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.

 

Prey

“Take a breath…” she whispered to herself, trying to slow her heart rate before she entered the bar.

The lights were low. She struggled to adjust her sight, but after a few minutes she spied him chatting to the bartender, nursing a scotch. She took a stool two spaces down from him and ordered, “I’ll have what he’s having,” nodding towards her prey.

He glanced over at her, “You have good taste. It’s on me,” then to the bar man, “I’ll have another too.”

“Thank you, that’s very generous. I’m Jules,” she extended her hand and smiled at him.

“Mac.” His hand swallowed hers in a tight grip, “Are you waiting on someone?”

“Nope, all on my lonesome tonight I’m afraid.”

“You needn’t be. I’m not going anywhere.”

She felt her heart race as she slid over onto the stool next to him. She was in…

*

She giggled as she unlocked her front door. They spilled in drunkenly; he stumbled and tripped, landing hard on her tiled hallway.

“Fuck, I must have had more than I realised,” he sighed as she helped him to his feet.

“Come on, you need to lie down,” she pulled him upstairs and into her bedroom.

He leered at her, “You taking me to bed then are you?” and reached for her. She deftly sidestepped him and pushed him down on the bed.

“Come on, you know you want to,” he groaned, hands in the air trying to grab her again.

“Steady, boy!”

“I’m not a b…” his world faded to grey.

*

She waited.

After undressing him and tightly securing his wrists and ankles to the bed frame with rope, she made coffee as he snored and revised her plan. She had been careful to make him think she was matching him drink for drink, adding an extra shot of scotch from her bag to his glass whenever he went to the gents. Now she was ready for the next stage.

“What the…!” he gasped as the ice cold water hit his face, rudely pulling him back to consciousness.

He tried to sit up.

“What the fuck?” his eyes widened as it dawned on him that he was completely restrained, “What’s happening?”

A slow smile spread across her face, “We are going to play a game… I’m in charge.”

She bent over and picked up the knife from the under the bed, relishing the flash of fear in his eyes.

“Untie me. Now!” he strained against the black rope that bound him.

“Oh I don’t think that’s going to happen, Mac…” she trailed the tip of the blade up along his calf, continuing to his inner thigh and pausing just before it touched his balls, “Just think of all the things I could do to you now,” she whispered, pressing the tip into his skin.

“Jesus! Are you fucking mad?” he gasped, trying but failing to twist his body away.

“Do you think it’s wise to be so rude to me right now?” she swiftly flicked the knife up and pressed it against his throat, “Well?”

She watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard. She saw beads of sweat break out on his forehead and smiled, “You really don’t remember me do you?”

He frowned, a confused expression washed over his face. She felt the rage building inside her.

“Did you honestly think a fit young woman like me would pick up an old man like you in a bar? Really? Can you be that egotistic?” her voice trembled as she struggled to control her anger, “Look at yourself! How old are you now? 60?” She pointed the blade at his crotch, “I see that you dye your hair these days, but not down here… Aw, look at how tiny your pathetic cock is?”

Once again she pressed the knife onto his skin, buried the tip in his grey bush. He whimpered, “Please, I don’t know what you want from me…”

She took a breath, striving to stop herself from piercing his skin with the knife.

“What I want? Ha! What I want is to make you feel as scared and powerless as you made me feel… is anything coming back to you yet… well, Sir, or should I say Mr. MacDonald?”

His face drained completely of blood. She watched the slow dawning of recognition cross his face, followed by sheer panic.

“Jules… Julianne? Is it you?” his voice so low she almost couldn’t hear him.

*

She closed her eyes.

Nausea swept over her as she was transported her back to the school art room, empty but for the two of them. He had asked her to stay back to help him tidy the supplies away. As she gathered pastels and charcoal she heard the distinct click of the door locking and turned to see him walking towards her.

“We are going to play a game Julianne,” he had said, pushing her down to the floor, his hand around her throat, “Do. Not. Make. A. Sound.”

*

Opening her eyes she replied to him, her voice ice cold, “You told me to not make a sound but you can scream all you like. My neighbours are out of town and no-one ever comes by this way,” she began to cut into the skin on his chest, drawing thin rivulets of blood, “No-one will hear you.”

He screamed, a high-pitched wail as she cut deeper, dragging the dagger further down his body.

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

Stranger Danger

I wake; my head pounding.

It’s dark, except for a small white light in the corner.

I am wedged firmly in place, my wrists bound by tape. The scent of diesel fills my nostrils and, as my mind clears, I grasp that I am moving. Panic builds inside me with the realisation that I am in the boot of a car.

The white light turns to red. I hear the squeal of breaks on gravel.

Footsteps outside, the lock clicks, cold night air rushes in.

His low voice taunts me, “Didn’t your momma ever tell you, never talk to strangers?”

Thanks to Lynn for alerting me to Moral Mondays. See the moral, write a tale in 100 words or fewer. See here for the rules.

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💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

I want…

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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

You.

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.