OxonWoods Man

Author: Richard Foster

  • Ode to Cunnilingus

    Slow Tease

    She craves the start with whispers soft and slow,
    A gentle kiss that lands below her line,
    A breath that warms before the lips bestow,
    A pause to let her senses intertwine.
    The tip of tongue, a fleeting, tender graze,
    Builds tension in her arching, quivering frame,
    A rhythm stalled to set her nerves ablaze,
    Anticipation fuels her lover’s game.
    Each moment stretched, a torture sweet and fine,
    Her skin alive with every hinted trace,
    A sigh escapes, a signal to divine,
    The wait itself becomes her warm embrace.

    Deep Dive

    She yearns for depth, a plunge that knows no bounds,
    A fearless mouth that claims her whole desire,
    No timid touch, but hunger that surrounds,
    A swirling force that sets her core afire.
    Each stroke is bold, unyielding in its quest,
    To find the pulse that drives her wild and free,
    A conquest deep, where passion’s fully pressed,
    Her moans declare sweet victory.
    The dive consumes, a torrent unrestrained,
    Her body bends to meet the forceful claim,
    A union fierce, where nothing is retained,
    Her cries resound, unbridled by the shame.
    The depths she loves are endless, dark, and vast,
    A place where pleasure’s echo lingers long,
    A storm that holds her till the very last,
    Her trembling form sings rapture’s primal song.

    Feather Flick

    A lighter touch is what she sometimes seeks,
    A flicker soft as feathers on her skin,
    The tip that dances, teases as it speaks,
    A playful game where patience wears her thin.
    Each subtle lap ignites a trembling spark,
    A shiver born from delicacy’s embrace,
    A fleeting brush to light the waiting dark,
    Her sighs confess the thrill of such a pace.
    The air grows thick with every tender pass,
    A whisper-touch that promises much more,
    Her hips respond, a ripple through the grass,
    A quiet storm she cannot quite ignore.

    Steady Pulse

    She loves the beat, a rhythm strong and true,
    A constant hum that holds her in its sway,
    No rush, no break, just pressure pushing through,
    A metronome to guide her all the way.
    Each circle drawn with purpose, firm and sure,
    A tempo set to match her rising tide,
    The cadence builds what she cannot endure,
    Till waves of bliss crash hard on every side.
    It’s steady like the heartbeat of the earth,
    A grounding force that anchors all her need,
    Each pulse a gift, a moment of rebirth,
    Her body sways to rhythm’s primal creed.
    The drumbeat holds her, never letting go,
    A march toward ecstasy’s release,
    Her breath aligns, a synchronized flow,
    The steady tide brings her to peace.

    Edge Play

    She thrills at borders, teasing near the peak,
    A hover there, denying full release,
    A tongue that knows just when to pull back, weak,
    To make her beg for pleasure’s sweet increase.
    The brink becomes her lover’s cruel delight,
    A dance of almosts, trembling in her thighs,
    Each near-miss sharpens craving in the night,
    Her gasps are gifts beneath the taunting skies.
    The game is power, balanced on a thread,
    A push and pull that leaves her voice undone,
    Each pause a blade that carves inside her head,
    The tension coils, a battle yet unwon.
    She loves the ache, the torture of delay,
    A precipice where want and will collide,
    Her pleas grow loud, a wild, unscripted play,
    Till mercy falls and sweeps her with the tide.

    Warm Bath

    She melts beneath a mouth that’s soft and wet,
    A liquid warmth that soothes her every nerve,
    A flow of heat where tenderness is met,
    A gentle lap her contours long to serve.
    The slick caress envelopes all she feels,
    A tide that rises slow and full of care,
    A balm that heals as much as it reveals,
    Her softness blooms in humid, heavy air.
    It’s comfort first, a bath of sweet repose,
    A haven where her tensions slip away,
    Each wave a kiss that lingers as it grows,
    A warmth that holds her in its tender sway.

    Wild Storm

    She craves the chaos, fierce and uncontrolled,
    A tempest born of lips and tongue untamed,
    A rush that grips her, reckless, sharp, and bold,
    A fury where her wildness is unclaimed.
    It’s fast and rough, a whirlwind on her skin,
    A clash of heat that shatters all her poise,
    Her body bucks, surrendering to the din,
    A primal roar within the storm’s loud noise.
    The madness pulls her to a feral place,
    A lightning strike in every jagged lick,
    Her screams erupt, unbridled in their grace,
    The tempest leaves her breathless, raw, and quick.

    Sweet Nibble

    She delights in teeth, a graze against her core,
    A nip so light it teases more than hurts,
    A playful bite that leaves her wanting more,
    A spark that flares where gentleness converts.
    The edge of pain becomes a lover’s jest,
    A contrast sharp against the softer play,
    Each tiny tug ignites her tender crest,
    Her laughter blends with moans along the way.
    It’s mischief wrapped in pleasure’s warm disguise,
    A daring twist that keeps her on her toes,
    The nibble wakes the fire in her eyes,
    A secret thrill her body gladly knows.

    Humming Song

    She loves the buzz, a murmur on her skin,
    A vibration low that resonates within,
    A hum that starts where tender folds begin,
    A melody that pulls her to its spin.
    The sound ignites a tremor deep and wide,
    A chord that thrums against her fragile gate,
    Her hips align, caught up in music’s tide,
    A song of bliss she cannot help but sate.
    The tone grows strong, a hymn of pure delight,
    A resonance that fills her every space,
    Her voice joins in, a duet in the night,
    The harmony ascends at fevered pace.

    Ice Kiss

    She craves the chill, a cold surprise to wake,
    An icy tongue that shocks her heated bloom,
    A contrast stark that makes her body quake,
    A shiver born from frost within the gloom.
    The coolness melts against her burning need,
    A dance of ice and fire in sweet accord,
    Each frigid lap a tantalizing deed,
    Her gasps confess the thrill she can’t ignore.
    The cold retreats, then strikes again anew,
    A game of chill that keeps her senses keen,
    Her skin alight, a paradox in view,
    A frozen kiss where warmth has intervened.

    Whispered Word

    She hungers for the voice that weaves a spell,
    A murmured praise against her tender place,
    Each word a thread that makes her body swell,
    A story told in breath upon her grace.
    The tongue may dance, but words ignite her mind,
    A sultry tale of worship and of want,
    Her thoughts entwine where flesh and sound align,
    A verbal kiss, her deepest, sweetest haunt.
    The whispers build, a cadence soft and low,
    A promise hummed where silence used to reign,
    Her pulse responds, a river set to flow,
    The power lies in language’s warm refrain.

    Full Feast

    She longs for all, a banquet without end,
    A mouth that covers every inch it finds,
    No part ignored, no boundary to defend,
    A feast where hunger breaks the ties that bind.
    Each fold, each curve, a morsel to devour,
    A greedy claim that leaves no space untouched,
    Her body writhes beneath the endless power,
    A gluttony of bliss her frame has clutched.
    The breadth of it consumes her whole design,
    A lavish spread where pleasure knows no cease,
    Her cries ascend, a testament divine,
    The fullness grants her spirit’s wild release.

    Gentle Tide

    She seeks the calm, a lapping soft and sure,
    A tide that ebbs and flows with quiet grace,
    No rush to chase, just peace she can’t ignore,
    A soothing balm that holds her in its space.
    Each wave is light, a ripple on the shore,
    A tender kiss that builds without a strain,
    Her breath grows deep, a rhythm to restore,
    The gentle tide dissolves her every pain.
    It’s slow and kind, a lover’s softest art,
    A current warm that cradles all her care,
    Her body floats, unburdened at its heart,
    A tranquil sea where tension isn’t there.

    The Surprise Twist

    She loves the shock, a turn she didn’t see,
    A sudden shift from patterns she’d expect,
    A flick offbeat, a move that sets her free,
    A jolt that wakes what comfort might neglect.
    The twist arrives, a rogue within the play,
    A spark that catches fire in her veins,
    Her laughter leaps, then melts into a sway,
    The unexpected breaks her sweet refrains.
    It’s daring, fresh, a break from all routine,
    A curve that keeps her guessing every time,
    Her body hums, alive within the scene,
    The thrill of new becomes her steepest climb.

    Sacred Pause

    She treasures stops, the stillness in between,
    A breath held long where silence speaks aloud,
    A rest that lets her feel what’s truly been,
    A reverence within the passion’s shroud.
    The pause is holy, sacred in its weight,
    A moment where her soul can catch its flight,
    Each halt a gift, a chance to contemplate,
    Her trembling form bathed soft in afterlight.
    It’s not the rush, but quiet that she craves,
    A space to feel the echoes of her bliss,
    The stillness holds her like a lover saves,
    A tender end sealed with a final kiss.

  • Ode to Pussy

    The Empress
    The pussy with lips that boldly unfurl,
    Large and lush, a welcoming swirl,
    Reaching out like petals in bloom,
    Greet the cock with a tender plume,
    As it glides in, they cradle and cling,
    A dance of flesh, a glorious thing.

    The Enigma
    Then comes the pussy, trim and slight,
    A neat slit, a mystery tight,
    Subtle and sleek, a whispered tease,
    Intriguing the mind with quiet ease,
    The cock slips in, a shadow’s trace,
    Revealing depths in that small space.

    The Sovereign
    Some pussies boast a hooded crown,
    Clit perched high, a jewel renowned,
    Lips parted soft, a regal gate,
    Inviting thrust with steady fate,
    As cock meets core, the hood retreats,
    A pulsing hymn where pleasure meets.

    The Maze
    Others wear folds in lavish array,
    A labyrinth lush in wild display,
    Full and rich, they ripple and sway,
    Embracing cock in a plush ballet,
    It glides through waves, a textured sea,
    Each crease a note of ecstasy.

    The Sentinel
    And then the pussy, bold and bare,
    Simple lines with a primal stare,
    No excess, just essence pure,
    A quiet strength, a soft allure,
    The cock slides smooth, a perfect fit,
    Two forms as one, divinely knit.

    The Pillow
    A pussy plump, with curves so round,
    A mound that rises from the ground,
    Lips tucked in, a cushioned throne,
    A warm embrace, a tender zone,
    As cock sinks deep, it’s held so tight,
    A velvet grip through day or night.

    The Twilight
    Some pussies bloom with darker hue,
    Rich in tone, a shadowed view,
    Lips that frame a vibrant core,
    A striking contrast to adore,
    The cock glides in, a bold descent,
    Colors merge in sweet assent.

    The Mirror
    Others gleam with silken sheen,
    A glossy shine, a satin scene,
    Lips that glisten, soft and wet,
    A siren’s call, a lover’s bet,
    As cock moves smooth, it mirrors light,
    A liquid dance, a pure delight.

    The Expanse
    A pussy wide, an open gate,
    Sprawling free, it celebrates,
    Lips that part with fearless grace,
    A vast terrain, a sacred space,
    The cock dives in, a broad caress,
    Filling all in wild excess.

    The Whisper
    Last, the pussy, shy and small,
    Hidden low, a quiet call,
    Lips so fine, they barely show,
    A secret kept in gentle glow,
    As cock nudges in, it blooms alive,
    A tender spark where wonders thrive.

    The Ridge
    Some pussies arch with subtle ridge,
    A gentle crest, a living bridge,
    Lips that rise in soft relief,
    A sculpted form beyond belief,
    The cock traces lines so fine,
    A crafted path, a sweet design.

    The Ember
    Others pulse with inner heat,
    A fiery core, a rhythmic beat,
    Lips that quiver, warm and flush,
    A primal pull, a tender rush,
    As cock glides in, it meets the flame,
    A union wild, too fierce to tame.

    The Fringe
    A pussy draped in delicate fringe,
    Soft wisps that tease, a playful tinge,
    Lips adorned with silken hair,
    A rustic charm beyond compare,
    The cock brushes through, a textured play,
    A rustic dance in sweet array.

    The Tilt
    Some pussies tilt with angled grace,
    A sloping line, a unique face,
    Lips that lean in soft repose,
    A quiet quirk that gently flows,
    As cock aligns, it finds the groove,
    A perfect slant, a lover’s move.

    The Abyss
    Then comes the pussy, deep and vast,
    A cavern carved from pleasure’s past,
    Lips that guard a boundless well,
    A story only touch can tell,
    The cock descends, a slow embrace,
    Lost in depths of endless space.

  • Ode to Cock

    Middle Ground

    She loves them cocks, all average fare,
    Fuckin’ solid, they’ve got their flair,
    Not too wild, but heat to spare,
    They hang so right, she stops to stare,
    Veins that throb, a steady glare,
    Heads that top a meaty square,
    She’d bang these champs, no need to swear,
    Them pricks she’d ride, they’re tough to compare.

    Towering Might

    She digs them stiff, tall fuckin’ rods,
    Straight as shit, they’re horny gods,
    Fat and wide, they beat the odds,
    No bend, no crap, just rigid prods,
    Smooth or rough, they’re built like sods,
    Meaty shafts, her lust applauds,
    Them hard bastards, she’d face the squads,
    Each one’s a king, she nods and plods.

    Crescent Charm

    She’s hot for them, all bent and kinked,
    A nasty curve, they’re fuckin’ linked,
    Not straight, but hell, they ain’t extinct,
    They lean in deep, she’s on the brink,
    Slack ‘til hard, they growl and wink,
    Twisted tools, her dirty shrink,
    Fuck the plain, they’ve got her synced,
    Them dicks she’d take, no need to think.

    Little Legends

    She cheers them small, them tiny studs,
    Petite as fuck, but full of floods,
    Short and sweet, they’re badass buds,
    They hit her good, no empty duds,
    No stretch, just tight, they’re in her blood,
    Compact kicks, they shoot their spuds,
    Them little pricks, she loves their crud,
    She’d suck ‘em dry, they’re gold, not mud.

    Slender Whisper

    She’s wild for them, all thin and sly,
    Skinny shits, but fuck, they try,
    Sneak through gaps, she can’t deny,
    They pulse with heat, her lusty cry,
    No fat to flash, just raw and spry,
    Long or not, they don’t comply,
    Them subtle cocks, she’d never fry,
    She hails them twigs, their juice runs high.

    Tapered Spear

    She craves them sharp, them pointy pricks,
    A stabbin’ shaft, them narrow dicks,
    From thick to slim, they fuckin’ mix,
    A tool to shove, her raunchy fix,
    Their shape’s a mess, but she’s transfixed,
    Smooth as shit, they slide past tricks,
    Them spears of flesh, her lusty picks,
    She grunts for these, their spunk she licks.

    Compact Core

    She’s mad for them, them stubby fucks,
    No length to boast, but full of bucks,
    A dense-ass knot, they’ve got the pluck,
    Pound for pound, they don’t get stuck,
    Small but fierce, they run amok,
    They prove size lies, she gives a fuck,
    Them gritty stubs, her dirty luck,
    She’d slurp these nubs, their balls she’d pluck.

    Endless Reach

    She gawks at them, them long-ass ropes,
    Dangling low, them filthy hopes,
    Coiled tight, then out they grope,
    Unroll that shit, she fuckin’ copes,
    A cock to smack, her throat elopes,
    Reachin’ deep, she never mopes,
    No end in sight, her lusty scopes,
    She roars for these, their cum she scopes.

    Regal Crown

    She drools for them, them fat-topped kings,
    Hooded pricks or bare, she clings,
    Foreskin flops or peeled-back things,
    A royal tip, her hunger stings,
    They stare her down, no soft-ass flings,
    Bloated caps, her wet dream sings,
    Them brown or pale, she’d spread her wings,
    She’d suck these kings ‘til she’s half-dead, she brings.

    Veiny Map

    She’s hooked on them, them veiny beasts,
    Ridges bulge, her eyes they feast,
    Each line’s a tale, from balls released,
    Blood pumps hard, her want’s increased,
    A rough-ass path, her hands unleashed,
    They thrum with juice, her crude priest,
    No smooth shit here, her thrill’s policed,
    She screams for these, their stacks she’s greased.

    Spiral Dance

    She’s nuts for them, them twisted freaks,
    A spiral shank, them funky peaks,
    Not straight, not tame, they’re filthy geeks,
    They whirl through holes, her greasy seeks,
    A coiling beast, her cum-soaked weeks,
    Odd as fuck, they hit her streaks,
    Them weird-ass cocks, her lusty squeaks,
    She’d yank these pricks, her joy reeks.

    Quiet Stand

    She’s keen on them, them plain-ass dongs,
    Just hangin’ there, no loud-ass songs,
    No strut, no flash, they still prolong,
    A silent force, she’d tag along,
    Calm as shit, but never wrong,
    No fuss, just meat, her heart belongs,
    They fuck just fine, she’d hum their throngs,
    She growls for these, their chill she longs.

    Bulbous Bloom

    She’s all for them, them mushroom caps,
    A swollen head, them juicy slaps,
    They puff up proud, her lusty traps,
    A knob to taste, her filthy naps,
    Their girth a rush, she’d take their laps,
    No same old shit, they overlap,
    Each thrust they give, her hands clap,
    She’d gulp these knobs, their spunk she’d tap.

    The Unity of Form

    She fuckin’ loves all cocks, you see,
    Every shape, her wild decree,
    No flops around, they all agree,
    A prick parade, her filthy glee,
    Long, short, fat, or odd, carefree,
    They rise, they spew, her victory,
    A sweaty mess, her flesh spree,
    Them dicks she’d toast, her raunchy plea.

    A Chorus of Praise

    She yells it loud, let cum cascade,
    Each cock’s a crown, her lust’s parade,
    Difference fuels her ballsy trade,
    No best in sight, no shit delayed,
    All sizes slam, her form’s remade,
    Their stink, their slime, her town’s displayed,
    A gritty song, her voice unswayed,
    Them cocks are gods, her fuck’s replayed.

  • A Plea to Men

    Gentlemen, hear this humble plea,
    Try harder, please, to truly see,
    A woman’s sensuality, bold and free,
    Is not a call to claim or bind,
    She’s spirit, soul, and heart entwined,
    Not a prize your hands should seek to decree.

    Her photos, shared with pride or art,
    Don’t make her yours to tear apart,
    A glimpse of skin, a bared true heart,
    Doesn’t license crude reply,
    No cocks sent forth, no matter why,
    She’s not a thing to trade or chart.

    She’s free to glow, to feel alive,
    To revel in herself and thrive,
    Men, we must do better, strive,
    To honor feelings, not assume,
    Her beauty’s not your lust’s costume,
    Respect her worth, let kindness drive.

  • Hungry Bullocks, Gyration of Bollocks

    Back in the late 1990’s

    I’m Richard, and for the past few years, I’d been running a beef herd on a profit-share deal with a landowner who owned butcher shops scattered across Lancashire and Yorkshire. The herd was grass-fed, which sounded simple enough until this last winter hit, bitterly cold and bone-dry, it left the fields a patchy mess of brittle stalks and bare earth. The bullocks were leaner than I’d have liked, and I was scrambling for solutions.

    Hilary owned the land next door, a sprawling plot where she ran a riding stables. I’d done field work for her in the past, mowing, fertilising, fencing, that sort of thing, so we were on good terms. One afternoon, I wandered over to her place, hands stuffed in my pockets, and pitched the idea of renting some of her pasture to keep the herd going. “It’s a profit-share setup,” I explained, kicking at a clod of dirt. “I don’t pocket much unless the cattle do well.”

    She leaned against the stable door, her blonde hair tucked under a wool cap, and gave me a long look. “Fair enough,” she said. “We’ll sort something out. But while you’re here, Richard, got any free evenings? I run art classes at the barn, and I’m always short of portrait models. Pays decent, and you’ve got a face for it.”

    I shrugged. “Sure, why not?” A bit of extra cash sounded good, especially with the farm stretched thin. So I started doing the portrait gigs, two sessions, just sitting there in a chair while a handful of students sketched my jawline and the lines around my eyes. It was easy enough, though I felt a bit stiff by the end.

    After the second session, I got chatting with a bloke in the hall, a life model from the class next door. He was a wiry guy, all elbows and confidence, and when he told me what he earned posing starkers, my jaw dropped. Nearly double what I was getting for keeping my shirt on. I cornered Hilary the next day, still buzzing from the numbers. “What about life modelling?” I asked. “Any openings?”

    She grinned, a glint in her eye. “You’re in luck. I’ve got a slot tomorrow. Pays almost twice the portrait rate. You up for it?”

    “Count me in,” I said, ignoring the little twist of nerves in my gut.

    The following evening, I stepped out of the changing room in a bathrobe that smelled faintly of mothballs, my heart thudding louder than I’d expected. The barn was warm, lit by soft lamps, with a circle of easels and students waiting. I shrugged off the robe, letting it pool at my feet, and stood there, bare as the day I was born. Hilary raised an eyebrow, her gaze flickering down for a split second before she nodded approvingly. She had spotted the inevitable, I’d known for years I was packing a little more. “Nice,” she said, then pointed to a stool. “Sit there, one leg bent, arm resting on your knee. Hold it for twenty, be prepared to repeat two more times.”

    I did as she asked, feeling the cool air on my skin and the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes. My member hung there, unapologetic, and I tried to focus on the rafters instead of the scratching pencils. It wasn’t so bad once I settled in, just a job, like mucking out a stall. After each twenty minute session a five minute break, then getting back into the same position

    When the students filed out, Hilary sauntered over, her boots clicking on the wooden floor. “You did well,” she said, then tilted her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Ever thought about stripping? Proper stripping, I mean, dancing, the lot. It’s a bit intimidating at first, sure, but it can be fun. Pays a hell of a lot more than this, too. I’d look after you, book the gigs, handle the details. I reckon you’ve got the right element of flamboyant eccentricity to do it well, Richard. And, well…” She smirked, giving me a once-over. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

    I laughed, half from nerves, half from the absurdity of it. Flamboyant eccentricity? Me? I’d spent my days in mud-stained boots, not prancing about, but her confidence was infectious. “You serious?” I asked.

    “Dead serious,” she said. “Think it over.”

    I did. And the next week, I was back, not just posing, but moving, shedding clothes to music in front of a crowd. Hilary was right, it was daunting, the first time especially, with all those cheers and eyes tracking every step. But she kept her word, guiding me through it, and soon I was doing three or four sessions a week. A few hours of stripping, twirling a hat, flexing for the laughs, letting the rhythm take over, and I was pulling in more cash than I ever saw from the farm, even in a good year. The herd still grazed Hilary’s land, but the real profit? That came from me, stepping out of my boots and into something entirely unexpected.

  • Slow Delivery

    Outdoors they drift beneath a molten canopy of flame,
    Her loose top flows like a whisper of dawn’s breath, leggings a serpent’s coil on her frame,
    His jeans a taut forge of denim, t-shirt a banner in the sun’s wild game.
    Others blur into ghosts, swallowed by the day’s untamed sea,
    On a bench carved by time’s teeth, they alight unseen,
    His hands voyage to her mound, a hidden hill of honeyed green,
    She stiffens, a shiver racing, her breath a startled fawn unseen.

    Her thighs unfurl like lotus blooms in a fevered pond,
    A furnace flares in her gaze, twin embers of want unbound,
    Pressure mounts, his touch a river chiseling stone to frond,
    Motion a sculptor’s blade, her lips part, a soft moan crowned.
    She spies his jeans, a ridge swelling like a coiled beast,
    Her core clenches, a greedy pulse beneath her skin’s veil,
    Then he withdraws, a tide abandoning its hive,
    She gasps, a whimper of loss, her eyes blaze, wild and frail.

    In the car, he stoops, lips a tempest claiming her shore,
    A kiss that brands, she melts, her tongue a moth to his forge,
    His hand snakes beneath her leggings, a thief at the door,
    Past knickers’ damp sentinels, her hips buck, a plea to gorge.
    Fingers plunge like divers into her coral abyss,
    She writhes, a keening cry, her nails dig into the seat,
    She’s a volcano’s edge, lava kissing the abyss,
    He halts, “Drive,” he commands—she trembles, rage and heat.

    The road roars, a black ribbon threading dusk’s loom,
    His words fall like embers, her chest heaves, a frantic drum,
    Each breath a bellows, she hungers, a flower torn from bloom,
    Her eyes catch his jeans, erection a spear—she bites her thumb.
    A desert thirsting, she squirms, her leggings chafe her ache,
    His bulge taunts, her voice cracks, “Hurry,” a desperate plea,
    Whispers weave lust’s brash clash, her resolve begins to break,
    Hotel lights flare, she grips the wheel, a storm desperate to be free.

    In the room, her need roars, a lioness unchained,
    She lunges, eyes feral, craving their skins to spark,
    He lures her to the shower, a siren’s refrain,
    Steam cloaks her, she purrs, her body a taut, quivering arc.
    His hands glide, soap sculpts her joyish vale, she moans low,
    Fingers tease like moths, her knees buckle, a pleading sigh,
    She arches, a bowstring taut, begging the final blow,
    He stops, she growls, a snarl of want, her patience run dry.

    Towels shed, she sprawls, a banquet on sheets of snow,
    Legs flare like wings, she beckons, a queen in flushed command,
    He kneels, lips a pilgrim at her altar’s flow,
    She arches, a guttural cry, her hands claw at the strand.
    Before she shatters, he mounts, a stallion in the fray,
    Thrusts deep, she screams, a banshee loosed in primal din,
    She erupts, a starburst fracturing night to day,
    Her spasms hurl him, a wild mare bucking free from sin.

  • Lisa – The Reunion

    The sun blazed overhead as Richard and I stepped onto the sandy expanse of the nudist beach. It was my first time here, and I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves mixed with curiosity. The air smelled of salt and sunscreen, and as we walked further in, my eyes darted around, taking in the scene. Naked bodies sprawled across towels and lounged under umbrellas, men and women of all shapes and sizes, completely at ease. I tried not to stare, but the array of cocks swinging casually as people walked by was impossible to ignore. Some hung long and heavy, others were shorter but thick, and the variety was oddly mesmerizing. The women, too, caught my attention, curvy hips, flat stomachs, breasts ranging from full and round to small like mine. I felt a strange mix of self-consciousness and fascination.

    I glanced down at myself, still fully clothed in a loose sundress with my bikini underneath. I’m short and trim, my A-cup breasts barely making a dent in the fabric, and below, my neatly trimmed pubes frame a small outward slit, nothing showy, nothing that protrudes. My lips down there are smooth and hairless, a detail I’d always liked about myself. Still, the thought of baring it all here made my stomach twist.

    Richard, walking beside me, seemed perfectly at home. He’d been here before, many times, apparently, and it showed. As we passed a group of single women lounging on their towels, a few of them flashed warm, knowing smiles his way. One even gave a little wave. I couldn’t help but notice how their eyes lingered on him, and it struck me that he was well-liked here. It made sense, he’s charming in that easy, unassuming way of his. We’d met four years ago at the engineering firm where we both worked, back when he’d flirted with me and asked me out. I’d turned him down, citing my no-dating-coworkers rule, but we’d clicked anyway, becoming fast friends. This was the first time I’d seen him since he left the company last week, and when he’d suggested this beach trip, I’d agreed without fully grasping what I was in for.

    “You okay?” Richard’s voice broke through my thoughts. He must’ve noticed my hesitation as I clutched the straps of my bag a little too tightly.

    “Yeah, just… taking it all in,” I said, my eyes flicking to a man walking past with a cock that bobbed with every step. I quickly looked away, heat creeping up my neck.

    “You don’t have to strip if you don’t want to,” he said, his tone reassuring. “Nudity’s not mandatory here. See?” He nodded toward a couple nearby, her in a bikini bottom, him in loose shorts. Another woman wore a sarong tied around her chest. It eased my nerves a bit, knowing I had an out.

    I nodded, still feeling awkward as I set my bag down on the sand. Beneath my dress, my bikini felt like a safety net. I peeled off the dress, folding it carefully, hyper-aware of every movement as Richard started undressing beside me. He shed his shirt first, revealing the lean, familiar frame I’d seen in T-shirts a hundred times. Then his shorts came off, and I busied myself adjusting my towel, trying not to watch. But when he hooked his thumbs into his boxers and slid them down, I couldn’t help it, my breath caught in my throat. His cock was… impressive. Long and thick, it hung there with a casual confidence that made my mind flash to the porn I secretly loved watching. It was bigger than anything I’d seen in real life, and I hadn’t been prepared for that.

    “Wow,” I blurted, then tried to play it cool. “I’m surprised you’ve been hiding that from me all this time. Four years, Richard, and you never thought to mention you’re packing that?”

    He laughed, a deep, easy sound that broke the tension. “Didn’t think it’d come up in conversation at the office.”

    “Well, it’s nice,” I said, aiming for nonchalant but probably failing. “Really nice.”

    “Thanks,” he said, grinning as he spread his towel out. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

    We settled onto our towels, the sun warming my skin through my bikini. For an hour or so, we chatted about everything and nothing, work gossip, his new freelance gig, the salty breeze. But my eyes kept wandering, and I couldn’t shake the curiosity about those smiling women. Finally, I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “So, how many of these women have you fucked? Some of them look like they know you pretty well.”

    He raised an eyebrow, then smirked. “Just one, actually. Amanda.” He pointed discreetly to a woman a few yards away, tall, tanned, with dark hair and a relaxed posture. “She was a close friend of Sue’s.”

    Sue, his late wife. He didn’t talk about her often, but when he did, it was with a quiet fondness. I tilted my head, intrigued. “Just a friend, huh?”

    “Well…” He waved Amanda over, and to my shock, she strolled up with a bright smile. What followed was the most surreal conversation of my life. Richard introduced us, and within minutes, they were casually reminiscing about how Amanda, Sue, and Richard used to have threesomes, regularly, on birthdays, and sometimes just because. Amanda laughed as she recounted Sue’s playful rules, and Richard nodded along, unfazed. I sat there, wide-eyed, trying to process it.

    Amanda turned to me, her tone light. “If you ever want me to join you two, I’d be happy to revive some memories.”

    “Oh, we’re not,” Richard started, but I cut in, leaning toward her with a loud whisper.

    “Yet.”

    She chuckled and sauntered back to her spot, leaving me alone with Richard. He turned to me, his blue eyes searching mine. He was lying on his back now, and I noticed he’d pulled his towel over his groin sometime during the chat. “Did you mean that?” he asked. “About the ‘yet’?”

    I met his gaze, my heart pounding. “Do you want to rectify that?”

    He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he lifted the edge of his towel just enough for me to see. His cock was swollen, straining against the air, and the sight sent a jolt through me. We didn’t say much after that, just dressed quickly, grabbed our things, and headed back to the hotel he’d booked for me.

    In the hotel room, the air crackled with anticipation. The door clicked shut behind us, and we didn’t waste a second, our clothes hit the floor in a frantic heap, a trail of fabric leading to the bathroom. The shower was already steaming when we stepped in, the hot water sluicing over my skin, washing away the sand and salt. Richard’s hands were on me immediately, sliding down my wet sides, tracing the curve of my hips. His fingers slipped between my legs, finding my clit with a precision that made me gasp. The water pounded against my back as he worked me, his touch firm yet gentle, circling and teasing until my knees buckled. I gripped his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as the first orgasm ripped through me, sharp and sudden, a burst of heat that left me trembling against him. He held me steady, his lips brushing my ear, whispering something I couldn’t catch over the sound of the water and my own ragged breathing.

    We barely toweled off, still dripping as we stumbled out of the shower. My skin tingled, hypersensitive from the release, and I felt bold, hungry for more. I turned to face him, then bent over in front of the bathroom counter, my hands gripping the edge as I reached back with both hands to spread myself wide. The cool air hit my exposed flesh, a stark contrast to the warmth still radiating from my core. Richard’s eyes darkened as he stepped closer, his cock already hard again, glistening from the shower. He bent his knees slightly, aligning himself, and then he was inside me, one slow, deliberate thrust that stretched me open. I moaned, the fullness overwhelming, his thickness pressing against every sensitive spot inside me. He started moving, long strokes that dragged his length out nearly to the tip before plunging back in, each one sending a shudder through me. My fingers found my clit, rubbing in time with his rhythm, and the combination pushed me over the edge again, a quick, intense orgasm that made my walls clench around him, my breath hitching as I rode it out.

    He slowed, letting me catch my breath, then guided me to the bed. We sank onto the crisp sheets, and he pulled me close, positioning me beneath him in missionary. His hands explored me, sliding up my thighs, squeezing the soft flesh there, then roaming higher to cup my small breasts. His thumbs brushed my nipples, teasing them into tight peaks as he entered me again. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, his cock sliding in deep, filling me completely, then pulling back with a languid grace that let me feel every inch of him. The sensation was exquisite, a delicious stretch that made my toes curl. His hands stayed on my breasts, kneading gently, his fingers occasionally pinching my nipples just hard enough to send sparks down my spine. I arched into him, meeting his thrusts, my hands gripping his biceps as the pleasure built layer by layer. His breath was hot against my neck, his lips grazing my skin, and I felt utterly consumed by him, by the weight of his body, the steady rhythm of his hips, the way his cock seemed to fit me perfectly.

    After a while, he shifted us again, rolling onto his side and pulling me with him into a spooning position. His chest pressed against my back, warm and solid, one arm sliding beneath me to cradle my breast while the other hand gripped my thigh, lifting it slightly to give him better access. He entered me from behind, and the angle was new, his cock hitting deeper, brushing against a spot that made me whimper. His strokes were slow at first, almost teasing, his length gliding in and out with a slick, sensual ease. His hand on my thigh tightened, fingers digging into my flesh as he picked up the pace, each thrust sending a ripple of pleasure through me. His other hand toyed with my nipple, rolling it between his fingers, and the dual sensations, his cock inside me, his touch on my skin, built a slow, simmering heat. I reached back, tangling my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as his lips found my shoulder, kissing and nipping the skin there. The intimacy of it, the way our bodies fit together, was intoxicating. I felt every movement, every subtle shift of his hips, and it drove me higher until I was panting, my body trembling on the edge.

    “I’m close,” he murmured against my ear, his voice rough with need. “Where?”

    “In me,” I gasped, desperate to feel him let go. My pussy clenched around him as he thrust harder, his rhythm faltering as he came. His cock pulsed inside me, jerking with each spurt, and I swore I could feel the hot rush of his release, coating my insides as he groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through me. I rode the wave of his orgasm, my own pleasure spiking as his thrusts slowed, his body shuddering against mine.

    He stayed inside me as he softened, his breath evening out. I turned my head, meeting his eyes with a lazy smile. “That was incredible. Your cock is… unreal.”

    He chuckled, kissing my shoulder. “You’ve got a first-rate pussy, Lisa. Seriously.”

    “It’s getting sore, though,” I admitted, and he pulled out gently, his touch tender as he shifted down the bed. His mouth found my clit, warm and soft, his tongue circling it with a slow, deliberate pressure that made me sigh. His fingers slipped inside me, massaging my walls, still slick with his cum and my arousal. The combination was perfect, his mouth teasing my sensitive bud, his fingers curling just right, and the pleasure built steadily, a deep, rolling wave that arched my back off the bed. I came again, longer this time, my body shaking as I cried out, my hands fisting the sheets.

    We showered again, the water a soothing balm on my overstimulated skin. His hands were everywhere, sliding over my back, tracing my spine, cupping my ass as we stood under the spray. I returned the favor, running my fingers through his wet hair, pressing my body against his as we lingered, not quite ready to let the moment end. Eventually, we dressed and headed to dinner, trading stories over seafood about my job at the engineering firm and how much I missed his data-processing wizardry.

    Afterward, he suggested a walk, but I had other ideas. “I haven’t sucked you yet,” I said, keeping my voice low as we stepped away from the restaurant. “I want to fix that.”

    Back in the room, I took charge. I stripped him slowly, peeling off his shirt to reveal the lean planes of his chest, then sliding his pants and boxers down, letting his cock spring free. It was limp at first, soft and heavy in my hand as I knelt before him. I stopped him when he reached for my clothes, this was about him, about me giving him something. I took him into my mouth, savoring the velvety texture as he swelled against my tongue. My lips stretched around him, and I felt powerful, in control, as I worked him deeper. Our eyes locked, his darkening with every slow, deliberate suck. I varied my technique, long, languid strokes where I took him to the back of my throat, then pulled back to tease the tip with quick, flicking licks. My hands joined in, one cupping his balls, rolling them gently, the other stroking the base where my mouth couldn’t reach. His cock filled my mouth, thick and hard, the taste of him salty and raw. My jaw ached, but I loved it, the fullness, the way his breath quickened, the soft groans he couldn’t hold back.

    “If you’ve got any left,” I said, pulling off for a moment, my voice husky, “cum in my mouth.” I dove back in, sucking harder, my tongue swirling around the head before plunging down again. I hollowed my cheeks, creating a tight suction, then softened my lips for a gentler, wetter glide. His hands fisted in my hair, not pushing, just holding on as his hips twitched. He came with a guttural moan, his cock pulsing as hot spurts hit my tongue. I took it all, swallowing every drop, my eyes never leaving his as I slowed, letting him ride out the aftershocks.

    He was still hard when I pulled back, and I grinned, wiping my lips. “More?”

    “God, yes,” he rasped, and I laughed, my mouth too sore to keep going. I stripped off my clothes, the air cool against my heated skin, and pushed him onto the bed. Climbing on top, I sank onto him, his cock sliding into me with a slick, perfect fit. I rode him slowly at first, rolling my hips to feel him deep inside, then leaned forward, my hands braced on his chest as I picked up the pace. His hands reached for me, but I batted them away, pinning his wrists above his head. “Just lie there,” I commanded, and he obeyed, his eyes burning with lust as I took what I wanted. I shifted positions, sitting upright to grind against him, then leaning back, one hand on his thigh as I angled him just right. His cock hit every spot I needed, the friction building me up until I came, hard and fast, my pussy clenching around him. I didn’t stop, kept riding, chasing another, then another, each orgasm sharper, more intense, my body trembling as I used him relentlessly. Sweat beaded on my skin, my breath came in gasps, and finally, I collapsed beside him, spent and sated.

    “Friends, huh?” he said, smirking as he caught his breath.

    “Best kind,” I replied, already wondering how we’d top this tomorrow.

  • Ode to Women

    Oh, let us sing of men who pierce the shroud of lies,
    Who spurn the waif’s frail ghost, that skeletal lament,
    Not snared by hollow ribs or vacant, glassy eyes,
    But chase a blazing soul, a spirit’s wild ascent.
    The world spins tales of stick-thin queens in glossed parade,
    A waifish specter, brittle as a winter reed,
    Yet men of worth forsake this cold, unyielding charade,
    For living flames of flesh, where truth and pulse succeed.

    No fashion scroll, with its icy, sculpted gleam,
    Can cage their sight to frames of frost and jutting bone,
    Those ink-wrought shades, where hips like knives cut through the dream,
    A lifeless husk, no spark of earth’s deep tone.
    For woman’s form, her hips a broad and tawny plain,
    Her thighs a rolling sea, with waves of might unfurled,
    Spills wide in splendor, shattering the glossed refrain,
    A chorus vast, not muted for one world.

    Some bear the stretch of stars across their skin’s expanse,
    A galaxy of marks where life has carved its song,
    Others rise like oaks, with trunks of rooted stance,
    Their arms a canopy where strength has grown so long.
    Her waist may arc like dunes beneath a desert sky,
    Or swell like ripened fruit, heavy with sunlit grace,
    Each shape a saga, etched where shallow rules run dry,
    A vivid quilt of being, stitched through time and space.

    Intelligence, their beacon, cuts through fog and din,
    To depths where confidence blooms wild as prairie flame,
    A woman’s roar, a gust that shakes the soul within,
    Outstrips the waif’s faint sigh, its whispered, fragile claim.
    Her body’s truth, each roll a river’s tender bend,
    Each height a peak where storms have kissed the stone,
    Defies the starved ideal that fashion’s hands defend,
    A boundless range, not boxed in monochrome.

    No painted lie, with limbs like twigs in brittle rows,
    Can match the swell of breasts that crest like dawn’s first tide,
    They shun the runway’s drift, its gaunt and pallid throes,
    For bellies soft as loam, where seeds of life reside.
    Her legs may tower, thick as columns hewn from clay,
    Or curve like vines that twist through forest’s green embrace,
    The glossy myth dissolves in forms that break away,
    As worthy men exalt this choir of human grace.

    Acceptance braids their sight, a cord of molten hue,
    No blade to shave her peaks or hollow out her streams,
    They see her prairies vast, her cliffs in morning dew,
    A soul unbound, not stitched to fit tight seams.
    Her shoulders square like boulders, weathered, bold, and free,
    Her back a windswept ridge, unbowed by fleeting trends,
    These are the anthems drowning fashion’s thin decree,
    A symphony of shapes where sameness ends.

    So lift a glass to men whose eyes ignite the dawn,
    Who scorn the waif, the glossed and famished shell,
    Who flee the frail parade where flesh is pinched and drawn,
    To kneel at hearths where wild diversity dwells.
    In self-assured and bold, they forge their radiant creed,
    A woman’s soul, her form, a tempest’s vivid sprawl,
    Not starved ideals that wither in their need,
    But living fields of power, fierce and tall.

    For men worth praising, worth the heart’s deep cheer,
    See past the waif’s dim shade, its frail and fleeting spell,
    They clasp the real, the short, the broad, the sheer,
    And in that clasp, their truest wisdom swell.

  • Ode to Hugs

    Clothed Embrace
    In layers soft, we meet and hold,
    A hug through wool or cotton’s weave,
    No skin to skin, yet hearts unfold,
    A tender press we both believe.
    The rustle of a coat, a scarf’s caress,
    Wraps trust around our silent cheer,
    A clothed embrace, no need to guess,
    Binds souls in warmth so pure, so clear.
    Through fabric’s shield, we find our place,
    A gentle clasp, a safe retreat,
    Emotions bloom in this chaste space.

    Bare Connection
    Naked arms entwine, no lust in sight,
    Skin meets skin in innocent accord,
    A hug unrobed beneath soft light,
    Vulnerability our sweet reward.
    No cloth to hide, no shame to bear,
    Just human warmth, a primal tie,
    The pulse of breath in quiet air,
    A trust that needs no reason why.
    Flesh on flesh, yet chaste it stays,
    A raw, unsexual intimacy sings,
    Healing flows through honest ways.

    Private Sanctuary
    Behind closed doors, we hug alone,
    A secret haven, walls our guard,
    No eyes to judge, no voice to drone,
    Just stillness shared, both soft and hard.
    The world recedes, its noise erased,
    In private clasp, we mend our seams,
    A whispered laugh, a tear embraced,
    Rebuilds us whole in tender dreams.
    This hidden hold, a sacred rite,
    Where trust is king, and hearts confide,
    Non-sexual, yet deep as night.

    Public Affirmation
    In open air, we hug with pride,
    Amid the crowd, beneath the sun,
    No need to shrink, no need to hide,
    A bond displayed for everyone.
    Arms lock firm, a bold decree,
    Affection pure, no lust to trace,
    Through bustling streets, we’re seen as free,
    A human touch in time and space.
    The world may watch, yet we stand tall,
    This public hug, a quiet cheer,
    Unites us strong, defies the sprawl.

    Healing Touch
    A hug repairs what words can’t mend,
    A fracture deep, a silent ache,
    Arms encircle, sorrows bend,
    A balm for wounds that hearts forsake.
    In grief or joy, it holds us tight,
    Dissolves the pain with gentle might,
    Restores the spirit, soft and slow,
    A cure no medicine can know.
    Non-sexual, yet rich with care,
    It stitches life with threads unseen,
    A healer’s gift beyond compare.

    Silent Intimacy
    No whispers needed, just the hold,
    A hug that speaks where tongues fall still,
    Emotions carved in contours bold,
    A closeness born of simple will.
    The rise of chest, the beat beneath,
    Conveys what words could never say,
    In quiet grip, we find our sheath,
    A tie no passion sways astray.
    This intimacy, pure and deep,
    Roots us firm in tranquil streams,
    A treasure ours to gently keep.

    Timeless Bond
    Through years, a hug remains the same,
    A ritual old as human breath,
    No spark of flesh, no fleeting flame,
    Yet stronger far than lust or death.
    In youth or age, it stands as one,
    A bridge across life’s shifting sand,
    Arms wrap tight, the past undone,
    A steady rock where hearts expand.
    Non-sexual, eternal, true,
    It holds us fast through storm and calm,
    A timeless thread to pull us through.

    Equal Exchange
    A hug demands no rank, no guise,
    Both giver, taker, share the load,
    In equal grace, our spirits rise,
    No power shifts, no debt bestowed.
    Arms meet as peers, a balanced dance,
    Each heart gives freely, takes in turn,
    A mutual trust, a fair advance,
    Where love’s deep embers softly burn.
    This parity, so rare, so sweet,
    Non-sexual, yet wholly near,
    Makes every clasp a joy complete.

    Universal Language
    Across all tongues, all lands, all creeds,
    A hug transcends what words divide,
    No script required, no complex deeds,
    Its meaning flows from side to side.
    In joy, in pain, in peace, in strife,
    It speaks where voices fail to sing,
    A global pulse of human life,
    A gift that only touch can bring.
    Non-sexual, yet vast and wide,
    It heals, it joins, it sets us free,
    A hug, the world’s unbroken tide.

  • Ode to Women’s Nipples

    Oh, the nipple, a bloom on the chest so fair,
    A tender bud kissed by the morning air,
    Some small and pert, like dewdrops bright,
    Pink as dawn’s first blushing light,
    A delicate crown on a curve so fine,
    Nature’s sweet and subtle design.

    Others rise bold, a dusky hue,
    Deep as berries beneath the dew,
    Round and full, they proudly stand,
    A warm caress from life’s own hand,
    Softly puckered, a gentle tease,
    A sight to cherish, a form to please.

    Some stretch wide, a rosy plain,
    Freckled soft by sun or rain,
    Areolas broad, like petals spread,
    A canvas warm where touch is led,
    Silk beneath the fingertips’ roam,
    A welcoming field, a tender home.

    Then there’s the shy, the subtle dot,
    A secret kept, a treasure not forgot,
    Pale as cream, near hidden from sight,
    Yet stirring joy in softest light,
    A whisper of beauty, small and sweet,
    A quiet grace where hearts might meet.

    Some gleam dark, like twilight’s call,
    A velvet shadow on skin so tall,
    Firm and high, they catch the eye,
    A striking note ‘neath open sky,
    Resilient, lovely, fierce, and free,
    A sculpted mark of harmony.

    Others sway soft, a gentle mound,
    A ripple of flesh where peace is found,
    Lightly textured, a playful rise,
    Dancing beneath admiring eyes,
    Warm as honey, smooth as song,
    A charm that lingers all day long.

    Some perch proud on a fuller breast,
    A beacon bold, a crest expressed,
    Taut and eager, kissed by breeze,
    A joyful form that aims to please,
    Vivid in color, rich in tone,
    A queenly gift, uniquely grown.

    Then come the long, the tender tips,
    Stretched by love or life’s sweet grips,
    Elegant lines that softly sway,
    In quiet beauty day by day,
    A testament to time’s embrace,
    A lovely mark on every face.

    Some blush faint, a pastel gleam,
    A fleeting hue from waking dream,
    Barely there, yet oh so dear,
    A whispered promise drawing near,
    Subtle magic in their hold,
    A story shyly told.

    Others flare wide, a sunburst grand,
    A radiant ring on skin so tanned,
    Boldly framing what lies within,
    A dance of flesh, a playful spin,
    Warm and wide, they laugh with glee,
    A vibrant ode to liberty.

    Some sit low, a nestled prize,
    Softly tucked where shadow lies,
    Gentle hills that rise with care,
    A soothing touch beyond compare,
    Cozy, lovely, sweet to see,
    A quiet nook of ecstasy.

    Then there’s the crinkled, puckered kind,
    A texture rich, a map to find,
    Tight and playful in the chill,
    A merry spark, a tender thrill,
    Responsive, lively, quick to sing,
    A joyful note that springtime brings.

    Some glow smooth, a polished stone,
    A silken dome on flesh alone,
    Even and sleek, a perfect sphere,
    A calming sight to hold so near,
    Glossy, bright, and softly made,
    A tranquil beauty never to fade.

    Others bear marks, a storied skin,
    Lines or bumps where life’s been in,
    Unique as stars in midnight’s sprawl,
    Each a tale, each a call,
    Wondrous still, they shine with might,
    A living art in every light.

    Oh, the nipple, in all its ways,
    A thousand forms through endless days,
    Varied, vivid, wild, and true,
    A gift of life in every view,
    Delightful always, bold or small,
    A lovely anthem for us all.