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Naughty At Work - Pics, Gifs, & Personal Posts

LillianDevereux said:
Yes…I always loved mirrors and transparent clothing. For him arriving in a naughty see through dress. Polka dotted dresses are my most favorite. When dressing for him I feel sexy and sweet both…replete with toe-boots, a cupless corset and a posture collar with a long leash. What can I say? I am a pure and simple submissive for extreme paint and tight leather corsets; shockingly high heels; open ginger leather gloves; for garments that push up and pull in and ready to explore possibilities. Feeling the need to touch and suck a hard Cock, to feel the current of longing between one body part and another, my hunger to be fed, the craving to be filled…a simple drama of obsession.

With all of my ‘see-through dress’ comments I have made here within the Forum, I still feel his desire to slapping me hard with the force of his exited fury: “Christ you are a sexy slut and so perfectly wearing your dress like whore or cheap cunt” he gasped. His face totally overshadowing me and tearing at certain aspects of my own fetishes. I didn’t want to pull myself away from his eyes that were sucking my emotions dry! I was falling down, down into the demands of his eyes, my nipples and moist cunt taut with anticipation of the promises that I imagined they offered. God this is better than love. This was a fantasy blown out of all natural proportions and played out right in front of my hungry eyes.

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Thank you for this amazing work of inspiring word and images! I truly appreciate this introduction to you. Thank you for this fine stimulating pleasure on a Friday morning as I lay in bed reviewing Lit to energize for the day…. 🙏👍💐
 
DrKinks said:
Thank you for this amazing work of inspiring word and images! I truly appreciate this introduction to you. Thank you for this fine stimulating pleasure on a Friday morning as I lay in bed reviewing Lit to energize for the day…. 🙏👍💐
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You rock wearing those red pumps...😈👠❤️
 
LillianDevereux said:
Thank you for your kind words and compliments. Waking-up on a Friday morning energizing oneself for the day or weekend ahead…does have a very familiar ring to it. As to the “inspiring word and images” my writing environment indeed is more often than not erotically atmospheric. For me to making my stories tick I need to work in a state of sexual arousal….which seems to escalate my writings more rich and deep and immersive. My anticipation building as layers and levels are stripped away. All radiant depravities: including spanking, whipping, service submission, orgasm control, bondage, primal play and magical aftercare.

My ‘Mirror’ reflections at times evoke a fairy tale feel… and reminding of ‘Alice Through the Looking Glass’ – which seems to fit well. I guess these feelings have always been there – demons hiding in the deeps. Wall to Wall mirrors one in front, one behind. My reflection bouncing back and forth between the opposing panes – reflections reflecting reflections – echoing off as reflections in my mind. In my needs! Best…lilly!

Attached Mirror Pictures: For me there is nothing better in having him mounting me from behind, riding me like a bitch in heat, seeing his eyes and watching his play in the reflection of the mirror. Mirrored sex: the reflection of my breasts tightly bound and spilling over the underwired brassiere. His eyes infused with pure anticipation and demand. He makes the rules…and he’s very imaginative in the way he enforces them….a proper ‘Masterplan’ and I love playing my part in it. While at the same time witnessing my own eyes and face in the mirror starting to look glazed and flushed with his sex deep inside me, then slamming against the cheeks of my ass and I am feeling his fantasy deep inside me.

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The saying legs from the neck down comes to mind, great gams
 
I have mostly always been very good at work. But just got back from a conference that had way too much wine and way too few significant others.
 
LillianDevereux said:
Thank you for your kind words and compliments. Waking-up on a Friday morning energizing oneself for the day or weekend ahead…does have a very familiar ring to it. As to the “inspiring word and images” my writing environment indeed is more often than not erotically atmospheric. For me to making my stories tick I need to work in a state of sexual arousal….which seems to escalate my writings more rich and deep and immersive. My anticipation building as layers and levels are stripped away. All radiant depravities: including spanking, whipping, service submission, orgasm control, bondage, primal play and magical aftercare.

My ‘Mirror’ reflections at times evoke a fairy tale feel… and reminding of ‘Alice Through the Looking Glass’ – which seems to fit well. I guess these feelings have always been there – demons hiding in the deeps. Wall to Wall mirrors one in front, one behind. My reflection bouncing back and forth between the opposing panes – reflections reflecting reflections – echoing off as reflections in my mind. In my needs! Best…lilly!

Attached Mirror Pictures: For me there is nothing better in having him mounting me from behind, riding me like a bitch in heat, seeing his eyes and watching his play in the reflection of the mirror. Mirrored sex: the reflection of my breasts tightly bound and spilling over the underwired brassiere. His eyes infused with pure anticipation and demand. He makes the rules…and he’s very imaginative in the way he enforces them….a proper ‘Masterplan’ and I love playing my part in it. While at the same time witnessing my own eyes and face in the mirror starting to look glazed and flushed with his sex deep inside me, then slamming against the cheeks of my ass and I am feeling his fantasy deep inside me.

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Your writing is beautiful, eloquent, and energizing! The accompanying pictures illustrate delightfully our common interest in mirrors and doggy-position play facing a mirror. I find the second pic especially inspiring since I love your thigh-high boots and collar combined with your lovely curves! Thank you for this wonderful feast for the mind and eyes!!
 
LillianDevereux said:
Sir: Always great hearing back from you. First things first…”The man in your profile picture appeals, he is my type all the way!” Allow me to dream.

By now I am quite sure that you have seen a few of my ‘Nurse’ pictures posted here in the commentary section. Not all of my photos here are successful, but I wanted the descriptions describing the moment, my specific feelings and impressions of the times when the photo was taken. There is always something about my photos that pulls my memory vividly back to that first of many days. My pictures have my remembrances and events backtrack. Looking at them, images begin to appear slowly but with deliberate self-assertion as an image on a sheet of exposed photographic paper left unattended in a dilute developer solution. I love how vignetting tends to soften the borders of the subject--in this case adding a veil of romantic pretension to the edges of an otherwise sharp-edged tart. I like the idea of applying the concept of vignetting to memory: as details soften in the eddies of time. (Taylor Uzzell) I love posing for a camera; relishing being the center of attention of the zoom lens as it plays over the curves of my flesh. Like an objective observer in front of which I can explore various aspects of my masochistic fantasies.

YOUR PROFILE PICTURE: “Some days when I'm alone I spend time fantasizing about certain types of men. A man for all seasons accompanied with my never-ending hyper romantic fantasies. There is a photo of a MAN… that I taped to my makeup mirror. His ground is covered with dead leaves, an ursatz which heightens the romanticism of the image. I am trying to understand the other side of him, wanting to explore his extravagant and clandestine encounter in the baroque decadence of a château or the master bedroom of a private villa and with my red stiletto’s gleaming like lipstick. My emotions mix; visual imagery swirls. I am wearing a mask-my mask of pale, palest ivory and lips of red; my eyes expressionless behind their black kohl and the heavy flutter of my lashes. His face in the photo haunts me. Perhaps in another incarnation he will be on my side and holding me tight and safe. I masturbate in my apartment when I think of him.

I CAN FEEL HIM COME ALIVE WITHIN ME: In many different ways I strive to become his bitch and his love. My emotions wrench my subconscious. I notice some of his themes, the gesture of his hand; his Breitling chronograph, he wearing nice cuff links; a certain twist of his scarf. I wrote to Kelcie of my obsessions about him and she sends me even more photos that add to the heat of my special moments with him. To dream, itself Kelcie said, is to exaggerate.

AFTER ALL I WRITE TO EXORCISE MY DEMONS: Perhaps I should write a story about him bringing me closer to his existence? Continuity of the storyline is not important. What is important is placing words on a page. As long as I continue to write I will be ok. At least this is what I tell myself. I know that any segments of my story about him would be written out of order, because this is how I want to remember him. This is the order dictated by my fantasy about him. I close my eyes and the bits and pieces spin around me like pieces of a sensual puzzle. I grab a piece that whirls by and attempt to fit it into the larger picture. Sometimes I am successful; at other times the pieces lie mismatched, strewn about; shards of story, emotion, sight, scent jumbled willy-nilly.

I AM ENSNARED BY HIS BODY LANGUAGE SUFFOCATING ME WITH SUGGESTION: I am noticing the small details. Our nights and days and Veuve Clicquot. Being nervous with his arms around me. I want, but I am afraid of what I want and as his desires bringing him closer to me. He kisses me behind the ear, he lifts up my hair and kisses me on the neck, he putting his hands up under my dress and gently but possessively cupping my cunt. All this happens very quickly, I know it's him, though I can't see him. I don't mind, nor do I move, my eyes are closed. He softly squeezes my nipples; his hands playing me gently like an instrument. I dimly wonder how he knows where I liked to be touched, but I don't want to stop the moment. I am trying in pushing my thighs together, trapping his hand in my crotch. My thighs quivering as he forces his fingers into my slit and into the shrine that my wet lips guard. My pussy neatly trimmed and manicured and with just a thin almost perfect hairline running along my slit.

There is a violet scarf draped over the lampshade and our room is bathed in a soft suffocation of purple hues. Later his head is in my crotch, resting as our dreams in the few rays of moonlight catch our exhausted bodies. The glow from of the lampshade is a bright beacon illuminating the smeared red of my lips and my kohl that runs as black tears beneath my eyes lost in deep thought. I am telling him stories of other people and other places; of other rooms; of other nights; of other moonlit sex, and he is drinking my stories, thirsty for more images and emotions to quench the fire of my fantasies.

So for now and today I will keep on staring at his appended picture on my mirror, to feel what fantasy truly feels like. So please my dear Sir…stay in touch and in mind. Best…lilly!

The Picture: A vanilla moment alone. Dinner planned for two in my apartment. I am dressed in a simple Chanel dress. Later me prancing for him on my fantastic collection of designer 5-inch black leather ballet heels all about my polished parquet floor like a spastic flamenco dancer in heat, a painted puppet jerking and writhing; my hair thrown wild about my face. "It’s all For You" I whispered.

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Bravo for more remarkable writing that radiates with inspiration, skill, detail, and depth! I truly value the insights it provides and the feelings it produces.

I am glad the words and image lead you to lovely dreams and remarkable streams of consciousness! The dinner-for-two picture looks very inviting. Further engagement is suggested….
 
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