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Lessons in Kate Posts

Taking Liberties (I)

Erotic romance was how I started. This is definitely a slow burn. An actual story for once, but it is a departure from what I have posted to my blog so far so may take some adjusting.

Many years after the fact, I learnt he had finely orchestrated our first meeting. Sat beside one another at a dull talk on moral responsibility, he put his hand on my thigh. I slapped it away. He was thoughtful, and when the room grew rowdy once more he placed the hand higher upon my thigh. This time, when I made to swat the hand away again, he caught my fingers in his and held them fast, delicately stroking the palm.

Afterwards the speaker announced that they would be serving us tea and fruitcake in the ante room. I broke free of his grasp, and had been speaking with Lydia’s sister, when he approached me at the samovar and said,

“I do hope you didn’t think me forward.”

Always that impertinent grin about his mouth. His blonde-toned hair oiled but waved towards his brow. Eleven months and two inches between us.
“I do think you forward.”

“Oh dear, that wasn’t my intention.”
He stroked his hand along the length of my index finger, I looked about us and tempered my voice.

“You manhandled me.”

“A misunderstanding.”

“Your hand was placed upon my thigh where it had no place being. How could I possibly misunderstand that?”
His large, child-like blue eyes registered my scandalous words with some amusement.

“I was gripped, gripped by Professor Bradley’s rousing speech, of course. Had your thigh been that of the good professor himself, or even my dear, departed mother, my reaction would have been much the same.”
His speech was firm and measured. He looked me in the eye carefully. It could almost have been true.

“I can see you don’t believe me. Perhaps I could take you to dinner and explain in a more detailed fashion?”

“If I refuse, would you persist in harassing me?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” He shrugged, turning to the samovar himself for his own refreshment.

He was infuriating.

I went to dinner.

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Switch

So, the two protagonists from Meet Me There were not contained to that tale alone. I think this is from earlier on in their story. Enjoy.

***

Looking back, it all started to go a bit weird when we decided to buy a strap-on.

I met her in Tesco’s. Of course, where else? Where do people usually meet perfect whirlwinds of women who paw at you incessantly and make you glow? Lidl?

I was fingering a stalk of broccoli. Deciding; was I feeling virtuous enough to eat green things, or was I going to get chips on the way home? She was hiding behind a stack of Easter eggs, pretending to be a bunny. As you do. She did look slightly ashamed when she noticed me staring at her. She was wearing shorts, even though it had been snowing all day.

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In Summer

Is it exhibitionism in your own back garden? In your own space, technically away from the prying eyes of the neighbours but if they happened to hear the scuffle, a moan that escapes a fraction louder than intended, or glance from their bedroom window as his hand moves lower….. What then?

Less than a week is nothing. It’s no time at all to be apart. It’s especially nothing when you don’t stop your steady trickle of conversation and lewd photography. The usual morning sweethearts and goodnight my loves had carried on as normal, even though he was in another country, and on a minimal time difference. Still, I ran into his arms when I got off the bus and stood on my tiptoes gripping him tightly in the middle of the pavement, not wanting to let him go. Turns out a week might be too long, regardless.

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Meet Me There

For girls who enjoy dominant AF girls

She cornered me after half an hour threading through the sticky, endless darkness. Her fingers laced through mine and dragging me to somewhere even darker, thicker with the scent of new leather, sugar and sex.

“I told you I’d come and you know why I came.” She whispered urgently, taking my hands and placing them on the hem of her tiny mini dress. “No knickers. No obstacles. No rules. No boys.”

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A letter to Myself

Four weeks ago my world imploded as my M decided he could not continue to be with me, after some familial intrusion into our personal lives that some of you will be aware of.
Ten days later, nursing my poor, shredded heart, I wrote this letter to myself.
I have since reread it twice, and though it still makes me weep, it also calms me enough to press on.

Some minor things have been changed, names omitted (the copy I have in my file uses my real name), but other than that, it’s as it was then.

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Muse

Let me tell you about my muse, unintentional fueller of my fantasies. I do not think of him and feel my mind begin to wander…

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Blurs

I don’t remember why I wrote this exactly. I know I wrote it for someone who wasn’t much impressed with it, but I like it well enough.

Consensual, caring BDSM. All characters over 18. No one is a blood relative. NSFW. 18+ only. Copyright me.

“I’m scared.” I say, looking at the bed nervously.

“I’m not.” He replies, half-smiling.

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