Flash Fiction – At My Feet

My foot looks incredibly pale and tiny, resting against the dark hair on his thigh. I smile as I watch him, tongue curling over his top lip in concentration while he applies the deep burgundy polish he chose to my toes, taking great care to not smudge any. His breath is warm on my skin as he gently blows to help dry the varnish. He smiles up at me, his eyes dark and wicked. Feeling greedy for him, I walk the painted toes of my free foot from his knee to his hip and as I begin to dip it towards his groin he casts me a stern warning glance… not yet.

Leaving the polish to set, he leans across and stretches my arms above my head, securing my wrists to the bedposts with a nylon stocking I had discarded on the bed before my bath earlier. I hope he might kiss me but, knowing how to prolong my anticipation, he hovers his lips over mine, teasing me with his breath, before taking my ankles and binding them together with the remaining stocking. He ties them tight so I cannot fight him.

His thick fingers stroke the soles of my feet so softly I can barely feel them; a delicious tickle trickles up through my legs and spine and I close my eyes to savour the sensation. I feel his weight shift on the bed and his hands are on mine. I have a flash of frustration that he has left my feet, until he begins caressing the soft, hyper-responsive skin on my wrists, moving his fingertips agonizingly slowly towards my inner elbow, where he lingers, teasing me with butterfly touches, making me writhe in pleasure. My skin is so alert that even the tips of his fingers repeating a pattern on it feels as if he is peeling skin away. They drift towards my armpits and he strokes in circles; I sigh contentedly. I feel like a spoiled kitten being caressed.

His hands glide down, over the silk covering my body, to the hem of my chemise. I lift my bum for him so he can push the flimsy material up over my hips, breasts and over my face, effectively blindfolding me. I feel heat flood my body; my face is flushed at being left so exposed and vulnerable before him. I start to feel a pulsing ache between my legs. I am torn between wanting this to last all afternoon and wanting the exquisite torture to end with him filling me, pumping inside me.

I flinch as his fingers find my nipple; rolling it, pulling it and twisting it the way he knows I love. A groan escapes my lips and I long to feel his mouth and teeth on it but he wants to extend my torment. His hands run over my torso, my waist, barely touching my hips and he firmly pulls down on my calves, straightening out my body, which has involuntarily arched in pleasure. My body is quivering; adrenaline and nervous electricity making my skin react instantly to his slightest touch.

I feel his breath again on my ankle as he traces his tongue over my ankle, pausing to gently suck on my heel before running it firmly up the centre of my sole. I cannot stop a moan from leaving my lips. He laps at my feet, tongue dipping between my toes as his nails cruelly scrape the sensitive skin underfoot. I instinctively arch my foot and curl my toes, trying to bend my knees to escape but he holds me in place, alternating his touch from excruciatingly pleasurable soft and gentle tickles to rough scratching as he nibbles and sucks my toes.

My breath is ragged, my heart racing, my cunt aches. I shake my head to move the chemise and allow myself to look down to see him. He is kneeling at my feet, his face and chest flushed, his erection straining against his boxers; a dot of precum darkens the pale jersey fabric. He pulls them off and rubs the tip of his gorgeous thick cock against my feet. I spread my toes wide and grip him between them.

“Please…” I whisper, my chest is rising and falling, my pulse pounding in my ears. I feel overwhelmed with the desire to render him helpless at my feet.

He unties the black stocking binding my feet, pushes us both further up the bed and leans back on his haunches allowing me to open my legs and take him between my feet. I know he can see how full and wet I am, how much I want this.

I rub the toes of one foot against his balls, pinching the skin gently while I run my other foot up and down his hard cock. I sandwich his glans between my soft, small feet and roll them, massaging him. Gripping my ankles, he thrusts himself into the narrow space between my arches, breathing hard, his eyes are fixated on what we are doing. I open my toes, gripping and rubbing along his shaft, my other foot circling his throbbing tip, taking it between my big toe and squeezing, milking him until he erupts all over my feet. His hot cum drips over my toes, blurring my new deep red colour, making it hard it keep a grip on his cock as it slips again between my arches. I caress him until he pulls away, satisfied.

He kneels forward, kisses the inside of my knee, his tongue once again teasing me as he licks the delicate skin of my inner thighs. He raises his face to smile at me before it sinks deep between my legs.

💋

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Copyright, 2018, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

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Dry Spell

Readers, I am frustrated…

I have neglected my blogs for too long, for different reasons.

I have had a very challenging year or two, and it has most definitely impacted on my ability to get my thoughts straight in my mind, never mind getting them down in any coherent form that comes close to anything I would subject my followers to. (FYI: there is absolutely no guarantee that todays post will be any better, but my frustration and need to connect once again has overridden my internal quality control monitor.)

Health issues, both physical and mental, have plagued me and at several times have beaten me down to a point where some days getting dressed or showered has been a triumph. I am trying some new approaches which I hope will help me feel better and, fighting my realistic/fatalistic streak every day, I remind myself of the rewards to be gained from the changes, rather than dwell on how difficult they are to carry out. I have even, my lovely readers, made a chart that is stuck on my fridge! How very “self helpy” can you get?!

There have been days of wonderful positivity where I have wanted nothing more than to open my MacBook and write about all the good things I have in my life – a husband who is also my best friend, who knows all my darkest, ugliest secrets and loves me anyway, who makes me laugh til I cry, two beautiful dogs that bring me so much joy, a secure home to live in, enough money to always go to the ATM and not feel anxious, a garden built by myself and the OH which is peaceful and soul enriching to sit in… but I have not done so for fear of almost cursing my good fortune.

As for my fiction blog and my amateur photography, well, I have simply been feeling about as inspired as a used teabag. Walking used to be my therapy; ideas would come to me as I wandered through town, watching people and places, but I haven’t been out of the house much at all for quite a while, again for several reasons. Part of my new approach is to change this but it is proving more challenging than I thought it would be.

I read writing memes such as #Wicked Wednesday and #Kink of the Week but am left empty and frustrated at my complete writers block. I have entered the wonderful #Sinful Sunday, but only for the prompt weeks as I find right now I really need a push to produce anything.

Given my physical and mental health, I must admit that feeling sexy or sexual has been totally at the bottom of my list for a while now, which given that I am supposedly, (or at least, I once was), a sex blogger, is unhelpful to say the least.

I know it is a long process – lord, I have lived through 40-odd years of the fucking process. It is such a challenge to not get exhausted by it, by the fact that it never seems to have an end date in sight. They, whoever they are, say it’s not the destination that matters but the journey… easy to say when there is a sense that there is any realistic sense of ever reaching the destination, or when the journey is not constantly interrupted by obstacles and diversions. The OH, who I love more than anything, also has more than his fair share of stress and worry and believe me the only thing worse than one depressive is putting two together! He too had a run of bad luck healthwise this past year which has added to the stress and sense of fatigue.

I am hoping that by getting these, not so coherent, thoughts down today it will spur me on to return to writing.

I have found that blogging can be a two faced beast: recording how I feel can result in me reinforcing those feelings, and this is where the risk lies, depending on whether the feelings are positive or self-destructive.

Today I am feeling… ok. I have taken to playing positive music very loudly and it does help, although I am not sure the neighbours would agree.

Today is Friday and the weekend lies ahead and we plan on some serious rest time but I am hoping we will also get out walking, maybe even with my camera, maybe even lunch out.

As for writing… well, I will continue to look at prompts and memes and just hope that my voice comes back to me, (and as a certain quite dreadful writer puts it, “my inner goddess” finds her “salsa moves” again).

I feel a bit of a half person without her.

💋

Copyright, 2017, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

KOTW – Heels

Ask me to pick something I like about my appearance or body and you will wait a long time for an answer, except for one thing – my height.

Standing at a grand total of 153cm, I actually love being a shortarse.

I know lots of women who long to be taller than they are and who find wearing high heels a confidence booster, but for me that couldn’t be further from the truth. Put me in a pair of even modest heels and watch me become awkward, clumsy and insecure. I simply cannot be doing with heels! I wear Converse, Sketchers or boots – all flat. On the very rare occasion that I need to dress up, (weddings etc.), you will find me in a cute pair of ballet pumps because I need to be able to stand, walk and dance. Never wear shoes I cannot make a hasty getaway in, that’s my motto.

I do own a pair of heels – yes, you read that right – A pair of heels: singular. I wear them for the OH and, let me tell you, I neither walk nor stand in them! Once those heels go on I am either on my back or my knees! I wear them because he finds them sexy on me. I wear them to please him. I do feel much more vulnerable in them than I do in stockings or barefoot. I feel physically uncomfortable in them and, if they stay on for any length of time, I do feel pain in my calves and feet. I don’t feel powerful or strong in them – quite the opposite. But I do enjoy wearing them for him because I know he likes how they look, (and he always lets me take them off once they start to interfere with me having a good time!).

Everyone finds different things sexy. Many, many people find heels sexy, to wear or to look at but, for me, heels don’t equal sexy because, for me, sexy is feeling comfortable, confident and happy, and I am rarely any of the above when I wear high heels.

*Footnote: I did take a few shots of my heels for SinfulSundays in the past and I’ll let you into a wee secret – I was begging him to take the photos fast before I fell over!

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*see what I did there?! I’m just a laugh riot, ain’t I?

 

💋

Copyright, 2017, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

Her Struggle

She lies before me, face down, stretched across the spanking bench; her wrists and calves strapped firmly to the legs by leather bindings. The skin of her back and buttocks shines beautiful, pale white, her exposed cunt smooth and pink.

“Are you ready, little one?” I ask.

She breathes, “Yes, Sir.”

*

He traces his hand across my ass, stroking me gently, running it up along my spine to grab a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back, stretching my throat.

Slap! His other palm connects with my bum, making me catch my breath. He releases my hair and allows my head to sink back down as he begins to caress my buttocks with his leather belt. Gently at first; warming my skin, sending shivers through me. I moan, “Oh thank you, Sir, that feels so good.”

*

Her ass is turning a fetching shade of pink. I strike her harder. She squirms and moans out loud.

“Count,” I tell her.

*

“One. Thank you, Sir,” I sigh as his belt stings my skin deliciously. He thrashes me as I count and thank him, building the force gradually, but certainly. My ass feels red hot. Each strike makes me whimper and twist against the velvet padding of the bench. My thighs start to tremble against the hard wood and, as I writhe, the leather bindings at my wrists dig into my skin. He pauses to caress my burning cheeks, murmuring under his breath, “That’s my good girl.”

I can feel myself growing wet.

*

She has begun to struggle against her restraints, which she knows is pointless as they are firmly buckled. I smile, knowing she enjoys the feeling of the straps cutting into her wrists and calves. More marks for her to admire later.

I lash my belt down on her glowing bum, leaving a clear stripe of burning red.

She whimpers loudly. Her cunt has started to glisten with arousal. I lick my lips and focus. It would be too easy to just take her and fuck her right now.

*

He hits me harder than ever and I sob, tears sting my eyes as surely as his leather stings my flesh. I feel my cunt throb and seep warm, wet want.

“What do you want, little one?” his voice is deep in his throat; he is unable to conceal his desire.

“I want you to hurt me, Sir. I want you to fuck me, Sir.”

*

I take one final swipe with my belt, marking her already scarlet skin a deep, dark crimson. She cries out a guttural, primal sound of pain and pleasure and spasms against the bench, the leather strap bruising her calves.

I kneel down and touch her cunt. It is hot and wet; swollen.

“You have been a very, very good girl,” I say, as I unbuckle the binds on her legs and spread her thighs wider. I bury my face in her, drinking in her unique scent, devouring her with my lips and tongue. She tastes sweet and salty at once; her sweat mingled with her juices.

My little girl moans and grinds against me as her orgasm forces her to cry out again, her flavour intensifying as she comes, before she slumps, exhausted and spent. I tenderly kiss her bruises, her skin hot against mine, and move to untie her wrists.

I look into her eyes; unfocused, cloudy, heavy lidded.

I lean forward and kiss her mouth before I lift and carry her to the bed, where I will show her how proud I am of her.

My girl.

 

KOTW – A Girl Who Wears Glasses

As a kid, I always sat at the front of class. This was not because I was a swot or a teacher’s pet, (far from it!). I sat there because I couldn’t see the board from any further back.

I remember my first eye test and my mother standing over a very miserable-faced me, as I was forced to choose frames. I was very unhappy at having to become bespectacled. I felt ugly.

I was so unhappy I refused to wear them. I continued my squinting and was often told as a teenager that I was ‘snobby’ or ‘moody’, because I didn’t say hi to people on the street. Anyone who interacts with me here or on Twitter will know how far this is from the truth! I love to chat and am basically a big, slobbery, overly friendly puppy! The reason I didn’t greet people was that I simply didn’t SEE them!

Fast forward to college, and I was still keeping my status as a speccy-four-eyes a secret, until one day a boyfriend and his mate persuaded me to show them. IMG_1352

⬅️  I had quite large, “Wonder Woman before she spun around” glasses at the time and hated them.

When I put them on and saw the two guys’ jaws drop, and heard my BF breathe, “Jesus, you look just like Wonder Woman!” I laughed out loud.

However, I still refused to wear my glasses, not believing guys could ever find me attractive wearing them.

I tried various types of contact lenses, but always found them massively uncomfortable. So, I continued to squint.

But…

These days I wear my glasses almost all the time. What has changed? Well, for one thing I just got really fed up of not being able to see! I am sure I have more wrinkles around my eyes than I should have, and this is probably caused by all that squinting.

But now, I actually think I look ok wearing my glasses. I have discovered over on Twitter that a large proportion of guys really, and I mean really, like girls in glasses. When I told the OH my plans for this post earlier, he rolled his eyes, saying, “I’ve told you forever that you are beautiful in your glasses!” to which I replied, “Yeah, but I needed a bunch of random strangers on the internet to convince me…!” We had a good laugh about that.

I wonder why guys dig chicks in frames so much?

Does it hark back to the old Wonder Woman fantasy? Is it a “sexy secretary” thing? Or perhaps they see a bookish nerd, who secretly is a filthy, kinky little minx?

Whatever, I am just glad to know that I am not less attractive because I am myopic.

To think it actually could turn a guy on is even better!
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Wink, wink!

 

 

 

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

Taking Emilia

Her skin is flawless alabaster, smooth and cool to the touch. Her cheeks pale, expect for the slightest hint of pink flushing the apples beneath her clear crystalline eyes, which are generously framed by long, doe-like brown lashes. Honey coloured waves hug her perfectly proportioned shoulders and cascade down her back to her narrow waist. My fingertips softly brush some hair back from her collarbone, exposing the curve of her upturned breast, her nipple the palest shade of pink. A defined line runs between her breasts down to her navel, marking the place where her hips begin to swell into a pleasing figure 8. My eyes take in her flat stomach, smooth all the way to the tempting V where her thighs meet in a coy cross.

Emilia remains still, unblinking; the perfect woman… My perfect woman.

I have loved her since the first time I saw her as I passed the store one day. Her immaculate, unblemished skin all but stole the breath from my lungs. Once I started working there, I noticed how her silent tranquility filled any room she was in. I knew then I had to have her. I had to make her mine.

I had waited in the toilets after closing time, until I was sure everyone had left the building – we are alone, Emilia and I. I have the car ready beside the fire exit, complete with a soft blanket to shield her naked skin and keep her warm. Soon she will lie next to me and my arms will  be her protection from any chill. I plan to bathe her in scented oils, wash her long golden curls and tuck her in to her new bed. She will never want for anything ever again. I will make her happy, as she will make me.

“Come, my angel,” I whisper in her ear, resisting the urge to recoil from her slightly dusty scent, and lift her. She is feather light but stiff in my arms, her limbs unyielding, but I manage to transport her from the storeroom and through the department store to the exit leading to the back alley. I care nothing about the security cameras following me – from this moment I have no intention of ever returning to this place. I will have no need to, now that Emilia and I are to be together.

A grunt escapes me as I struggle to position her in the passenger seat of my car; I must help her bend her knees to fit. My good, wonderful Emilia, as compliant as she can be, given her limits. Wrapping the cashmere blanket around her, I pause and allow my lips to barely caress her elegantly chiseled cheek bone as I fasten her seat belt, “Now, my angel, it will be just the two of us soon.”

Pulling out from the curb I reach over and take her small, rigid hand in mine, and squeeze. The fiberglass is cold and unyielding. A wide smile brightens my face. My Emilia will always be beautiful. She will never age or wither, never tire of me, never resist me.

She is eternal.

Mine forever.

 

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

 

 

Elust #79

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Photo courtesy of Marie Opens Up

Welcome to Elust #79

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #80? Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Joy of Sucking Cock

Making Porn

My Valentine

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The One

Midweek Fantasizing – The Portrait

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Marionette
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A kiss is just a kiss
Turning Corners
Another Day, Another Planned Parenthood Visit
My first vanilla date
Want, Need the Power of your Masculinity!
I don’t know how to date.

Erotic Fiction

Soft Lips
The Introduction
Erotic Fiction: “Words”
Darkness and the Rose
Taste
THE SESSION THAT WENT WRONG
Be Careful What You Wish For
Motivation
porn
The Tube

Erotic Non-Fiction

For You, It’s Always Yes
Gawan: Intro to Flogging
The Talker: An Introduction
My wildest fantasy: Ship slut
Marionette
Time for something quick…
Spread Legs and Open Mouth
My Girl in Havana
Let’s Watch some Porn

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

An Artist’s Story: Tails and Portholes
Sleeping With Our Future President
To Dude Who Was Offended By Lack of Escort
Try Love, Not Anger
Risky Sex
Why Cosmo is the worst (again!)

Writing about Writing

Condoms: fictional contraceptive of choice
Writing Fat Characters In Erotica

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Masochistic Mastermind
Take me to where I need to be.

 

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