Bits and pieces
- Thread starter y=mx+b
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y=mx+b
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y=mx+b
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They totally do that. Mine always jumps on my lap when I'm at the computer....she'll rub her face all over my chin...gaze up at me lovingly. It's so darn cute. *feeling all warm and fuzzy* But it's not always easy to work like that, yk?
all too well.
I
IndieSnob
Guest
Rawrrrrrrrrrr!
y=mx+b
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Rawrrrrrrrrrr!
yeah.
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y=mx+b
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bliss comes and goes for everyone... we are no exception
Sweetone70
Beautifully Broken
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Sweetone70
Beautifully Broken
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very nice..care to come over and help me with my laundry?
y=mx+b
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shirtless?
y=mx+b
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I wish to personally extend my thanks to you Your words are appreciated.
Sweetone70
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yes please
shykittyme
Literotica Guru
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Beautiful, gorgeous and interesting photos. Thank you...
S
SexyNSweet
Guest
Do you iron as well?
Nice. You have a way of making the most mundane, everyday task seem very sexy. I don't think I've ever been aroused at the thought of doing laundry.
y=mx+b
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thank you all. it is much appreciated. and I can iron if ironing is needed.
There is a woman that sits next to me in class. I find her physique quite interesting. She wears these short shorts and I absolutely lust after her thighs. Overall she herself is an attractive young woman. the typical blonde with blue eyes, pert breasts etc...
She is left handed so she actually has to use one of those left handed desks that seem to be so prevalent in all the class rooms much to the annoyance of the right handed majority.
She sits to my left and because she is left handed, my view of her is unobstructed by her desk top. The kind of shorts she usually wears are not these daisy duke type of shorts but they are short; short enough that when she sits down they become daisy dukes, exposing even more of her thigh to me.
I do my best to remain the calm indifferent happily married older guy that I try so hard to portray in public... but I think she is on to me.
She always wears flip-flops too. During class she will kick them off and bring her foot up to the seat of her chair in a sort of sitting/crouching position where her knee is up against her chest. This move always... always causes her shorts to ride up even further so that practically the whole side of her thigh is exposed to me.
after some time in this position she will begin to "absentmindedly" begin to slide her hand up and down the length of her thigh... I mean, from her knee all the way down to the damn near naked curve of her ass. She will do this three or for times and then she will lower her leg back down, draw her hands up to the back of her head gathering up her hair in a sort of bun like style, press her head against the back of the wall so that her hair stays up by itself and then; I shit thee fucking not, she will rub both hands along the sides of her body as if she were smoothing out the fabric of her shirt and then she will adjust her bra a little before she resumes a normal studious position at her desk.
all this is the honest to gods truth.
She fucking slays me.
and that's my recent observation
There is a woman that sits next to me in class. I find her physique quite interesting. She wears these short shorts and I absolutely lust after her thighs. Overall she herself is an attractive young woman. the typical blonde with blue eyes, pert breasts etc...
She is left handed so she actually has to use one of those left handed desks that seem to be so prevalent in all the class rooms much to the annoyance of the right handed majority.
She sits to my left and because she is left handed, my view of her is unobstructed by her desk top. The kind of shorts she usually wears are not these daisy duke type of shorts but they are short; short enough that when she sits down they become daisy dukes, exposing even more of her thigh to me.
I do my best to remain the calm indifferent happily married older guy that I try so hard to portray in public... but I think she is on to me.
She always wears flip-flops too. During class she will kick them off and bring her foot up to the seat of her chair in a sort of sitting/crouching position where her knee is up against her chest. This move always... always causes her shorts to ride up even further so that practically the whole side of her thigh is exposed to me.
after some time in this position she will begin to "absentmindedly" begin to slide her hand up and down the length of her thigh... I mean, from her knee all the way down to the damn near naked curve of her ass. She will do this three or for times and then she will lower her leg back down, draw her hands up to the back of her head gathering up her hair in a sort of bun like style, press her head against the back of the wall so that her hair stays up by itself and then; I shit thee fucking not, she will rub both hands along the sides of her body as if she were smoothing out the fabric of her shirt and then she will adjust her bra a little before she resumes a normal studious position at her desk.
all this is the honest to gods truth.
She fucking slays me.
and that's my recent observation
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y=mx+b
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It was late July night. The air was steamy hot and I had just gotten off working the beat. There was a certain different element about the tavern I frequented when I walked in; something... feminine.
I sat down and shrugged off the feeling ordered my usual, glass of cold ice water and a healthy dose of scotch... no ice. No dame would be here; it’s not a safe place. It’s a place where the thoughts of the day fit perfectly. The guys who’s chops I busted weeks before played their game of pool; watching me as they topped the tips of their cues off with chalk. Blue dust settled on the backs of their sweaty hands.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I was safe. Probably the only safe piece of shit flat foot beat detective in the whole wide fucking world.
I lit my smoke; unfiltered. I took in a deep puff and the dry nicotine haze filled my lungs with all of it’s beauty, and followed it with a slow pour of scotch down into my stomach. The warmth of both comforted me in the sad sad sorrow of bullshit everyone else calls life.
the door to the joint opened. I wouldn’t have given a fuck about it and continued on with slowly taking my life away by ingesting the poetic combination of liquor and nicotine if I hadn’t noticed that all the other scuzz fucks become quiet.
out of the corner of my eye I saw Duce flip that fucking toothpick of his end for end in his mouth. Any time Duce did that I knew something was up and something was about to go down. My knuckles still hurt from the last punk I put through the wall but for Duce I’d be willing to make an exception.
Old Louie; my trusted gun hugged my ribs as I inhaled more alcohol, more smoke, more orgasmic pleasure of a decadent concoction of chemicals mankind has ever unleashed upon itself.
It was silent. I didn’t like it. And I could feel whatever it was that walked through the door come closer and closer to where I was.
I couldn’t quite make out the image of the person in the reflection of the booze bottles Big Frank lined the back of his bar with; but by the size of it I wasn’t worried.
I took another sip and snuffed out the rest of my smoke in the puddle of water that had condensed around the glass of ice water.
I loved how clean the water tasted after suckling the tit of death. It gave me hope and was the closest experience of pure beauty I had ever come in my life. That is until I felt her take the seat next to mine.
I sat down and shrugged off the feeling ordered my usual, glass of cold ice water and a healthy dose of scotch... no ice. No dame would be here; it’s not a safe place. It’s a place where the thoughts of the day fit perfectly. The guys who’s chops I busted weeks before played their game of pool; watching me as they topped the tips of their cues off with chalk. Blue dust settled on the backs of their sweaty hands.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I was safe. Probably the only safe piece of shit flat foot beat detective in the whole wide fucking world.
I lit my smoke; unfiltered. I took in a deep puff and the dry nicotine haze filled my lungs with all of it’s beauty, and followed it with a slow pour of scotch down into my stomach. The warmth of both comforted me in the sad sad sorrow of bullshit everyone else calls life.
the door to the joint opened. I wouldn’t have given a fuck about it and continued on with slowly taking my life away by ingesting the poetic combination of liquor and nicotine if I hadn’t noticed that all the other scuzz fucks become quiet.
out of the corner of my eye I saw Duce flip that fucking toothpick of his end for end in his mouth. Any time Duce did that I knew something was up and something was about to go down. My knuckles still hurt from the last punk I put through the wall but for Duce I’d be willing to make an exception.
Old Louie; my trusted gun hugged my ribs as I inhaled more alcohol, more smoke, more orgasmic pleasure of a decadent concoction of chemicals mankind has ever unleashed upon itself.
It was silent. I didn’t like it. And I could feel whatever it was that walked through the door come closer and closer to where I was.
I couldn’t quite make out the image of the person in the reflection of the booze bottles Big Frank lined the back of his bar with; but by the size of it I wasn’t worried.
I took another sip and snuffed out the rest of my smoke in the puddle of water that had condensed around the glass of ice water.
I loved how clean the water tasted after suckling the tit of death. It gave me hope and was the closest experience of pure beauty I had ever come in my life. That is until I felt her take the seat next to mine.
questiongrl
yep, it's me
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- May 9, 2007
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wow - something new and different. i like. 
y=mx+b
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I didn’t have to look at her to know how beautiful she was. Not the type of beautiful you see walking down the side walk wearing tops so tight you’d think their titties would pop like an over inflated balloon and juniors birthday party, and skirts so short they’d make the whores from upstate turn three shades of red. This broad was beautiful... elegantly beautiful. The kind of beautiful only seen in those black and white movies nobody watches anymore.
Her hair was curly; brown, and pulled up in some sort of flippy-dippy thing that was neither a bun nor a pony tail. Strands of it framed both sides of her face in an innocent manner.
With wet relaxed crimson red lips her low soprano high alto lyrical voice asked for a glass of wine.
For as long as I’ve been showing up to this shit-hole of a place never once had I ever seen anything that resembled a bottle of wine, nor the appropriate vessel to carry such cargo to ones lips.
The sensation of eyes rolling and masculine smirks covering thoughts of taking this beach-side bitch down to the viaduct for one of their group go-a-rounds started to constrict my body, squeezing it like one of those fucking primordial snake things people keep trying to find in some willy-nilly jungle in South America.
It was as if someone had tied a cinder block to my feet and tossed me into the bay. Each second I sank deeper and deeper. I could feel my ears begin to pop and my skull about to implode. My side itched and thoughts of how worthless these fucks really were tickled my sinuses when all of the sudden from who knows where Big Frank set the base of a long stemmed crystal clear spotlessly clean wine glass in front of the woman.
The ting of the bar against the glass freed me of my constraint... the snake slithered back into the jungle, the cinder block had been cut from my feet and I was drifting back to the top.
It’s always a bitter sweet moment for me. I love the sensation. I love busting heads. I love seeing my finger slide into the eye socket of some deserving worthless fuck. But I hate the fact that I have to do it.
I don’t know what the fuck the kind of wine Frank was delicately pouring into that chandelier of a glass or how the fuck Frank knew enough to pour it so delicately, or why the fuck he even had such a thing in this place. But I watched him pour. Thoughts of those stories I was supposed to know something about reverberated between my ears... Bacchus something or another. Greece... Rome... one of those Mediterranean places guys like me would never this side of life set foot in.
thoughts of women such as the one beside me with their hair down wearing sheer white robes forever sensually displaying enough of their bodies to solicit a desire of forever having and the sorrow of never being able to.
Her hair was curly; brown, and pulled up in some sort of flippy-dippy thing that was neither a bun nor a pony tail. Strands of it framed both sides of her face in an innocent manner.
With wet relaxed crimson red lips her low soprano high alto lyrical voice asked for a glass of wine.
For as long as I’ve been showing up to this shit-hole of a place never once had I ever seen anything that resembled a bottle of wine, nor the appropriate vessel to carry such cargo to ones lips.
The sensation of eyes rolling and masculine smirks covering thoughts of taking this beach-side bitch down to the viaduct for one of their group go-a-rounds started to constrict my body, squeezing it like one of those fucking primordial snake things people keep trying to find in some willy-nilly jungle in South America.
It was as if someone had tied a cinder block to my feet and tossed me into the bay. Each second I sank deeper and deeper. I could feel my ears begin to pop and my skull about to implode. My side itched and thoughts of how worthless these fucks really were tickled my sinuses when all of the sudden from who knows where Big Frank set the base of a long stemmed crystal clear spotlessly clean wine glass in front of the woman.
The ting of the bar against the glass freed me of my constraint... the snake slithered back into the jungle, the cinder block had been cut from my feet and I was drifting back to the top.
It’s always a bitter sweet moment for me. I love the sensation. I love busting heads. I love seeing my finger slide into the eye socket of some deserving worthless fuck. But I hate the fact that I have to do it.
I don’t know what the fuck the kind of wine Frank was delicately pouring into that chandelier of a glass or how the fuck Frank knew enough to pour it so delicately, or why the fuck he even had such a thing in this place. But I watched him pour. Thoughts of those stories I was supposed to know something about reverberated between my ears... Bacchus something or another. Greece... Rome... one of those Mediterranean places guys like me would never this side of life set foot in.
thoughts of women such as the one beside me with their hair down wearing sheer white robes forever sensually displaying enough of their bodies to solicit a desire of forever having and the sorrow of never being able to.
questiongrl
yep, it's me
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- May 9, 2007
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this new side of you is interesting ... enjoyable ...
y=mx+b
___________
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never mind my ramblings
If there is one thing I like doing; it’s fucking my wife.
she is comfortable around my body
and her thighs cradle my face so well.
I like to taste inside of her
and feel the texture of her asshole against my tongue.
I like how smooth the skin is along the side of her neck
and how her nipples pucker when I touch them.
I like sucking on her fingers as I slide my cock in and out of her body
I do not know what my cock looks like inside her; but I bet it’s beautiful. I do know that it feels beautiful. I like to picture it in my head; her pliable wet flesh giving it’s way to me. The image of one of those arctic ice breaking ships comes to mind; plowing forth to make way so that my semen can get to it’s destination.
Even though we are taking measure to avoid becoming parents I still get a charge out of the fact that this is how humans are made... how I was made... how she was made. I think about our parents fucking and the different nature between the two respective acts of procreation.
She was sought to be made. Two adults wanting a child and very cognizant about it. His cock, deep inside of her. Her face flushed in the hormonal desire of lust, passion, and motherhood. His body hard hot and eager to unite with her the only way he can deep inside of her body.
unlike my wife I wasn’t sought to be made. I was what many call “an oops”. My parents were flat out fucking with no intent other than that of that of the moment. A man watching a woman; admiring her body and finding himself getting hard for it. A woman feeling a need for a hard cock between her legs... between her lips... against the back of her mouth, sliding up against her clit.
They had to fuck. they had to have each other. It was nothing more than slap-ass hot, sweaty Arizona sex.
Feeling my self ready to empty that thick white coating liquid into the vagina of my wife there is a sense of unity; not just with her, but with all those before me... before her. A lot of fucking brought us to our current standing, intentionally or not.
like our fathers ejaculating into our mother, I slide my hands down the center of her sweat wet back and grab hold of her hips. I push down and pull her in... and I feel it. I feel her body tighten in slight pain as the head of my cock bumps against her cervix. I’d go easy; if I could, but it’s too late my balls have emptied and everything is on its way. My asshole contracts with each muscular surge of fluid and I feel a strip of white hot heat rush down the center of my back causing it to break out in sweat. I cannot help but to push my body and pull hers even harder against me. I can feel it and see it in my head. Ejaculation. It feels like I am dying and being born at the same time... and I wonder if she can feel my cum splash up against her cervix
If there is one thing I like doing; it’s fucking my wife.
she is comfortable around my body
and her thighs cradle my face so well.
I like to taste inside of her
and feel the texture of her asshole against my tongue.
I like how smooth the skin is along the side of her neck
and how her nipples pucker when I touch them.
I like sucking on her fingers as I slide my cock in and out of her body
I do not know what my cock looks like inside her; but I bet it’s beautiful. I do know that it feels beautiful. I like to picture it in my head; her pliable wet flesh giving it’s way to me. The image of one of those arctic ice breaking ships comes to mind; plowing forth to make way so that my semen can get to it’s destination.
Even though we are taking measure to avoid becoming parents I still get a charge out of the fact that this is how humans are made... how I was made... how she was made. I think about our parents fucking and the different nature between the two respective acts of procreation.
She was sought to be made. Two adults wanting a child and very cognizant about it. His cock, deep inside of her. Her face flushed in the hormonal desire of lust, passion, and motherhood. His body hard hot and eager to unite with her the only way he can deep inside of her body.
unlike my wife I wasn’t sought to be made. I was what many call “an oops”. My parents were flat out fucking with no intent other than that of that of the moment. A man watching a woman; admiring her body and finding himself getting hard for it. A woman feeling a need for a hard cock between her legs... between her lips... against the back of her mouth, sliding up against her clit.
They had to fuck. they had to have each other. It was nothing more than slap-ass hot, sweaty Arizona sex.
Feeling my self ready to empty that thick white coating liquid into the vagina of my wife there is a sense of unity; not just with her, but with all those before me... before her. A lot of fucking brought us to our current standing, intentionally or not.
like our fathers ejaculating into our mother, I slide my hands down the center of her sweat wet back and grab hold of her hips. I push down and pull her in... and I feel it. I feel her body tighten in slight pain as the head of my cock bumps against her cervix. I’d go easy; if I could, but it’s too late my balls have emptied and everything is on its way. My asshole contracts with each muscular surge of fluid and I feel a strip of white hot heat rush down the center of my back causing it to break out in sweat. I cannot help but to push my body and pull hers even harder against me. I can feel it and see it in my head. Ejaculation. It feels like I am dying and being born at the same time... and I wonder if she can feel my cum splash up against her cervix
S
SexyNSweet
Guest
*sigh*
My husband will be sending you a thank you card tomorrow.
My husband will be sending you a thank you card tomorrow.
questiongrl
yep, it's me
- Joined
- May 9, 2007
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beautiful. as always.
- Status
