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The Art of Getting Lit Laid

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...
Fuuuuuccccckkkkk

AI generated image
 
Carmina24 said:
The Art of Getting Lit Laid:
The Gentleman's Guide (Disclaimer: cobbled together from the entirely fallible, slightly mischievous mind of Carmina).

1. The Real Game (above)

2. The Secret Weapon

Gentlemen, lean in. I’ll let you in on something that changes everything.

It’s not the grand gestures. Not the perfect lines. It’s attention.

The way you notice the pause before she answers. The shift in tone when she’s tired but still smiling. The details she thought you’d forget - and you bring back later like treasures.

Attention tells her she’s not just another voice in the crowd. It says I see you, I hear you, I remember you.

Do you know how dangerous that is?
To a woman, it’s intoxicating. Because once she feels truly seen, her guard lowers. Her laughter comes quicker. Her words spill freer. Desire stops being something she hides - and starts being something she shares.

Ladies - tell me I’m wrong.
Gentlemen - here’s your weapon:
Don’t just talk. Listen.
Don’t just compliment. Observe.
Don’t just touch - notice where she wants to be touched.

Attention is presence sharpened.
It’s the reason she’ll stay up too late just to hear one more story from you.
It’s the reason she’ll replay your words in her head long after you’ve logged off.

So if you want her trust, her heat, her surrender - give her your attention first.
Because that’s the secret weapon.

The next part: https://forum.literotica.com/threads/the-art-of-getting-lit-laid.1639025/post-101407349
Click to expand...
Hi Carmine
This is such a beautifully constructed and clever piece of advice.
As a male,I know how easily I miss the signals, and how we probably all dive in too quickly!!
Thank you for sharing the workings of the female mind - always been a mystery to me x
 
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...
The Art of Tipping the Velvet

She pleasures you perfectly
A bliss you never knew existed
But one favour deserves another
Repaid two, no threefold

You begin real slow, explore the route down
Don't neglect the pull-ins, or the scenery
Mounds and hillocks, slopes and flats
Forests maybe, if that’s the aesthetic

Do it because she’s worth it
Because you care
Whether she’s gorgeous
Or not–because you love her anyway
You’d ruin yourself for her, twice over
Come undone for those lips every time

Appreciate her scent
Her real scent, not just the Chanel
Find it in her hair
Her armpits
Her mouth
Her neck
Her wrists
The small of her back
The curves of her butt
The back of her knees
Her feet, and…her feet
Then her thighs
The satin road

To the final home
The centre of life
Your universe, your all

Discover the tang, the musk, the heat, the wetness
Then the beautiful haven
The folds, the mound
Hairy or bare
The secret little places
The dark inner sanctum
Sacred, mysterious, a home for your soul

Claim her with reverence
Worship with your tongue
Slowly, so slowly, from bottom to top
All of the surface
Dedicated to her
Take the nub, large or small, suck, lick, nibble
Then back to the start
Go over and over, until her hands in your hair
Tell you she wants more…and more…
Whispers your name, then louder and louder

Use fingers too, one, two, three?
Seek out the sweet spots
Don’t sweat perfection; make it a passion

Don’t forget her breasts
Take time out for a kiss
Taste yourself on her mouth
Give her herself, on yours

Then back to devotion
Let time slip away
Don’t count the moments
Just listen to her rhythm
Feel the beats

Her heartbeat rising
Tension building
Ripples spreading
Cries escaping
Screaming your name
Her nails in your scalp
Give her your all

And what she gives you?
The honour, the joy, of serving
 
Orgasm

Orgasm isn’t a single moment.
It’s a storm -
relentless, merciless, inevitable.

It builds in you like pressure in your veins,
a coil wound so tight you can barely breathe.
Your body betrays you -
restless, trembling, desperate for release.

Then it strikes.
Violent.
Shattering.
A quake that rips through bone and blood,
a surrender you can’t fight,
a ruin you secretly crave.

Orgasm is not an ending.
It’s a detonation -
obliterating every defense you thought you had.

It’s the fire that consumes,
the flood that drowns,
the proof you are alive only when undone.

And when it’s over,
you don’t feel finished.
You feel ravenous.
Because once you’ve burned like this,
you will always hunger for the ruin again.
 
Sixty-Nine

It is the number of mirrors.
Two bodies curved into reflection,
giving and receiving in the same breath.

It is not chaos, but orbit -
a circle unbroken,
where beginnings vanish
and endings refuse to come.

Every shiver finds its echo,
every gasp its twin.
Desire folds in on itself,
a loop of fire,
a rhythm without pause.

Sixty-Nine is poetry written on skin,
a verse that devours itself,
a covenant of equals -
not surrender, not conquest,
but the infinite entwining
of hunger and grace.

And when it ends,
you are left knowing the truth:

It is forever in a single breath.
 
Carmina24 said:
Sixty-Nine

It is the number of mirrors.
Two bodies curved into reflection,
giving and receiving in the same breath.

It is not chaos, but orbit -
a circle unbroken,
where beginnings vanish
and endings refuse to come.

Every shiver finds its echo,
every gasp its twin.
Desire folds in on itself,
a loop of fire,
a rhythm without pause.

Sixty-Nine is poetry written on skin,
a verse that devours itself,
a covenant of equals -
not surrender, not conquest,
but the infinite entwining
of hunger and grace.

And when it ends,
you are left knowing the truth:

It is forever in a single breath.
Click to expand...
U perfectly described 69 like never before 👍
 
Carmina24 said:
Sixty-Nine

It is the number of mirrors.
Two bodies curved into reflection,
giving and receiving in the same breath.

It is not chaos, but orbit -
a circle unbroken,
where beginnings vanish
and endings refuse to come.

Every shiver finds its echo,
every gasp its twin.
Desire folds in on itself,
a loop of fire,
a rhythm without pause.

Sixty-Nine is poetry written on skin,
a verse that devours itself,
a covenant of equals -
not surrender, not conquest,
but the infinite entwining
of hunger and grace.

And when it ends,
you are left knowing the truth:

It is forever in a single breath.
Click to expand...

Roxxm_e said:
U perfectly described 69 like never before 👍
Click to expand...

69 is the MOST over-rated position in existence...

Honestly, I bet most of us prefer either receiving or giving but not both at the same moment. After all most of the men are not very good at multitasking so why spoil the experience???
 
Carmina24 said:
Sixty-Nine

It is the number of mirrors.
Two bodies curved into reflection,
giving and receiving in the same breath.

It is not chaos, but orbit -
a circle unbroken,
where beginnings vanish
and endings refuse to come.

Every shiver finds its echo,
every gasp its twin.
Desire folds in on itself,
a loop of fire,
a rhythm without pause.

Sixty-Nine is poetry written on skin,
a verse that devours itself,
a covenant of equals -
not surrender, not conquest,
but the infinite entwining
of hunger and grace.

And when it ends,
you are left knowing the truth:

It is forever in a single breath.
Click to expand...
The ying to someone's yang
¤₩£€☆*×
☯
 
masterslave00 said:
69 is the MOST over-rated position in existence...

Honestly, I bet most of us prefer either receiving or giving but not both at the same moment. After all most of the men are not very good at multitasking so why spoil the experience???
Click to expand...
Most overrated position?

I am going to go with stand up fucking against a wall. The angles are all wrong. It can't be that comfortable. When was the last time that wall got cleaned?
 
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