Sunday, September 28, 2008

salacious sunday - the psalms

Everyone lies to his neighbor.
They speak with flattering lips, and with a double heart.

~The Psalms, 12:2

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

simple things

It starts with the way she lays her head on my belly with her hair splayed out around her like a veil. I like the way she takes my flaccid cock into her mouth and that simple way she has of swirling her tongue around it's sensitive tip. The way my cock grows erect and hard under her manipulations. I like to place my hand upon her head in order to pin her down while I buck my hips slowly. This causes my cock to glide in and out of her warm mouth, lubricated by her spittle. Sometimes I don't move. And neither does she. My cock rests inside her, entombed within her mouth, her lips clamped around the shaft. I know she has her eyes closed.

I like to pat her cheek so that she slips my cock into the crevice between her teeth and the inside of her cheek. I like to stroke the bulge there, sometimes slap it. Her moans run like rivulets of a current down my hard member to tickle my balls and up my spine. I like how she will sometimes trace the tracks of her spit with her finger, exploring the nether darkened region that's just beyond my testicles. I like how she slips me from my mouth to follow her finger with her tongue, softly caressing my testicles with a velvet touch.

I like how she strokes me with the tip of my cock just touching the tip of her tongue. She likes when she tastes my pre-cum, flicking her tongue to catch the dew-like drops. Moaning softly for more as her strokes speed up. And when my cum explodes from me in a spray of orgasmic completion, I like how she slurps up every drop, licking every sticky residue as it sloshes around her mouth. I like how she continues to suckle me until my cock returns to it's flaccid state to slip out of her mouth. I like to stroke her hair as she places her hot cheek on my heaving belly and sighs softly. I know she is licking her lips, savouring my taste. I like how she thanks me and says I love you, dreamily.

Such simple things.

Monday, September 22, 2008

bring out your pencils

Sometimes paint by numbers is just not enough. So boring really if you keep getting all the colours right. Sometimes one needs a challenge. Something more, well...deeper if you will.

After all the pages have been coloured in and you're still looking for a place to point that pencil - well then point it HER-E

Sunday, September 21, 2008

salacious sunday - the psalms

11:1 In Yahweh, I take refuge.
How can you say to my soul, “Flee as a bird to your mountain!”

11:2 For, behold, the wicked bend their bows.
They set their arrows on the strings,
that they may shoot in darkness at the upright in heart.

~Pslams 11: 1-2

Wednesday, September 17, 2008


10:10 p.m. Fell asleep on the couch last night. Lulled to sleep by the drone of the television and the gentle vibrations of a purring cushion.

4:24 a.m. Your pillow survived the night despite the repeated punches to mold it into some form of shape. Coldness greeted me like an icy hand every time I ventured over to the left side of the bed. The empty side of the bed.

5:37 a.m. Only one cup of coffee this morning. Bare feet on cold wooden floors. Greeted by soft confused mewls.

6:18 a.m. Restlessness hangs in the air like a glider. Silence surrounds the house broken by the cry of birds. The thermometer reads 8C but there will be no heat until October.

7:07 a.m. Wrapped in a comforter like my stubbornness I ponder if you can see little bird breaths like cotton puffs in the cool air. Ten more days before touchdown.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

caged Calisto

If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don't, they never were.

~Khalil Gibran

Sunday, September 14, 2008

salacious sunday - the psalms

He lurks in secret as a lion in his ambush.
He lies in wait to catch the helpless.
He catches the helpless, when he draws him in his net.
The helpless are crushed.
They collapse.
They fall under his strength.

~The Psalms, 10:9

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

to whit spit?

Some like to play with Barbies. Others like to play dress-up. Yet others like to watch TV while others prefer lollipops. One a hot sultry afternoon with the television playing an accompanying track and the fan stirring the hot air around in a sweltering bedroom, she prefers to suck my cock. Lick it, stroke it, make love to it.

Holding the camera steady was the least I could do.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

bump-her stick-her (or random thoughts as I drive in to work)

Vegans Taste Better

"…in what context?"
when marinated for 24 hours in a fine red wine, spit-roasted slowly over an open fire and served with a vegetable medley lightly seasoned with olive oil?
Interesting bumper sticker, but I wish it was a little more descriptive.
I'd like to become Ruler of The Universe (ROTU)...nope I can hear the subjects laughing already. How about Supreme Lord of the World (SLoW)...damn, that's not going to work either.
Almighty King and Universal Noble Tyrant (AKUNT). Hmm…interesting but not quite the oomph I'm looking for.
"…as compared to what?"
Mulligatawny Soup, Whipped Cream over blueberry waffles and maple syrup, French toast, mashed potatoes, fresh pineapple and mango in custard. Definitely no asparagus. Or garlic. Too much onions is questionable as well. Plenty of water, cut back on the coffee. Too many strawberries increase the acidity. I've been told I taste yummy, sweet with a delicate aroma of bleach.
When I become Supreme Lord of the Universe and Tyrannical Sultan (SLUTs) HA!...sometimes I just kill myself - I want to live on an island surrounded by bare-breasted natives fanning me with Palmyra leaves, running toddy-coated nipples across my lips.
Fucking bumper stickers! They always have to be funnier than me. When I am SLUTs, I will decree that no bumper sticker will be funnier than I.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008


"What do you sprinkle on it when I'm not looking"?

Tiny vibrations like a low voltage current trickle between us in the dark. Her toy drones on, loud one minute, muffled the next.

"Do you know you taste ~gasp~ yummy?"


"I love the taste of your cum"

A sharp intake of breath and the pitch of the toy rises in unison. Pain where her head presses down into my shoulder but I am distracted by her engorged nipple between my thumb and finger.
"I love the way your cock ~gasp~ fills my mouth"

"". Squeeze her full breasts. Roll her nipple. Dig, dig, dig my nails into her soft flesh.
"Ouch!". Body arches. Breasts swell. Thighs spread further apart. The drone lulls me almost to sleep.
Another sharp intake of breath. A pause, pregnant with yearning hangs in the cool night air. Timing is everything. A hard pull on an engorged nipple and she explodes under the covers. Her moans go on forever it seems, bouncing off the walls, ricocheting off the spinning fan blades to rain down on us like a net. Trapped in her orgasm, she bucks violently and I squeeze her breasts harder before. She will find my fingerprints on her creamy white flesh the next morning like paint splashed haphazardly on an empty canvas. She will smile dreamily as she traces the marks.

But now she will roll over to hand me the vibrator, sticky and wet and warm.
"Thank you Master", the words muffled against my neck as her contended sighs wash warm and damp over my skin.
I smile in the darkness, spent, satiated and happy.

Sunday, August 31, 2008

salacious sunday - the psalms

I will give thanks to Yahweh with my whole heart.
I will tell of all your marvelous works.
I will be glad and rejoice in you.
I will sing praise to your name, O Most High.
When my enemies turn back,
they stumble and perish in your presence.
For you have maintained my just cause.
You sit on the throne judging righteously.
~The Psalms 9: 1-4

Friday, August 22, 2008

what do you sprinkle on it when I'm not looking?

"May I have my toy please?"
How could I say no. Just moments before, I had exploded inside her mouth, sloshing over her tongue, filling her cheeks. She sucked me as I slowly grew softer and smaller, licking every drop, careful not spill any nor let any remnants dribble down the corners of her mouth. While I moaned and groaned, rigid in my climax, my stomach muscles and thighs contracting so hard they almost hurt.
She slipped my flaccid cock out of her mouth finally and it flopped cold and wet onto my belly. She curled up against me and ever so softly made her request.
I reached for the drawer in the bedside table and felt around for the familiar cool metal. It was in exactly the same place as it was before. She knows better than to place it anywhere else. I must be able to find it in the dark if necessary. I hand it to her. "Of course you can". She settles her head down on my shoulder so that my crooked arm reaches her breasts. The soft burr of the vibrator runs through her body and into my side. I pinch one of her nipples and her body arcs. A sharp intake of breath and I start to drowse...

Monday, August 18, 2008

oh what a stud

Can you guess what it is? receiving station for extra-terrestrial transmissions or mystical wand.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

salacious sunday - Calisto

"Sheets of empty canvas, untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me as her body once did.
All five horizons revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed has taken a turn"
~Pearl Jam (Black)

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

how not to mistake buffing for boffing

The price is right

So according to this story, an Ohio man has been charged with having sex with his picnic table. Apparently a friendly neighbour witnessed Mr. Price fucking the flowery furniture on four different occasions!

Don't you just hate these nosy neighbours? What is this world coming to if one cannot enjoy a simple act of coitus with an oh-so-inviting chair. Or a table. Just look at that hole in the middle of the table. The one with the pole inserted right through. Are we that inflexible that it should serve just one purpose? Look at the possibilities. Lying across the table, the hard wood flat against your hard wood as you inch your way slowly towards that inviting hollow circle. Your breathing gets heavier with anticipation. Perhaps today a sliver will prick your prick, sliding into your soft skin with delicious ease. You place your face against the cool surface and slip your solid snake into the very soul of the table, your mouth shaped into a silent aah as the course edge scratches against your scrotum.

And then you start to fuck. Rocking your hips back and forth, the powerful sensations rocket through you as you plunge your winky, willy-nilly in and out, up and down, maybe side to side for added pleasure. You feel your balls tighten, your mind starts to fog, your thighs go rigid, your toes curl, and then...then...

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

You look up into the face of your neighbour. There she is again, peering over the fence, her face frozen in shock at the scene before her. Even her curlers are about to stumble in aghast from her still wet hair.

"You naughty man. You naughty, naughty man. I am calling the authorities".

You roll off the table, falling to the ground with a whump!, your breath rushing out of you, the pain from your near-climax bringing tears to your eyes. You curl yourself into a ball, clutching desperately at your crotch, and in that moment of absurdness and utter unadulterated humiliation you realize that that online hooker, with a crow's nest for pubic hair who was willing to wear a cardboard cut-out for $40 bucks would have been a much safer solution.

See, sometimes, if the price is right, Mr. Price, the price is right.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

things I never thank her for

  • washing and filling my bottle with fresh water.
  • making my lunch, every morning.
  • replacing the empty bottle of shampoo.
  • dinner.
  • sleepy head on demand (s.h.o.d)
  • laughter.
  • laundry.
  • her tits.

Monday, August 11, 2008

gratuitous gratitude

Ah! a trip down memory (mammary?)lane. This scene is from one of the very first Seymore Butts movies I watched. On VHS - remember those?!! Yes, I still have my porn collection on VHS and an old VCR that groans and whines each time a tape is, umm...inserted. But it still works. Like an aging hooker, if you keep tweaking the tracking like tweaking her elongated nipples, it will give hours of masturbatory pleasure.


Sunday, August 10, 2008

salacious sunday - the psalms

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars, which you have ordained;

what is man, that you think of him?
What is the son of man, that you care for him?

~Psalms 8, 3:4

Friday, August 8, 2008

just right

The Committee for Refrigerator Ethics (CoRE) has decided that once the surface of jello has taken on a wrinkled appearance, much like grandpa's foreskin, it can be safely removed and discarded. A shame really, it was fascinating to look at every time I opened the fridge. It jiggled seductively with every movement. It gave me pause as I pondered the possibility of consuming the blue experiment.

But common sense prevailed. It had to go. Sigh. There will be others just like it I am sure, following valiantly along in its unsteady footsteps.

Watching the lunar eclipse a little while ago, she kept slipping me from her mouth to comment on it's progress. It was a stunning display of nature, regal in it's beauty, sublime in it's powerful serenity.

"Would you like me to move over?"

"No I'm fine thank you" she manages to reply from between pursed lips glistening wet in the darkened room. "I can see it quite well from here. But if you let go of my hair, I could move my head better"

So I grabbed a nipple instead. A man needs something to hold on. It's only just...right

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

a night at the talkies

HER HEAD SNAPPED BACK SHARPLY and she stiffened against the seat. In the pulsating glow of the dark theatre, I could sense more than see that she had clamped her lips together tightly to prevent a gasp from escaping. Slowly her thighs began to part before my fingers. She wore no panties. Like exploring into a warm damp cave, my hand scrabbled upwards pushing her skirt with it until I came in touch with the soft moist lips of her cunt.

I turned towards her at the same time she turned to look at me. Her eyes feline bright and just as round radiated both shock and lust simultaneously. I stroked her wetness, slipping one finger inside her. Her body reacted again as a soft groan spilled from between her lips, the sound buried within the polyphonic resonance of mind-crushing decibels emanating from the speakers around us.

Hellboy II was a riot. Trippy in an acid-high sort of way. Vivid colours and images melding together in an euphoric cacophony reminiscent of my drug-laced days when music ran in colours down the walls and peoples faces melted into waxen effigies. I loved the soundtrack, even recognized the Eels (whatever became of them?). I played with her pussy while I watched. While the 5 men in the seat in front of us ate their popcorn and drank their Coke and whispered amongst themselves. I dipped my fingers in to her hot essence, not only because she wanted me to, but mainly because I can.

Monday, August 4, 2008

public service announcement #71

"If there's one thing you can say about mankind, there's nothing kind about man"
~Tom Waits

Rules for evening wear down on the boardwalk, for a Thursday evening:

Ladies, short-shorts and 3" spikes just don't work. No matter how long and bronzed your legs are. You look like a stripper missing a pole. Or a bronzed giraffe. Take your pick.

Men, if you're belly obstructs the view of your feet, check with someone before you venture out. White socks and sandals are a no-no. You should see it from my point of view. Jesus would be ashamed.

Friday, August 1, 2008

storms & colours

"It's like somebody's taking pictures with a really big flash"

She has this extraordinary ability to describe even the simplest of things with an elaborate flair. A mixture of her creative character and a natural child-like propensity in seeing beyond the ordinary. Seeing past the routine, run-of-the-mill colours of real life. She sees the world through bright green crystals that throw prisms of colours across her world.

We're standing on the front porch looking up as yet another summer storm hastens across the night sky. The low frequency sound of thunder grumbles and rumbles, interrupted by sheet lightning that throws blue sheets behind dark ominous clouds. The air is electric sharp and heavy with moisture. The leaves of the large oak tree start to ripple and shake violently as the wind picks up and runs it hands through the boughs. It sounds like a giant rain stick. The first large rain drops begin to fall, splashing onto the warm cement floor, shattering apart on the driveway.

I love watching the rain fall. I love summer storms. I never cease to be amazed at the contradiction of danger and violence that can wreck havoc and destruction, yet provide the basis sustenance to support life. A paradigm of life and death bundled together in swirl of clouds, wind and rain. She slips her hand into mind and we stand there, the spray of the rain sprinkling our bare feet and face like a cooling mist.
There is no one else I'd rather watch storms with. She is the essence of my life. A mad concert of colour, light and sound that swirls around me like a never ending summer storm. Don't ever change My Precious. I enjoy every drop of you.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

salacious sunday

Yahweh, my God, I take refuge in you. Save me from all those who pursue me, and deliver me;
lest they tear apart my soul like a lion, ripping it in pieces, while there is none to deliver.

~Psalms 7, 1:2

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Friday, July 25, 2008

Owen Sound

She sucked my cock that night. On white sheets that smelt questionably of stale cigarettes and bleach. She slipped me into her mouth while I watched overly bubbly bare-breasted blondes bounce around within a cracked 19" television. It balanced precariously on a wobbly wooden structure, which at one point in it's life surely served a better purpose. The white paint had faded to a sad cream and it blended perfectly with it's surroundings. Faux-wood panels plastered the walls making the room appear more dreary than it should have been. Playboy had lost it's charm from the last time I remember watching it. Some 20 years have passed between a house nestled in the hills of Hollywood and a sleazy motel room in Owen Sound, Ontario. Yet watching the antics of the starlets, perky nipples placed like decorations on fake tits, squeaky voices and lips curled into perma-moues, I see that nothing has changed other than transparent surgical lines, shaved pussies and teeny-boppers simply 20 times more annoying
Walking into the hopelessly small motel room, the stained, weathered carpet disappeared under a bed upon which lay a bedraggled comforter with a lifetime of carnal experiences etched into it's mottled design. I had requested a non-smoking room. What we got was a room free of smoke in the last 24 hours. The air-conditioner gurgled and wheezed into life before settling down to a regular drone at a mind-numbing pitch. It spit out a moth from between it's vent almost as an offering, which promptly set about butting against the window seeking, freedom from the confines of the small room. I put it out if it's misery with a swift stroke of a towel. Killing the lone fly that buzzed between the heavy drapes proved a little more challenging but it soon tired in the heat and settled on the small table with cigarette holes burnt like moon craters into the formica. I swatted it with a brochure that shouted 'Welcome to Owen Sound, the Heart of the Bruce Peninsula' and it fell onto the carpet only to disappear amongst the dark patches and smudges that adorned the rug like an intricate design.

"Pick it up please", she implored. "I don't want to step on something crunchy"

"Oh god", she later cried. She was standing outside the so-called shower stall. A dark sinister cut-out with 30 year old taps and a modern water-saver shower head - the only clean object so far. The tiles on the floor glistened like sweat on a boxer, the pattern, at one time must have looked promising. Now cracked and faded, the black grout bleeding between the edges, it promised planters warts and perhaps some exotic disease.
I laughed at her as she scrunched her face and flushed the toilet. "Oh no, I think I broke it", she said as it ran and ran and ran. But it eventually stopped just before I got ready to report it to the receptionist.
The outside had looked decent as we pulled in. Decent enough for one night we said. There were already a couple of cars parked outside rooms. How bad can it be we asked each other before I went inside to inquire about rates and availability. The platinum blonde chick ran her fingers through her short bob and pouted, "$70 plus tax". The tiny labret winked from her bottom lip. Perhaps it was trying to warn me.

Later after dinner, she sucked my cock while I watched Playboy. She sucked it just like she's sucked me a hundred times before. Teasing me, swirling her lips over the sensitive head, grazing me with her teeth, stroking me with spit-soaked hands. And when I came, I exploded into her eager mouth, and long after the spasms had stopped she continued to softly suckle on my subsiding member, savouring every last drop of my cum.
"Thanks for taking me away", she whispered as she snuggled against my chest. "Let's try and find something a little more decent tomorrow at Tobermory. And I'll suck your cock again".

I clicked off the TV and darkness fell into the room as oppressive as the heat. The air-conditioner struggled in vain all night to bring comfort to our sticky bodies. We clung to each other all night as we tossed and turned on the lumpy mattress and the wafer thin pillows.

In the morning, as the fingers of sunlight tried to slip between the slip between the gap of the drapes, we awoke. I nuzzled deep into her back, cupping her breasts with one arm draped across, pressing me hard cock into the small of her back. She whimpered at my touch and shimmied back into me. "I love you", she whispered, barely audible above the cacophony of the air-conditioner. "I will go anywhere with you"

I smiled sleepily and breathed in her scent, my nose ticklish from the small hairs on the nape of her neck. I would go anywhere with her, do anything with her, take her anywhere she wants. As long as I can wake up next to her, snuggled against her warmth, I don't really care where these gypsy feet take me either. She is mine. My whore, my woman. My First.

"I love you too baby. Let's see what Tobermory has to offer."

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

how much would you pay for mine

If you watch as much porn as I do, then sooner or later the laws of probability will dictate that you will stumble on something with an ick factor of 11. You know how it say to yourself how bad can it be? but before you know it, you have your thumb on the FFWD button on the remote but your brain refuses to send that one last signal to make you depress it. Your mind is too busy trying to decide if you should keep watching or puke.
I experienced that moment of zen a little while ago. After the two stunt cocks had spurted into a crystal champagne glass, the starlet picked up a straw, swizzled the man-melange around and proceeded to..well, suck. Yes, that was my reaction too.
So as I sat there unable to tear my eyes away or hit the damn button, a frozen grimace contorting my face, I recalled a story I read with a similar theme.
If you want the full details click here. For the attention-span challenged like my self, here's the short form:

It turns out that a farmer in New Zealand sold his prize stag to a gaming estate, but it's testicles were part of a separate contractual agreement worth approximately $80,000. Unfortunately (and this is something know one could see, um...coming - it's a safari, what could go wrong?) the said stag was shot and killed during a safari hunt. The grieving farmer alleged that the testicles were subsequently removed and the semen extracted without his consent. Approximately 270 straws of buck juice was extracted, each straw worth between $500 to $600. So he sues the owners of the gaming sanctuary for some ridiculous amount.
OK so the first thing that went through my head at that time was...Holy Magdalene, how big were these fucking (pun intended) testicles? 270 straws?? are you kidding me?
And then the second thought scurried past, furiously on the heels of the first. Who exactly did the extracting/sucking? How did the chain of events play out on that fateful day?
Man pays safari owners to hunt on the gaming reserve. Payee enthusiastically shoots stud-size buck. Congratulations and high-fives all around until someone makes the startling discovery,
"Oh shit, Stan! you've shot the stud stag!!"
"Damn! that's a bummer"
"Whoa! Look at the size of his testicles. They look like they're going to explode"
"Do you think...?"
"Well...given that he's a prize stag an'all"
"Yeah the farmer, he ain't gonna be too pleased"
"I have an idea. Does anybody have any straws?"
"What!'re not actually going to...Jesus man, that's just,"
"Well the way I figure, if you don't actually swallow..."
"If you tell anyone, I mean anyone about this..."

I know what I'm going to do. I'm taking a straw to bed with me tonight. Whaat! it's only a tablespoon full.......

Sunday, July 13, 2008

salacious sunday

I am weary with my groaning.
Every night I flood my bed. I drench my couch with my tears. ~Psalms 6:6

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

dong work for yuda*

"He said Dong was Wong,
'N Wong was Kong
'N Dong work for Yuda,
'N John was wrong"
~Frank Zappa*

Every morning I wake up and scratch myself. I'm a man, deal with it. If I am in an especially playful mood, I might even sneak in a quick squeeze or two. It helps me wake up smiling. I like my penis. I have grown quite attached to it. I take good care of it. I take it out often for some fresh air and sunlight and play with it at least once a day. I do right unto it and it does right unto me. I've been told it fits just right in certain places and curves to the left in an oh-so-cute way. This makes me smile. But as much as I love my penis, there's a limit to my adoration and infatuation. For example, I would not pull it out in a public bus and try to introduce it to the nice lady in the window seat. That would just not be cricket. Nor will I attempt idle banter with it while, let's say, I'm examining fresh cucumbers in the local grocery store. See, common sense does prevail.
The Nazca people of South America carved giant animals in the desert a thousand years ago. There is still a mystery over the origins and even today scientists cannot agree how this primitive race managed to create these huge carvings with such precision. Popular theory is that it was an attempt to communicate with extra-terrestrials. I find it fascinating and stunningly impressive. I often wonder if we will ever find the answer in our lifetime.
Modern man however has less of an inclination to aspire to such great ambitions. Give a bunch of men too much to drink and the levels of creativity become directly inverted to the proportion of alcohol consumed. An Arizona man was notified by a news crew that he had a giant penis painted on his roof. Turns out it was the work of his drunken friends.

Now granted, had I been told that I had a giant penis painted on my roof, I would have been suitably surprised, but I certainly would not have equated it this way:
'It was like a hit of coffee or something in the face. A penis on the roof. I was like, huh? Are you serious?'
Are you serious? Is that the best you could do?
See, I could've come up with a much more illustrious explanation. For example, I would've clutched at my crotch and exclaimed, "so it wasn't a dream!". I would have then elaborated on how an alien ship had landed on my lawn one night and a group of bare-breasted ET's accosted me while I slept. How they dragged me on to the roof (doing it under the shadow of Orion and all that) and proceeded to have their way with me. Bodies and limbs and appendages merged in a frenzy of mad lust. Afterwards, as we basked in the after-glow and Ursa Major shone her light upon our naked glistening bodies, the bare-breasted aliens rolled me over and proceeded to chalk my member on to the cold hard roof.

"bxtsj tht whsgfh t orught y scl fflabzbn", they chanted as they worked, giggling and jostling each other as their breasts bounced merrily in the starlight. This loosely translated as, 'the fallacy of a flaccid phallus is as false as a fflabzbn'. A Fflabzbn being a mythological creature of their planet much akin to our loved and dearly missed Dodo.

It pays to never know when you'll need it.

Tuesday, July 1, 2008


Stretched out on the bed with my hands behind my head. I look down the length of my body as she works her mouth on my hard cock. Blood red lips, moistened with spit and inflamed by yearning slide up and down my shaft. Her pink tongue flicks like a cat o' nine tail along the tip, wrapping under the head before she slips me back into her warm mouth. Her eyes have not left my face. A subtle smile turns the corners of her mouth as she savours my taste. Slowly she releases my glistening member and it emerges like a proboscis. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath. Pink engorged nipples tease me like candy. Moving upwards, she hikes up her flowing black skirt until she is above my belly and straddles me. Her cunt is as warm and slippery as a sponge. Her thighs grip my sides hard as she begins to ride me. The wanton look of wickedness in her eyes is emphasized by a lecherous grin that has creased her cheeks.
She reaches behind and grasps my still twitching cock.
"Do you like that?"

A growl in response.

She rocks her head back, eyes closed, daydreams of salaciousness etched across her breasts in a flush of red.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

I growl again, deeper this time. She is toying with me not unlike a cat that pats a broken dying spider. "Or do you want me to suck your cock a little more?"
She giggles, the tinkling sound peeling off the drapes in a lilting melody.
My cock twitches in her hand and she giggles again. Slowly she slides down leaving a trail of stickiness and warmth across my abdomen. She is positioned directly above my stiff member, still captive in her hand. With deliberate slowness, she lowers herself and drags the tip across her wet clit first. She gasps, at first contact.

"Do you want more?", she whispers.
She drags a sharp breath between half-clenched teeth and strokes the tip of my cock back and forth across the swollen pink petals of her vulva. Sticky sinewy threads of her desire like fine woven lace entwine and wrap around the shaft, to drip down my balls. She continues to rub me against her, sighing contently. The flush of red across her chest deepens as her strokes increase. Her breathing is heavier. Her hips rocks back and forth, her long mane wrapping itself around her face like a gossamer veil. Faster and faster she rocks, faster and faster she strokes herself with my rock hard member. Shallow breathing morphs into short sharp breaths. Her back arches with mine as the sensation of my cock being stroked across her viscous pussy, dripping with sex and lust, sends electric currents trickling down my scrotum and up my spine. Her hands, my cock, her cunt, my balls, all blend together in a concert of sound, smell, touch and feel as her orgasm explodes in a shower of carnal lust and completion. An aphrodisiac of desire and thirst that envelopes us in a cloud of heady craving and intoxicating hunger.

She collapses on me, her heaving breasts pushing into my chest, her hair cascading across my face and arms like a waterfall of lace...

Saturday, June 28, 2008

red rain - tres

Shifting twisting the fog around us was coiling boiling....
Enveloping enclosing in it's tendrils tight.....
Pushed to the ground the shadow's arms around me did surround....
Caressed my skin hot like balm in it's cool embrace I luxuriated randy and calm....
~Desolation Angel

The low frequency sound of thunder grumbled overhead making the ground shudder in unison. The leaves of the large oak tree trembled and huddled together as she continues to run her tongue up and down my rigid cock. She hums in unison with the thunder sending spikes of pleasure plunging deep into my balls. A groan escapes my lips. My knees start to buckle and she moans again.

"Can you taste me? Can you taste my pre-cum leaking into your mouth my little bitch?"

She moans in response as she works her talent. She is massaging my balls with her fingertips. Her lips glide up and down my shaft as smooth as a well oiled machine. Tongue, lips, teeth spit, rain. A hedonistic cacophony of pleasure and gratification. My little cocksucker has a talent no other man will ever experience. I jam my cock harder into her mouth.

"Suck it my little cocksucker. Suck it harder. Flick your tongue across the head...aghh! just like that...yes, yes..."

Sheet lightning pulsates behind storm clouds, throwing monotone colours across a million miles of angry sky. The garden lights up briefly, shadows from the tree, the shrubs, the fence dance rapidly across the lawn almost in desperation before the world grows dark again. In that translucent instant, I pull away from her using her long hair for leverage. My cock slips out of her warm mouth with a soft plop and she squeals in shock and impertinent protest.

What is it about blow jobs that fascinates man? what is it about the act of a woman taking a cock into her mouth that causes men to grow harder? is it the sight of your hard cock plunging back and forth between her lips? We are taught at an early age that a penis is dirty. It has but one primary function. We are raised on a constant barrage of warnings and castigations: "wash your penis", "clean your penis", "do not play with your winky Albert, not in front of the nice lady".
Or could it be that for the most part this act requires her to be on her knees? an ultimate act of subjugation and submission. This is the same mouth that tastes so sweet when she kisses you on your lips, the same mouth from which the words "I love you" flows so breathlessly and easily. The same lips that when curved into a smile, lights up her eyes and brightens your day. And yet here she is, muddied and wet, cold and shivering, matted hair wrapped around her neck like a noose, kneeling before you as you overpower her with your manhood, tasting you, sucking you, licking you.

She has this trick where she slurps me into her mouth, clamps her lips tightly at the base and draws back, tugging gently as if to draw my sticky thick cum into her eager mouth. The combined sensation of the tip of my cock tickling the back of her throat together with her pulling action, almost always sends me into paroxysms of pleasure. It is the most incredible feeling and she gets better at it the more often she does it. I like to think that I have power over her. That I can resist her administrations, that I will cum only when I want to.

Lightning flashed again, electric sheets snapping across the sky. Thunder clapped in approval at the display and the trees bent and swayed to the concert. The power of nature acted out in it's all glory, her stage this vast universe. But below on this sodden earth, two figures gyrate and twist in a lecherous dance for power. My knees tighten and buckle at the same time. She grins up at me in the falling rain. She knows that I almost climaxed. Almost spurted my cum into her waiting mouth, the creamy fluid sloshing against her cheeks, coating her tongue. She knows I cannot resist her if she wanted her own way. She is aware that even kneeling before me, I am at her mercy when her soft tongue flickers across the sensitive head of my cock, teeth that tug at the loose foreskin, lips that tighten around the base.
She rocks back on her haunches, a grin curling her lips. I bring my hand down across her cheek. And even as her head snaps sideways, her long hair whipping like a tail, I hear her laugh in the darkness. It has only just begun...

Friday, June 27, 2008

the balls of satan

Die Eier von Satan

Eine halbe Tasse Staubzucker
Ein Viertel Teelöffel Salz
Eine Messerspitze türkisches Haschisch
Ein halbes Pfund Butter
Ein Teelöffel Vanillenzucker
Ein halbes Pfund Mehl
Einhundertfünfzig Gramm gemahlene Nüsse
Ein wenig extra Staubzucker
... und keine Eier

In eine Schüssel geben
Butter einrühren
Gemahlene Nüsse zugeben und
Den Teig verkneten

Augenballgroße Stücke vom Teig formen
Im Staubzucker wälzen und
Sagt die Zauberwörter
Simsalbimbamba Saladu Saladim

Auf ein gefettetes Backblech legen und
Bei zweihundert Grad für fünfzehn Minuten backen und

Bei zweihundert Grad für fünfzehn Minuten backen und Keine Eier ..

Sunday, June 22, 2008

salacious sunday

And Satan stood up...and provoked David... And David said unto God, I have sinned greatly, because I have done this thing...

I Chronicles 21: 1,8

Friday, June 20, 2008

casual conversations #2,176

"Cum for me baby"
"Cum all over these pretty lips"
Looking down at the top of her head,her hair shimmering in the sun pouring in from the open door to my right. Her fingers casually stroking my soaked balls and her full lips wrapped around my erect cock. Her eyes half closed...
...did I have a choice?

Thursday, June 19, 2008

this is my life - breasts


Large Breasts
Average Breasts
Small Breasts
All Natural Breasts
I do not like augmented breasts - breasts with implants. They don't do anything but simply lay there, like up-ended flower pots, roots growing along the sides.

I like saying the word Breasts.
I love watching Breasts bounce.
I smile at the way the top of a woman's Breasts jiggle happily under a tight bra
I enjoy watching a woman's Breasts sway under a soft blouse.
I like to bury my face in the space between a woman's breasts and breathe in her scent. The aroma goes straight to my head-makes me dizzy with lust and passion.
I love to fondle Breasts
I love to squeeze Breasts
I love to grope.
I love to suckle, and I certainly like to bite them.
I like to stand behind my woman, reach around and tug on her nipples as I fondle her breasts. I like to feel her press against me, her head thrown back, so I can nuzzle on her extended neck while I look down at my hands.

I like to watch my woman's breasts bound up and down as she's lying on her back, her legs wrapped around me, her arms pinned above her head.

I like the sensation of her breasts, nipples softly scraping against my skin, as she straddles me.

I like to cup her breasts from behind as she's on her hands and knees, her nipples engorged and hard, with the weight pushing into my palms.

I like to reach down while she's between my knees, so I can roll her nipples between my thumb and forefinger and pinch them so I can hear her sharp intake of breath.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

red rain - duae

We are drenched within seconds of stepping outside into the torrential rain. She drops my hand to run into the middle of the lawn, arms outspread like wings. Steam rises from the scorched earth like marionettes performing a macabre dance, twisting and writhing in the dark bringing life back into the moisture starved green. She spins around, her face enshrouded by her long matted hair. Her clothes are completely soaked by now and they hug the curves of her body wrapped like a second skin around her. Her skirt wrinkled and soaked cling to her legs like leeches sucking tenderly at her skin.

I walk up to her, squinting against the falling drops, grinning at her frivolous enthusiasm to catch her mid-spin. She laughs, child-like, infectious - a playful spirit dances in her eyes. She slumps against me. Her soft breasts push against my chest and she wraps her arms around my neck. Our lips touch, she opens hers ever so slightly - an invitation, and I flick my tongue into her mouth. Electric sparks ignite as our tongues seek each other with urgency, water flowing past the corners of our mouths. Surrounded by the the drone of the rain striking the roof and trees we allow our tongues to dance, our hands to wander. I run my hands down her back even as my tongue seeks further inside her mouth. I slide my hands down to cup her buttocks through the soaked cloth. My fingers probe the recess of her buttocks slipping with abandoned ease into the hot crevice of her cunt. Our lips mash together with the urgency of our kiss and I feel her fingers lock into my hair, pulling my face harder towards hers. Deeper yet my finger slips, working it's way into her already slippery sex. I grind my hips into her rubbing my stiffening cock against her crotch.

Finally we break apart, gasping for breath. My hands are on her breasts and I squeeze them roughly, desperately seeking for her nipples beneath the slippery blouse. She pushes away from me and drops to her knees, her knees splashing onto the saturated earth. Eager hands fumble with my belt, the buttons, finally pulling down the waistband to reach in and draw out my hard member. Her wet hands make me shiver and my cock trembles inside her fist, slippery as a fish. She looks up at me. She is a spectral shade, a supplicant about to receive the holy spirit. Her eyes are as bright as stars and as wicked as a pixie in a wild English garden. Brimming with passion and filled with a dark urgency, she blinks rapidly in the falling rain, her long eye lashes glistening in the muted light. She extends her tongue, so pink in the inky darkness, places my cock on it as if to accept the Host, closes her lips around the head and slides it into her warm mouth with a soft sucking sound...

Monday, June 16, 2008

random musings #1,034

There is a sign on the inside of all the washroom doors at work. It says, "Please wash hands before leaving". The sign is also stamped in Braille. How would a blind person know there is a sign on the inside of the door? and what if this person was to read it before they washed their hands?

Don't you just hate it when there's a pubic hair caught in your toothbrush?
and you only realize it when it scrapes against the back of your throat as you brush.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

passing fancy regular haunt permanent lair

"Interesting site, we will see if it is a passing fancy of myself or a regular haunt. Hats off, indeedly, very well done, thank you for killing some my time...Might even earn a hot spot, damn nice.....again..."
(June 12, 2006)

Two years of


























Happy Anniversary baby. Here's to a lifetime of shared memories and a warm bed.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

salacious sunday

For there is no faithfulness in their mouth.
Their heart is destruction.
Their throat is an open tomb.
They flatter with their tongue.
~Psalm 5, IX

Monday, June 2, 2008

copperhead bells

Tears stream down her cheeks barely visible in the muted light of a multi-coloured scarf thrown over the bedside lamp. Pinned down by my weight and tethered to the metal head board by an old black tie, her body lurches beneath me as she sobs into her arm. I place the small whip down and run my hands across her breasts. Her nipples are pointed and stiff but she twitches with each pass of my hand. A flush of darker colour crawls across the sides of her breasts like virus in a Petri dish, marring her perfect milky white flesh. The small bell on her ankle tinkles merrily in the dark room, an incongruous contrast to the desecration taking place.
Leaning forward to undo the knots at her wrists, my cock brushes against her half-open mouth, caressing her lips like a kiss. Her glazed eyes stare intently at the moist tip but she dare not move her head-either away or towards it. I know she wants nothing more than to lift her head and slip me into her mouth, to taste me, to swirl her tongue across the head, to tighten her lips along the length of my shaft. But she has no permission...

She's colouring her hair. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror the next day, she methodically applies the concoction to her long hair. There is a list of Golden Rules that she must abide. Rule #1: she shall not cut her hair more than 2" at a time. The mixture oozes out of the bottle a deep shade of purple smearing across scalp and forehead. It is not the colour she desires and we both laugh as I use a damp towel to wipe away the overspills. Her eyes flick down to her upraised arms and I follow her gaze.
The bruises under her arms and across her breasts almost mirror the colour of the dye being squeezed into her hair. I smirk as I slip my hands from behind cupping her breasts.
"You are Mine"

Sunday, June 1, 2008

salacious sunday

O ye sons of men,
how long will ye turn my glory into shame?
How long will ye love vanity,
and seek after leasing?
~Psalms IV, 2

Monday, May 26, 2008


There's a spider web by the entrance to the garden shed. It forces me to duck my head and twist my shoulder each time I go in and and out, but inevitably I end up striking it. The fine gossamer threads tangles in my hair, tickling my cheek or sticking to my shirt. Hollowed out shells of various insects crackle and pop like an entomology lesson gone bad as I try to pull myself from the sticky tangles. Each time I break the threads, stubbornness and resolve drives her to weave it larger and larger, spinning relentlessly until it expands more and more.
The web has weathered rain and wind. She has worked to build it during cold nights and warm days, patiently labouring away to unravel her yarn. It glints in the daylight, shimmers seductively in the setting sun, drops of dew glisten like gems in the morning. Toiling for survival, it is her entire world stretched before her. The fine sensors on her feet tuned explicitly to every minute vibration of each fine strand of silk, she waits patiently for her prey to tangle itself before feeding.

She snared me much the same way. She laid out her designs and waited for that moment when I wandered in. It was futile to resist. Every night I fall asleep to the rhythm of her breathing and the fine hairs tickling my nose. Every morning I stir awake to her soft whispers off "I love you" and she will scream each time she sees a spider crawl along the wall or scuttle across the ceiling.

She hates spiders.

Friday, May 23, 2008


It is a farce to call any being virtuous whose virtues do not result from the exercise of it's own reason.
~Mary Shelley

Thursday, May 22, 2008

the garden, Chapter I, part I

She had slept well and alone last night, the storm that howled outside all night only served to sedate her mood. Waking up, she tip-toed down the stairs and into the still dark kitchen. She shivered. It felt as though the patio doors had been left wide open. And they were. How careless of me, she thought as she crossed the kitchen floor. Dressed in only her man's shirt and a short robe, her bare feet pitter-pattered on the cold tiles as she moved to close the doors. The drapes and the floor were soaked from the rain. She grumbled to herself once again about her carelessness slamming the door closed. Turning back, she started. One the counter she noticed one red rose with a white envelope. How did she miss it when she walked in! Apprehension gripped her. Curiosity prevailed and she reached for the card:

"...roses are red, violets are blue. Look behind you..."

But she never got the chance. As the strong hand came around her throat, she barely saw the shifting black form flow out from the shadows behind the drapes where she had just stood. Her scream was quelled in her throat as she struggled violently against the attack. To no avail. She was now being dragged outside to the large back yard. Her bare heels dug into the soft sod gouging it open like lashed flesh. Her hands flayed out helplessly groping for something or someone to hold onto but they kept coming up empty. She felt rain drops on her body, on her face, on her bare breasts and she realized that her robe and the shirt was gone from her body. Striped naked she squealed as she was flung face down onto the muddy lawn. Her arms were pulled back. She felt coarse rope burn her wrists. With a vicious yank, her feet were pulled back and she felt the rope bind her ankles. Her back arched as red hot pain screamed through her spine. Her mouth filled with the pungent earthy taste of grass and mud as she tried to take a trembling breath. Her body shook uncontrollably as fear clamped it's cold wet fingers around her heart and bile stung the back of her throat. The rain continued to fall, pelting her without mercy. The ropes cut into her skin, the pain almost unbearable. Mud matted her hair, coated her face & smeared her body. With her failing will, she raised her face to the mud splattered boots inches from her face,

"...why", she whimpered, "wh-o are you? whuh...why a-are you doing this t-to me?"

A sinister almost demonic laugh was her answer as she felt a weight bare down on her forcing the air from her lungs. He was kneeling on her back! He raked his nails down her back. Two angry trails of red streaked across her alabaster back bringing another cry from her.

"Puh-puh-lease", she implored.

He stood up and she heard the jangle of his belt buckle. She twisted her head to look up at him and she finally got a glimpse of her tormentor. His face was hidden behind a hood. His breath steamed out like phantasms in the early morning light. He had his rigid cock in his hand which he stroked lightly as he gazed down on her dirty form at his feet. He prodded her ribs with his dirty boot rather like poking at a cowering dog. He seemed to enjoy having her this way. He grunted. The rain came down in stinging torrents as she cried out again louder this time but even in her anguish she knew no one could hear her. Her nearest neighbor was almost two kilometres away. Slowly he sank to his knees in front of her. His silence scared her even more than if he had spoken. He reached out and lifted her head from the muddied puddle by her hair and locked his eyes with hers. He could not tell if she was crying, the rain obscuring her tears, running tracks down her cheeks. Suddenly and without warning, he tugged her head towards him and shoved her lips over the tip of his cock. She gagged and screamed again, but this time her scream was snuffed by his cock penetrated her mouth and down her throat. Again and again he lunged forward pulling her head into him. But in the midst of the ferocious assault, as this dark strangers hard member raped her mouth and her spittle drooled out to mix with her tears running down her chin, there was something familiar. Something about his taste, his size, his smell, the way his fingers coiled about her hair. Motions brought memories gurgling to the surface just like the bubbles popping at the corners of her mouth.

And the stranger growled, low and deep. And in the timbre of that primal sound it carried the designs of what was going to be an excellent start to a day of sadistic daydreams that were now to be a reality........

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

mea culpa

Memories flashed in a split moment. Ghosts from the past crawled from the recesses of my mind in an instant of tears. I remember vividly when I first set foot upon this land. It was the third complete re-adjustment of my life within three years. It was April. It was cold, colder than I had ever been before. The sky was pregnant with dark clouds, the roads coated a morbid grey from the salt and early snow melt. Looking at the scenery rush past the window I realized how far from home I was. There was no turning back. The road ahead stretched out into uncertainty and adventure. Even amongst the four others in the car I was still alone in this foreign land lulled by thrum of the tires.
Nothing was familiar or remotely routine. I was lost in a city of millions. Surrounded by new faces, smells and sights, unfamiliar with the way things worked, I absorbed the world around me like a sponge. Which way did the streets run, what colour the currency? different culture, different weather. Everything and everyone seemed alien and cold and hospitable at the same time. Insecurity and fear ruled my waking hours, crowded my dreams at night. Like a frightened animal caught in a trap.
I remember, even to this day how alone, abandoned and afraid I used to feel as voices were raised and words flew through the air like arrows to sting the heart with poisoned barbs. Desperation weighted me down, Hopelessness suffocated me. Over time the wounds festered into resentment and hate. Poisoned barbs turned into maces and an union was felled forever.

Yesterday I looked into a mirror. It was her face. 20 years were stripped away in an instant and I saw the utter desolation and fear reflected back. I saw the abandonment contort her features. The sadness wrenched her face like jagged edges of torn photographs and most of all I heard in her voice the consummate weight of a life of heavy sorrows come crashing down. And I hated myself for that. I made a promise once. But with the harshness of a few thoughtless words and raised voices I destroyed that promise. I was supposed to ease her burdens, lift her spirits, place a smile on her lips and repair her spirit. Instead, due to irresponsible desire to have things my way, I hurt the one that I love. I crushed her spirit with heedless actions. I ripped away her beautiful smile and drew tears from her sparkling eyes. Tears that extinguished the bright flame that burned so steadily.
I do not know what caused me to become so angry with her. All I wanted was to do make her happy. And yet unthinkingly emotions were twisted into a grotesque mask that spewed angry words. In one weak moment, I relinquished control to the demon that has always lurked within. It was only for a fleeting instant, but it was an instant too long and damage was done before it could be caged again. I have much work to do, to repair the broken chains that were in place to bind it - repair her broken spirit. I may not have a past-it was left behind, buried in the horrors of a malignant war. But I have a future with her. I will glue together the fine porcelain that was shattered, smooth over the cracks and build my past, today, with her.

I Love You Lea, My Precious, My First.

I am sorry

but I remain forever

Your One

Friday, May 9, 2008


It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.
~Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

Is it really a dream? will I roll over and suddenly the sequences will change? gone will be her caress, her warmth, her giggles, her voice, her eyes. I shudder to even think off it. Icy tendrils coil around my heart, even as these words scribble across the page. I never thought I could live with another person again. I don't think I could live without her. Yes, I would be the first to recognize the cliché. As banal as it may sound, I cannot imagine a day without her touch. She called for me and I answered. This is what she claims. On this second swing around the sun since that fateful comment, how many orbits has she made around my heart I wonder. How long did our lives circle each other like distant galaxies, lonely amongst a billion souls before words such as this caused a perpetual motion of inescapable inevitability. Impact was not an option. When two hearts collide new life is born.

A new journey has begun. There are no maps, no rules, no guides. We have cast off on sails scarred from previous experiences, the fabric as bright as a mosaic, each shade, each matrix a remnant of our memories that has stitched together the canvas. Only a compass of love and devotion points the way from this moment onwards. I the Captain, she the mate. Let these seas be less tempestuous, the winds strong and sure. Sirens sing your songs, this mariner will never sway.

Sunday, May 4, 2008

salacious sunday

But thou, O LORD, art a shield for me;
my glory, and the lifter up of my head

I cried unto the LORD with my voice,
and He heard me out of His holy hill.
~Psalms III: 3,4