Dancing Over Her Nipples Like A Ballerina

Nipples. Erect nipples.

Sorry. Hello, my kinky readers! As I sat down to write this, I had a look through the site stats and comments to see what I’ve missed in my week of absence. Well, what I learned is some one really, really likes erect nipples. For since I posted a picture of erect nipples (so erect you really could hang your hat on them) there has been over three hundred clicks on my button. And a guy talking about Hitler. I know. Weird, right?! All that talk of BDSM rules and some guy is immediately reminded of Hitler. But I digress.

While I was going to do a quick skit about a wedding, make you chuckle and smile, I am the writer of the official blog of a website known as Just-Kinky.com. So, naturally, my mind swirled with thoughts. Thoughts of nipples. The lists of variations of phrases of ‘erect nipple’ screamed at me, as if in challenge. So I decided to write a little story, dedicated to nipples. It began as thus:

The cool air caressed her newly bared skin. She flushed as her pink flesh puckered and hardened in front of her eyes, and those of her lover. They tingled deliciously and made her slit glisten as her lover cast his fingers, softly, over her nub. She felt the tips stroke the little bumps of her areola, twirling, like a ballerina; swirling, his circles becoming ever smaller, until they alighted upon the nub, which stood proudly, boldly, awaiting eagerly his touch. A touch he was more than happy to give. He caught the nub with thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently, then pulling – at once gently, then hard, stretching her pink flesh and she hissed, gasped, arched her back up to meet his touch, but he retreated, still pulling on her, the sweet agony sent jolts of blissful pain up and down her spine, to pool between her wettened thighs. They lifted eagerly for his cock. A touch, again, he was more than happy to give.

His hard shaft stroked the length of her flower and parted her rosy lips, to disappear with a long, low groan inside her, filling her centre, stretching her tight muscles, again and again as he worked himself in her. But her thoughts were with his hands. Even as her hips lifted and bucked to his thrusts, it was her erect nipples that demanded her attention, for he let go of her nipple, and the skin pinged in on itself. He cupped her other, as yet untouched, breast, the milky white flesh ample, juicy and pliant beneath his touch. He stroked it as if it were a lamb, frightened from a faraway storm, as it bounced, hypnotically, rhythmically, up and down, responding to his thrusts, landing within his grasp again and again, the hardness of the erect nipple stroking along his palm each time. Her nipple, so tender and eager for his touch, sent jolts of lightning through her body, eliciting a grown from her lips.

He bent down, his head lowered to her other breast, the one which had been subject to his fingers not so long ago, and took her nipple in his mouth. His lips encased the pink flesh, his tongue flicked her nub. Slowly, painfully slowly for her liking, the tip of his tongue explored every square millimetre of her areola, felt every bump and ridge under his touch. Even as his tongue was tender, his other hand was not. In stark contrast, he took her nipple with thumb and forefinger, and pinched it. She let out a hiss, again, but quickly that turned into a groan, the pain mixed with her pleasure, heightened it, and she wanted more. Something he was more than happy to give her.

His tongue gave way to teeth. Just as he swirled over he nub one last time, his teeth sprang forth to nibble gently upon her. Yet his hand, still, pinched her, still twisted her flesh, still squeezed until her body began to shake, until her breathing became shallow, pushing her nipple again and again into his embrace, into his eager lips. She felt her body slip into blissful climax, felt her breasts become so tender that it was almost painful to feel his touch upon them, but soon it gave way to pleasure, which started in the tips of her nipples and emanated, pulsed, outwards, sending shock-waves of pleasure throughout her body, to the top of her head, to the tips of her toes, to the nub of her clit, to the centre of her pussy, her whole body shook with relief. Her eyes clamped shut to it, her mouth screamed out, yet she embraced it as her body tensed. Then, after what seemed a life time, yet all too soon for her liking, her body relaxed, her muscles slackened, her lover’s caress left her breasts to enfold her, and she leaned into the embrace gratefully, needed the comfort. All the while, as his body pressed to hers, she was acutely aware of her sore nipples, rubbing against his body.

So. Weddings. Yes…? Did I disturb your you time?  Don’t worry, there are many stories of on the JK for your perusal. Though I do beg you to stay for what, I assure you, will be quite funny. It’s my best set of jokes yet.I’ve spent hours upon hours stealing other people’s jokes. Yes, since, there’s a Royal Wedding on the horizon I thought it would be the height of rudeness to not make this blog post about that.

It was a long time coming, you have to admit. Prince William and Kate Middleton first met at university, in the library. And the rest is history. They’ve been going out so long, they’ve been seeing each other for – *counts on fingers* – sex. Yes, indeed. He likes his women how he likes his coffee. Picked by migrant workers. They say their first child will be named after his granddad. So I look forward to seeing Racist Bigot. Frog-marching down the aisle. Wills must be looking forward to his wedding night, but I wonder if he worries about whether or not Kate will be satisfied with his body. A little part of him says yes. When they go on their honeymoon, will she be wearing a nice slinky number? I hope not. It’s only good when she goes down stairs.

Goodnight everybody!

What A Way To Wake Up!

Despite a title that made me think it was about a stalker stealing away into some random guy’s home and watching him – wait, this is starting to sound familiar. Someone creeping into your home, watching you while you’re sleeping. I’m assuming this stalker would know that you’re awake. And who knows what else this crazy stalker knows? He could be watching you all the time, know all your highs, your lows, knows if you’ve been bad or good. Wow. It’s Santa. Santa’s a stalker?! No wonder our parents, when we were wee children, wanted us to be good. It wasn’t because they wanted to look like good parents, or because they just wanted a rest, or even because you might get coal in your stocking. No. Because Santa will be sneaking in to our rooms, gently nudge us awake and, when our kid selves manage to open our sleep fogged eyes and think more than three seconds into the future, we whisper with incredulity and delight, ‘Santa’?

‘No, sweet child,’ Big Beard would say, ‘here’s Johnny!‘

Good morning, dear listeners (of a non-vocal, written blog)

Today I bring you another votive offering, in the guise of a story. Yes, it’s Story of the Month time again, and this one’s quite a handful! Our queen of the quiz, our slut of the story, Molly has again regained her place as Storyteller of the Month with the story, I See Him Sleeping. See what I mean about the stalkerish title?

ISHM actually involves Molly herself, as well as her beau, thingymawhootsit. Signs. It gives the story an added layer – or conversely it creeps you out, if you don’t like imagining your friends inflagrante delicto. But I choose to think that it adds another layer to the story, as it’s a very romanticized telling of a loved up couple asleep in their bed. The woman, Molly, wakes up first and watches her man as he sleeps, memorizing every line and pore, and you can tell it’s a very romanticized version as no bodily functions make themselves known as he sleeps. Although, if they did, I doubt Molls would make mention of that in her story.

Soon Molly can no longer keep her hands to herself. She desires a touch, and to touch, and naturally, instead of resting her head on his chest, she plants herself between his thighs. Naturally. Lucky bastard. Her ministrations soon awaken him, though he pretends otherwise. His hand automatically goes to her head – during my sleep, I’ve often known this to happen – as well as hips rocking and spasming as Molls takes him in her mouth and, greedily, she sucks, licks, her tongue sliding over the head of his swollen cock and down his shaft, as all of him disappears into the cavern of her mouth. Ah, but I cannot tell you what happens next (though you get no prizes for guessing right-on account of my already eating the prizes), I shall leave it to you to ponder and let your imagination fly. Fly, my pretty. Fly!

In short, go read! It is a short story, but that doesn’t take away from its skilful crafting and imagining. Because, really, don’t we all want to be woken up like that?

Let Them Eat Cake From My Nipples

Don’t worry, not my nipples. Although I can tell you about this one time when I tried to introduce food to mine and an ex’s sex play. It did not go well. What were you expecting me to say? It’s me you’re talking to. I’m the guy who answers the door mid-masturbation, forgetting that my Little One is out and saluting the postman. You see, my time with food was a very love/hate relationship. I tried pouring whip cream over my girl’s light ebony breasts and stomach, licking it off, making her quiver and making me realise that the whip was past its use by date. Next, I decided to place on the sensations, all very pleasureable, that you get from introducing a very cold object to your hot skin.

Earlier, I had prepared some ice cubes that I decided to slide over her body. The first, which I held in my left hand, I ran down the saliva trail that I had left, running the cube over her nipples, sliding them round in little circles. She arched her back and gave off a low, throaty moan that, because we were newly come of age, she lived with her parents, and I covered her mouth with my lips. I tried to gag her with my member but, alas, I am not the Hulk. My manhood cannot be used to swing from tree to tree, Tarzan like, and being nestled between her thighs, feeling her pussy tremble and become so very hot – so hot I stayed there for a few minutse sunning myself – I decided to take another with my right hand and run it over her slit, as the one in my left wormed its way down her stomach to melt, slowly, sending shivers through her body.

She was wet. Oh good sweet pixie dust, she was wet. But, alas, she had always had a problem with not being wet enough, sometimes, and at those times it was like making love to sand-paper, and this was one of those times. I licked her nectar from her entrance as I placed the freezing cold cube on her lower lips. She jolted high off the bed, shocked by the feel, aroused by the new sensation. I smiled at this (this was a little while after my first time, and as such I still thought I was a sex god. This night robbed me of that notion) and kissed her sweet petals and moved the cube over her lips. Or attempted to. You see, I had made some very dry ice. The first had my saliva to glide over. The second, as I have pointed out, had nothing, not her juices, nor mine. It stuck fast. It stuck hard. I tugged at it, but instead of the moans of pleasure that I was accustomed to, I heard something every man dreads. No, not silence. ‘Ow’. ‘Oow’. ‘Ooooooooow!’. Not ‘Oh. Ooh. Oh sweet sallymungo, yes!’. Ow. My manhood sagged, hung its head in shame. The dry ice stuck to her lips. Not only that, but as I tried to let go, I discovered it had stuck fast to my fingers, too.

Not good.

What followed was a slow, desperate attempt to swing both out bodies round, carefully so as to not rip anything, so that my body hung off the bed, and I stretched every inch of my body, trying to catch the lead to the hair dryer with my toe. It was just out of reach until, inch by inch, the poor lass moved herself off, and at last I felt the plastic chord between my tootsies (toes), gripped, and yanked it to me with a triumphant ‘Aha!’ Which brought a knock on the door and enquiring words from her father.

‘Nothing!’ She squeeked back in her native Italian (Yes, I’ve slept with at least one woman from each country in the EU. It was on my bucket list) ‘Just playing a little game on my Xbox.’ The best sexual allegory I have heard in a long time.

I don’t know how he bought it, especially after the hair dryer started its moan, but he left us be. It took about ten minutes of her half off the bed and me sprawled at an odd angle on the floor, waving the hair dryer about, trying to urge it to melt faster, but, at last, it succumbed to the heat, leaving only slightly reddened marks on her lips and my fingers. As you can figure out, she wasn’t in the mood after that. But, after all that, I still have no idea how exactly I got a bite mark on my cock.

But, get this, it was not a normal bite mark. Instead of the arc of little indents that you’d expect from a human bite mark, I found two little red dots. It was, I guess with hope, a spider bite.

But enough about me. Today I write to you about Whichever’s (there’s some contention as to which month) Story of the Month! And this month it’s a very well written, erotic tale by Zena. Let Them Eat Cake tells the tale of Curvacious Woman #1’s birthday. Just imagine the delightful Dita Von Teese in a red dress. It starts off with Curvacious Woman #1 (otherwise known as Mari) being surrounded by her closest friends to celebrate her birthday (Of course, we don’t know how old she is. Even fictional women are protective of their age, it seems). Next, a hush descends upon them as Sam, think Tom Selleck with a goatee, delivers his speech, and her birthday present. It’s an old Dutch tradition to take some cake and the guest shares their cake with the birthday girl. But these friends choose to eat the cake off of her naked body. Of course. It is a Dutch tradition, after all.

Mari…marveled at its size

Oh, how many times I’ve heard that. In my dreams. Frequently.

One by one the guests put some icing on her neck, her ear, her chest and then, seductively, lick it off. Can’t have errant cake, now, can we? The strip her as the women join in, too. Licking, sucking, biting, her breasts, thighs, arse, and glistening pussy (nice to see that not every one has a flow problem). And where, you may ask, are they? In a restaurant, of course! Where else, silly? Ah, but it is a nudist bar, and the fifty other diners sit back and take in the show, as if it were a matinet.

Being the centre of attention, and having a lovely redhead lady tend to her slit quickly drives her over the edge and she cums hard, screaming her pleasure, pleading to be taken.

“Let go, Little One, let go.” Sam said.

That’ll do, Pig. That’ll do.

And Sam. salt and pepper goatee and all, does. He takes her, and soon, all too soon her body shudders with pleasure, and again, as Faceless Man #3 sticks his fingers up her tight derrier, making them dance inside her as if they were a stick figures legs.

“All you had to do was ask, Little One.”

Yes, Sensee. Wax on. Wax off. Wax on your dick, Wax you off.

“That’s it Little One, cum for me again, I’m gonna fill you up right now.”

Yep. Oi’ll fill ‘er up real good. Hey Ma, get the oil can! She needs more gas!

Don’t mistake my mocking, my kinky readers, for degredation. I enjoyed myself thoroughly-I mean I enjoyed the story thoroughly. It deserves its title as Story of the Month, just as it deserves this blog dedicated to it (even though I do this every month), and it definitely deserves a read. Just as you deserve to sit back and get your rocks off while enjoying one hell of a story. So, what are you waiting for!?

Take care, my kinky readers, and happy masturbation!

Because sad masturbation puts you off your food.

What Kinky Thought Are You Having Today?

I have an erection. It’s important that you know this, and it’s important that I get that out of the way, because, with subject matter such as this I no doubt will be tempted to slip that in several times. For, you see, I have been rude and doing an injustice, not just to you, my readers, but to the site, Just-Kinky. You may be asking yourself, ‘What the hell are you talking about, Saucy Man?’ Well, I’m going to tell you, not just because I’m rapidly running out of things to say, but because I’m an exhibitionist. (Okay, I know that has no bearing on it, but since I already said I have an erection I needed to slip in something else!) And because that is so important I feel I must bare my – EDIT by Jules: JV: they do not want to see your jiggly bits.
EDIT by JV: Well, they might want to…
EDIT by Jules: I’ve seen your jiggly bits, they look like a deformed turnip, so I know they won’t want to see them, either, hell, if I could erase my memory of that scary evening I would *JV looks down and says, ‘she’s not wrong’*. I’m saving the readers valuable money, saving them from spending it on countless hours of therapy. Now they can spend it on useful things, instead. Like dirty films, or insertable toys. Because I’m kind that way. *JV mutters something unintelligible and starts to unbutton shirt, at which point Jules handcuffs JV’s hands to the chair*

I’m back! Don’t think a little thing like being handcuffed to a chair will stop me! I’ll just type with my tongue instead. Hours of practice licking and whatnot has to be good for something. Of course, that then begs the question of what exactly is that taste on my keyboard? I dare not think about it.

Jules is glaring at me to stay on topic *Winks at Jules*. Such glances usually would be in vain, but this blog is something very dear, very close to my heart. And when I say heart, I, of course, mean my penis. For in these first few weeks I have concentrated, first on Angie, the queen of comedy, the Joker in the JK card deck; and I have talked about Hallowe’en, having fun in the Chat; Woman and her epic bi-athlon and tri-anything period; as well as a little erotic Christmas writing competition. I don’t know if you’re aware…?

But now I wish to make a little blog about one of my favourite threads on the JK Forums, the very heart of the site. Or maybe not the heart. No. Its heart is its members, and I am the slightly larger testicle that us men like to fondle on occasion. But it is with that region in mind that I talk about today. There is a thread, the most wonderful of threads, which bears the title of this here blog. Members share with each other exactly what kinky thought that is driving them wild with passion and morbidly kinky with lust, but I will let a quote from the founder of the thread, Aphrodite, to say it in her own words:

We all have them, those ever so scumptious kinky thoughts, whether it is while stuck in traffic on the motorway, or sitting in the Bosses office totally bored by the latest demands being made or cooking the family dinner our minds wander. So why not share some of those kinky thoughts with us all here.

And she does. Many times. Personally, I do not, not because I think it is beneath me, or because I’m not so inclined, but because they write so well, and I, as inexperienced as I am, cannot compete! EDIT by Woman:

(Woman chuckles thinking that said complete thinking that Saucy Man cannot complete one task of writing some thoughts before getting distracted by his erection, then a vicious cycle. He must play. Then type some. Then play again!!!!! LOL!!!!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But fear not, my horny readers, for I shall endeavour to, right here, in this blog.

Opening the door with a numb hand, I was greeted like an old friend embracing me by a burst of warm air. It felt wonderful to be out of the cold, a contented smile crossing my lips. I closed the door and took off my jacket and shoes and went in search for the source of my contentment. In the lounge, I found not only a blazing fire, but the woman who sets my pulse racing at the mere mention of her name. Sitting on the sofa, lost in her current book, which I’m not surprised to see is an erotic story. Leaning over to kiss her, she jumps as our lips meet, taken completely by surprise by my sudden appearance.

Exchanging brief words of love and talking about our days, I took a seat and sidled up beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Knowing her as I did, I asked her what she was reading. And, as expected, she refused to talk about it; she always preferred to stay in the little world of whatever book she was reading on her own, and rarely talked about them. It was an odd quirk, but one I wanted to take advantage of. Pretending to leave her be by watching the television, she once again lost herself to the written word, but after a few minutes my hand that had become so comfortable on her shoulder started to creep downwards over her body. Fingertips drifted over her chest, to the valley between her breasts, rising up over flesh and cotton to find her hardened nipple. She gasped almost inaudibly, her eyes flashing wide and a slight smile coming to her lips.

I half expected her to tell me to stop, but she kept silent, her eyes darting quick over the paper. My other hand came up to rest on her knee. Squeezing slightly, it caressed up her thigh until, in no time at all it seemed, it had arrived between her legs, which parted eagerly. I asked her to read to me. She refused, and so I tweaked her nipple ever so slightly. Moving my hand up, over and under the waistband of her jeans, my hand plunged to her already wet pussy. Her hips jerked suddenly but she didn’t tell me to stop. Instead, her lips moved, a sigh turned in to words: he spread her legs wide and pulled her to him, onto him, thrusting himself into her with a moan of excitement. He buried himself deep.

My hand roamed over her lower lips, darting inside her, just a little, before coming at, searching for her pulsing nub. She gasped again, and my hand tweaked her nipple again. I told her if she faltered I would tweak her nipples, each time increasing in pressure. Looking into her warm hazel eyes I saw, what, I wonder? Irritation? Perhaps. But I saw passion, lust, and I knew I wasn’t pushing her limits, and as she nodded I swiped a finger over her clit.

Her hips bucked but her words flew out steadily, with only a slight tremble in her voice. She told me how the man took the woman’s nipple in his mouth and bit as he thrust into her with his engorged member faster and faster, and my hand mimicked the tempo, rubbing her clit faster and faster, drawing circles around it. Her voice faltered again and I tweaked her nipple, the pain I knew heightened her pleasure. Taken with a sudden overwhelming urge to taste her, I stopped and pulled down her trousers and soaked knickers.

My tongue found her nub easily, and it stroked it gently, revelling in the taste of her. Her hips began to buck, and her voice became more shaky, but she somehow managed to speak. My tongue traced letters over her, forming the words she had just spoken. My fingers stroking her lips until they, too found her entrance and, again, slid inside her. I felt her body clamp over my fingers and heard her gasp aloud at the new sensation, and I tweaked her nipple again. A hand rested on my head, holding me close to her, her legs came up over my shoulders, urging me deeper into her, and I happily obliged.

She started speaking, speaking of how the woman reached her peak, of how the man turned her and whispered sweet words into her ears, all the while filling her, pumping into her. I groaned, the vibrations filling her pussy. My fingers curled inside her and I felt her clamp around me again, and then again. Her words faltered but I knew she was close and I couldn’t begrudge her her climax. I wanted her climax, I wanted her pleasure, to cry out my name, and she did. When she came, she came hard, already wet from the erotic story, my ministrations were just the outlet she needed, and her body bucked and shuddered, clamping shut around my fingers, her lips forming my name, as well as letting out groans and sighs of pleasure.

Standing up and leaning over her, I kissed her on the lips. She tasted herself as our tongues intertwined. After a long moment, we parted; sitting down beside her once again, I asked her what she had planned for the rest of the evening. She looked at me, her face flush from orgasm, her breathing shallow, but her eyes burned with desire as she said, ‘a reenactment.’ She took my hand and let me to her bedroom.

Sorry, I’m back again. I had to, erm, change a… a… change a… light bulb! Did you know that, in my recent stay in hospital, I had to get changed for surgery, and I did so in this little cubicle with curtains to hide my privacy. I changed, glancing every so often at the closed curtains to see if a gap had emerged in which others could see my naked form. None presented itself, but afterwards, as I sat there in my hospital gown, I turned around to look out the window. The window I had completely forgotten was there. There window that was opposite pediatrics. F***!

On to our next kinky thought. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it short.

Sitting there, on the sofa, I fondled myself underneath my jeans as I watched the television. On it played a video I had shot the night before. It showed an exotic woman. She lay next to video-me, kissing me, exploring each facet of my body with her tongue, before she got up and stood above me, she lowered herself onto me, straddling my waist. Her hips bounced up and down, back and forth, as my present hand pumped my hard self as my other hand grasped at the sofa back. The door behind me swung open and I heard her call out to me. I didn’t answer. She called again and I turned up the television, the sounds of last night’s love-making permeating to the room next door.

She came in, seeking out the source of the sound, and stopped dead in her tracks. I smiled, but I did not turn around to gaze at her. It was a risk, I knew. I was a guest in her house, we had no overt sexual relationship, but I knew her to be, like me, eternally turned on. She could have yelled at me to go and do it in private, or worse throw me out, but she didn’t. Instead she came over, her gait slow and I knew her to be taking off excess clothing. She sat down next to me and still I didn’t acknowledge her, at least gave no outward appearance of such, instead preferring to fondle myself. After only a few moments I heard her gasp. My eyes glanced over the TV set to the portrait behind it, the one I had moved slightly so that the glass gave me a good reflection of the sofa, and I saw her hand slide up her dress, and underneath to bury itself between her thighs.

Already I could smell the scent of her sex in the air, I saw her recline into the sofa, her gaze steady on the television screen. I risked a glance at her, and her gaze remained firmly to the front of us. I saw her hand jerk underneath her dress, and I imagined her teasing her lips, rubbing at her clit. My breathing came shallow, ragged, as my hand rubbed faster, my eyes not leaving her body.

I wonder if she knew that I had wanted this for so long, had planned this, had waited, looking out the window to see her taxi arrive on the street below, and upon seeing her striking form, hurried to insert the recording disc and fast forward to a moment some time in so that she’d think I had started a while ago and simply lost track of time, and I wonder if she knew that I wasn’t after my own pleasure, but that I wanted to share in hers?

I felt my toes tingle at the thought, the sensation quickly racing up my spine, to my head, before retracing its steps to pool in my groin, where it built to near uncomfortable levels. I groaned loud as my orgasm swept through me, my hand grasped hard at the back of the sofa, my eyes closed briefly, my back arched and my head lolling back upon the cushion.

As I lay there panting, I heard her groaning, too. I knew her to be unable to hold in her groans when she played with herself, and I was thankful for it. I watched as her hands hid themselves underneath her dress, but I knew one to be thrusting deep into her with the toy she kept close by her at all times, while her other hand rubbing pretty little patterns over her clit.

Her scent hung heavy and heady in the air, and her groans became louder, her own back arched and her body shuddered as she came, her eyes finally finding mine. The pace of her hands slowed, her body at rest, and after some time she spoke. ‘I knew you would do this.’
I felt confusion come over me, replacing the warm feeling in my stomach. ‘You did?’ I asked, thinking almost exactly the same words in my head.
‘Of course. Why do you think I gave you my camcorder?’
My mouth slackened, thinking that I should have known better than to play her. Instead of exploding, I smiled and said, ‘Mastermind.’
She paused, a smile forming on her lips too before she corrected me, ‘ That’s Puppetmaster to you.’

Hmm. I like my thoughts. I think I shall go play with my thoughts a little bit.

But the question here is, what are your thoughts? I had an idea, a wonder, wondering if I included a few saucy samples, would you be able to tell what members wrote them? Kind of like a mini competition!

 1) Everytime I get into the elevator at work I envision being pinned against the wall, having my partner lift one of my legs and fucking me right then and there.

2) kinky thought for the day ? Forced masturbation – I was just out of the shower, towel wrapped around me – the mrs walked in already dressed, to do her teeth – she slid my towel down and playfully wrapped her hand around my shaft, before letting go.

3) I’d let him watch while I play, while I tear open my blouse to get to my nipples to pinch them, and to twist them.  He’d watch my fingers thrust deep, he’d watch my knees part wider so he can have a better view.  In between my gasps and my moans, I’d tell him how much I’d want him to puch my over the desk then just plunge his cock deep.  To not worry about anything but just taking what he wants.

4) a certain  someone  bending me over my desk….his back pressed against mine his hands pinning mine on the desk …..his huge hard cock slipping between me……really its gonna be an interesting day!!!!!

 

Answers on a kinky postcard!