Temptation

He knew he could not resist her as she sat across from him at the grand oak dining table, the small dancing shimmers of candle light reflecting teasingly across the arch of her cleavage, that was so openly presented to him.

He knew he could not withstand her manipulations for much longer.

The way her gown fell in soft piles of dark blue silk around her, the deep slash revealing the curve of her delicate back.

Grand pearls that he had bought her for a present tied with golden rope hanged erotically around her neck.

The pearls begging to be undone and ripped off.  

He desired her more than he can ever remember desiring anyone before.

The suffering of his straining hardness pushing against the dark cloth of his breeches.

The tease in her stare, in her smile forced this from him.

Time could only tell to how much longer he could withstand her teasing for.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Sorry

Smashed glass and crushed rose’s now lay scattered across the floor.

The once lit candles now stale and hard.

The windows that reflected tiny dancing reflections of colour now broken and smudged against the shocking white of the wooden floorboards.

The anger of harsh whispers and dark tears filling the room as his hand grabbed for her.

His apologies running desperately against her neck, across her thighs.

Her kisses pulling all the secrets from him.

His hands pushing her against the cold stone of the wall, raising her up against him.

Their bodies begging, arching against one another as his hands buried themselves deeply within her.

Her moans driving him to insanity.

Pushing.

Begging her once more for forgiveness.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Dressing Room

The colours of the hand-made costumes and masques lined the walls of the theatre dressing room, vibrant sequined pinks and sunshine yellows threaded and weaved across hangers and vintage dressers.

The smell of sweet musk and jasmine filling her senses, as his lips came down against the arch of her neck, his tongue tip-toeing around the length of her collar-bone, leaving a cold trail of goose-bumps in its path.

A slight moan escaping her lips.

Her urges and built up tension finally being released.

As his lips carried on their teasing, she felt soft silk rope being tied tightly around her wrists, his body forcing her back against the coldness of the theatre walls.

Her pussy now becoming wet with anticipation, as his hands weaved around her wrists, his lips promising her dirty things, that she knew she would give into.

He was everything to her.

A dirty obsession that she kept to herself.

Her eyes now blind, all she could feel was his breath against her body, his fingertips removing her sequined costume, pulling her knickers aside as he played in the depths of her wetness, her arousal deceiving her against his clever manipulations.

Her body begging him to give her more.

The ache within her now burning brightly and painfully against her every limb.

The sensations now amazing, as his fingers pushed between her folds, dropping to his knees to lap at her inner most parts.

Her body arching against him, trying to pull his head in more closely.

Her thighs wrapping him.

Her moans echoing against the theatre walls, as she could feel her orgasm building.

His hands roaming and teasing the peaks of her breasts, now swollen with desire.

Her body urgent for relief, his cock now entering deeply into her, pushing her open almost painfully.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, his familiar scent filling her senses, making her body ache even more.

His thrusts urgent against her, as her orgasm hit her, her body falling like star dust against him, as his filled her deeply.

Her pink lipstick and glittered eyes now smudged from their games.

Hidden from everyone else.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

The dead

The familiar sharpness of his teeth teased the inner flesh of her petite neck.

Her breath catching deeply at the fear that now ran through her veins, coursing like mad obsessed glitter.

His bites always hurt …

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Memories of insanity

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

Gallery

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

Infatuation

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

Theatre

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

Possession

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

Kiss

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

Him

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

Chamber

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

Muse

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

La petite mort

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

Petals

The olive trees looked alive with colour against her bright blue eyes, the curve of their storks obvious against the brittleness of the oak.

The garden feasting with the soft decadence of early spring.

The gentle hum of the wind picking up the falling petals as they surrounded her feet in an array of sun kissed oranges and pinks, her toes curling in pleasure as the soft petals touched her every step.

This was her secret garden of beauty and life.

She could only see him from a distance, his olive skin glistening like mirrors against the sun now looming closely above them, his hands burying into the ground beneath him planting seeds and small cherry trees, small dirt particles sticking to his fingers.

When he turned for one second in time she could feel the well known thump of her heart caressing her chest uncontrollably as his eyes met hers across the sloping fields of green, her hands shaking slightly at her sudden need and deviant thoughts that were now straining her consciousness.

She wanted him.

To have him straining against her doll like body, as the breeze brought them closer to release.

She wanted to taste his arousal flowing into her mouth, coating her every inch.

The clear drop of liquid grazing delicately against her tongue or running down her thighs.

Her knickers now wet with her own arousal as she watched him dig deeper, imagining his hands pushing into her.

Ripping out her secrets.

His fingertips working her hidden crevices, until the familiar sight of her silky wetness fell down his hands.

His tongue lapping it up immensely.

“I want you.” She whispered against the wind, her back now leaning against a willow tree, tiny shades of grass tickling in between her toes.

“You want what?” Replied his voice huskily against her neck.

“Oh I, I mean, oh well I.” She replied, tripping over her own words, her throat tightening harshly.

“What do you want?” He asked again, his hands now falling to her waist, her corset tugging on her ribs.

“I, I want you.” She replied, blushing crimson and looking to the floor, covering her embarrassment from his searching eyes.

“I see.” He said, his hands now untying the tightly woven rope at the back of her deep emerald gown, allowing it to drop the floor in a pool around her bare feet.

“Oh Sir, I can’t, I mustn’t!” She squealed against his chest. Her body now left openly in her black corset, matching suspenders and french sewn knickers, each twist obvious.

“Oh but you must!” He replied laughing at her innocence, his mouth and lips wrapping around her neck and lower breasts.

Sighs now freely escaping her mouth.

“Oh Sir.” She moaned, her body falling into his utter control as he ran his hands down to her suspenders and knickers, removing them over her thighs and tiny petite toes.

Her body shaking slightly in the evening sun as it started to set beautifully against the fall of leaves and the protection of mountains.

“I will show you how a man is supposed to pleasure a woman.” He said as he bent to the floor, his lips and tongue fully engulfing her pussy, her body falling limp against his ministrations as he worked her faster with his expert tongue.

His fingers delving into her warmth, pushing and opening her fully.

Her mind now gone.

Her eyes settling on the small drifts of dandelion seeds floating around in the air.

“Oh you taste so amazing!” He announced as he stood up to undo his dark blue trousers to release his beautiful cock, that now stood proud and glistening against the shade of the downy trees.

The smell of his arousal seeping through her senses.

His body lunging forward and lifting her thighs up and open to receive him in one swift motion.

Both moans now scattering in to the air freely.

They moved with rhythm and with grace.

Locked together in the garden of secrets.

As they burst as one.

Their spirits released.

Their bodies falling to the floor.

Among the path of pinks and oranges.

 

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe