The Kiss

I stare at his mouth while he speaks. His upper lip is fuller than the lower one. His mouth turns down slightly at the corners, giving him a rather stern expression that does not match the gentleness in his eyes.

I watch his lips move and wonder how they would feel on mine.

How would he kiss me? Would he be tentative, unsure? Or confident and insistent, dominant?

Would he lean down slowly, teasing me, breathing softly against my cheek before softly pressing his lips to mine?

Would he lick my lips before kissing them? Nibble?

Would he kiss me lingeringly, leaving me gasping for air? Would he pull back, open his eyes and look into mine? Maybe smile.

Would he open his mouth, his tongue prying my lips apart? Would he explore me? Would he be tender or forceful? Cup my chin gently, or would he grab my hair and pull my head back to stretch my throat? Would he be hungry for me, devouring my mouth with his?

How would his tongue feel against mine? Soft? Rough?

How would he smell? Does he use aftershave or just soap? Maybe I would inhale and grow dizzy on his own distinctive scent…

What would he taste of? Coffee? Alcohol? Smoke?

How would his stubble rub against my soft skin? Would he take care not to cause me discomfort, or would his passion make him forget himself?

Where are his hands? Still holding my face or head, or have they travelled to my waist, my ass, between my legs? Would he slide his fingers up under my top? Or down under my jeans?

Would I moan, hear my own heart beat drumming in my ears? Would I feel his heart against my chest? Would I feel him harden against my stomach?

Would his lips leave mine to explore, his tongue languidly tracing along my jaw towards my earlobe and down to my collar bones? Would I arch my back to give him easier access? Of course I would.

By now, have my hands found his hips, his ass? Would I be grinding against him, wet and wanting more? Of course I would.

Would he make me wait? Make me ask, beg even? Or would he step back, lift off his shirt and undress in front of me, revealing himself and leaving me in no doubt about his intentions? Would I follow suit or have him strip me?

Would he kiss my breasts, lick my nipples, suck them and bite them? Would his fingers delve inside me, spreading me, stroking me, making me squirm?

Would he take me right there, on the floor, laying me down and fucking me hard, or would he bring me to bed?

My eyes slightly glazed over, I become aware that he has stopped speaking. He is looking at me, waiting for my reply…

💋

Copyright, 2017, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

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.

Through His Eyes

“I want to fuck you. But I don’t want to fuck with you.”

“Nice line there,” she smiled.

A wry grin spread over his lips, “Isn’t it though, I’ve been practicing it.”

His fingers reached out and touched hers hugging her coffee cup. She pulled away slightly and sighed.

“Jaq,” he searched for the words, cursing his inability to express himself, “I’m as new to this as you are.”

She looked up at him, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, and looked away, out the window at the blackbird, which had set up residence in the garden.

They had known each other forever, or at least that’s how it felt. Colleagues for years, they had hit it off from day one. Their naturally flirtatious personalities just clicked. Their work styles complimented each other too; him – calm, patient, taking his time to get things just so, her – fast, creative, eager to get things done. They balanced each other out and made a good team. He was her safety net, she was his caffeine shot. It worked.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, “This is a mess.”

“You think falling for you was in my plan?” he replied, not angry, but frustrated. Frustrated at the situation they found themselves in. Frustrated she couldn’t accept what he was offering her. Frustrated at her lack of self confidence.

A tear trickled down her cheek and she impatiently wiped it away with her sleeve, rolling her eyes at her own lack of control.

“Hey now,” his hand cupped her chin, gently forcing her to look at him, “We can work this out. I don’t know how yet, but we can.”

He rubbed his stubble, “Look, I don’t ever want to force you into anything. I’ll go at your pace. Even if nothing ever happens, I’m here,” he said, knowing in his heart that he meant it but that he wanted her in every way possible.

He wanted her mind; he loved how it worked, so sharp and quirky and so different to his. He wanted her body, god how he wanted her body; her curves, her softness. He wanted to kiss her until she begged for breath, taste her skin, inhale the scent of her hair. He wanted to see her naked and take pleasure in her. He wanted to feel her move beneath him as he fucked her. He wanted to hear her moan his name. He wanted to drive her to the edge of orgasm over and over until she wept, pleading for release and then start all over again. He could never tire of her, that much he knew.

But she was still unsure. Where she saw only her flaws, he saw beauty, fragility, vulnerability. She couldn’t believe what he said he saw in her. He feared she never would. He struggled to imagine how he could change her view of herself. How could he make her trust that it was her he wanted, just as she was, right there in front of him – hair unbrushed, mascara blurred, lips chapped from her habit of chewing on them.

“Give me time?” she asked, another tear ran down her face. His fingers wiped it away and stroked her wet cheek.

“All the time you need, little one. All the time in the world.”

But deep inside… he wondered.

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

Watching…

I could feel his eyes on me, following me as I moved around the room.

Memories of how we had spent the afternoon, entangled in each other’s sweating bodies; fucking, sucking, biting, slapping, raised a blush on my chest and cheeks as his gaze burned my skin.

No one in the room knew about us. It was our secret. Ours alone. They knew us simply as colleagues, collaborators, teammates.

I watched him sip his wine as he mingled, watched him smile and chat to our friends and associates, knowing that I knew him more intimately than anyone else there. I knew what made him groan with pleasure, what moves rendered him helpless and lost. I knew how to make this dominant, strong, quiet man sink to the floor in exhausted satiety. I knew how the sight, the feel, the taste of me drove him wild, robbed him of speech, made his eyes roll back in his head and his breath catch in his throat.

Our eyes met. My cunt throbbed with want for him. Even though we had played all afternoon, I wanted more. I never had enough. He glanced towards the French doors leading to the hotel garden and his message was clear. Excusing myself, I put down my drink and discretely left the room.

I welcomed the warm summer evening breeze on my skin, which was clammy from the crowded room. The scent of the rose garden filled my head as I walked towards the quiet area, secluded from sight of the conference room.

I felt his presence before he spoke my name, his voice deep and husky, then his lips were on mine, stealing my breath, claiming me as his. He pushed me up against the stone wall as he nuzzled my throat, nipping my skin and pulling my dress down from my shoulder. His mouth moved to my nipple, sucking hard and biting it, rolling it between his teeth. My cunt ached for him and he knew, as his fingers found it, wet and swollen; ready.

Pushing my dress up past my hips, he sank to his knees and buried his face between my thighs, his tongue working on me as his fingers pumped inside me. I closed my eyes, grasped his hair and threw my head back against the wall, blocking out everything but the sensations he was bringing out of me.

As the first flickerings of orgasm built within me, I opened my eyes. Standing slightly outside of the shadows was Simon, who I knew only from passing and saying a quick hello. Tall, well-built, blue eye and with a hint of beard, I had noticed him, but we hadn’t spoken much ever. He was watching us, his eyes focused on me, as he stroked the hard length of cock peeking out from his flies. He smiled at me, and the thrill of being seen, my naked breast hanging out of my dress, my leg hooked over my lover’s shoulder as he lapped and drank from me, pushed me over the edge. I moaned loudly as I lost myself in the surge of pleasure, my knees buckling beneath me. He caught me before I hit the ground, his arms holding me up. His mouth tasted of me as he kissed me again.

Later, as I hovered by the buffet, deciding what to load onto my plate, a voice from behind me whispered in my ear, “You look beautiful when you come, Alice.”

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

 

 

Nightwatch

The heat woke him, stretched out naked on the soaking sheet, sweat beaded on his skin. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, arid as the desert. Slowly, he rose from the mattress, limbs leaden, joints swollen and stiff, and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the oversized fridge. Frosty air raised goose bumps along his drying skin and he leaned into the cool void, relishing the relief. The Super had promised to fix the AC but, as always, they were empty words. He downed ice cold milk straight from the carton, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand once his thirst was halfway quenched.

He drifted over to the open window, but the air outside was as stagnant and scorched as inside his apartment. He could smell the heat in the air; a heady mixture of tarmac, fried food, dry grass, smoke and sweat.

There was a light on across the courtyard, one floor lower than where he was. Seems he wasn’t the only one awake. He saw a room with an unoccupied desk, a laptop, a large glass of water next to it and some scattered papers. Just as he was about to turn away and see what reruns were on TV at 3am he noticed movement.

A woman came into view. Dressed in a flimsy camisole and tiny shorts, she was piling her long heir up into a high ponytail. She paused next to her chair and raised the tumbler to her mouth. He could make out the gulping of her throat muscles as she greedily swallowed the water. He watched as some dribbled down her chin and cleavage, soaking through the thin fabric of her cami. Mirroring his actions of only minutes ago, she dragged the back of her hand across her lips before dipping her fingers into the glass and taking an ice cube to rub along her temples and throat.

He felt a fleeting moment of shame for spying on her, but it was the most erotic and unselfconscious act he had seen woman do in quite a while. And she couldn’t see him. There was no real harm being done…

She sat at the laptop and read the screen, stretched her head from side to side and shrugged her shoulders. Then she began to type. He was intrigued; her mouth moved as she wrote and she would momentarily pause and gaze into the foreground as if searching for just the right word or phrase.

At one point she stopped, turned and looked directly out of her window, her dark framed glasses perched at the end of her small nose. He froze, rooted in case he gave himself away, suddenly intensely aware of his nakedness and the growing swelling at his crotch.

He could never resist a bookish girl with glasses and, seeing her face in full, he could see she was more than pretty. She looked a perfect combination of sweet and sexy.

He allowed his hand move lower as he wondered just how filthy she could be once she took those glasses off.

💋

written at 3am during my own battle with insomnia…

yes I’m sitting at my kitchen table,

but I have the blinds drawn down… no-one is watching me!

Would you like to see more of these two? Yes/No in comments please!

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

Brief Encounter

People say I’m the life of the party, coz I tell a joke or two…”

Her voice was low and soft as she sang along to the background music, her hips gently swaying to Smokey’s high tenor as she browsed the shelves. Her shoulders moved in time to the beat and I noticed her feet had started to shuffle and she slapped her hand against her thigh rhythmically. She seemed lost in her own private world. Her complete absence of self-consciousness was beguiling.

I lingered to watch her, hoping she couldn’t feel my eyes on her. Dressed in faded jeans, a pretty feminine blouse and Converse sneakers, her chestnut hair piled up into a messy topknot with a few little wisps curled at the nape of her neck.

The music changed to another Robinson song and she instantly adjusted her movement. I heard her sing along, Baby let’s cruise, away from here”.

She knew her Motown; the girl had good taste! Totally lost in the music her hands rose into the air, finders clicking. With no warning for me to move and hide, she spun around; her eyes closed for a fraction of a second before she opened them and spotted me. A flash of surprise in her moss green eyes and I watched as her cheeks flushed pink. She tugged on her fringe as if to hide behind it, but I saw a small smile on her lips.

I wanted to go over to her, ask her name, but my feet seemed to have sprouted roots into the shop floor. The feeling of loss, of missed opportunity, as I watched her put down the jar of pasta sauce she was holding and turn to hurry in the opposite direction was extraordinary and out of proportion.

Her image remains burned onto my memory; her small stature, generous, shapely curves, the speckling of freckles across her nose and cheeks, that shy smile…

I will never know her name.

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

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.