don't turn around

Kitty leaned back against the wall, away from the crowd. The guy was on his knees now, his eyes wide with anticipation, his chest pumping up and down, the excitement plain all over him. John walked over the small stage and with each step, he slid his hand up and down his cock, readying himself.
Kitty took a sharp breath in as the burst of heat rushed through her. She could almost feel the glistening tip of John's cock as he slid it between the man's lips - she could almost taste the juices -
"Don't turn around," said a voice behind her.
She raised one eyebrow, not recognising the new man's voice, but she knew the rules of the club. She held out her wrist, showing him the tag John had tied there.
The man chuckled. Reaching around her, he held out a long pink ribbon. Her ribbon.
The guy on the stage leaned into John, taking him deep into the back of his throat. Kitty heard herself moan as John leant into the man's mouth, thrusting, gripping his head. Someone in the room called out but Kitty didn't hear what they said. To her left, a couple were already hard at it, the moment too much to resist, but even with the ribbon there in front of her, Kitty couldn't take her eyes off John.
Suddenly, he looked up, peering over the crowd. Scanning the faces below him, he stopped on hers. She smiled, and as she met his eyes, she let her tongue trace her lips. He pulled back from the man on his cock, just enough to let him know he wasn't going to come yet. The man turned his head, taking John's balls into his mouth, closing his eyes, but John never looked away from Kitty. He raised his chin and gestured very slightly with his head, and Kitty felt the familiar tug of the pink ribbon about her wrist. Her cheeks flushed and she looked up through her lashes, but she didn't turn away. She let herself be guided forward two paces and the man stepped in behind her. He ran his hands over her body, over her hips, then under her short skirt. As John watched, Kitty felt the man's fingers rise up the inside of her legs, probing, touching. She let out a cry, but she couldn't hide how wet she was, how much she needed to come.
John guided the man's mouth back to his cock and without taking his eye's from Kitty's, he started to fuck the man's mouth, hard. Kitty felt her own lips bruise as she watched. She felt the rise in her belly, felt the burn, the wonderful heat in the very depths of her womb, but the fingers on her cunt were not enough.
Finally looking up to the low wooden ceiling, John filled the man's mouth. With each thrust, Kitty could taste his cum on her tongue, but even as she squirmed, even as the fingers found her clit, it wasn't enough. She pushed back, needing more, and the man behind her chuckled.
"This way," he said, taking her hand. "Close your eyes."
With one final look up at the stage to where the man was cleaning John with his tongue, lapping him up, Kitty closed her eyes and let herself be led away.

let the music play…

She leant back, resting her head in his lap. He ran his fingers through her hair. It was late, but the bar was still busy and the band was on form. Couples danced to the deep throaty jazz, New Orleans alive and well in the dingy London club.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his, expecting him to be watching the musicians, but his eyes burned into her hers with a force that woke up the fire in her soul.

She raised one eyebrow, their signal, and his hand moved softly around her jaw, to her shoulder. No one was looking, but even if they were -

The corner of her lip twitched, and she nodded, just once. She wriggled until she was practically sitting up, but still nestled into his body, and as she moved, she hitched up her skirts, just enough. 

He was ready.

Sliding his fingers under her full skirt, he moved his hand up her leg. She shivered, feeling the flush rise in her face. A shout came from the dance floor – one of their friends. She raised her hand to wave and as she did, he slid his hand up higher, right to the top of her thighs.

She breathed in sharply, but if the friend noticed what they were doing, she said nothing, smiled, and turned away in her dance.

The lights flickered over the moving couples but as as he worked his fingers under her lace panties, she felt her eyes drifting, unfocussed. The heat, the music, the sheer, wonderful buzz of the little place, all spun around her as he found her clit.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder.

He looked out, over the crowd. She was wet – soaking, burning, wonderfully wet. He pushed two fingers inside her and she moved to take him in. A waiter came by the next table, picking up the discarded glasses, but she didn’t even open her eyes.

The waiter looked over and caught the man's eye, but he didn’t stop. Her face flushed again, her mouth opening, her closed eyelids fluttering as she tightened around his fingers. The waiter went to speak to them, to say something, but then she let out a low moan and arched her back, lost in the ripples of pleasure.

When she opened her eyes, the waiter was standing over them, their fire burning in his eyes.

binding him tight

 The lights were low, but he could see the figures moving around in the shadows. He strained, pulling at the ropes around his wrists. From nowhere, a hand slid around the wooden post and covered his eyes and he felt the hot burn of more rope as it wound around his thighs, binding him to the post. A cloud of perfume surrounded him, a sweet mix of cinnamon and flowers. His nostrils flared and he turned his head, but the hand stayed over his eyes, shutting out his sight.

There were more of them than she’d said. Three, maybe four – he could hear their breathing. He could almost taste the sweet musky scent from their bodies, even over her perfume.

Rock hard, his cock jolted, but no one touched him. He heard them moving together, skin on skin – kisses, sighs. His mouth opened and he let out a moan, but her only reply was the sharp twist of a pointed fingernail on his nipple.

Again, the perfume swam around him, until his head could no longer place where they were, what they were doing – and finally, warm, wet lips closed around his cock.

mountain play

The tree stood tall, right in the middle of the clearing. It was early yet, they had the mountain to themselves.

“Give me your hands,” he said.

She looked up, through her lashes. Her whole body was shaking, but a fire burned in her core. The air was warm, the sun strong, even for summer, but –

“Trust me,” he said.

She’d always presumed the metal D ring was set in the tree for a horse. Silly, really, she told herself. After all, he was the only one she’d ever seen riding on the local trails.

She thought back to that day, when he’d found her, reading by the river.

Slowly, she took one step and then another. The breeze danced over her skin, but it wasn’t the breeze that made her nipples stand out, and it wasn’t the sunlight that burned inside her.

Now she saw it, there were too other rings set in the huge tree, both around the same height as her ankles, but set wide apart.

“We can go home,” he said, gently.

She looked up, into his eyes, and smiled as she gave him her wrists.

merry christmas, gentlemen...

Her skin shone in the flickering candlelight as she lay back on the white tablecloth. I longed to touch her, to trace my fingers over the line from just beneath her breast, over her ribs, around the slender dip of her waist - to touch my lips to hers, to lay on her, our skin together, our bodies one -

She closed her eyes. Our perfumes merged, and with a small smile on her lips, she brought her arms up, over her head, letting her hands fall into the space at the end of the table. She arched her back. She was perfect – she was everything I’d ever imagined.

I picked up the jug. Ice cold double cream. I added a pinch of edible silver glitter, stirred it with my finger.

I went to the head of the table.

“Are you sure?” I asked her. “You don’t have to, you know.”

She opened her eyes and stared into mine. Then she reached, not for the double cream, but for me. She pulled me closer, slid a hand underneath my short uniform. Somewhere behind us, the sound of conversation grew closer, but she kept my gaze as she moved my panties to one side.

“You want this as much as I do,” she whispered.

“No, I –”

“You should stay,” she said, softly.

The door rattled.

“I can’t,” I said. “I’m not meant to.”

“Let us in!” Someone laughed. “Come on!”

she slid her finger between my lips, searching for my clit. I knew should go – they’d be there any second, but –

oh God, she found me.

as the door opened, the men came striding into the room, but she didn’t stop – and somehow, I didn’t move.

I heard their calls, their whistles, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from hers. I opened my legs a little further and she pressed harder, and inside me, deep inside, I felt the rush begin.

“Gentlemen,” she said, taking the jug from me with her other hand. “Merry Christmas.”

As the waves broke inside me, she poured the cream over her chest, over her beautiful breasts, and the men stepped closer.

picture perfect

here it is folks, a sunday morning tease...

He took my phone, and I frowned.

“Look at you,” he said. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and yet you don’t believe it.”

“Come off it!” I reached for the phone, trying to snatch it out of his hands, but he held it further away, laughing. With one hand firmly on my chest he stepped closer, pushing me back.

“Fuck you!” I yelled.

“I very much hope so,” he said, in that clean cut English accent of his that I adored.

Still holding me away, he touched my phone with his other hand, rolling his thumb over the screen. I struggled to get to it, but a flash surprised my eyes and I blinked.

He laughed, again. “See?” he said. He showed me the picture. A wild haired me was pushing myself forward, and the angle of the camera had been looking right down my top. The loose white cotton of my t-shirt had fallen away and the camera flash had caught the dark nub of my nipple behind my white lace bra.

“Give me the phone,” I said, reaching for it.

“No.”

He stepped back, and took another picture.

“Take off your jeans,” he said.

“No!” I started to turn around, but he leant toward me.

“Please,” he said. “It’s your phone. You can delete the pictures after. Just look at them, first.”

“But –”

“Or you can send them to me, when I’m in the middle of an important meeting.” He raised one eyebrow. “Or send them to me, when we’re at dinner, somewhere nice. Or when I’m alone, when I’m waiting for you.”

He was rock hard, his swollen cock pushing against the expensive fabric of his suit trousers.  As I watched, he put a hand over his crotch and gripped himself, but he never took his eyes from mine.

“I could look at you forever,” he said.

He moved the phone, pointing it at me. I hesitated, but my fingers were already on my zip. Without looking up, I kicked off my shoes and slid the tight denim down my legs. The flash burst into life, twice, then three times, and as I started to straighten up again, he let out a soft moan.

I moved my shoulder, well aware, this time, of the view down my open top. His breathing quickened and I looked up, into the lens. As the light flashed, I licked my lips, and slowly brought my hands over my hips.

I stood up straight.

“Take off your shirt,” he said.

I took hold of the thin cotton, but I didn’t pull it over my head. Instead, I wrapped it around my wrist, pulling the fabric tight over my breast, knowing how it caught on my nipples, how they pushed out, under the thin fabric.

Flash.

I held the t-shirt wrapped tightly around my body and with my other hand, I started to mold my breast with my fingers. I squeezed my nipples, and I watched as he took photo after photo of them. Then I turned. I slipped my feet back into my high heels and I pulled the thin t shirt up and over my head.

I looked back.

Flash.

He turned the phone to show me, but I shook my head.

“No, look,” he said.  “See what I see.”

“I don’t want –” I started to say, but he pushed the camera right up to me.

I looked good.

Sure, my hair was a bit messy but I looked… I searched for the word.

Sexy.

Yeah, I looked real sexy.

The thin cotton caught every inch of my curves and as I gazed at the photo, I wanted to pull back the slip of lace that covered me. I wanted more.

I looked into his eyes.

“Take it again,” I said.

I turned for him and spun, slowly, letting my fingers stroke my body.

Flash.

I ran my hands over my hips, over my waist, cupping my breasts, pinching my nipples –

Flash.

I put my hands in my hair. I spread my legs wide. Leaning down, down, following my legs, gripping my ankles, I looked back.

Flash.

I beckoned him closer, moving my ass.

Flash.

I beckoned him closer still, and with one finger in the edge of my panties I began to draw them down.

Flash.

I didn’t need to see the picture; I knew I was glistening wet. With my panties half way down, I reached back, tracing that one finger around my cunt.

Flash.

In a quick spin I stood and turned on my heels, stepping out of my panties. I undid my bra and leaned back, knowing the arch of my waist would complement my full breasts, knowing my skin looked amazing under the flash light – knowing that as I dipped my finger inside my cunt then drew it over my thigh, over my belly, that I left a trail of honey, a tell tale show that yeah, I was there. I was so, so there.

I leaned back against the couch and crooked my finger toward him. Slowly, moving inch by inch, I opened my legs.

Ivy xx

the wall

With one hard push, he slammed me up against the wall. His hand drew mine up, over my head. Our fingers interlocked and our breath came together.

With his other hand, he slid his fingers under my dress, pulling it up, up, over my stocking tops, sliding his finger over my suspender. 

He gripped my arse.

His mouth at my ear, he whispered my name, just once.

My nipples were so hard, they were numb to the cold wall. He brushed his lips over my neck, and - oh god - I leaned my head back, inviting him in.

He didn’t need another word.

Tugging the rest of my dress up, over my hips, he pulled aside my knickers and touched me.

He chuckled.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered.

“Shh,” I said. “They’ll hear us!” 

stairwell

stairwell

She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes but the darkness in the stairwell did nothing to cool the flame inside her.

He’d looked at her.

She put her hand to her throat and traced the line of heat, down, over her chest, to the low dip of her shirt.

He’d looked straight at her. It was a second – no, it was a hundred seconds, she thought. It was forever, as his soul burned into hers, as she felt herself give everything she had.

It was a hundred thousand seconds.

Alone in the stairwell, she slid her fingers under her shirt, felt the button pop undone.

Had he known?

She wet her lips with her tongue and let her head turn to the cool of the wall, but she didn’t see the pale cream white of the walls around her or the dated iron railings, she saw the clean cut shape of his shoulders under his suit, the bright white of his shirt, the long grey tie. She breathed in, smelling the rich spice of his aftershave.

She gathered her skirt in her other hand, fisting the light fabric. There was no one there to see her, no one to know how he burned inside her, how she needed the touch, how desperate she was to feel him fill her.

She caught her fingers against the top of her stocking, the place just above the lacy trim, where her skin was at its softest. She stroked her leg, under the suspender, and up, searching for what she knew she had to have.

He would know how to take her, she thought. He wouldn’t hang back, unsure. He’d rip away her clothes and push up her skirt.

Her breathing came quicker and the sweet scent of her honey drifted up, teasing her, but just as she slid her fingers inside, as she sighed with her need, there was a noise on the floor below. She froze, her heart crashing in her chest. She whipped her hand away from her body.

“Don’t stop,” he said.