All The Ways I Let You Down

Ach, I guess I was in a sombre mood when I wrote this... doesn't go with the prompt pic either! (which is incredibly raunchy) - remember to click on the big purple box to see who else is taking part in Masturbation Monday :D

She lies back and begins to think of all the people she lets down in a day. She starts with you. Your packed lunch she forgot to make. She doesn't usually prepare one for you, but in her head, she imagines heart shaped sandwiches with a love note tucked in by a polished red apple.

This is what she imagines herself doing as she reaches out and presses the snooze button.

By the time you're at the door, she's already failed you in so many ways. The shirt she meant to hang up that you had to iron at the last minute when you found it crumpled on the carpet. The lovely shower she was going to have running ready for you coming through all sleep rumpled and soft edged. You'd had to draw your own, waiting patiently for the hot water to come through.

Or the delicious coffee and croissants she'd wipe from your lips as she leaned in for a goodbye kiss.

She's done none of it.

She's wakened by the door slamming as you leave in hurry to catch the bus.

She's a daily failure.

She stretches a guilt ridden stretch and tries to shake her self-directed torture elsewhere.

It's this time, this gentle morning glow, that's when she feels languid and pliant. Not tough and rigid like she grows throughout the day, coming to its apex as you walk back through the door.

No, it's now where she nestles in the still warm bedding and inhales your scent. Rolls around and coats her pores in your essence.

Now she's relaxed. Now her mind lets go of her guilt and the growing bloom of arousal begins between her legs. Her eyelids flicker closed and her head tilts back as tingling floods her senses. She imagines your hand upon her breast, teasing and rolling her nipple and her touch strays to her chest, playing out the scene from her imagination. It feels good. She trails her fingertips up to the crook of her neck and gives her skin a feathery caress, just the way your lips tease her there. It is an exquisite sensation and sends sparks all the way down to her sex. Her mouth is watering and she lifts her elbow to her teeth licking and nibbling at the tender sensitive flesh, setting her nerves alight with arousal.

She pretends it's you eating her up, leaving saliva trails over her body, scrolling your tongue down to her naval as she quivers beneath your touch. There's a pulse building in her sex now, a yearning, a need, desire, heat...

Her hands dive down between her legs and find the fragrant slippery folds of her cunt. She hears herself groan and imagines it's you as you feast on the sight of her raw exposed pussy, slick with desire.

Her fingers sink easily into herself and she rocks her pelvis trying to get enough pressure to her clit. It's not enough. It's not the same as having your thirteen stone frame thrusting up against her. She rolls onto her front, squashing her breasts into the mattress, humping her fists and wriggling around like a cat, trying to get relief.

The want and heat build further and she thrusts harder, riding her hand, imagining you behind her, fucking her hard, holding her hips fast as you slam your full weight right up inside her greedy sodden cunt.

The image has her panting and she opens her mouth, grinds her teeth into the pillow and grunts as her fingers slip and slide inside her desperate pussy. She's clenching now, clenching around her fingers and the point of no return is close, she can feel the unstoppable rising from deep within. Her jaws clamp shut around her cotton pillowcase and she comes hard, wringing herself out of all her anxiety. Shuddering, she breathes hot and wet into the pillow as she arrives back into herself.

When her body has stilled and cooled she rolls back into your side of the bed and sighs.

Just another way she has let you down.

She remembers last night as you reached for her and she turned away. You gave up quickly, knowing perseverance never wins her over.

She squeezes her eyes shut, balling her fists into the sockets as the chastisement begins again.

How long until her next reprieve?

She never knows.

She hopes tonight, she won't roll away from your reaching fingertips.

As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read all the way x x x

What The Butler Saw

Dear Sir

Whilst I accept that the scene you witnessed in your chamber was indeed unacceptable, I feel duty bound to point out some mitigating factors which you may wish to take note of when considering my future at Meikleston Manor.

On the day in question I was passing your chambers when I heard an unusual sound. I knelt to take a peep through your keyhole (as is customary, I might add, for a butler to check his master’s room so as not to unduly disturb him) whereupon I saw the new chambermaid from the city attending to your bedding. Now as you know, we have all had our reservations about this young city girl and her visible petticoats but the tale I am about to tell will prove just how wily her ways are, Sir.

From Pinterest

I was about to leave her to her business when she made a strange sound and fell upon your bed, Sir, her skirts flying up to reveal her undergarments. She looked like she may be in some trouble as she was wriggling around looking rather flushed. I was about to enter your chamber to check upon her wellbeing when she did the most extraordinary thing, Sir. She pulled down her bloomers and exposed her naked rump for all to see! Well, as you can imagine I was so flabbergasted to witness such a sight in the broad daylight on your very bed, that I was stunned into a sort of paralysis as I watched.

Then, to my horror, before my very eyes, she reached underneath herself and pressed her fingers about her sexual parts. Her woman’s bloom became fairly rosy and plump as her slender digits disappeared into that wanton cavern, her face pressed into your linens. I stayed silent for a few more moments just in case there was indeed something wrong with this creature – I am not so familiar with the ways of the fairer sex and thought perhaps she was attending to ladies’ doings.

Well, as she pulled and tugged and thrust her fingers into herself, I had a happening of my own, Sir. I had grown uncomfortable in my kneeling position and had to shift somewhat. The scuffle may have alerted her to my presence as she paused and looked at the door. I cannot be sure but she had a look of wickedness upon her city dweller’s face and withdrew her fingers from herself and changed position, reaching out to your clothes brush as she did.

Sir, I hesitate to say what happened next.

She lay back into your sheets and pulled her skirts up fully and unbuttoned her blouse and stays to reveal her naked chest which heaved with her laden breasts. The light did strike them so and her nipples gleamed in the shaft of afternoon sun.

My britches were growing tight around my nether regions and I shifted again to avoid any sort of cramping.

Her knees fell apart and her womanly space was directly in my line of sight. I’d never seen one so exposed and thought she must be quite ill. The dark curls adorning the ruby red lips had rather an appeal if you like to look at that sort of thing, Sir. I could see the dark pulsing of her entrance and the fluttering of her pouting lips as she drew… and here’s where I hesitate, Sir, she drew the tortoiseshell handle of your clothes brush down between those nether lips and rubbed it around and around, parting herself further. Well, sir, imagine my horror when she took your property and deftly pushed it right up into her succulent quim! I was near beside myself with fury as she thrust it in and out, it glistening and gleaming with those strange and mysterious potions which seep from a lady, Sir...

To be continued...

*Exciting news flash!*
This story came second in Oleander's competition and because of some news to come soon... I'm only giving you a little taster of the story for now...
Look out for announcements soon! x x x

This story was written for the delightfully naughty Ms Oleander Plume's Pick a Prompt story competition - why not join in? Lots of fun! Click here.

And since it's Wednesday - I'm also going to join in with Wicked Wednesday! It's been a week firsts :D - I've been following WW for ages and some of the writing is utterly breathtaking - The prompt is Three - I've made and posted three new pieces of work this week - this one being the third. Click on the rainbow for more...

*BLOG UPDATE*

This was chosen by Ms Rebel as one of her THREE!! See here - I'm so excited :D

Seductive Sunday Snog

Sunday Snog time! 

Here's a sultry snippet from my story, The Conference, in South Bank Seduction - it's a bit of a cheat as there is barely a kiss but there is tension of the sexual variety... this is where my leading lady has just met the artist she sometimes poses for, in the Tate Modern. Oh to be an artist's muse! *yearn* *sigh*

Hope you enjoy! Remember to check out the other snoggers.

Suddenly a hand is at my lower back. Hot and heavy. Power and energy slump from my body as I surrender to him in that one motion.

He's here. I'm here.

I'm still bent at the waist and he lifts me by the shoulder, the hand at my back casually smoothes over my buttocks and presses firmly at the dip beneath. I melt. I liquefy. The ache in my groin which has plagued me since I boarded the train in Scotland is now a torrent of heat and desire.

We are the eye of the storm. The stillness in this vast crowded space.

"Come," he says and grabs my hand, almost dragging me behind him as I shimmy in my too high heels and too tight skirt and too nylon stockings. It is highly erotic. I can almost visualise us in black and white with perilous piano music playing along. A damsel being taken by a gentleman in a shabby three-piece suit and three-day beard. God, I am wet. My panties are soaked. I feel wanton and excited. Will we go to his usual studio or does he have something else lined up?

In the taxi he blindfolds me and touches my lips with something cold and sticky. The feathery slippery touch is tickly and strange. Almost like he is painting them with a sable tipped brush. I keep still and silent.

When he's guided me up some stairs and the blindfold is removed, we are in familiar territory. I am glad. I love his paintings. Louche figures in various stages of undress and eroticism stare at us from all angles. They remind me of the 1920s, somehow carefree and decadent with a sizzling dangerous undertone.

"Stand here," he commands sweeping his hand in the direction of a wooden pillar. He has removed his jacket but the waistcoat remains and he has rolled up his shirt sleeves. I do as he bids and face the easel which is set up just in front of it. "Take off your top half."

His voice is gruff and sticky in that way that tells of a life lived on good whiskey and cigarettes. Or is he a brandy drinker? The faint lingering scent of debauchery on his breath and skin, even after bathing, I imagine, gives me a thrill. He gives me a thrill. The fuck you attitude of a man who will not be told what he can and cannot do. I like it. My pussy quivers as he licks his lips and sighs in a contemplative way while he studies me removing my blouse. Happy to be rid of the damp item, I reach up behind my back to unhook my bra but he holds out his palm.

"No. Leave it." He stares at me, my form, with an analytical eye. There is no emotion in a human to human sense but he is so concentrated in an artist to subject sense that I am overwhelmed with need. But what do I need? What is it that brings me to him? He has never touched me yet. Not once. And I have never even caught a glimpse of even a sketch. When we are done, he simply sends me on my way, burning. His brow furrows as he concentrates on my chest. My nipples are yearning and peaking, straining for attention. But he won't see. I have a thick vintage cotton bra which holds my breasts out in the perfect cone.

He steps forward with both hands out and I hold my breath as he reaches in over the top of each cup and eases my breasts out. His hands are cool and I let my head fall back as he tugs harder, unaware that this is a 1950s original. I sway on my heels as he keeps working until both tits are free and hanging out over my bra. He manages to fold the top half of each cup into itself to arrange it like a balcony. Perfect. Did I just imagine it or did he roll my nipples between his thumbs and fingers?

Oh god. If he would slide those artist’s fingers up between my thighs, oh, the heat and sodden need he would find there. One touch. That's all it would take. One tiny circle of a finger tip on my clit and I would be spiralling right now into that heady place of oblivion. But he doesn't. He lets me stand there. Every hair is raised and reaching out to him. Every inch of my flesh is crying out but I am silent...

Hope you liked that - hope it left you a little uneasy :D remember to check out the other snogs x x x

http://victoriablisse.co.uk/blog/sunday-snog/

White Rabbit

Hello there

Just a quickie today - hope you are all well!
In the future... not too distant I hope, this story is going to be in an anthology from my favourite little fetish boutique, White Rabbit - I thought I'd just give you a taste x x x

White Rabbit - The Switch

If I tilt my head just so, would you know to fall to your knees at my feet? Would you know to surrender to me without question?

Good.

This one though, this one is different. As he approaches he flicks a white fan closed and pockets it in his waist coat in the sweeping way of a man who knows how to work a three piece suit. The action raises a flush on my decolette and I'm grateful that I am thoroughly buttoned up today. As long as the flesh on my cheeks remain cool and pale, I will be fine. I will remain in control.

He is standing right before me now – almost toe to toe. I pull back my shoulders and look right up into his face, willing myself not to break eye contact. But it is intense. He stares right back unwavering, unmoving until, with an almost sleight of hand skill, pulls out a pocket watch and glances at it.

“We're late,” he says grabbing my wrist and pulling me behind him on tripping heels.

In all my life I have never allowed someone to usher me anywhere like this. I am furious, and yet, not. His stride is enormous compared to my stuttering trot, my legs seemingly bound together by my pencil skirt. My thighs rub together in a way that highlights the fact that I am damp. Damn it. Where is my self control?

My heel catches on an uneven flagstone and my ankle tips painfully. He never breaks step – simply squeezes my hand more firmly and tugs. I am breathless as I almost fall over, catching furtive glances from onlookers who witness my stumbling.

“Where are we going?” I ask but he never looks back, he just throws me a gruff comment over his shoulder.

“We're late.”

It's not edited yet so please be forgiving! 

I've added some drawings to my drawings page - take a look if you fancy x x x 

Francesca's Mother

Amazon author page

Francesca's Mother is a sexy lady love short story for you to enjoy - it was first published by Oysters and Chocolate a couple of years ago... 

Hope you enjoy - warning - contains scenes of water flumes and lady hair... 

I couldn’t help but stare.

She was perfection in her black bikini, standing in front of me in line for the waterslide. From her heels to her calves, all the way up the back of her thighs to the dip and crease of her buttocks, her legs were flawless. Olive, hair free skin had me mesmerized. I was now glad of the long queue which previously had me shivering. With all the self assurance of a foreign exchange student, she gracefully lifted her ponytail and tied it in a knot. I swallowed hard as I caught a glimpse of thick dark hair curling under her arms. My heart leapt and I was instantly thrown back to my youth.

Francesca’s mother was my guilty pleasure. I would stay for long weekends at their house and spend the whole time preoccupied by the huge maternal presence that commanded the family home with gentle force. I would find any excuse to go into the kitchen and watch her knead dough on the antique pine table, her braless breasts swinging and gently slapping together beneath a purple smock dress. She was so mighty and strong and, though I couldn’t name it at the time, sensual. When she moved near me I’d inhale her scent. Underneath the rosemary and garlic, there was something else; something musky and dangerous. It at once attracted and repelled me, but I always filled my lungs with the delicious warmth, seeking that hidden perfume.

“Look at this,” Francesca pulled me into her mother’s bedroom one trip home from college. We sprawled on the bed reading Anais Nin and Nancy Friday books until we could gasp and giggle no more. I read the words, becoming more and more physically turned on. I’d had a few ferociously passionate encounters at college and was no stranger to sex, but I sensed these books were exploring something else too. Something more than the physical. They made me want to be with the mighty woman downstairs.

“I’m just going for a drink,” I told Francesca and rolled off the bed, taking care not to show the damp spot forming in my jeans.

When I got to the kitchen, Francesca’s mother was standing over a huge pot of broth on the stove. Thick meaty smells filled the room, and as she lifted her elbow to stir the great vat, a tuft of glossy black curls sprang into view. I was slightly repulsed but my mouth started watering and warmth and moisture spread between my legs. I sat on a stool and pressed my hands onto my mound, rocking my pelvis into my fists while Francesca’s mother stirred the soup. I came in my jeans just as she tapped the drips off the ladle on the side of the pot.

The atmosphere was charged and I was sure I caught her eyes flit across my tiny hard nipples while she swept away wild peppery hair from her brow with her forearm. I lifted my ribcage and stared at her, daring her to look again, but she didn’t. She turned back to the range and opened the oven door. Steam and the odor of fresh baked bread broke the spell and I hopped off the stool and sped back up to Francesca, at once invigorated and ashamed.

And now, at the swimming pool of all places, these feelings had returned. The queue bustled into me and I stumbled slightly into the back of the poised beauty in front. She looked haughtily round and I licked my lips involuntarily at the sight of hers. Full and raw with a dusting of fine hairs on her upper lip. Suddenly I was consumed with want for this woman. I could have grabbed her there and then. I could feel my nipples peaking as she looked at me straight in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “It’s the people behind, they keep pushing.”

She slowly and languidly looked down the full length of me then turned back as the attendant signaled her to go on the slide. She grabbed the bar at the top of the entrance and flung herself into the water filled tube. My desire began to subside and I gave myself a mental shake. What was I up to?

The attendant gave me the nod and I pushed myself as hard as I could into the tunnel. I was drenched and gathered up by the flow, sliding up and down the sides of the huge tube. It was exhilarating and my lustful agitation was just easing when I collided hard into a figure jammed spread-eagled against the sides of the slide.

“What the…” I started as the woman from the queue fell heavily onto me thrusting a hand over my mouth.

“I saw the look in your eyes,” her distinct voice hissed in my ear and my want came flooding back. As we writhed and twisted gathering speed, she removed her hand and kissed me hard, forcing my mouth open with her powerful sharp little tongue. It was thrilling and I reached round and grabbed her ass through her bikini bottoms. She countered by shoving her hand in between my legs and pulled my swimsuit to the side, delving fingers inside my soaked sex. I splayed my legs open and tried to slow us down by grabbing the tube walls. She slammed her pelvis into the gap and ground her hand deeper into my pussy with the force of her mound. It felt so horny and I grabbed at her tits craning my head up and under her arm to catch another glimpse of the beautiful curls. She obliged, lifting her arm, allowing me to bury my nose into the fragrant nook. There it was. Sensual, dangerous, horny – that smell. I wallowed in it as she kneaded my clit with her thumb. I jerked and rocked as the stars that always signalled my climax swirled in my peripheral vision. My pussy began to well and she started pumping her fingers into me violently as the water gushed around us and flowed over her chest, pulling down her bikini top so that her ripe dark nipples were just a lick away. As I started coming, I engulfed one of her breasts with my hungry mouth and suckled her throbbing tit, tonguing the puckered flesh of her nipple trying to take it all in. She grabbed my pussy from the inside and out, gripping my clit and g-spot together. I came, twitching and panting and gushing all over her sexy little hands. I wanted my turn, I wanted to fuck her with my fingers, my tongue, but she climbed off me, and slid away while tying her bikini back up. The slide ended abruptly and I splashed out into a deep cool pool. I swam to the surface, staring all around for my tunnel lover, but I couldn’t see her anywhere.

Later, I searched though my college things and found the books I’d quietly stolen from Francesca’s mother. I spent the rest of the afternoon sprawled across my bed understanding all the things I’d missed those years before. 

If you like my erotic style, and would like to read more, please take a look around my site or at my Amazon author page US - Amazon author page UK where you'll find an up to date list of all my work for sale. My writing celebrates all kinds of physical and spiritual love between all sorts of lovely ladies and gentlemen. I particularly recommend Mia's Books and A Clockwork Butterfly from

Beachwalk Press. Hope you enjoy.
Thanks for stopping by and reading all the way to the end!
Tabitha x x x