sparkle on…



sparkle the showgirl…


Oh hiiiii

I have been working on new pasties for next weekends fun….what do you think?


its been far too long – see who else is feeling oh so sinful on this glorious sunday:

Sinful Sunday

I sent her an email

I sent her an email.

I sent her an email explaining why I had needed her report on time this week to take to the Directors.  To explain why this weeks report had been so important – both for her and for me.  To explain that I now felt humiliated and embarrassed at having to explain to the Directors that I had not had her report on time and now I would not be able to complete as requested this week.

I sent her an email to explain just what would now happen.

She would need to stay after 5pm. Wait until all of the others in the office had left and then  approach my door.  She was to knock twice and wait.  I would keep her waiting until I had cleared the desk – relishing the now quiet of the outside office.  When I call her to enter the room she was to open her blouse to the waist band of her skirt and to stand in front of me.  Taking a steel ruler from my walnut desk drawer I will slap her hard across the underside of each of her breasts.  She is not to pout.  If she does pout I will slap them again – this time across the full curve of her breast.  Her skin stinging, but protected by the fabric of her bra I am sure she will feel uncomfortable, but relieved. I know she will relax and start to button her blouse again and I will switch at her hands and demand she removes her bra – if she refuses, which I am sure she will, I will stand and tear at her straps, wrenching them down her shoulders so her breasts are exposed and naked, my nails raking down her flesh as I am vicious and uncaring.

I know she will catch her breath, understanding that is she moves I will do worse, much worse as I have done before.  She will be unsure as to how far I will go, how far I will force her, so she will bite her lip and stand as still as possible.

Standing in front of her I will slap at her nipples with the steel rule, hard, harder as I see them stiffen, harder still as I can see them redden and I can see tears springing to the corners of her eyes.  She will try to pull back as her skin stings from the blows and I will grasp her hair and pull her close to me, crushing her breast in my hand, pinching her nipple hard.  She will cry out and I will pull her head back by the hair close at the back of her neck and smear my own glossy lipsticked mouth across her throat and encircle her sore nipple with my mouth.  Sucking at one breast, her head held firmly in my other fist she will be unable to pull away.  She will not want to pull away.  She will part her legs, slightly.  Imperceptibly.  I will feel her skirt pull tighter across her thighs.  imperceptibly.  I will feel the change in her breathing as she tries to hold back her moans.  Imperceptibly.

‘I am sorry’ she will say quietly, quickly, almost under her breath.

‘I am sure you are.  You are sorry?’

‘Mistress’ she adds. Imperceptibly.  As we have agreed she will after 5pm. And I will feel her thighs start to shake slightly

‘I am sorry’ she will say, faster and louder this time as I start to mouth her nipple, licking at her, flicking my tongue where I have slapped and whipped, her head still held firmly back my other hand now on her arse, my fingers digging in to her fleshy rump.  She will gasp as my wet mouth slips from her nipple and I kiss the redness of the skin on her breast and my fingers search out the slit in the back of her skirt.  She will start to push her arse against my hand reaching down her skirt and I will pinch at the inside of her thighs.

‘Stop’ I will say brutally and still pulling her hair I will force her face down over the desk behind me. Pushing her face hard into the desk I roughly pull her skirt up over the round of her arse and tear her tights down.

‘Do not move’

‘No Mistress’ I can barely hear her words coming from the wood of the desk

Cheeks now high I step back to admire them.  Her arse, open and naked for me.  Rounded, soft, pale, velvet, smooth, fleshy.  She will part her legs for me so I can see her cunt.  Try to entice me.  Try to stop what she knows is inevitable.  Try to encourage what she knows is inevitable.  I will almost want to leave her there – so be humiliated as I was by the Directors, her embarrassment growing with each moment that I just stand and look at her bare naked fleshy arse.  She will start to swallow her cries from frustration at wanting to feel the steel and knowing that if she moves I will whip her all the harder when we get home.  I know her cunt will be wet, aching.

‘Never. Be. Late. Again.’  I whip her hard with the steel of the ruler.  Each stroke leaving a welt across her pale skin.  Four red stripes across her pale white arse. Each stroke will cause her to cry out, her hands clenching against the sides of the desk.  After each stroke her arse rising just a little higher.  Imperceptibly.

And then I will turn and leave her there.  Naked and face down on the desk.  I will walk out of the door and leave her there.

To see other wonderfully wicked writing this week

Wicked Wednesday

The French House.

This week we have a prompt that made me dreamy for the summer, dreamy for a holiday, dreamy for laying in the sunshine…..

Hot.  Far too hot.   The sun, harsh but half hidden by the trees behind me bleach the pages of my open book making the words harder to see.  My sunglasses repeatedly slip down my nose and I can barely lift my arm to replace them.  My head back drooping against the sun lounger, every crease on my oiled body wet. I raise one leg and can feel the sweat dripping along the back of my thigh from my knee,  The sweet tiny drip seeps into the edge of my bikini bottom and drys instantly.

S lays beside me, possibly asleep, his book abandoned on the floor, his hand lolling close to the grass.  The rest of the garden is empty.  The house is empty.  There is no sound other than the occasional lowing from the cows in the nearby farm and the faint buzzing of the insects that seem to lazily search amongst the flowers for pollen.  There has not been a passing car for at least 20 minutes.  Summer at the French House.

I become aware of the sunlight as it flickers through the leaves and dances and glitters on my skin.  Unable to resist anything that twinkles I trace the shifting outlines of the sun patches with the tip of my finger on my hot skin.  It darts across my stomach and up across my breasts as the trees sway in the slight breeze and I can feel my skin prickle appreciatively, both from the touch of my fingers and the from the fan breath of air.  My fingers linger over the swell of my breast, feeling the warmth of the scant fabric and my mind starts to wander, thinking of  deliciously heaving sweating bodies sliding against each other, clinging dripping fabrics, the sounds of deep thrusting, the sounds of fucking, the sounds of many orgasms building together – sounds of another place, another place.

My nipple respond almost instantly.  I can feel its bud-like hardness through the flimsy fibres of my bikini top as I skim my finger over it.  I flick my nipple, lightly at first and then harder and can feel my cunt twitch in response, I catch myself involuntarily groaning and bite down on my lip.  I glance to my side, S is still sleeping thankfully, it is far too hot to involve him in my filthy thoughts – I just know I couldn’t have his body on mine.  Too hot.  If I just slip two fingers inside my bikini I am sure he wouldn’t notice.  My nail grazes my nipple as I try to reach inside with the least contact possible and I can feel a dull throb starting to build in my clit.  If I undo the lacing of my bikini I am sure I can lazily play with my nipples  and I am sure I will be much cooler – the triangles seem to fall off all too easily and lay abandoned on the grass.

My fingers devour my breasts as if I have not felt them for weeks.  I had meant to slowly and lazily tease my nipples until my interest in them was saited – but instead I start to maul them, the mixed sweat and oil enable my hands glide over them leading me down, down, down into thoughts of previous weekends.  I can almost smell the sweat from that room in another place, the smell of cum, the smell of rubber, the smell of women and men and men and men and women and women and fingers and dildos and cunts and cocks.  I pull both my legs up and squeeze my knees in tight to try to close in on my clit.  To work the pressure of my thighs against the throb that I know, just know will need to be released.  The heat of the day, the oil on my skin, the slow droning of the insects, the filth in my mind…. I look to the side – S has shifted slightly, his head turned slightly towards me, but his eyes still firmly closed and his chest falling in a regular rhythm – so I work my hand along my stomach and over the fabric that encases my mound.  I finger the edges of my bikini, I am wet both from my cunt and from the sweat, indistinguishable.  I lift my bottom slightly and follow the seam, allowing my finger to dip just inside my bikini and between my lips.  I moan again quietly and drop my head to one side to gaze at the full length of S’s near naked body.  His long legs crossed at the ankles casually, I can just see the outline of his cock in his shorts, his hand laying absently across his stomach. The hair on his stomach wet. His thighs. The feel of his cock grinding into me. I remember him in that place, holding my hips high, his cock thrust deep inside me as she held herself over my mouth, her juices dripping down my chin, his cock fucking and fucking…

I am tearing at my bikini knickers, now forcing my fingers deep into the folds of my lips, deeper into my cunt, one finger then two to try to satisfy the throb that is building.  Easing them out, teasing my clitoris with my thumb, then loosing myself, rhythmically fingering and fucking my pussy over and over and over and over……

I orgasm hard.  My head back, eyes closed tightly. I  raise my ankles from the sun lounger and squeeze my knees together trapping my fingers hard against my clit, the pulsations making me convulse and cry out and pant. I keep my eyes shut tight, rocking my hand back and forth until the pulsing subsides, my fingers now slick with sweat.  And oil.  And cum.

I drop my legs back down, now exhausted and open my eyes.  At first I think the sun has gone in, but I realise it is S standing over me, his cock over my face, his fist around his cock, pumping, pumping until he cums, spurting hot across my cheeks.

I smile.  S smiles.  It was hot.  Far too hot.

If you enjoy being just that little bit Wicked especially on a Wednesday come see who else is writing:

Wicked Wednesday