Photo
All fours on the bed.
I’ll unzip your skirt.
Pick.
Pick.
Pick.
Sings the zip.
The ticking clock song of your eventual downfall.
…
As your skirt slides past the outsides of your thighs.
Guided by my hand.
Revealing a bottom that’s warm to my touch.
With the will to hear you scream I could make the skin blush.
Blush to sting.
Such elegant make-up ruined with watering eyes.
A Miss yearning to be played with.
Contrasting against tears that cascade.
Much like your absolute capitulation.
Should I wish it.
Should I wish it to be,
..
Pretty knickers.
You’ve made them effortlessly sticky.
Naughty girl.
Such a naughty girl.
…
Let’s lower them just so.
Run my fingers over your sin.
So.
So.
Softly.
A delicate touch over your lips.
You’re making a mess of my fingertips.
Clearly such Filthy girl.
Despicably delicious girl.
…
I a smooth with slight and tease so gently.
You’re waiting for the moment when my fingers push past your sin.
Inch
 by 
scintillating 
inch.
Stirring around inside you.
Teasing against your g-spot.
Brushing, pushing past it.
As I test your mettle.
Listen carefully as your breathing finds a warm new gear.
…
Else you’re thinking of the sound of a Sir undoing his belt.
Whip
thread
chink
smooth.
Until there is silence.
And you get lost in thoughts of me taking my belt to your skin.
Lines
and
mark
and
scars
Different, deeper than my palms could strike.
Deep red lines of vicious little secrets.
That hurt.
Hurt so much.
yet.
Add such devious witchcraft to pleasure and desire.
If it’s my will to play like this.
I will choose to do so.
Yet I continue to tease you in silence.
With near angel touches around your most vociferous weakness.
…
As a single tear falls betwixt your lips.
Miss is melting.
Such a shame.
…
A belt undone, Miss may think to Sir’s zip being undone.
A slow
pick
pick
pick
Causing a such a divine gasp of anticipation.
Surely a mere instance before Miss is filled and fucked.
The push between between slow and sensual.
Thrashed between faster, lustful MORE.
But deep deep inside you.
Time like molasses amidst long slow scratches.
Some the barest of connections, igniting tickles of electricity.
Other deep, deep lanes carved.
A purr from Miss gets her hair pulled.
A further gasp and I knot it tighter around my hand.
Pull her towards me.
Pretty little pony.
Sir in control.
…
But none of that tonight, Miss.
I wish to see how you feel for me.
Test the wanton of all the naughty thoughts you’ve been bottling.
I wish to amplify them.
Amplify them.
Amplify them more.
Raise your knickers just so , right back to where they were.
Raise your skirt into place.
Pick.
Pick.
Pick.
Goes the zip.
Higher and higher.
Each incremental note instilling an ache in your chest.
A feeling in your underwear that’s wetter, naughtier still.
Sir is in control.
Sir is in control.
…
Go back home.
Don’t you dare play.
Go to work tomorrow.
Don’t you dare sneak away.
..
No tease other than Sir’s touch.
Wondering when Sir will take things
one
step
further.
…
Wanting it hurts so much.
Yet the attention, the affection.
To be studied and perfected.
Makes her heart flutter.
Makes underwear ever stickier.
…
And so I send you home.
With no words.
Just the naughtiest smile.
…
As I lick the taste of you slowly from each fingertips.
…
The look in your eyes was perfection.
The weakening sigh I stole from you I will keep.
Until next time.
Whenever I decide that will be.

All fours on the bed.

I’ll unzip your skirt.

Pick.

Pick.

Pick.

Sings the zip.

The ticking clock song of your eventual downfall.

As your skirt slides past the outsides of your thighs.

Guided by my hand.

Revealing a bottom that’s warm to my touch.

With the will to hear you scream I could make the skin blush.

Blush to sting.

Such elegant make-up ruined with watering eyes.

A Miss yearning to be played with.

Contrasting against tears that cascade.

Much like your absolute capitulation.

Should I wish it.

Should I wish it to be,

..

Pretty knickers.

You’ve made them effortlessly sticky.

Naughty girl.

Such a naughty girl.

Let’s lower them just so.

Run my fingers over your sin.

So.

So.

Softly.

A delicate touch over your lips.

You’re making a mess of my fingertips.

Clearly such Filthy girl.

Despicably delicious girl.

I a smooth with slight and tease so gently.

You’re waiting for the moment when my fingers push past your sin.

Inch

by

scintillating

inch.

Stirring around inside you.

Teasing against your g-spot.

Brushing, pushing past it.

As I test your mettle.

Listen carefully as your breathing finds a warm new gear.

Else you’re thinking of the sound of a Sir undoing his belt.

Whip

thread

chink

smooth.

Until there is silence.

And you get lost in thoughts of me taking my belt to your skin.

Lines

and

mark

and

scars

Different, deeper than my palms could strike.

Deep red lines of vicious little secrets.

That hurt.

Hurt so much.

yet.

Add such devious witchcraft to pleasure and desire.

If it’s my will to play like this.

I will choose to do so.

Yet I continue to tease you in silence.

With near angel touches around your most vociferous weakness.

As a single tear falls betwixt your lips.

Miss is melting.

Such a shame.

A belt undone, Miss may think to Sir’s zip being undone.

A slow

pick

pick

pick

Causing a such a divine gasp of anticipation.

Surely a mere instance before Miss is filled and fucked.

The push between between slow and sensual.

Thrashed between faster, lustful MORE.

But deep deep inside you.

Time like molasses amidst long slow scratches.

Some the barest of connections, igniting tickles of electricity.

Other deep, deep lanes carved.

A purr from Miss gets her hair pulled.

A further gasp and I knot it tighter around my hand.

Pull her towards me.

Pretty little pony.

Sir in control.

But none of that tonight, Miss.

I wish to see how you feel for me.

Test the wanton of all the naughty thoughts you’ve been bottling.

I wish to amplify them.

Amplify them.

Amplify them more.

Raise your knickers just so , right back to where they were.

Raise your skirt into place.

Pick.

Pick.

Pick.

Goes the zip.

Higher and higher.

Each incremental note instilling an ache in your chest.

A feeling in your underwear that’s wetter, naughtier still.

Sir is in control.

Sir is in control.

Go back home.

Don’t you dare play.

Go to work tomorrow.

Don’t you dare sneak away.

..

No tease other than Sir’s touch.

Wondering when Sir will take things

one

step

further.

Wanting it hurts so much.

Yet the attention, the affection.

To be studied and perfected.

Makes her heart flutter.

Makes underwear ever stickier.

And so I send you home.

With no words.

Just the naughtiest smile.

As I lick the taste of you slowly from each fingertips.

The look in your eyes was perfection.

The weakening sigh I stole from you I will keep.

Until next time.

Whenever I decide that will be.

(Source: brightstartx, via thenaughtynat)

Text

A FILTHY TALE OF OFFICE SIN, FROM DELECTABLE DEVIANTS [EROTICA]

"There was always a spark between the two of them, something playful yet flirtatious, as Boss and Secretary they worked well together, were successful and time at work flew by because of the relationship they shared.

One day he invited her in the office to take a letter, sat next to her as he would normally, and began speaking to her of the itinerary for the week. Yet his hand brushed up her thigh, not even slowly and steadily, to gaze her reaction, but brushing with a pace. Atop, he pulled her white lace knickers to one side, and slowly started rubbing her cunt, one finger gently dipping inside her, while it and another pinched at her clit.”

[click to read on, and see the filthy gif which sets the scene]”

All likes and reblogs are very much appreciated. Anon is set to ‘off’, but all messages are treated as strictly confidential and will not be published.

Such attentions mean I write more stories, so if you have fun, please let me know in one way or another.

Hoping you enjoy, as always ;)

>The Delectable Mr Deviant. x

Photo
There was always a spark between the two of them, something playful yet flirtatious, as Boss and Secretary they worked well together, were successful and time at work flew by because of the relationship they shared.
One day he invited her in the office to take a letter, sat next to her as he would normally, and began speaking to her of the itinerary for the week. Yet his hand brushed up her thigh, not even slowly and steadily, to gaze her reaction, but brushing with a pace. Atop, he pulled her white lace knickers to one side, and slowly started rubbing her cunt, one finger gently dipping inside her, while it and another pinched at her clit.
Startled for a moment, puzzled as to what brought this on all of a sudden, yet with the tenacity to match his game, she picked up a pen and began noting down the things he said, chipping back as she would with questions, queries - all the aspects she’d normally bring to the table, not letting on that she was getting flustered. or else, trying not to. 
As he pinched and pushed, her continued to maintain a soft, slow, rhythm. If he was delighting in her façade, he didn’t show it any more than usual, yet a cursory glance down to the front of his suit gave him away. Pushing between the gap on his jacket below the buttons, he was bone hard.
As he edged her closer and closer, she began to rub gently over the front of his pinstriped trousers. Sometimes the slightest brush, others a squeeze, at times a scratch of painted nails all the way down the length. A divine twist arrived with the moment she pinched all over her nails around the ridge, and .. he broke. The dirtiest sigh. He closed his eyes. She came hard against his fingers, which returned him to sight, as she bit bright white teeth against painted lips, trying so hard to smother every whimper within the bite. Beyond her own climax, she could feel him throbbing in time to each shiver his fingers elicited.
Still climaxing she slowly started to unpick his zip, seemingly singular tooth by singular tooth, as she held his gaze, before teasing with touch and squeeze, pinch and nails over the revealed boxers, delighting in the wet patch atop. Unpicking the buttons on his boxers, she looked beyond the open blinds of his office, before a smirk crossed her face, and the most devious of plans formed.
No slow, teasing build up for him, she was going to push him, delight in his attempt at decorum, hand tight around his cock, rubbing him faster and faster and faster. 
He couldn’t take it, was moaning, seeking something in her eyes. She stopped. “Pull yourself together”, she smirked. As his composure attempted to assert itself, as he playfully tried to match her smile, she squeezed his cock hard. Then let go.
Puzzled he looked at her, trying to ascertain a reason. He was clearly so so close, throbbing before her, jewel of pre-cum a lustful tear falling down his shaft. She caught his gaze, then opened her office drawer.
Teasingly she opened a pack of tissues, taking great delight in the slow tearing of the wrapper. Likewise removing each individual tissue and laying every one over his lap, around his cock. His cock was buoyant, aching to be touched, to be pushed. He was terrified at this point that someone might walk in, else judge his flustered expression through the blinds. Every time the corner, a portion of tissue touched his shaft, he sighed. She had him right where she wanted him.
Looking around to see the coast was clear, she raked her nails down his cock, and he started to explode., Each new deep scratch all the way from tip right down to the tissues pushed beyond wave after wave of cum, as he pulsed. 
Every now and again she would stop. Assert herself. Command that he regains composure. Then nails. More nails. He came so, so hard - and the result was making her wetter and wetter.
She stood up, pulling her skirt back as she rose. Then left the office, refusing even the most cursory glance back, yet her mind was full of him pristine and suited, yet his cock, his lap covered in tissues and cum.
Of the dangerous power-play he tried to incite, but the far more devious game she infused in return.

There was always a spark between the two of them, something playful yet flirtatious, as Boss and Secretary they worked well together, were successful and time at work flew by because of the relationship they shared.

One day he invited her in the office to take a letter, sat next to her as he would normally, and began speaking to her of the itinerary for the week. Yet his hand brushed up her thigh, not even slowly and steadily, to gaze her reaction, but brushing with a pace. Atop, he pulled her white lace knickers to one side, and slowly started rubbing her cunt, one finger gently dipping inside her, while it and another pinched at her clit.

Startled for a moment, puzzled as to what brought this on all of a sudden, yet with the tenacity to match his game, she picked up a pen and began noting down the things he said, chipping back as she would with questions, queries - all the aspects she’d normally bring to the table, not letting on that she was getting flustered. or else, trying not to. 

As he pinched and pushed, her continued to maintain a soft, slow, rhythm. If he was delighting in her façade, he didn’t show it any more than usual, yet a cursory glance down to the front of his suit gave him away. Pushing between the gap on his jacket below the buttons, he was bone hard.

As he edged her closer and closer, she began to rub gently over the front of his pinstriped trousers. Sometimes the slightest brush, others a squeeze, at times a scratch of painted nails all the way down the length. A divine twist arrived with the moment she pinched all over her nails around the ridge, and .. he broke. The dirtiest sigh. He closed his eyes. She came hard against his fingers, which returned him to sight, as she bit bright white teeth against painted lips, trying so hard to smother every whimper within the bite. Beyond her own climax, she could feel him throbbing in time to each shiver his fingers elicited.

Still climaxing she slowly started to unpick his zip, seemingly singular tooth by singular tooth, as she held his gaze, before teasing with touch and squeeze, pinch and nails over the revealed boxers, delighting in the wet patch atop. Unpicking the buttons on his boxers, she looked beyond the open blinds of his office, before a smirk crossed her face, and the most devious of plans formed.

No slow, teasing build up for him, she was going to push him, delight in his attempt at decorum, hand tight around his cock, rubbing him faster and faster and faster. 

He couldn’t take it, was moaning, seeking something in her eyes. She stopped. “Pull yourself together”, she smirked. As his composure attempted to assert itself, as he playfully tried to match her smile, she squeezed his cock hard. Then let go.

Puzzled he looked at her, trying to ascertain a reason. He was clearly so so close, throbbing before her, jewel of pre-cum a lustful tear falling down his shaft. She caught his gaze, then opened her office drawer.

Teasingly she opened a pack of tissues, taking great delight in the slow tearing of the wrapper. Likewise removing each individual tissue and laying every one over his lap, around his cock. His cock was buoyant, aching to be touched, to be pushed. He was terrified at this point that someone might walk in, else judge his flustered expression through the blinds. Every time the corner, a portion of tissue touched his shaft, he sighed. She had him right where she wanted him.

Looking around to see the coast was clear, she raked her nails down his cock, and he started to explode., Each new deep scratch all the way from tip right down to the tissues pushed beyond wave after wave of cum, as he pulsed. 

Every now and again she would stop. Assert herself. Command that he regains composure. Then nails. More nails. He came so, so hard - and the result was making her wetter and wetter.

She stood up, pulling her skirt back as she rose. Then left the office, refusing even the most cursory glance back, yet her mind was full of him pristine and suited, yet his cock, his lap covered in tissues and cum.

Of the dangerous power-play he tried to incite, but the far more devious game she infused in return.

(via bad-little-miss)

Photoset

No fuck for naughty, prettiful today.

I know Miss has been horny, melting to be teased all day, clit hard & throbbing for my lips, my tongue, my touch.

Sticky little bitch silently begging to be fingered, to be fucked.

But I have different plans for you this evening.

Brand new leather binds with gleaming silver buckles to bind you to the headboard, in exactly the position I want you.

Cat-o-nine-tails ready to see how sensitive you naughty cunt is to pleasure, to pain.

Each soft strike the touch you desire, with a gentle sting that challenges, each push confounding you you into places where you’re lost as to which is which,

Deviant sensations making you ache all the more.

Fearing, yet lusting after the addictive nexthit.

I’m confident, given the right amount of time, that I can make you cum, little one.

I harden waiting for the single strike that sends you screaming into climax.

A song that soars with each gentle snap thereafter. watching you bite your lip,  catch your breath in the split-second before each new contact.

The adrenaline rush, shiver, shake, ouch, NO PLEASE MORE fighting through your conciousness to seize one true definitive.

Yet I control the mood.

And continue to roll the dice.

Watching my beautiful Miss capitulate so deliciously.

In the aftermath of the orgasm, offer the very softest angel kisses over your blushing sex.

Not to fuck.

To watch as you react to the way you’ve been played with.

To deal with the minutia of so many sensations piling on at once.

At work tomorrow I want you to try and ascertain a singular thought of certainty throughout the day.

Else try so unsuccessfully to.

Finding your underwear honey stricken.

Wanting those blissful, blurred moments all over again.

Yet scared of it.

Such is the dichotomy.

The indescribable thrill.

Wandering what it would be like to feel my cock inside you afterwards.

Lip biting to halt the tell-tale of fevered breathing. 

Wanton and grasping for a flash-forward at just what the orgasm might be like thereafter.

Uncertain.

Seeking.

Melting.

Scared.

More.

I have plans for you, pretty Miss. 

And the fun by no means stops here ;)

(Source: void-dance, via thingsthatmakeushot)

Photo
You don’t deserve my kisses, Miss.
No lips softly pressed against thine own, no gasp of breath echoing beyond, the curvature of a tongue that tells you exactly what to do, that makes you wet beyond comprehension, the snake of my cock pushing deep and hard into your filthy cunt, building wave after wave of compulsion.
I’m not sure you even deserve my cum, pulsing deep inside you as I share my most shiver coated moment, all my hot sticky sin washing inside you over and over.
I don’t think you deserve it. Not a single drop.
Yet still you keep trying to coax me, fuck me harder and faster, trying to throw me over and edge I couldn’t possibly come back from, revel in the moment as you see me capitulate in expression, spunking over and over deep inside you. Something naughty Miss did, yet, I won’t let you. Fuck me as hard as you will, turn every trick that you know, I’m in control. 
If I want to stop fucking you I’ll throw you off,  fight you back, bind you, blindfold you, watch you struggle as I decide the extent of your punishment. As to whether that should be kisses all over or the slow build of playful slaps to the sting of my belt.
But never forget that I don’t want you. YOU want this. Trying to prove something to me, as if to steal me away, to make me yours - but i’m not - and that’s what absolutely fucking destroys and entices you in equal measure.
But I am entertained by you trying, Miss - and far more turned on than I’ll ever let on. Yet I fear my kiss will tell you everything, of how much I like you, how much I’ve longed for you, that each sigh might whisper my every secret into your soul.
You’re a lady of danger, of that which you can’t measure, and I’ll take any part of you I can. Kiss at your skin, lick at your wounds, fuck deep into your ache. As if to make you want me, a fool’s errand, a dangerous game.
I exist within this duality, of controlling, imprinting my own game over yours - yet never letting on that certain something which I lock away somewhere deep in my heart.

You don’t deserve my kisses, Miss.

No lips softly pressed against thine own, no gasp of breath echoing beyond, the curvature of a tongue that tells you exactly what to do, that makes you wet beyond comprehension, the snake of my cock pushing deep and hard into your filthy cunt, building wave after wave of compulsion.

I’m not sure you even deserve my cum, pulsing deep inside you as I share my most shiver coated moment, all my hot sticky sin washing inside you over and over.

I don’t think you deserve it. Not a single drop.

Yet still you keep trying to coax me, fuck me harder and faster, trying to throw me over and edge I couldn’t possibly come back from, revel in the moment as you see me capitulate in expression, spunking over and over deep inside you. Something naughty Miss did, yet, I won’t let you. Fuck me as hard as you will, turn every trick that you know, I’m in control.

If I want to stop fucking you I’ll throw you off,  fight you back, bind you, blindfold you, watch you struggle as I decide the extent of your punishment. As to whether that should be kisses all over or the slow build of playful slaps to the sting of my belt.

But never forget that I don’t want you. YOU want this. Trying to prove something to me, as if to steal me away, to make me yours - but i’m not - and that’s what absolutely fucking destroys and entices you in equal measure.

But I am entertained by you trying, Miss - and far more turned on than I’ll ever let on. Yet I fear my kiss will tell you everything, of how much I like you, how much I’ve longed for you, that each sigh might whisper my every secret into your soul.

You’re a lady of danger, of that which you can’t measure, and I’ll take any part of you I can. Kiss at your skin, lick at your wounds, fuck deep into your ache. As if to make you want me, a fool’s errand, a dangerous game.

I exist within this duality, of controlling, imprinting my own game over yours - yet never letting on that certain something which I lock away somewhere deep in my heart.

(Source: orgasmos-multiploxx, via thenaughtynat)

Text

BRAND NEW STORY - OF A MISS DATING ONE BROTHER, CURIOUS & TEMPTED AS TO HOW HE COMPARES TO THE OTHER [WITH A NAUGHTY TWIST]

Smitten with one of the brothers, she dare not admit just how naughty her thoughts pertained to the other.

Particularly of sizing up both boys, seeing how both felt hardening in her hands, their blush of embarrassment at being naked before her, being touched and teased at her whim, all for the sake of expressing her deepest turn on.

Being coaxed into saying it, of following on just how wet it made her, that the thought of sucking off the other brother while her boyfriend fucked her had made her so wet she’d had to finger herself the last time the family were together.”

[CLICK TO READ ON & SEE THE PICTURE THAT SETS THE SCENE]

The last few days have been kind regarding attention for the tales - of likes, reblogs and messages [the latter confidential and will not be published, even though ‘anon’ is set to ‘off’], hence the momentum to create more if naughty sorts are having fun;)

So if you’re enjoying the stories, please let me know.

..

Now go look, play & celebrate them, if you will ;)

>The Delectable Mr Deviant. x

Photo
Smitten with one of the brothers, she dare not admit just how naughty her thoughts pertained to the other. 
Particularly of sizing up both boys, seeing how both felt hardening in her hands, their blush of embarrassment at being naked before her, being touched and teased at her whim, all for the sake of expressing her deepest turn on. 
Being coaxed into saying it, of following on just how wet it made her, that the thought of sucking off the other brother while her boyfriend fucked her had made her so wet she’d had to finger herself the last time the family were together. 
She exclaimed to worried family members that she must have eaten something, that she felt a little off-colour, yet it was the shame of the thought syncing with the most blistering orgasm. 
Biting her lip to try and muffle the sound, one hand in her bra pinching her nipple far too hard, as the other pinched at her clit as she climaxed.
She worried how her partner would react, as to whether it would worry him, or if he’d talk to her about it whilst rubbing her fevered cunt. Feeling her ache and dampen as he asked her questions of why, how she’d want it to happen, her breath ever sharper as she tried to answer, lost in the thoughts of it happening  in her imagination, the shiver of reality and of speaking such a deep routed fantasy.
Yet the biggest turn on, was what she’d not shared, that which she felt she couldn’t, and that extra layer of danger was pushing her on far more than his fingers.
She thought about fucking one brother with a strap-on, as he was deep inside the other. Two beautiful boys, bent to her will, incestuous to her desires. Such incredible taboo, watching them break bonds of masculinity, family, all because she lusted after it so.
She thought about fucking her partner harder and faster, him cumming hard deep inside his brother, over and over and over.
This was the thought that made her cum hard against his fingers back in the real world, wondering if such a shattering climax would bring the reality of part of it a little closer.
Her secret purely hers, to hold inside as guilt and pleasure and danger and sin, as she yearned to at least fuck them both. 

Smitten with one of the brothers, she dare not admit just how naughty her thoughts pertained to the other.

Particularly of sizing up both boys, seeing how both felt hardening in her hands, their blush of embarrassment at being naked before her, being touched and teased at her whim, all for the sake of expressing her deepest turn on.

Being coaxed into saying it, of following on just how wet it made her, that the thought of sucking off the other brother while her boyfriend fucked her had made her so wet she’d had to finger herself the last time the family were together.

She exclaimed to worried family members that she must have eaten something, that she felt a little off-colour, yet it was the shame of the thought syncing with the most blistering orgasm.

Biting her lip to try and muffle the sound, one hand in her bra pinching her nipple far too hard, as the other pinched at her clit as she climaxed.

She worried how her partner would react, as to whether it would worry him, or if he’d talk to her about it whilst rubbing her fevered cunt. Feeling her ache and dampen as he asked her questions of why, how she’d want it to happen, her breath ever sharper as she tried to answer, lost in the thoughts of it happening  in her imagination, the shiver of reality and of speaking such a deep routed fantasy.

Yet the biggest turn on, was what she’d not shared, that which she felt she couldn’t, and that extra layer of danger was pushing her on far more than his fingers.

She thought about fucking one brother with a strap-on, as he was deep inside the other. Two beautiful boys, bent to her will, incestuous to her desires. Such incredible taboo, watching them break bonds of masculinity, family, all because she lusted after it so.

She thought about fucking her partner harder and faster, him cumming hard deep inside his brother, over and over and over.

This was the thought that made her cum hard against his fingers back in the real world, wondering if such a shattering climax would bring the reality of part of it a little closer.

Her secret purely hers, to hold inside as guilt and pleasure and danger and sin, as she yearned to at least fuck them both. 

(Source: istermiydin)

Text

FINE ATTENTION TO RECENT STORIES BROUGHT FORTH ANOTHER EARLIER

Since i’ve been binding my plaything with duct tape, so much has occurred.

The bite against wrists and ankles when the tape begins to twist, and pretty Miss starts to shiver

more

and

more

and

more

Else the inevitable struggle when an orgasm

shake

shake

shakes her to rattle at the headboard.

Scream the release of frustration way down the street.”

[CLICK ABOVE TO READ ON AND SEE THE FILTHY PIC THAT SETS THE SCENE]

All likes & reblogs very much appreciated. All messages cherished and will not be published, despite ‘anon’ being set to off. 

More of the above mean more stories, and I do have something truly filthy for later, should that be the case ;)

>The Delectable Mr Deviant. x

Photo
Since i’ve been binding my plaything with duct tape, so much has occurred. 
The bite against wrists and ankles when the tape begins to twist, and pretty Miss starts to shiver 
more 
and 
more 
and 
more
Else the inevitable struggle when an orgasm
shake
shake
shakes her to rattle at the headboard.
Scream the release of frustration way down the street.
…
Delicate kisses available to tease down and inside her thighs, over her pert cheeks. 
Teasing breaths and licks across the self same places, yet lingering a tip to play in and around her bottom. 
Perhaps a trace oh-so-slightly over each of her lips, with the want to make her 
throb 
and 
melt 
and 
ache. 
I do so love it when Miss’ sex starts to cry for affection. 
And as to whether I’m in the mood to grant it the softest lick inbetween.
If only to taste the excess of her mood. 
Knowing such sin will leave everything amplified. 
Inspiring wherever I tease next to resonate with ever increasing intensity. 
…
In my most primal moments I may tease my cock inside her.
Whichever hole I please. 
Take her slowly, as if a violin gently scoring the divining the extremes of her pleasure and pain.
Else fuck her hard, deep and fast.
Purely a vessel for my own desires.
To cum upon or inside whenever I chose.
…
I may chose to write ever reddening hurt upon the canvass. 
Scoring nails of varying pressures upon every patch of skin I see.
Spanking hard upon them.
To then study how even the mere innocence of a sigh, the softness dance of a kiss upon marks and scars makes you wilt before.
The wash of warmth or delicate brush the strongest voice within the blush to sting.
…
Back to work and the everyday has also become affected, with even the most innocuous everyday instance dissolving Miss’ resolve. 
Miss works in an office, and every time someone uses sticky tape, it tears her beyond the working day and into the deviant moments beyond.
Each package wrapped, or envelope sealed making her wetter.
Back to Sir’s binds and the beautiful hurt lavished upon her.
Wanting it again.
Needing it.
Melting for it.
Tying herself in knots up until.
..
At times she’s shared that’s she’s sticky and broken. 
A few words upon text can start the countdown.
All Miss can do is to look busy.
Press her thighs together.
And tear softly at the roll in her top drawer.
…
Thinking of Sir with a determined look on his face
Stripping her out of every inch of her clothes.
Positioning her perfectly her legs up and bottom in the air.
Giant tears of duct tape locking her in place. 
Knowing I have the darkest desires upon my mind.
Ready to lavish all over her for hours to come.
..
Thereafter the desire to purely pleasure her.
Lick and fuck and bind and tear her mood in two.
Except …
 ..
But it’s much more fun to edge her further and further.
And you should hear how she screams when I do.

Since i’ve been binding my plaything with duct tape, so much has occurred.

The bite against wrists and ankles when the tape begins to twist, and pretty Miss starts to shiver

more

and

more

and

more

Else the inevitable struggle when an orgasm

shake

shake

shakes her to rattle at the headboard.

Scream the release of frustration way down the street.

Delicate kisses available to tease down and inside her thighs, over her pert cheeks.

Teasing breaths and licks across the self same places, yet lingering a tip to play in and around her bottom.

Perhaps a trace oh-so-slightly over each of her lips, with the want to make her

throb

and

melt

and

ache.

I do so love it when Miss’ sex starts to cry for affection.

And as to whether I’m in the mood to grant it the softest lick inbetween.

If only to taste the excess of her mood.

Knowing such sin will leave everything amplified.

Inspiring wherever I tease next to resonate with ever increasing intensity. 

In my most primal moments I may tease my cock inside her.

Whichever hole I please.

Take her slowly, as if a violin gently scoring the divining the extremes of her pleasure and pain.

Else fuck her hard, deep and fast.

Purely a vessel for my own desires.

To cum upon or inside whenever I chose.

I may chose to write ever reddening hurt upon the canvass.

Scoring nails of varying pressures upon every patch of skin I see.

Spanking hard upon them.

To then study how even the mere innocence of a sigh, the softness dance of a kiss upon marks and scars makes you wilt before.

The wash of warmth or delicate brush the strongest voice within the blush to sting.

Back to work and the everyday has also become affected, with even the most innocuous everyday instance dissolving Miss’ resolve. 

Miss works in an office, and every time someone uses sticky tape, it tears her beyond the working day and into the deviant moments beyond.

Each package wrapped, or envelope sealed making her wetter.

Back to Sir’s binds and the beautiful hurt lavished upon her.

Wanting it again.

Needing it.

Melting for it.

Tying herself in knots up until.

..

At times she’s shared that’s she’s sticky and broken.

A few words upon text can start the countdown.

All Miss can do is to look busy.

Press her thighs together.

And tear softly at the roll in her top drawer.

Thinking of Sir with a determined look on his face

Stripping her out of every inch of her clothes.

Positioning her perfectly her legs up and bottom in the air.

Giant tears of duct tape locking her in place.

Knowing I have the darkest desires upon my mind.

Ready to lavish all over her for hours to come.

..

Thereafter the desire to purely pleasure her.

Lick and fuck and bind and tear her mood in two.

Except …

..

But it’s much more fun to edge her further and further.

And you should hear how she screams when I do.

(Source: daddywantsthis, via herkindmaster)

Text

"WHICH HAPPENS FIRST, YOU FILTHY LITTLE CUNT? DO YOU CUM, OR DO I CHOKE THE LIFE OUT OF YOU?" …

Is the world spinning because of a lack of air, fighting for every breath between my tightening grip, or the way i’m frigging your clit.

Your throbbing, aching clit.

The tip of my finger swimming in just how sticky you are, Miss.

Even if you could voice any hope of articulation, your eyes tell me everything.

'More'

‘Please’

'Push me'

'Hurt me'

'End me'

… “

[CLICK ABOVE TO READ ON, & SEE THE FILTHY GIF THAT SETS THE SCENE]

All likes & reblogs very much appreciated, all messages treated as confidential, even though ‘anon’ is set to ‘off’

Hoping you enjoy the tale, do let me know in one way or another if that’s the case - and then I’ll write more of them. 

>The Delectable Mr Deviant. x