My friend Ginna (from Divorcing Christianity) talking about narcissism in Christianity. Looking forward to the other instalments.
My friend Ginna (from Divorcing Christianity) talking about narcissism in Christianity. Looking forward to the other instalments.
Content warning: explicit erotica
The sound you breathe excites me.
I feel your pussy sliding over the head of my cock. Wet and tight. Warm.
My heart is racing. I’ve wanted you for so long, and now you’re sitting in my lap, naked and full of me. My nervousness melts away in the heat of my lust.
I grab your tits in my hands and suck on one of your full nipples.
I pull back and stare into your ocean eyes, and then I kiss you while you slide over my dick. It’s a sensual, deep kiss. Our tongues touch. We suck each other’s lips.
My hand is cupping your face now. I stroke it through your hair. I could kiss you forever. You taste intoxicating. My head spins.
I lie back and pull you with me. You’re kneeling comfortably over me. With my arms under yours, I hug you close; your face is nestled in my neck.
Slow and steady, I thrust deep inside of you.
Your hips move in counterpoint with mine. Our rhythm escalates. We’re eager.
I grab your ass now, pulling and releasing, pulling and releasing. The sound of our bodies fills my ears. Slap. Slap. Slap.
You nibble my ear and then sit up suddenly, both your hands on my chest. You smile mischievously shortly before you twist around, pivoting on my cock, to grant me reverse access.
Your lovely backside is my full view now. Your ass and pussy consumes my attention. The image of your vagina folds stretching out with my cock drives me crazy.
I grab your ass. My nails dig into your skin. Then, I slap your butt cheek. I slap you again and again. A satisfying red glow starts to form.
Enthusiastic, you overextend, and my dick slips out, slapping me on my tummy. I push it up again with my thumb and it slips back into your cunt. You resume your fucking. Every time you thrust down, I thrust up and bury my cock in you.
Now you slow down. You’re enjoying being in control of your pleasure. You move more purposefully, trying small variations in position, experimenting with what feels good.
I wet my thumb with my mouth and massage your asshole. I circle lightly, letting your hole get used to the feel of me. Next, I put my thumb over your anus, pushing with increasing pressure, but making sure not to enter you yet. I feel your ass relax.
We’re not in the right position for anal play. You dismount and get on all fours. I push you down into the bed so that your head rests on the pillow while your ass props up.
I spread your legs wider. In front of me is your swollen pussy, gleaming with wetness, and your perfect tight, little asshole.
I squirt lube on my hand, and massage your anus again, just like before.
Then I ease the tip of my index finger in. Without pushing in deeper, I start circling my finger, like drawing little ‘O’s, stretching…
Your second sphincter slowly gives way and soon my whole finger is up your ass. I move it back and forth. I’m shaking with excitement. I’m fingering your ass! And you’re loving it!
I start massaging the walls, making come-to-me motions, and you moan in response.
I slip my middle finger in too now and I keep massaging your insides.
With my free hand, I gather up some of the excess lube, and cup your cunt, applying increasing pressure on your womanhood while I keep working on your ass.
Soon I start to circle my fingers over your pussy. You react with movement and moans, and I find my own breathing excited. Goddamn. You feel so good.
It’s time to make you come. I drive two fingers into your pussy. No need to be careful here. You are gushing wet.
I turn my hand to massage your g-spot. You react instantly. Yes, you fucking love this, don’t you?
My cock is aching it’s so hard.
I wanted to make you come with my fingers, and thought that afterwards, you could jerk me off, but I can’t. I have to fuck you.
I pick up the dildo next to me, lube it up, and slide it up your ass. Then I shove my cock into your slit and fuck you.
Double penetrated, you are overwhelmed with sensations. It’s almost too much for your body to take.
You’re uttering desperate, primal noises as my body repeatedly crashes into yours.
I’m grunting now, like some kind of animal.
I’m fucking you as hard as I’ve ever fucked anyone.
And then I explode inside you. Toe-curling, powerful bursts of ecstasy that render me senseless.
Neither of us can speak just yet.
I lay over you, breathing hard, my dick’s twitching finally still.
Content warning: explicit erotica.
Imagine my hand sliding up your back, under your hair. I grab a handful, gentle but firm.
I’m standing in front of you when I do this. I pull back your head a bit.
Your neck is exposed.
I kiss it. Softly at first, but I’m getting really turned on. My kisses get more passionate.
My other hand is clutching your ass, but now I move it to your front. I run it over your crotch. I appreciate the feel of you. I reach up under your shirt, touching skin, over your belly.
I cup your breast. You’re still wearing a bra. I circle and flick my thumb over your nipple and I feel it respond.
I kiss you on the mouth now while I really start to play with your tits.
I have to taste them now. I can’t wait.
I pull your shirt over your head, undo your bra, and rip it off.
Your tits are amazing. I cup both and put one in my mouth.
I run my tongue hard over your nipple. Then, I suck for all I’m worth.
While I’m sucking one, I’m pinching the other.
I feel your hand on my crotch. You’re running your fingers and palm up and down my already hard cock. You start to pull down my zipper.
Not so fast, I think. I give your nipple a light bite, catching you a little of guard. I take advantage and take your wrists in my hands while I push you firmly against the wall, arms up like you’re under arrest.
My body pushes against yours. I look into your bright eyes. I hear your fast breath. I feel your nipples through my shirt. Then I close my eyes and kiss you, eager and hard.
You kiss back. You bite my lip. I let go of your left wrist and hold your neck, fingers digging in below and behind your ear, thumb under your chin. We keep kissing. I love the moan that rumbles in your throat.
I kneel before you. Your jeans are button-up and I undo them all in one forceful twist to expose your panties.
Normally, I’d first remove your jeans and leave your knickers on. But I’m too eager now. I reach into the top of your panties, grab it with a fistful of denim, and yank it down. But I don’t take it off completely. I spread your legs as far as the jeans allow.
I look up at your beautiful pussy, and give it a curtesy kiss and a quick lick. I stand up slowly, kissing you all the way up. And now my hand is over your cunt. I rub my middle and index fingers up over your vulva. You’re wet. I love the feel of it. You moan softly and I kiss you again. Gently now. I caress your breast with my free hand. Our passion builds. I circle over your pussy, a little harder, a little faster.
It’s my turn now. I pull away from you. I pull my zip down, and you know what to do. You get on your knees and you pull out my cock. Your hands feel so good. But your wet, warm mouth feels better.
While you suck my dick, I take off my shirt. When I’m done, I hold the back of your head with both my hands, moving with your motion.
And then you stop the movement and just suck on my head, occasionally swirling your tongue around it. Your hand is around the base of my shaft. You’re jerking me. It’s so intense my knees feel weak. You give it a last suck and then my dick is out. You look up at me with big eyes. You’re still stroking me, all the way up and down my now very wet cock.
You help me out of my trousers. I’m naked now, except for my socks. I pick you up and carry you to bed, then pull your jeans off. I flip you on your tummy. I split your legs so that I can see the labia-line of your cunt. I run my hand over your inner thigh, and then brush against your wetness.
I bury my face in your lovely bum, and kiss the fold where it meets your upper leg. With my hand I lightly scratch your back.
I squirt a generous portion of lube on my hand. With my palm up, I slip my index finger into you. Soon, my middle finger goes in too. I push my hand up, stretching your cunt, and then I gently massage your vagina walls with a come-to-me motion. I see your back arch in response.
I flip my hand, palm down. With the same motion, I massage and stimulate the soft ridges of your g-spot. After a while, I reach in deeper, in search of the a-spot. I keep massaging. I love finger fucking you.
But I’d also like to taste you. I flip you around on your back. Your pussy is swollen, engorged. I pinch the whole of it between my fingers, slowly pulling it up, slowly twisting it between my fingers. Next, I run my fingers between the folds of your outer and inner labia. With one hand, I stretch open your lips, with the other hand I stroke your clitoral shaft, up and down. I can’t wait any longer. I have to lick you.
And so, I do. I lick around your clitoris until your hips start moving. And then my tongue lightly caresses your little button. I’m shaking my head sideways now, flicking over your clit, left and right. I enter you with my fingers again, back to work on the g-spot. I cease licking. Instead I cup my mouth over your clitoris and then I suck gently, like I’m sucking the juice out of a fruit. You taste wonderful.
I can make you come like this. You’re very close, but I want to fuck you.
I slip on a condom.
I move up to your breasts and pay them a little lip service.
Now, I’m directly over you, both your legs on either side of me. Both my hands are planted under your arms. I’m kissing you again. You’re very passionate. You want to be fucked. Badly.
You reach down and guide my dick. I enter your tight pussy and my body lights up. “Fuck me,” you say. And I oblige. This is not making love. This is fucking. Your legs are up and I thrust with conviction. But not hard enough. I sit up. Your legs on my chest, I grab your thighs and fuck you deep and hard. You reach back with your arms pushing against the headboard. Your moans are enthusiastic and urgent.
Again, I can make you come, but not yet. I pull out. I flip you around again and pull you to the side of the bed. I get off, standing. You’re on all fours on the bed. “Spread your legs,” I say. “More… Lower… Yes.” I shove my cock in your pussy again. You start fucking me immediately. Moving back and forth with your body. I give you a few playful slaps, and then I grab your ass. I’m helping you move now. We’re fucking a bit harder. And harder. And harder. I’m moving too now, in sync with you. You reach down and rub your clit furiously.
I feel my groin tingling. Jesus, I’m close. But so are you. In fact, you’re very close. Your sounds of ecstasy does something to me. Suddenly, I’m so much closer to exploding. It feels good to be able to satisfy a woman. I feel like a fucking god.
And there, you come. I can feel it. I can see it. I can hear it. And that does it for me. I come too. Jesus. Fuck. It’s almost painful. It’s hard to stay standing. We remain like that for a while. I’m still in you. And I don’t want to be anywhere else.
Hi Ethan and Holly,
Get some tea, guys. Find a comfortable place to sit. Settle in. This letter is serious business, and a couch and a cuppa tends to help when you’re thinking about important matters.
Let’s get going.
This letter is about happiness. Yes, that’s serious business! It’s also about living well — just being a good person, you know? — because a good life is more likely to be a happy one.
Life is hard, man. No-one escapes heartache. No-one is happy all the time. No-one has full control over the events that shape them. But happiness is attainable, despite life. Look at your mother and I. We’re happy. And we want that for you.
The principal is simple: find the things that make you happy and pursue them. But you’d be surprised at how tough the finding can be and how much work the pursuing can take. To complicate matters further, the things that make you happy can, and likely will, change over time. Some things you may choose to trade — reluctantly, at times — for the sake of gaining better ones, and others you will desire — certain in the knowledge that it will increase your happiness — but you’ll feel too intimidated or lazy to hunt them down.
Below are nuggets of wisdom. They are idealistic for sure. Failing to live by these “standards” — as we do — doesn’t mean you’ve failed. Does that make sense? Also, bear in mind that these maxims are our wisdom, gained from our experiences, which means, of course, that it may be folly for you. Still, we think this collection is a decent foundation to build upon, a useful starting point.
We aimed for brevity, so if anything is unclear, or if you’d like to know why we said certain things and not others, we encourage you, as always, to chat with us.
So, here we go. Let’s start with some philosophy…
Read the rest of this entry
Worthwhile site for anyone doubting their faith. Great stories of people leaving the fold..
You don’t have the same body.
Ten years ago your jeans were smaller, your breasts firmer, your tummy flatter—void of your mothers’ watermarks.
I know this weighs on you.
Undesirable. Tired. Old.
You hold that you are those things.
And I look at other women, their bodies young, and they attract me. I want to lie with them.
You’d like to look like that again, don’t you?
I do not wish for it.
Your health is my concern.
That you feel sexy and comfortable in your skin is my hope.
I want you to know that you still have that power over men, that you still command my devotion.
I see your imperfections not as imperfect but rather as a testament to a life lived.
You are a fucking lioness. A ferocious matriarchal beast. The giver of everything with worth in my life.
I desire you.
Fuck me, I want you now more than when your jeans were smaller.
This is not a happy story.
It happened on Monday but since then I’ve tried not to think about it too much. Perhaps writing will excise my anxiety.
Before I begin, let me say that the baby is fine. This is not a happy story, but it could have been worse…
At a quarter to seven on Monday evening, two minutes from home, an old woman shouts at me as I walk down the road. There is something in her voice. Distress.
“Are you alright?”
“Come!” she wails, pointing to the entrance to a block of flats.
I hear shouting now.
I run into the building. There’s a staircase immediately to my right. At the top, there are two children. They’re about the same age as my kids—eight and five maybe. They’re quiet, wide-eyed. Scared. Behind them, I glimpse their mother. Simply put, she’s hysterical; she’s screaming. “My baby! My baby!”
At this point, I fully expected to find a dead infant. I race up the stairs and enter the hallway. What I see, instead, is the mother trying to break down a door. She’s running at it, hitting it with both hands, kicking it.
“I phoned the cops,” says a woman standing in an open doorway—a neighbour. “They’re locked out somehow. Baby’s inside.”
“Is the baby okay?” I ask.
“I don’t know. She’s freaking out.”
I try to calm the mother down, to get information, to stop her scaring her children. I’m not sure she understands me. She’s middle-eastern, her English is not very good. Her phone rings. “My husband,” she says. Then she drops the phone to the ground, unanswered, runs down the stairs only to run straight back, attacking the door with renewed, desperate fists. I try to calm her again. It’s no use. I don’t know what to do.
Someone mentions a ladder. “If we can get to the window…”
I have a ladder. I leave them. I run home. I get the ladder from the garage. On the way back, I hear sirens. As I get to the flats, a fire engine pulls into the complex. I feel a bit stupid carrying my little ladder. But I’m relieved. What would I have done? Climb up to their window, break the glass? I have the sudden horrible vision of the overwrought mother climbing up a rickety ladder, cracking the glass with her fists.
I follow the fireman into the building. The mother falls to her knees in front of them. The decision is quickly made. Fifteen seconds. They have a battering ram. Five hits and the door is breached. The fireman enters with the mother. Ten seconds. “The baby is okay,” comes the shout. The firemen, now joined by a policeman, look at each other. What just happened?
I hang around, talk to the children and grandmother, answer their phone and speak to the husband. What else can I do?
Later, I walk back to my own family, ladder in hand, heart still racing.
Turns out the baby was not in any imminent danger. The family had somehow managed to lock themselves out, with the baby still inside. How? I don’t know. We have the feeling that the mother overreacted. But then, she was looking after a grandmother, two kids and a baby. I know how hard that can be. Who knows what day she had?
I’ll visit them over the weekend. Bring them some cake or something. I suspect that social services may be called in. I feel for them. I worry.