Delectable Deviants

Such a demure girl. Quiet and polite. No-one would believe how you’ve been temped. By my glance. By my wiles.

Of that moment in the office when ‘most everyone was gone, as I moved behind you as you were filing, breathed ‘hello into your ear’ and heard you sigh so deliciously. Watched it’s echo deepen as my hand moved around and started to tease you softly over your work trousers, my other hand against your breasts. I turned you around to gauge the look in your eyes, almost kissed you, yet .. I wanted that passion to linger. Wanted to see your blushes the next day, avoiding my glances, yet those you snuck in that I caught told me everything. Told me the mixture of passion and shame, told me how wet you are. Told me ‘again’.

Whether in a moment of bravery or lust, the instance when I saw you looking and biting you lip, lead me to give you my most mischievous smile.  It caught you by surprise. I watched you look away. Swallow hard. I wonder how much of that divided mind filtered into mistakes in your work that afternoon. It made me smile, feel devious, like the devil. But that duality of yours, of thinking of you sticky in your knickers, wondering if you were the sort of girl that loved to touch herself, made me hard. The thought of how your reaction capitulated the night previous and of how much more so it would be if I had your dress of today removed, if I were beneath your thighs, about to lick you. Of how one single smooth of my tongue might make you shiver. 

As I understood it you had a boyfriend. Someone you’d known for a while. Was he dull? Was he boring? Is this completely out of character for you? Something about the energy, the dark electricity that’s pushing you somewhere you’ve never been. Am I your Dark Lord of deceit? I like that.

I catch you alone, making coffee. I move to you, brush my hand up your thigh. Feel how damp your knickers are. See how alive your eyes are, in shock, of lust, the crackle of all of those should I/could I thoughts leap to mind .. as that single touch gives you away.

I deny you the kiss you lean in for. 

I look into your eyes and say “I have a hotel booked for Friday evening. The Astoria. Room 327. For us.”

“If the brave girl is feeling naughty, she’ll be there. I’ll be waiting for you.”

But on Friday evening, I entered the room and you were waiting for me. As I moved over to you, you push my back onto the bed. You looked away, as if still battling blushes of shame, yet your look once again spoke of excitement. The mixture of the two was as beautiful as it was sin.

I watched you slowly undo your dress, take off your bra. You looked away again. Leaned back on your case.

All I could think about was kissing every single inch of you. Those delicious breasts, your hip bones, sensing how sensitive you were to swirling tongue tips over your neck.

But first I want to climb your thighs. Tease them with kisses as I part them. See just how much your temperature rises as I get higher and higher. To taste how naughty your knickers are as my tongue moves across them.

And, as I slide them down to the floor, widen your legs and return to your pussy .. to see how it sparkles with your most deviant desires. To lick and tease at them, boil them to something that makes your claw against the case, the bedsheets. 

I think of your soft spoken, refined voice and of fucking it to a scream. Making you say my name. Pushing you to your knees and making you beg for my cum. 

I think of pulling your hair and scratching deep scores down your back and giving you the sort of orgasm that he never could. Building to my climax thinking of how you will explain away the long nail marks, the bruising on your behind as I spank you over and over. 

I wonder how things will be in the office nevxt week. I plan to ignore you. I plan to play this out.

For watching your deflowering, your downfall is absolutely sumptuous.

Being the architect behind such a turning, makes my heart race.

As do you.

Although I’d never tell you.  

(via picturemehere)