"It's no wonder I don't bother with all this," I mutter. "It takes forever." Sophia shakes her head. "But it's fun Zoe, it's like creating a piece of art. Your face is your canvas. You can be whoever you want to be."
"Don't you like who I am normally?" I ask, a little bit of self-doubt creeping in.
She tuts at me as she reaches for her brushes. "Zoe, you know I love you just as you are. I'm simply enhancing your natural beauty."
She stands back again. "And from where I'm looking, your natural beauty is outstanding." She's looking hungrily at me and my pussy floods again. I wonder if I will make a damp patch on the beautiful lilac velvet seat of the chair.
Sophia brings the little pots of coloured powder closer to the edge of the bed as she kneels between my thighs, pushing my legs further apart so that she can get as close as possible to me. She arranges everything just so, and I feel like it's a ceremony and I am the willing sacrifice. She unrolls a velvet pouch to reveal an array of brushes. They are jet black in all different sizes and I watch as she peruses the collection, deciding on which one to use to inflict colour onto my face. I could watch her for hours, the gentle jiggle of her breasts against the satin of her corset.
She pulls out one of the largest of the brushes and swirls it through a pot of pink powder then deposits it on my cheek with a flourish. The brush tickles my skin and the scent of the powder fills my nostrils making me want to sneeze. Sophia repeats the process on my second cheek and grins as she looks at me. "You suit a pretty flushed cheek," she says. "It reminds me of how you look when you're turned on."
"I am turned on," I say smiling back at her. "It would be hard not to be with your sexy curves so close to me."
"Am I making your pussy wet?" she asks, walking her fingers up my inner thighs towards my damp crotch. I spread my legs a little wider, bucking my hips in a desperate attempt to get her to stroke my throbbing pussy. She is teasing me, the mischievous glint in her eye telling me that I am not about to get relief anytime soon. Sophia purses her lips and blows on the brush, letting a fine dusting of pink powder rain down onto my thighs. She leans towards me again and trails the fluffy end of the brush over my cleavage. I gasp at the sensation of the brush on my skin, my nipples hardening instantly beneath my lacy bra so that they rub tantalisingly against the fabric.
Sophia runs her tongue over her bottom lip as she watches my reaction. Then she leans forward and runs it over the small curve of my left breast. Before I can react she blows gently on the wet patch, watching my skin pucker into goosebumps, sending darts of pleasure through my body. My breasts feel heavy and swollen, the nipples aching to feel her tongue, lips, fingers, anything.
She has something else in mind though and goes back to her pots of colour, biting her lip as she thinks about which colours to use to paint my eyes. I love how she gets all serious as she works on me. She trained at beauty school before she became a dancer and she knows her stuff.
She picks a small brush and dips it into a pale pinky colour. "Close your eyes," she murmurs and I do as I am told. The loss of my sight makes my other senses go into overdrive. I can smell the musk of her pussy and the hot scent of my own need. I can still taste the sweetness of her lip gloss and the smooth slide of her skin against my thighs is driving me crazy. She sweeps the brush over my eyelid. She is so close, her ample breasts rub against mine. I keep my eyes closed even when she removes the brush, waiting for her to continue. She lets her lips press against mine briefly, her free hand on my leg before she moves to the other eye. Her breath is warm against my cheek as she concentrates on getting the colour even. I stay perfectly still, my eyes closed, waiting to see what she will do next, the thrill of the unknown making me wetter than I have ever been.
Sophia blows briefly over my eyelids to remove the excess and then I feel the soft bristles of a tiny brush stroke over my cheeks and linger on the bow of my lips. She teases me with the sensations, stroking and dabbing against my skin. I giggle as she tickles me, trying to squirm away but she holds my hand to keep me still.
"Stop wriggling," she chides, giving me a playful spank on the thigh. I am so desperate for her touch that I wriggle again, trying to get another slap.
"I know what you're doing," she says, "but if you can't sit still I'll have to make you." With that she grabs a silk scarf and binds my wrists together behind the chair. I moan softly as the material holds me tightly against the chair. I spread my legs a little wider, knowing that my thong is barely covering my pussy and that the sight of it will be making Sophia hungry for me.
I keep my eyes closed, wondering if she will continue with the makeup. I find out soon enough. She tells me to open my eyes, and I feel the cool of the mascara wand as she delicately flicks my eyelashes with jet black, defining and highlighting my features with her miracle touch. In that moment I adore her, the way she fusses over me like I am her living doll.
"So beautiful," she says, standing back to admire me, "but I think we need a little more work elsewhere. With that she slides her scarlet-painted fingernails into my thong and in one swift motion pulls it down my legs, flinging it unceremoniously across the bedroom. The sudden cool of the air on my pussy makes me moan and I look at her, watching as she studies the dark pink slit she has exposed. She kneels before me again and with a flourish, takes two more scarves and ties each ankle to a chair leg.
"Such a pretty little pout," she murmurs, "so pink and juicy. Did I do that to you?" She grins as she speaks, knowing full well the effect she has on me. I almost forget to breathe as I wait for her to continue. She slips her hands into my bra and pushes it beneath my tits, exposing my nipples. My mouth drops open and she kisses my lower lip, pinching each rock hard tip and eliciting a desperate gasp from me. "I love the contrast against your skin," she whispers, "like ripe berries dipped in cream." Again she picks up her brush but this time she wastes no time on my face, instead heading directly for the rosy buds of my arousal and surrounding them in the tantalising prickle of the brush tip.
Sophia flicks and twirls, painting my breasts with every colour she has laid out. I see her open her glitter and watch as she rains the sparkling particles over my small mounds. I am a rainbow, a colourful bird and she kneels to take a photograph of her handiwork.
As she puts the camera down she turns her attention to my glistening pussy. I can feel the liquid desire dripping onto my thighs, between the cheeks of my arse and I know, am sure, that I have left my mark on the pastel velvet beneath me. She slides a finger under me and presses the chair. "So wet," she marvels, "you're left a little imprint of your pussy for me. I should draw the shape and frame it. Better yet I should make you sit on coloured paper and mark that with your lust, you naughty girl. I would keep it by my bed to remind you of how wet I make your pussy."
I sigh as she reaches for me, the cool of her fingertip meeting the aching heat of my clit. She circles it gently and I arch towards her, a pathetic mewl the only sound I can make. I want her fingers inside me, her mouth on me. I want to be enveloped by her creamy flesh, to breathe in the perfume of her skin and lick the salty taste of her arousal from every nook and cranny of her body. I stretch out my leg and wrap it around the softness of her thigh, pulling her until she squashes against me. I could lose myself in her sexy, soft, curvy body for the rest of my life and I am almost shaking with the need to feel her hands on me. She knows what she is doing though and I know that she is not done with me yet. I am right
Sophia stands and moves around the room. "These make up brushes are all very well," she says, "but I think we could get some interesting results with other kinds." As she speaks she is opening drawers and gathering items from around her bedroom. When she has finished she deposits them on the bed. I can see a large hairbrush, a toothbrush and a small comb amongst her haul. I gaze up at her adoringly, and she rewards me with a kiss, soft and tender and full of the promise of what we will do when she has finished with me. I wonder how long she has had me tied here, but it doesn't really matter. The rest of the wo
rld can go fuck itself when I'm here with Sophia.
She nestles back between my thighs and strokes her fingers up and down, getting teasingly close to my aching cunt before sliding back down to my knees. She leans towards me and slowly parts my lips until I am completely exposed. My clit hums with anticipation. "Please," I murmur and she smiles.
She picks up the makeup brush again and slowly, delicately trails it over my clit. The sensation is incredible and I feel my pussy contract, sweet-scented liquid dribbling out of me. Sophia dips the brush into it and paints a heart over my shaven mound. Then she shakes glitter over it, watching it land on the sticky shape. When she blows away the excess I almost come just from her breath. She takes another picture and I feel myself open for her. I love being watched, exposed for her private view, knowing that every slick contour of my body is turning her on as much as I am turned on by her looking.
"Your clit looks like it needs some attention," she says and I nod, hardly daring to speak, my mouth dry with longing. She reaches out her hand and circles thoughtfully over the array of brushes. Then with a decisive nod she takes a toothbrush in her hand and slowly, gently applies it to my aching pearl. The bristles are sharp, much harder than the others and I squirm on the seat. Sophia rotates the head, barely touching me yet it feels as though she is running her fingernails over me. I pant, my body flexing and bucking beneath her touch. I long to have her press it hard against me, to rub me, the pressure that I crave to make me come so close and yet I don't want this exquisite torture to end.
She teases me some more, circling, pressing lightly then harder, then taking away the brush and blowing on my abused flesh. I can see how much the skin has darkened, the rush of blood to the surface, the swollen puff of my lips in contrast to the paleness of my thighs. She picks up the hairbrush, the thick handle taunting me as I picture it delving into my pussy, the smooth bulb of its length plundering my hole. I beg her to push it inside me but she shakes her head, tapping my slit gently with it, the solid wood slapping against my heated skin. It feels so good and yet it is not enough. I slide towards her on the chair, my thighs so far apart they ache and I know they will be a constant reminder of our evening; tomorrow when I am back in the office they will serve to give me exquisite flashbacks of the attention she is lavishing on me right now.
Tap, tap, tap; she is tormenting me, her fingers gliding across my stomach, edging ever closer to my swollen breasts. Finally she takes a nipple between her thumb and forefinger and twists, drawing a hiss of breath from me and as she does she slowly eases the bulbous end of the hairbrush inside me. I almost scream but her ruby lips find mine and she silences me with her kiss, sliding the length of the handle deeper into me. I can hear the sticky wetness of my pussy as it clutches at the intrusion. The sharp bristles mark my inner thigh and the pain only serves to heighten my desire. I am soaked, my honey running freely down the handle and over her fingers. I drop my head back and give in to the sensation of her fingers on me, the thick wood of the brush inside me. She nibbles from my jaw line to my earlobe and then down to my neck, licking, biting and nipping at my skin. I look down, the sight of my rainbow chest against the milky white of hers making me shiver. She pulls back and we watch the dark wood of the hairbrush as it parts my swollen lips, the slurp and slip of its entry and exit turning me on even more. She kisses me again and then Sophia's lips travel over my breasts, down my stomach and as I open my legs wider for her she fastens them over my clit. Lips suckle; fingers pinch and the relentless thrusting of the thick handle leaves me in a melted pool of desire. She has ensnared me, has me captive and I am at her whim. I watch her flame red hair, the curls bouncing and bobbing around her face as she licks and sucks, her tongue laving the little bead nestled between my folds.
I feel my orgasm building, a wave of desperate longing which she is about to release. I can no longer think about anything except the feel of her, the scent of her and my complete submission to her ministrations. I exist only for her pleasure and she is determined to take every last drop of mine.
My legs are stiff, my body crying out as she laps and tongues at my pussy. The hairbrush has been discarded, replaced by her fingers and she has her hand in her knickers, frigging herself as she drags me ever closer to climax. I can hear the wet mess of her lust as her fingers glide in and out and as I breathe deeply I can smell her, mixed with my own desire.
I wriggle free of my bonds and let my hands wander through her hair, over the creamy skin of her back, her arms and around to the pillowy softness of her tits still encased in the dusky satin of her corset. I pop one out, then both, heavy in my palms as I tweak her nipples.
Her moan of pleasure sends me over the edge and with a low wail I feel my pussy contract around her fingers, the intense pulse of my orgasm leaving me incoherent as wave after wave of sensation hits me. There is nothing but her mouth and fingers, my world goes black as my eyelids flicker and I am whispering her name as my cunt twitches and jumps, creamy liquid spilling from me. I feel her breathe hot on me as she stiffens and I know she is coming too. The knowledge that I have done this to her grips my heart and makes me dizzy.
She slumps forward against me, her chest heaving, her fingers still inside both of us and I stroke her pretty skin, then smoothing her tangle of fiery curls. I shiver. Now that the heat of our lust has dispersed the room feels cold and she smiles up at me.
Sophia unties the scarves at my ankles and we slip under the feather duvet of her sumptuous bed. I am enfolded by the mattress, the duvet and her beautiful soft curves, a suffocating whiteness that I could sink into forever and never come back from.
I close my eyes and we sleep.
About the Authors
Tilly Hunter is a British erotica author and newspaper journalist with a wicked imagination and a fondness for stories of fresh air, wholesome fun and BDSM. Her work has been published by Xcite Books and the website Every Night Erotica and she has stories coming up on Oysters & Chocolate and For The Girls as well as an anthology from House of Erotica. When she is not writing she can often be found halfway up a mountain or curled up by her imaginary fireside with some knitting and a slice of cake. Find her blog at tillyhuntererotica.blogspot.com.
Lily Harlem lives in the UK with a workaholic hunk and a crazy cat. With a desk overlooking farmland, she allows her imagination to run free and revels in being able to use the written word as an outlet for her creativity. Lily's stories are made up of colourful characters traveling on everyone's favorite journey — falling in love. If the story isn't romantic, sexy and exciting, it won't be written, at least not by this author. Website: http://lilyharlem.com
Lexie Bay started writing to immerse herself in a fantasy world where women are adored and men fall at their feet. Then she realised that sometimes men do that so you can stomp all over them in your sexy stiletto boots and since then she's been creating stories that stay true to her original romantic dream while exploring the erotic, the kinky and the downright filthy. She finally found the courage to unleash them onto the world and now writes about anything that emerges from the murky depths of her imagination, whenever she gets the opportunity.
Lexie lives with her husband and two daughters on the south coast of England, and spends her days working as an accounts manager. She loves chocolate, theme parks, BBQs on the beach and cosy winter Sundays and her dream is to write full time.
You can find her stories in Uniform Behaviour and Seducing The Myth edited by Lucy Felthouse and in Immoral Views published by Kojo Black at Sweetmeats Press
http://www.lexiebay.co.uk
Giselle Renarde is a queer Canadian, avid volunteer, contributor to well over 50 short story anthologies, and author of dozens of electronic and print books, including Anonymous, Nanny State, Audrey & Lawrence, Ondine, Secret Confessions, and The Red Satin Collection. Ms Renarde lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head. She loves a girl who loves photography and science fiction.
Find Giselle Renarde at:
&nb
sp; http://donutsdesires.blogspot.com
http://www.wix.com/gisellerenarde/erotica
http://twitter.com/GiselleRenarde
Sommer Marsden's been called "…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre" (Violet Blue), "Unapologetic" (Alison Tyler), "…the whirling dervish of erotica" (Craig J. Sorensen),and "Erotica royalty..." (Lucy Felthouse for Blog Critics Books).
Her erotic novels include Restless Spirit, Big Bad, Angry Sex,and Hard Lessons. Sommer currently writes erotica and erotic romance for Xcite Books, eXcessica, Ellora's Cave, Pretty Things Press, Resplendence Publishing and Mischief Books. The wine-swigging, dachshund-owning, wannabe runner author writes work that runs the gamut from bondage to zombies to humor.
Sommer's short works can be found in well over one hundred (and counting) erotic anthologies. Her short stories have also been included numerous adult and romance magazines--both in print and online.
Elizabeth Lapthorne has been writing professionally since 2002. She has a number of books released and is continually surprised by how much fun she has starting a new book and discovering new characters and situations that they put themselves in. She enjoys going to the gym (usually to chew over her latest problem scene), is rarely without a partially read book and has a weakness for chocolate.
Elizabeth loves to hear from her fans and checks her email religiously. You can email her at [email protected] or check out her website with free extracts of all her current works at: http://elapthorne.mmebj.com/index.html
JoAnne Kenrick is an ex ghost tour guide turned smutty author. JoAnne grew up in a small sea-side town on the coast of North Wales and lived in a house that backs onto a graveyard. Perhaps that is why she is fascinated with all things dark and macabre. Having worked as a Ghost Tour Guide with Britain's most renowned exorcist, it's no surprise to her or her family that she now writes fictional tales about ghosts, zombies and vampires; basically anything that goes bump in the dark.
Coming Together With Curves Page 17