January 26, 2011 § 2 Comments

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


August 19, 2010 § 1 Comment

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.


Begging her once more for forgiveness.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Dressing Room

April 17, 2010 § 1 Comment

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

March 14, 2010 § 2 Comments

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

November 25, 2009 § 1 Comment

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


October 29, 2009 § 2 Comments

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.




She was lost against those images.

Those memories.


© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe


October 9, 2009 § 3 Comments

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.



Arching her back.

She was his infatuation.


© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe