Cymba the White Lion, WTF is your AV about?
- Thread starter Siren
- Start date
AStormyOne
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2001
- Posts
- 368
Thats s not what it looks like to me......
What I see is a woman on her knees (the black at the bottom are knee high boots). She has her hands tied behind her back (her back is too us), and the dark spot at the top is her hair. Somebody please tell me they see this too......
Storm
What I see is a woman on her knees (the black at the bottom are knee high boots). She has her hands tied behind her back (her back is too us), and the dark spot at the top is her hair. Somebody please tell me they see this too......
Storm
AStormyOne
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2001
- Posts
- 368
Oh good!
I thought maybe I was hallucinating.
Storm
I thought maybe I was hallucinating.
Storm
PowerOfOne
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Oct 30, 2001
- Posts
- 918
Looks like botched surgery to me. <shrug>
Calamity Jane
Reverend Blue Jeans
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2001
- Posts
- 18,421
No idea what it is, though I don't see the black boots scenario that others see. I'm just glad someone else asked...
Is she gonna tell us, or what?
Is she gonna tell us, or what?
april-wine
Deviant Lesbo!
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2001
- Posts
- 13,215
lilfrk said:
lilfrk wins....thats exactly what the pic is.....
cymbidia
unrepentant pervert
- Joined
- Mar 8, 2001
- Posts
- 8,786
This av?
This av is an experience, a memory, a fantasy.
It's a dream.
This is what i'm missing in my life, part of what MS took from me when he turned his back on our dreams, on who we were together.
This av is an important part of who i am.
Imagine (think, feel, taste, smell, hear…)
A submissive, standing passively.
Over-the-knee leather boots are starkly black against the soft paleness of her skin. A discipline belt cinches her waist – its rings gleaming sliver against the flat black leather of which it is fashioned. Fastened snugly, a smaller belt, a collar, encircles her neck – and matching cuffs restrain each wrist. From the metal rings at her waist, throat and wrists dangle lengths of leather and chain, each terminating in a fastening, empty for the moment.
Reaching out, you gently smooth her hair, and then slide the black leather blindfold over her eyes. Her breathing ceases for a moment as a flush spreads over her skin. Caressing down her shoulder, you turn her back to you and draw her arms behind her back. Threading her fingers together as you pull her wrists toward each other, she shudders a little, her stance settling, her body rejoicing in the slightly off-balance thrust of breasts this posture dictates.
You fasten the cuffs, tightly, taking in an extra notch to be sure the pull she needs is there. Reaching around to her throat, to the straps hooked to the center ring of her collar, you pull one over each shoulder and down her back, and then attach them to the cuffs. Her arms are pulled back now, tightly, and up. There will be no escape until you allow it. She moans, shifting the little her bondage allows and you smile. Her excitement perfumes the air and you stop to kiss the sides of her face, a hand trailing down to test the dampness between her thighs, then lifting slick fingertips to taste her need.
More roughly, turning her to face you again, you guide her legs up and into straps, and settle a butterfly vibrator into place over her mound. Still for now, it will be a delicate torment later, as you both know. You walk around her, a hand trailing over her skin, and notice how the slim black elastic bands frame her ass. You stop to admire her bound beauty, your hands caressing from her shoulders down her arms, feeling the strain in them, the fine tremble… and you gently guide her to her knees.
More quickly now, hearing the increased tempo of her breathing, of your own, the intensity of her obedience a goad to your silent domination, you fasten lengths of leather and chain from her wrists to her ankles, sucking in a breath as her knees spread widely to maintain her balance.
Leaning in, you kiss the side of her face, whispering endearments, your body lying along hers, skin to skin, pulses pounding in unison. Once more you reach around her to the collar that symbolizes your bond, touching over the last free length of leather and pulling it taut, tight, it’s fastening closing with a small metallic sound on the ring jutting from the wall in front of her face.
Still, she waits.
Her breathing is fast, warm, and loud in the silence of the small white room.
Her body twitches in small ways, waiting, needing your touch, anticipating pleasures to come.
You reach down and press a button and the butterfly comes to life against her mound, against her clit hood. She gasps and her body begins to shake. She moans, calling you to her, begging for your touch.
“I love you,” you promise, your lips hot against the back of her neck.
And then you walk away.
Any questions?
This av is an experience, a memory, a fantasy.
It's a dream.
This is what i'm missing in my life, part of what MS took from me when he turned his back on our dreams, on who we were together.
This av is an important part of who i am.
Imagine (think, feel, taste, smell, hear…)
A submissive, standing passively.
Over-the-knee leather boots are starkly black against the soft paleness of her skin. A discipline belt cinches her waist – its rings gleaming sliver against the flat black leather of which it is fashioned. Fastened snugly, a smaller belt, a collar, encircles her neck – and matching cuffs restrain each wrist. From the metal rings at her waist, throat and wrists dangle lengths of leather and chain, each terminating in a fastening, empty for the moment.
Reaching out, you gently smooth her hair, and then slide the black leather blindfold over her eyes. Her breathing ceases for a moment as a flush spreads over her skin. Caressing down her shoulder, you turn her back to you and draw her arms behind her back. Threading her fingers together as you pull her wrists toward each other, she shudders a little, her stance settling, her body rejoicing in the slightly off-balance thrust of breasts this posture dictates.
You fasten the cuffs, tightly, taking in an extra notch to be sure the pull she needs is there. Reaching around to her throat, to the straps hooked to the center ring of her collar, you pull one over each shoulder and down her back, and then attach them to the cuffs. Her arms are pulled back now, tightly, and up. There will be no escape until you allow it. She moans, shifting the little her bondage allows and you smile. Her excitement perfumes the air and you stop to kiss the sides of her face, a hand trailing down to test the dampness between her thighs, then lifting slick fingertips to taste her need.
More roughly, turning her to face you again, you guide her legs up and into straps, and settle a butterfly vibrator into place over her mound. Still for now, it will be a delicate torment later, as you both know. You walk around her, a hand trailing over her skin, and notice how the slim black elastic bands frame her ass. You stop to admire her bound beauty, your hands caressing from her shoulders down her arms, feeling the strain in them, the fine tremble… and you gently guide her to her knees.
More quickly now, hearing the increased tempo of her breathing, of your own, the intensity of her obedience a goad to your silent domination, you fasten lengths of leather and chain from her wrists to her ankles, sucking in a breath as her knees spread widely to maintain her balance.
Leaning in, you kiss the side of her face, whispering endearments, your body lying along hers, skin to skin, pulses pounding in unison. Once more you reach around her to the collar that symbolizes your bond, touching over the last free length of leather and pulling it taut, tight, it’s fastening closing with a small metallic sound on the ring jutting from the wall in front of her face.
Still, she waits.
Her breathing is fast, warm, and loud in the silence of the small white room.
Her body twitches in small ways, waiting, needing your touch, anticipating pleasures to come.
You reach down and press a button and the butterfly comes to life against her mound, against her clit hood. She gasps and her body begins to shake. She moans, calling you to her, begging for your touch.
“I love you,” you promise, your lips hot against the back of her neck.
And then you walk away.
Any questions?
G
Guest
Guest
I see. It's not an avatar; it's a full sensery experiance.
This meaningless post brought to you by, if you ask me, there are a lot of strange fellows on this beach.
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