I’m extremely excited because my collection of erotic short stories on voyeurism is now published! Some of you may remember that I delayed this book(read more…)
This is my naughty little effort for this week’s #MasturbationMonday. As it’s summer holiday season, I’ve sent my characters to holiday apartments, that just happen(read more…)
“I am Master. There’s nothing level about our time here in this hotel, unless I want there to be. You will do as you’re told. Beginning now.” He clamps his mouth over mine, his finger still in place, kisses hard as he slides his finger out of my mouth and down my neck. As one of the other men presses the button with a sense of urgency, and the lift clunks and rattles down towards us, he reaches to my collar and undoes his tie. Why has he taken me off the leash? Are each of the men wondering? Each of them is watching, and I know they’ve all heard what he said to me. The lift is nearly at the ground floor, and I turn to face the door, ready. He pulls my head back to face him.
“Look at me. Stay still.”
I look into his eyes, and they are smouldering grey-blue, and his cock is pushing at the zip on his trousers. He has his tie in his hand, and he slips it round my neck just above the collar and ties it in a slip knot.
“Be a good girl, or it will pull tight.”
I know the men are watching and I’m wet. I can feel it in the place where my knickers should be, as I stand there with my slave collar round my neck, and I find myself smirking. It’s a stupid thing to do, and I don’t know what possesses me. Maybe it’s because I know there are others there that I think I’m safe if I push at the boundaries.
“I may not be a good girl.” The men are all bulging in their trousers, even though two of them are pretending they’re not looking or taking any notice of what he’s done to me.
“I hate you calling me Kitten.” I have to say something, because otherwise, after what he’s just done to me, I would have bowed my head in supplication to his words. Because I’m an idiot. And those eyes—they get me every time.
“What’s wrong with it? It’s the name I’ve chosen for you as my sub.” I can’t tell if he’s more vexed that I haven’t answered his question, or that I’ve dared question his taste in names. His irises have gone dark and his stare engulfs me. For a moment I forget the strange, unfamiliar, full feeling caused by the butt plug as I wonder what he might do next. I have this dreadful feeling that he might grab my clothes, and bare my backside to every passing stranger. I’m not sure he cares about anything—being embarrassed, or arrested. Or me. Does he care about me?
“I just find it—a bit…”
His whisper is in my hair, permeating my memories. “Don’t you remember when you used to mew for me? I only had to touch you like this.” His fingertips slip across my shoulder blade and down my side until I writhe at his touch over my ribs. He is up close, so close that every part of him is touching me as his hand slides into my waistband and finds the elastic of my knickers. I let out the noise the moment his finger makes contact with my clit. “See, Kitten? That’s why. You’re going to mew for me.
“All right. Were you only going to fuck me because he says so, this creep, whoever he is? Tell me who he is, Charlotte.”
I can’t. I can’t tell him. It’d break his heart. He’s never forgiven him for the way it was before. “I’d never make love to you on someone else’s say-so. Mike, I wanted to. I want to. I—oh, what a fucking mess.” I struggle to even look up at him.
“Make love? Is that what we were going to do? You know how I feel about you. I’d have been making love. But you, you’d have been performing for Mr Creepy, wouldn’t you? This was never about me. You and me. Was it?”
“You should never have come, Mike. I told you on the phone that you shouldn’t.” I know I’m lashing out. There’s no way I should apportion blame to him. If he’d only listened. If only he wasn’t so lovely…
I can’t speak. The pillow slips down onto my thighs, leaving my body pressed against Mike’s shirt. He’s warm, comforting, and I soak the material, leaving it translucent and clinging to him. But I can’t hide a grunt of pain any longer, and it’s only at that moment the state of my arm really seems to sink into his head.
“Bloody hell! How did you end up like this?” He tugs at the chain, at its lock, only then really drinking in the sight of me before him. Naked on the bed. He’s never seen me like this, ever. Not even partially clothed. His cheeks colour vivid pink, and it chases down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. I feel for him; my skin must be mirroring his embarrassment. But still I don’t answer. I can’t.
This Sunday story is another little offering from the collection of voyeur tales that I am working on. Just another little teaser, but a little(read more…)
A photo comes through. The blood rushes to my ears, my heartbeat drowning out every other noise, and an unexpected pang between my thighs, at the sight of a pair of handcuffs. I massage the throb into submission as I read the message: “Do you have any of these?”
What does he think I am? I reply: “No.”
Bing: “Heeheehee! I didn’t think you would. I have had SUCH fun with this pair.”
There’s that pang again, this time shooting through my middle, lodging between my legs and throbbing there, uncomfortably. He wants me to ask, doesn’t he—who has he had fun with? How many women; what has he done with those cuffs? My hand roams to the inside of my thigh, an image of some unknown six foot, flaxen haired stunner with her hands over her head, chained to the bed while he pushes open her knees, lifting her feet onto his shoulders while he grins at her and says, “I’m going to take you.