She smoothed her best dress out over the dented wooden floor and looked up at him.
“You don’t think I’m pretty, do you? You don’t like me at all.”
His face was almost quizzical.
“No. Of course not.”
A loose frond of her chocolate coloured curls had worked loose – he tucked it behind her ear gently as she reached up and unbuttoned his flies.
They were not quite alone, though no one paid them much heed in their corner of the hallway. Occasionally stepping on her heavy silk frock, there would be a muttered “Excuse me,” and she could hardly answer them with her mouth so full of him and the distraction of his weight pistoning into her.
It’s been so long since I sucked a dick I think I might have forgotten how to do it.
I’ll reach out my hand towards the imaginary cock and recreate the warmth and specific softness of a burgeoning erection, heavy and magical in my palm.
To begin, I trace my thumb from the base up to the head, glistening in the harsh bedroom light. Then I’ll follow that same journey with the flat of my tongue and this will trigger his long exhalation of breath.
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.
He called me fuckpuppet.
I thought I was a sweet girl.
Naughty girl who slowly peeled off her sodden knickers in front of the unflinching eye of the webcam.
Whenever she was ID’d, there was a small smile as she removed her passport from the bag. As they studied the image and made sure it matched up with the highly made up face before them, she wondered if they paused as they did so.
Did they catch the glassiness of her eyes? The dampness of her parted lips?
Had the clerk finalising her renewal noted in the corner of her chosen profile shot, that patch of exposed skin below her waist, and suspected?
Of course not. No one else knew the secret behind it. How he had told her what he would do to her before the photo was taken. How he cuffed her wrists and stripped her from the waist down, passed his hands between her quaking thighs to make fun of her arousal before making her hold the wand in place against her swollen, desperate cunt.
When he pushed her to her knees and fucked her mouth, he told her she’d always remember this afternoon, every single time she travelled abroad, every time she started a new job. The pulsing of her cunt, the come dripping down her thighs, the strength of her submission to him.
Ten delicious years of silent testament.
I don’t remember why I wrote this exactly. I know I wrote it for someone who wasn’t much impressed with it, but I like it well enough.
Consensual, caring BDSM. All characters over 18. No one is a blood relative. NSFW. 18+ only. Copyright me.
“I’m scared.” I say, looking at the bed nervously.
“I’m not.” He replies, half-smiling.
Cuckqueaning is my new jam, apparently.
I knew what I was there for. They didn’t tell me but they planned it between them. And one night, invited me over after work. We watched TV, ate pizza and he felt me up during an extended edition of Newsnight, after noticing how obvious the imprint of my nipples was through my T-shirt. He was sat between us, groping my tits as she slid her hand inside his flies and watched us, stroking him firmly.
Last night it was late, and most of twitter was asleep. Some were awake, though. And made me think of something that has occured to me before. That other submissive women know how to manipulate me better than anyone. With thanks to Molly