A Picture is Worth 1000 Words

[HumanBean]

You are the most beautiful creature upon whom my gaze has ever fallen. It's not the first time I've looked upon you, of course; the first we met was two days ago on the University's football field, when the the coach was showing me around and waved you over to say hello. Seeing you in your cheer squad uniform had, up until this very moment, been the highlight of my university search.

"Why, um..." I begin, unable to form the words, why are you here...? why are we here? I do manage to get out, "You look ... amazing."

"Come in," you respond with an inviting smile. "Shut the door behind you." I do. You add, "Lock it." I do, you smile again, and you ask, "Is it okay with you if we are alone here?"

I'm dumbfounded by the question. I answer with emphasis, "Of course!"

You suggest, "Why don't you take your jacket off ... get comfortable."

I don't hesitate. My Letterman's jacket is heavy with patches, pins, and letters. I was a four-sport athlete in high school: four years each of football and basketball, two years each of baseball and track and field. I scored 10 varsity pins by graduation last year.

Ironically, all of the fame and attention that came with being an All-Star athlete failed to gain me the one award I had yearned for all through high school: Former Virgin. I had been so intensely focused on family, school, and sports -- in that order, per my parents' demands -- that there had been no time left over for romantic pursuits.

You say, "I hear you haven't yet decided whether or not you are coming here next fall."

I don't hear you. I mean, I do hear you; my ears collect the words and send them to my brain. But my brain is otherwise occupied with thoughts about your perfect body and how I so badly want to hold and touch and kiss it.

"I want to help you make that decision," you go on, "if you'd like me to help, I mean."

I finally snap out of my reverie, looking up from your perfect bosom to your equally perfect face. You words are finally absorbed and translated by the brain in which they were swimming, and I snap urgently, "Yes! I mean, by all means ... yes, I would like to have you help me make a decision." Then, not having yet concluded what's ahead, I ask, "How, um ... how are you going to help me ... decide ... decide on whether to come here for school?"

You smile wide again, then sit up a bit taller. I see your gaze fall very conspicuously to my groin, and -- not meaning to -- I tense up down yonder, causing my cock to twitch enough to make you giggle. You look up to me and ask, "How old are you?"

"How old am I...?" I respond. "I'm 18. I turned 18 this past month." You don't react; I suspect that you already knew this. I ask in return, "How old are you?"

You respond, "I'll be 22 next month."

I can't help but think older woman! I'm not sure that means anything right now, yet it still only excites me more.

You say, "I couldn't help but notice the other day that you couldn't keep your eyes off my titties."

My eyes widen and I blush. Very apologetically, I respond, "I'm so sorry, really! I didn't ... I wasn't ... I mean, I didn't mean to be..."

I go quiet when I finally realize what you are doing. Even before you finished speaking and all the while that I was, you were caressing one of your hands upward from your thigh to your belly to your bosom and finally under the thin fabric so wondrously holding in place your big, beautiful titties -- as you yourself called it. With a little pull toward the middle, that big, beautiful tit pops out into view.

"Oh, God almighty," I murmur to myself without thinking. I watch as you slowly repeat the motions and release the second trapped titty into the wild. I simply stare for the longest time before finally whispering, "They're perfect. You're perfect. My god ... you're beautiful."

The tightness of your dress's top portion, now positioned to the outside of your breasts, hold them inward, creating an even more dramatic cleavage than before. You smile again and ask with a devilish tone, "Would you like to fuck my titties?"

I stare with an expression of shock and awe; not only am I uncertain of how to respond, I'm not even quite sure what it is that you are offering. Then finally, an image from one of the thousands of porn videos I've watched on the internet fills my brain, and I blurt out, "Yes! I mean ... yes ... I would like to do that."

"Take your clothes off then," you say, still smiling. You see me hesitate, giggle, and then reassure me, "It's okay. We're alone behind locked doors. There's nothing to worry about."

"You're gonna let me..." I begin, still not entirely certain that this is truly what I think it is.

I only just now notice that you have a small bottle in your hand; where it came from is a mystery, but not really one I yearn to solve at the moment. You pop open the top, squeeze, and send a gob of thick, clear gel out onto your fingertips. You begin smearing the gel up and down your deep cleavage.

My clothes are off in seconds. You look me up and down and smile, seemingly pleased with what you see. I've been a dedicated athlete all my life, and my physique shows the result. And while all that exercise had nothing to do with it, I also possess a cock that's above average in both length and girth. You respond at seeing me nude by licking your lips and whispering a simple, "Nice."

You gesture me closer, and when I am within your reach, you grasp my shaft in your gel-covered fingers. I draw an excited breath, releasing it in a conspicuous, "Oh!"

You spurt more gel into your palm and stroke my full length a couple of times; my cock glistens in the indirect sunlight spilling into the second-floor room. You move back into the couch, leaning into the pillow at the small of your back. You pat the couch on each side of your thighs, saying, "Come here. Knees ... right here."

Again, I do as you say. Our relative positions put my cock just inches from your beautiful bosom. You lube your cleavage again, then my cock, then tell me, "Put it right here ... between my titties. Fuck them just like you'd fuck my pussy."

I move a bit closer and lay the underside of my rock-hard cock onto her cleavage. I instinctive move it forward, then back, forward, then back. I moan again.

"[i[Fuck[/i] them," you chastise playfully, giggling. You reach up to push my shaft down in between your titties. They part to let my cock find a resting place against your sternum, swallowing it up between their bountiful curves. Again, I moan, and you say to me, "Go ahead."

I do, of course; this is new to me, but instinct has me stroking my full length up and down your chest; I pull back until my huge, bulbous head nearly slips from your gripping titties, only to again shove it forward until my ball sack slams against your rib cage.

The feeling is sensational; the inward pull of your dress's parted top keeps your massive mamms tight around my cock. The pleasure increases quickly, and after only a dozen strokes in and out of your titty-pussy, grunt out loudly as my cock begins jerking, sending huge wads of thick, white goo onto your chest.

My heart pounds, my chest swells and contracts, and the air on the latter comes out in a series of moans that only slowly begin to fade away. My mind swims in the euphoria of the greatest orgasm I've ever experienced.

You reach up to move me back; my cock is ejected with a somewhat comical plop sound. You take my cock into your mouth and suck hard while your mussed hand grasps my shaft tightly near the base and milks me for what cum still remains. Then, conspicuously, you swallow what bit of my jizz wasn't already deposited onto your chest.

You urge me to sit, then stand before me. You ask, "Is the decision becoming any clearer?"

My brain is still swimming in the euphoria. But naive as I may be, I finally and fully understand the link between my choosing a school and what this Goddess has done for me. Of course, as the euphoria begins to wane and I am able to think more clearly, I realize that the really important thing to know is what more will this Goddess do to help me in my decision making process.

I smile and ask, "Am I still a virgin...? I mean ... this was ... great! Unbelievable! But ... still ... I'm still a virgin ... right?"

You return my smile, pull your dress up and away from your body, and respond with a devilish smirk, "Not for long..."

 

[lakesailer_mi]

Thanks @HumanBean ! Nice job!

 

[Farmboyshunger]

Whatever you two have going on is hot as hell! Whew!

 

[lakesailer_mi]

This vignette is partly autobiographical and partly just musings.

It had been a long 24 hours. The watch system had completely broken down as the crew puked their guts out through the rough night. By the time the pitch-black skies of a stormy night had slid into the grey skies of another day, the crew simply did what needed to be done, schedules and positions be damned. We rested when we couldn’t function any longer, and functioned beyond what we thought we could.

I lay for a moment longer on the number two genoa, which was the last sail we managed to fold the night before, as we moved down to the three. When the three shredded explosively, we just stuffed the spaghetti remnants down the hatch after raising the tri-sail. Besides, it’s too hard to properly stow a sail when every 45 seconds the deck is underwater as you crash through another of the relentless waves.

I couldn’t decide if I was hungry or seasick, the two having morphed together sometime in the early dawn light. I pulled myself up and grabbed a packet of peanut butter crackers and a capri sun. One way or another, I’d know in a few minutes. Climbing the companionway ladder I emerged into the grey of late afternoon.

I was beyond feeling. Beyond processing much beside the condition of the boat and the jobs that needed to be done. I saw relief on Steve’s face as I came up. “Can you take a turn?”

I wolfed down the food and sugary drink, hoping it would sit, and took over the helm. I was the fourth string helmsman, and this was my second shift. A testament to how brutal the conditions were. I focused on keeping the boat moving along the close-hauled course we were following. The sun was setting again, and the wind had finally begun to relent.

We sailed on and Ron came on deck. He smiled and said, “you’re doing great, but what do you think about a number two?” I had considered it. With the wind back to something manageable, moving to a larger sail seemed the right move, but it was going to be hard work as the boat still plunged through the waves.

Kurt came up on deck and he and I moved to the foredeck, Steve poking his head up through the forward hatch and hefting the sail onto the deck for us. We made the change, holding our breath and ducking every 45 seconds. We stuffed the tri-sail down the hatch on the upswings.

Exhausted again, I took up a position on the windward rail: helmsman and rail meat, all in one.

There was no sunset to speak of. I dozed against the stanchion; it wasn’t any less comfortable to sleep on the rail at this point. About eleven I saw the first twinkle of light in the sky. The clouds were clearing and in only a short while the entire sky was full of stars. And then I could see the glow on the horizon. I didn’t know what it was and Ron said, “northern lights.”

I felt an overwhelming sense of hope and peace.

I’ll never forget those 30 hours of my life. The details are hazy at this point and the fear and seasickness are long in the past. But that moment of revelation as the skies cleared and the of the lights of the heavens showed themselves still brings me hope, even in some of my darkest hours.

Like today. I can still see it. The green glowing light, the milky way so brilliant. So maybe, maybe the darkness will clear again.

 

[Littletoo]

They say a picture is worth 1000 words, but many of us here want the words. So here is the idea folks. Find a picture or quote or anything that moves you. That grabs you. That makes you think. Something that inspires you. And write a vignette.

A vignette is a short piece of writing meant to describe a character, a place, an experience, or a feeling. Vignettes are more focused on vivid imagery and meaning rather than plot. Obviously, given we are on lit, these feelings are likely to be highly erotic. But it doesn’t have to be. Tell us “the rest of the story” or enough to arouse and excite us too.

@Indiesoul and I will serve as "hosts" (although I'm not sure exactly what that means). We envision this as serving three purposes. First, to read some fun, sexy, creative stories from the wonderful minds we see and love here. Two, as a safe place for people who want to dip their toe into writing. Finally, as a place where those of us who like to write can whip something off quickly (and, if you later use it in a longer story, let us know!!!).

I want to give credit to a couple of old friends, @LostGirlTink and @justasimplegirl, who had a similar thread some years back. I don't think either of them are around, but it was fun. Indie and I decided that rather than revive that one, we could start anew.

Rules: First, The usual Literotica rules about pictures apply. If it's too racy, put it in a link.

Second, and most important. Be Nice! If you think someone's story sucks, well, don't read it. If you like it, give it a like (or whatever). Some stories may not be to your taste. I want this to be a place where everyone can share and feel safe. Please, be nice!

Third, Let's keep it apolitical. I'm not opposed to thought pieces and non-fiction, but this isn't the place for political rants.

Fourth: I'm not going to put limits on the length, but I think it likely shouldn't exceed 1500 words. Shoot for less than 1000? (I’ll probably be the first to break this).

vignette? Oh. Yah, that's French for "stroke story,"

 

[Mr_PT]

"Men just aren't that complicated" might be the first 5 words of the 1,000 lol

Lol

 

[OrdinaryPerson]

I listened to him read. His familiar voice clear and smooth. His breaths steady at first, but for an almost imperceptible shudder. A rock from Spain... Now I can hear him inhaling and exhaling. A cross between. Rose quartz and Soap... His breaths are starting to quiver.

My hand travels across my breasts as his voice in my ear describes the rock which turned out to be magnesium, almost pure salt. My fingers rub against my nipples, pinching when I hear his voice hitch and he trips over a word.

My hand travels downward with his voice in my ear. White salt crystals… I hear wetness in his voice just as I find mine. As his reading gets more and more halting, I imagine his hands stroking his cock. The same way I've seen countless times. His cock hard and wet with his spit and precum. His left hand working its way up and down… My fingers sliding across my lips, matching what I think is his pace as he reads.

The origin of the word… saa-salicious... My fingers circle my clit whenever he struggles with a word. Soon, there are many. My fingers swirl faster. My breaths match his. My fingers dip in my pussy when I hear him licking his hand. Returning to my clit as he returns to stroking his cock.

We are both getting so close. He is pausing to breathe and gather himself more than he is reading but he forces a few more words out …almost every part of the human body… then panting, one word coming out at a time. Nourishment… annnd… wwwould…Ah fuck. He cums. Sending me over the edge with him, my body clenching and then finally releasing. The tension built up in the reading finally flooding away just as he chuckled with his release.

 

[Indie]

View attachment 2324085

I listened to him read. His familiar voice clear and smooth. His breaths steady at first, but for an almost imperceptible shudder. A rock from Spain... Now I can hear him inhaling and exhaling. A cross between. Rose quartz and Soap... His breaths are starting to quiver.

My hand travels across my breasts as his voice in my ear describes the rock which turned out to be magnesium, almost pure salt. My fingers rub against my nipples, pinching when I hear his voice hitch and he trips over a word.

My hand travels downward with his voice in my ear. White salt crystals… I hear wetness in his voice just as I find mine. As his reading gets more and more halting, I imagine his hands stroking his cock. The same way I've seen countless times. His cock hard and wet with his spit and precum. His left hand working its way up and down… My fingers sliding across my lips, matching what I think is his pace as he reads.

The origin of the word… saa-salicious... My fingers circle my clit whenever he struggles with a word. Soon, there are many. My fingers swirl faster. My breaths match his. My fingers dip in my pussy when I hear him licking his hand. Returning to my clit as he returns to stroking his cock.

We are both getting so close. He is pausing to breathe and gather himself more than he is reading but he forces a few more words out …almost every part of the human body… then panting, one word coming out at a time. Nourishment… annnd… wwwould…Ah fuck. He cums. Sending me over the edge with him, my body clenching and then finally releasing. The tension built up in the reading finally flooding away just as he chuckled with his release.

Ah fuck. I can't wait to listen to the audio version.