I drove home from the bookstore with a smile on my face. Spunky hadn’t changed a lick. To Spunky any guy who was getting any, was ‘The Man’. He really was all about sex. I felt funny leaving my step mom there in the glory hole room but I figured she was getting just what she wanted. She wanted me to screw her on the side and I was all right with it as long as I didn’t hurt my dad. She was in heaven sucking the cocks as they stuck them through the wall so I didn’t
I had made it known to you very early on in our relationship that I needed to be inside you. It is something that is very important to me, something that defines who I am. You were too shy and reluctant to even discuss it, but, fully aware of my needs and desires, our relationship continued. We both enjoyed our intimate explorations of each other.
You were satisfied with touching and sucking. I too enjoyed it, but I wanted and needed more. Tonight, I will have my way with you. I will take what
At what point does a preference become a fetish?
I met Stella at a party. She had arrived with the critic Darian Fellini. Back then, Fellini was one of the art world’s big stars. His book — All the Naked Women — had just come out, and everyone was talking about it. Was it art criticism? Or was it pornography? As a 19-year-old art student, I didn’t really know. And I didn’t really care.
It was presented as art criticism. No one said that it wasn’t. But it was
On Monday I appeared for work. There I met Denise, the secretary/paralegal who was also Ron’s sister. Denise was thirty-five with long brown hair that reached her ass, a curvy figure, impressive chest, and killer legs. Her round wide round face featured large green eyes, a prominent jaw, and a large mouth with full lips.
She probably could lose fifteen pounds, but some of that weight was sitting in those boobs. She was wearing tight jeans and cowboy boots. I liked her immediately; she was
Punishing Mum (That Was The Plan)
I’m writing this story 5 days after my first lesbian experience. I had to put this down on paper because I still can’t believe it happened. Maybe when I read this in 2 years I still won’t believe it, but it’s all true so here we go.
My name is Jacquelyn but people call me Jackie it all started on Friday morning when, Sara and I were going up the coast for the weekend to relax and enjoy ourselves away from the city dramas. We had only
We returned from the garden.
‘Let’s go up to our room. I want you to take me and enjoy me. Telling the story for so long has made me very excited; I want you to take my clothes off and tell me what you want of me.’
‘Aren’t you at least going to tell me what else happened that evening?’
‘All right. We’ll go to bed and I’ll tell you. It’s room seventeen.’
Lyn blushed prettily. I was much older, at forty-nine, than any of her other
Something changed in my life when I looked up and saw him. A beautiful young man in vest and jeans, sun shining and lighting his body as it hip-jerked with laughter. Tanned shiny muscles, soft but strong. Tight flat stomach, He knew he looked good. He pushed his body forward, he displayed his muscles, he turned easy and relaxed. His jeans were deliciously tight, bewitching. But I could see something else.
Probably because I was that much older, I saw an insecurity, a lack of confidence. He was
Wear trousers, get fucked. A simple equation, but it worked for Emily.
Jeans were a possible, as long as they were tight-fitting. Her baggy cords were a probably not, unless he hadn’t seen her for a while. But the black trousers were a near-certainty.
There was nothing amazingly ‘fuck me’ about them, they were just plain black, close-fitting polyester trousers, but Emily knew how much they turned Jamie on. If she wore them, and he saw her wearing them, he simply couldn’t
Warning! This story includes very heavy BDSM, rough sex, anal fucking and other nasty stuff. As usual there is also a romance but it is secondary to the stroke. Another caveat: I don’t write with a dictionary or a thesaurus at my side. I use words which are familiar to me—words I use in daily conversation. I am not writing stories for children. If you are the persistent anonymous poster who wishes I would use smaller words so that you can understand them, just give me a zero and
He disabled the burglar alarm then pushed the metal pick into the door lock at the back of the house; let the tool play across the lock’s pin. Too much or too little pressure, too little or too much finesse guaranteed failure. The skill in using a pick is to bounce it in the keyway according to the resistance offered by each pin. Gently coercing the pins into obeying his will, he was sensitive to the sound, the feel of the pick touching each pin.
Feeling the middle pins settling first, he
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