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Sunday, July 30, 2017

Slutty Sundaes: Live ASMR -rated Smut POV Role-playing f. binaural whispering and vibrating



They claim men can and will fuck anything that moves. Is this partly why? They abstract? They pretend the current snuggly hole belongs to Scarlett Johansson, Ryan Reynolds, their wife, their boyfriend, this cute writer online, that hot guy they met on vacation? So really, any hole will do?

At least I'm being honest. I've informed the nudist/photographer/educator/therapist that I regard everything - that we've done, are doing, and will do - as artistic, educational therapy. I've also declared that my heart is spoken for.

With honesty comes the comfort to Fifty Shades this motherfucker. We move our photo shoot indoors to his Red Room of Pain, in the house he shares with his ex-wife, who is presently in the living room with her boyfriend. AWKWARD! But not awkward enough to prevent what (/who) is coming …

I stand in the middle of the king-size bed with my arms spread and hands secured firmly above my head to either side of the canopy bed frame. The stresses on my wrists induce local tingling and a euphoric light-headedness.

Black is definitely my shade. The pink-trimmed satin baby doll scantly covers my ass, which deliciously plumpens the patterned panty hose that teases my long legs.

Snap, another picture. Then, purrrrrrrr

According to vague corporate-speak, the (Hitachi) Magic Wand has been "America's number one personal massager for over 30 years."
But real people, the press, porn stars, and even professors know what the corporate bigwigs want to keep on the down low: The Magic Wand is "the most recognizable sex toy on Earth," and several respected academic journals rate it as the best method for women to achieve orgasm.

Will my knees weaken and breath shorten in the presence of such celebrity? I'm borderline. Aunt Flo is in town, and I'm wearing her bulky guest mattress in my panty hose, but then again the increased bloodflow ... More importantly, this'll be my first time getting off in front of another human being ... I'm more likely to experience paralysis by analysis at this point.

You reassure me with your charming smile and twinkles of mischief in your eyes.

You trace the muscles of my toned arms and legs with the wand and stop at my inner thighs. Mmmmmmmm, corporate is right, this is the number one massager!

I squirm and squeal upon your first skim of my pussy, as the good vibrations are also the strongest I've ever felt by far. Maybe Aunt Flo's extra baggage in my panty hose has come in handy, as “powerful, penetrating vibrations” is the company's actual slogan.

By the time you grind my swollen clitoris to orgasm, I'm a woman possessed. My lower body twists into a tortured tangle, and my arms, now carrying my full body weight, almost burst out of their sockets. My wrists burn against the restraints. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and my mouth turns to absolute fucking filth. If God is real, I've just cursed that bastard to hell.

They should ship these sanitary pads to the Navy SEALs, because I'm pretty sure mine just stopped a tsunami.

With the lava in my loins still sizzling, I reel from a second eruption. Then a third. Then I lose the ability to count.

Thirty minutes. That's how long l orgasm for. The orgasm could've continued all night. I'm the one who yields by screaming our safe word “Red!” and then that’s it for rational thought.

The next morning, I stumble across the ex-wife and the boyfriend in the living room. AWKWARD! The nudist later divulges why (besides the obvious).

I was so loud and deafening last night that the neighbors would've convened law enforcement, had the ex-wife and the boyfriend not been there to thoroughly explain the situation. Had the neighbors not already been aware of the nudist/photographer/educator/therapist’s profession and tendencies, they might've even suspected that the wife and the boyfriend were accomplices to a murder.

I briefly scroll through the images of me post-orgasm. Fuck Me, I look like unfettered shit! Oh well, I guess we'll have to try again later today ...

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Thursday, July 27, 2017

Fierce Fridays: Unlike Phelps, I swim with REAL WILD SHARKS. #TheRealGOAT

Dear Phelps, your brah Lochte is so happy to hand you your newest gold ... in the Exaggeration Olympics.

Us real adventurers are steppin' up and swimmin' up our own footage in Phelps' absence.

For those with complaints about my camerapersonship, I'M SORRY, dozens of HANGRY-ASS SHARKS were bulldozing me away.

#SharkWeek #GoPro 

@ Shark Ray Alley, Caye Caulker, Belize

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Sunday, July 16, 2017

Slutty Sundaes: Live ASMR -rated Smut Storytelling f. ear to ear binaural whispering and surprises



Nipples are more photogenic when they're hard.

I just thought the nippy Atlantic wind had taken care of that.

So imagine my outright stupefaction, now that he's just grasped my nipple with his gloved hand, without any forewarning.

Which turns to secretive pleasure, as I imagine YOUR hand in the motorized massage glove that's shaping me to pointed perfection. Fuck, this slope could get slippery.

And I slip, slip away. Your gloved hands become your bare hands.

After we canoe the rough waters to even wilder backwoods - "maintained" by the local Boy Scouts, oddly enough, if one believes the signage - your bare hands become your moist lips.

I agree: Nipples are even more photogenic when they're hard, glistening diamonds.

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Sunday, July 09, 2017

Slutty Sundaes: Live ASMR -rated Smut Storytelling f. ear to ear binaural whispering and surprises



Oh boy, do I ever attract trouble. Or maybe, I cause it.

The nude photo shoot is MY idea. After all, what else should a woman do when she wakes to unexpected male nudity from a known male nudist? Join the fucking party! Thrust into that glorious rabbit hole!

He makes it easy. Figures that a nudist would also be a sex educator/therapist AND an aspiring erotic photographer. At least that's how he explains his van chock-full of sex toys, pulse-raising lingerie, fantasy costumes, heavy-duty handcuffs, thick rope, and Wolverine claws, all in my size.

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Sunday, July 02, 2017

Slutty Sundaes: Live ASMR -rated Smut Storytelling f. ear to ear binaural whispering and blowing



What kind of woman "camps" in an Astro Van ... in the middle of nowhere ... with a male nudist she just met?

ME, apparently.

"At least I'm alive," I sigh as I squat to relieve myself in the nearby thicket. The thorny, thistly thicket ...

I've been a clusterfuck of BAD decisions in the last 1,440 minutes, but at least I can be poetic about it.

In his defense, his first words to anybody he encounters are proud protests against anything against his penis, unless it's vagina.

I just thought he meant when he's alone. Or with his friends and family. Or with consenting vaginas. He also means with strangers he offers free van mattress and board to.

I wonder what you'd think about all this? Then I wonder why I even give two fucks. We're "just friends."

I can rise and shine to the dewy aroma of au naturel cock all I want. I could even suck Deadpool's "wheezing bag of dick tips" if I so desired ... FEM LIB, DAMMIT!!!

But the balmy wave your thumbs swept across my knuckles, as you asserted that you'd be back in eight months, intimated something more.

OK fine, I obviously care: care what you think and feel, care about your hopes and dreams, care if you fuck.

And who knows? Maybe the way I attract trouble turns you on?

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