February 26, 2009 § 5 Comments

He takes his time with her.

Even when the moonlight settles against the swaying illusion of the dark oak trees.

His hands searching through her layers when she’s vulnerable and falling.

Keeping her his secret.

Her existence only captured between the pages of his diary.

Her wrists tied against him.

Her echoes of pleasure tumbling into the world around them.

Escaping and running like wild horses into arched fields of purples and greens.

Their obsession and lust caught in a tight web of silver and rain.

Perfectly formed.

Pictures of her body lifting and curving to life against the power of his body and strength.

His lips and hands his teachers.

Running along her.



Painting her beauty.

As he makes her cum.


Her screams falling.

Her passion exploding.

Only for his eyes too see.


 © Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe



February 18, 2009 § 4 Comments

Simple twists of water trickle down her body.

Tumbling like falling horses.

The moonlight teasing every curve of her openly.

Creating her as its divine canvas.

Shades of orange and yellow falling like tiny little stars.

Crashing against her.

She’s been here so many times before.

In this same position.

She can’t stop thinking about him.

The way he sounds against her neck.

Whispering and teasing.

Making her smile.

His smell addictive to her senses.

Musky and sweet.

She can see his hands entwining with hers as the water falls.

Brushing away their worries.

Their sounds illuminating around the room.

She can’t stop touching herself.

Imagining him there.

Her fingers pushing in further.

His cock sliding fully into her mouth.

Hard and urgently.

His hands in her hair.

Pulling and controlling.

The feel of him entering her.

Their bodies creating a halo of pleasure.

Pulling out all of their secrets as the candles around them flicker and faint.

Her fingers working faster.

She’s obsessed.

Missing him.

She begs under the falling water.

Begs for him to touch her.

To make her cum against his skin.

His smile.

His taste.

Their bodies floating like a feather.

Never to part.

As she convulses against her own hands.

The only thought in her mind is of him.


 © Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

Last night.

February 15, 2009 § 5 Comments

Last night as she walked to the hotel room door her coat felt tighter than usual and her face tinged with a slgiht blushing red at the thought of other hotel occupents knowing what she had on underneath it.

She knew he would be waiting.

Lounging out on the couch in his suit with a mouth full of bubbling champagne.

His body poised in a gentle pose waiting for her to enter.

She’d spent a long time getting ready.

Pulling on her dark silk stockings, rolling them carefully up her thighs.

Tying on the emerald corset he had laid perfectly on the bed for her.

Curling her hair elegantly and artfully brushing on her makeup.

Her familiar rose scent brushing against her neck.

She felt dirty, almost dreamlike walking through the maze of the hotel lobby.

Room number 73.

Her hand raising to knock on the dark pine.

His deep husky voice sounding out for her to come in.

The dim lights making it harder to see where he was.

Her hands walking up her body to drop her black tunic coat to the floor in a pile around her stiletto heels.

His gaze falling to her dressed frame.



Just for him, as he had asked in the letter.

There were no words between them.

Animal instincts now kicking in.

Mouths locked.

Her consciousness gone when dropping to her knees to take the full length of his cock in her mouth.

Delving and tasting.

Moans and grunts whispering around the room.

They could not hold back much longer.

His fingers pushing into her wetness.

Lacing down her thighs.

His cock in her arse.


Turning there lost souls into the night.



Her lips painting patterns on his.

As their bodies exploded.

In a maze.

Only their own.


© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe


February 14, 2009 § 3 Comments

She’s got her black silk stockings unwrapped …


© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe


February 8, 2009 § 2 Comments

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.




Locked to each other.

In a time long gone.


© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe

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