Sinful Sunday: The magic words

A naked girl bends over a chair. Looking at her lover’s belt. 

But there’s something else needed, to start things happening. Terrible things, wonderful things, out of her control.

Magic words are needed, and she speaks them: “Yes, Sir.”

 

Note:

The dining room in the castle. I love the woody light. The magic words are nice, woody words. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 139: The subtle threesome

Rayleen is being punished in front of witnesses, who she offended – deliberately – last night. But when a young woman is bent over a desk in her bedroom, and her sister and her sister’s friend have come to watch Jack cane her, the last thing Rayleen expects that Jack will be distracted from her by her sister’s friend Lynette. What does a girl have to do, to be centre of attention?

This is a hot scene but it’s to be published, and publishers don’t like their books to be available on line for free. So I have to take it down from here. I’ll put up a link saying where you can buy this quality erotica when that’s all sorted.

Euph off: Bedewed with the pearly tribute of manhood

Letitia climbed onto the Royal Yacht, a glass of champagne in one white-gloved hand. It was a splendid occasion, and the rear admirals and all of royalty had turned out: Elizabeth the Virgin Queen, Elizabeth the less virginal Queen, and Boadicea.

Such respectable society, thought Letitia, popping a cocktail sausage between her lips. She noticed a dashing young Highland Guardsman, resplendent in his kilt, with just a hint of dirk showing in his hose. He was gazing at her with the puppyish eyes of love. At least, his feelings were clearly of great intensity.

She smiled at her gallant, and took a plate from one of the tables. “La, sir, may I offer you finger food? Or some other tit bit?”

He seemed overcome, but when she offered a cream pie, he coughed ferociously, face as red as the swollen underparts of a lady baboon in the more friendly part of her cycle. “Nay, madam, it is not food I seek from you, save only the fruit of love, the elixir, as it were, of your lightly forested Paphian grove.”

“Do what? My what?”

“Your dark delta of mystery. But first, madam, I dream of… Nay, I am unworthy.”

A cock between tits

“Sirrah, I’m sure ‘tis not so! How may I make your dream a happy reality?”

“Well, I would like to osculate the tenderest pinkest crowns of your firm, and proud, and, ah…”

“Avast!” cried the First Mate, at that moment.

“… womanly endowments.”

Letitia frowned. “You want what?”

“And ‘twould be an honour, ma’am, to oscillate those cupola’d hills of Cythera. So glorious a manual mammary memory! Mwah!”

“No, I’m still not getting it, sorry.”

The young man cleared his throat, his face still crimson, and tried again. “And interpose between the ripest, melon fruits of your feminine beauty my doughty staff of manhood. Oh god, yes.”

Letitia wished the man would speak English. Scots dialect was very charming, no doubt, but …“Doughty? You can’t mean ‘dirty’? Dotty? And what do you need staff for, anyway?”

“And run, in those bounteous hills of pleasure, the instinctual race of love. Oohhhh!”

“You can’t want to race me?”

“Nay. Madam, I would bedew these most voluptuous slopes with the pearly tribute of my love. Unff!”

“Come again?”

“Unfff!”

“But, cried Letitia, bewildered, “what are you saying?”

The Highland Guardsman’s dream, of doughty shafts and, let’s face it, rather yummy bounteous hills of pleasure

Desperately, he said, “Madam, I want to lick your cunt like an icecream. But first, I want to fondle your tits, which are incredibly hot, and kiss your nipples till they, and you, are wet as a two-child paddling pool. Which, believe me, is fucking wet. And then I want get my cock up in between those tits, and hump you till I come all over them. Perhaps we could get a room?”

The slap was heard in both Shoreditch and Brighton, though as Brighton was 47 miles away the sound did not arrive to puzzle them for another 10 minutes.

The young man’s face was now considerably redder on the right side than the left. He seemed puzzled.

“Why sir,” said Letitia coldly, “I quite fail to understand you.”

 

Wicked Wednesday: Juniper’s Adventures 22

This is episode 14 of the series that became the ebook Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas 2: The Chime of the Bellbird.

In this episode, Jennifer is dazed and dazzled, after her first orgasm in the presence of another person. Headmaster Will helps her to her feet, and she leans on him, still dizzy. He is very aware of her body and her touch.

I’ve had to remove the actual text, because this excellent and very sexy book has been published and is on sale at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple Books, 24symbols, Angus and Robinson, tolino, Rakuten Kobo and Vivlio.

A link that allows you to choose your favoured book supplier is here.

 

Sinful Sunday: Blurred lines

But you’re a good girl; can’t let that past me – 

Smack that ass and pull your hair for you –

I love those blurred lines…

 

Note:

This was shot in the Italian castle. Such beautiful woody light. And a photographer trying to catch a fast girl…

Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!

Voice of the thunder

Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronn-tuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk

That’s what the thunder said. You know that.

It had been the hottest, most oppressive day you can imagine. The sky absolutely still, the temperature far too high and the humidity close to 100 per cent. You felt you could reach for a handful of air and squeeze it like a sponge. I was at my desk in just my underpants, trying to write, with sweat running down my body. 

Then, finally the clouds arrived, speeding like the Seventh Cavalry, like a huge black blanket being towed by a speeding car. The rain came. It was a tropical downpour, with water drops as big as golf balls.

I heard a whoop from the other office; Therese, my houseguest. A few seconds she ran into my office, wearing a summer shirt, a bra and knickers. She grabbed my shoulder, leaned down and kissed me. “Let’s get the fuck out into this!”

“I’m Thor!” Lady Therese, goddeth of the thunder

So we ran out into my front yard, and her shirt was instantly soaked, clinging transparent to her skin. We squealed and yowled, running circles round each other and dancing at each other, furiously, stamping on the grass so the rain jumped, all energy and no grace. It was pagan enough.

Then the lightning struck; the thunder spoke only two seconds later.

The lightning bolt was only a couple of kilometres away. In lightning terms that’s right on top of you. The next bolt hit a tree on the property next door. The thunder was so fast, and close and loud that we both ducked, involuntarily.

Therese grabbed my arms and rolled down onto her back, pulling me down with her. On top of her. I pulled her shirt away from her body, and pushed her bra up, round her neck. She lifted her hips, so I shoved her knickers down to her knees, and put my foot into the gusset, pushing them the rest of the way down and off.

I said, “Um, I didn’t pack any condoms. Must have left them in my other underpants. I’ll- ”

She grabbed my shoulder again. “I’m still bleeding. You don’t mind a bit of blood, do you?”

“Fuck no.” That was the answer she expected. Years ago, when I started university, she’d been the first girl to cover my cock in her menstrual blood, so she knew I had no objection. (Though when I’d seen myself in the bathroom mirror post-fuck, that first time, with my cock covered in girl-gore, looking like it’d been in a car crash, I’d found that a bit of a shock. But I got used to it, and I’d never told her that.)

That skin feeling

“So you’re not going to get me pregnant. Fuck me. You can come in me.”

There were urgencies involved, so I said nothing and slipped my cock into warm, viscous cunt. We held each other and fucked, rolling each other over and over in the rain, with the lightning crashing around us, and the air we were in flashing into brilliance, and the thunder roaring.

Her cunt and my cock, sharing body territory, were wet and slippery, and because we’d started hard and fast, and continued faster, it was only a few minutes before I shouted something wordless, and made that space even wetter and more slippery. 

She shouted for me not to stop, so I stayed, still pumping furiously, hoping she’d come while I still hard. And she screamed, water pummelling her opened mouth, and she drew her knees up, since she was on her back at that stage. She wrapped her legs round me. We lay in the grass, gasping, while the rain poured onto us, not so much in drops but as if someone was tipping out baths and 40 gallon drums of warm water onto us. 

Thunderstorm fetish? Maybe.

Klick on the kiss for more Kink of the Week posts!