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.

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Holy Grail

“James’ Street station. Please stand clear of the doors.” The automated voice crackled as the train slowed to a stop.

Rain beat against the clouded window. He pulled his long legs in from the aisle to allow fellow commuters to disembark and watched more people pile aboard. The smell of damp flooded his nostrils as wet coats crammed against each other.

The seat opposite him creaked as a young woman sat down, shaking her damp hair out of her eyes. Sighing loudly, she slumped against the faded, worn fabric and sniffed. His attention spiked, he looked up, noticed she was pretty; small, blonde, with a pale complexion, except for her nose, which was pink from the cold. She sniffed again. He smiled and returned to checking his emails.

A sudden gasp from across the table stilled him. Looking up from under his brows he watched as her eyes closed and lips parted slightly. She froze for a second, a tiny frown furrowed her brow and her hand moved involuntarily to her face in a fanning motion. He tensed, holding his own breath and waited. Another rapid inhale of breath and her shoulders rose, her chest expanded and her head fell back, exposing her throat. His pulse quickened. Her face creased, she curled up slightly and the cutest noise escaped her as she stifled her sneeze. Slightly frustrated by the anti climax, he closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. He enjoyed the illicit thrill of his secret voyeurism. To anyone else, this was just a girl with a cold, but for him… so much more.

She sniffed as she rummaged through her bag, producing a ragged tissue from its depths. His eyes snapped open. Once again, he felt her urge to sneeze build up. He sensed the uncontrollable compulsion for release battling with her need to rein it in. Her eyes were pressed tightly closed, allowing him to watch her quite freely; to see her face contort into a pretty little grimace and her chest heave as she fought to retain control.

“Ahhhhhh…” she breathed. His blood pumped, he felt himself harden and his heart raced, “Choooooooooo!” she fell forward burying her face into the tissue.

For that exquisite second, she was completely herself; vulnerable, exposed, her polite social mask had slipped to reveal her true self – her mounting tension and explosive release reminiscent of a sexual thrill. His cock throbbed, pulsing and straining against his trousers. He shifted his weight in the seat.

“Haaaaaaaahhhhhh…” she sighed, her breath hitched. Once again, her face and body tensed.

He carefully, discretely activated the video on his iPhone to capture her rapture for his own private enjoyment later, as he realised, with increasing excitement, that she was the holy grail for a man like him – a multiple sneezer.

💋

Copyright, 2017, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

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A Fresh Start

“Lizzy! Could you for pity’s sake stay still?” he roared, face flushed with frustration and anger. He flung the brush to the floor and paced, running paint splattered fingers through his thick auburn curls, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry, I’m really trying but it’s freezing in here. I know artists don’t make much money, but can’t you put on some heating?” she pouted, huddling into a tight curl, wrapped her arms around herself, covering her breasts.

He felt his blood pressure soar and fought the urge to march over and show her the back of his hand, “Stay calm, never strike in anger,” he thought.

“Take five,” he tossed a blanket towards her and left the studio to go for a cigarette.

Sucking the smoke deep into his lungs, his mind reeled. She was breathtakingly beautiful: her skin, like alabaster; perfect soft, generous curves; round, full breasts with small pale nipples and… that face! God, her face; it had haunted him in his dreams since the first day he saw her. Heart-shaped, with a tiny pointed chin, an upturned, elfin nose covered in a smattering of brown freckles, framed by a short, close-cropped boyish hairstyle, that only served to accentuate her femininity. He knew at once he needed to paint her.

She was quiet in class, rarely offering her opinion, preferring to sit and listen, take notes. Although, when he challenged her directly one day, she spoke articulately, and surprisingly passionately, about the piece under review, skillfully and convincingly defending her interpretation. He enjoyed watching the rose tint that bloomed in her cheeks as she argued her case.

She was proving to be a challenging subject, not only because of her shivering and twitching, but he was struggling to capture her essence, her energy; the indefinable quality she carried… her aura.

Stubbing out the cigarette with the toe of his boot, he turned to re-enter the studio.

She was gone.

“Lizzy?”

Silence.

“Lizzy!!!” he roared, growing more impatient by the second.

“I’m here! I just needed the loo,” blanket still wrapped around her, she walked over to her position and faced him, “I’m ready,” her chin lifted defiantly, as she discarded the wooly throw and stood before him, self assured and with a complete absence of inhibition.

He was aware of an ache at his groin; felt himself harden and strain against his jeans.

She lowered herself to the floor and began to arrange herself. Casting his eyes over the canvas beside him, he instantly knew what was wrong. He needed to portray her core self, reveal that incredible power she wielded quite unconsciously.

“No, not like that. Lie back. Open your legs for me,” he instructed, watching her hesitate for just a second before she acquiesced and parted her thighs, revealing a small dark V of hair and rosy pink lips.

His cock swelled.

He grabbed the canvas, threw it across the room and mounted a fresh one on the tripod, “Fresh start! Now, for god’s sake Lizzy, stay still!”

image

I was quite liberal with Leonora’s prompt… forgive me?

💋

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.

The Boy

rainbowcircle1-150Prompt #227

Have you seen the new guy yet? Or do you remember back when he as still the new guy? Write a sexy story about him. Yes, him!


 

He was beautiful; the new boy.

I watched him as he stacked the glasses, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he worked, crouched down beneath the bar. He was singing something very low under his breath. He sounded good. I liked that he kept his own accent rather than adopting an American twang the way most people do when they sing pop songs.

He glanced up at me, his eyes light brown, and grinned. He knew I had been looking at him.

I felt my cunt throb as I stood over him. I’m old enough to be his mother, but in that moment that didn’t bother me. I just wanted to fuck him. I wanted to strip him naked and admire his young, firm body. I wanted those full lips of his on mine and on my clit. I wanted to ride him hard and fast and leave him drained.

He stood up and I realised he was a full foot taller than me. Standing very close to me, looking down at me, I felt a shift in the energy between us. Young as he was, it felt that he was in charge. The heat from his body, the scent of his skin, the sound of his breath, made me dizzy with desire.

“Anything you need me to do?” he asked. I hesitated, torn between telling him exactly what I wanted and staying professional.

He made it easier for me, “Coz I’m happy to do whatever you need,” and bent his head fractionally down towards me. I grabbed his hair, pulling his face down to mine and our lips clashed. He was as hungry for me as I was for him. His tongue in my mouth, his hands on my breasts, massaging them through my blouse, my cunt aching for his cock. He pushed my skirt up over my hips and slipped his fingers underneath my pants, smiling at how wet I was.

Leaning me up against the bar, he played with me, his eyes looking straight into mine the entire time until mine closed as I came, shaking and clinging to him for support.

A loud bang on the glass doors shattered the moment. The regulars were outside, waiting for their morning coffees or hair of the dog. He stepped back from me. Smiling, he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them before walking over to open up as I fixed my clothes.

I was already thinking about closing time.

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

No Going Back

“Beautiful,” his breath tickled her ear. Standing behind her, looking into her eyes in the mirror, he traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertips and caressed her lips with his thumb.

She opened her mouth slightly, her tongue barely touching his skin, “I can’t really believe we are here. Doing this,” she whispered.

He felt her body tremble, “We don’t have to. We can stop right now.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

She leaned back against him, letting him take her weight. His arms circled her waist. He dipped his head to inhale the scent of her hair, his hands spreading over her stomach and up to cup her breasts. An involuntary groan escaped her lips as he lifted her tee-shirt up over her body and pulled it off her. Feeling his hands on the clasp of her bra, she suddenly felt shy as he pushed if from her shoulders to the floor and closed her eyes.

“No. Look. Look at us,” his voice was firm. She opened her eyes and saw the desire in his reflection; his eyes dark and heavy. She watched his hands move back up to grasp her breasts, squeezing them, rolling her nipples between his fingers and thumbs, stretching them.

She arched her back and twisted her head to kiss him, her mouth open and ready. He teased her, flicking his tongue over her lips, not quite kissing her. Another moan.

His hands on her waistband, opening the button and zip of her jeans. She knew this was the point of no return. This was going to change everything between them.

He pushed her jeans and pants down over her hips, sinking to his knees to carefully, gently pull each of her legs free then, he knelt and looked up at her reflection in the full length mirror.

She was intensely aware of his gaze on her body, feeling a confusing mix of coyness and arousal. His hands were on her calves. He parted her knees, forcing her to stand with her legs open as his fingers moved upwards, massaging her inner thighs. Lifting himself to stand behind her, he gently parted her lips, finding her warm and wet for him, he began to stroke.

She closed her eyes, her head resting against his broad chest.

No going back now.

rainbowcircle1-150

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Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.