Valentines
February 14, 2009
She’s got her black silk stockings unwrapped …
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Vintage
February 8, 2009
The room of her chamber was flooded with a soft yellow glitter of sunlight running up and down the walls.
A soft summers breeze writhing its shadows over her skin and through her open windows.
Her tight corset restricting her immensely against her seat by the high towered windows.
She didn’t even hear him come in.
Until she felt his hands running over the gentle young curves of her porcelain skin.
Along the rough ties of her boned corset.
His hands desperate.
Her breath falling harshly like rain.
His hands lifting her up.
Carrying her to her large vintage dressing table.
Wild smells of rose powder and rich honey perfumes smashing to the floor.
Her legs pulling him in.
His lips finding the curve of her neck.
Pushing.
Licking.
Moaning.
Locked to each other.
In a time long gone.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Stars
January 30, 2009
The hall was enriched with a feather-like glow of deep orange and red, the dark pine of the main table indulged and decorated with heavenly foods and dark wines.
The tiny flicker of multicoloured tea lights highlighting the silk and satin drapes that hung proudly from the sloping walls, in heavy colours of India purples and blushing fuchsias.
A masked ball of delight.
Dazzling gowns and twinkling diamonds hanging from the ears and necks of the rich, their faces hidden by a collection of handmade masques of glitter and feathers.
In their minds they play a game of seduction.
Need.
Obsession.
Their hands fondling at the dinner table.
Wondering and exploring.
Their toes curling around decorated thighs.
Tiptoeing and teasing.
Wet.
Hard.
Their sighs and moans echoing around the halls.
Gowns ripped.
Ties thrown to the ground.
Her face a picture of delight.
His face a quirky smile, knowing exactly what she wants.
Making her cum.
Making him cum.
Hands.
Mouths.
Circling.
In a hall of lost passion.
That seems to be no more.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Burlesque
January 24, 2009
She doesn’t know that he watches.
When her toes are pointed and her thighs are dressed in glitter and lace.
The soft cascade of tumbling lights embracing her body.
Like the hands of a thousand needy lovers.
She teases and twirls.
Becoming the obsession.
The inspiration.
Swaying.
In a million coated silver diamonds.
He needs her.
Wants her.
Breasts.
Pussy.
Lips.
Neck.
He wants it all.
His hands trailing down to his trousers.
Shaking.
His need exploding like caged thunder.
His eyes running the lengths of her tiny frame.
Floating.
Arching.
The music pushing.
He can’t hold back.
His hands circling his now hard cock.
Up.
Down.
Curving.
His fist tightening.
The only sound from his lips.
As he shatters into a billion pieces under her gaze.
Her name.
Twisting into the air.
That only he knows.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Rain
January 18, 2009
His body was tense under the soft amber glow of the street lamps, the rain obscuring her view, making it hard to see where his searching hands were planning to rest.
The outline of his dark tailored suit rubbing against the porcelain bare essence of her naked thighs.
Her body tumbling underneath him.
Falling like lost stars.
Her skirt lifted against his pulling fingertips, as his mouth gripped to the inner curve of her neck.
“I want you.” He murmured, feeling her bare pussy, uncovered by any sort of silk materiel.
“Then have me.” She begged breathlessly, raising her legs around his masculine hips, allowing him full entry to her dripping entrance.
“You’re a dirty slut do you know that?” He asked, thrusting into her deeply, hurting her slightly.
“Oh please, please fuck me!” She begged, the rain now crashing around them, creating tiny pools of ghost whispers along the pavements.
Her body convulsing against him.
The familiar feel of his orgasm close behind.
“I’m cumming!” Her screams and his moans escaping, running the lengths of the deserted streets around them.
Their bodies falling apart like smashed dolls.
Against one another.
In the echo of the night.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Wings
January 7, 2009
Her hands came up above her head.
The tiny goosebumps on her arms trailing gently like the kisses of fairies wings.
His hands forcing her to the soft caress’s of multicoloured ribbons that he was tying tightly around her wrists.
Her hair falling in tumbles of dark curls around the halo of pillows that lay under her head.
“You’re horny aren’t you?”
His hands trailing up the contours and winding curves of her hips and stomach.
“I bet your dripping“
She could feel her head turning light and dizzy.
Her veins pumping stars of passion.
“Please touch me”
She could feel her pride running away with her, the heat of her body trailing and falling to the floor in a messy heap.
“Do you think you’ve been good enough?”
His hand pulling on the tightly secured ribbon harshly, making her throat tighten with need.
The familiar smell of his arousal clouding her senses entirely.
His soft thump of breathing comforting her.
“Please!”
The tiny flicker of candles moving with her whisper.
“Is this what you want?”
His head falling into her open thighs, his tongue burying into her depths.
“Oh god!”
His teasing causing her head to thrash from side to side.
Her red lips smudging down her rosy cheeks.
“Suck my cock you naughty girl!”
Her mouth being filled with the silky feel of his skin, his musky scent wrapping her up.
“Good girl”
She could feel him contracting as she swirled her tongue around the head, pulling his orgasm to the surface.
“You should stop before I cum, I want to fuck you first, open your legs!”
She had vanished from this room, her body surrendering to his every command.
She could feel his cock slipping into her wetness, filling her up to the hilt.
Her moans filling the air like crazed ghosts.
“Yes, Yes!”
Her orgasm hitting her like a million stars.
Making her fall quickly back down.
His orgasm filling her up.
His contractions pulling her to life.
They were one in that second.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Glitter
December 31, 2008
Glittery tassels.
Stockings under black silk.
Mouths.
Voices.
Countdown.
Orgasms bursting like champagne sparkles.
Tables.
Pianos.
They all want it.
Needy.
Greedy.
The soft smells of mandarin and lime drifting through the grand halls.
Draped pinks and purples.
Masks.
Hidden.
Secrets.
Hands running and trailing.
Tongues entering and pulling.
Legs spread like butterfly wings.
Happy New Year.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Christmas
December 16, 2008
She wants to surprise him.
Her body coated in a soft line of vanilla and cinnamon oil.
Her lingerie black glitter and sheer toned.
He’ll be there soon.
His devious smile when his eyes run the length of her frame.
Lights down.
Covers thrown aside, draped over the floor in thick waves of Christmas red.
She knows how he likes it.
Hard.
Rough.
“Your back” She announces, her voice deep and husky in the back of her throat.
“Um yes I am, and what a delight I’ve come home too” He replies, running his eyes up and down, devouring her from the inside first.
“Get on your knees.” She commands, pulling his tie firmly in the fist of her hand, rubbing the line of red gloss on her lips across the bottom protruding lip of his.
Pushing him down, she rubs herself against his face, her urgency out of control.
Wet.
Dripping silk folds around her thighs.
“Oh god, you smell exquisite.” He announces, grabbing her hips firmly and pulling her down to her knees harshly, level with him.
“Fuck me, please!” She shouts, tearing of his crisp white shirt, buttons flying into the air particles around them.
Stockings ripped.
Knickers down.
Hands.
Mouths.
Curling.
Scraping.
“Oh god I’m so close!” She whispers against his neck, the warmth sending tingles down his spine.
The soft smell of cinnamon whispering into her thoughts.
“You’ve been a bad girl trying to command me, haven’t you?” He announced, thrusting into her harder and deeper, her warmth surrounding him entirely.
“Yes.” She cried out, her muscles clamping around the tip of his cock, tipping him over the edge too.
Her whole body freezing in that one moment.
Not wanting to let the little bursting bubbles of colour inside her go.
As her hands search for him.
Press to him.
Beg for him.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Whisper
December 8, 2008
He threw her to the bed harshly, his veins pumping glitter of delight at the beauty in front of him.
Her body fastened to the bed with thick brassy rope, securing her ankles and wrists firmly.
Her body a lustful rosy glow, as his hands trickled down the tautness of her petite almost ballerina frame delicately.
Gently placing kisses in their paths.
He loved to tease.
Her wrists and ankles begging to be released.
The soft whisper of candle flames and the shadows of falling stars outside their window surrounding them.
Creating an almost dreamlike fantasy effect, dancing an unleashing across the walls softly around them.
Their bodies urgent and meaning.
His slick en body pressing into hers.
Merging.
“Please” She begged desperately into the cave of his ear.
“Make me cum” She pleaded, arching her back in passion.
Her breasts firm.
Her lips swelling and turning a dark shade of dirty cherry.
“Is this what you want?” He replied, lowering his body further down, his hands opening her thighs apart gracefully.
Her wetness streaking down the inside of her thighs obviously.
“Oh god!” She cried, as his lips and tongue went to work on her, unravelling her like a bright colour of ribbon.
Her mind slowing down.
Her eyes focusing on the tiny dust particles in the air, floating like small fairies around her.
She wanted him.
She wanted to taste his arousal.
Let her lips wrap and curl round the tip of his cock.
Roll her tongue round the length, allowing the tiny clear drop of crystal liquid drop onto her tongue.
But she was too far gone.
She could see his head of dark soft curls in between her legs.
His tongue and mouth creating her orgasm.
That was now fast approaching.
Stretching across her skin.
Pushing her fast to the surface.
Until the familiar burst shattered her from within.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Jazz
December 1, 2008
It started out with a feeling between them, their hands searching under the table.
Brassy jazz playing around them in echoes.
Their glasses clinking, allowing a drop of martini to spill on to their lips.
Fingertips running along softness to catch the drip of the icy liquid from falling carefully.
Their legs wrapped like ribbon.
Complete boundless pleasure.
Stockings against suit trousers.
Breath against neck.
Hands brushing away the urgency that filled their hearts.
They did not care.
Dewy wetness of her seeping onto his fingers.
Her open moans filling the smoky room, puffing out in tiny streams of lights.
His smile generous and open.
Her red silk dress falling to the side revealing Lacy stocking tops.
His kisses forcing her lips to bruise and stain.
His hands pushing her legs further and further apart.
The feel of her snapping at the pressure.
Her body rising and falling.
The dark curls of her hair falling delicately to frame her crimson face.
The room seeming glittery, almost whirling to her eyes.
His fingers working harder and faster.
Pulling the pleasure from her.
The feel of her warmth overwhelming his senses entirely.
The silkiness running the length of his hands.
Her body arching in the smooth darkness of her seat.
He loved her.
In that moment.
He realised he loved her.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
London
November 24, 2008
City lights of glitter scarlet and woven golds come to life around them.
Their feet padding across the rain piled slick en black footpaths.
Breath caught out into the midst of clear ice and chocking breezes.
Holding them.
Pushing them to see.
The smell of winter rich rain and frozen leaves.
Clinging.
Present.
Hidden.
Together as one.
Hissing and coming to life.
Hands pulling.
Mouths devouring.
Urgent in a small space at night.
Their tears when they part glisten and leave ruby streaks.
His hands open her.
Push.
Tease.
Her mouth wraps and curls.
The only sound around is the soft scraping of old dead leaves, dancing across the pavements.
Wind hitting their ears.
Moans and sighs.
Red crimson cheeks.
Bodies rubbing against the harshness of stone soaked alleys.
Corsets, knickers and suspenders fallen to the floor.
Silk piled upon satins, soaked by the rain.
Private.
Cold.
Secret.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Moonlight
November 19, 2008
The bedroom that they were in was filled with sloping rich and purple walls.
Candles of every scent and brightness had been placed around, to create illusion and shadows.
Their breath pushing whispers around the room, unweaving like gold.
The bed that they lay on sewn with gentle silk and satins, each tiny twist of the needle obvious.
Their bodies that lay on the bed, entwined and captured.
Their paleness shocking to the moonlight that danced across them like clear glass.
His body pressed on hers delicately and urgent at the same time.
“No noise” He said, his lips moving effortlessly against her neck, his hand covering her mouth.
Her legs spreading wider against him, allowing him to enter her dripping pussy deeper.
Their bodies moving in unison, tiny droplets of sweat trickling down the arch of their backs.
Their hands searching for a thread of pleasure.
Their voices quiet, calm, passive.
His hands pressing to her breasts, their rosy red surroundings growing like new born poppies, uncurling ever so slowly.
Their mouths closing around each other, moaning in their needs, echoing and promising.
Their story and passion whirling and twisting.
Their orgasms releasing, opening, bursting like a thousand tiny bubbles.
Their bodies left.
Pale and lifeless.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Shadows.
November 10, 2008
The stage was illuminated with a hazy wash of deep orange and red.
The tiny lights and candles creating moving shadows along the deep oak floorboards.
It was only him.
It was only her.
The soft beat of the deep flute.
The gentle tap of her toes.
Her hips moving.
Tricking.
Teasing.
Her costume ghostly white diamonds.
That reflect tiny dancing beams of pearls.
Her back arched.
Her moans.
Escaping.
Leaping.
Echoing.
She moves only for him.
Her wetness gathering like thick sewn silk between her porecelin thighs.
Her hands running.
Gripping.
Pushing.
The sheer almost ghostly shadow of her frame twirling and twisting.
Is she real?
The tiny dark tendrils of her curls.
Sweeping.
Bouncing.
Her passion building.
Her orgasm so close in reach.
He wants his hands there.
Tracing.
Painting.
Observing.
But for now she is a ghost to him.
They only exist in the shadows.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Paris
November 4, 2008
The tiny lanes of Paris curved and weaved.
Little boutiques quilted with vanilla coloured silks and satins.
Pastry shops lined with pink frosting and pearlescent swirls of twinkling sugar.
The rivers running quietly round and round.
The lights of the night creating shadows of hidden secrets.
The delicious smell of hot aromatic coffee, running like tiny rivers down the streets.
She stood out from a crowd.
Her shoes pattering across the cobbled uneven paths.
Her hair dark as the night around the city moonlight.
Her black coat hiding her black and silver boned corset.
Matching suspenders, the diamonds twisting with the sway of her body as she walked.
Her lips creating illusion of lust and freshly washed cherries.
She loved Paris.
Men offered.
She answered.
Yes.
No.
She can never remember names.
Or Even faces.
Just their smell.
Their hands covering the contours of her petite ballerina frame.
Their mouths lacing her sex.
Curves.
Feet.
She never falls in love.
She just works.
Their cocks all different.
Larger.
Smaller.
Their lips curving and coming to life as they smile when she rolls and gasps.
When her fingers are needy.
Wanting more.
Her body wet.
Leaving tiny white marks imprinted on the sheets.
On her journal.
For when they wake.
She is gone.
Gone.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
Obsession
October 27, 2008
Camera posed in his hands.
Capturing her.
Flash.
Her body spread out like an ever going canvas of beauty.
Colours.
Fabrics.
Sculptured in front of him.
His obsession.
Her obsession.
“More” he asks.
His hands curving round the inch’s and leaps of her body.
“Touch” he begs.
Running his hands down into the silky wetness that leaves trails.
She’s his muse.
Her body rolling.
Posing.
Smiling in his presence.
She loves him.
She wants to impress.
Explore.
Pleasure.
Snap.
The soft light cascading over her.
Creating tiny lights of dancing shadows.
Moving.
She needs.
Wants.
His cock now pushing against her barriers that are now down.
Her body arching.
Whirling.
Gasping.
In a canvas and world of lights and colours.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
