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The Art of Getting Lit Laid

dawn_of_night said:
Right .....
Well .... I suppose Indo have eligible other holes.....
Click to expand...
And non-holes as well. I'm sure there are many who love love to be sheathed in your breasts or encased between your thighs or . . .

(Are you familiar with "congress like a herd of bulls" from Vatsyayana's Kama Sutra?)

"Dawn of Night," by the way, conjures up an arousing invitation to the start of a long and pleasure-filled bedtime. Thanks for the imagery.
 
Tio_Narratore said:
And non-holes as well. I'm sure there are many who love love to be sheathed in your breasts or encased between your thighs or . . .

(Are you familiar with "congress like a herd of bulls" from Vatsyayana's Kama Sutra?)

"Dawn of Night," by the way, conjures up an arousing invitation to the start of a long and pleasure-filled bedtime. Thanks for the imagery.
Click to expand...
I have not studied the herd of bulls.... But I can Google it....
And yes. It was intended that way 😘😘😘
 
Carmina24 said:
The Dominant

I don’t just take you.
I claim you because you come to me,
because your hunger calls mine,
because every tremor of your surrender
feeds the beast I keep caged until you open it.

I watch the way you shudder when you kneel.
It’s not weakness I see -
it’s wild, reckless strength,
a pulse of power I want to tear open and taste.

Every command I give
is a bite of heat.
Every touch I lay on you
is a mark, a line of fire pulling you deeper
into the place only I can take you.

I don’t want you small.
I want you raw.
I want to peel you back until the world disappears
and all that’s left is my voice,
your gasps,
and the thrum of your body under my hands.

The power you give me isn’t a crown.
It’s a current.
It tears through me as I guide you,
as your surrender feeds my hunger
and my control sets you alight.

And when you tremble under me,
when your shudders become confessions I can read in your skin,
I’m not above you -
I’m inside the same fire,
burning with you,
devouring and exalting you at once,
making you feral even as you bloom in my grip.

This is what it means to be Dominant.
Not to crush you,
but to wield you,
to take your gift of surrender and turn it into a blaze
where you are radiant in submission
and I am radiant in the hunger
that claims you.
Click to expand...
I just fell in love with Carmina all over again!
 
For those who dare step out of Lit,
who risk lifting the veil of words,
who choose to meet not just in imagination,
but through The Portal.
(Whereby, Signal, Discord, Telegram, Google Chat, Teams)
---

The Portal

At first, it was enough.
The words.
Your clever banter, the dagger twists of your wit,
the tenderness hidden between lines.
I thought we could live forever here,
safely tucked behind our letters,
where fantasy did the painting
and imagination filled in the rest.

But then came the ache.
The wanting to hear your laugh untyped.
To see your eyes when they softened.
To know the sound of my name on your lips
without having to imagine it.

We danced around it.
Hints. Jokes.
One day, maybe…
Neither willing to break the spell,
afraid that once the veil lifted,
the magic would disappear.

Until the night I asked.
No, not asked - I dared.
My words slow, deliberate,
heavy with both fear and hope:
Shall we?

Your silence was a cliff edge.
My breath caught.
The leap already made.

And then you said yes.

The Portal.
One click.
A shimmer of light on the screen.
And suddenly -
you were there.
Your face, no longer a dream.
Your voice, alive, burning, real.

In that instant, I knew:
we had crossed a line we could never uncross.
And I didn’t want to.

Because once we stepped through,
we were no longer just words.
We were everything.
We were magic made real.
 
Carmina24 said:
For those who dare step out of Lit,
who risk lifting the veil of words,
who choose to meet not just in imagination,
but through The Portal.
(Whereby, Signal, Discord, Telegram, Google Chat, Teams)
---

The Portal

At first, it was enough.
The words.
Your clever banter, the dagger twists of your wit,
the tenderness hidden between lines.
I thought we could live forever here,
safely tucked behind our letters,
where fantasy did the painting
and imagination filled in the rest.

But then came the ache.
The wanting to hear your laugh untyped.
To see your eyes when they softened.
To know the sound of my name on your lips
without having to imagine it.

We danced around it.
Hints. Jokes.
One day, maybe…
Neither willing to break the spell,
afraid that once the veil lifted,
the magic would disappear.

Until the night I asked.
No, not asked - I dared.
My words slow, deliberate,
heavy with both fear and hope:
Shall we?

Your silence was a cliff edge.
My breath caught.
The leap already made.

And then you said yes.

The Portal.
One click.
A shimmer of light on the screen.
And suddenly -
you were there.
Your face, no longer a dream.
Your voice, alive, burning, real.

In that instant, I knew:
we had crossed a line we could never uncross.
And I didn’t want to.

Because once we stepped through,
we were no longer just words.
We were everything.
We were magic made real.
Click to expand...
Captured wonderfully yet again by our Carmina
 
Carmina24 said:
For those who dare step out of Lit,
who risk lifting the veil of words,
who choose to meet not just in imagination,
but through The Portal.
(Whereby, Signal, Discord, Telegram, Google Chat, Teams)
---

The Portal

At first, it was enough.
The words.
Your clever banter, the dagger twists of your wit,
the tenderness hidden between lines.
I thought we could live forever here,
safely tucked behind our letters,
where fantasy did the painting
and imagination filled in the rest.

But then came the ache.
The wanting to hear your laugh untyped.
To see your eyes when they softened.
To know the sound of my name on your lips
without having to imagine it.

We danced around it.
Hints. Jokes.
One day, maybe…
Neither willing to break the spell,
afraid that once the veil lifted,
the magic would disappear.

Until the night I asked.
No, not asked - I dared.
My words slow, deliberate,
heavy with both fear and hope:
Shall we?

Your silence was a cliff edge.
My breath caught.
The leap already made.

And then you said yes.

The Portal.
One click.
A shimmer of light on the screen.
And suddenly -
you were there.
Your face, no longer a dream.
Your voice, alive, burning, real.

In that instant, I knew:
we had crossed a line we could never uncross.
And I didn’t want to.

Because once we stepped through,
we were no longer just words.
We were everything.
We were magic made real.
Click to expand...
The Stern ,Coffee . My break . Your story . You put it perfectly in words my Care Bear 🐻♥️💙
 
By special request:

Moonbeam
Pt III

The night is almost over now
To my lair I must repair
But my newfound strength thrills through me
Banishes every care

The dawn is no longer welcome
The sun is too prying and fierce
In my den, day I’ll pass, lying
Where the rays have no power to pierce

Nights and days pass all so unmeaning
For the huntress in fullness I long
Every night as she wanes I stand howling
My lonesome and desolate song

The blood of my prey is as water now
Something far stronger I crave
My nature seethes deep with in me
Seeking to ruin and deprave

Yet a part of me yearns for the old freedom
What is this, my newfound thrall?
Is it the love of a goddess?
I hunt, eat, lust and then howl

When she’s gone I no longer venture
In my lair I skulk and pine
But at the very first sliver of crescent
My spirit hums in her presence divine

As the nights pass my hunger grows greater
The forest I roam far each night
Seeking for what, I comprehend not
But sense that I’ll know it on sight

Then as the beams grow brightest
And the fullness returns at last
My howl becomes fearsome rumble
My limbs, all become vast

My nose becomes keener and keener
My eyes see all far more clearly
Then a scent on the breeze wafts by me
I lift up my head, inhale deeply

Stronger and stronger the trace becomes
As silent and lethal I hunt
Till I last my quarry I compass
A woman! I stifle a grunt

With stealth I stalk after my target
Her hooded form, full and beguiling
If I were a man, I might try my hand
At a maiden’s first wicked defiling

But as closer I draw, something warns me
Her scent is too complex and raw
But I press on now, too heedless with lust
For her blood to drip down from my maw

Then just as I leap she spins round
Fangs! What’s this? Am I dreaming?
Too late I see now
She’s a vampire! Not a woman screaming!

We circle crouched down, low and feral
Eye each other with lust profound
My growls meet her hiss and claws match nails
Our panting breath all that sounds

Then together we fly in a tumble
Clutching, raking and snarling
Our fangs find their target together
Our necks yield up to the mauling

As we each taste the other’s juice sinful
A searing heat runs through and through
Cries break from our lips and mingle
Like our bodies, now one, that were two

A burst builds within and blows through us
After timeless passion and heat
Shuddering, quivering, defenceless,
Wave upon wave of release

We collapse and lay still, exhausted
Our limbs twined–as man now!-- and vampira
For the beams have passed and departed
The wolf stored inside and unseen

She smiles at last and stares darkly
Her eyes deep as fathomless pools
‘What say we go again, my equal?
Forget for tonight all those fools

Those mortals who feed us
Though intent to bleed us
We might live on other morsels
For tonight I’ll live on your musk’

My grin is still toothy and wicked
As into her gaze I stare
‘Why yes, my delight’ I growl deeply
‘Your honey shall be my fare’

When the night wore at last to a greyness
She sighed and rose up from the ground
Sated, I joined her and whispered
‘In my lair is shadow to be found’

So begins our fearsome union
Unholy or divine?
What mischief may we make together?
Who can tell? Except–
She’s
Mine
 
The Art of a Blow Job

The art of a blow job is hunger disguised as devotion.
It’s the way your eyes lock onto his,
daring him to look away while you take him deeper into your worship.

It’s the unspoken confession -
that you crave this as much as he does,
that every tremor of his body feeds your own.

It’s in the savage kind of joy,
where each gasp is a prize,
each shudder a victory,
each broken word proof that he is unraveling in your hands, in your mouth, in your gaze.

Because the art is not in finishing him.
It’s in making him feel
that you are lost in it too -
that his pleasure is yours,
and you’d burn the world just to taste him again.
 
Carmina24 said:
The Art of a Blow Job

The art of a blow job is hunger disguised as devotion.
It’s the way your eyes lock onto his,
daring him to look away while you take him deeper into your worship.

It’s the unspoken confession -
that you crave this as much as he does,
that every tremor of his body feeds your own.

It’s in the savage kind of joy,
where each gasp is a prize,
each shudder a victory,
each broken word proof that he is unraveling in your hands, in your mouth, in your gaze.

Because the art is not in finishing him.
It’s in making him feel
that you are lost in it too -
that his pleasure is yours,
and you’d burn the world just to taste him again.
Click to expand...
🙋‍♂️Where do I sign up. That’s intense in a very good way.
 
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