Dirty Little Holidays–Christmas with Mandi and Nico


Mandi struggled against the red ribbon that bound her wrists to her headboard.  Garland bit into her thighs just above her knees, which both spread her legs and lifted her hips. Nico shifted the wide bow across her breasts, scraping the rough fabric over her nipples.  Erotic burning made her nipples harden and her back arch as far as it could.  The pain from the abrasion sent a sensitive line of pleasure straight to her core.

Reaching the brink of too painful, Nico untied the bow and tightened the ribbon around her breasts, blowing lightly across her flesh.  Mandi lifted her head, catching the look in Nico’s eyes.  She was in trouble, and she could barely wait.

Once Nico had repurposed the ribbon to harness her breasts. It held tightly enough to darken her skin to a vibrant pink and made the stick out in front of her like torpedoes.  His eyes had darkened to a pulsating cobalt blue as a flick of silver slapped across her purpling nipples.  The sting jolted her off the bed, her hips pushing higher and a moan caroling out of her mouth.

Mandi peered up in time to see a tinsel whip come back down across her swollen and sensitive skin, but the slap was soft as it dusted her skin, finding its way through the valley between her breasts, down her ribs, around her navel, and slapped with increasing pressure at the apex of her thighs until her limbs quivered in their restraints.

A soft, throaty chuckle fell across her skin as the tinsel whip disappeared. Nico was lucky on two accounts: first, tying her up was his Christmas present, which meant she couldn’t reciprocate; and second, he knew exactly how to unravel her.  Mandi quivered under his touch, completely at his mercy.

A crinkling hit her ears, but she couldn’t see the source. As she waited for the reveal, Nico bent over her, his tongue dipping between her folds, and his eyes lit up as if he’d found a treat.  Heat invaded Mandi, but she couldn’t be sure if it were Nico’s tongue or her arousal.

An oversized candy cane appeared below her chin, lifting toward her lips until her mouth fit around the inch-and-a-half-wide stick of sugar. Her tongue wrapped around the sticky sweetness, sucking on the candy cane as if it were Nico.  If she hadn’t been tied up, she’d taken hold of him and flicked her tongue along the tender knot under the head of his cock.

Nico pulled the candy cane from her mouth and squeezed the underside of her left hip.  His mouth left her skin moist and wanting but not for long.  The phallic candy pushed over her clit, circling and sticking.

But she wanted his mouth; it’s the only reason she’d actually agreed to this—the pleasure promised by that sweet tongue and bow-shaped lips.

He shoved the candy cane inside of her. Her sex resisted, but the wetness of her arousal cooled the sting as he pulsed it inside of her. Four long, thick inches of candy cane tugged and rubbed until Nico was able to thrust the red and white cane into her smoothly.

“I’ve got twelve inches here, love. And by the time we’re done,” he gave her lips a fresh swipe of his tongue, “you’ll take at lease eight of them for me.”

The tacky candy cane tapped against the very depths of her at five inches.  His tongue found her clit, making her hips roll to accommodate the candy and Nico.

Moans vibrated up from her chest—aching within the confines of the ribbon—and her thighs burned as the garland cut into her thighs.  The unrelenting tapping at her womb stole another jolt from her limbs.  His thrusts grew larger, and her gaze flew up to watch the red of the candy smear across the white and Nico’s tongue slide around the invasion of her sex.  She’d stretched to accept six inches.

The tip of his tongue found her clit, lapping up the sticky residue.  Sucking her into his mouth, her core shuttered, grabbed at the candy cane, and closed around it.  Nico’s name fell from her mouth, and he shoved another inch into her.

Her body leapt toward a crescendo, teetering at the top with the rhythm he created varying staccato and legato as though he could play every nerve in her body. Her moans formed the melody, a long mix of highs and lows building its own crescendo.

He pushed again, deeper, reaching the full eight inches of thrusting Christmas candy.  Nico grunted with satisfaction, and her body could no longer hold his tempo.  With a final note, her body convulsed, digging her ties deeper, cutting pain into the pleasure so that the soft gasping of her breath and the slick sound of the thrusting candy cane overloaded her bared senses.

Finally, Nico pulled the candy from her core and savored the taste of her minty lips until her body stopped shaking.  With a stealthy Grinch of a smile, he untied her breasts and legs before he hovered over her.

“And how many presents do I get this year?”

Dirty Little Restrictions–Cami

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Goosebumps climbed Cami’s back, wrapped down her hips, between her thighs, up her ribs, and around her breasts, making her nipples hard.  She quivered, jangling her reinforced restraints as the male behind her traced a dollop of soft leather over the bumps of her spine.

He had knelt her on the cold marble floor and tied her against the wall, arms stretched overhead, knees and ankles bound, all done with silk rope and reinforced with chains.

Cami closed her eyes.  With no blindfold, she could only rely on a slight turn of her head, but her peripheral vision merely caught a glimpse of the man’s tan skin and dark hair before she grew dizzy.

They didn’t know one another. That was the point. That’s why she’d searched for this underground bondage parlor for months.  No one else could know about her appetites.

The leather dollop dipped below her cheeks, tapping at the apex of her thighs and making her back arch as much as she could manage.  Her breasts scraped against the chilled glass at her front—the one hidden with a curtain that at any moment could open to reveal her.  Air sucked deeply into her lungs as the soft leather bit into her inner thighs, her ass cheeks, against the sealed folds of her sex.  A small yip reverberated against her teeth as another whipping broke her open.

Her knees burnt as she shifted, wishing for more contact, for his heat to slide against her and contrast the burning cold.

His voice was the next best thing—strong, vibrant, and with a bit of a South American lisp. “Be careful what you present me with, slave.  You are not familiar with what your gestures mean.

Suddenly, his breath draped itself over her neck and shoulders, bringing his musky yet tropical scent to her pallet. “So, you had better learn to ask.”

“Touch me, please.”  His hovering body cocooned her in a rivaling swirl of temperatures that swarmed across her flesh in search of balance.

The leather dollop tapped its way up her belly, and she dared a glimpse of him.  His dark hair shielded his caramel eyes and swooped along the bridge of his nose. But she barely captured that image before the leather pinched between her right nipple at that glass, rolling it and scraping it against the glass.  Her entire body arched at the pain of it, and wetness inside of her seeped and rolled down her thighs.

“Have you earned that privilege? You have not once come for me.”

Leather rolled down her body, zig-zagging against her ribs and the concave of her stomach, before invading her thighs and lips.  Coarse pleasure jolted her, but still she felt no other flesh against hers.

She looked down her body, through the small gap her breasts presented her with, to watch the man’s hand thrust a riding crop between her legs, digging into the pearl of her clit, and demanding she leap toward her first orgasm.  The pleasure crested as she watched, like she was being pulled through boiling water just fast enough to not get burned.

Cami wanted the burn.  She wanted the orgasm forced from her.  She wanted to hand over that control.  And she had no choice once her core exploded, spasming, jerking her body against the restraints and against the glass.

And his touch didn’t relent.  In fact, his thick fingers found the small slice of her lips and shoved past any last guard she had, invading her pleasure.

Her master had given her exactly what she’d asked for, on his own terms.

Dirty Little Mermaid: Starr


Starr lifted herself onto the edge of a tall stone, one that jutted meters above the water.  Her edge shielded her from the beach. The slate cold and smooth under her newly bare ass sprouted a tight shaking along her arms, her shoulders, and her breasts.  Her nipples tightened into hard pearls.

Life under the water was free, except for this. Except for sex. Mers couldn’t have sex under water with their tails; they couldn’t even touch themselves, and Starr was sick of it. She needed the release, and most days, she could barely sneak away.

Spreading her thighs, her hot sex pressed against the smooth ridges beneath her.  Her hips jerked, fingers gripping that ledge to feel that sharp cold.  The mere change in temperature shocked her system but wasn’t enough.  No, she’d been waiting too long to get away.  Grinding into the stone, Starr dragged her nails across her left inner thigh.  Sparks tangled up her spine and a moan tangled itself around her tongue.

She needed more. Starr dipped her mouth into the salty Mediterranean Sea and sang to the fish.  In moments, an Ophidion Barbatum nipped at her outstretched toes.  Her fingers danced along his back before she took hold of his tail.  He danced under the water for her in attempts to swim away, which was exactly what she wanted.

Her hips shifted again, forward and toward the edge of her rock so that the bottom of her ass cheeks hung over into the open water.  Holding onto the fish with both hands, she pulled him between her thighs and closed her legs around his quivering form.  Starr took precaution with his scales, knowing what it felt like to snag one in her mermaid form, so she gently pressed him against her, holding his tail firmly but not roughly as he continued his struggle.

She moaned, soft and light and nothing compared to the sighs and whispers of the Sea.  Heat and cold battled along her skin, inside of her as the Barbatum rubbed and wiggled against her folds, against her clit.  Starr arched her back, reaching above her for a place hold on the stone.

“Posiedon,” Starr called out at the Sea.  The Barbatum had opened her folds and wiggled his back deeper inside of her without giving her what she really wanted.  She needed penetration to be truly satisfied, which she’d rarely ever achieved.

Her fingers found a ledge to cradle some of her weight as she rounded and thrust her hips in the open water, against the struggling fish.  He slowed, and she squeezed him enough to encourage his struggles as the waves rolled over her elongated body.  Her torso sank and crested against the waves, her breasts bobbing across the surface of the water. The gentle embrace of the water lapping at her nipples, encouraging her motions, her thrusts against the poor, tired Barbatum, and a wetness seeped from her—the kind of sticky wet that came from her arousal, from the tight winding down the center of her body.

She cried again, louder as her gyrating hips found a protrusion in the slate under her.  A nub curved up, catching her between her spread cheeks, against her rear entrance.  Arching herself hard, she guided herself over it, igniting a sharp resistance in her flesh.

The pleasure focused hard inside of her, turning into a stream of raw energy pushing harder and faster at her sex.  Heavier and heavier, an orgasm shoved its way through her core, making her convulse around the Barbatum before she released him and sank against her salty escape.