Three (Smutathon 2018)

The final Smutathon story! This for Gorgeous Missy who asked for a D/s Threesome which I hope I have delivered.

Look at him. King of the castle. The cat that got the cream. Lying here in this reasonably priced hotel room with his wife and her lover. These beautiful women. One of whom he owns and worships, one he adores as she serves his beloved.

He had girl strip as soon as she entered – she was not permitted to glance at the bed where beloved sat astride him – and instructed her to stand at the open window with her hands behind her head, exposed to the patrons in the bar opposite. He asked her to raise her hand each time she was spotted, and describe the response of the voyeur.

“He is making lewd gestures.”

“More specific.”
“He grabbed his crotch and then pretended to grab my hair as if I was sucking him.”

“Good. He knows that’s all you’re good for, girl.”
“Now a woman is looking.”
“And?”
“Just looking. Her eyes are wide. She’s stroking the rim of her champagne glass.”

Continue reading

Advertisements

The Gift (Smutathon 2018)

This piece is shared with the permission of Honey for whom it was written with much love, for her kind donation.

Sometimes when we go out, he sees me, catches me looking at other women. Once he sat smirking as I shyly flirted with the attendant in a first class train carriage, giggling in awe at her glossy black hair and curvy bum.

As I tied myself in knots and listened to her talk to me about the lipstick she was wearing, his hand was in my lap, crawling under the lace of my knickers, feeling how wet her prettiness had made me and rubbing my clit as hard as he could without making the table shake. When I came I buried my head in his shoulder and he apologised to her slightly bemused face.

“She’s been up since five, I think she’s having a sugar crash.”

She nodded sympathetically and fetched a tiny can of coke and a tumbler and when she turned away he poured out my drink and dipped his come-smeared fingers in it, feeding me the sugary mixture as we sped onwards.

He watches me watch beautiful women like her. Women with immaculate make up in men’s suits. Pretty, voluptuous nymphs in girlish knee highs and 50’s bubblegum dresses. Tall, elegant queens who walk through the world like they own it because they do. Different kinds of beauty but all equal. He watches them too. He knows what my heart yearns for. My heart full of him, but wants something he cannot provide, that I am too scared to pursue.

His office Christmas party. Formal dress. He picks out his favourite – a long velvet gown that brings out the red lights in my hair. Heels, but I still only come up to his shoulder. Champagne cocktails with raspberries, canapés, and his assistant, radiant in a silky whip of nothingness, glancing in my direction. She and I have spoken many times – conspired and commiserated over my love’s stubbornness. I have never seen her so regal, with a cleavage that heaves and wobbles in all the right ways.

When my shoes threaten to floor me, I perch on a low sofa and she sits beside me, calm and soothing.

“She wants you, you know. Has had a crush on you since the day she saw you.” His breath hot upon my ear.

“She does?”
“She does. Why wouldn’t she? See her watching you. She aches.”

This Goddess returns with the glasses, our fingers touch as she passes one to me and sits so close to me our thighs are pressed tightly together.

“You look edible.” She says, her eyes on my glossy lips, my breasts.

“I…..” I swallow. “You are stunning.”

Her smile is warm and deep and I fall gladly, drowning in her as she kisses me. Kisses me in this exposed place that feels secluded, with her hand on my waist as if it had always belonged there. She only breaks away to take my hand and lead me swiftly through the great hall and into the corridor which is dark and deserted.

A statue of the founder’s mother in the centre, watches us as she seats me in the centre of the wide, imposing staircase and kneels before me, kissing along my inner thigh as my body shivers with goose pimples and icy fear of being found. But she will not be deterred, licking my damp knickers and peeling the fabric away from my cunt, pushing her agile fingers inside me as her tongue assaults my clit, interspersing her manipulations with adoration.

“Oh you taste so good. So savoury. So delicious. I knew you’d be delicious.”

She is ravenous for me.
I gently hold her head and bring her lips to mine again. Her kisses more valuable than her touch but she is still within me as we kiss, as she strokes my cheek before the hand glides lower and slips inside my gown to roll my nipple between her fingers. It is this which makes me come for her. Moan in delightful anguish with my face in her shoulder, and in the darkness, his eyes watching us, with his heart full.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Come one, come all (Smutathon 2018)

This was written for the wonderful Ruth who generously donated to our Smutathon 2018 campaign and asked for a story about exhibitionism.

She wears the best lingerie. Famous for it. You might think that kind of thing doesn’t matter, but people notice. Silky, lacy, pretty prettiness fills her bedroom drawers and cascades out onto the bedroom floor.

Tonight, in the depths of winter though, no knickers at all – only a flimsy black bralet which really doesn’t fit; she can manoeuvre the cups so only the edge of her areola shows but as soon as she moves, the fabric shifts and she’s exposed. As soon as she’s vigorously sucking cock, she’s exposed.

Perfect.

Continue reading

Ettie and Rose’s Dirty Weekend (Smutathon 2018)

Second story time! Another queer romance, but a much happier one set in the late 1940s, and with a gorgeous accompanying image kindly provided by the wonderful Eye and Missy

On Thursday the 4th of August 1949, the 12pm Blackpool train from Manchester was crammed with children and mardy-looking grandmothers crammed into every corner of every carriage.

“Let’s just stand in the hallway.” Ettie suggested after a third door had opened to reveal several mewling infants and bemused female relatives trying and failing to keep order.

“It’s an hour journey or more, I don’t think my legs could take it. Let’s walk on further there must be a space for us.”
“You could sit on the case. Or on me.” Ettie suggested helpfully as they walked on.

Eventually they came to a larger carriage with just as many unruly children, but also two empty seats separated by a pair of soldiers – Canadian possibly – having a very heated debate. Their eyes lit up when they spied Ettie – buxom and twenty, with delicately waved hair and an innocent expression. Their focus was largely on the straining material of her blouse where her breasts were threatening to escape.

Continue reading

Fancy

“He’s got a trademark.”
Fancy was washing my hair at the time. Her short nails sent shocks through my nervous system every time she lathered; it felt good.

“A what?”
“A trademark. He’s got a way, with a weapon.”

“Oh.”
“And you’ll be experiencing it tonight, my love.”
“Yes Miss.”

Fancy dunked my head under the cold bathwater without warning.

“Get dressed.”

Continue reading

Hold me, Thrill Me, Kiss me

The cuffs were her birthday gift, so in a twisted way it was appropriate that the first time they used them was during another person’s birthday party. His father’s.

The first instruction came as she bared the nape of her neck so he could fasten her necklace.

“At 11pm you’ll go to the bathroom, remove your knickers, and give them to me. If I’m busy, you will wait with them in your hands until I take them.”
She nodded, committing this to memory as she turned to face him and straighten his tie.
“And then, when all the guests have gone and we are all alone, we’re going to take off that pretty dress, and cuff you to the bed, and I’m going to eat that wet, desperate cunt of yours.”
She blushed crimson, the first of many pretty blushes that night.
“Yes Sir.” She said in a small voice.
“That’s my girl.” He took her arm and they made their way downstairs.

Of course, he tormented her that evening. Putting his arm around her he would palm that exact spot on her back which made her melt; trace his finger along the creases of her palm and she would try to hold it together in front of his aunts and uncles. Simple, unobtrusive gestures which no one could possibly think were turning her insides to jelly. His mother served kir royale, and he whispered “Who’s my wet little slut?” into his girl’s ear when passing the glasses round.

Continue reading

Pool

I had a dream last night. This is a version of it.

I’m lying on my stomach in the shallow end of the pool. It’s barely a pool really, it’s a complex – a simulated beach with a funfair thrown on top, I am hidden far away but still the screams of children hurtling along the chutes and slides above my head filters through. It is hardly peaceful here.

Still, I am alone. I am serene. I half-know what is going to happen as I lie in the gentle waves, pert bum sticking out of the water, breasts thrusts out of my two piece swimming costume. As I am thinking about this, They arrive. Two men, the handsome, gregarious, laddy type. Thick around the neck and upper body, they approach me, talking amongst themselves but looking over again and again.

“Look at those tits.” one says, talking at me, not to me. He has dark hair. There are noises of agreement.

Continue reading

Mean

For Amy and Jadis

***

“Be mean to me.” She begged one evening, during a pillow fight. Ember was towering over her, the floral pillowcase above her head blocking out the big bedroom light. He already had her pinned down to the bed by her wrists so Ember could aim the downy marshmallow directly at her soft, downy stomach.

“We are being mean to you, silly.”
Thwack

Continue reading