In Stitches

I was delighted to read these words, “Well, seeing as I’m planning on making a comeback to blogging in 2017…” on Charlie’s blog and was eager to join in her fab writing competition, #Freshly Polished.  However, when I DMed her and received my allocated title, my heart sank somewhat… “In Stitches?” I despaired, “WTF will I do with that?”

After about all of five seconds, a wee grin spread across my face, as a deliciously deviant idea popped into my head: a kink I am very interested in trying out one day… it ticks so many boxes for me – medical, clinical, pain, sensation play, power, restraint, trust, photography, exhibitionism… I could go on.

I really hope it pleases Charlie, and all of you, my lovely readers. Please do let me know in the comments if it works for you or if it squicks you out!

Here we go…


“Today, my pet, I am going to make something pretty for you,” he says as he taps my chin and places the ball gag in my open mouth. My arms are bound to the bedpost above my head and my thighs are spread far apart, my ankles tightly tied to them.

Except for my collar, I am naked for him, just as he likes me.

His fingers grab my nipple and he pulls, stretching it deliciously, making me arch my back for more. A chuckle from him as he says, “Just wait, my love, just wait…”

I expect to be blindfolded, as usual, but am surprised to find he has decided to allow me to watch today. He leaves me for a minute and returns, placing something on the bed beside me, just out of my sightline. From his jeans pocket, he takes black latex gloved and snaps them on, smiling down at my confusion.

He touches my breast; it feels completely different to bare skin on skin, it catches slightly, creates a dragging sensation that I am yet to decide if I enjoy or not. It feels… clinical. The thought of that word, the imagery it brings to my mind, provokes a trickle of wet between my spread legs and my nipples tingle.

Gently, tenderly stroking my skin, he lifts the mysterious plastic device and places it against the delicate skin of my breast, above my nipple. I hear the click nanoseconds before I feel the pinch as the staple pierces me, inhaling sharply in shock and fear. The fear passes quickly as he presses it against me again, a centimetre or two below the first clip and this time I brace for the sting.

Blood rushes to the surface of my skin, I feel flushed; adrenaline racing through my veins, counteracting the shock of the violation. The puncture only bites for a second and, rather than hurting me, leaves me yearning for another, which he promptly delivers.

I tense slightly just before he reaches my nipple, anticipating a much sharper pain.

He runs his gloved fingers over my cheek towards my parted lips and traces them, “Are you enjoying your surprise, my love?” I nod, my eyes pleading with him to continue.

He moves the stapler to my other breast and repeats the ritual until, once again, he stops short of my nipple. He closes his lips over it and sucks. It is already hard, but he pulls it further, stretching it, making me squirm as the wet between my legs increases. Releasing my stiff, swollen nipple, he takes it between his finger and thumb and carefully applies the staple gun to it. The clip pinches as it closes around the peak, like a hard flick but more intense. I groan. Saliva drips from my mouth, down over my chin. He caresses my face, “Good girl”.

My other nipple receives the same treatment; first he prepares her, playing enough to make her stand proud, glistening in the low lamp light, before piercing her. The combination of discomfort and pleasure is exquisite; my nipples have never felt so sensitive or alive.

He sits back, kneeling between my open thighs and traces his finger across my wet lips, sliding it into me, his eyes on mine as he strokes inside. A swell of heat surges through me from my groin, to my nipples, to my scalp.

“Now for the decoration,” he says, producing from his pocket a long, thin, satin purple ribbon and grins devilishly at me, “You trust me, baby girl?”

One again, excited by what he has planned, I nod vigorously, my eyes wide and eager.

He threads the end of the ribbon through the top staple and laces it to its twin on my opposing breast. My skin is hypersensitive and the ribbon chafes slightly as it rubs against me.

I watch his face; the intense concentration on it, as he slowly creates a corset of beautiful purple thread linking my breasts together.

All that remains is the final clips in my nipples. I tense with apprehension as he glides the ribbon through. It grazes against my engorged tip; a sensation unlike any I have ever felt before. Sweet torture that makes me crave more.

My cunt throbs, my mouth waters. He pulls the ribbon ever so slightly, drawing my breasts towards each other, creating a valley for the spit that dribbles over my chin and pools on my chest. He ties the corset in a bow and sits back on his heels to admire his work, watching my chest rise and fall as I struggle to control my breath.

“My pretty baby girl,” he murmurs, as he lifts his phone and takes some photos of me, angling it downwards, a look of pleasure on his face as he breathes, “look how wet you are!”

A groan escapes me. I want his mouth on me, and reading the need in my eyes, he dips his head and traces his tongue up along my inner thigh before he takes my aching clit between his lips and sucks gently, licking and lapping at me while his fingers tug on the ribbon, stretching my skin further. He slides two latex covered fingers inside me as his tongue brings me to the edge and back, time and time again. Every time I squirm or move, the ribbon rasps against my skin more. Feeling close to delirious, not quite sure where I am or what is happening anymore, I feel him tug the ribbon at my nipples as he flicks his tongue and I am vaguely aware of crying out as the sweet pain/pleasure combination finally tips me over into an orgasm that rips through my entire body.

As I struggle to breathe, almost choking on my own saliva, he kisses his way up to my face and removes the gag. I gulp in air while he smooths back the damp hair from my forehead, whispering to me, telling me how much I have pleased him. He brings a glass of cool water to my lips and I sip, trying not to swallow too much at once, and then gently unties my restraints and massages the marks left by the bindings.

Curling me up onto his lap, kissing the top of my head, his fingers once again wander down to the corset he has crafted for me, strumming on it gently, as if it were a guitar, “I think we should leave this on for a little while pet, don’t you?” and I look up at him, “Yes, Sir.”

💋

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.

 

Stakeout

A wide grin spread across his face as he looked down at her, “That’s what I like to see.”

She turned her head and looked back at him over her shoulder, a tress of her chestnut hair falling over one eye and replied, “Fuck off,” before getting up from her hands and knees and adjusting her tailored skirt back down her thighs to her knees.

He raised his palms in a fake, “What?” and winked at her, “Hey, if you insist on teasing me with that fine ass of yours that’s on you.”

“Is it even worth my breath to say the magic words, ‘sexual harassment in the workplace’?” she sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

It was always like this between them. She looked at him covertly as she arranged the files she had retrieved from the floor; he was a good-looking guy, still in good shape with a full head of hair and a light beard. Not for the first time she wondered what he looked like without his shirt, a warm feeling in the pit of her belly as she pictured him.

“Oi, who’s sexually harassing who now then?” he winked at her, catching her staring. She cursed under her breath as she felt the pink flush creep up her cheeks.

“You wish!” and walked past him, brushing a little closer than was strictly necessary, to leave the squad room.

Leaning against the sink in the Ladies, she looked at her reflection. “Christ Amanda, what the fuck are you doing? He’s your goddamned boss!” she thought.

From day one, DI James Mitchell had adopted a casual, playful manner with her, alternately provoking her and letting her away with a level of insubordination he would never tolerate from any of the guys in the team. She wondered if she should have made a complaint at the start, but as the newbie she hadn’t wanted to make any waves. And besides, the way he looked at her made her insides flip. She knew he rated her work and was never shy about letting her and others know what good cop she was, just as he wasn’t shy about commenting on her physical attributes. She just wasn’t sure if he would ever follow through on his words…

A loud bang on the door, “Oi! Mandy! Get a move on, we got a call,” his deep baritone from the other side of the door.

“Don’t call me Mandy!” she sighed as she walked past him. He laughed.

Two hours passed. They sat in his car, watching the empty house, waiting for their man to make an appearance. They had talked about colleagues, fiddled with the radio, (she took the piss out of his singing), and played a ridiculous game of ‘I spy’.

“Is this tip off legit? Feels like we’ve been here forever,” she sighed.

“You know the drill. This is the job,” he replied, stifling a yawn, “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“What’s that then?” she said, turning to look at him. He remained in profile, looking out the windscreen.

“You’re an ace DS you know, you’re gonna go a long way.”

“Thanks…” she felt unsure of where this was going.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew. Seeing as I’ll be moving on soon,” she saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed; it was his ‘tell’ for when he finds something difficult to say.

His words provoked more of a response in her than she could have expected; a sudden urge to cry hit her like a thunderclap, “Move on?” her voice trembled slightly. He still didn’t look at her.

“Yeah… I applied for a transfer across the city and heard today that I got it. Same shit, different desk, you know?”

Feeling a bit stunned and lost she couldn’t stop herself, “But, why? Why move? Is it me? What did I do? I thought you liked working with me!” she willed herself to shut up but couldn’t seem to help herself. She was dangerously close to tears.

“Well it is, in a way, about you,” he finally turned to face her. His jaw was clenched tight, a tiny muscle in his cheek flexed. His eyes were serious.

She waited.

He took a breath, “First off, there was no call. No one’s going to show up here, as far as I know anyway, seeing as this is just a random street I parked on.”

She blinked. “What the…”

“I just needed to find the moment to say this…” she could see he was struggling now.

“Say what!? Christ Jim you’re freaking me the fuck out n…” before she could finish his hands were in her hair and his mouth covered hers, robbing her of breath. After a second of utter shock, she returned his kiss; their tongues hungry for each other, bodies pressed against each other over the gear stick.

Breathlessly he released her, his eyes burning into hers, “Mandy, Jesus, Mandy, I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you. I was so fucking scared you’d say no,” he whispered, sounding more vulnerable than she had ever heard him before, “I applied for the transfer on the chance that you’d want to start something with me. You know the rules about working on the same team…”

“You did that? For me?” her head was spinning, from his revelation as well as from the kiss.

He grinned, “I figured if I did this and you told me to fuck off I’d be better off across the city anyway.”

“Jim?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“You know the way to my place don’t you?”

Grinning even wider, he turned and revved the engine, wheels spinning as he took of at high speed.

“And for the love of God, stop calling me Mandy!”

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

Friday Flash – Room Service

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“This way please, Sir. Your bags have been delivered to your room.”

I watched her as she led me up the stairs; my eyes following the black seam on her stockings which disappeared under a tight black skirt that hugged her hips and ass, her high heels silent on the plush red carpet. She glanced back over her shoulder and offered me little smile. Her lips were painted a deep, dark red and were perfectly shaped against her smooth ivory skin.

Turning the key, she opened the door to my suite and slipped inside, turning on the lights. She gestured to the left, “The bathroom,” she walked on, pointing out things, “your luggage, Sir, and here is your bed.” She turned to face me, her eyebrows high, silently checking if I had a question.

I took a twenty from my wallet and held it out to her, “Thank you.”

Dipping her head, she looked up at my from under her dark lashes, a faint blush colouring her cheeks, “I’m sorry, Sir, we are not allowed to accept tips here. But thank you,” her voice was soft.

“I would be tempted to ask to you to make an exception for me but I don’t want to get you into trouble,” I replied.

She walked towards me, her brilliant blue eyes locked on mine, stopping a foot from me. I could smell her perfume, a woody, musky scent.

She reached out and pointed to a small button on the wall. I was surprised to notice her chipped nail polish, everything else about her was immaculate.

“If you want anything… anything at all, Sir, please just press this and I will come. I am here to serve you. Anything…”

She squeezed past me, barely brushing my chest with her shoulder and clicked the door closed.

I napped for a while, tired from my journey, and woke naked under the soft cotton sheets. My crotch throbbed with want. I closed my eyes and pictured her in her fitted classic black maid’s uniform, her curves hugged by the restrictive fabric. I imagined ripping her blouse open with my blade and exposing her milky white breasts. I wondered what her nipples were like… I decided they would be small and pink.

I thought of her kneeling before me, head bowed, the nape of her neck exposed beneath the impeccably shaped blue-black 1920’s style bob as she awaited instruction.

I thought of the things I wanted to do to her body. How I wanted to feel her skin redden under my palm as I spanked her generous, round bottom. How I wanted to trace my knife along her skin, leaving pink lines, as she lay completely still for me. How I wanted to push her head against my groin, making her take the full length of my cock into her throat.

A groan escaped my lips.

My eyes wandered to the small service button across the room, and I thought, “She had said if I needed ‘anything’”…

image

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

Friday Flash #4 – Inspiration

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“Fuck it!” Georgia ripped the page from the Underwood with such force it tore in two.

She pushed back her chair and stomped towards the kitchen, eliciting a squeal from Percy, the fat tabby at her feet. Glaring at her reproachfully, he retreated to the safety of the bed.

The deadline was looming and she had nothing. Her editor needed a piece of hot flash fiction.

“Hot enough to melt our readers panties and make them slide down their thighs while they fingerfuck themselves to heaven,” were the exact words she used.

But the words just weren’t coming today… and at this rate her readers wouldn’t be either.

Gulping down cold tap water she heard a ding from the MacBook, which meant He was online. A slow grin replaced her frown as she sat at her countertop.

↪ “How’s the story coming along?”

↩ “It’s not…”

↪“ Are you using that antique to write?”

↩ “I can’t type to a screen, not for sex. I need to hit those keys and hear the click-clack.”

↪ “Little weirdo! So, need a helping hand?”

↩ “What do you suggest?”

↪ “Take your top and bra off. Send me evidence.”

She complied, took a shot and sent it to him.

↪ “Good girl. I love to see those pretty pink nipples. Pinch them. Hard.”

↪ “Imagine my teeth on them, biting down, while I shove my fingers inside your wet cunt. Are you wet? Show me.”

Pulling off her shorts and knickers, she opened her legs and angled the cam to take a snap of her glistening lips, her fingers spreading them wide for his viewing.

↪ “Beautiful. Just beautiful. Think of my mouth moving down your body, reaching your smooth mound and biting into your skin, just enough to leave marks, while I pin your hands by your sides. You can’t stop me from sucking on that swollen clit of yours. Not that you’d want to stop me, right?”

Face flushed, breath rasping in her dry throat, she managed to reply.

↩ “ No Sir, please don’t stop.”

↪ “Tell me what you are?”

↩ “ I’m a horny, filthy little slut, Sir.”

↪ “A???”

↩ “Sorry, Sir. I’m YOUR horny, filthy little slut.”

↪ “That’s better. Maybe, for that indiscretion, I should tell you to stop…”

↩ “Please, Sir! Please don’t make me stop!”

↪ “No. Stop. Now.”

Tears of anger and frustration pricked her eyes.

↪ “Go back, write something so indecent and obscene that you blush with shame as you type it. THEN you may finish.”

↪ “Answer me… or I will deny you for longer.”

↩ “Yes, Sir. I’ve stopped. I am sorry, Sir.”

↪ “Go. Tap on that piece of old junk you love. Make me proud.”

↩ “I will, Sir. Shall I send you a scan of it?”

↪ “Good girl. Yes, I want to see what my little whore thinks up. Now go.”

Still naked, Georgia sat back at the old typewriter. The click-clacking began.

💋

ps – love it when I hit bang on 500!

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

Training Day

My heart is racing as I cross the floor to where you are sitting at the bar. We have been Kiking for a few months and now, finally, we get to meet in the flesh.

You are more handsome in real life, your face more sculpted than in the photos you’ve shared. Turning around, you see me and smile, standing to greet me. With over a foot difference in our heights, you need to bend to kiss my cheek. A fraction of a second too late I realise you intend to kiss the other cheek too and we awkwardly almost meet lips. I feel my face glow with the rush of blood to my skin. I catch the scent of beer on your breath, mixed with tobacco.

“Hey you,” you say, pulling out the bar stool for me, then, “Or shall we sit in a booth?”

“A booth sounds good. And hey to you too!”

With your hand at the small of my back, you guide me to our seat and ask what I’d like to drink.

While you return to the bar I release the breath I have been holding.

You enquire about my journey as you set my wine in front of me and slide in to sit next to me.

Our thighs touch.

I cannot speak. Already I am wet and throbbing, feeling how solid your leg is against mine.

“You ok?” there is concern in your voice.

I mumble about needing the wine and take a large sip.

You stroke your beard, watching me, smiling at my nerves.

“Let’s start again. You look beautiful,” you say and reach out to stroke my cheek.

I can’t breathe!

I want you to kiss me, so badly.

“Kiss me…”

I realise I’ve whispered it out loud and am about to try to explain when I feel your lips on mine, covering mine completely, your tongue teasing me. Your arm around the back of my neck, pulling me so close it is hard to catch my breath.

The kiss grows deeper, more passionate. I feel your hand in my hair, gripping it, my chest crushed against yours.

Your tongue toys with mine. You suck on my bottom lip, stretching it, before kissing me again.

I have never been kissed like this before.

I never want it to end.

“Fuuuuck,” you growl under your breath, breaking the kiss but keeping your forehead pressed to mine, “I want to get you naked right now and fuck you on this goddamned table.”

The heat between my legs flares, my pants are soaked through.

Reading my mind, your eyes meet mine and you ask, “Are you wet?” your voice deep and throaty.

I nod.

Your hand sneaks under the table and up my inner thigh until you reach my underwear. Your fingers stroke the fabric.

You smile, “You really are wet!” pulling the crotch of my pants to one side, your callused finger finally meets my skin.

Foreheads still joined, breathing in each other’s air, you begin to strum on my clit rhythmically; expertly.

Our eyes locked as you tease me; fast, slow, fast, slow. My breathing grows more ragged.

“Are you close?” you ask.

I nod, unable to speak.

“Answer me. Are you close? Do you want to come?”

Swallowing hard, I reply, “Yes!”

Knowing I am about to reach my climax, you withdraw your hand and put your fingers between my lips, “Suck.”

I am confused, disorientated and frustrated beyond measure but I obey and lick my own juices from your fingers.

“You can come later,” you rise and take my hand.

We walk to the door and onto the street, where you hail a taxi, “Consider your training to have begun, kitten.”

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.