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.



I want…


I want to stand stripped and naked before you.

I want to watch as your eyes scan me, noting every dip and curve of my body.

I want to hear you breathing heavily as you slowly approach me, towering over me, heat radiating from your chest.

I want to savour your scent of smoke and coffee, leather and sweat.

I want to feel your hand encircling and gripping my throat, squeezing tight, controlling my breath.

I want to feel you press me down onto the cold, hard ground, bruising my shoulder blades.

I want my arms stretched over my head, pulling my breasts high on my chest, your hands pinning mine, the cold click of metal securing them.

I want to feel the sharp pinch of your callused fingers on my nipples.

I want to hear the crack of leather kissing air before it sears my skin.

I want to look into your eyes as you taste me, your bristles chafing the soft skin of my inner thighs.

I want to feel you push yourself into me, filling my mouth, my throat, thrusting, making my mascara run.

I want to slide myself down onto to you as your girth fills me, stretches me.

I want you to flip me like a ragdoll over onto my hands and knees; fucking me like an animal, your hand wrapped in my hair, pulling my head back, grunting as you pound into me.

I want you to hear me screaming your name, begging you to fuck me harder, tear me open, rip me apart, make me bleed.

I want to feel you collapse on me, your weight crushing me as you catch your breath, your sweat coating my back.

I want



Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

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Good News / Bad News

On Sunday morning, as I made scrambled eggs, the OH walked into the kitchen and asked me, “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

I opted for the bad news first and, from behind his back, he produced his leather belt.

I love this belt. It was one of the first presents I ever bought him when we were students. The softest brown leather you could imagine. And there it was in his hands… in two pieces.


My eyes went directly to the culprit… Poppy the Cavachon, (AKA The Destroyer), who immediately ran for cover under the dining table. She is not only incredibly naughty; she KNOWS it and doesn’t give one shit about it, until she gets caught.

The OH had found his belt, eaten in half on the floor of his room. (No we don’t have separate bedrooms! He uses the spare as his ‘dressing room’… long story…)

Only days previously, I had enjoyed the sensation of this belt wrapped tightly around my throat as he lead me, blindfolded, around our house.

On other occasions, the chocolate leather had left delicious marks on my thighs that I captured and used as a Sinful Sunday one week.

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It had bound my ankles, restraining me for his pleasure.


I was mad as hell at Poppy for destroying the belt.

“So, you want to know the good news?” he asked. I nodded.

A wicked grin spread across his face, he flicked the shorter end of the torn belt in my direction, “Looks like we have a new toy!”, making me giggle and forget my anger at once.


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Make Me… (aka, How I Spent Sunday Afternoon!)

I was feeling particularly wound up, irritable and agitated. I knew what lay beneath these feelings but had no inclination to work on the issue itself… it felt too hard, too daunting, too suffocating.

All I knew was I needed release. To forget for a while.

To switch off that fucking voice in my head and simply… be.

He could see I was in a foul mood and tried the softly, softly approach. Hugging me, kissing me, telling me he loved me.

I pouted back.

His eyes changed; a flash of something in them. His hand under my chin, firmly lifting my head up, “Look at me!”

I tried to turn away. He forced my face towards his, “Look at me!”

My eyes reluctantly met his, “You are going to cheer up, you hear me?”

I pouted again.

“That isn’t a request. It’s an order. Cheer the fuck up.”


We sat in the car after finishing the grocery shopping, waiting for the lights to change. I breathed out a loud, sulky sigh. His eyes flitted over in my direction, “Didn’t I tell you to cheer up?”

“It’s not that easy you know… It’s not a switch I can just flick!” I snapped back.

A low growl from the driver’s seat. The lights turned green and we moved.


Groceries unloaded and he looks over at me, checking on me.

“I’m going to take a shower, ” I say and abruptly leave the room.

Toweling off, I hear him downstairs, walking around, doing whatever he was doing.

I know what I need and I know exactly how to get it.

Pulling on my new black lace stockings and a black, translucent negligee, I quickly check my reflection and head downstairs.

His eyebrows rise in surprise as I walk into the kitchen. His eyes travel up and down my body, taking in the see-through wisp of fabric and everything underneath it.

“Is this a sign your mood has improved?”

I sullenly shake my head, mouth pouted and eyes narrowed like a belligerent child.

“I told you… get rid of that mood!”

“Make me!” I snarl.

Then his hand is around my throat and I am being propelled into the living room.

He bends me over the back of the sofa and pulls my slip up to reveal my bare ass.

“Stay! Do. Not. Move.” I hear his belt buckle being opened and the leather sliding through the rough denim belt loops, then the sound of it cracking the air before the exquisite sting hits my flesh.

I grin.

“Where are your heels? You present to me with no shoes?” he demands. I remain silent.

“Answer me!”  I reply a whispered, “Sorry”.

The leather strikes me again. Hard.

This is what I wanted, craved, needed.

He punishes my ass with his belt over and over. I refuse to cry out.

He leans down and whispers into my ear, “Does that hurt?”


“Too much?”


Another swipe of the belt. This time much, much harder. A gasp and cry escape my lips. I feel myself growing wetter and hotter. He follows up with more lashes until tears prick my eyes.

His hand circles around my throat, straightening me up, pressing my back against his chest. His other hand comes around to the front of my negligee and roughly yanks it down over one shoulder. His fingers grab my nipple and squeeze it hard, pinching it and pulling, stretching it. My cunt is dripping with desire, my head rolls back against him and I sag into him.

Forcing me back down over the sofa he once again raises my slip up over my hips and I feel his fingers thrust into me abruptly, pumping, fucking me hard and fast. Grinding down against his hand, helping his fingers find my sweet spot inside, gasping for breath as I feel the heat building inside me. His other hand slaps my ass cheek hard as he rams into me.

I feel it.

The rise of glowing heat through my body, emanating from where his fingers rub against my inside wall, spreading through my groin, belly, nipples, all the way to the roots of my hair in my scalp.

I cry out my release. Actually crying with gratitude.

His fingers leave me and I feel momentarily lost.

He rubs his tip against my wet, swollen lips before plunging fully into me and he fucks me like a rag doll over the sofa back, ramming into me relentlessly.

I hear him grunting behind me and realise animalistic noises are unconsciously coming from my throat too.

I lose myself in the feeling of being claimed, owned, broken.

At last I feel myself drift. Soar.

My head clears, empties of all thoughts.

I am purely my body. My sensations.

My muscles clenching tight around him as my second orgasm washes over me, I feel him explode inside me so I squeeze tighter, milking him.

His forehead resting on my back as he slides out of me, leaving his juices to run down my inner thighs, both of us breathing heavily, exhausted.

I slump to the floor and he catches me just before I hit the hard wood, lifts me up and carries me to lie across his lap as he sits down, stroking my hair.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much. Thank you Sir”.

Copyright, 2015, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

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