Oh, briefs, a cotton cage stretched taut as a drumskin’s beat, They cradle the bulge like a sculptor’s fist, fierce in their tight retreat, A swollen mound rises, a proud hillock beneath the white-hot seam, It strains against the weave, a pulsing knot in morning’s steamy gleam. Elastic snaps like a hunter’s bow, biting hips with savage grace, The outline juts, a meaty ridge, framed in a fabric embrace, No fold can tame its hefty thrust, no shadow dims its reign, A primal crest that greets the dawn, bold in its coiled strain, Through quiet rooms or locker haze, it stands unbowed and true, A briefs-clad titan, raw and ripe, bathed in sweat’s fresh dew.
Swim Trunk Swagger
By the pool’s chlorinated kiss, swim trunks cling like a siren’s snare, A nylon shroud of cobalt or lime, dripping wet with brazen flair, The bulge blooms bold, a sodden peak crowned with water’s sheen, A hefty swell that parts the waves, majestic and serene. Drawstrings sag beneath its weight, outlining girth in liquid hue, It bobs with every stroke, a buoyant beast breaking through, Chlorine beads like pearls on its curve, a trophy of the deep, A glistening arc that mocks the tide, fierce in its watery keep, On sun-scorched decks, it dries and struts, a king in summer’s glare, A swim trunk saga, vivid and vast, rippling through the air.
Jean Jock’s Throne
Denim grips like a blacksmith’s clamp, faded gray as a thunderhead, The bulge reigns supreme, a rugged knot where thighs and pelvis wed, Stitching groans beneath its heft, rivets gleam like steely stars, A thick ridge pulses with each stride, a denim-wrought memoirs. Worn patches stretch over its swell, a canyon carved in blue, It prowls through dust and gravel paths, a rebel’s lusty cue, Frayed seams bow to its command, a meaty throne laid bare, A saucy bulk that grinds the day, wild in the open air, Oh, jeans, you forge him like a blade, tempered in desire’s flame, A streetwise bulge, rough and proud, staking its fierce claim.
Track Pant Triumph
Track pants drape in silken waves, a glossy shroud of midnight ink, Yet tighten where the bulge commands, a hefty prize on passion’s brink, It swells beneath the polyester sheen, a plump arc kissed by sweat, A shadowed beast that sprints through dawn, too bold for regret. Elastic cuffs cling to its base, framing girth in sporty vice, It bounces with each pounding step, a rhythm fierce and nice, No breeze can blur its vivid bulk, no fold can steal its might, A juicy mass that stalks the trail, primal in the light, Through misty fields or gym-lit nights, it strides with brazen cheer, A track pant king, untamed and free, roaring far and near.
Shorts’ Summer Crown
Shorts of summer, khaki or mesh, ride high on sun-baked thighs, A loose veil turned tight where the bulge defies, It thrusts like a cannonball primed, kissed by noon’s relentless fire, A sweaty heft that taunts the heat, stoked by raw desire. Hems fray against its girth, a swollen prize in daylight’s blaze, Through barbecues thick with smoke, it reigns in sultry ways, The fabric clings, a shallow cave where dampness pools and grows, A saucy knot of fleeting sun, vivid as the rose, Oh, shorts, you crown him like a stag, rampant in the glare, A bulge that roars of liberty, wild and debonair.
Boxer Brief Ballard
Boxer briefs stretch, a hybrid grip, black as a raven’s wing, They mold the bulge like molten lead, a heavy, swaying thing, A thick ridge ripples through the knit, crowned with cotton’s bite, It lounges bold in twilight’s hush, a monarch of the night. The pouch sags beneath its load, outlining every curve and vein, It shifts with lazy swagger, a beast too grand to chain, No seam can dull its meaty arc, no shadow cools its heat, A boxer brief empire, fierce and full, pulsing to the beat, In bedrooms dim or morning’s rush, it holds its regal ground, A bulge of quiet majesty, rich and richly crowned.
Suit’s Subtle Swagger
A suit, tailored sharp as a razor’s edge, hugs hips with pinstripe guile, It cloaks the bulge in woolen grace, yet hints at primal style, A gentle swell stirs beneath the fly, a secret carved in gray, A tender heft that whispers low, bold in a muted way. Each step ignites a subtle bounce, a bulge that dares to tease, It glides through boardrooms, sleek and sly, a wolf in polished fleece, The zipper strains, a fleeting ridge, kissed by office light, A hidden bulk of quiet power, stirring in the night, Oh, suit, you mask him like a king, yet let the wild peek through, A bulge of class and cunning, sharp as morning dew.
Jogger’s Jolt
Joggers flow in tapered streams, a soft cocoon of ash or teal, Yet cinch where the bulge demands, a meaty truth too real, It juts beneath the drawstring’s pull, a plump knot slick with sweat, A bouncing mass that storms the park, fierce and unoffset. Fleece hugs its girth like a lover’s grasp, tracing lines in dampened hue, It leaps with every stride, a beast unbound, breaking dawn in two, No wind can tame its vivid thrust, no pocket hides its play, A jogger’s bold companion, loud in the sunlit day, From trails to streets, it claims its reign, a pulse of primal cheer, A bulge that sings of motion, vivid and severe.
Speedo’s Stark Glory
Speedo gleams, a lycra vise, red as a matador’s dare, It grips the bulge like a vice of steel, brazenly bare, A swollen crest surges forth, a torpedo in the pool’s embrace, It cuts through water, a glistening spear, fierce in its race. Wet fabric clings, a second skin, outlining every ridge and swell, It dives and rises, a hydrodynamic king, too proud to quell, No wave can blur its stark relief, no depth can steal its fire, A Speedo’s stark confession, fueled by liquid desire, On tiled decks, it struts and shines, a trophy of the lane, A bulge of aquatic splendor, vivid as the rain.
Jockstrap Jubilee
Jockstrap, a warrior’s gear, straps taut as a bowstring’s hum, It cups the bulge like a chalice of steel, a prize where passions drum, A meaty mound thrusts through the pouch, kissed by locker steam, It reigns in the gym’s raw haze, a gladiator’s dream. Elastic bites into flesh, framing girth in rugged thread, It swings with every squat, a beast too bold for bed, No prudish veil can mute its roar, no cage can hold its might, A jockstrap’s fierce legacy, glowing in the fight, Oh, jock, you crown him like a god, rampant in the fray, A bulge eternal, thick and wild, ruling night and day.
The sun hung low in the Oxfordshire sky, casting golden rays through the dense canopy of ancient oaks and beeches. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, a faint breeze rustling the leaves as Emma stepped carefully along the woodland trail. She was 41, tall at five foot eleven, with a slim frame that carried an effortless grace. Her light summer dress, a pale blue fabric with tiny white daisies, clung softly to her narrow hips, the hem swaying just above her knees. Beneath it, she wore nothing, no bra, no knickers, no thighs, her skin bare against the cotton, a deliberate choice for the day. Her small, shapely breasts moved subtly as she walked, pressed against the fabric when she moved just right.
Emma’s husband, Derreck, was away for work, not due back for a few days. She loved him deeply, but their marriage had settled into a comfortable rhythm that left some of her sexual desires unfulfilled. Derreck knew she occasionally sought satisfaction elsewhere, a silent agreement between them that allowed her to explore her needs without guilt. Today, her target was Richard Foster, a man she’d met through a local conservation project. At 59, Richard was tall, six foot four, and still fit, his body trim though no longer visibly muscular. His tight jeans hugged his frame, revealing the impressive bulge of his cock, long and thick, which hung down his left leg. Like Emma, he’d foregone underwear, and the outline of his manhood was impossible to ignore.
They were in this woodland, owned by a friendly landowner who’d granted them access for the day, to survey for signs of badgers. Richard seemed to know a lot about the creatures, his knowledge both impressive and oddly arousing to Emma. She’d decided this morning, as she slipped into her dress and left her undergarments in the drawer, that she would seduce him today. The thought of his tall frame, his experienced hands, and that large cock had already set her body humming with anticipation.
The Trail
The trail wound deeper into the woods, the ground soft underfoot from recent rain. Richard walked a few steps ahead, his t-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders, his jeans accentuating the strong lines of his legs. Emma’s eyes lingered on the bulge in his pants, noting how it seemed to shift as he moved. She bit her lip, her pulse quickening.
“Here,” Richard said, stopping abruptly and squatting down. He pointed to a small pile of dark, earthy droppings, badger scat, or “scrat,” as he called it. He frequently got words slightly wrong and Emma was amused at his misuse of the name of a delightful characters name. He picked up a stick and gently prodded the pile, breaking it apart to examine its contents. “See how fresh this is? They’ve been here recently.” His voice was deep, steady, with a hint of excitement as he pointed to a faint trail of grass trimmings leading off into the underbrush. “They drag this in for bedding.”
Emma squatted in front of him, her legs to one side, careful to position herself so he’d have a clear view. She’d unbuttoned the top of her dress just enough to reveal the gentle curve of her breasts when she leaned forward, her nipples already hardening in the cool air. She mirrored his posture, pretending to study the scat, but her focus was on him. “That’s fascinating,” she said, her voice soft, almost a purr. She leaned in closer, letting the neckline of her dress dip further, her breasts fully visible to him now.
Richard’s eyes flicked up from the scat, and for a moment, they lingered on her chest. His gaze was unapologetic, a spark of interest flaring in his brown eyes before he returned to the trail of grass. But Emma had seen enough. As they both stood, she noticed the change in his jeans, the bulge had lengthened, his cock growing thicker, now pushing down his left leg rather than hanging. The outline was unmistakable, and her breath caught in her throat.
“Those jeans look good on you,” she said, her tone casual but laced with meaning. “They show you’re in good shape.” She didn’t mention his cock directly, but her eyes flicked down briefly, and the slight curve of her lips made her intent clear.
Richard’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, his gaze meeting hers. “Thanks,” he said simply, but there was a roughness to his voice now, a hint of desire that hadn’t been there before. He adjusted his stance, and the movement only made his arousal more apparent. Emma felt a rush of heat between her legs, her pussy already growing wet at the thought of what was to come.
The Sett
They continued along the trail, the tension between them building with every step. The woodland opened into a small clearing where the badger sett was nestled against a low embankment, a series of tunnels and mounds surrounded by trampled grass and scattered leaves. Richard squatted again, pointing out the details with the same enthusiasm he’d shown earlier. “See here,” he said, gesturing to a pile of torn grass near one of the entrances. “They’ve dragged this in for bedding. And over there,” he pointed to a patch of flattened earth,“ that is where the cubs have been playing.”
Emma squatted in front of him again, this time facing him directly. Her legs were slightly parted, the hem of her dress riding up to bunch on her thighs. The fabric had shifted just enough to expose her pussy, the trim outer lips glistening faintly with her arousal, her inner lips peeking through, a slight glimpse. She leaned forward, following his explanation, but her eyes were on his face, watching for his reaction.
Richard’s words faltered for a moment as his gaze dropped. His eyes lingered on her pussy, taking in the sight of her exposed sex, before traveling up to her breasts, still visible through the unbuttoned neckline of her dress. Finally, his eyes returned to her face, and the heat in his expression was undeniable. Emma felt a thrill run through her, her clit throbbing at the knowledge that he was looking at her, wanting her.
She shifted slightly, letting her legs part a fraction more, and Richard’s breath hitched. The bulge in his jeans had grown even more pronounced, his cock now fully hard, jutting to one side and stretching the fabric across the width of his hip. Emma’s mouth watered at the sight, her arousal spiking as she realized just how much he wanted her. The fact that he’d allowed his eyes to linger on her most intimate place told her everything she needed to know, they were going to fuck, and it was going to happen soon.
The Survey Changes
The air in the clearing seemed to thicken as Emma and Richard moved away from the badger sett, the faint rustle of leaves underfoot mingling with the distant calls of a blackbird. The tension between them had reached a fever pitch, a palpable energy that made Emma’s skin tingle with every step. Her body was a live wire, her pussy slick with arousal, the absence of underwear beneath her light summer dress making her hyper-aware of every brush of fabric against her sensitive skin. Her nipples, already hard, pressed against the cotton, and she could feel the dampness between her thighs with each movement. She glanced at Richard, her eyes drawn once again to the obscene bulge in his tight jeans. His cock was fully hard now, jutting to one side, the thick outline stretching across the width of his hip. The sight made her mouth water, her clit throbbing with need.
Emma stopped abruptly, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she leaned against a sturdy oak tree. The rough bark pressed into her back through the thin fabric of her dress, a sharp contrast to the softness of her skin. She tilted her head back slightly, her chestnut hair spilling over her shoulders, and looked at Richard with an invitation in her eyes. He didn’t hesitate. His tall frame closed the distance between them in two strides, his height towering over her as he stepped close, his body radiating heat. The scent of him, earthy, with a hint of sweat and the faint musk of his arousal, filled her senses, making her dizzy with want.
Richard leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a tentative kiss that quickly deepened into something hungry, almost desperate. His mouth was warm, his tongue teasing hers with a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent shivers down her spine. Emma moaned softly into the kiss, her hands reaching up to grip his shoulders, her fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath his t-shirt. His hand slid down her side, tracing the curve of her narrow hips before reaching for her leg. He lifted it with a gentle but firm grip, raising the skirt of her dress and exposing her pussy to the cool air of the woodland.
The sensation of being bared to him, her most intimate place on display, made Emma’s heart race. She could feel the dampness of her arousal, the way her trim outer lips glistened in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. Her inner lips, peeking through but not prominent, throbbed with need, and she knew Richard could see it all, the evidence of her desire for him. His eyes darkened as he broke the kiss, his gaze dropping to take in the sight of her. “God, Emma,” he murmured, his voice rough with lust. “You’re beautiful.”
Her hands moved with a frantic urgency, fumbling with his belt and then the button of his jeans. The metal clinked softly as she worked, her fingers trembling with anticipation. She broke the kiss, her breath coming in short gasps as she looked down to watch his cock spring free. It shot out of his jeans, thick and heavy, the foreskin partially retracted to reveal the glistening tip. The sight of him, eight inches of hard, uncut cock, so thick she couldn’t fully wrap her hand around it, made her pussy clench with need. Richard had lifted her skirt enough to fully bare her now, the fabric bunched around her waist, and without hesitation, her hand reached for him, guiding him to her entrance.
Her pussy was dripping at the opening, her arousal coating her inner thighs, but drier within, and Richard had to work his way in slowly. He thrust gently at first, each movement deeper than the last, his cock stretching her in a way that made her gasp. The sensation was exquisite, a mix of pleasure and the slightest edge of discomfort as her body adjusted to his size. Emma’s hand found her clit, rubbing in tight circles as he filled her, her fingers slick with her own juices. The combination of his thick cock and her own touch sent her spiraling toward the edge, her breath hitching as the pressure built.
Richard’s hands gripped her hips, steadying her against the tree as he thrust deeper, his movements slow but deliberate. “You’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “So wet for me.” His words sent a jolt of heat through her, and she moaned, her head tipping back against the bark. The rough texture scraped against her scalp, a sharp contrast to the softness of his hands on her skin, and the duality of sensations only heightened her arousal.
With each thrust, Richard’s cock slid deeper, her juices coating him, lubricating his passage. Emma’s fingers moved faster on her clit, her body trembling as the pleasure built to a crescendo. She could feel every inch of him, the way his thickness stretched her, the way the head of his cock nudged against her deepest places. Her orgasm hit her hard, a wave of pleasure that made her cry out, her voice echoing through the woods. Her pussy clenched around him, her walls pulsing as her body shuddered against the tree, the rough bark biting into her back as Richard’s firm body pressed her against it.
But Richard wasn’t done with her. He pulled out slowly, his cock slick with her juices, and knelt before her, his hands spreading her thighs wider. Emma’s legs trembled as she looked down at him, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. His lips found her sex, kissing her tenderly at first, his tongue flicking out to taste her. The sensation of his warm mouth on her sensitive clit made her whimper, her hands tangling in his hair as he began to explore her with his tongue. He lapped at her, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring the taste of her arousal.
His fingers joined his tongue, two of them sliding inside her with ease, her pussy still slick from her orgasm. He curled them, searching for the spot he knew would drive her wild, his movements careful but firm. Emma’s moans grew louder, her hips bucking against his face as he found her G-spot, the pressure sending sparks of pleasure through her. “Right there,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Oh, God, Richard, right there.”
He didn’t let up, his fingers pressing against that sensitive spot while his tongue worked her clit, circling and flicking in a rhythm that made her see stars. Emma’s second orgasm built more slowly this time, a deep, rolling wave that started in her core and spread outward, her entire body tensing as it approached. When it hit, it was even more intense than the first, her pussy clenching around his fingers as she came, her cries echoing through the trees. Her legs gave out, and Richard’s free hand caught her, holding her up as she rode out the waves of pleasure, her body trembling against him.
Richard stood, his cock still hard and glistening with her juices, and flipped her around so she faced the tree. Emma braced her hands against the bark, her dress still bunched around her waist, her pussy exposed and aching for him. He entered her from behind, his cock sliding in with ease now, her body fully adjusted to his size. His strokes were perfect, each thrust filling her completely while also stroking her G-spot with every movement. The angle was exquisite, the head of his cock hitting that sensitive spot with every thrust, and Emma felt another orgasm building almost immediately.
A small climax rocked her, her pussy fluttering around him, but Richard didn’t stop. His hands gripped her hips, his thrusts growing faster, deeper, building her pleasure higher and higher. Emma’s moans turned to cries, her body trembling as the pressure became almost unbearable. “Richard,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I’m going to, oh, God, I’m going to come again.”
“Let go,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “Come for me, Emma.” His words pushed her over the edge, and she came hard, her pussy clenching around his cock as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Her legs shook, her hands gripping the tree for support as her orgasm seemed to go on forever, her body shuddering with the intensity of it.
Emma pulled away from him, her pussy feeling empty without his presence, the sudden absence of his cock leaving her aching for more. She squatted and turned, her eyes locking with his as she took him into her mouth. Her hand cupped his balls, feeling their weight as she worked the small portion of his shaft she could fit, her lips stretching around his thickness. Richard groaned, his hands tangling in her hair as he watched her, his brown eyes dark with desire. She could taste herself on him, the musky sweetness of her arousal mingling with the saltiness of his skin, and the combination drove her wild.
She worked him with her mouth and hand, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock, teasing the sensitive underside. Richard’s breathing grew ragged, his hips bucking slightly as he neared the edge. “Emma,” he groaned, his voice a warning. “I’m going to.” Before he could finish, hot spurts of cum sprayed into the back of her mouth, the taste of him filling her senses. She swallowed eagerly, her eyes never leaving his as she took every drop, her hand still stroking him gently as he came down from his high.
A Deeper Connection
They parted, and Emma stood, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she pulled Richard into a deep kiss. Their tongues danced together, the taste of his cum still lingering in her mouth, a shared intimacy that made her pulse race. The kiss was slow, languid, a contrast to the frantic need of moments before, and Emma felt a warmth spread through her chest, a connection that went beyond the physical. Her hand had kept hold of his cock as it softened, her fingers wrapped around the now-flaccid length, but as they kissed, she felt him swelling again, growing hard under her touch.
They broke the kiss, their breaths mingling in the cool air, and Emma looked into his eyes, seeing the same hunger she felt reflected there. Without a word, they each began to strip, their movements frantic with renewed desire. Emma pulled her dress over her head, the fabric catching briefly on her hair before she tossed it aside, leaving her completely naked in the dappled sunlight. Her slim frame, small breasts, and narrow hips were on full display, her neat pussy glistening with the evidence of her arousal. Richard yanked his t-shirt off, revealing a chest dusted with graying hair, his body still trim and fit despite his age. He kicked off his jeans, his cock springing free once more, already hard and ready for her.
Richard grabbed a blanket from his rucksack, his movements quick but deliberate, his cock waving obscenely from his groin as he worked. He spread the blanket on the ground, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the rough earth beneath, and turned to Emma, his eyes raking over her naked body. “Now let’s fuck,” he said, his voice rough with desire, and the rawness of his words sent a shiver down her spine.
Emma stepped onto the blanket, her bare feet sinking into the soft fabric, and reached for him, her hands sliding up his chest as she pulled him down with her. They knelt together, their bodies pressed close, and Emma marveled at the feel of him, his skin warm against hers, the faint roughness of his chest hair against her breasts, the hard length of his cock pressing into her stomach. She kissed him again, her hands roaming his body, tracing the lines of his arms, the curve of his hips, the strength still evident in his 59-year-old frame.
Richard’s hands were on her too, exploring her with a reverence that made her heart ache. He cupped her small breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, making her gasp into his mouth. His hands slid down her sides, tracing the dip of her waist, the flare of her narrow hips, before settling on her ass, pulling her closer. “You’re incredible,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t get enough of you.”
Emma smiled, her hands sliding down to grip his cock, stroking him slowly as she looked into his eyes. “Then don’t,” she whispered, her voice a sultry promise. She pushed him back gently, guiding him to lie down on the blanket, and straddled him, her thighs bracketing his hips. His cock stood proud between them, thick and hard, and Emma positioned herself above him, her pussy hovering just over the tip. She teased him for a moment, rubbing her slick folds against him, coating him with her arousal, before sinking down slowly, taking him inch by inch.
The stretch was exquisite, his thickness filling her completely, and Emma moaned as she settled onto him, her hands braced on his chest. She began to move, her hips rocking in a slow, deliberate rhythm, her breasts bouncing slightly with each thrust. Richard’s hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements, his eyes locked on hers as she rode him. The pleasure built quickly, her clit grinding against his pelvis with every downward thrust, and Emma felt another orgasm approaching, her body trembling with the intensity of it.
She came with a cry, her pussy clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed through her, her nails digging into his chest. Richard groaned, his hands tightening on her hips as he felt her walls pulse around him, her juices coating his cock. But he didn’t let her stop. He sat up, pulling her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her as he began to thrust up into her, his movements deep and powerful. Emma clung to him, her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed to his as they moved together, their bodies in perfect sync.
They fucked like that for what felt like hours, their movements slowing at times, becoming languid and sensual, savoring the feel of each other. Richard’s hands roamed her body, tracing the curve of her spine, the softness of her thighs, the small of her back. Emma’s fingers explored his shoulders, his arms, the hard lines of his hips, marveling at the way his body felt against hers. They kissed deeply, their tongues tangling, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in each other.
Eventually, Richard flipped her onto her back, her legs wrapping around his waist as he entered her again, his thrusts slow and deep. The blanket beneath her was soft, a contrast to the hard ground, and Emma arched her back, her hands gripping his shoulders as he drove into her. Their eyes locked, a shared intensity passing between them, and Emma felt a connection she hadn’t expected, a deep, primal bond that went beyond the physical.
They switched positions again, Richard taking her from behind, his hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her, her moans echoing through the woods. Emma’s hands braced against the blanket, her body rocking with each thrust, the pleasure building once more. She came again, her pussy clenching around him, her cries mingling with the sounds of the woodland, the rustle of leaves, the distant cry of a Jay.
By the time they finally collapsed on the blanket, spent and sated, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the woodland in a soft twilight glow. Emma lay in Richard’s arms, her head resting on his chest, their bodies still tangled together. She could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat, feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, and she felt a deep satisfaction, her needs fulfilled in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Richard’s hand stroked her hair, a tender gesture that made her smile, and she knew this wouldn’t be the last time they met like this.
They dressed slowly, their movements languid, and packed up their things. As they walked back along the trail, the air between them was different now, still charged, but with a new understanding. Emma’s body hummed with the memory of their encounter, her pussy still tingling with the aftershocks of her orgasms, and she couldn’t help but glance at Richard, a smile playing on her lips. The thought of what they’d shared and what they might share again made her pulse race with anticipation.
The room was dimly lit, shadows swaying languidly across the walls, cast by the trembling flame of a single candle perched on a weathered wooden table. The air hung thick, almost oppressive, saturated with a tension that seemed to hum in her ears, as if the space itself knew what was about to unfold. She paused at the threshold, one hand resting lightly against the doorframe, her breath catching in her chest like a trapped bird. The weight of the moment draped over her shoulders, heavy and warm like a velvet shroud, pulling her into its embrace. Her pulse quickened, a staccato rhythm against her ribs, as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. And then she saw him.
He stood across the room, his silhouette cutting a sharp line against the soft, amber glow, a figure carved from shadow and desire. But it was his eyes that seized her, pinning her where she stood. They roamed over her, slow and deliberate, a gaze so piercing it stripped away every layer of fabric before she’d even taken a step. It wasn’t subtle, it was raw, primal, an animalistic hunger so blatant it sent a shiver racing down her spine, prickling her skin with gooseflesh. His jaw tightened, a muscle flickering beneath the stubble, and his lips parted slightly, as if he could already taste the salt of her skin. In the lines of his face, she could read every wicked intention he harbored for that night, promises of touch, of heat, of a collision that would leave them both undone. Two souls, caught in a meeting so fierce and unyielding that the outside world dissolved into nothingness, no streets beyond the walls, no stars above, no sound but the thrum of their shared gravity. It was as if the universe itself whispered through the silence, “I don’t have to sell my soul, he’s already in me,” the words of The Stone Roses threading through her mind like a dark, velvet ribbon.
Her body reacted before her thoughts could catch up, a traitor to her composure. A warm ache bloomed deep between her thighs, a slick heat that pulsed in time with her racing heart, spreading outward like wildfire. Her breasts felt heavy, straining against the confines of her dress, the fabric brushing against her skin until her nipples tightened into aching points, as if they knew what was coming, as if they were already reaching for him. It was that sensation the charged stillness just before lightning tears the sky apart, when the air crackles and the hair on her neck rises in anticipation. She felt it building, that prickly, atmospheric energy coiling tighter with every second, wrapping around her like a lover’s breath. Her fingers trembled slightly as she smoothed them over the curve of her hip, grounding herself in the texture of the fabric, the last barrier between her and what lay ahead.
She took a step forward, her movements slow, deliberate, each one a quiet declaration of intent. The wooden floor creaked beneath her bare feet, a sound swallowed by the thick silence. Her fingers found the hem of her dress, the soft cotton cool against her heated skin, and she began to lift it, inch by tantalizing inch. The rustle of fabric was deafening in the stillness, a whisper that seemed to echo off the walls, and his eyes tracked every motion, drinking her in with a greed that made her pulse stutter. She let the dress slide over her hips, past the dip of her waist, revealing the lace beneath, a delicate black web that clung to her like a second skin. Each discarded piece, first the dress pooling at her feet, then the lace slipping down her thighs, stoked the fire in him. His chest rose and fell faster, his hands flexing at his sides, knuckles whitening as if it took every shred of his will to stay rooted where he stood. She could smell it now, that animal scent rising between them, musk and heat and desire so thick it coated the back of her throat, a primal perfume that promised everything. It was the smell of sex, of what was about to happen, and it sent her head spinning, her senses drowning in its potency.
She stood bare now, nothing left to shed, her skin kissed by the faint warmth of the candlelight. The cool air brushed against her, raising the fine hairs on her arms, but it was his gaze that made her shiver. He moved then, sudden, decisive, a predator closing in. He crossed the room in three strides but stopped just short, mere inches from her, his breath ragged and uneven as he took her in. His eyes swept over her, lingering on the curve of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the shadow between her thighs, as if she were a masterpiece unveiled for the first time. She saw it in his expression, a reverence, a hunger, an adoration so fierce it stole the air from her lungs and set her heart pounding against her ribs. He reached out, his fingers hovering an inch from her skin, trembling slightly as if he needed a moment to memorize her, to let the sight of her sink deep into his bones. She’d never been so seen, so worshipped, like a rare and priceless treasure laid bare before him, something he couldn’t believe he’d been granted the privilege to behold. “I wanna be adored,” she thought, the lyrics of The Stone Roses swelling in her chest like a hymn, and there it was etched into every line of his face, that exact devotion she’d yearned for, a mirror to the song’s aching plea.
“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his voice rough, almost fractured, as if the words had clawed their way out of him. His hand finally brushed her skin, a featherlight touch along her arm that sent a jolt through her, igniting every nerve. And there it was, the look she’d craved, the one that declared she was everything, that she was adored. It washed over her in waves, intoxicating, a high so pure and heady she could have lived in it forever. Confidence surged within her, a quiet courage she hadn’t known she possessed, rising like a tide to meet the moment. She stepped closer, closing that final gap, her bare skin pressing against the rough fabric of his shirt, the heat of him seeping into her. Their bodies collided, a spark catching flame, and she tilted her head, her breath grazing his neck as his hands found her waist, pulling her tighter against him.
The world beyond the room ceased to exist, no time, no space, just the two of them locked in this orbit. His fingers traced the curve of her spine, mapping her like a cartographer charting sacred ground, while her lips brushed the hollow beneath his ear, drawing a low, guttural sound from him that vibrated through her. Their scents mingled in the air his sharp and earthy, hers soft and sweet blending into something new, something that belonged only to this moment. She could feel the tension in him, the barely restrained need, and it mirrored her own, a wildfire roaring beneath her skin. And in that instant, she understood: if you could bottle this feeling, this perfect, primal union where “I wanna be adored” wasn’t just a song but a truth carved into her very being, you’d never want for anything else. It was a sensation so profound, so complete, that it should be a birthright, a gift every soul deserved to claim at least once in their lifetime.
The candle flickered, casting their entwined shadows against the wall, and she let herself sink deeper into him, into the certainty of what they’d become. This was more than desire, it was a reckoning, a moment that would linger in her blood, bold and unshaken, for the rest of her days. She’d found it, that intoxicating adoration she’d dreamed of, and as his lips finally found hers, she knew she’d carry it with her always, a fire that would never fade.
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.
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.
OxonWoods Man 