The word fiasco didn’t even begin to cover the shit show that was unravelling in front of Elly. She had thought she was at the helm of all the deceit and mayhem. It turns out she was as clueless as Jay. Poor Jay. He’d had his faults, but he did not deserve the torture Richard and Ben had put him through. No one deserved that, except perhaps Richard and Ben.
They thought they were so clever, putting all the pieces together, erring on the side of caution that Elly wasn’t all she seemed and that her interest in Richard might not be genuine. If only Ben hadn’t seen that rare picture of her and her mother that she’d tagged Richard in after he’d made an irritating number of enquiries as to what she looked like. It was Ben seeing that photo that ruined everything, he and Richard had connected far too many dots and when Elly reached out to Ben it was the confirmation they needed that she was plotting against her husband.
This is not sexy time rope. This is I have an idea for a photo, let’s do a trial run kind of rope. It’s also far from perfect, my rope skills are average, but they damn well do the job when I’m tying someone up and that is what counts. Tying myself though, not hot, I don’t get off on that.
This rope I’ve tied on myself hurts, and I do like the hurts. I’ve tied it tight, because that will look sexier, but oh my, it’s so tight that is actually feels sexier.
‘If you love Vettriano then I know a really cool art exhibit that you’ll enjoy. It’s only small but it’s got a great vibe.’
I take her word for it, enjoying walking with her, hand in hand through the busy streets and bustling crowds. Suddenly the world falls silent though and I realise we have somehow found ourselves away from the noise and chaos of the city.
I stop, and her hand leaves mind as she keeps going, but she turns quickly to see what I’m doing.
‘What are you up to? Why have we stopped?’
I kiss her passionately and push her against the wall of the abandoned subway, artistic graffiti looms over us, a tentacled beast casting his eyes in our direction as my cunt throbs and swells with an ache I’m not willing to ignore.
‘What? Right here? In the subway?’
She looks bemused rather than reluctant.
‘Yep, be my good girl again and make me come.’
She giggles, but it’s deep and throaty, and I know she is going to make sure I get exactly what I ask for.
Her fingers waste no time in working their way beneath my layers of clothing.
‘You’re so wet. I must really turn you on.’
‘Too fucking right you do.’
My words leave my mouth through gasps and moans, as she circles my clit, not gently, not with a slow build up, but with a feeling of frenzy, as if she is a desperate to make me climax as I am to have her create that within me. When she has me where she wants me, so close my cunt is burning with the need to come for her, she plunges her fingers deep inside me and fucks me with an almost furious passion.
Her fingers are moving hard and fast inside me, her body pressed against mine, her face buried in my neck as she moans with the pleasure she is getting from playing with my cunt.
‘FuckYes, FuckYes, FuckYes!’
Is all I can say as my muscles contract, gripping her fingers as I gush all over her, drenching her hand and my clothes in spectacular fashion. I definitely got what I asked for.
We manage to compose ourselves enough to set off to the art exhibit and I can’t help but wonder other secluded spots we might find throughout the coming day.
My featured image was originally by F. Dot Leonora and provided the direction in which this weeks instalment went. You do not have to use the prompt image to get involved in Friday Flash, you simply need to write 500 words or less.
If you enjoy the content I provide both here and as part of the #ProudToBeKinky Podcast and you would like to support that, then likes and comments are joyful to receive and you can also click below to support me through Ko-fi. All support through Ko-fi is going towards my Eroticon attendance in March.
I pause to take in the sight before me. He’s bloody, bruised and battered. This beautiful boy of mine is not a masochist, yet here he stands having barely flinched at the pain I have inflicted upon him. I never imagined he would fall this deep. That our new explorations would work so well, that the 3, 2, 1 of erotic hypnosis would actually work. Though I didn’t count him down. There was no swinging watch face, or flourishes to entertain a watching crowd.
There was just he and I as I guided him into a new state of being. Through fields of glorious colour. Shade after shade pictured in his mind and as he moved into each vivid colours he was straying further from himself and further into me. When he reached the end, and the colour he saw was a bright burning white, instead of needed to shield his eyes from it, he felt comfort and safety and he walked into that light, into me and fell deep under my spell.
A little while back the wonderful Posy Churchgate tagged me in a Erotica competition on Twitter and I didn’t enter. Then she tagged me again because the deadline had been extended for entries and I did enter. The finalist have been announced for that competition and I am one of them. Which means I owe Posy a massive thank you for tagging me not once, but twice, because without that I would not have entered.
‘Would you like some cake? I made it myself.’ Her eyes light up, and she accepts gratefully. I watch as cake crumbs fall onto her pert breasts and my mind wanders to touching and tasting, and I don’t for one minute mean the cake. – Excerpt from Beauty and the Babe
It’s that day of the week again and I couldn’t go with doing a #SoSS post this week. I read some awesome blog posts and I can’t wait to share them with you. First of all I wanted to take a moment to address why we do these posts. While it is lovely to see the camaraderie within the blogging community, introduce our blog regulars to new finds and drive traffic towards new blogs those are not the initial reason the Share our Shit Saturday movement was started.
Content Warning: Kidnap, Captive Woman, Non-Consent, Humiliation, Degradation. Please do not read if you think any of these things might be triggering for you x
He doesn’t lock the door. He used to lock it religiously. The realisation that he knows he no longer needs to lock me in fills me with shame.
Shame makes my cunt ache with need.
Rope is used to bind me, but it is a loose tie. I can use my toilet, and move around my surroundings, but I would not be able to walk with any efficiency, and I certainly would not be able to run. More importantly though the amount of movement I have means I can reach my cunt, I move my fingers there and find it is still swollen from use, and his ejaculate drips from me, sticky and warm.
This is part 5 of my Friday Flash serial. I have now renamed all previous parts so they are easier to read in order. Jo and Cam are now affectionately known as the Friday Girls and their adventure will be ongoing for as long as they are having fun. You can find there rest of their adventures here.
‘If you want to stop, for any reason, say red. That’s your safeword, a sign from you to me, that something isn’t quite right and we need to stop playing, immediately. Do you understand?’
Her yes is loud and clear, and with an albeit very minimal safety talk covered, I feel like I can proceed with the somewhat unexpected turn our day has taken.
I position her on the bed, knees spread, head down, hands resting beside her face. She looks glorious, and very accessible, which is always a bonus. My hands roam freely across her body, every now and again I feel her body tense in anticipation of what I might do, she is clearly a little nervous, but the overwhelming feeling in the room is one of desire.
A follow on piece from this weeks #MasturbationMonday piece ‘Reading, Interrupted‘, because I just had too much fun with them to leave their story as it was.
My heart pounded in my chest, seemingly louder than my knocking at her door. My earlier bravado was slipping away from me; what if the chemistry between us just wasn’t there in person. What if, what if, what if. So many maybes plagued my mind but before any of them could take hold and truly ruin everything she was standing before me.
She looked as bedraggled as I’d imagined her being when I’d hung up the phone, a benefit perhaps of me living so close, was that she’d had very little time to compose herself. We stood in silence once I’d entered her flat, and I wondered if she’d even washed her juices from her fingers, or if I’d smell her scent lingering upon their litheness if I lifted them to my nose.
She sounded out of breath as she answered the phone, I wondered if I’d interrupted her running errands, or doing housework, she said she was just doing some reading before she ran herself a bath though and that she had time to chat. As our conversation moved on I wondered what she had been reading, I personally love a good horror story, and many of them have made me breathless, I assumed, naively, she had experienced the same.
‘What book were you reading, before I rudely interrupted?’
‘Don’t be silly, I said you weren’t interrupting and it’s just a book of romance stories, nothing too adventurous.’