OxonWoods Man

Category: Missionary

  • Her Light on X

    On X’s wild stage, he found her light,
    A spark of her, both bold and shy,
    Her words, her frames, they stole his sight,
    A sensual soul beneath the sky.
    She doubts her form, her face, her grace,
    Yet through her posts, he sees her truth,
    Each line she shares, each tender trace,
    Reveals a beauty born of truth.

    That image haunts, black bra, black lace,
    She leans to view, a gift unfurled,
    The cups pulled low, her breasts embrace,
    Fantastic curves that shift his world.
    She calls them flawed, unsure, unwell,
    But he deems them perfection’s art,
    A vision where his heart would dwell,
    A marvel carved by life’s own heart.

    Her thighs, they call, a silken plea,
    Inviting fingers to explore,
    Their fullness stirs a need in he,
    A touch he’s dreamed of, and much more.
    Her knickers hug her mound so tight,
    A tease of secrets held within,
    He ponders joys in that delight,
    What pleasures bloom beneath her skin.

    Her face, she claims, feels out of place,
    Awkwardness she’s learned to scorn,
    Yet X has shown, in every space,
    A chorus lifts where doubt was born.
    “They say her eyes are stars,” he hears,
    “Her smile’s a dawn,” they softly sing,
    He nods, her features banish fears,
    An art, a queen, a sacred thing.

    He’d start with her, so slow, so sure,
    Undressing her with reverent care,
    Her lovely neck, a path so pure,
    He’d kiss and linger, warm and bare.
    Downward then, his lips would roam,
    Past breasts that rise, past mound’s sweet swell,
    To legs he’d trace, his hands a home,
    Exploring all her form would tell.

    Outside her thighs, his fingers glide,
    A tender map of flesh and grace,
    His mouth would follow, side by side,
    Each inch a shrine, a cherished place.
    Upward then, her legs would part,
    An invitation, soft and free,
    He’d answer with his beating heart,
    To show the want she stirs in he.

    First fingers, gentle, seek her core,
    A dance of touch, a slow caress,
    Then mouth descends, to taste, adore,
    Her warmth, her wet, a sweet excess.
    His tongue would weave, his lips would play,
    Each sigh she gives, his guiding star,
    He’d worship her in every way,
    To prove how perfect that they are.

    Their bodies then would slowly meld,
    His cock would glide, a tender fit,
    In her, his love, his soul compelled,
    A fire where their passions lit.
    They’d move as one, a rhythm sweet,
    Her thighs around him, tight, alive,
    Each thrust a vow, each breath complete,
    A union where their spirits thrive.

    She doubts her shell, her mirrored gaze,
    But he sees all, her soul, her skin,
    Perfection lies in all her ways,
    A beauty fierce, a glow within.
    On X she blooms, and he’s her muse,
    Entranced by every post she shares,
    His heart, it knows it can’t refuse,
    A woman wondrous, bold, and rare.

    These verses sing his heartfelt plea,
    Of her, his dawn, his muse, his night,
    Her body, face, her sensuality,
    Are treasures bathed in purest light.
    No flaw he sees, no fault to mend,
    Just her, unveiled, a perfect sight,
    Their passion’s start, its blissful end,
    A love ignited, burning bright.

  • 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.