OxonWoods Man

Category: Doggy

  • Wychwood Forge’s Embrace

    In the shadowed heart of Wychwood, where ancient trees twisted skyward like the gnarled hands of forgotten gods, Francesca, moved with the silent grace of a predator. The Warrior Princess of Wychwood, a striking figure, tall and lithe, her leather skirt clinging to her hips, its ragged hem brushing her thighs as she navigated the moss-draped roots. Beneath it, leather knickers molded to her form, a practical yet intimate shield against the wilds. A brass breastplate, intricately etched with curling vines, hugged her torso, glinting faintly in the dim light that pierced the forest’s thick canopy. Her broadsword hung strapped across her back, its weight a familiar comfort as she patrolled the realm she’d sworn to protect.

    Wychwood was no ordinary forest. It thrummed with magic, its air heavy with the scent of pine, damp earth, and the faint musk of unseen creatures. The trees, their bark scarred by time, whispered secrets in a language older than humankind, their branches interlocking to form a ceiling that swallowed the sun. Here, myth and reality danced a perilous waltz, and Francesca, raised among its mysteries, knew its rhythms well. Today, the forest felt alive with restless energy, urging her deeper into its embrace.

    As she approached a clearing she often used as a vantage point, a sound snagged her attention, soft, rhythmic moans interwoven with the rustling of leaves. Her pulse quickened, curiosity warring with duty. She crept forward, her boots sinking into the loamy soil, and parted the thorny branches of a blackthorn bush. What she saw stole the breath from her lungs.

    In the center of the clearing, bathed in a shaft of rare sunlight, a Woodwode and a Wood Nymph were entwined in a lover’s embrace. The Woodwode was a creature of primal majesty, his form a fusion of man and forest. His skin, rough as oak bark, rippled with muscle beneath a texture that seemed carved from the trees themselves. Leaves and twigs sprouted from his hair, a living crown that shivered with each movement, and his eyes burned with an emerald fire, ancient and untamed. He towered over the nymph, his hands, large, calloused, yet gentle, cradling her as though she were both treasure and tempest.

    The Wood Nymph was his ethereal counterpoint, a vision of otherworldly grace. Her skin shimmered with a soft, pearlescent glow, as if lit from within by moonlight trapped beneath her flesh. Her hair cascaded in waves of vibrant color, violet petals fading to golden blooms, then wilting to crimson before blooming anew, a cycle of life mirroring her every breath. Slender and supple, she moved with a fluidity that defied mortal constraints, her eyes closed in rapture as she surrendered to the Woodwode’s touch.

    Their union was a dance of nature, raw and reverent. The Woodwode knelt in the moss, his knees sinking into the earth as he drew the nymph into his lap. She straddled him, her legs wrapping around his waist, her hands tracing the ridges of his bark-like chest. He entered her with a slow, deliberate thrust, and her head tipped back, a cascade of flowers spilling from her hair to scatter across the ground. Her moan was a melody, high and keening, blending with the low, resonant groan that rumbled from his throat.

    Francesca watched, rooted to the spot, her heart pounding against her ribs. The air grew thick with the scent of sap and crushed petals, mingling with the musk of their arousal. The Woodwode’s hands roamed the nymph’s body, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing nipples that glowed like tiny stars, then sliding down to grip her hips. She rocked against him, her movements fluid yet urgent, each thrust met with a counterpoint that spoke of deep, instinctual harmony. His cock, thick and veined like a tree root, glistened as it plunged into her, her slickness catching the light in fleeting, iridescent flashes.

    Heat bloomed in Francesca’s core, an ache that spread like wildfire through her veins. She shifted, her thighs pressing together beneath her skirt, and her hand slipped beneath the leather, finding the damp within her knickers. Her fingers brushed her clit, tentative at first, then bolder, circling in time with the couple’s rhythm. She bit her lip, stifling a gasp as she imagined herself in the nymph’s place, the Woodwode’s rough hands on her skin, his cock filling her with that same relentless force. The fantasy sent a shiver racing down her spine, her breath hitching as pleasure coiled tighter within her.

    The Woodwode quickened his pace, his thrusts growing deeper, more insistent. The nymph’s cries sharpened, her body arching as she clawed at his shoulders, leaving trails of sap where her nails dug in. Flowers burst from her hair in a riot of color, petals raining down to carpet the moss. Francesca’s fingers moved faster, her arousal soaking her fingers, but the sensation remained frustratingly hollow. She pressed harder, chasing release, yet the sight before her demanded more than her own touch could provide.

    In the clearing, the lovers neared their peak. The Woodwode’s hands tightened on the nymph’s hips, lifting her slightly before slamming her down onto him, his growl reverberating through the trees. She screamed, a sound of pure ecstasy, her body convulsing as her climax claimed her. Flowers withered and bloomed in rapid succession, a storm of petals swirling around them. He followed moments later, his head thrown back, leaves trembling as he roared his release, his cock pulsing deep inside her. They stilled, locked together, their breaths ragged in the sudden silence, the forest seeming to hold its breath in awe.

    Francesca withdrew her hand, trembling, her body taut with unspent desire. The ache within her was a living thing, gnawing at her resolve. She needed more, something real, something visceral. Adjusting her knickers, she stood, casting one last glance at the lovers as they collapsed into the moss, entwined and sated. Her destination crystallized in her mind: Sir Richard’s workshop. He alone could quench the fire they’d ignited.

    She turned from the clearing, her boots crunching leaves as she forged a path toward the canal. The forest grew denser here, shadows lengthening as the canopy thickened, but her senses remained sharp. As she neared the stone bridge spanning the waterway, a cluster of guttural voices halted her steps. She ducked behind a twisted yew, peering out to see a gang of trolls huddled near the water’s edge.

    They were a brutish lot, five in number, their warty skin glistening with slime, yellowed tusks protruding from sneering mouths. Their eyes glinted with malice, and their hands clutched crude weapons: a rusted axe, a splintered club, a length of chain. Francesca strained to catch their words, her grip tightening on her sword’s hilt.

    “Tonight’s the night,” one growled, his voice like gravel underfoot. “We hit the smith’s place. Take his brass, his tools, take everything.”

    Another chuckled, a sound that grated like stone on stone. “He’s alone, no match for us. We’ll gut him if he squeals.”

    Rage flared in Francesca’s chest, hot and bright. Sir Richard was more than a craftsman; he was a guardian of Wychwood’s spirit, his forge a beacon of safety. She wouldn’t let these filth defile it. Drawing her broadsword with a whisper of steel, she stepped into view, her stance radiating menace.

    The trolls whirled, surprise morphing into snarls. “Who’re you?” the leader barked, hefting his axe.

    “Your reckoning,” Francesca said, her voice ice-cold. “Leave now, or I’ll make you wish you had.”

    They laughed, a cacophony of derision. “Five against one, girlie,” the chain-wielder sneered. “You’re dead meat.”

    Her lips curled into a feral smile. “Prove it.”

    She lunged, blade flashing as the trolls charged. The leader swung his axe, but she ducked, the weapon whistling over her head. She drove her sword’s pommel into his gut, doubling him over, then spun to parry the club aimed at her skull. The impact jarred her arms, but she pivoted, slashing the flat of her blade across the troll’s temple. He crumpled, out cold.

    The chain-wielder lashed out, the links whistling toward her legs. She leapt, the chain grazing her boot, and landed with a thrust that caught his wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. A kick to his knee sent him howling to the ground. The remaining two rushed her together, one with a dagger, the other bare-fisted. She sidestepped the blade, grabbing the dagger-wielder’s arm and twisting until it snapped, his scream echoing as she flung him into his companion. A final blow to each head silenced them.

    Breathing hard, sweat beading on her brow, Francesca surveyed the fallen trolls. None were dead, she’d used restraint, honoring Wychwood’s balance, but they wouldn’t trouble anyone soon. She fetched hemp ropes from her satchel, binding their wrists and ankles with practiced knots. “Stay down,” she muttered, stepping over their groaning forms.

    Her muscles ached, her body slick with exertion, but the fire in her belly still burned. She pressed on, the canal’s lock gates looming ahead, and with them, Sir Richard’s workshop. Smoke curled from its chimney, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal a siren’s call.

    She pushed open the oak door, heat slamming into her like a physical force. The forge roared at the room’s center, its glow casting flickering shadows across stone walls. Sir Richard stood at his anvil, a titan of sinew and sweat. His linen shirt clung to his broad chest, translucent with perspiration, revealing the dark hair beneath. A leather apron shielded his torso, but below, he wore only a thong, no trousers, his muscular legs bare and glistening. His hammer struck brass with relentless precision, each blow a testament to his mastery.

    She cleared her throat, and he paused, turning to face her. His gray eyes, sharp as storm clouds, locked onto hers, roaming her form with unabashed appraisal, her sweat-slicked skin, the taut leather skirt, the brass breastplate contoured over her breasts. A slow smile curved his lips, both knowing and hungry.

    “Princess Francesca, Wychwood’s Warrior” he rumbled, his voice deep enough to rattle her bones. “What brings you here?”

    She stepped closer, her boots clicking on stone. “I need brass,” she said, her tone steady despite the huskiness creeping in. “A guard for… a sensitive place.”

    His brow lifted, intrigue sparking in his gaze. He set the hammer down, wiping his hands on a rag, and closed the distance between them. “Sensitive, eh?” His eyes flicked to her groin, then back to her face. “I’ll need to measure you proper.”

    Her pulse raced as she unbuckled her skirt, letting it fall. The leather knickers followed, leaving her bare from the waist down. The workshop’s heat kissed her skin, intensifying the ache within her. Sir Richard sank to his knees, his face level with her hips, and his hands hovered above her mound, hesitating as if to prolong the tension.

    Then he touched her, fingers tracing her contours with a craftsman’s care, measuring width, depth, shape. Sparks shot through her, her breath catching as he lingered, caressing now, his touch igniting her further. “You’re wet,” he observed, voice low and rough.

    “Watching a Woodwode and nymph,” she admitted, cheeks flushing. “It… it, stirred me.”

    He chuckled, a dark, velvety sound. “I reckon it did.” He rose, fetching a brass sheet from a shelf, his shirt stretching tight across his back. Returning, he knelt again, a tool scratching her outline into the metal. His other hand rested on her thigh, thumb circling her skin, driving her mad.

    Her fingers found his thong, untying it with a tug. It fell, revealing his cock, thick, long, hardening under her gaze. He didn’t flinch, his focus on the brass, but his eyes gleamed with want. She grasped him, stroking slowly, marveling at his heat.

    He set the brass aside, cupping her pussy fully in his work roughened hand. “Need the exact shape,” he growled, fingers slipping inside her. She gasped, lifting a leg over his shoulder, opening to him. He thrust deeper, curling his fingers, and she cried out, her hand tightening on his cock.

    Their mouths crashed together, a hungry clash of lips and tongues. She guided him to her entrance, rubbing his tip against her until he groaned. His hands gripped her hips, and he thrust, filling her completely. She moaned, legs wrapping around him as he lifted her, pinning her against the workbench.

    He moved with purpose, shallow teases, then deep plunges, each stroke pushing her closer to the edge. Her fingers found her clit, circling frantically, and she came with a scream, her body clenching around him. He didn’t stop, driving her to another peak before spinning her around.

    Bent over the anvil, she spread her legs as he teased her clit with his cock, sparking another orgasm. He slammed into her, hands untying her breastplate to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples. Pleasure-pain surged, and she felt him tense, his thrusts growing erratic.

    “Together,” she gasped, and he nodded. With a final, deep thrust, he came, his release triggering hers. They shuddered as one, waves of ecstasy crashing over them, until they stilled, panting in the forge’s glow.

    He withdrew, steadying her as she swayed. “Guard’ll be ready by dawn,” he said, voice soft with promise.

    She dressed, smiling faintly. “Thank you.” Stepping into the night, she knew this was just the beginning, a bond forged in Wychwood’s fire, destined to endure.

  • The Coastal Path Encounter

    The Scottish coast stretched out in wild, untamed beauty before Kiri and her friends, Emma and Morag. The three women had set out that morning along a rugged cliffside path, the wind tugging at their hair and the salty tang of the North Sea filling their lungs. Kiri, at 47, carried a few extra pounds that softened her frame, her large breasts swaying slightly beneath her loose-fitting sweater as she walked. She’d always been comfortable in her body, its curves, its heft, its appetites. Her sexuality was a well-worn path she’d traveled with confidence, her high sex drive a constant hum beneath the surface of her everyday life. Between her legs, her large pussy was a landscape of its own, prominent, crinkled inner lips darker than the surrounding skin, neatly trimmed pubic hair framing it like a crown. She knew it well, loved it fiercely, and today, as the sun climbed higher, she felt that familiar itch stirring.

    Emma, wiry and sharp-tongued, led the trio, her short blonde hair whipping in the breeze. Morag, broader and quieter, trailed behind, her auburn curls bouncing with each step. They’d been friends for years, bonded by laughter and a shared irreverence for propriety. When Emma spotted a narrow trail veering off the main path toward a secluded cove, she didn’t hesitate. “Let’s get some sun on our bones,” she declared, and Kiri grinned, already imagining the cool sand against her skin.

    The beach was a hidden gem, a crescent of pale sand framed by jagged cliffs and lapped by gentle waves. It was deserted, save for the gulls wheeling overhead. Without a word, the three women stripped off their clothes, tossing sweaters, jeans, and underwear into a haphazard pile. Kiri stood naked, her heavy breasts settling against her chest, nipples tightening in the crisp air. She ran a hand absently over her stomach, feeling the softness there, then let her fingers brush the coarse hair above her pussy, a private ritual of self-assurance. Morag stretched out in the middle, her freckled skin gleaming, while Emma flopped onto the sand on the right, facing the ocean. Kiri took the left, closest to where the beach curved toward the cliffs, and lay back, the sun warming her flesh.

    For an hour, they basked in silence, the rhythmic crash of waves lulling them into a lazy haze. Kiri’s mind drifted, her body alive with the sensation of being bare under the sky. Her thoughts, as they often did, turned to sex, memories of past lovers, the weight of a man’s hands, the stretch of a cock inside her. She shifted slightly, feeling the sand shift beneath her ample hips, and let her legs part just enough to feel the breeze tease her inner thighs.

    Then, a figure appeared.

    He came from the left, walking along the shoreline toward them. Tall and slim, he carried the easy grace of someone older, perhaps in his mid to late fifties, his silver, grey hair catching the light. Kiri noticed him first, her eyes tracking him casually as he approached. He stopped about thirty feet away, near the water’s edge, and set down a small bag. Without a glance their way, he began to undress. Kiri propped herself on one elbow, intrigued. His shirt came off first, revealing a lean torso dusted with gray hair. Then his trousers, exposing long, sinewy legs. She watched, unhurried, until he stood in nothing but a pair of dark briefs. The bulge there was unmistakable, promising, substantial, and her pulse quickened.

    When he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and slid the briefs down, Kiri’s breath caught. His cock sprang free, thick and long, hanging heavy between his thighs. It wasn’t erect, but its sheer size was impressive, a soft arc of flesh that swayed slightly as he moved. He glanced her way and smiled, a warm, knowing smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Kiri returned it, her gaze dropping back to his cock as she tried to gauge its potential. Eight inches? Nine? More when hard? She couldn’t be sure, but the thought sent a shiver through her.

    He spread a towel on the sand and lay on his back, his head turned just enough to keep her in his peripheral vision. His cock draped across his left hip, away from her, its weight pulling it down against his skin. Kiri rolled onto her side, facing him fully, her left arm tucked beneath her head. Her right breast rested heavily against her chest, the nipple brushing the sand. She studied him, the faint lines of muscle in his thighs, the relaxed curve of his belly, and that magnificent cock, lolling there like an invitation. Her right leg bent slightly, raising her knee, and her hand drifted down her body. She let her fingers graze her pussy, tracing the thick, crinkled lips she knew so well. They were warm, already slick with the first stirrings of arousal.

    At first, her touch was light, discreet, a slow circling of her clit that could’ve been mistaken for an idle scratch. But he noticed. His head tilted further toward her, and he rolled onto his right side, mirroring her position. His cock twitched, swelling faintly as blood began to rush into it. His hand moved down, long fingers wrapping around the shaft, and he started to stroke himself, slow and deliberate. Kiri’s breath hitched. She lifted her leg higher, parting her thighs, and slipped two fingers inside herself. The wetness there was immediate, her pussy yielding to her touch with a soft squelch. This wasn’t about a quick release, not yet. She wanted to be ready, lubricated and open, for what she knew was coming.

    His cock grew steadily, thickening and lengthening as he worked it. The head emerged from its foreskin, glistening faintly in the sunlight. Kiri’s eyes locked on it, her fingers plunging deeper, curling against her inner walls. She imagined him inside her, stretching her wide, filling her in a way she hadn’t felt in years. When he was nearly fully erect, eight inches at least, maybe more, she couldn’t wait any longer. She pulled her hand free, her fingers glistening, and stood.

    The sand shifted beneath her feet as she crossed the distance between them. She knelt beside him, her knees sinking into the towel, and let her gaze travel from his cock up his body to his face. His eyes were hazel, warm with amusement and desire. He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to introduce himself, but Kiri pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. Names didn’t matter. She pushed him gently onto his back and leaned down, her breasts brushing his chest as she took his cock in her hand. It was heavy, warm, the skin velvet-smooth over its rigid core. She lowered her mouth to it, lips parting to take him in.

    He tasted faintly of salt and musk, his thickness stretching her jaw as she sucked. Her tongue swirled around the head, teasing the slit, and he groaned softly. His hands found her, one threading into her hair, the other sliding between her thighs. His fingers, long and deft, stroked her pussy, parting her lips and slipping inside. She moaned around his cock, the vibration drawing another groan from him. He was fully hard now, a towering presence in her mouth, and she knew she needed him elsewhere.

    Kiri pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his tip, and straddled him. She guided his cock to her entrance, the head nudging against her slick folds. Slowly, she sank down, feeling him stretch her inch by inch. It was exquisite, almost too much. He was the largest she’d ever had, his girth pressing against every nerve inside her, his length reaching deeper than anyone before. Her pussy clenched around him, adjusting to the fullness, and she gasped, her hands braced on his chest. She felt stuffed, gloriously so, her inner walls pulsing against him as she settled fully onto his hips.

    She began to move, rocking slowly, savoring the drag of him inside her. Each motion sent a jolt through her, the pressure building low in her belly. Her breasts bounced with her rhythm, heavy and free, and she reached down with her right hand, fingers finding her clit. She rubbed it in tight circles, amplifying the sensation of his cock filling her. The combination was electric, his size stretching her, her fingers teasing her to the edge. She rode him like that for long minutes, the sun hot on her back, the sound of the waves blending with their breaths.

    Her orgasm built gradually, a slow wave cresting higher with each thrust. When it hit, it was shattering. She cried out, her pussy clamping down on him, spasms rippling through her core. Her fingers pressed harder against her clit, drawing out the pleasure until she was trembling, breathless. He groaned beneath her, his hands gripping her hips, but he didn’t come, not yet.

    Panting, Kiri slid off him, his cock slipping free with a wet sound. She shoved him off the towel, onto the sand, and got onto all fours, her knees sinking into the soft ground. Her breasts hung low, swaying as she arched her back, presenting herself. He didn’t hesitate. Kneeling behind her, he lined himself up and thrust in, burying himself to the hilt. The angle was different, deeper, sharper, and she moaned loudly, the sound echoing off the cliffs. Their bodies slapped together, a rhythmic, primal noise that drowned out the waves.

    She reached back with one hand, fingers working her clit again, but as the pressure built, she let go, wanting to feel him alone. He pounded into her, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her back onto him. Her second orgasm came faster, harder, a tidal wave that crashed over her and kept going. She screamed, her voice raw, her pussy spasming around him as the pleasure stretched out, endless and consuming. When it finally began to ebb, she pulled away, his cock sliding free with a slick pop.

    Kiri stood, legs shaky, and glanced around. Morag was nearby, one leg cocked up on a rock, her fingers buried in her own pussy as she watched. Their eyes met, and Morag grinned, a wicked, conspiratorial smile. Kiri returned it, then turned toward Emma, who was waiting a few feet away, her slim body taut with anticipation.

    Without a word, Kiri lay back on the sand, and Emma climbed over her, positioning herself for a 69. Kiri’s tongue found Emma’s pussy, tight and tangy, while Emma’s mouth descended on Kiri’s still-throbbing folds. They devoured each other, tongues and lips working in tandem, the taste of salt and arousal mingling. In the background, Morag’s cries rose, sharp and needy, as she took her turn with the stranger. Kiri didn’t look, she didn’t need to. The sounds told her everything: Morag’s gasps, the slap of flesh, the stranger’s low grunts.

    Kiri focused on Emma, on the slick heat against her tongue, the pressure of Emma’s mouth on her clit. They came together, a shared shudder that left them panting into each other’s thighs. When it was over, Kiri lay back, staring up at the sky, her body humming with satisfaction. The stranger, the beach, her friends, it was a moment of pure, unbridled freedom, etched into the wild Scottish coast.

  • Emma – 04 – Dawn and Deer

    Dawn in the Woods: Deer and Desire

    The first light of dawn crept through the canopy of the Oxfordshire woods, casting a soft, golden glow over the forest floor. Emma and Richard had spent the night in the woods after their bat survey, their bodies tangled together on a blanket under the stars, the warm August air lulling them into a light, dream-filled snooze. They’d woken intermittently, their hands roaming each other’s bodies, but exhaustion from their late-night activities had kept them from doing more than sharing soft kisses and whispered words. Now, as the sky began to lighten, the air was cool and fresh, carrying the scent of dew-kissed leaves and the faint musk of the earth.

    Emma stirred first, her body still bare beneath the blanket, her skin warm from Richard’s proximity. She sat up, the blanket slipping down to reveal her breasts, her nipples hardening in the cool morning air. Richard stirred beside her, his brown eyes blinking open, a slow smile spreading across his face as he took in the sight of her in the dawn light. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, and Emma leaned down to kiss him, her lips soft against his, the taste of him familiar and intoxicating.

    “Morning,” she whispered back, her hand sliding down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. “We should go look for those deer. They’re often seen at dawn in that clearing we talked about.”

    Richard nodded, his hand brushing her hair back from her face, his touch tender but laced with the same desire that had been simmering between them all night. They dressed quickly, pulling on their clothes from the previous evening, Emma in her thin blouse, skirt, and panties, Richard in his shirt and trousers, but they left their jackets and shoes behind, the grass soft and warm beneath their bare feet. They grabbed their cameras, small digital devices they’d brought for the conservation project, and set off through the woods, the dawn light guiding their way.

    The clearing was a short walk away, a wide, open space surrounded by dense trees and underbrush, known to be a regular haunt for a herd of Roe deer. The air was still, the only sounds the soft rustle of leaves and the distant call of a wood pigeon, the forest waking slowly around them. Emma and Richard moved quietly, their steps careful to avoid snapping twigs, their eyes scanning the clearing as they approached. They crouched behind a cluster of ferns at the edge of the clearing, the fronds providing a natural screen, and waited, their cameras at the ready.

    The dawn light painted the clearing in shades of gold and pink, the grass shimmering with dew, the air alive with the hum of insects beginning their day. Emma’s heart raced, not just from the anticipation of seeing the deer, but from the proximity of Richard, his body pressed close to hers, his breath warm against her neck. She could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of his skin mingling with the earthy aroma of the woods, and her body responded, her pussy growing wet with a familiar ache.

    Richard’s hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as they waited, but the tension between them was too much to ignore. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, and whispered, “I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice was a low growl, sending a shiver down her spine, and Emma turned to him, her lips finding his in a hungry kiss.

    The kiss deepened quickly, their tongues tangling as their hands roamed, the cameras forgotten in their laps. Emma’s hands slid under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, while Richard’s fingers deftly unbuttoned her blouse, pushing it off her shoulders to bare her breasts to the cool morning air. She moaned softly into his mouth, her nipples hardening as his thumbs brushed over them, the sensation sending a jolt of heat straight to her pussy.

    They moved quickly, their need too urgent to wait, the dawn light casting long shadows around them. Emma stood, pulling her skirt up around her waist and slipping her panties off, the fabric damp with her arousal. Richard shed his trousers and shirt, his cock springing free, thick and hard, the foreskin partially retracted to reveal the glistening tip. He stepped behind her, his hands gripping her hips as she bent forward, bracing her hands against a nearby tree, her ass lifted in invitation.

    Richard entered her from behind, his cock sliding into her pussy with a slow, deliberate thrust, the angle perfect for filling her completely. Emma moaned, her voice soft but echoing in the quiet woods, the sensation of him stretching her exquisite in the early morning light. He began to move, his thrusts deep and steady, his hands gripping her hips as he fucked her standing doggy style, the tree bark rough against her palms. The warmth of the August morning wrapped around them, the air heavy with the scent of their arousal, and Emma felt a primal thrill at the thought of being so exposed, the clearing their only shield from the world beyond.

    She was close to coming, her pussy clenching around him, the pleasure building in waves, when a movement at the edge of the clearing caught her eye. A Roe deer stepped into view, its slender legs moving gracefully, its coat a rich reddish-brown that glowed in the dawn light. Emma’s breath caught, her body tensing, and she pulled away from Richard, her pussy feeling empty without him as she grabbed her camera, her voice a frantic whisper. “Richard, look a deer!”

    Richard groaned softly, his cock throbbing with need, but he followed her lead, grabbing his camera as they moved closer to the ferns, their naked bodies crouching low to avoid startling the deer. More deer emerged from the trees, a herd of eleven Roe deer of different ages, adults, yearlings, and fawns, grazing and moving through the clearing with a quiet grace that took Emma’s breath away. They clicked their cameras, capturing the moment, their nakedness forgotten in the wonder of the scene before them.

    The herd consisted of three adult does, their coats sleek and glossy, their movements calm and deliberate as they nibbled at the grass, their large, dark eyes scanning the clearing for any sign of danger. Two adult bucks followed, their antlers small but elegant, covered in velvet, a sign of the late summer season. The bucks moved with a quiet confidence, occasionally lifting their heads to sniff the air, their ears twitching at the faintest sound. Four yearlings, their coats a slightly lighter shade, stayed close to the does, their movements more playful, darting between the adults as they explored the clearing. Two fawns, born earlier in the summer, trailed behind, their spotted coats blending with the dappled light, their steps tentative but curious, their small ears flicking as they took in the world around them.

    Emma watched in awe, her camera clicking softly as she captured the herd’s behavior, her heart swelling with wonder at the sight. The does grazed methodically, their teeth tearing at the grass with a soft, rhythmic sound, their tails flicking occasionally to ward off flies. The bucks were more alert, one of them pausing to rub his antlers against a small sapling, marking his territory with a faint scraping sound that echoed in the still air. The yearlings bounded playfully, chasing each other in short bursts, their hooves barely making a sound on the soft grass, their energy a stark contrast to the calm of the adults. The fawns stayed close to their mothers, nibbling at the grass but often pausing to look around, their large eyes wide with curiosity, their small bodies trembling with the excitement of the new day.

    Richard’s hand found hers again, his fingers squeezing gently as they shared the moment, their naked bodies pressed close in the ferns, the warmth of the dawn light bathing them in a golden glow. “They’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe, and Emma nodded, her eyes never leaving the deer, her camera clicking as she captured a fawn taking a tentative step away from its mother, its small nose twitching as it sniffed the air.

    For an hour, they watched the herd, their cameras documenting every movement, their wonder growing with each passing minute. The deer moved through the clearing with a quiet grace, their behavior a perfect blend of caution and curiosity, their presence a reminder of the wild beauty of the world around them. The bucks occasionally let out soft grunts, communicating with the does, while the yearlings continued their playful antics, one of them leaping over a small patch of wildflowers, its hooves kicking up tiny droplets of dew that sparkled in the light. The fawns grew bolder, venturing a few steps away from their mothers, their spotted coats glowing in the dawn, their small tails flicking with excitement.

    As the sun rose higher, the deer began to move off, their forms disappearing into the trees on the far side of the clearing, their departure as graceful as their arrival. Emma lowered her camera, her heart still racing with the thrill of the sighting, and turned to Richard, her eyes bright with excitement. “That was amazing,” she said, her voice soft but filled with emotion, and he nodded, his own camera lowering as he smiled at her, his expression mirroring her wonder.

    But as their eyes met, the tension between them flared back to life, the memory of their interrupted passion rushing back. Emma’s gaze dropped to his cock, still hard and jutting out from his body, the sight of it making her pussy clench with need. “You’re still hard,” she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper, and Richard chuckled, his hands reaching for her as he pulled her close.

    “I can’t help it,” he growled, his lips brushing hers. “You do this to me.”

    They moved back into the trees, the ferns providing a natural screen as they returned to their blanket, their naked bodies warm in the dawn light. Emma bent forward again, bracing her hands against the same tree, her ass lifted in invitation, and Richard stepped behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he entered her, his cock sliding into her pussy with a slow, deliberate thrust. The sensation was exquisite, her pussy still slick from their earlier encounter, and they both moaned, their voices soft but echoing in the quiet woods.

    Richard resumed his rhythm, his thrusts deep and steady, his hands gripping her hips as he fucked her standing doggy style, the tree bark rough against her palms. The warmth of the August morning wrapped around them, the air heavy with the scent of their arousal, the memory of the deer adding a primal edge to their passion. Emma came quickly, her pussy clenching around him, her cries muffled against her arm as waves of pleasure crashed through her, intensified by the beauty of the morning. Richard followed soon after, his hands tightening on her hips as he thrust deep, his hot cum filling her pussy as he groaned her name, the sound mingling with the soft rustle of leaves around them.

    They collapsed together on the blanket, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths mingling in the warm dawn air, the scent of the woods and their arousal heavy around them. Emma lay in Richard’s arms, her head resting on his chest, the memory of the deer and their shared passion filling her with a deep satisfaction. The sun continued to rise, the golden light filtering through the trees, and Emma knew this moment, like the others they’d shared, would stay with her forever, a testament to the wild beauty of both nature and their desire.

    Emma – 05 – Work of Desire

  • Lynn & Louise – 02 – The Reunion

    Reunited

    Two weeks had passed since the dunes, and the memory of that afternoon still burned in my mind, Richard’s thick cock filling me, Louise’s hungry eyes, the salty air mingling with our gasps. We’d kept in touch on X, a private thread of flirty banter and Richard’s cheeky limericks, like, Three souls by the sea found their spark, in sand where desires disembark, with a wink and a grin, they’d soon meet again, for a night that would blaze in the dark. So here I was, mid-thirties, my rounded body hugged by a black dress that clung to my large breasts, stepping into a seaside restaurant. The date night was Richard’s idea a classy meal, then back to his hotel. Louise had agreed instantly, and I couldn’t say no.

    The place was upscale, all soft lighting and polished wood, the murmur of conversation blending with the clink of cutlery. Richard stood as I approached, tall and slim, his late fifties softened by a tailored blazer, his silver hair catching the glow. “Lynn, you’re a vision,” he said, his voice smooth and warm, that naughty edge lurking beneath. He pulled out my chair, ever the gentleman, though I knew what hid behind his polish.

    Louise arrived moments later, her tall, lean frame striking in a deep green dress, her small, shapely breasts subtly outlined. “Well, don’t we clean up nicely?” she teased, sliding into her seat beside Richard. He sat between us, a grin spreading as he poured wine.

    “Only the best for my muses,” he said, raising his glass. “To nights worth writing about, A trio once wild by the shore, now dine with a hunger for more…” He trailed off, winking, and we laughed, clinking glasses. The meal unfolded with ease, succulent seafood, rich sauces, the kind of food that felt indulgent. But the real feast was the tension simmering between us. Richard’s knee brushed mine under the table, deliberate and slow, while Louise’s fingers grazed his arm as she leaned in to whisper something that made him chuckle darkly.

    “You’re incorrigible,” I said, sipping my wine, feeling the heat rise in my chest.

    “Guilty,” he replied, leaning closer. “But you love it. Both of you do.”

    Louise smirked. “He’s not wrong. I’ve been thinking about that cove all week, your poetry wasn’t the only thing that stuck with me.”

    The flirtation escalated with dessert, a shared chocolate torte that left us licking spoons and trading loaded glances. By the time Richard suggested we head to his hotel, “A hot tub awaits, ladies”, my pulse was racing, my dress feeling tighter than ever.

    The Hotel Room

    The hotel was a short walk, the night air cool against my flushed skin. Richard’s room was a suite, spacious and modern, with a private balcony where a steaming hot tub bubbled under string lights. “Make yourselves at home,” he said, shedding his blazer with that casual grace I remembered. Louise and I exchanged a look, a silent agreement, and kicked off our heels.

    “Hot tub first?” Louise asked, already tugging at her dress. She stripped down to a black bra and panties, her slim body glowing in the soft light. I followed, peeling off my dress, my large breasts spilling free as I unhooked my bra, my neat pussy barely concealed by lace. Richard watched, his eyes dark with hunger, then pulled off his shirt and trousers, leaving his boxers. That thick, shaved cock pressed against the fabric, a promise we all recognized.

    “No need for modesty,” he said, sliding the boxers down. It sprang free, heavy and bold, just as I remembered. He stepped into the hot tub, the water swirling around his lean frame, and beckoned us in. “Join me, muses.”

    I hesitated, then shed the rest, my skin prickling as I sank into the heat. Louise did the same, her small breasts bobbing as she settled beside him. The water lapped at us, jets pulsing against my thighs, and Richard grinned. “Three bodies in steam reunite, a dance of the flesh in the night…” he murmured, his voice low.

    “Keep going,” I teased, splashing him lightly. “You’re good at this.”

    He laughed, pulling us closer, one arm around each of us. “Only because you inspire me.” His hands roamed, mine to my breast, squeezing gently, Louise’s to her hip, possessive. The water amplified every touch, slick and warm, and I felt my breath hitch.

    Louise leaned in, kissing his neck, then me, her lips soft and daring. “We should make this a night to remember,” she whispered, and I nodded, my hand finding Richard’s cock beneath the water. It was already stiffening, thick and heavy in my grip.

    “God, it feels even bigger like this,” I said, passing it to Louise. She took it eagerly, stroking slow.

    “Like a damn rod,” she agreed, her fingers curling around it. “Look how it throbs.”

    We played with him, hands sliding in unison, the water sloshing as he grew fully hard. “A scepter arises in haste, two hands give its glory a taste…” he groaned, half-laughing, and we silenced him with our mouths. I went first, ducking under the water to suck the tip, the heat and bubbles swirling around me as it swelled in my mouth. I surfaced, gasping, and Louise took her turn, her lips wrapping around him, then lower to his balls, sucking gently. We traded off, our mouths meeting along his length, tongues clashing in a wet, messy dance until he was rigid, pulsing, a marvel slick with water and spit.

    The Ecstasy

    Louise pulled back, water dripping from her chin. “Lynn, ride him. He’s begging for it.”

    I straddled him, the hot tub’s edge supporting my knees as I guided that massive cock to my entrance. The water made it slick, but my tight pussy still stretched deliciously as I sank down, inch by thick inch, until he was buried deep. “Fuck,” I gasped, the fullness overwhelming, a sweet ache that pulsed with every jet against my skin. His hands gripped my breasts, kneading hard, fingers pinching my nipples as I rocked, the water splashing around us. My own fingers found my clit, rubbing fast, the pleasure sharp and electric. Then I caught Louise’s eye watching, one hand between her thighs, and the thrill spiked, knowing she saw me unravel. I came hard, my walls clenching tight, a scream tearing free as the orgasm ripped through me, amplified by the heat and her gaze.

    Louise pushed me aside gently, claiming him next. She mounted him, her slim body rising and falling, water cascading off her small breasts as she rode. I watched, mesmerized, her moans sharp against the hum of the tub, her face contorted in bliss. Richard’s hands gripped her hips, guiding her, and he beckoned me with a grunt. “Lynn, here.”

    I straddled his face, lowering until his tongue plunged into me, hot and relentless. The water lapped at my thighs as he licked, sucking my clit with a hunger that made my legs shake. Louise’s rhythm faltered, her cry piercing the air as she came, her body shuddering before she slid off, panting against the tub’s edge.

    Richard didn’t pause. He lifted me off his face, maneuvering me onto all fours, my hands gripping the rim as water sloshed over us. He entered me from behind, that thick cock driving deep, the angle brutal and perfect. He fucked me hard, long thrusts that slapped against my arse, each one rattling my core. “A tempest of flesh in the steam…” he growled, mid-thrust, and I lost it, my pussy clamped down, milking him as I exploded, a raw, guttural scream escaping as the orgasm tore me apart. He grunted, pulling out, his cock pulsing as he sprayed my back with cum, hot and thick, mixing with the water dripping down my spine.

    We collapsed, breathless, the tub’s jets still bubbling around us. Louise laughed softly, trailing a finger through the water. “Better than the dunes.”

    Richard, spent, grinned. “A night in the foam, wild and free, a poem writ by you and me…” His voice was hoarse, but the spark in his eyes promised more verses, and more nights to come.

  • Lynn & Louise – 01 – Seal Watching

    The Pub

    The air in the pub buzzed with laughter and the clink of glasses, a warm hum of thirty voices mingling under the low wooden beams. It was a small seaside town, the kind where the salt lingered in the breeze, and tonight, it hosted an eclectic gathering of people who’d connected through #NSFW posts on X. About twenty-five women and fifteen men sprawled across tables littered with pint glasses and crisp packets. I sat near the center, my rounded frame tucked into a cushioned bench, acutely aware of my large breasts straining against my top. To my left was Richard, tall and slim, his late fifties showing in the silver at his temples but not in the spark of his eyes. He spoke with polished charm, every word measured yet laced with a naughty edge that made my pulse quicken. To his left sat Louise, late forties, tall and lean, her small, shapely breasts hinted at beneath a fitted blouse, her posture exuding quiet confidence.

    The group discussion swirled around us, raunchy tales of X posts, debates about boundaries, the thrill of the taboo, but Richard, Louise, and I had carved out our own little world. “You’ve got a wicked mind, Lynn,” Richard said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned closer, his knee brushing mine under the table. “Those posts of yours leave little to the imagination.”

    I grinned, heat creeping up my neck. “Takes one to know one, doesn’t it? Your captions are downright sinful, and those limericks you sneak in? Pure filth.”

    He chuckled, a deep, rich sound, and leaned back. “A poet’s soul, guilty as charged. How about this one: There once was a lass with a flair, whose posts left us all in a stare, with curves so divine, she’d make hearts align, and leave naughty thoughts in the air.” His eyes twinkled as he recited it, aimed squarely at me.

    Louise laughed, clapping lightly. “Oh, that’s brilliant, Richard. You’ve got her pegged. And that last photo you shared well, it’s a good thing this pub’s dimly lit, or we’d all see you blushing.”

    Richard shifted, his thigh pressing more firmly against mine. “I’ll take that as a compliment from both you lovely ladies. Poetry’s my other vice, keeps the mind sharp and the tongue… nimble.” His gaze flicked between us, bold and unapologetic, and I felt a shiver of anticipation. The flirtation was electric, a dance of words and glances that made the crowded room fade away.

    Needing a breather from the heat, I steered the conversation elsewhere. “Richard, you’re mad about wildlife, aren’t you? I’ve seen your posts almost as passionate as your verses.”

    His face lit up, the naughty glint softening into enthusiasm. “Oh, absolutely. There’s something primal about it, don’t you think? The raw beauty of nature, it is poetry in motion.”

    Louise leaned in, her eyes brightening. “I’m the same. Seals, especially, I could watch them for hours. They’re so graceful, yet wild.”

    “Seals?” I said, catching her drift. “Perfect timing, we’re right by the coast. Do they come near here?”

    Richard nodded, a conspiratorial grin spreading. “I know exactly where they are. Just a short walk, a little cove most miss. They bask there this time of year. I’ve even written about them, The seals by the shore weave a tale, of slick silver skin and a wail, in the surf they play free, a wild symphony, nature’s lust in each flip of their tail.”

    Louise stood abruptly, her voice cutting through the din. “Right, everyone! Richard, Lynn, and I are off to find some seals. Anyone joining us?” Her tone was light, but her eyes locked on ours, daring us. The group murmured, some laughing, others shaking their heads, none took the bait. It was just us three.

    As we wove toward the door, I caught Louise’s arm. “Was that invitation genuine, or…?” I let the question hang, my voice low.

    She smirked, her expression vague. “Depends on what you’re hoping for, Lynn.” Her wink left me wondering, my stomach fluttering as we stepped into the cool night air.

    The Dunes

    The walk to the cove was brisk, the sea’s whisper growing louder as we descended a narrow path between dunes. We settled on a small patch of sand, shielded by grassy mounds, and there they were seals, their sleek bodies glistening in the sun. We sat entranced, the world shrinking to the rhythmic slap of waves and their lazy barks. Richard murmured, almost to himself, “In sunlight they gleam like wet stone, a chorus of life all their own…” His voice trailed off, lost in the sight.

    After a few minutes, the seals slipped into the water, vanishing beneath the surface. Richard broke the spell. “They’ll be off feeding now. Won’t be back for a while.”

    Louise stretched, her long limbs catching the light. “This is a perfect spot to sunbathe, don’t you think?” She glanced at us, a silent challenge in her nod. I nodded back, my heart pounding, and Richard grinned, already tugging at his shirt.

    He stripped with casual ease, peeling off his clothes until he reached his boxers. Then, without hesitation, he slid them down, his large, thick cock springing free, freshly shaved, as I’d expected from his meticulous nature. It hung there, bold and unashamed, and he froze, suddenly sheepish as he glanced at us, still in our bras and knickers. “Sorry, ladies, I might’ve gone too far”

    “No, no,” I cut in, my voice eager. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for. It’s… impressive.”

    Louise nodded, her gaze lingering. “Very welcome, Richard. You’ve got a gorgeous body, don’t hide it.”

    “Really, it’s fine,” I added, catching Louise’s eye, our words weaving together. “Accepted, absolutely.”

    In sync, we shed our clothes. I felt the air kiss my skin, my large breasts swaying free, my neat pussy bare. Louise’s slim frame glowed beside me, her small breasts pert. Richard’s eyes widened, drinking us in, and he quipped, “Two sirens arise from the sand, with beauty no mortal withstands…” Before he could finish, we pushed him gently onto the blankets.

    He lay back, naked and sprawling, and we sat on either side of his hips, treating him like a sculpture. “Look at this,” I said, hushed as I studied his cock, thick and resting against his thigh. “It’s so… substantial.”

    Louise tilted her head, appraising. “Smooth, too. Perfectly shaped, almost too good to be real.”

    I reached out, wrapping my fingers around it. “God, it’s heavy,” I said, lifting it toward her. She took it eagerly, her slim hand testing its heft.

    “Solid,” she agreed, stroking it. “Feels like it’s waking up.”

    We toyed with him, passing it back and forth, marveling as it stiffened. It grew, thick and pulsing, and Richard murmured, “A rod rises proud in their grasp, two muses who tease and clasp…” We laughed, ignoring his verse as we continued. “Look how it curves,” I said, tracing its length. “Beautiful.”

    Louise teased the tip. “And responsive. He’s loving this.”

    I leaned down first, my lips brushing the head, tasting salt. It swelled in my mouth, stretching my lips. Louise dipped lower, sucking his balls, her tongue careful. His groans spurred us, and soon we were both at his cock, lips meeting along its length, tongues tangling until he was rock-hard, glistening.

    Louise pulled back, breathless. “Lynn, ride him. He’s ready.”

    I straddled his hips, guiding that massive cock to my entrance, my tight pussy aching as I sank down. The stretch was exquisite, filling me completely. His hands found my breasts, kneading them, thumbs flicking my nipples as I rocked. My fingers slipped to my clit, circling fast, pleasure building. Then I remembered Louise watching, eyes dark with lust and the thrill doubled. I came hard, clenching around him, a cry tearing free as waves crashed through me.

    The Finale

    Louise claimed him next, swinging a leg over his hips as I slid off, trembling. I watched, mesmerized, as she took him in, her slim body arching. Her small breasts bounced, her face twisting in ecstasy, and I couldn’t look away her pleasure was raw, magnetic. Richard, beneath her, muttered, “A dance of desire in the sun…” but his words dissolved into a groan.

    He beckoned me, husky. “Lynn, come here.” I straddled his face, lowering until his tongue found me. It was heaven, hot and insistent, lapping my clit as I gripped the blanket. Louise’s rhythm faltered as she came, a sharp cry escaping, and she flopped off, spent.

    Richard shifted me onto all fours, his hands firm on my hips. He entered me from behind, driving deep, relentless. He fucked me hard, long thrusts rattling my bones, each one pushing me closer. “A rhythm of flesh, wild and free…” he gasped, mid-thrust, and I exploded, my pussy clamping down, milking him. He grunted, pulling out, his cum spraying across my back, warm and thick, marking me as he collapsed.

    We lay tangled in the aftermath, the seals forgotten, the dunes our witnesses. Richard panted, “Three souls in the sand, undone…” and we laughed, too breathless to care. The sun dipped lower, and I knew this was a story beyond X but one I’d never forget.

  • Ode to Positions

    Missionary

    For him, it’s the weight of her gaze, locked tight,
    A rhythm he sets with hips pressed close,
    Her warmth beneath, a cradle of light,
    Each thrust a pulse through veins verbose.
    Her legs part wide, a welcoming frame,
    He feels her breath, her whispered plea,
    Control is his, a steady claim,
    Yet tender in her arms he’d be.
    For her, it’s his strength above, a shield,
    His chest a wall, his eyes a fire,
    She pulls him in, her body yields,
    A dance of trust, a shared desire.
    Her hands explore his back, his strain,
    Each move a wave that rocks her core,
    She’s grounded here, yet free to reign,
    A union deep, an ancient lore.
    His pace can shift, from soft to bold,
    Her sighs a guide, a rising tide,
    Together they meld, a tale retold,
    In closeness where their worlds collide.

    Doggy

    He grips her hips, a primal hold,
    Her curves align, a sight to chase,
    The angle deep, the thrust so bold,
    A rush that floods his every space.
    For him, it’s power, raw and free,
    Her arch a gift, her sway a call,
    He drives with force, yet feels her glee,
    A rhythm wild that conquers all.
    For her, it’s surrender, yet control,
    Her knees dig in, her back a bow,
    Each push ignites her deepest soul,
    A spark that only he can sow.
    She feels him fill her, stretch her wide,
    A heat that builds from root to crown,
    Her hands grip sheets, her voice a tide,
    A storm where she can’t help but drown.
    He loves the view, her form displayed,
    She revels in the feral play,
    Together they’re a beast remade,
    In shadows where their passions sway.

    Cowgirl

    For her, it’s reign atop his throne,
    She rides his length, a queen in stride,
    Her hips dictate the tempo’s tone,
    A power surge she can’t subside.
    She grinds or bounces, sets the pace,
    His hands on her, a guiding touch,
    Her pleasure blooms across her face,
    A freedom he can’t love too much.
    For him, it’s her, a vision bold,
    Her breasts sway free, her eyes alight,
    He’s hers to use, to have, to hold,
    A thrill beneath her ruling might.
    He feels her clench, her warmth descend,
    Each roll a wave that pulls him in,
    She takes him deep, a rising trend,
    A dance where both can only win.
    Her breath grows sharp, her rhythm wild,
    His groans a hymn to her command,
    She leads them both, a fiery child,
    In union forged by her own hand.

    Reverse Cowgirl

    She turns away, a daring twist,
    For her, it’s freedom in reverse,
    Her hips still rule, her wrists assist,
    A grind that makes his senses burst.
    She feels him hit a hidden spot,
    A curve that sparks her inner flame,
    Her back to him, she calls each shot,
    A thrill where she’s the one to tame.
    For him, it’s her silhouette in view,
    Her spine a line, her ass a prize,
    He thrusts below, a force anew,
    A heat that climbs between his thighs.
    He loves the mystery, her sway,
    She moves with grace, a backward dance,
    His hands can grip or fall away,
    A ride that builds in sweet expanse.
    Her cries ring out, her pace her own,
    His pulse aligns, a mirrored beat,
    Together they’re a wild unknown,
    In flipped delight where passions meet.

    Spooning

    For him, it’s closeness, skin to skin,
    Her back to chest, a tender fit,
    He slides inside, a gentle win,
    A slow burn where their bodies knit.
    His arm around, he holds her near,
    Each thrust a nudge, a soft caress,
    He feels her sigh, her warmth so clear,
    A peace in love’s own quiet press.
    For her, it’s safety, wrapped in him,
    His breath on neck, a whispered song,
    She melts into his every whim,
    A place where she can just belong.
    The angle’s soft, yet deep enough,
    Her hips tilt back, a subtle plea,
    She feels his care, his steady bluff,
    A bond that flows so naturally.
    His pace is calm, her heart at ease,
    They rock as one, a gentle tide,
    In spooning’s glow, they find release,
    A warmth where souls and flesh reside.

    Standing

    He lifts her up or bends her low,
    For him, it’s strength, a bold display,
    Her body pressed, a vertical show,
    A rush that sweeps his breath away.
    The wall a brace, her legs a grip,
    He thrusts with force, a standing claim,
    Each move a jolt, a heated trip,
    A fire stoked in passion’s frame.
    For her, it’s thrill, the upright dare,
    His hands support, his power near,
    She feels the air, the wild affair,
    A surge that drowns out every fear.
    Her back may arch, her thighs may wrap,
    A dance defying gravity’s pull,
    She rides his strength, a sudden snap,
    A storm where both their senses mull.
    He loves the challenge, she the height,
    Together they defy the norm,
    In standing’s rush, they find their might,
    A clash of flesh in fervent form.

    Lotus

    For him, it’s her upon his lap,
    Legs crossed, a seat of tender grace,
    He pulls her close, a loving trap,
    Her eyes a mirror to his face.
    Each thrust is short, yet deep and true,
    Her chest to his, a heartbeat’s blend,
    He feels her pulse, her warmth anew,
    A union where their spirits mend.
    For her, it’s intimacy’s embrace,
    His thighs a throne, his arms a nest,
    She rocks with him, a sacred space,
    A closeness pressed against his chest.
    Her legs entwine, her hips align,
    A slow grind builds their shared delight,
    She feels his breath, his soul’s design,
    A bond that glows in softest light.
    His hands caress, her sighs respond,
    They sway as one, a lotus bloom,
    In stillness fierce, they forge beyond,
    A love that fills the quiet room.

    Sixty-Nine

    He lies beneath, her taste so near,
    For him, it’s dual, a mirrored treat,
    Her mouth on him, a thrill so clear,
    A cycle where their pleasures meet.
    He laps her core, her scent a guide,
    Each lick a spark, a give-and-take,
    He feels her hum, his rising tide,
    A dance where both their senses wake.
    For her, it’s his, a pulsing prize,
    She takes him deep, her tongue a play,
    His lips below, a sweet surprise,
    A rhythm shared in bold display.
    She feels his groan, his breath on her,
    A loop of bliss, a mutual hum,
    Her hips may buck, her thoughts a blur,
    A storm where both their rivers run.
    He loves the chaos, she the sync,
    Together they’re a tangled flame,
    In sixty-nine, they teeter brink,
    A game where neither stakes a claim.

    Scissor

    For him, it’s angles sharp and strange,
    Her legs a V, his hips askew,
    He slides inside, a tight exchange,
    A twist that feels both wild and new.
    The friction’s odd, yet hits just right,
    He grips her thigh, a guiding star,
    Each thrust a test of strength and sight,
    A puzzle locked from near to far.
    For her, it’s stretch, a daring pose,
    His shaft a line that cuts through deep,
    She feels the clash, the way it grows,
    A spark that makes her body leap.
    Her hips adjust, her core aligns,
    A slant that shifts her inner glow,
    She rides the edge, the strange confines,
    A heat that only he can sow.
    He loves the fit, she loves the strain,
    Together they’re a jagged dance,
    In scissor’s grip, they break the plane,
    A union born of bold expanse.

    Wheelbarrow

    He stands behind, her legs in hand,
    For him, it’s play, a lifting rush,
    Her weight a challenge he can stand,
    A thrust that makes his senses flush.
    The angle’s steep, the plunge profound,
    He feels her clench, her pulse so tight,
    Each move a game on shaky ground,
    A thrill that soars to primal height.
    For her, it’s trust, a wild ascent,
    Her hands press down, her body free,
    She feels him deep, a fierce intent,
    A ride where gravity’s the key.
    Her core ignites, her breath a cry,
    A stretch that pulls her every nerve,
    She’s held aloft, yet she can fly,
    A curve where pleasures twist and swerve.
    He loves the sport, she loves the dare,
    Together they defy the fall,
    In wheelbarrow, they strip it bare,
    A romp that answers passion’s call.

    Butterfly

    For him, it’s her upon the edge,
    A table’s lip, her hips aligned,
    He stands and thrusts, a perfect pledge,
    A depth where all his thoughts unwind.
    Her legs aloft, his hands a brace,
    He feels her open, wet and wide,
    Each stroke a claim, a steady pace,
    A rush that swells his every stride.
    For her, it’s lift, a floating state,
    Her back reclines, her thighs apart,
    She feels him plunge, a piercing fate,
    A spark that strikes her beating heart.
    Her hands may grip, her voice may rise,
    A position poised for pure release,
    She’s bared to him, a sweet surprise,
    A bloom where tensions find their peace.
    He loves the view, she loves the soar,
    Together they’re a fragile flight,
    In butterfly, they both explore,
    A dance of edges in the night.

    Pretzel Dip

    He kneels between, her leg up high,
    For him, it’s twist, a knot of flesh,
    A thrust that curves, a deep-cut sigh,
    A blend where bodies intermesh.
    Her warmth surrounds, her grip so tight,
    He feels the pull, the sideways slant,
    Each move a spark, a wild delight,
    A rhythm born of bold enchant.
    For her, it’s stretch, a daring bend,
    One leg aloft, the other down,
    She feels him deep, a piercing send,
    A thrill that makes her senses drown.
    Her hips adjust, her core responds,
    A pose that mixes soft and fierce,
    She rides the wave, the heated bonds,
    A dip where pleasure’s arrow pierce.
    He loves the tangle, she the play,
    Together they’re a twisted art,
    In pretzel’s grip, they find their way,
    A clash that binds them heart to heart.

    Legs on Shoulders

    He lifts her legs, a high ascent,
    For him, it’s depth, a plunging line,
    Her ankles rest, his shoulders bent,
    A thrust that feels both fierce and fine.
    He grips her thighs, her core exposed,
    Each stroke a dive, a forceful claim,
    He feels her quake, her heat unclosed,
    A rush that sets his soul aflame.
    For her, it’s stretch, a vulnerable arc,
    Her legs aloft, her body bare,
    She feels him hit her deepest mark,
    A spark that fills the heated air.
    Her hands may clutch, her back may bow,
    A position raw, a tender dare,
    She’s open wide, yet safe somehow,
    A tide where both their pleasures share.
    He loves the power, she the reach,
    Together they’re a soaring flight,
    In legs on high, they each beseech,
    A union burning through the night.

    Side by Side

    For him, it’s ease, a lateral glide,
    Her hip to his, a mirrored plane,
    He slips inside, a gentle ride,
    A warmth that soothes yet drives insane.
    His arm around, he pulls her near,
    Each thrust a nudge, a soft caress,
    He feels her pulse, her breath so clear,
    A calm in passion’s sweet excess.
    For her, it’s rest, a tender fit,
    His chest a wall, his hand a guide,
    She rocks with him, a quiet hit,
    A flow where both their tides abide.
    Her leg may lift, her sigh may bloom,
    A closeness wrapped in subtle play,
    She feels his care, his steady plume,
    A bond that holds the night at bay.
    He loves the sync, she loves the peace,
    Together they’re a rolling wave,
    In side by side, they find release,
    A love that neither needs to save.

    Leapfrog

    He kneels behind, her hips up high,
    For him, it’s thrust, a playful leap,
    Her form a bridge beneath the sky,
    A plunge that sinks both strong and deep.
    He grips her waist, her arch a call,
    Each stroke a bound, a wild advance,
    He feels her clench, her rise and fall,
    A romp that sparks a feral dance.
    For her, it’s lift, a frog-like pose,
    Her chest pressed down, her back a slope,
    She feels him deep, where pleasure grows,
    A rush that offers boundless scope.
    Her knees dig in, her breath a cry,
    A stretch that pulls her every string,
    She’s grounded yet she soars to fly,
    A leap where ecstasy takes wing.
    He loves the chase, she loves the height,
    Together they’re a bounding flame,
    In leapfrog’s grip, they ignite,
    A game where passion stakes its claim.