Photo
FINAL CALL FOR THE NEW STORY ..
A return to writing, and my first filthy tale in quite some time.
ANYONE TEMPTED TO SHARE A FEW NEW NOTES ON THE STORY AND I FANCY POSTING MORE FILTHY EROTICA IN THE NEXT FEW HOURS.
Decent deal? 
…
A sinful picture, an opening paragraph to set the scene …
“As an older man the challenge was to find a pretty Miss - in bars, coffee shops, stores - ask a question, apply a little charm with a spark of flirtation, the flourish of conversation pertaining to books, movies, music, or wherever such spoken moments might lead.”
[Click to read onwards, and watch as things get naughtier, kinkier, perhaps with the odd twist or two in the tale.]

…
As ever, all likes and reblogs are both very much appreciated, and mean I write more. I have my eye on a few pictures which could translate into filthy fiction, so if you enjoy the above, please celebrate it in some way.
Likewise all messages are eager received. Anon is set to ‘off’, but all correspondence will be treated as strictly confidential and will not be published.
…
Hoping you enjoy, as always. ;)
>The Delectable Mr Deviant. x

FINAL CALL FOR THE NEW STORY ..

A return to writing, and my first filthy tale in quite some time.

ANYONE TEMPTED TO SHARE A FEW NEW NOTES ON THE STORY AND I FANCY POSTING MORE FILTHY EROTICA IN THE NEXT FEW HOURS.

Decent deal? 

A sinful picture, an opening paragraph to set the scene …

As an older man the challenge was to find a pretty Miss - in bars, coffee shops, stores - ask a question, apply a little charm with a spark of flirtation, the flourish of conversation pertaining to books, movies, music, or wherever such spoken moments might lead.”

[Click to read onwards, and watch as things get naughtier, kinkier, perhaps with the odd twist or two in the tale.]

As an older man the challenge was to find a pretty Miss - in bars, coffee shops, stores - ask a question, apply a little charm with a spark of flirtation, the flourish of conversation pertaining to books, movies, music, or wherever such spoken moments might lead.  The common denominator a cheekiness in insisting he was only in that particular City or town for a single day, followed by a number written on a scrap of paper and pushed forward.   That he’d enjoyed such ebullient discussion, their smile, such a brief moment in time - and would dearly love to spend the evening in their company.  …  It was their reaction which informed him as to where things might lead, but not always.   Sometimes a blushing rebuttal, that the Miss in question was seeing someone, could light a candle burning for him. Patience leading to a slow, continual melting.   Miss doing something she really knew she shouldn’t. A perfect, dirty crime for a single, sordid night.  Often-times he might invite them to dinner, smooth any initial impression out with further spark and bluster, to then offer a nightcap, a journey to his hotel room fuelled with the static crackle of fuck-lust and deliberation on their part - and judge the reaction thereafter.  Sometimes a Miss would flat out say yes, and it was those Ladies in particular he knew he could do with whatever he wished.  If he was due to meet a number of women, a later brashness or arrogance could have interesting effects.   Many a time this lead to an evening of filth with one, who, once fucked and finished was soon shepherded away in favour of a scintillating late night foray with a naughty girl arriving a short time later.   …  A favourite game was to then strip them completely naked, devouring their reaction with eyes, and transferring that radiance into sumptuous soft kisses over each newly exposed area of trembling skin.  The electric instance of his hand smoothing up a skirt covered thigh, under the material into darkness, brushing dangerously higher and higher.   Perhaps a fingertip touch over the front of underwear, perhaps not - depending on how just how teasing he was feeling.  The unpick of a blouse revealing an ornate bra, kissing slowly all over it whilst reaching around to gently unpick the clasp.   Tormenting sighs brushing over hardening nipples, a soft suck, a delicate pinch of teeth.   Purrs to moans from Miss, a press of thighs together revealing intimately the extent of the rapture in which he had her caged.   Devious knowledge of her mindset becoming ever more obvious against the cotton of her panties, even if he didn’t steal a glance towards just how affected she truly was.   A blindfold, a gag, restraining cuffs with belt like clasps and a long, cold chain mocking scintillating tremors over increasingly confounded nerves.  …  He could to take her anywhere at this point - against the hotel wall, over the couch, atop the bed - it drove him wild to take her out into the hallway, or into a supply room and tease her.  One arm restraining both of her hands high above her head. Devious fingers mischievous between her legs.  Début manipulations of an index digit audaciously probing betwixt her lips, dipping inside her just a bit, before jostling her sin over her sensitive, tingling clit.  …  Sometimes language was used - the words, at times, soft and playful - in others far more scathing, luxuriant in mocking the naughty sort who would dare to do such a thing as this.   A miss bound, gagged and naked in front of a stranger, being finger-fucked by him, yet getting wetter and wetter, now fatally closer and closer to coming against his devious tactility.  Intermittently he chose to let the velocity of silence echo and sing. A Miss alone with thoughts of lust and shame as he enacted his every desire against her wanton cunt.  …  In moments where he and a chosen Miss had been exposed to a hallway, a number of devious instances had occurred.   Most often than not those folks stumbling upon a suited Sir fingering a naked Miss are too British and polite to say anything, scuttling off to their rooms at first sight of the sort of danger and games their own relationship had lost [or perhaps re-igniting their desires and inspiring quite the fuck!].  At one point a couple had arrived on the floor ready to go to their room. He had no idea if the girl he’s stripped was bisexual, but soon she had a business woman tonguing lavishly over her pussy, the lady herself raising her skirt enough to rub herself feverishly over the red lace revealed.  Both he and her companion unzipped and masturbated tempestuously over the woman’s face and the girl’s clit, soaking the both with hot, sticky sin - as she guided the girl towards a breathless climax.   The chosen Miss left sobbing with desire against the wall, near paused, as both men licked the spunk from the woman’s face, her partner’s hand moving to finish her off in her jeans, as she sucked the businessman’s cock clean of spunk, and hard again.   All then headed off to the couples room - the Miss guided along by her chains - and into a den of further deviance.   The businessman fucking the wife, the partner the naughty Miss - she still gagged, still purring, lost in darkness, so many orgasms, as the tongue of another woman and two hard cocks ravished her.  …  Another time a security guard later admitted to wanking as he watched the camera as the businessman fingered a woman he’d met spilling out of a party.   She was out with friends, leaving children at home, bored of so much mundanity between her fellow party dwellers.  It was she that had taken control, insisting they go back to his hotel.   Turning the tables she sucked his cock lavishly, delighting in his moans, his primal thrusts against her mouth ravenously using it as he would her cunt.   As he was close to cumming she spat against his cock, tightened her grip around it and milked him off all over her blouse, ruining the material, watching his eyes devour her as the cum ran under her cleavage, feeling his shaft twitch as he imagined licking and sucking her tits.   As he moved to do just that, she pushed him on the bed, loosening his cock from his suit and riding him, her libidinous desires soiling the crotch deliberately.   Pushing her hands to his chest, she knotted his tie and throttled him, roused by his fight for breath, the delight of her control, he twitched deep inside her, as she fucked him faster and harder.  On the cusp of a shattering climax, she desired his if only to know that she’d stolen him completely, his cry would pushing her shivers and delight to greater echelons.   As she came, she rolled off him, dressed herself and left.   He lay there, quivering, cock rising anew.   But she was gone. And it was all he could do to reach down and tease himself, lost in the blur of just what had happened.  …  He soon showered thereafter, wandering back out into the City seeking a fresh face to charm and fuck.   But keeping an eye out for the filthy little fuck who turned the tables, and acutely responsible for the restrained ridge throbbing hard between his legs.  

As ever, all likes and reblogs are both very much appreciated, and mean I write more. I have my eye on a few pictures which could translate into filthy fiction, so if you enjoy the above, please celebrate it in some way.

Likewise all messages are eager received. Anon is set to ‘off’, but all correspondence will be treated as strictly confidential and will not be published.

Hoping you enjoy, as always. ;)

>The Delectable Mr Deviant. x

Photo
As an older man the challenge was to find a pretty Miss - in bars, coffee shops, stores - ask a question, apply a little charm with a spark of flirtation, the flourish of conversation pertaining to books, movies, music, or wherever such spoken moments might lead.
The common denominator a cheekiness in insisting he was only in that particular City or town for a single day, followed by a number written on a scrap of paper and pushed forward. 
That he’d enjoyed such ebullient discussion, their smile, such a brief moment in time - and would dearly love to spend the evening in their company.
…
It was their reaction which informed him as to where things might lead, but not always. 
Sometimes a blushing rebuttal, that the Miss in question was seeing someone, could light a candle burning for him. Patience leading to a slow, continual melting. 
Miss doing something she really knew she shouldn’t. A perfect, dirty crime for a single, sordid night.
Often-times he might invite them to dinner, smooth any initial impression out with further spark and bluster, to then offer a nightcap, a journey to his hotel room fuelled with the static crackle of fuck-lust and deliberation on their part - and judge the reaction thereafter.
Sometimes a Miss would flat out say yes, and it was those Ladies in particular he knew he could do with whatever he wished.
If he was due to meet a number of women, a later brashness or arrogance could have interesting effects. 
Many a time this lead to an evening of filth with one, who, once fucked and finished was soon shepherded away in favour of a scintillating late night foray with a naughty girl arriving a short time later. 
…
A favourite game was to then strip them completely naked, devouring their reaction with eyes, and transferring that radiance into sumptuous soft kisses over each newly exposed area of trembling skin.
The electric instance of his hand smoothing up a skirt covered thigh, under the material into darkness, brushing dangerously higher and higher. 
Perhaps a fingertip touch over the front of underwear, perhaps not - depending on how just how teasing he was feeling.
The unpick of a blouse revealing an ornate bra, kissing slowly all over it whilst reaching around to gently unpick the clasp.
 Tormenting sighs brushing over hardening nipples, a soft suck, a delicate pinch of teeth. 
Purrs to moans from Miss, a press of thighs together revealing intimately the extent of the rapture in which he had her caged. 
Devious knowledge of her mindset becoming ever more obvious against the cotton of her panties, even if he didn’t steal a glance towards just how affected she truly was. 
A blindfold, a gag, restraining cuffs with belt like clasps and a long, cold chain mocking scintillating tremors over increasingly confounded nerves.
…
He could to take her anywhere at this point - against the hotel wall, over the couch, atop the bed - it drove him wild to take her out into the hallway, or into a supply room and tease her.
One arm restraining both of her hands high above her head. Devious fingers mischievous between her legs.
Début manipulations of an index digit audaciously probing betwixt her lips, dipping inside her just a bit, before jostling her sin over her sensitive, tingling clit.
…
Sometimes language was used - the words, at times, soft and playful - in others far more scathing, luxuriant in mocking the naughty sort who would dare to do such a thing as this. 
A miss bound, gagged and naked in front of a stranger, being finger-fucked by him, yet getting wetter and wetter, now fatally closer and closer to coming against his devious tactility.
Intermittently he chose to let the velocity of silence echo and sing. A Miss alone with thoughts of lust and shame as he enacted his every desire against her wanton cunt.
…
In moments where he and a chosen Miss had been exposed to a hallway, a number of devious instances had occurred. 
Most often than not those folks stumbling upon a suited Sir fingering a naked Miss are too British and polite to say anything, scuttling off to their rooms at first sight of the sort of danger and games their own relationship had lost [or perhaps re-igniting their desires and inspiring quite the fuck!].
At one point a couple had arrived on the floor ready to go to their room. He had no idea if the girl he’s stripped was bisexual, but soon she had a business woman tonguing lavishly over her pussy, the lady herself raising her skirt enough to rub herself feverishly over the red lace revealed.
Both he and her companion unzipped and masturbated tempestuously over the woman’s face and the girl’s clit, soaking the both with hot, sticky sin - as she guided the girl towards a breathless climax. 
The chosen Miss left sobbing with desire against the wall, near paused, as both men licked the spunk from the woman’s face, her partner’s hand moving to finish her off under her knickers, as she sucked the businessman’s cock clean of spunk, and hard again. 
All then headed off to the couples room - the Miss guided along by her chains - and into a den of further deviance. 
The businessman fucking the wife, the partner the naughty Miss - she still gagged, still purring, lost in darkness, so many orgasms, as the tongue of another woman and two hard cocks ravished her.
…
Another time a security guard later admitted to wanking as he watched the camera as the businessman fingered a woman he’d met spilling out of a party. 
She was out with friends, leaving children at home, bored of so much mundanity between her fellow party dwellers.
It was she that had taken control, insisting they go back to his hotel. 
Turning the tables she sucked his cock lavishly, delighting in his moans, his primal thrusts against her mouth ravenously using it as he would her cunt. 
As he was close to cumming she spat against his cock, tightened her grip around it and milked him off all over her blouse, ruining the material, watching his eyes devour her as the cum ran under her cleavage, feeling his shaft twitch as he imagined licking and sucking her tits. 
As he moved to do just that, she pushed him on the bed, loosening his cock from his suit and riding him, her libidinous desires soiling the crotch deliberately. 
Pushing her hands to his chest, she knotted his tie and throttled him, roused by his fight for breath, the delight of her control, he twitched deep inside her, as she fucked him faster and harder.
On the cusp of a shattering climax, she desired his if only to know that she’d stolen him completely, his cry would pushing her shivers and delight to greater echelons. 
As she came, she rolled off him, dressed herself and left. 
He lay there, quivering, cock rising anew. 
But she was gone. And it was all he could do to reach down and tease himself, lost in the blur of just what had happened.
…
He soon showered thereafter, wandering back out into the City seeking a fresh face to charm and fuck. 
But keeping an eye out for the filthy little fuck who turned the tables, and acutely responsible for the restrained ridge throbbing hard between his legs.  

As an older man the challenge was to find a pretty Miss - in bars, coffee shops, stores - ask a question, apply a little charm with a spark of flirtation, the flourish of conversation pertaining to books, movies, music, or wherever such spoken moments might lead.

The common denominator a cheekiness in insisting he was only in that particular City or town for a single day, followed by a number written on a scrap of paper and pushed forward.

That he’d enjoyed such ebullient discussion, their smile, such a brief moment in time - and would dearly love to spend the evening in their company.

It was their reaction which informed him as to where things might lead, but not always.

Sometimes a blushing rebuttal, that the Miss in question was seeing someone, could light a candle burning for him. Patience leading to a slow, continual melting.

Miss doing something she really knew she shouldn’t. A perfect, dirty crime for a single, sordid night.

Often-times he might invite them to dinner, smooth any initial impression out with further spark and bluster, to then offer a nightcap, a journey to his hotel room fuelled with the static crackle of fuck-lust and deliberation on their part - and judge the reaction thereafter.

Sometimes a Miss would flat out say yes, and it was those Ladies in particular he knew he could do with whatever he wished.

If he was due to meet a number of women, a later brashness or arrogance could have interesting effects.

Many a time this lead to an evening of filth with one, who, once fucked and finished was soon shepherded away in favour of a scintillating late night foray with a naughty girl arriving a short time later. 

A favourite game was to then strip them completely naked, devouring their reaction with eyes, and transferring that radiance into sumptuous soft kisses over each newly exposed area of trembling skin.

The electric instance of his hand smoothing up a skirt covered thigh, under the material into darkness, brushing dangerously higher and higher.

Perhaps a fingertip touch over the front of underwear, perhaps not - depending on how just how teasing he was feeling.

The unpick of a blouse revealing an ornate bra, kissing slowly all over it whilst reaching around to gently unpick the clasp.

Tormenting sighs brushing over hardening nipples, a soft suck, a delicate pinch of teeth.

Purrs to moans from Miss, a press of thighs together revealing intimately the extent of the rapture in which he had her caged.

Devious knowledge of her mindset becoming ever more obvious against the cotton of her panties, even if he didn’t steal a glance towards just how affected she truly was. 

A blindfold, a gag, restraining cuffs with belt like clasps and a long, cold chain mocking scintillating tremors over increasingly confounded nerves.

He could to take her anywhere at this point - against the hotel wall, over the couch, atop the bed - it drove him wild to take her out into the hallway, or into a supply room and tease her.

One arm restraining both of her hands high above her head. Devious fingers mischievous between her legs.

Début manipulations of an index digit audaciously probing betwixt her lips, dipping inside her just a bit, before jostling her sin over her sensitive, tingling clit.

Sometimes language was used - the words, at times, soft and playful - in others far more scathing, luxuriant in mocking the naughty sort who would dare to do such a thing as this.

A miss bound, gagged and naked in front of a stranger, being finger-fucked by him, yet getting wetter and wetter, now fatally closer and closer to coming against his devious tactility.

Intermittently he chose to let the velocity of silence echo and sing. A Miss alone with thoughts of lust and shame as he enacted his every desire against her wanton cunt.

In moments where he and a chosen Miss had been exposed to a hallway, a number of devious instances had occurred.

Most often than not those folks stumbling upon a suited Sir fingering a naked Miss are too British and polite to say anything, scuttling off to their rooms at first sight of the sort of danger and games their own relationship had lost [or perhaps re-igniting their desires and inspiring quite the fuck!].

At one point a couple had arrived on the floor ready to go to their room. He had no idea if the girl he’s stripped was bisexual, but soon she had a business woman tonguing lavishly over her pussy, the lady herself raising her skirt enough to rub herself feverishly over the red lace revealed.

Both he and her companion unzipped and masturbated tempestuously over the woman’s face and the girl’s clit, soaking the both with hot, sticky sin - as she guided the girl towards a breathless climax.

The chosen Miss left sobbing with desire against the wall, near paused, as both men licked the spunk from the woman’s face, her partner’s hand moving to finish her off under her knickers, as she sucked the businessman’s cock clean of spunk, and hard again. 

All then headed off to the couples room - the Miss guided along by her chains - and into a den of further deviance.

The businessman fucking the wife, the partner the naughty Miss - she still gagged, still purring, lost in darkness, so many orgasms, as the tongue of another woman and two hard cocks ravished her.

Another time a security guard later admitted to wanking as he watched the camera as the businessman fingered a woman he’d met spilling out of a party.

She was out with friends, leaving children at home, bored of so much mundanity between her fellow party dwellers.

It was she that had taken control, insisting they go back to his hotel.

Turning the tables she sucked his cock lavishly, delighting in his moans, his primal thrusts against her mouth ravenously using it as he would her cunt.

As he was close to cumming she spat against his cock, tightened her grip around it and milked him off all over her blouse, ruining the material, watching his eyes devour her as the cum ran under her cleavage, feeling his shaft twitch as he imagined licking and sucking her tits. 

As he moved to do just that, she pushed him on the bed, loosening his cock from his suit and riding him, her libidinous desires soiling the crotch deliberately.

Pushing her hands to his chest, she knotted his tie and throttled him, roused by his fight for breath, the delight of her control, he twitched deep inside her, as she fucked him faster and harder.

On the cusp of a shattering climax, she desired his if only to know that she’d stolen him completely, his cry would pushing her shivers and delight to greater echelons. 

As she came, she rolled off him, dressed herself and left.

He lay there, quivering, cock rising anew.

But she was gone. And it was all he could do to reach down and tease himself, lost in the blur of just what had happened.

He soon showered thereafter, wandering back out into the City seeking a fresh face to charm and fuck.

But keeping an eye out for the filthy little fuck who turned the tables, and acutely responsible for the restrained ridge throbbing hard between his legs.  

(Source: appartengo, via agoodsubishard2find)

Photoset

As her husband grew ever more distant, she wondered if he was having an affair, else if her worst nightmare was coming true - that the arrogance she’d loved about him during their younger years was become ever more bitter and vicious.

Bewilderment turned to anger, anger became pleasure as she bought more toys and started to explore erotica, videos, the sort of mindset that existed beyond anything the two of them had done.

It was confiding in this to a friend which lead to her being invited to an ‘event’. The sort of thing she’d never dared attend prior to this - and given that the whole adventure was kept secret from her for the most part, she may not have attended otherwise.

Laying on the floor was a young man, still, expectant, obedient even. It was then she noticed the marks across the boy’s body, over his back, his chest and stomach. His form trembling, emitting faint sobs.

A million emotions flooded through her, from pity to empathy, of wanting to undo the binds and free him. Yet she delighted in seeing his flayed purring form, and realised just how wet she’d become from watching him. She shivered. She ached. She was transfixed between shamed and aroused.

The silence was broken with her friend handing her a whip, instructions whispered to her that she should take out all the frustration she was feeling from her husband, all of that anguish, out on the writhing teen in front of her. 

Nerves at first, then more cajoling. A first strike, somewhat light and reluctant, the boy cried, purred, moved again. As he turned into the light slightly she noticed his rock hard cock against the floor. She noticed a dirty jewel sticky amidst the tip. She hit him, harder, more. 

She licked her lips as his cries grew louder. Subsequent strikes blistered harder, cracked previously pink marks into bruises. Further hits, doused in venomous language blushed the purple into streaks of shimmering red.

He ached and throbbed and turned. Track marks cried deep red tears. His cock was harder, more delicious than anything she’d ever seen. She wanted to suck him, ride him. Smooth her hands and fingertips over every inch of his ache, hear his most primal cry and she made cum cum over and over and over. 

But she wasn’t allowed. “He’d been a very, very bad boy” and deserved far deeper punishment than she was allowed to give him.

Watching on she saw as other took her devious illustrations and took them in new directions, and paints of pinks, purples and crimson took on new forms. Wax was poured over the wounds and the man-child sobbed. Yet as her eyes misted up over the hurt, his cock continued to throb, he bit his lip with pleasure, purred within the aftershock of each spontaneous strike, of every new soul pouring language and violence upon him.

Before she knew it the room had blurred, her fingers were fevered over her jeans, rubbing herself through them - and it was only on the cusp of climax she realised how wanton she’d become. Wanting him, devouring the abuse, yearning for his cum.

Names were drawn from a hat as to whom finished him off, in a way of her choosing. She lost, but watched the most handsome businessman tighten a harsh fist around the young man’s cock, pushing his fast and hard, inserting a finger into his bottom and inspiring the most vivacious and shuddering orgasm she’d ever known.

Her hands were undoing her jeans, thrusting into her knickers as she watched, biting her lip as he cried out, spunking so hard over the businessman’s hand - as she imagined it was her wanking him, else riding the boy’s face as he screamed into her cunt.

She came like crazy against her fingers, lost  .. so utterly fucking lost. Transfixed by the witchcraft of the brand new world she’d discovered, and wondering just how far the rabbit hole lead downwards.

(Source: derekisme, via harlowtheswitch)

Photo
Sir always treated her with kindness and grace.
She could speak to him after lessons and tell him about all the things people were saying about her - the filthiest of things, which she told him were not true.
Except they were all true, she loved cock, and wanted her Teacher’s more than anything. Something about the maturity, the suit, the way he spoke made her effortlessly wet in class, and inspired her to fingerfuck furiously from the mere thought of him.
Sometimes it was directly after the lesson, if she felt she couldn’t make it home - thinking of Sir stolen away in the bathroom stall with her, lifting her skirt, pushing his fingers into her knickers and frigging her to dirtiest climax.
That he always listened and never acted upon things heightened that he was good man, but that made her want him more. One night she imagined him going home, undoing his belt, the zip on those finely tailored trousers and punishing his shaft thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her, but couldn’t, shouldn’t. 
Of the fountains of spunk flooding from his cock, over his hand, staining his suit. Such a delicious mess inspired her fingers, had her licking her tongue against the roof of her mouth wanting to swirl it around his spasming tip, to suck down every last drop of the sin she’s inspired so devilishly.
It was coming close to the last day of school, ever - and she wanted to say goodbye. To find out the truth about any self-tease she’s inspired, to blushingly confess her masturbation, and of what a filthy little fuck she truly was.
Take Sir to the place she’d teased so many boys, take off her blouse, and let him gaze at her breasts as she touched him for the first time. Feeling the ridge she’d made, unzipping it, taking it deep in her mouth. Milking Sir lovingly, feeling him throb in her hand as she spat gently down his cock, before rubbing and sucking him anew.
She wondered if he’d dare lift her skirt, go down between her thighs and lick her over the cotton of her knickers. See for himself just what she thought of him, and how much. Push the material around over her clit and make her cum. The delicious thought of his fingers inching inside her. Of laying back on the picnic tables, looking back and watching as he fucked her.
For all her filth and bravado, she was nervous. The butterflies in her tummy twisted just how wet she was between her legs. She new she needed to make a decision, and then ..
The last bell of school rang out.  

Sir always treated her with kindness and grace.

She could speak to him after lessons and tell him about all the things people were saying about her - the filthiest of things, which she told him were not true.

Except they were all true, she loved cock, and wanted her Teacher’s more than anything. Something about the maturity, the suit, the way he spoke made her effortlessly wet in class, and inspired her to fingerfuck furiously from the mere thought of him.

Sometimes it was directly after the lesson, if she felt she couldn’t make it home - thinking of Sir stolen away in the bathroom stall with her, lifting her skirt, pushing his fingers into her knickers and frigging her to dirtiest climax.

That he always listened and never acted upon things heightened that he was good man, but that made her want him more. One night she imagined him going home, undoing his belt, the zip on those finely tailored trousers and punishing his shaft thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her, but couldn’t, shouldn’t.

Of the fountains of spunk flooding from his cock, over his hand, staining his suit. Such a delicious mess inspired her fingers, had her licking her tongue against the roof of her mouth wanting to swirl it around his spasming tip, to suck down every last drop of the sin she’s inspired so devilishly.

It was coming close to the last day of school, ever - and she wanted to say goodbye. To find out the truth about any self-tease she’s inspired, to blushingly confess her masturbation, and of what a filthy little fuck she truly was.

Take Sir to the place she’d teased so many boys, take off her blouse, and let him gaze at her breasts as she touched him for the first time. Feeling the ridge she’d made, unzipping it, taking it deep in her mouth. Milking Sir lovingly, feeling him throb in her hand as she spat gently down his cock, before rubbing and sucking him anew.

She wondered if he’d dare lift her skirt, go down between her thighs and lick her over the cotton of her knickers. See for himself just what she thought of him, and how much. Push the material around over her clit and make her cum. The delicious thought of his fingers inching inside her. Of laying back on the picnic tables, looking back and watching as he fucked her.

For all her filth and bravado, she was nervous. The butterflies in her tummy twisted just how wet she was between her legs. She new she needed to make a decision, and then ..

The last bell of school rang out.  

(via makindaddyproud)

Photo
Naughty Miss tied up like a pretty little present.
Something throbbing and mischievous speaking lustful poetry deep inside her. Slowly whispers upon her most hushed secrets, tempting them to shimmer and sing.
Every time Miss purrs, she will get a soft strike over her bottom.
Each time that purr becomes a moan, Sir will exact a more playful slap over her cheeks.
When whimpers rise, such strikes will become more forceful. 
As cries pronounce and and become ever more cacophonous, Miss will start to sting, as Sir becomes a little more viscous.
Should I judge your voice has become just a little too voluminous, I reserve the right to mark you accordingly.
Pink marks for lesser sins. 
Red scores for louder.
Repeated strikes over previously marked lines for a truly rambunctious young lady careering utterly out of control. 
May I impress upon you a warning as to how forceful I will be if you start to cum.
Don’t you dare cross me if I say you must not cum, and you do.
Sir’s rules are simple, yet exacting.
And I intend to have exactly my way with you, Naughty Miss.

Naughty Miss tied up like a pretty little present.

Something throbbing and mischievous speaking lustful poetry deep inside her. Slowly whispers upon her most hushed secrets, tempting them to shimmer and sing.

Every time Miss purrs, she will get a soft strike over her bottom.

Each time that purr becomes a moan, Sir will exact a more playful slap over her cheeks.

When whimpers rise, such strikes will become more forceful. 

As cries pronounce and and become ever more cacophonous, Miss will start to sting, as Sir becomes a little more viscous.

Should I judge your voice has become just a little too voluminous, I reserve the right to mark you accordingly.

Pink marks for lesser sins.

Red scores for louder.

Repeated strikes over previously marked lines for a truly rambunctious young lady careering utterly out of control. 

May I impress upon you a warning as to how forceful I will be if you start to cum.

Don’t you dare cross me if I say you must not cum, and you do.

Sir’s rules are simple, yet exacting.

And I intend to have exactly my way with you, Naughty Miss.

(Source: lunakittypet, via therewasagirlcalledvelvet)

Photo
He meant nothing to her. He was just a tool. 
Purely a spontaneous tongue to push deep inside her cunt, whip and thrash over her clit, a pair of pulsing, pursed lips to suck around it.
…
In turn he got to see her naked, look up at her alight with fuck-lust, feeling her hips grind and move over the machinations of each lick. 
He was allowed to be naked too, to touch his ever-hardening cock and play with it as he tongued her. 
She would never tell him, but each moan vibrating over her sex drove her insane. 
Each instance his lips involuntarily pulled away and he cried a climax against her made her shiver like crazy, feeling each whimper as loud, as sounds washing over her in waves as she imagined his fist tight around his dirty, spunking cock.
…
He’s been crazy about her since school,  she was sure he had designs on something more - and always has - but she wanted this. 
Something filthy, a yearning puppet, a mischievous, devious tongue to frolic over and inside her whenever she made the call. 
…
Seeing how willing he was to please fucking thrilled her, being this in control of someone who would do whatever she wanted. 
Wishing to see how far she could push him, wondering as to how he would bend and break for as little, or as deviant and offering that she served.
…
She refused to fuck him. 
He’d begged, but she said no - and any more talk of it and he would be denied tasting her, or the honour of making her cum.
…
But she thought of donning a strap on, and offering to fuck him. 
The nice straight man taking a plastic cock in the arse. 
The thought of making him spunk without him ever touching his cock made her increasingly wet, and such a musing was pushing her closer and closer to climax with each and every of her willing slave’s licks.
…
She wondered how far she could take this, how much she could break this human vibrator.
Of just how many of the sweet gentleman’s perceptions she could challenge and overrule by simply allowing him contact.
…
Such a powerplay was fucking delicious, and with each sinful new idea to thrill him push him, crush him, she grew naughtier, hornier,and came all the more.

He meant nothing to her. He was just a tool.

Purely a spontaneous tongue to push deep inside her cunt, whip and thrash over her clit, a pair of pulsing, pursed lips to suck around it.

In turn he got to see her naked, look up at her alight with fuck-lust, feeling her hips grind and move over the machinations of each lick.

He was allowed to be naked too, to touch his ever-hardening cock and play with it as he tongued her.

She would never tell him, but each moan vibrating over her sex drove her insane.

Each instance his lips involuntarily pulled away and he cried a climax against her made her shiver like crazy, feeling each whimper as loud, as sounds washing over her in waves as she imagined his fist tight around his dirty, spunking cock.

He’s been crazy about her since school,  she was sure he had designs on something more - and always has - but she wanted this.

Something filthy, a yearning puppet, a mischievous, devious tongue to frolic over and inside her whenever she made the call. 

Seeing how willing he was to please fucking thrilled her, being this in control of someone who would do whatever she wanted.

Wishing to see how far she could push him, wondering as to how he would bend and break for as little, or as deviant and offering that she served.

She refused to fuck him.

He’d begged, but she said no - and any more talk of it and he would be denied tasting her, or the honour of making her cum.

But she thought of donning a strap on, and offering to fuck him.

The nice straight man taking a plastic cock in the arse.

The thought of making him spunk without him ever touching his cock made her increasingly wet, and such a musing was pushing her closer and closer to climax with each and every of her willing slave’s licks.

She wondered how far she could take this, how much she could break this human vibrator.

Of just how many of the sweet gentleman’s perceptions she could challenge and overrule by simply allowing him contact.

Such a powerplay was fucking delicious, and with each sinful new idea to thrill him push him, crush him, she grew naughtier, hornier,and came all the more.

(Source: nudesexyfuckingwet, via opnupandsayahh)

Photo

The tale of a Miss on a sleepover, with a crush on her friend’s Dad.
As much as she tries to do the right thing, something far naughtier arises, which sends her into a situation which leaves her shimmering with desire.
[the pic above sets the scene, now click to read all the sordid details in full!]
…
All likes & reblogs very much appreciated. Likewise all messages are encouraged and adored. Anon is set to ‘off’, but all correspondence is treated as strictly confidential and nothing will be published.
…
Hoping you enjoy, as always ;)
>THE DELECTABLE MR DEVIANT. X

The tale of a Miss on a sleepover, with a crush on her friend’s Dad.

As much as she tries to do the right thing, something far naughtier arises, which sends her into a situation which leaves her shimmering with desire.

[the pic above sets the scene, now click to read all the sordid details in full!]

All likes & reblogs very much appreciated. Likewise all messages are encouraged and adored. Anon is set to ‘off’, but all correspondence is treated as strictly confidential and nothing will be published.

Hoping you enjoy, as always ;)

>THE DELECTABLE MR DEVIANT. X

Photo
She’d long since had a crush on her friend’s father, blushing at the sight of him, giggling at his jokes, but adoring his conversation. His thoughts on books, the world, films fascinated her. She tried to keep it quiet, but it was definitely there.
One night, after an evening of pizza and movies he arrived home in a suit. She tried to keep her eyes on the movie, but suddenly wasn’t hungry, sneaking glances at the older man in his office attire. Her mind wandered to naughtier climes only upon realising how wet she was, almost without reason. Her tummy knotted, she tried to concentrate, but was aware of how sticky she was getting in her knickers.
Soon he arrived downstairs in jeans, vest, barefoot. Made food, and disappeared upstairs again shortly after. Her mind was still wandering, this time to a brief moment of smile, a glimpse of his shoulders, his arms. Her clit ached, desperate to be touched. Yet still her friends were around her, snuggled, lost in films, food and beyond. 
When the film ended everyone hit sleeping bags and drifted off to sleep. She lay awake, her tummy a mess with butterflies, her fingertips pushing past the waist of PJ’s and knickers, finally over her clit. The sigh she let out was of frustration, audible, devastating for all that build up. She stilled, pretending to sleep, wondering if any of the girls would wake up. 
Moving upstairs she entered the bathroom, pushing fevered fingers over her clit, without restraint - faster and faster and faster. Biting her lip, trying to catch her breath, still her moans - yet all of these were afterthoughts - such was the desperation to cum.
Commanded by fucklust she kicked off her PJ bottoms, her panties, pulled the lid of the toilet seat down and started to fingerfuck herself. Two fingers at first, then three, her sopping cunt making thirsty noises as she played, the fingers of her other hand swirling dirty circles around her clit.
As close as she got to climax, on the sort of cusp she could never come back from, that’s when she saw him at the door. He’s been watching her all the time. She couldn’t break from the climax, seeing him there watching her akin to a jolt of lightning. His eyes devoured her, and it made her cum like crazy.
A voice at the back of her mind told her she should get herself together, that she should be ashamed, of how she might apologise - both to her and - what if her friends found out. Yet she was still awash with shivers and tingles, still seeing eyes upon her that she, even given retrospect, couldn’t tell if they were judging or devouring her.
When she opened her eyes again he was gone. She caught her breath, shivered again, hand brushing of it’s own accord back across her clit. She’s become something else, was a slave to it - to the point where she should be composing herself, she was testing the boundaries of her ache.
It’s then he returned to the room, walked over to her. Stood her up and kissed her softly on the lips. his hands brushed softly over her back, fingertips at her neck, smoothing her hair. He pulled back and stared into her eyes. 
Taking her hand he lead her into the centre of the room and slowly began unpicking the buttons of her pajama top. His eyes focussing on each new button, the electric tension in the room emphasising the slightest  sound as each button loosened beyond it’s respective eye, her nipples hardening against the material, until air brushed under and the top fell to the floor.
She stood there naked before him.
It was then she noticed the reason he’d left the bathroom. And the items he’d returned with.
He moved behind her to tie a rope around her shoulders, pulling her arms back and binding her hands into a soft, crisp knot. Knelt her on the floor. Attached a ballgag over her mouth. Tied a pretty red bow around her neck. 
She watched as his hands moved to his boxers, seeing how long and hard he seemed under the material. She’s made him ache for her, and that made her wet. She wanted his eyes, wanted his attention absolutely, wanted to be still and poised and perfect for him. Wanted his cum all over her face.
She looked up at him, at his cock as he played over her, for her. A jewel of pre-cum mischievous at the tip of his shaft as his foreskin pulled and played at the jewel there. Slow teasing with his hand and fingers evolved into more furious play, her eyes and obedience driving him on. Even still, within this perfect form she was affecting him - that was devastating her - and yet she remained composed. Wanted to know how long he would last. Desired her prize.
It was only as he cried out, trying to soften it, throttle it that she knew her moment was here, as pulsing waves of hot sticky sex washed all over her face. Her eyes closed, she shimmered with affecting him like this, maintaining posture but licking at the taste as it seeped in beyond the ball gag.
Moments later she felt a soft towel at her face, dabbing gently. Her eyes still closed, the felt the rope binding her loosen and fall, the bag undone and removed. Fresh soft smooths of the towel. The very softest kiss. And then he was gone.
She remained there for a moment, before dressing and returning back downstairs to her friends and the mess of sleeping bags. She lay awake wondering if she’d dreamed such moments.
It was only the next morning when she tried to get ready, spend time with her friends, wondering as to whether she’d see him pass by before work, when one of her friends asked…
“Where did you get that pretty red bow from?”

She’d long since had a crush on her friend’s father, blushing at the sight of him, giggling at his jokes, but adoring his conversation. His thoughts on books, the world, films fascinated her. She tried to keep it quiet, but it was definitely there.

One night, after an evening of pizza and movies he arrived home in a suit. She tried to keep her eyes on the movie, but suddenly wasn’t hungry, sneaking glances at the older man in his office attire. Her mind wandered to naughtier climes only upon realising how wet she was, almost without reason. Her tummy knotted, she tried to concentrate, but was aware of how sticky she was getting in her knickers.

Soon he arrived downstairs in jeans, vest, barefoot. Made food, and disappeared upstairs again shortly after. Her mind was still wandering, this time to a brief moment of smile, a glimpse of his shoulders, his arms. Her clit ached, desperate to be touched. Yet still her friends were around her, snuggled, lost in films, food and beyond. 

When the film ended everyone hit sleeping bags and drifted off to sleep. She lay awake, her tummy a mess with butterflies, her fingertips pushing past the waist of PJ’s and knickers, finally over her clit. The sigh she let out was of frustration, audible, devastating for all that build up. She stilled, pretending to sleep, wondering if any of the girls would wake up. 

Moving upstairs she entered the bathroom, pushing fevered fingers over her clit, without restraint - faster and faster and faster. Biting her lip, trying to catch her breath, still her moans - yet all of these were afterthoughts - such was the desperation to cum.

Commanded by fucklust she kicked off her PJ bottoms, her panties, pulled the lid of the toilet seat down and started to fingerfuck herself. Two fingers at first, then three, her sopping cunt making thirsty noises as she played, the fingers of her other hand swirling dirty circles around her clit.

As close as she got to climax, on the sort of cusp she could never come back from, that’s when she saw him at the door. He’s been watching her all the time. She couldn’t break from the climax, seeing him there watching her akin to a jolt of lightning. His eyes devoured her, and it made her cum like crazy.

A voice at the back of her mind told her she should get herself together, that she should be ashamed, of how she might apologise - both to her and - what if her friends found out. Yet she was still awash with shivers and tingles, still seeing eyes upon her that she, even given retrospect, couldn’t tell if they were judging or devouring her.

When she opened her eyes again he was gone. She caught her breath, shivered again, hand brushing of it’s own accord back across her clit. She’s become something else, was a slave to it - to the point where she should be composing herself, she was testing the boundaries of her ache.

It’s then he returned to the room, walked over to her. Stood her up and kissed her softly on the lips. his hands brushed softly over her back, fingertips at her neck, smoothing her hair. He pulled back and stared into her eyes. 

Taking her hand he lead her into the centre of the room and slowly began unpicking the buttons of her pajama top. His eyes focussing on each new button, the electric tension in the room emphasising the slightest  sound as each button loosened beyond it’s respective eye, her nipples hardening against the material, until air brushed under and the top fell to the floor.

She stood there naked before him.

It was then she noticed the reason he’d left the bathroom. And the items he’d returned with.

He moved behind her to tie a rope around her shoulders, pulling her arms back and binding her hands into a soft, crisp knot. Knelt her on the floor. Attached a ballgag over her mouth. Tied a pretty red bow around her neck. 

She watched as his hands moved to his boxers, seeing how long and hard he seemed under the material. She’s made him ache for her, and that made her wet. She wanted his eyes, wanted his attention absolutely, wanted to be still and poised and perfect for him. Wanted his cum all over her face.

She looked up at him, at his cock as he played over her, for her. A jewel of pre-cum mischievous at the tip of his shaft as his foreskin pulled and played at the jewel there. Slow teasing with his hand and fingers evolved into more furious play, her eyes and obedience driving him on. Even still, within this perfect form she was affecting him - that was devastating her - and yet she remained composed. Wanted to know how long he would last. Desired her prize.

It was only as he cried out, trying to soften it, throttle it that she knew her moment was here, as pulsing waves of hot sticky sex washed all over her face. Her eyes closed, she shimmered with affecting him like this, maintaining posture but licking at the taste as it seeped in beyond the ball gag.

Moments later she felt a soft towel at her face, dabbing gently. Her eyes still closed, the felt the rope binding her loosen and fall, the bag undone and removed. Fresh soft smooths of the towel. The very softest kiss. And then he was gone.

She remained there for a moment, before dressing and returning back downstairs to her friends and the mess of sleeping bags. She lay awake wondering if she’d dreamed such moments.

It was only the next morning when she tried to get ready, spend time with her friends, wondering as to whether she’d see him pass by before work, when one of her friends asked…

Where did you get that pretty red bow from?”

(via fortheluvofdoms)

Photo
Tales of imagination and sin in equal measure, for naughty sorts to whom the mind as as playful as the touch.
Should you be a kindred spirit, then please read on :D
…
Firstly …

“Tell me all about the boy you fucked at college.
How you teased him under the desk as the lecture went on.
Took him outside, rubbed his cock over his jeans as you kissed him.
Unzipped him, made him spunk all over your hand.
Took him in your mouth and licked him clean.
Begged him not to tell. Begged him.”
[click to read on]
…
Then ..

“Filthy Little Fuck simply does not deserve Sir’s cock.
Take off all of your clothes.
All fours on the bed.
I wish to see you glisten when you spread your legs.
That Sir might spy your most sinful, sticky secrets.
And pass judgement upon you thusly.
Take action as his fuck-lust desires.”
[again, click to read more]
…
Shorty before came …

“Sharing a house with two friends, a boyfriend and girlfriend, has proved shockingly naughty of late.
I send a late text, when you’re in bed with him. Your phone on silent, the hum of a message vibrating on the carpet near where you lay. Just an exclamation mark as a message. You know why.
I’m teasing my cock and thinking of you. Thinking of the instance a few nights back. Of me pushing my cock, sheets thrown off. So close to climax. So fucking close.”
[click to read more]
…
And finally …

“Sir would ignore her on the train. No matter how she stared, she never quite caught him looking. When the train came to a stop, both would depart and he would hand her a note.
…
Therein lay the instructions for the day. A filthy note that might contain a story, a flight of fantasy, a piece of imagination, or a dare. Miss was to read it and play, absolutely within the wishes of Sir. Often that would be in a particular place, wearing a certain outfit. Sometimes a note of preparation for the following day.”
[click above to read the rest of the tale]
…
All slices of naughtiness for those whose sin is motivated by mind as much as play.
Hoping you read and enjoy the tales, then perhaps delve into the archives and dig for more.
All likes, reblogs and messages are very much appreciated. Regarding the latter, anon is set to off, but all correspondence is strictly confidential and will not be published.
…
Hoping you enjoy, as always ;)
>The Delectable Mr Deviant. x

Tales of imagination and sin in equal measure, for naughty sorts to whom the mind as as playful as the touch.

Should you be a kindred spirit, then please read on :D

Firstly …

Tell me all about the boy you fucked at college.

How you teased him under the desk as the lecture went on.

Took him outside, rubbed his cock over his jeans as you kissed him.

Unzipped him, made him spunk all over your hand.

Took him in your mouth and licked him clean.

Begged him not to tell. Begged him.”

[click to read on]

Then ..

Filthy Little Fuck simply does not deserve Sir’s cock.

Take off all of your clothes.

All fours on the bed.

I wish to see you glisten when you spread your legs.

That Sir might spy your most sinful, sticky secrets.

And pass judgement upon you thusly.

Take action as his fuck-lust desires.”

[again, click to read more]

Shorty before came …

Sharing a house with two friends, a boyfriend and girlfriend, has proved shockingly naughty of late.

I send a late text, when you’re in bed with him. Your phone on silent, the hum of a message vibrating on the carpet near where you lay. Just an exclamation mark as a message. You know why.

I’m teasing my cock and thinking of you. Thinking of the instance a few nights back. Of me pushing my cock, sheets thrown off. So close to climax. So fucking close.”

[click to read more]

And finally …

Sir would ignore her on the train. No matter how she stared, she never quite caught him looking. When the train came to a stop, both would depart and he would hand her a note.

Therein lay the instructions for the day. A filthy note that might contain a story, a flight of fantasy, a piece of imagination, or a dare. Miss was to read it and play, absolutely within the wishes of Sir. Often that would be in a particular place, wearing a certain outfit. Sometimes a note of preparation for the following day.”

[click above to read the rest of the tale]

All slices of naughtiness for those whose sin is motivated by mind as much as play.

Hoping you read and enjoy the tales, then perhaps delve into the archives and dig for more.

All likes, reblogs and messages are very much appreciated. Regarding the latter, anon is set to off, but all correspondence is strictly confidential and will not be published.

Hoping you enjoy, as always ;)

>The Delectable Mr Deviant. x

Photo
Tell me all about the boy you fucked at college.
How you teased him under the desk as the lecture went on.
Took him outside, rubbed his cock over his jeans as you kissed him.
Unzipped him, made him spunk all over your hand.
Took him in your mouth and licked him clean.
Begged him not to tell. Begged him.
…
The more angry I get, the harder I’ll hit.
I’m not stopping until you can’t sit down for a week.
Struggle and scream and fidget with every increasing sting.
But you will not move.
You will take what’s coming to you.
…
Knickers slid down, I can see how wet this make you.
Being devious and deviant, yet knowing that you can’t hide a secret.
I can see it in your eyes.
I can always edge those words out of you with strike after strike after strike.
It’s fucking divine to see a mischievous Miss beg and cry.
…
Drop to you knees and beg forgiveness.
Suck Sir with your eyeliner running along with your tears.
Edge me better, more than you did him.
Then assume the position on the chair.
Pink stinging bottom and hot sticky cunt raised for me to play with..
…
Fucking you roughly, deeply, with every ounce of lust and jealousy.
Spanking you as I will it, between each fresh thrust of fuck.
 You’re already begging for a second chance.
Between every scream of pleasure pain.
..
Yet I know why you do this.
The cheating, the confession, the redemption.
Because you adore the feel of me livid.
A stage beyond me merely being dominant and playing games.
The twist in your tummy, the tears in your eyes.

And just how intensely you cum at the end of it.

Tell me all about the boy you fucked at college.

How you teased him under the desk as the lecture went on.

Took him outside, rubbed his cock over his jeans as you kissed him.

Unzipped him, made him spunk all over your hand.

Took him in your mouth and licked him clean.

Begged him not to tell. Begged him.

The more angry I get, the harder I’ll hit.

I’m not stopping until you can’t sit down for a week.

Struggle and scream and fidget with every increasing sting.

But you will not move.

You will take what’s coming to you.

Knickers slid down, I can see how wet this make you.

Being devious and deviant, yet knowing that you can’t hide a secret.

I can see it in your eyes.

I can always edge those words out of you with strike after strike after strike.

It’s fucking divine to see a mischievous Miss beg and cry.

Drop to you knees and beg forgiveness.

Suck Sir with your eyeliner running along with your tears.

Edge me better, more than you did him.

Then assume the position on the chair.

Pink stinging bottom and hot sticky cunt raised for me to play with..

Fucking you roughly, deeply, with every ounce of lust and jealousy.

Spanking you as I will it, between each fresh thrust of fuck.

 You’re already begging for a second chance.

Between every scream of pleasure pain.

..

Yet I know why you do this.

The cheating, the confession, the redemption.

Because you adore the feel of me livid.

A stage beyond me merely being dominant and playing games.

The twist in your tummy, the tears in your eyes.

And just how intensely you cum at the end of it.

(Source: fesseusesecrete, via dirty-middle-aged-man)