OxonWoods Man

Tag: short-story

  • Ode to the Varied Splendor of the Female Form

    Curves Untamed

    Oh, curves that twist like rivers wild and free,
    Each dip and swell a siren’s sultry call,
    From slender waists to hips that sway and sprawl,
    A banquet spread for eyes too starved to see.
    Her thighs, thick pillars, clutch like velvet vice,
    Her breasts, ripe fruit, defy the pull of earth,
    Each form a spark of lust, a blaze of worth,
    No single shape could tame this paradise.

    Lithe Temptress

    Some frames are lithe, like reeds that bend in breeze,
    Their angles sharp, all edges carved to tease,
    A taut, lean line that begs a rough caress,
    Each rib a ridge to trace with wicked ease.
    Her ass, a pert defiance, small but bold,
    Invites a slap, a grip to lose control,
    Her skin a canvas, flushed with heat’s parole,
    A form to worship, never growing old.

    Voluptuous Queen

    Then full-figured queens, with flesh that spills like wine,
    Each roll a wave to ride through stormy nights,
    Her belly soft, a pillow for delight,
    Her curves a map where greedy hands entwine.
    Those heavy breasts that sway with every stride,
    They taunt the air, they break the laws of grace,
    Her body’s weight a throne, a sacred place,
    To sink within her tide is to abide.

    Petite Inferno

    Oh, petite sparks, so small yet fierce with fire,
    Her compact frame a coiled, carnal spring,
    Each inch a dare to make the heavens sing,
    A tiny tempest stoking base desire.
    Her pert, tight rear, a peach to split apart,
    Her nimble limbs that wrap and pull you near,
    She’s lightning trapped in flesh, both blade and spear,
    A pocket Venus, scorching every heart.

    Towering Goddess

    And tall amazons, with legs that climb the skies,
    Their strides like thunder, bold and unconfined,
    Each stretch of skin a challenge to the mind,
    To scale her heights where primal hunger lies.
    Her broad, strong shoulders beg a lover’s bite,
    Her back a canvas, arched in passion’s throes,
    She towers, yet her heat so fiercely flows,
    A goddess built to conquer through the night.

    Hourglass Siren

    Some bear the hourglass, that timeless, sinful shape,
    Where waist cinched tight makes hips and bosom flare,
    A silhouette to drive the sane to prayer,
    Each sway a spell no mortal can escape.
    Her cleavage deep, a chasm to explore,
    Her ass a pendulum that swings with guile,
    Each step a taunt, each glance a knowing smile,
    This form’s a lock, and lust the only door.

    Freckled Cosmos

    The freckled ones, with stars across their skin,
    Each speck a point to kiss, to taste, to claim,
    Her body’s map a wild, untamed flame,
    A constellation born to draw you in.
    Her rosy peaks, so sensitive they plead,
    Her thighs a freckled field where passions graze,
    Each mark a guide through lust’s delicious maze,
    Her form a cosmos, endless in its need.

    Radiant Hues

    Oh, ebony and ivory, and shades between,
    From creamy pale to rich, obsidian glow,
    Each hue a fire to set the blood alight,
    Her skin’s a canvas where desire’s been seen.
    Her lips, full pillows, promise wicked play,
    Her eyes a spark to burn the soul to ash,
    Each tone, each shade, a whip to love’s sweet lash,
    All forms divine, in every wanton way.

    Inked Rebellion

    The scarred and tattooed, etched with tales of grit,
    Each line a story, bold beneath the touch,
    Her inked-up thighs, her breasts, they clutch too much,
    Each mark a badge where raw desire is lit.
    Her flaws are fuel, her roughness makes you weak,
    Her skin a saga, fierce with every scar,
    She’s art alive, a rebel’s avatar,
    Her body’s hymn is what the wild ones seek.

    Untamed Mosaic

    No mold can hold the forms that women wield,
    Each body carved by nature’s lustful hand,
    From soft to sharp, a fire no man can stand,
    Their varied shapes a battlefield unyield.
    Her every inch, a call to lose your mind,
    Her form a storm that drowns the heart in need,
    All women’s bodies plant the devil’s seed,
    A raunchy ode to beauty’s boundless kind.

    1. Seen in Black and Green

      At 5:03 a.m., the world is still cloaked in the quiet of predawn, and she wakes with a rare, buoyant energy humming through her. It’s not the usual groggy stumble toward coffee that marks her weekdays, but something lighter, a flicker of self-assurance that pulls her from bed. The house is silent save for the soft, rhythmic snores of her husband, still lost in sleep. She doesn’t mind; this moment is hers alone. Padding across the room, she slides open her dresser drawer, fingers grazing over neatly folded sets of underwear. Her hand pauses on a particular one, black with lime green accents, a bra, knickers, hold-up stockings. a bold, playful combination, and as she lifts it out, she feels a quiet thrill. The lime green, vibrant and fresh, mirrors the season outside her window, where spring is just beginning to tease the earth with its first shoots of growth. It’s a color that speaks of renewal, and in her hands, it feels like a secret she’s about to claim.

      She slips the set on, the fabric cool against her skin, and stands before the mirror. The contrast is striking. During the week, she’s the woman in overalls, managing a small team of engineers with a steady hand and a sharp mind. Her days are filled with problem-solving, grease-streaked blueprints, and the hum of machinery, a world where her competence, not her curves, defines her. But here, in the dim glow of her bedroom, the lingerie hugs her body, accentuating every line and dip. It’s not a rejection of the woman in overalls, but a different lens on her, a softer, sensual one that she rarely allows herself to linger in. She feels feminine, desirable, and powerfully herself, as if this quiet act of dressing up stitches together parts of her identity she keeps compartmentalized.

      Her phone sits on the dresser, she sets it to timer mode. She experiments with poses, head tilted, hip cocked, a half-smile playing on her lips, until the shutter clicks on something that feels right. The images capture her in a way she doesn’t often see, not the manager, not the wife, but a woman reveling in her own skin. She uploads a few to X, the platform where she’s carved out a small, anonymous corner for herself. The replies roll in quickly, a mixed bag she’s come to expect. Some are short and crude, with no effort, “Bang it,” “Sxy,” and she skims past them with a smirk. A few come from men she admires, accounts whose wit or insight she’s followed for months, and their blunt appreciation makes her grin widen. But then there are the others, the creepy ones that linger too long on details, and those she skips entirely, a faint unease prickling her spine.

      It’s the longer replies that draw her in. A man writes about the elegance of her pose, the way the green pops against the black, and she feels a warmth bloom in her chest. Another, from a woman, praises her confidence, the way she owns the frame, and it lands differently, less about desire, more about recognition. These words, from strangers who see only this sliver of her, amplify the feeling she’d chased when she chose the set from her drawer. They make her feel more feminine, more complete, as if their gaze validates something she’s only half-articulated to herself. She sips these compliments like a fine wine, letting them linger on her tongue, surprised by how much they matter.

      The clock catches her eye, 6:45 a.m. and reality nudges her back. She slips out of the lingerie, folding it carefully before tucking it away, and pulls her nightie back on. Climbing into bed, she listens to her husband’s snores, steady and familiar. He hasn’t stirred, oblivious to her private ritual, and she’s glad for it. This wasn’t about him, not directly, though it circles back to him in a way she’s only now piecing together. She’s not seeking sex with another man, not chasing some illicit thrill. The online attention, the act of dressing up, the photos, it’s a spark she’s kindling for herself, a way to feel alive and seen in a skin that spends most days hidden beneath practicality. And yet, as she nestles against her husband’s warmth, she knows it’s more than that. This quiet rebellion, this reclaiming of her sensuality, doesn’t pull her away from him. It draws her closer.

      She thinks about the nights that follow these mornings, how she’ll turn to him with a renewed hunger, how the confidence she’s tasted here will spill into their sheets. It’s not infidelity, not even close. It’s fuel. The men and women on X don’t know her, don’t own her, but their words stoke a fire she brings home. She smiles into the dark, amused by the paradox, a handful of strangers, a lime green bra, and an early morning whim making her a better lover. The thought settles as she closes her eyes, the snores beside her lulling her back to sleep, content in the knowledge that she’s more than any one lens can capture.

    2. 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

    3. Emma – 02 – A Massage to Remember

      The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of Emma’s Oxfordshire cottage, casting delicate patterns on the hardwood floor of her bedroom. It was the day after her encounter with Richard in the woodland, and her body still hummed with the memory of their passionate hours together. She’d woken with a lingering ache between her legs, a delicious reminder of Richard’s thick, cock and the way he’d filled her so completely. Her husband, Derreck, was still away for work, not due back for a few days, and the freedom of his absence allowed her to revel in the afterglow of her indiscretion.

      Emma had just finished a light breakfast of toast and tea when the doorbell rang, a soft chime that echoed through the quiet house. She smoothed her hands over the simple cotton robe she wore, the fabric clinging to her bare skin, she hadn’t bothered with underwear, her body still craving the freedom of being unencumbered after yesterday’s escapades. Her chestnut hair was loose, tumbling over her shoulders, and her skin glowed with a post-coital radiance that made her feel more alive than she had in months.

      She opened the door to find Richard standing on her doorstep, his tall frame filling the space. He wore a fitted t-shirt and loose trousers, the outline of his impressive cock already faintly visible through the fabric. His brown eyes met hers, a spark of recognition and desire flaring between them, and Emma felt her pulse quicken.

      “Morning,” Richard said, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine. He held up a small bag, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you might be a bit sore after yesterday. Brought some massage oil, thought I’d give you a massage to remember.”

      Emma’s smile widened, her body already responding to the promise in his words. “That sounds perfect,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. “Come in.”

      She led him through the cottage, the scent of lavender from a diffuser filling the air, and up the stairs to her bedroom. The room was softly lit, the curtains still drawn to let in just enough light to create a warm, intimate atmosphere. The bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled from her restless sleep, and Emma gestured to it with a casual wave. “I’ll grab a towel,” she said, her voice light but laced with anticipation. “Make yourself comfortable.”

      Richard set his bag on the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of massage oil and a small speaker that began to play soft, ambient music, a gentle melody that filled the room with a calming energy. Emma returned with a large, fluffy towel, spreading it over the bed before turning to him. She untied her robe, letting it slip from her shoulders to pool at her feet, revealing her naked body. Her small breasts, tipped with rosy nipples, stood pert in the cool air, and the neat triangle of her pussy glistened faintly with the first stirrings of arousal. Richard’s eyes darkened as he took her in, his gaze lingering on her curves, her skin, the way her body seemed to glow in the soft light.

      “You’re stunning,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. He began to undress, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal a chest dusted with graying hair, his body still fit and strong. He kicked off his trousers, his cock springing free, already half-hard and as impressive as she remembered, thick, uncut, and long. Emma’s breath caught at the sight of him, her pussy clenching with need, but she forced herself to focus on the massage. She wanted to savor this, to let the anticipation build.

      “Lie down on your stomach,” Richard said, his tone gentle but firm. Emma complied, stretching out on the towel, her arms resting by her sides, her cheek pressed against the soft fabric. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her as he moved to the side of the bed, the faint scent of the massage oil, sandalwood and citrus, filling the air as he poured some into his hands and rubbed them together to warm it.

      Richard started at her shoulders, his hands strong and sure as he kneaded the muscles there, working out the tension she hadn’t even realized she was carrying. His fingers were skilled, pressing into the knots with just the right amount of pressure, and Emma let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing under his touch. He moved down her back, his hands gliding over her skin, the oil making her feel slick and warm. He worked the muscles along her spine, his thumbs pressing into the small of her back, and Emma felt a wave of pleasure that was both soothing and arousing.

      “You’re good at this,” she murmured, her voice muffled against the towel. “Really good.”

      “I’ve had some practice,” Richard replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. His hands moved lower, kneading her glutes with a firm, steady pressure that made her moan softly. The sensation was exquisite, the line between therapeutic and sensual blurring as his fingers worked the muscles, his touch lingering just long enough to make her squirm. He moved down to her thighs, his hands gliding over the backs of her legs, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive spots just below her ass. Emma’s pussy throbbed with each touch, her arousal building as his hands moved closer to her most intimate place.

      Richard’s hands paused at the tops of her thighs, his fingers brushing the edges of her pussy lips, and Emma’s breath hitched. “Turn over,” he said, his voice low and husky, and she obeyed, rolling onto her back. Her breasts jiggled slightly as she settled, her nipples hard and aching, her pussy now fully exposed to him. Richard’s cock was fully hard now, jutting out from his body, the foreskin partially retracted to reveal the glistening tip, but he made no move to touch himself, his focus entirely on her.

      He poured more oil into his hands, starting at her shoulders again, his touch lighter now, more sensual. He massaged her collarbone, his fingers brushing the tops of her breasts, and Emma’s breath quickened, her body arching slightly into his touch. He moved to her arms, kneading the muscles there, his hands gliding down to her wrists and back up, the oil making her skin glisten in the soft light. When he finally reached her breasts, his touch was gentle, almost reverent, his hands cupping them as his thumbs brushed over her nipples. Emma moaned, her hips shifting on the bed, her pussy growing wetter with each passing second.

      Richard’s hands moved down her stomach, his fingers tracing the dip of her navel, the curve of her hips, before settling on her thighs. He massaged the fronts of her legs, his hands working the muscles with the same skill he’d shown before, but now his touch was more deliberate, more teasing. His fingers brushed the edges of her pussy again, and Emma whimpered, her legs parting slightly in invitation.

      He didn’t make her wait long. Richard’s fingers slid between her thighs, brushing against her pussy lips, and Emma gasped, her hips lifting off the bed. Her outer lips were slick with arousal, her inner lips peeking through, throbbing with need, and Richard took his time, his touch light and exploratory. He traced the outline of her pussy, his fingers gliding over her lips, teasing her entrance without entering her. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So ready for me.”

      Emma moaned, her hands gripping the towel beneath her as his fingers continued their slow exploration. He parted her lips gently, his thumb brushing over her clit, and the sensation was electric, a jolt of pleasure that made her cry out. He circled her clit with his thumb, his touch light but firm, while his other fingers teased her entrance, dipping just inside before pulling back. Emma’s hips bucked, her body begging for more, and Richard obliged, sliding two fingers inside her with a slow, deliberate motion.

      Her pussy was tight, still slightly tender from yesterday, but so wet that his fingers slid in easily, her walls clenching around him. Richard curled his fingers, searching for her G-spot, and when he found it, Emma’s moan turned into a cry, her body trembling with the intensity of the sensation. He pressed against that sensitive spot, his fingers moving in a slow, rhythmic motion, while his thumb continued to circle her clit. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, the pleasure building in waves that made her head spin.

      “Richard,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Oh, God, that feels so good.” Her hands reached for him, her fingers tangling in his hair as he leaned down, his breath hot against her pussy. He kissed her inner thighs, his lips soft and teasing, before moving to her pussy, his tongue flicking out to taste her. The first touch of his tongue on her clit made Emma cry out, her hips bucking against his face, and Richard groaned, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through her.

      He lapped at her clit, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, while his fingers continued to work her G-spot, the combination driving her closer to the edge. Emma’s moans grew louder, her body trembling as the pleasure built, her pussy clenching around his fingers. Richard’s tongue was relentless, alternating between circling her clit and flicking it with quick, precise movements, while his fingers pressed harder against her G-spot, the pressure almost too much to bear.

      Emma’s orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her pussy clenching around his fingers as she came, her cries echoing through the room. Her body shuddered, her hips bucking against his face, and Richard didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working her through the waves of pleasure until she was gasping for breath, her body limp on the bed. He pulled back slowly, his fingers sliding out of her, his lips pressing a final, tender kiss to her clit before he sat back, his cock throbbing with need.

      But he wasn’t done with her yet. Richard stood, his tall frame looming over her, his cock jutting out, hard and ready. Emma’s eyes locked on it, her pussy clenching with anticipation, and she rolled onto her stomach without being asked, her ass lifting slightly in invitation. Richard positioned himself behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he entered her, his cock sliding into her pussy with a slow, deliberate thrust.

      The angle was perfect, his cock filling her completely, the head brushing against her G-spot with every thrust. Emma moaned, her face pressed into the towel, her hands gripping the fabric as he fucked her, his movements deep and powerful. Richard’s hands roamed her back, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, as he thrust into her, his pace quickening as his own pleasure built.

      Emma came again, her pussy clenching around him, her cries muffled against the towel as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Richard groaned, his thrusts growing erratic as he neared his own release, and with a final, deep thrust, he came, his hot cum filling her pussy as he shuddered above her. They collapsed together on the bed, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths mingling in the quiet room.

      As they lay there, tangled in each other, Emma felt a deep satisfaction, her body sated in a way she hadn’t thought possible. Richard’s hand stroked her hair, a tender gesture that made her smile, and she knew this wouldn’t be the last time they shared such a moment. The memory of his massage, his fingers, his tongue, and his cock would stay with her long after he was gone, a reminder of the passion they’d found in each other.

      Emma – 03 – Logging Bats

    4. Screens Soft Glow

      In pixels bold, I cast my frame,
      A curve of hip, a shadowed breast,
      The screen’s soft glow ignites a flame,
      A spark of me, both bare and dressed.
      Not Safe For Work, they call this art,
      A daring dance, a whispered tease,
      It stirs the blood, it wakes the heart,
      And bids my spirit find its ease.

      The crude come quick, their words like darts,
      A jab, a leer, a hollow shout,
      But past their noise, I hear the hearts,
      The ones who see what I’m about.
      A man might write, “Your strength is grace,”
      A woman, “Beauty in your skin,”
      Their thoughts lift high above the base,
      And in their echo, I begin.

      I feel the lens, its tender gaze,
      Not cold, but warm, a mirror’s truth,
      Each line I share, each sultry phrase,
      Unravels shame from tender youth.
      My body—round, or lean, or mine—
      Becomes a song, a verse to sing,
      No longer cloaked in doubt’s design,
      But crowned with sensual offering.

      The replies roll in, a mixed refrain,
      Some brash, some crude, a fleeting sting,
      Yet others pause, their words sustain,
      A lift, a balm, a gentle thing.
      “Your confidence is pure delight,”
      “Your form’s a poem, bold and free,”
      These voices weave through digital night,
      And coax the sensual out of me.

      It’s not for sex, this baring act,
      Not casual lust, nor fleeting chase,
      But something deeper, truer, fact—
      A claiming of my own embrace.
      The stretch of skin, the softened scar,
      The weight of breasts, the dip of waist,
      Each part I show, both near and far,
      Becomes a joy I dare to taste.

      A woman writes, “I see me too,”
      Her words a bridge, a sister’s call,
      A man reflects, “Your soul shines through,”
      And suddenly, I’m ten feet tall.
      The crude may leer, their noise may flare,
      But these replies, so kind, so keen,
      They wrap me in a tender care,
      And make my sensuality serene.

      I scroll the feed, my posts alive,
      A gallery of me, unbound,
      Each image helps my spirit thrive,
      Each like a note, a sacred sound.
      No longer do I shrink or hide,
      The flesh I wear, I now adore,
      This platform, crude yet sanctified,
      Uplifts me to my very core.

      The screen becomes a canvas vast,
      Where I paint bold, where I am free,
      The ghosts of doubt dissolve at last,
      Replaced by eyes that truly see.
      “Your power’s in your honest glow,”
      They say, and I begin to trust,
      This sensuality I know,
      A bloom unfurled from ash and dust.

      It’s not the act, the fleeting thrill,
      Of flesh for flesh, a passing game,
      But how I rise, how I instill,
      A love for self, a reclaimed name.
      The crude may bark, their words may fall,
      But others lift with gentle might,
      And in their chorus, I stand tall,
      A woman sensual, fierce, and bright.

      Ten verses now, my tale complete,
      Of X’s wild, uncharted sea,
      Where NSFW can shift the beat,
      From shame to sensuality.
      The few may jeer, the many muse,
      Their words a gift, a soft caress,
      Through this, I’ve learned I can’t refuse,
      My body’s song, my soul’s excess.

    5. To Be Adored

      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.

    6. 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.

    7. 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.

    8. 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.