KOTW – Heels

Ask me to pick something I like about my appearance or body and you will wait a long time for an answer, except for one thing – my height.

Standing at a grand total of 153cm, I actually love being a shortarse.

I know lots of women who long to be taller than they are and who find wearing high heels a confidence booster, but for me that couldn’t be further from the truth. Put me in a pair of even modest heels and watch me become awkward, clumsy and insecure. I simply cannot be doing with heels! I wear Converse, Sketchers or boots – all flat. On the very rare occasion that I need to dress up, (weddings etc.), you will find me in a cute pair of ballet pumps because I need to be able to stand, walk and dance. Never wear shoes I cannot make a hasty getaway in, that’s my motto.

I do own a pair of heels – yes, you read that right – A pair of heels: singular. I wear them for the OH and, let me tell you, I neither walk nor stand in them! Once those heels go on I am either on my back or my knees! I wear them because he finds them sexy on me. I wear them to please him. I do feel much more vulnerable in them than I do in stockings or barefoot. I feel physically uncomfortable in them and, if they stay on for any length of time, I do feel pain in my calves and feet. I don’t feel powerful or strong in them – quite the opposite. But I do enjoy wearing them for him because I know he likes how they look, (and he always lets me take them off once they start to interfere with me having a good time!).

Everyone finds different things sexy. Many, many people find heels sexy, to wear or to look at but, for me, heels don’t equal sexy because, for me, sexy is feeling comfortable, confident and happy, and I am rarely any of the above when I wear high heels.

*Footnote: I did take a few shots of my heels for SinfulSundays in the past and I’ll let you into a wee secret – I was begging him to take the photos fast before I fell over!


*see what I did there?! I’m just a laugh riot, ain’t I?



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.


KOTW – A Girl Who Wears Glasses

As a kid, I always sat at the front of class. This was not because I was a swot or a teacher’s pet, (far from it!). I sat there because I couldn’t see the board from any further back.

I remember my first eye test and my mother standing over a very miserable-faced me, as I was forced to choose frames. I was very unhappy at having to become bespectacled. I felt ugly.

I was so unhappy I refused to wear them. I continued my squinting and was often told as a teenager that I was ‘snobby’ or ‘moody’, because I didn’t say hi to people on the street. Anyone who interacts with me here or on Twitter will know how far this is from the truth! I love to chat and am basically a big, slobbery, overly friendly puppy! The reason I didn’t greet people was that I simply didn’t SEE them!

Fast forward to college, and I was still keeping my status as a speccy-four-eyes a secret, until one day a boyfriend and his mate persuaded me to show them. IMG_1352

⬅️  I had quite large, “Wonder Woman before she spun around” glasses at the time and hated them.

When I put them on and saw the two guys’ jaws drop, and heard my BF breathe, “Jesus, you look just like Wonder Woman!” I laughed out loud.

However, I still refused to wear my glasses, not believing guys could ever find me attractive wearing them.

I tried various types of contact lenses, but always found them massively uncomfortable. So, I continued to squint.


These days I wear my glasses almost all the time. What has changed? Well, for one thing I just got really fed up of not being able to see! I am sure I have more wrinkles around my eyes than I should have, and this is probably caused by all that squinting.

But now, I actually think I look ok wearing my glasses. I have discovered over on Twitter that a large proportion of guys really, and I mean really, like girls in glasses. When I told the OH my plans for this post earlier, he rolled his eyes, saying, “I’ve told you forever that you are beautiful in your glasses!” to which I replied, “Yeah, but I needed a bunch of random strangers on the internet to convince me…!” We had a good laugh about that.

I wonder why guys dig chicks in frames so much?

Does it hark back to the old Wonder Woman fantasy? Is it a “sexy secretary” thing? Or perhaps they see a bookish nerd, who secretly is a filthy, kinky little minx?

Whatever, I am just glad to know that I am not less attractive because I am myopic.

To think it actually could turn a guy on is even better!

Wink, wink!





Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

Taking Emilia

Her skin is flawless alabaster, smooth and cool to the touch. Her cheeks pale, expect for the slightest hint of pink flushing the apples beneath her clear crystalline eyes, which are generously framed by long, doe-like brown lashes. Honey coloured waves hug her perfectly proportioned shoulders and cascade down her back to her narrow waist. My fingertips softly brush some hair back from her collarbone, exposing the curve of her upturned breast, her nipple the palest shade of pink. A defined line runs between her breasts down to her navel, marking the place where her hips begin to swell into a pleasing figure 8. My eyes take in her flat stomach, smooth all the way to the tempting V where her thighs meet in a coy cross.

Emilia remains still, unblinking; the perfect woman… My perfect woman.

I have loved her since the first time I saw her as I passed the store one day. Her immaculate, unblemished skin all but stole the breath from my lungs. Once I started working there, I noticed how her silent tranquility filled any room she was in. I knew then I had to have her. I had to make her mine.

I had waited in the toilets after closing time, until I was sure everyone had left the building – we are alone, Emilia and I. I have the car ready beside the fire exit, complete with a soft blanket to shield her naked skin and keep her warm. Soon she will lie next to me and my arms will  be her protection from any chill. I plan to bathe her in scented oils, wash her long golden curls and tuck her in to her new bed. She will never want for anything ever again. I will make her happy, as she will make me.

“Come, my angel,” I whisper in her ear, resisting the urge to recoil from her slightly dusty scent, and lift her. She is feather light but stiff in my arms, her limbs unyielding, but I manage to transport her from the storeroom and through the department store to the exit leading to the back alley. I care nothing about the security cameras following me – from this moment I have no intention of ever returning to this place. I will have no need to, now that Emilia and I are to be together.

A grunt escapes me as I struggle to position her in the passenger seat of my car; I must help her bend her knees to fit. My good, wonderful Emilia, as compliant as she can be, given her limits. Wrapping the cashmere blanket around her, I pause and allow my lips to barely caress her elegantly chiseled cheek bone as I fasten her seat belt, “Now, my angel, it will be just the two of us soon.”

Pulling out from the curb I reach over and take her small, rigid hand in mine, and squeeze. The fiberglass is cold and unyielding. A wide smile brightens my face. My Emilia will always be beautiful. She will never age or wither, never tire of me, never resist me.

She is eternal.

Mine forever.



Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.



Motivation – KOTW

Sitting at my desk, my head pounding, stomach raw, I mentally berate myself for last night’s stupid behaviour. The ding of my incoming email makes me lift my head from where it rests on my folded arms.


“Fuuuuck! That does not sound good…” I gulp down some water, wipe my mouth and check my face in my compact before making my way to her office. A face to face with my new boss is the last thing I needed this morning.

“Enter!” in response to my rap on her door. Taking a deep breath I open it and go inside.

Honey blonde curls hang, hiding her face as she reads a file, not acknowledging my presence for a solid three or four agonising minutes. Finally, raising her head to face me, black framed glasses perched on her button nose, her lips a bright, vibrant fuchsia, unsmiling, “So, Janet isn’t it? Do you know why I’ve called you in her today?”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer, her long red nail tapping the file before her, “I’ve been reading your file. There is some excellent work in here and I’ve heard good things about you.”

I open my mouth to thank her but she snaps her fingers to silence me. Stunned by this, I blink and shut my mouth.

She continues speaking as if there had never been any interruption, “Which makes what happened last night all the more disappointing,” she glares at me, removes her glasses and sighs heavily.

“Have you any idea what an embarrassment you were to the organisation last night? Have you? For the record, getting drunk and making a pass at a client is never a good move.”

I hang my head, mortified that word of my behaviour, or rather, my misbehaviour has made its way to my boss.

“I am so sorry! I feel dreadful… I’ve been having some problems at home…”

“Enough!” she swiftly cuts me off, “Home is home, work is work. There is no excuse for this. None at all.”

Her sky blue eyes shine with temper as her gaze travels over me slowly, from toe to head and back down again, her glossy lip curled in contempt.

“I would be well within my rights to sack you this instant. Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

I am speechless, “Um… eh…”

Shaking her head in disdain she tilts it slightly, “I am going to offer you a choice. I could make a permanent note on your file, a written warning for misconduct. Or… You could agree to a spanking,” her perfectly arched eyebrow raised in question.

Did I just hear that? Did she say spanking?!

Once again, I am speechless, trying to process whether she has actually made the proposition or if my dehydrated brain is playing tricks with me.

“The note will be detrimental to any progression in your career Janet. You do want to move upwards I take it?”

“Yes! Yes of course, my work means everything to me.”

Resting her chin on her intertwined knuckles, she smiles a cold smile, “Well then, what will it be?”

My mind is racing: I need my work. I love my work. A spanking would be a one-off humiliation but at least my record would remain clean.

“Okay,” I reply.

“Okay what? Say it.”

“Okay, I will take the spanking,” I can’t quite believe the words I have just spoken.

“Good! Come here,” she beckons me with her finger and pushes her chair back from her desk.

I stand in front of her, trembling.

“Lift your skirt up over your hips.”


Her eyes are cold, as is her tone as she repeats the instruction. I do as she says and hitch my skirt up. She pats her lap, “Bend over me.”

Feeling on autopilot, I bend over her knee. She is at least ten inches taller than me so I fit easily on her lap. I gasp as I feel her jerk my knickers down to my knees – I had no idea she had that planned and my face reddens as I feel her palm caress my bare ass.

SMACK! Her hand connects with my exposed skin, stinging it, the shock of the sensation bringing tears to my eyes.
“Count girl. Count how many.”

“One,” I pant, “Two. Three. Four…” as her hand repeatedly punishes my behind.

The movement causes her own skirt to rid up her thighs and I see the lace top of her nylon holdups against her creamy skin. I am shocked to feel my nipples harden and my pussy grow wet – how can I be turned on right now?

Once I had reach the count of ten she leans down and whispers in my ear, “Just two more,” her warm breath tickling me, making my pussy even wetter.

“Eleven. Twelve…” I rasp as her last blow strikes me and she begins to gently soothe my burning skin with her palm, stroking me, caressing me.

“What’s this?” her fingers dip between my legs, “You’re wet! Janet, did you enjoy that?” she purrs, “Would you like me to help you?” Her fingertips brush against my lips and flutter over my throbbing clit. I groan out loud. I have never been touched there by a woman before. Her long fingernail flicks my clit and it feels exquisite – a confusing blend of pleasure and pain. She continues fingering me, her hand moving faster and faster as my orgasm builds, until I sob with relief as it surges through me and I lie, listless on her lap, my breath haggard.

“Good girl,” she pulls my knickers back up over my still sore bum and helps me to stand. Facing her, I feel my cheeks flaming from embarrassment mixed with the release I just experienced.

“I think perhaps we need to make this a more regular routine Janet. I think this could be a highly motivating tool for you,” she smiles and stands, bending down to surprise me, planting a soft kiss on my lips.

“I expect to see you back in here, same time Monday morning. Next time, don’t wear panties.”


Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.