Ask yourself this: Once men can get a realistic blowjob from a virtual woman (or man) of their own construction, built to their precise sexual specifications, without ever getting off their couch, do you really expect men to ever leave the house again?.
That Slutwoman Maddy O'Reilly sure gets around!
We've all heard of ‘truth in advertising,' even if we've never actually witnessed it, but until today, I'd never encountered ‘accidental truth in customer service.' WOW!
In Kawasaki, Japan, each spring a festival is held called Kanamara Matsuri, or "The Festival of the Iron Phallus." WOW!
Okay, so Dan and I are definitely suckers for an interesting info graphic. Even more so when that graphic depicts useful information. Like penis size, delineated by country...
I know there must be many other types of orgasm, but just over course of our years-long experiment alone, my research assistant has personally witnessed at least six different types of orgasm that I experience regularly...
A court in Massachusetts has ruled that it is perfectly legal to take a photograph by aiming a camera (or smartphone equipped with a camera) between a woman's legs.
Does she plead for more, for more, for more of you as she arches above, as she straddles your thighs and grinds her hips, your cock buried so deep nothing but this sensation matters or exists?
When I enter the room, she's standing in a corner. Why she's being punished, I don't know. But I'm glad she is. Black corset, black stockings. Skin as pale as the moon on snow. A cherry red ball gag against cherry red lips. Blonde curls.
For in her downcast gaze and ebony kitten lashes and the full and parted lips rouged as red as the light which bathes her contours, he recognises the same palpable heat, the same fiery passion and dangerous darkness as the one radiating from her wantonly arched body, from the brazenly exposed and denuded sex dripping, soaking the softness of her inner thighs with its insatiable and lascivious want.
"I want to fuck you," I say. "I want to feel my cock inside you."
"How?" you ask.
"I want you on top of me," I answer. "I want you to ride me. SLOW-ly."
As I had directed, she stood by her door, facing it, in black heels, a black skirt, black scoop-neck top, black bra, black boyshorts, and black thigh-highs. I pushed open the door to see her, standing tall (in her heels, she's taller than me), her fingers under her skirt, in her pussy.
I was on top of him riding his cock and when I looked at him through my black hair, I wanted to photograph him.
My mouth clasps onto his cock, the last piece of this human chain of carnal enjoyment. Tonight wasn't about penetration; we were not aiming for that. I wanted hands and lips; the use the most basic of body parts to get each other off. Plus, the way my breasts were being touched and tickledfelt like everything.
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