salacious sunday [compulsive revisitation]

20 And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.
21 And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’
22 But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet.
23 And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate.
24 For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.

~Luke 15: 20-25

super freak (or where should I hide this microphone)

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daunting discipline

salacious sunday - the psalms

Everyone lies to his neighbor.

They speak with flattering lips, and with a double heart.

~The Psalms, 12:2

porn for friday - spankilicious

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.

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

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

gratuitous memorandum (or thank god for happy sluts)

are you butter or margerine?

untitled

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.

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

I could never let her go