Knkstriped

Private Viewing

Beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder

Your heart quickens every time you catch that first glimpse, melts with wonder and joy as you gaze longer until you are burning with fierce adoring need. Painted and polished, on display for the gaze of the discerning connoisseur and the idle glance disinterested passer-by both; she presents the same face to all and provokes in you a hot desperate need for exclusivity, access to the soul behind the smile, to explore the uncharted territory of mind and heart beneath the smoothed-over surface.

There are no fingers deft enough to pick her locks, impervious to light touch or sly nudge she stays locked away behind a shield of transparency. What you see is what you get, says her open face; here on my sleeve is my heart, look no further. You know there is more, and better beneath.

The Captive

CW: this is dark, twisted stuff depicting non-consensual abduction, imprisonment and abuse. It’s not smut for titillation, but written to challenge. If that will distress you, please read no further. Always take care of yourselves and each other.


I should have known he was more than the average slightly obsessive fan. From the second time he showed up at the stage door, pen in hand, greeting me like an old friend; I should have known.

#Pervember 11: Master/slave

Uhuh. Now we’re back on track. This is something I can write about with enthusiasm, whether fiction or fact.


Tonight she is slave. Not Sarah, wife and mother. Not the pharmaceutical lab tech. Not humblesub69. Just slave.

She kneels in the centre of the studio floorspace, knees spread wide with her weight on her heels. Palms upturned on her thighs and head bowed. Her only adornment is her collar, although she will likely be wearing a variety of accessories this evening. Some of them will hurt.

#Pervember Joker: Spit-roasting

Today’s prompt was “branding” and that’s definitely not one of my kinks (nothing wrong with it between consenting adults of course, just doesn’t do anything for me) so I couldn’t really think of anything to write about it. Instead, I’m playing one of the jokers – something I have always wanted to experience and fantasise about frequently.

Spit-roasting, with its connotations of gluttony and primitivism; myself as nourishment and celebration, as sacrifice and utility.

A choice, perhaps; between the carnal and the alimentary….

CW: this story depicts not-quite-consensual sexual activity.

#Pervember 7: Spanking

“Come here”

Max’s tone is stern, his face set. Only the slight deepening of the creases around his eyes betrays his intention. This is a game he plays, a game that Latisha enjoys very much. He points to a spot on the floor in front of him. “Now.”

She carries on buffing her nails, giving every outward appearance of indifference. “Busy” she throws over her shoulder, locking down the grin of anticipation which twitches at the corner of her purple-painted lips.

Out of this world

Sex is a challenge when one of you is 300 miles from the surface of the Earth, but Tanya and Selena aren’t going to let that stop them…

Far below her, the Earth hangs bright and sparkling, a jewel of blue and white and green and brown nestling against the black velvet of space.

Tanya comes here as often as her full schedule permits, likes the serenity and spectacle of her home seen from orbit. As close to silent as possible in this humming, buzzing, creaking, clanking tin can, sometimes she visits for the tranquility. Not today though.

Joyriding

Amalia likes the Tube. Except at rush hour, no-one likes being on the Underground at rush hour. Not being employed, she has the leisure to ride beneath and between the streets of London all day if she chooses but it never comes to that. Sooner or later her attention is distracted – a throaty laugh, a lustful glance, a bulging crotch; it doesn’t take much – and she has found her next vehicle, her next adventure.