeaning me in full view of my colleagues. How I wanted to jump him right then and there. I stopped abruptly and apologised for oversharing but she wanted me to go on, falteringly admitting how turned on she was.
Something changed. Neither of us knew why but neither wanted to stop it.
We talked about work for a bit, just a general catch up really.
“I got fitted for a new bra. For the first time in my life, I’m wearing matching top and bottoms!” She was gleeful, like a child. I’d noticed the corner lick of lace when I was staring at her breasts, earlier.
“Let’s see!” I said, half joking half desperate all of a sudden and she grinned, made a great show of looking about her to make sure the coast was clear and then suddenly the warm velvet ripples of her bodice had melted away and her breasts were all I could see, creamy-white and caressed by pale blue and black lace. The material was flimsy, her nipples extremely visible even in the unreliable cafe light. She slowly made herself presentable again. Sipped her coffee. I couldn’t really think straight. Of course I couldn’t.
“Now you.” She said, neutrally. A passing waitress slowed her steps, wondering if we were trying to flag her down but she went merrily on her way when she saw neither one of us needed her.
“I don’t match.”
She didn’t say anything; instead she reached over matter of factly as the waitress vanished behind us, and brazenly snaked her hand inside the collar of my blouse, finding my shapeless, mumsy bra with my nipples pressed tightly against the ancient fabric.
Her face was very close, I could feel her breath on my neck, her shoulder and thigh pressed very firmly against my own. She took my hand, lying uselessly in my lap, and drew it towards her, between her legs, under her skirt and up, between her thighs where the sister in black lace was damp and fragrant.
Her lips left a glossy red heart on my neck.
“I don’t care.” She whispered.
Just like perfection
Needs no correction
Like no other
Giveaway time! January is a cold month indeed, and if, like me, you are chunky of leg, finding cute over the knee socks and stockings is a bloody ‘mare.
So I am giving you the chance to win two me-approved items of hosiery:
One pair of xl black stockings (50 denier)
You’ll need a suspender belt but these are great. Lovely and opaque and go over the thigh like a dream.
One pair of American Apparel thigh high socks
Trust me when I say these are utterly adorable and so warm!
Unfortunately they cannot protect you from the dreaded chub rub, or roll-down, but for lounging around feeling like an adorable cosy sex kitten they are A+.
Now of course I cannot guarantee that one size will fit EVERYONE. But I am a British size 22 carrying most of my weight in my legs, so I am confident they will fit most.
1. Open to all genders!
2. Must be following me
3. Must retweet pinned post. (Quote tweets are lovely and appreciated but the original post needs to be retweeted so I can keep count!)
4. UK only
5. Ends January 31st, winner will be drawn from a hat (I’m old school) unless there are a million entries (unlikely) and posted ASAP.
6. That’s all!