N is for Naughty

I'm blinking my way into Saturday morning, pleased to remember that it's time to make a poll for my Naughty or Nice stories. The poll will run until Wednesday night. There are five stories this time around. Read them aloud to your lover, or quietly to yourself. Print out your favorite to tuck into a good friend's pocket. Play with these words the way the authors did. Choose naughty over nice and your world will change.

Entry #1: Mastermind

I've been angling for hints all day, but you're obstinate. I know you have a plan. You always have a plan.

I don't know if you're going to bring me to a shadowy stairwell, push me against the wall and grope me until I'm wet and panting, then up to a chaotic rooftop party where nobody minds when you spread my legs and thrust your fingers into me, hard and deep...

Or if you're going to dress me up and take me out, pulling me down dark alleys on every block, teasing me (vibe nestled against my clit, pretty jeweled plug in my asshole, clamp on each nipple) until I can barely walk, and on a crowded, brightly-lit corner I have to beg you to take me home and fuck me, passers-by staring...

Or if you're going to lie to a bar full of strangers that it's my birthday, bend me over a barstool and spank the hell out of me, inviting them to help, hiking up my skirt to expose my panties and then my bare skin, and when I groan, all those hands mauling my ass and swollen pussy, you shove your cock into my mouth to shut me up, and we'll get kicked out, arrested maybe, but I won't stop you (or whoever it is that's started pounding into my aching cunt)...

Funny, you always call me your naughty girl, your dirty slut, but you're the one with the ideas. Me? I'm just along for the ride.

*****

Entry #2: Whilst Ye Were Away

“I’ve heard ye weren’t on yer best behavior whilst I was away, Maggie.”

Never had Ronan raised his voice to her, but there were rules. And if those rules were broken, then a price was to be paid.

“Is it true?” He tilted her chin up with a roughened finger, forcing her to look at him. His blue eyes were kind, but there was a hard familiar glint there.

Her heart raced. “It is true.” He was so close, she could still smell the salt of the ocean on him.

His words were a whisper against her skin. “It makes me wonder if ye like my punishing ye, for I dinna ken a bolder lass, aye? Is that it, sweet Maggie?”

A pulse of heat throbbed between her legs, leaving her wet as she remembered the last time he’d tawsed her arse. Though it was clear she broke the rules on purpose, she could not bring herself to admit it. “No, m’lord.”

“Well, ye’ll still need to be punished.” One quick move had him seated with her struggling over his knee, her skirts up around her waist, leaving her bare arse exposed, twitching in anticipation.

The first blow fell hard and fast, with no warning, like a crack of lightning across her arse, several more following. After so many months away, she should have known he wouldn’t start off with a light hand.

“Why do ye make me do this to ye, sweet Maggie?”

She was now dripping wet.

*****

Entry #3: My Siren

I walked into the club. My mouth went dry. There she was.

The satin sheath hugged her body. The neckline plunged. The vibrant red made her skin glow. I wanted to ravage her.

She worked her way through the crowd, men and women preening under her attention. My eyes kept tracking to her ass, wondering what naughty unmentionable hid beneath the satin.

I watched her ascend to the stage. The spotlight lit, the audience settled.

Her voice rippled through the room, liquid, enveloping. Her lips pursed close to the mic. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft, as she had my cock that morning. When she turned away, my eyes caressed the swell of her posterior. The lack of pantylines made my groin tighten.

Her sultry siren’s song wove a spell between us that survived the applause. When she crooked her finger at me I hurried across the lounge, followed her behind the curtains.

She pulled me against her. Her hands plucked at my fly, mine gathered fistfuls of red satin. She spun around, twisting her hands into the heavy velvet. The creamy swell of her ass, framed in the deep sanguine red, made my cock leak.

“Fuck me,” she urged. Ten feet from the crowded lounge I slid my fingers through her slickness.

“You will never wear this dress without me.”

She nodded. I dipped my fingers deeper.

“Julie. Phone. Agent!” The manager’s voice pierced our lust.

I smacked her ass, dropped her gown. “Go. I’ll be right here.”

*****

Entry #4: Knotty

Yarn. Rope. Wood.

She made things with yarn. Itty bitty crocheted bikinis with tiny triangle tops that sometimes let her nipples peek through when wet. She made an entire knitted dress, but when it came time to bind off, she left the end loose. Had him pull on the thread and slowly the dress unraveled. Bit by bit, more and more of her thighs were revealed. He watched the horizon of yarn rise over her ass like fog lifting on a sultry summer day. When the bottom of her breasts were beginning to show, he was tempted to stop, so alluring the sight, but he continued, unveiling her nipples and more until there was just a pile of kinky threads around her legs.

They always kept plenty of rope on hand. Preferred hemp lengths made specifically for binding body parts. Both enjoyed the pressure of cord on cunt or cock. Elaborate bends and twists, under and over. around and around again. Breasts bound and protruding, nipples compressed. They shared a love of suspension, taking turns on the rings. Rope marks were their tell tale.

Picked up along beaches, or found along trails, they collected wooden knots. Imperfections to some, they relished the phallic shapes. Brought them home. Sanded and polished them. Displayed them on a special shelf where visitors would comment, pick them up, examine the wood, inquire about their origin. Never knowing that they were used to penetrate each other when they were tied up in knots.

*****

Entry #5: All Kinds of Naughty

“That was all kind of naughty, the way you did that.”

“Did that… Did what?”

“Set her up.”

“Do you mean Bette? How’d I set her up?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. I saw the look in your eyes when you introduced her to Tom.”

Silence.

“You knew she’d get flustery and giggly, like she always does. And you knew Tom wouldn’t go for her. That he’d go for you instead.”

Dead silence.

“All kinds of naughty, Chelsea.”

“I had no idea. I thought he’d like Bette.”

“But you knew he’d like you better. There she is, drinking too much wine. And there you are, in your black cocktail dress, looking chilled. You don’t have to be a lab rat to witness chemistry in action.”

“You think so?” There was a rush in her voice now. A throb. She paced as she held the phone, then paused to check herself in the mirror. The dress was liquid on her body. Bette had looked frumpy and too hot in the fuchsia jersey Chelsea had helped her.

“But there’s one thing you don’t understand.”

A knock on her door. At this time of night. She hurried down the hall to peep through the hole, still holding the phone.

“Tom likes those Midwestern farm girls. I’m the one who knows how to take care of a naughty slut like you.”

He was standing in her hallway, cell phone in one hand, paddle in the other.

“Open the door, baby.”

*****

Back soon with a new theme and another cuppa Joe.

XXX,
Alison