Hope you all enjoy this little bud.
Tropism – Dan Crosby
From the distant smell of sebum, touching the gravid uterus the hood and the glands fuse together to create adhesions.
Nothing in the world, not even the raw texture of the Corpus cavernosum even when hardened, not even the smoothness of the bulb or Crura can compare to it; no amount of money, no button to release the A bomb and no feeling of a dying body can compare.
The feeling from the finger tip as you gently stroke the pubic symphysis straight down to the prepuce (where is the soft, and why did it harden), the seeping juices to quench that dehydration under the finger nail, forced into the webs.
The hood and the foreskin; the delicacy of each, one may sensualise, the other may expose.
The dissection of the ring of her prepuce, the sexual response cycle and the fact it leaks from time to time fascinates me. The smell of piss from that small damp circle left in her knickers, the fat tampon left floating in the toilet like an ungrateful turd; all of which perplexes me, and nothing will ever compare to such offerings.
I will always remember when I first got my hand pushed down the front of her jeans; I felt the fine hairs of her pubis. Then grappling with my nervous hand on a giant bulb like shape that is attached to some fleshy folded damp rag, I gave it a twist; I pulled it, and held it between my index and thumb. I pinched it and plucked it, eventually giving it a flick and finding that she responds more to me rubbing it gently and using my finger to create the sensation of a pulsating gland.
I eventually found an opening, it felt like a hot pink colour, it took me a while to get my finger inside, but after a few minutes of using her sebum to lube it up, I managed to make a fashionably late entrance. I didn’t mean to nip her on the way in, I could feel her anguish through the lost beat in our kiss, but I ventured on through, feeling the roof and the floor, the corrugated tube that never seems to end; feeling that hard clock work which constantly ticks around inside her, hoping that my long fingers do not enter the womb.
My other hand was pressing the anus, another adventure to be later discovered.
It was this vagina which I first ever penetrated. I did not use a condom, nor was she on the pill; it was the heat of teenaged rambunctiousness. After playing around with her tits for a few hours and constantly licking at her collar bone, she pulled my crow-bar stiff willy towards her; I didn’t really know what she was planning to do with it. She started rubbing it up and down that damp pink rag, which now felt like a marble had been knotted up within it. I felt sick, my throat was closing and my anus was loose, and I constantly let out a cold fart. Then I felt it, I felt that hot ocean. I started pumping away, feeling the ping pong balls pushing against me, and like a dog fucking a cat; she led there silent accepting all. I could feel everything, her anatomy crudely dissecting and being torn apart by me, I could feel her innocence force me out, and my wretchedness force its way back in. The smell of sweat from my knees on the sheets, the sweat from her back and the blood that has wrapped around my dick caused me to orgasm with in minutes of fucking. I did not cum inside her; no, the climax sprayed its result all over her baby pink single bed sheet. An orgasm that instantly slapped shame in my face, and it hurt more when I stood tall and banged my head on her shelf, watching her favourite teddy fall into my now cold and cloudy spunk.
Tropism – Dan Crosby
From the distant smell of sebum, touching the gravid uterus the hood and the glands fuse together to create adhesions.
Nothing in the world, not even the raw texture of the Corpus cavernosum even when hardened, not even the smoothness of the bulb or Crura can compare to it; no amount of money, no button to release the A bomb and no feeling of a dying body can compare.
The feeling from the finger tip as you gently stroke the pubic symphysis straight down to the prepuce (where is the soft, and why did it harden), the seeping juices to quench that dehydration under the finger nail, forced into the webs.
The hood and the foreskin; the delicacy of each, one may sensualise, the other may expose.
The dissection of the ring of her prepuce, the sexual response cycle and the fact it leaks from time to time fascinates me. The smell of piss from that small damp circle left in her knickers, the fat tampon left floating in the toilet like an ungrateful turd; all of which perplexes me, and nothing will ever compare to such offerings.
I will always remember when I first got my hand pushed down the front of her jeans; I felt the fine hairs of her pubis. Then grappling with my nervous hand on a giant bulb like shape that is attached to some fleshy folded damp rag, I gave it a twist; I pulled it, and held it between my index and thumb. I pinched it and plucked it, eventually giving it a flick and finding that she responds more to me rubbing it gently and using my finger to create the sensation of a pulsating gland.
I eventually found an opening, it felt like a hot pink colour, it took me a while to get my finger inside, but after a few minutes of using her sebum to lube it up, I managed to make a fashionably late entrance. I didn’t mean to nip her on the way in, I could feel her anguish through the lost beat in our kiss, but I ventured on through, feeling the roof and the floor, the corrugated tube that never seems to end; feeling that hard clock work which constantly ticks around inside her, hoping that my long fingers do not enter the womb.
My other hand was pressing the anus, another adventure to be later discovered.
It was this vagina which I first ever penetrated. I did not use a condom, nor was she on the pill; it was the heat of teenaged rambunctiousness. After playing around with her tits for a few hours and constantly licking at her collar bone, she pulled my crow-bar stiff willy towards her; I didn’t really know what she was planning to do with it. She started rubbing it up and down that damp pink rag, which now felt like a marble had been knotted up within it. I felt sick, my throat was closing and my anus was loose, and I constantly let out a cold fart. Then I felt it, I felt that hot ocean. I started pumping away, feeling the ping pong balls pushing against me, and like a dog fucking a cat; she led there silent accepting all. I could feel everything, her anatomy crudely dissecting and being torn apart by me, I could feel her innocence force me out, and my wretchedness force its way back in. The smell of sweat from my knees on the sheets, the sweat from her back and the blood that has wrapped around my dick caused me to orgasm with in minutes of fucking. I did not cum inside her; no, the climax sprayed its result all over her baby pink single bed sheet. An orgasm that instantly slapped shame in my face, and it hurt more when I stood tall and banged my head on her shelf, watching her favourite teddy fall into my now cold and cloudy spunk.
