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Claiming Jane

Claiming Jane by Kilted Wookie Jane assumes the required position; bent over with her skirt flipped up over her back and her knickers around her ankles. Her cunt is wet. The anticipation builds her arousal. My finger trails over her arse. A shiver runs up her spine. My hand slaps down. Jane's skin smarts at my touch. Again and again; my hand rains down on Jane's upturned arse. Her cunt grows wetter with every slap. I can almost feel the heat spread across Jane's soft cheeks. It stings; a delicious tingling of pain that makes her catch her breath. Her face reddens, tears rise in Jane's eyes. Each strike of my hand creates a wonderful juxtaposition of pain and pleasure. I slide a finger between the lips of Jane's cunt; feeling her warmth, testing her wetness. My hands grip her hips. A soft moan escapes from between Jane's lips. Moments pass; an eternity of anticipation. I feel her brace herself as my fingers tighten their grip, digging deeper into her flesh. With

Splash

Splash by Kilted Wookie She kneels before him; mouth open, expectant like a hungry chick. He stands before her; his cock hard, the head, a swollen, angry purple. She knew she had been bad; some unknown transgression against him. Her arse still stung from the kiss of his belt. Now, as their guests look on, he intends to humiliate her. She waits as he works his fingers up and down his cock with long, slow, majestic strokes; each one bringing her ever closer to the moment of her humiliation. “Worthless slut!” he growls. The tension in his voice betrays how close he is. “Filthy little slut!” Her cunt grows hot and wet. She squirms uncomfortably against the ropes that bind her wrists to her ankles, feeling them dig roughly into her skin as her movements cause the knots to tighten. She waits willingly for her humiliation; for him to show their guests just what a worthless filthy slut she is; to demonstrate his contempt for whatever she has done to displease him. His cock twitches in his hand

The Sounds He Makes

The Sounds Makes by Kilted Wookie He sighed as she took him into her mouth. The sighs turned to contented groans as she worked her lips up and down his shaft. The groans were accompanied by spasmodic jerks of his hips as she tongued the tip of his cock's swollen head. "You're so good," he whispered, "I love how you suck my cock." She loved hearing his words of compliment, and sucked him harder. She was aware of the rustle of the sheet below them as he squirmed, his movements becoming increasingly less controlled. His breathing became increasingly laboured as she focused on his pleasure. His cock twitched in her mouth, each spasm accompanied by a moan. "Oh fuck... Oh fuck..." His words vocalised his increasing tension as she brought him towards his climax. His head tossed, fingers gripped her shoulder. "Oh... Oh... Aaaahhh... Fuck..." She could taste his approach, feel it as well as hear it. Every sound he made told her that she had taken

Marked

Marked by Kilted Wookie Her skin was marked. Hot lines, angry lines; such a contrast from the pale, soft white skin between them. They were the lingering evidence of the belt's kiss. In her mind, she relived the thrashing; feeling the hot tears on her face as she was made to count each stinging lash. Just as it had when the leather had bit, she felt her cunt grow moist as she remembered each impact. The anticipation, the sound of the belt as it swished through the air, followed by the crack of contact on her backside had an almost comfortable familiarity; a pace and rhythm that repetition did not dull. The crisp sharpness of each lash delivered a measured dose of pain and pleasure, each one building on the last. She had maintained a determined silence at first, uttering only the count of each stroke through clenched teeth. His delivery was, however, as merciless as it was precise. The pain intensified with each caress until each count was punctuated with sobs. Lost within that plac

Signs

Signs by Kilted Wookie Mascara streaked tears ran down her face, across cheeks flushed red with pain and arousal. The imprint of the rope, with its coils and knots crossed her skin; a pink swelling, evidence of how she'd struggled against it, pulling it tighter, digging into her flesh. Angry crimson welts, such a sharp contrast against the otherwise pale whiteness of her skin, burned across her buttocks, a market testament to the kiss of his belt where it had rained down on her. Her smudged lipstick, a silent witness of how he had taken his pleasure from her mouth; her jaw ached and her throat was hoarse, a pleasant reminder of how he had used her. Thick, sticky white globs of his essence on her her neck and over her breasts; a sign of his release. She barely noticed its warmth as it trickled over her skin, so inconsequential in comparison to the heat of her recently thrashed backside. His arms wrapped tightly but tenderly around her, holding her close; comforting and supporting he

Continue

Continue by Kilted Wookie The pressure mounts. As it always does, her mouth works its magic. Her tongue coats my shaft with a warm film of saliva, her lips glide along my length. "Ahhh! Good girl!" I sigh as she takes me deep; the head of my cock lodging in the back of her throat. She knows what I like. Experience has taught her to read my body's signs; that language of arousal and desire in which she is so fluent. My breathing quickens as her tongue flicks over the engorged head. "Yessss," I hiss from between clenched teeth. Up and down, her lips travel. My cock, sensitised by her attention, can so easily distinguish the difference between the temperature of the air, and the warm of her mouth as her lips move back and forth. She knows what I like. She knows what my cock likes. She knows just what it takes to bring me to the brink and not boil over; to keep me simmering, to extend my pleasure. I enjoy her mouth. My cock enjoys her mouth. She assures me that her

All By Herself

All By Herself by Kilted Wookie Emma’s hands glide over her soft skin. She moans, softly, as she cups her breasts and begins to caress them. Her nipples stiffen, and Emma closes her eyes; murmuring in dreamy contentment as she teases them; pinching and tugging them gently before allowing her hands to travel. Tentatively, Emma slides a finger between her labia, tracing the warm, moisture on their surface. Unconsciously she raises it to her mouth, tasting herself; savouring her own rich, intoxicating flavour. Emma’s fingers return, teasing her clit, sliding between her silken lower lips. The excitement mounts inexorably, contractions grip, Emma’s heart pounds. Not yet! Slow down! Make it last… Reluctantly her hand retreats from her clit and again, she licks her fingers clean. Fire burns. Emma’s body is alive with expectation of release as she caresses herself all over. Like iron to a magnet her fingers are unconsciously drawn towards her clit and she needs every ounce of willpower she po

The Contradiction

The Contradiction by Kilted Wookie The silver flecks in the stubble on his chin and in his short, dark brown hair gave him a slightly weathered look. There were lines around his eyes that spoke more of sadness than of laughter as they looked out from beneath a furrowed brow. They were kind, brown eyes, that spoke of a propensity for dry humour that was echoed in the wry, lopsided, not quite smile that he bestowed upon those on whom his attention fell. Dark. Brooding. Just the faintest hint of danger; not quite fully veiled behind a mix of quiet strength and vulnerability. His voice was soft yet clearly heard; although his eyes spoke more than his mouth. They told you his story, his past, while at the same time his penetrating gaze saw what lay beneath the surface; interpreting the subtle signs and tells of those around him. His shoulders spoke of an easy strength. Large hands conveyed an air of assured gentleness. He wasn’t particularly tall, nor heavily built and yet he clearly had a

Date Night

Date Night by Kilted Wookie We make our separate ways to the hotel and meet in the bar. Light-hearted chat over drinks as we wait for our table. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the ambiance of the surroundings, maybe it's the result of the prolonged exchange of increasingly explicit messages that have been sent in the build-up to this evening; whatever it is, there is a sense of anticipation that tonight will be special. I could feel it in her touch, in her response to the welcoming embrace; her body coiled like a spring as her lips lightly touched against mine. The slight flushing of her skin, that was more than just an effect of the wine, spoke of her arousal. The hunger in her eyes had little to do with the meal we were about to have, but spoke intensely of the banquet that would follow later. I could feel the electricity in her body as I led her to the table. The familiar sigh as my hand settled on the exposed skin of the small of her back, was a subtle yet explicit

Waiting

Waiting by Kilted Wookie Sometimes it seems like ages pass, waiting there, alone in bed. What you want most of all is to feel the warmth of your lover's body next to you, holding you close, sharing their body heat with you. Seconds pass, then minutes. You count your heartbeats as you wait; anticipation mixed with frustration. Footsteps. A creaking stair. Anticipation deepens as your lover approaches. Perversely, time seems pass ever more slowly as each step on the stairway is ascended. A shiver runs down your spine; as much a visual display of your growing arousal as a reaction to the cool air of the bedroom. The footsteps grow closer, yet seem further apart; the time between each footfall becoming increasingly, agonisingly drawn out. And then they are there. You feel the bed yield beneath the extra weight. Your heart beats faster. You barely breath as they close the remaining distance between you. You sigh contentedly as you feel their skin against yours, snuggling into you as the

Blank Canvas

Blank Canvas by Kilted Wookie The skin of her naked backside; pale and smooth; a blank canvas worthy of a masterpiece. But how to mark it? What tool to choose leave an imprint on that unblemished flesh? The hand: the familiar sound of skin striking skin. Feeling the surface warm as the skin reddens in response to the repeated firm application of my palm. The belt: that stinging crack. The broad, deep crimson stripes. Her moans in response to the kiss of the leather. The cane: whip-like and slender. That ominous "swoosh" as at arcs through the air to land on her. The narrow angry welts. Her sobs as it bites her. The slipper: teasing and playful. Firmer than the hand, but softer than the belt. Spreading its glow over a wider area than both. So many options... So many choices... The climax: streaks of white. Warm and sticky on her now over-sensitised skin. The finale: the soothing lotion gently applied. The soft words of comfort. The tender embrace. © Kilted Wookie February 2018