Taking Liberties (I)

Erotic romance was how I started. This is definitely a slow burn. An actual story for once, but it is a departure from what I have posted to my blog so far so may take some adjusting.

Many years after the fact, I learnt he had finely orchestrated our first meeting. Sat beside one another at a dull talk on moral responsibility, he put his hand on my thigh. I slapped it away. He was thoughtful, and when the room grew rowdy once more he placed the hand higher upon my thigh. This time, when I made to swat the hand away again, he caught my fingers in his and held them fast, delicately stroking the palm.

Afterwards the speaker announced that they would be serving us tea and fruitcake in the ante room. I broke free of his grasp, and had been speaking with Lydia’s sister, when he approached me at the samovar and said,

“I do hope you didn’t think me forward.”

Always that impertinent grin about his mouth. His blonde-toned hair oiled but waved towards his brow. Eleven months and two inches between us.
“I do think you forward.”

“Oh dear, that wasn’t my intention.”
He stroked his hand along the length of my index finger, I looked about us and tempered my voice.

“You manhandled me.”

“A misunderstanding.”

“Your hand was placed upon my thigh where it had no place being. How could I possibly misunderstand that?”
His large, child-like blue eyes registered my scandalous words with some amusement.

“I was gripped, gripped by Professor Bradley’s rousing speech, of course. Had your thigh been that of the good professor himself, or even my dear, departed mother, my reaction would have been much the same.”
His speech was firm and measured. He looked me in the eye carefully. It could almost have been true.

“I can see you don’t believe me. Perhaps I could take you to dinner and explain in a more detailed fashion?”

“If I refuse, would you persist in harassing me?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” He shrugged, turning to the samovar himself for his own refreshment.

He was infuriating.

I went to dinner.

Continue reading

Advertisements

Picture Perfect

On dedication.

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.

Libraries Gave Her Power

The rather lovely and wonderful Exhibit A is running a competition based on selected lyrics by one of his favourite bands. So here is my attempt, from the prompt “Libraries Gave Us Power”.
I do love a historical romance, a sliver of D/s, a hint of exhibitionism, voluptuous female flesh and this rather nicely covers all of these things, and a little more besides (shut up, the 70s was nearly 50 years ago and therefore totally historical….)

With thanks to Hannah and Ros for reading, proofing and con/crit x

***

The smell of books was one of many that made Julia feel sick. Not the fish and chip newness of paperbacks, she didn’t mind that at all, but the musty, mildewy scent of decaying fabric and horse glue.

These books filled her with gloom, and libraries filled her with dismay. She only visited them because Gloria found them so endlessly fascinating.

Continue reading

Wicked Wednesday – Wedding Belle Blues

Content warning: degradation. NSFW. Please avoid if you are squeamish about such things!

Prompt: Wedding

This is dedicated to my dear Hannah. With love x

“He’ll never love you.” She said weakly to her reflection, a vision with puffy red eyes and crumbs of mascara peppered around them like funereal glitter. Her flushed chest matched the crimson hue of her eyelids. The bridesmaids dress, which had once held her like a lover and accentuated the curve of the arse that the groom had fucked the night before his engagement party, now hung a little less naughtily, gaping where her hunched shoulders diminished the volume of her breasts, threatening to be exposed by the dress, that was now sizes too big.
Continue reading