Game On…

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“Night, Joe, get home to that wife of yours,” Sam nudged his last drunken customer out before bolting the double doors. He turned, stifling a yawn, and jumped, “Fuck! Fuck! Betty! I thought everyone was gone, you scared the shit out of me!”

She grinned, her bare legs swinging playfully as she perched on the edge of the bar, “Well Boss, it’s the end of my first week here so I wanted to ask you how I’m doing,” she replied.

Taking the stool next to her, he ran his fingers through his long hair and sighed, “You’re doing great Betty. You’re fitting in real good around here. But it’s late, I’m tired.” He noticed that she had kicked her shoes off and had a small black spider tattoo on her ankle, matching the black polish on her nails.

Sliding down from the bar to stand beside him, her eyes flickered across the room, “You ever play?”

He glanced behind him at the pool table and looked back at her, “Yeah. It’s been awhile, but yeah.”

“How about a game then? Celebrate my first week?”

He looked at the freckles that peppered her nose and cheeks as she smiled up at him. He’d already noticed that she was pretty, really pretty; short spikey auburn hair, a little curvy body and those eyes – moss green and locked onto his, “Ok. One game. It’s late.”

“Watch yourself Sam, she’s just a kid, 22 at most. Hell, she could be your kid,” he thought as he switched on the overhead lamp and set up the table.

“You wanna break?” he handed her a cue.

“Nah ah. Never played before. Best you show me the basics,” she stood opposite him, the light catching her copper highlights, the green felt on the table accentuating her eyes. She had hooked the cue across her shoulders, wrists hanging loosely over it, opening her chest wide.

“Never?”

“Nope! You could say I’m a pool virgin,” she giggled.

She watched him lean over the table, ready to take his shot. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbow, revealing his sleeve of tattoos beneath the dark hair. She had been watching those hands and arms all week as he pulled draft beer and lifted cases of stock – strong, sculpted arms, with muscles that flexed just right. His hands so big they made her wonder how they would feel around her throat.

Crack! The balls scattered in all directions, but none sank into any pockets.

“Going easy on me?” her eyebrow arched as she bent over and lined up her shot, aiming and striking the white. She grinned at his surprise when two balls pocketed.

“You said you never played?!”

Still crouched over the table, she looked up at him from under her lopsided fringe, “Beginners luck, I guess.”

She straightened up and played with her cue, sliding her hand up and down along its length, running it through her fingers, “I’ll take stripes… that’s how it works if you sink both types of ball, right?”

“Game on, pool virgin,” Sam smirked as he hit the cue ball.

*

“Two spots, one stripe and the 8 ball left. And look whose turn it is?” Betty taunted circling the table and easily pocketing the remaining stripe.

“We never settled on what the winner gets,” said Sam, thinking, “What the fuck man? She’s sexy as hell, but keep it together.”

“How about… whatever they want?” she smiled sweetly across at him before slowly walking around to his side of the table, “Need a bit of space here,” she said over her shoulder and he stepped back to give her room.

Fully aware that he was standing directly behind her, Betty lifted onto her tiptoes and stretched over the table, knowing that her short denim skirt could not possibly hide her lace underwear. She parted her legs, her face flushed at the thought of his eyes on her now damp pants. She paused, glanced back over her shoulder and was satisfied to see his eyes roaming over her thighs and exposed bum. Very satisfied to see the bulge in his faded jeans.

She took the shot sank the 8, but remained crouched over the side rail, “Looks like I won.”

She felt his bulk behind her and his hands on her waist, “And what does the winner want as her prize?”

Arching her back, she leaned her ass into him, grinding herself long his thigh, feeling the rough denim of his jeans scratch against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He responded, leaning his full weight over her before licking her earlobe, his breath hot and fast.

“You sure, Betty?”

She reached around in response and rubbed her hand along the thick bulge at his button fly, pressing herself into him more.

His fingers ran up from the back of her knee, to the edge of her underwear, teasing the fabric before pulling it to one side and sliding his thick finger inside her. She was more than ready for him, grinding her hips, her hands flat on the table to keep her steady.

She felt a second and third finger being pushed into her, filling her, pumping against her tight walls, as his other hand wrapped itself around her throat, pulling her head slightly back from the rough felt. She closed her eyes.

“Fuck Betty, you’re so wet!” he moved his hand faster, feeling her muscles clench around him. He squeezed a little tighter on her throat and loved the sound she made, not quite a groan, not quite a scream; guttural, feral, animalistic.

Her body arched, she came savagely over his hand, her hips bucking uncontrollably, before she sank her face back down onto the table.

Taking hold of her limp body, he turned her to face him, loving the crimson blush across her chest and cheeks. He lifted her to sit up onto the side bar, pushed her skirt to her waist and pulled her pants off her. Raising his eyebrow in a silent question his hand went to his fly. Still breathing heavily, she looked up at him and nodded.

He popped each button open and pulled out a rock hard, deliciously thick cock and stroked himself – his eyes locked on her face, her eyes locked on his crotch, pupils wide and dark as a bottomless well.

She shuffled back further onto the green fabric and parted her legs for him. Sam climbed onto the pool table and, kneeling between her open thighs, guided his pulsing erection to her soaked lips, teasing her for just a second, pressing himself against her hot, ready cunt, but he could not wait any longer to be inside her. Jeans bunched around his hips, he sank into her, feeling the heels of her little feet dig into his butt cheeks, drawing him deeper inside.

Under the glow of the overhead lamp they fucked like wild animals, clawing and biting at each other, gluttonous for each other. She felt his hot liquid fill her when he came, and kissed his stubbled throat while he cried out.

He opened his eyes and focused on her face; those freckles, those eyes and, knowing this was not the end of the night, bent his head to finally kiss her mouth.

“Pool virgin, my ass,” he grinned against her lips and breathed in her giggles.

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Copyright, 2018, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

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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.

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Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

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Final Limit

Do you remember what it felt like to love me?

Do you remember how you used to run to me gleefully at the end of each day as I returned home, your eyes alight with life and mischief? How you would throw your arms around my neck and launch yourself onto me like a force of nature, delighted to see me again.

Do you remember Laura? How I would pick you up and spin you around, our lips meeting, feeling each other’s smile beneath the kiss? How you would tell me that your love for me knew no limits?

But you started to walk towards me instead of run. A chaste peck on the lips replaced the missile of affection you used to hurl at me.

The day came when you simply called out from the kitchen rather than greet me at the door.

I was no longer the centre of your universe. I was, instead, a satellite you vaguely noticed on the outer edge of your world.

So, I ran the bath for you, steaming hot and bubbly as you liked it and carried you up stairs that day, your body limp in arms.

I held you down under the water and watched you come around. I watched the shock on your face as you struggled against me, your arms suddenly animated and clawing at my chest.

Ah, now you wanted to touch me! Is this what it took to see such life and passion in your eyes once more? To feel you desperately reaching out for me again?

I watched as the light began to die in your eyes, so similar to watching the love that died too.

Your pale skin turned pink by the hot soapy water. Your dark hair floating around your beautiful face, eyes glazed. Your perfect lips parted in a surprised O.

Laura, I remember everything; the joy, the love, the passion… back when it felt limitless.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

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Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

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Wicked Wednesday… Growing Older

rainbowcircle1-150“It starts on the day we are born – we grow older. For roughly the the first twenty years of our lives we never think about our age. Maybe some people don’t think about it for the first thirty years. But there comes a time when you do think about growing older. Are you at that point yet? How long have you thought about getting older? How old are you? Do you regret getting older? Why or why not? Come on, talk to us about age, your age! Or, write a sexy story about growing older…”

I am certainly feeling my age these days – but hey, ageing beats the alternative, right?

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Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

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Bending The Rules

“We said we wouldn’t do this.”

“We said we wouldn’t have sex…” her moss green eyes shone with the thrill of the idea of breaking our own rules, “Don’t you want to see it?”

She shifted slightly on the edge of the bed, her dress riding up her thighs as she parted her legs – a glimpse of milky white against the black of her hold ups and a flash of black lace between her legs. My breath caught in my throat. Of course I wanted to see it; her cunt had been all I had thought about since she walked into the reception, wearing that short black dress, her dark hair piled high in an elegant chignon exposing her long throat and defined shoulders.

She smiled, her expression a mixture of coy and brazen that only she could pull off as she pulled her dress up further to reveal her tiny black lace pants. I stirred in my chair, unsure whether to stop her or just go with the flow.

“Tell me… tell me to stop?” she whispered.

I swallowed, remained silent.

Slowly her fingers slipped under the crotch of her pants as she spread her legs wider. She pulled the delicate fabric to one side, revealing herself to me. Beautiful. Her lips were completely bare, pink and inviting, glistening with her arousal. I was transfixed. Her fingers explored her folds, dark-painted short fingernails slipping over her gradually swelling clit. I felt my cock harden as I sat watching her. I wanted more.

“Take them off…” my voice was a growl deep in my throat. She wriggled out of the pants and threw them towards me, giggling. I caught them easily and pressed them to my nose, breathing in her scent; musky, sweet, heady.

Her breathing grew faster as she sat opposite me, her legs as wide as she could spread them, playing with herself for my pleasure; her own growing pleasure clearly evident.

“Do you want to taste?” her eyes locked onto mine, a hint of challenge in them. I didn’t need to be asked a second time. I dropped to my knees and buried my face between her thighs, teasing her for as long as I could bear before I simply had to lick her. She tasted sweet, rich and creamy. Her scent intoxicated me. My tongue lapped at her, flicking over her swollen nub, sucking her, searching inside her as deep as I could reach.

I wanted her naked. I lifted my head and looked at her, “Take it off, I want to see you,” it wasn’t a request. She pulled her dress over her head and ripped her strapless bra off. Finally I got to see her completely, as I had wanted to for so long. I gave myself some minutes to just look at her; her breasts, heaving as she breathed, her narrow waist and gently curved hips, her gorgeous cunt opened wide for me. I took a mental photograph of her for later.

My hands grasped her breasts and I pinched and played with her pink nipples as my head sank back to torment her pussy.

“Oooooh fuuuuuuck! Aaaaaaahhhh…” her hands grabbed the sides of my head and she grinded her sex against my mouth, shameless, caring only that her need was satisfied, crying out unintelligible sounds as she came. Kissing her inner thighs as she panted, coming down from her peak, I wondered what else was going to happen between us. What about our rule?

“Your turn.”

Surprised, I looked at her, her face and chest flushed a delightful pink, her hair messed and tangled, “Don’t you want to?” she asked.

I stood and she sat up to undo my belt and charcoal dress trousers, pulling my cock out and pushing the clothes down to my knees. Reaching between her legs, she coated her palm with her own juices and used it to glide her hand along my length, looking up into my eyes, her generous, round breasts bobbing as she stroked me. I was torn between letting her carry on and throwing her down on the bed to devour those nipples.

She didn’t give me any further choice; her tongue snaked its way from the base of my erection to the tip where she flicked her tongue over my delicate head while her small hand played with my balls. Her mouth sucked, licked and teased me until I felt I couldn’t hold out any longer. When I felt her fingers press against the sensitive spot just behind my cock, a deep pressure, unlike anything I had ever felt before built within me. I didn’t have time to warn her as I exploded into her mouth, shooting out more that I think I ever had before, the surge of my orgasm hitting every nerve ending in my body. Breathless, I stood as she lapped me clean, my hands in her tousled hair, wanting to explain to her how I felt but not having the words.

She smiled up at me. I bent to kiss her mouth but she backed away, “No. We can’t. The rule,” a tiny frown creasing her brow as she stood up and retrieved her underwear from the floor, “Let’s just enjoy what we did, ok?”

Later, as I mingled in the crowd, networking, enduring the idle chatter, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

The text: “How do you feel knowing you’ve seen me naked? Knowing I’ve drained your cock and that you fucked me with your tongue?”

I couldn’t suppress the grin on my face as I typed back, “Hard”, looking up and seeing her glowing face across the room as she casually turned her back to me to talk to a colleague.

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Picnic

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The heady aromas of this morning’s coffee and baking envelope me as I kneel, naked and blindfolded on the hard kitchen tile floor. I inhale deeply, savouring the rich scents, lick my lips.

A low chuckle from above me, “ Ah, little one, are you eager for your treats?”

I nod and whisper “Yes Sir.” Hoping for some of the criossant and jam leftover from breakfast.

“Ok pet, open your mouth, tongue out like a good girl,” he instructs and I feel the warmth of his body as he crouches down beside me.

Obediently I stick my tongue out and wait. The shock of the sour taste makes me recoil and try to spit it out.

His voice harsh, “Now, now! If you spit you get twice as much! Swallow my pet. Do it.”

Grimacing, I accept the unflavoured natural yogurt into my mouth and swallow, my mouth watering at its bitterness.

‘Tongue out! This time you may swallow only if you want to…” I smell the sharp citrus before its acid stings my chapped lips. My nipples harden as the cold lemon juice pours over my chin and down my body, drying sticky on my skin. Licking my lips, I wait for what comes next.

I feel something cold against my lips; cold and wet, with a rough texture and a strong smell of vinegar. He pushes it between my lips, forcing my teeth open, “Bite pet.”

The crunch as I bite down into the dill pickle sounds extra loud in the silent kitchen, but I chew and swallow as he wishes, despite the combined flavours so far making me feel slightly queasy.

His fingers caress my cheek tenderly, “What shall I feed my pet next, huh?” he toys with me, “Does kitten have any requests?”

“Whatever pleases you Sir,” I reply, enjoying our game.

I hear a muted pop followed by a low hiss.

His hand moves from the side of my face to my chin and he tilts it back, opening my mouth and throat.

An ice-cold stream of sharp fizz is poured into my mouth; the delicate flavour of champagne clashing with the leftover vinegar taste, but it flows in a steady generous stream that compels me to swallow. He tips the bottle higher and I feel the liquid run through my hair, cooling my scalp and trickling down my back. His tongue licks my dripping lips and then he pulls away.

His lips are back on mine. He opens them and the champagne, slightly warmed from his mouth, flows into mine. I drink from him, tasting the Veuve Clicquot mixed with his saliva. The bottle clinks as he sets it down onto the porcelain tiles. I supress the little bubbles of gas that threaten to burst from my lips.

There is something on my thigh.

A sharp little rap on my skin tells me he is using the crop.

“Open,” he uses the tip to part my knees and I readjust myself, sitting back on my heels, legs wide. He traces the flat leather tip up along my inner thigh, across my mound and down along my other leg. Feather light taps tease my skin as he draws a fat juicy peeled grape across my lips, before popping it into my mouth with his thumb. It bursts its succulent contents onto my tongue and I eat it greedily.

A cold sensation between my legs, tracing my swollen vulva… another grape caressing my hot folds, his fingers expertly sliding it across my sensitive nub, tantalizing and tormenting me.

His speed alternates, leaving me helpless and powerless to the electric heat spreading up through my body.

He knows my responses well, he knows I am close.

He ceases all stimulation abruptly, rudely leaving me teetering on the edge of release and he pops the grape, dripping with my arousal, into my mouth. I hold in a sigh of frustration as I swallow it.

“My pet is getting impatient isn’t she?” he murmurs, stroking my swollen lips with his thumb, sliding his fingers inside me, pushing in deep, causing me to arch my back, grinding down against his hand.

“Not yet, little one… shush…”

His other hand pats my chin, wordlessly commanding my mouth to open again and I taste the intense sweetness of runny honey coating my tongue, filling my mouth faster than I can gulp it down. The sticky amber nectar spills down my chin as he squeezes the bottle faster, drenching me in the viscous syrup.

Pinning me to lie back on the floor, my spine pressing against the hard tiles, knees parted, I feel more honey being drizzled lazily over my cunt, the sensation tickling me, driving me insane with the need to be touched properly.

I hear and feel him move.

Kneeling at my head, he lifts up it to open my throat and my mouth eagerly accepts his hard cock. I am pleasantly surprised to find he has smeared himself with honey too and it glides in and down my throat easily. Supporting myself on my bent elbows, head back to accommodate his width I submit to him throat fucking me as hard and fast as he wishes to, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes as I struggle not to gag on him.

His salty explosion mingles with the almost sickening sweetness of the honey. I swallow and, as he withdraws, I lick every drop off his gorgeous cock.

“What do you say?” his voice is low and throaty.

“Thank you Sir,” I reply, licking my lips clean.

“Lets get you cleaned up little one. Then I will decide if you’ve earned your orgasm or not.”

My eyes adjust to the brightness of the kitchen as he removes my blindfold and lifts me into his arms to carry me to the bathroom where he undresses and guides me under the steaming hot jet of the shower and begins to soap my hair and body free of our noontime picnic.

As he sinks to his knees and buries his face between my legs, I smile, knowing I have indeed earned my reward.

Copyright, 2015, illicitthought.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

My Happy Place

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Blindfolded.

Kneeling on the floor. Naked, forehead resting on the carpet, arms stretched out in front of my bowed head, waiting for Him.

Hearing Him open the door and enter the room. Sensing Him watching me.

Knowing I will be used for His pleasure.

Knowing that I have no decisions or choices to make.

Knowing He will bind me, spank me, slap me, torture and tease me until I float away in ecstasy.

Knowing He will leave me wrecked and ravished, bruised and marked but happy.

Hearing the words…

“Good girl.”

My happy place.

Audio here

Check out who else is being Wicked.

Copyright, 2015, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.