Brighton’s coloured lights set a horizon of multicoloured blur against her eyes as she lay on the beach, the cold embrace of the sea rushing between her toes and soaking her white dress, as his lips traced the delicate lining of her neck, desperate and needy.

Mascara smudged down her face.

Her lips urgent against his.

Bruising with passion.

Begging words leaving their smokey lips as the music echoed from the overflowing bars above.

Pushing and pulling.

Her mind racing with the taste of absinthe.

The night a blur around her as the length of his cock pushed deeply inside of her making her moan in need.

The water freezing around them, christening the November month.

His masculine smell flooding her senses.

His tongue dancing inside of her mouth, pulling her to insanity.

Rising and falling as her legs opened further.

Arching and burning against the pebbled stones that dug into her back and her scraping hands.

Seedy and naughty.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Her mind raced harshly against her temples as the erotic images hanging on the art gallery wall set in.

Contrasts of dark oranges and fire-breathing yellows echoed softly against her chest as the images came to life.

The bodies in-front of her moving, as they arched and moaned in a symphony of drowning deep colours.

She felt his lips on her neck, the familiar smell of his intoxicating aftershave, the feel of his suite against her back.

His hands running the length of her waist and curve as the images turned her on more and more.

This was his trap.

He knew her so well.

The erotic images now fiesting on her open body, as his hand peeled of her vintage dress.

Knickers.

Corset.

Bra.

She was lost against those images.

Those memories.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Her hand fell delicately against the fine lining of his suit trousers as he sat opposite her.

Her nerves running like sharp glitter, pricking her lightly all over her body.

Her body now unable to control itself as his hands slipped lightly down the silk ties of her vintage corset, tugging harshly to open her up.

That knowing smug smirk on his face that always turned her on.

Made her squirm.

His hands removing her heels.

His mouth devouring her breasts.

She was nothing to him.

Nothing but a mere conquest as his hands slipped up the folds of her skirt, pulling down her suspenders and pushing her lace knickers aside, allowing them to drop on to the floor.

He wanted her.

Passion blazing through his hands.

Mouth.

Tongue.

Arching her back.

She was his infatuation.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

In her head he was an obsession, a dark play-thing wrapped in glittered silk with a diamond bow.

Her hands racing through the pages of her open diary.

His name.

Taste.

Her stockings lost, rolled to far down.

Skirt pulled up around her waist.

His face.

Smell.

His tongue dancing across her thighs.

Her mouth wrapped around his cock.

Silky.

Delicate.

Lovers now lost.

Fantasy behind drawn back curtains.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Lost against the whispering light of the candles, her body arched beautifully against his every touch, the soft glow of the emerald pendant sparkling softly around her neck as she pushed further against the length of his cock.

Her hands grabbing frantically at the soft skin on his back, leaving a mixed canvas of scratch marks.

Both lost against the pleasure they were both creating.

Their lips moulding like multicoloured oil paints.

He loved to paint her like this.

Abandoned.

Lost.

Needy.

He loved her like this.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Her feet arched against the hollow space of the stone alley entrance.

Her legs open and inviting.

Her pussy waiting for the gentle curve of a familiar tongue.

Breasts waiting for the rough feel of large manly hands.

She was desperate.

His hands already teasing the lines of her curves.

The sound of his deep laugh circling around her.

She knew him well.

The way that he worked her.

The small dirty words that he used against the arch of her neck.

She loved him.

Tiny pearls of wetness rolling down her thighs.

Her bottom pushing against the hard swell of his cock.

Begging quietly for him to push in to her deeply.

For his lips to meet hers harshly until they turned a sore shade of cherry red.

She wanted him.

Always like this.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

She couldn’t stop.

Her thoughts overwhelmed by the obsession of him.

Her hands needy at night when she laid in bed alone.

Lace and silk pushed aside.

Shadows playing against one another.

The only thing she wanted was the memorable feel of his skin.

His lips wrapped around hers.

The pleasure curled around her neck.

She couldn’t stop.

The memory of his fingers twisting between her thighs.

The rope holding her wrists.

Her obsession.

She needed him.

The taste of him against her tongue.

Underwear discarded.

She needed his cock to fill her entirely.

His hands pulling her to earth.

The feel of his tongue painting lines across the arch of her back, across the tiny threaded blue veins on the curve of her wrists.

She loved him.

Obsessed by the pleasure he gave.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

The dust fell lightly around the grounds of the chamber, soft glitters of moonlight entering the grand mosaic windows surrounding, allowing soft beams of dancing colours to cascade over her naked hanging body.

Her body perfectly poised against the bounds that held her so tightly.

Her wrists and ankles tied together with a thick cut of dark brown rope.

Hand made.

Her breath uneasy and desperate.

Her chest rising and falling, as tiny beads of perspiration coated her top lip.

Her eyes now a fierce coat of angry sea blue, like thousands of tiny waves.

She knew he was watching from one corner of the room.

His stare pouring into every open pore deliciously.

Making her wait.

His coolness always making her blood boil.

The sudden sound of his footsteps made her jump, his hands coming down the sides of her hipbones, rolling slowly around her tight swollen bladder.

Her voice begging him to stop.

Her own voice sounding unfamiliar to her.

She’d already taken too much from him this evening. His ministrations already taking toll on her mind and soul.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to control herself, as his fingertips ran down the insides of her thighs teasingly, tiptoeing around her exposed and wet vulva.

Her cries only turning him on more.

Her body twisting harshly against her restraints as he carried on.

Steadily he knelt before her, gathering her exposed lips between his teeth and nibbling gently, making her body arch more against his face.

His smile forming against her.

His tongue running down to her vaginal opening, allowing the full length of his tongue to delve in as deep as he could push it, making her whole body shake and convulse, as the slow knowing ripples of her orgasm ran through her stomach.

He knew she was close.

Tiny goose bumps slowly running along her petite curves.

His tongue flowing to the tip of her clit and with one hand lifted back the hood to reveal the tiny nub of noted nerves, slowly flicking at it with the tip of his tongue, pushing her over the edge.

Her body arching.

Her screams echoing round the chamber as he held on to her hips to steady her thrashing body as her orgasm subsided.

Her head falling to her chest, as she heard him walk away knowing that in a few more hours, the same torture would continue.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Tiny jewels had been placed on her body perfectly in vibrant India fuchsia pinks, purples and oranges, their reflections sliding across the royal hall, coating the marble floors and rich curtains that hung from the ceilings.

A strong drum beat echoing around her, as her body stood in front of thousands.

Diamonds hanging from her ears and dangling softly from her stomach erotically.

She could feel her rhythm building as her hips rotated teasingly to the beat.

Her toes pointing.

Her head thrown back, as her body moved for her.

The very few items that she had about slowly being shed by her delicate fingers.

Purple jewelled knickers.

Orange jewelled bra.

Men’s eyes following her every move.

Devouring her every turn.

Her every curve, as her body opened to the climax of the drums.

Twisting and rising to her challenge.

Her body now a maze of desire and lust, as she shed her knickers like a second skin from her petite hips.

Shouts and whistles looming as whispers in her mind.

Her hands now peeling away her bra.

 Her hands now covering her exposure as she teased more.

Twisting and turning with large black feathers, her body creating a hidden barrier.

No eyes allowed to lay upon her most hidden crevices.  

The soft beam of a singular spotlight rotating on her hips and stomach as the fire burned behind her, pushing and whirling her shadows onto the men that now lay captive to her dance, as snakes were released to her stage.

Their hissing creating tiny goose bumps to form over her body in paths.

Her feet tiptoeing through and over them as they curled up her ankles.

Up her thighs and around her stomach.

Her body shaking and jumping into mid air, her body more alive now than ever as the snakes crawled over her naked body.

She was the men’s muse.

As she turned further in the firelight.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

She needs release.

Her fantasies driving her mad.

Making her obsess.

She needs a mans hand to stroke her.

To open her up like a soft flower.

Coral pink and gentle red.

Beautiful.

Explore her with your fingers.

Write your name on her clitoris with the tip of your velvety tongue.

Or the end of your cock.

Tame her wild ways.

Make her wet.

Make her taste you with the tips of her rosy lips.

Devour her needs.

Tie the rope.

Fasten it well around the curve of her delicate wrists.

Spread her legs like the wings of butterflies.

She needs this now.

Begging.

Her head thrown back against a halo of cushions that surround her head.

Candles pushing her shadows against yours.

Thrust in deep.

Taste her nectar.

Push her.

Create her world.

As her eyes close.

Her lips part to your invading mouth.

Fuck her.

Gently at first.

Allow her silk to coat your cock.

Now faster.

Harder.

Allow your moans to dance freely.

Move.

Gracefully.

Make her cum.

She’s yours.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe