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Wit & Nipples 🍒

It symbolizes how time and my former hyper-structured life are flowing into freedom. Part of that is finding my sexual freedom and my x rated bucket list. As I get older, I am getting more uninhibited.
 
HotRobb said:
yes! This is a remnant of my religious upbringing. Midnight mass.
Click to expand...
Ahhh interesting! I’ve attended midnight mass a few times a child but my adopted family is Latvian hence celebrating on Christmas Eve. We do it every year and then spend Christmas Day chilling and doing sweet fa. (Aside from eating and watching movies.)

As a younger child my adopted parents referred to themsleves as Lutheran. Not anymore though.

Do you believe in god?
 
SpicyBean99 said:
Ahhh interesting! I’ve attended midnight mass a few times a child but my adopted family is Latvian hence celebrating on Christmas Eve. We do it every year and then spend Christmas Day chilling and doing sweet fa. (Aside from eating and watching movies.)

As a younger child my adopted parents referred to themsleves as Lutheran. Not anymore though.

Do you believe in god?
Click to expand...
Tbh: yes and no. I rejected it all as a rebellious teenager and only now come to see us not as the invention of god, but god being our invention to bring coherence to messy life and make some sense of it all. so observing nothing now but those memories of midnight mass have a certain sweet nostalgia.
 
SpicyBean99 said:
I felt inspired, and horny so I very quickly wrote a short, but sexy story for you to enjoy...It is quite possibly cliche, a little predictable...But some of you will enjoy it and if you do...maybe, if you showcase your creative (horny, pervy) ideas... you'll get to choose what happens next....

You wake up on the sofa with your jacket still on and the taste of whiskey lingering on your tongue. The spacious, open-plan lounge is empty now; the Christmas party had been loud and crowded only hours ago, but nothing is left besides abandoned glasses on the marble island, red LED lights still glowing against the floor-to-ceiling windows. You look down at your watch: 4.55am.

You’ve woken up here before. More often than you’d like to admit. But, staying over is easy when your boss is also your best friend. Zero explanations needed and no dreary eyed, awkward 3am goodbyes. You crash, he sleeps it off in his stupendous super king size, and in the morning you steal an americano from his so called "it's just a conversation piece" designer Miele coffee machine. It's practically routine now.

At least, it usually is.

You push yourself upright. Your head isn’t spinning like it normally would, and you give yourself a quiet mental pat on the back for not taking it too far. Reaching for your phone, you pat the cushion beside you, then the floor beneath the sofa. You start to panic sligthly, it had been a hectic evening, could someone have picked it up by mistake?

Nothing.

“Looking for this?”

A soft voice comes from the doorway and your stomach does a flip.

She’s standing there as if she’s been there a while, watching you, leaning lightly against the frame, one shoulder bare where the strap of a pale pink nightdress has slid loose. Her long, black hair is down, straight, delicate whisps flowing just below her breasts.

She’s holding your phone between two fingers, but makes no move to cross the room or give it to you. There is absolutely no mistaking who the girl is, it’s your bosses daughter, home for the holidays from university and looking hotter than he remembered.

“I wondered how long it would take you to wake up and figure it was gone,” she says, glancing at the screen before lifting her eyes back to you. Calm and unbothered. “You always wake up looking for something.”

Your jaw tightens. “You should give me that.”

She doesn’t. Instead, she shifts her legs a little, the silk of her nightdress catching the light and you can see almost everything beneath it.

“You know,” she says lightly, “most men try harder not to stare.”

You exhale through your nose. “This isn’t appropriate Sophie. Give me the phone and put some clothes on before your dad, my boss wakes up.”

Her mouth curves into a slow, sly smile.

“Neither is sleeping on your boss’s sofa,” she says, eyes flicking pointedly downward, “without your trousers on.”
There’s a brief, mortifying pause while your brain catches up with the sensation of cold air on your legs. You glance down. Then back up. Then down again, like it might have corrected itself in the meantime.

It hasn’t.

You look to your feet to find them, suddenly accutely aware of your shirt riding a little too high over your stomach and the undeniable fact that your trousers are nowhere in sight.

“How unfortunate.” Sophie says.

You drag a hand over your face. “Jesus Christ.”

She hums, quietly, clearly entertained, and finally lifts your phone a little higher, turning and twiddling it in her fingers.

“Relax,” she says. “I’m not judging.”

Her eyes flick down again. Linger. Then return to your face. And you do your best to adjust the rising, hot feeling between your legs.

“I just thought it was funny,” she adds, “that you were so busy telling me what’s appropriate… while sitting there like that.”

You straighten instinctively, as much as you can manage. “Give me the phone, Sophie.”

“Stand up,” she says simply. “And close your eyes.”

You hesitate. As much as you want your phone, you know you’re in dangerous territory.

“You’re very good at giving instructions,” she says calmly. “Less good at following them.”

You swallow. “This is ridiculous.”

“Mmm,” she replies, and you swear it almost sounds like a small moan, “So is pretending you’re not curious to see what happens next.”

Silence fills the air for only a moment more until you decide to bite the fucking bullet, and stand up, closing your eyes tight.

You hear a slight rustle, fabric sliding, skin against skin, and then a sudden flash of red light blooms behind your eyelids. Once. Twice. The unmistakable sound of a camera shutter follows closely, and your pulse spikes once again. The urge to open your eyes, and to break whatever hold she has over the moment, almost takes over, but you don’t. You stay exactly where you are, eyes shut, hands loose at your sides, obeying without having consciously decided to. The not knowing is making you harder but you ignore that and focus on the sound of light footsteps nearing closer and closer.

You feel her in front of you, hear her breath, feel the warmth of her body. You notice a smell, perhaps strawberries, a hint of cream, and maybe even vanilla? You almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Of all things. Sweet and innocent. Completely at odds with what she was doing to you. You feel her leaning in, her hair brushing against your cheek as she whispers in your ear:

“I think we both know what happens next.”
Click to expand...
Yes Yes Yes
I would stand up.
 
Airplane mode.
SpicyBean99 said:
Ahhh interesting! I’ve attended midnight mass a few times a child but my adopted family is Latvian hence celebrating on Christmas Eve. We do it every year and then spend Christmas Day chilling and doing sweet fa. (Aside from eating and watching movies.)

As a younger child my adopted parents referred to themsleves as Lutheran. Not anymore though.

Do you believe in god?
Click to expand...
Thank you for sharing
 
SpicyBean99 said:
I felt inspired, and horny so I very quickly wrote a short, but sexy story for you to enjoy...It is quite possibly cliche, a little predictable...But some of you will enjoy it and if you do...maybe, if you showcase your creative (horny, pervy) ideas... you'll get to choose what happens next....

You wake up on the sofa with your jacket still on and the taste of whiskey lingering on your tongue. The spacious, open-plan lounge is empty now; the Christmas party had been loud and crowded only hours ago, but nothing is left besides abandoned glasses on the marble island, red LED lights still glowing against the floor-to-ceiling windows. You look down at your watch: 4.55am.

You’ve woken up here before. More often than you’d like to admit. But, staying over is easy when your boss is also your best friend. Zero explanations needed and no dreary eyed, awkward 3am goodbyes. You crash, he sleeps it off in his stupendous super king size, and in the morning you steal an americano from his so called "it's just a conversation piece" designer Miele coffee machine. It's practically routine now.

At least, it usually is.

You push yourself upright. Your head isn’t spinning like it normally would, and you give yourself a quiet mental pat on the back for not taking it too far. Reaching for your phone, you pat the cushion beside you, then the floor beneath the sofa. You start to panic sligthly, it had been a hectic evening, could someone have picked it up by mistake?

Nothing.

“Looking for this?”

A soft voice comes from the doorway and your stomach does a flip.

She’s standing there as if she’s been there a while, watching you, leaning lightly against the frame, one shoulder bare where the strap of a pale pink nightdress has slid loose. Her long, black hair is down, straight, delicate whisps flowing just below her breasts.

She’s holding your phone between two fingers, but makes no move to cross the room or give it to you. There is absolutely no mistaking who the girl is, it’s your bosses daughter, home for the holidays from university and looking hotter than he remembered.

“I wondered how long it would take you to wake up and figure it was gone,” she says, glancing at the screen before lifting her eyes back to you. Calm and unbothered. “You always wake up looking for something.”

Your jaw tightens. “You should give me that.”

She doesn’t. Instead, she shifts her legs a little, the silk of her nightdress catching the light and you can see almost everything beneath it.

“You know,” she says lightly, “most men try harder not to stare.”

You exhale through your nose. “This isn’t appropriate Sophie. Give me the phone and put some clothes on before your dad, my boss wakes up.”

Her mouth curves into a slow, sly smile.

“Neither is sleeping on your boss’s sofa,” she says, eyes flicking pointedly downward, “without your trousers on.”
There’s a brief, mortifying pause while your brain catches up with the sensation of cold air on your legs. You glance down. Then back up. Then down again, like it might have corrected itself in the meantime.

It hasn’t.

You look to your feet to find them, suddenly accutely aware of your shirt riding a little too high over your stomach and the undeniable fact that your trousers are nowhere in sight.

“How unfortunate.” Sophie says.

You drag a hand over your face. “Jesus Christ.”

She hums, quietly, clearly entertained, and finally lifts your phone a little higher, turning and twiddling it in her fingers.

“Relax,” she says. “I’m not judging.”

Her eyes flick down again. Linger. Then return to your face. And you do your best to adjust the rising, hot feeling between your legs.

“I just thought it was funny,” she adds, “that you were so busy telling me what’s appropriate… while sitting there like that.”

You straighten instinctively, as much as you can manage. “Give me the phone, Sophie.”

“Stand up,” she says simply. “And close your eyes.”

You hesitate. As much as you want your phone, you know you’re in dangerous territory.

“You’re very good at giving instructions,” she says calmly. “Less good at following them.”

You swallow. “This is ridiculous.”

“Mmm,” she replies, and you swear it almost sounds like a small moan, “So is pretending you’re not curious to see what happens next.”

Silence fills the air for only a moment more until you decide to bite the fucking bullet, and stand up, closing your eyes tight.

You hear a slight rustle, fabric sliding, skin against skin, and then a sudden flash of red light blooms behind your eyelids. Once. Twice. The unmistakable sound of a camera shutter follows closely, and your pulse spikes once again. The urge to open your eyes, and to break whatever hold she has over the moment, almost takes over, but you don’t. You stay exactly where you are, eyes shut, hands loose at your sides, obeying without having consciously decided to. The not knowing is making you harder but you ignore that and focus on the sound of light footsteps nearing closer and closer.

You feel her in front of you, hear her breath, feel the warmth of her body. You notice a smell, perhaps strawberries, a hint of cream, and maybe even vanilla? You almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Of all things. Sweet and innocent. Completely at odds with what she was doing to you. You feel her leaning in, her hair brushing against your cheek as she whispers in your ear:

“I think we both know what happens next.”
Click to expand...
Love the dynamic, and perceived balance of power with this. She thinks she’s caught him unawares. He’s worried as shes the bosses daughter & he’s naked & slightly vulnerable.

But he’s thought about her before. He’s just tried to deny it as he shouldn’t really go there.

In a few moments he debates with himself. She’s already considered this, she’s weighed up the pros & cons, she’s considered the risks. So she’s decided it’s time.

He could turn her down. But he knows he’ll stay there again & she’ll be back again. His cock is shouting at him there may never be a better time.
So he listens to his cock.
The balance of power shifts as she has no idea what she’s in for. He’s a mature man & he’s gonna give her the ride of his life. All the dreams he’s had of her will now be released.

In my imagination, from the point you’ve left it - he lifts her up allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist. She can feel his hard cock against her bum. He bounces her up & down before they move to the sofa. He lays her down and then shows her how a loving mature man can make a a girl feel.
 
SpicyBean99 said:
I tried to steer the conversation away from that topic by sharing a mini erotica that took me about two hours to quickly write but alas that didn’t have the best engagement either so… titties it is ;)
Click to expand...
Good morning. 😘😘
I was hoping to see what happened next in that story. ;)
 
SpicyBean99 said:
A random question of sorts.

Anyone here European and also celebrating Christmas on Christmas Eve? 🌲
Click to expand...
I'm not European.
And generally we do our thing Christmas morning although normally I am relegated to elf as the SO gives presents to the kids.
 
SpicyBean99 said:
A random question of sorts.

Anyone here European and also celebrating Christmas on Christmas Eve? 🌲
Click to expand...
Yes we do! With family and friends. Christmas day is for relaxing, eating left overs and recovering from family overstimulation.
 
SpicyBean99 said:
I felt inspired, and horny so I very quickly wrote a short, but sexy story for you to enjoy...It is quite possibly cliche, a little predictable...But some of you will enjoy it and if you do...maybe, if you showcase your creative (horny, pervy) ideas... you'll get to choose what happens next....

You wake up on the sofa with your jacket still on and the taste of whiskey lingering on your tongue. The spacious, open-plan lounge is empty now; the Christmas party had been loud and crowded only hours ago, but nothing is left besides abandoned glasses on the marble island, red LED lights still glowing against the floor-to-ceiling windows. You look down at your watch: 4.55am.

You’ve woken up here before. More often than you’d like to admit. But, staying over is easy when your boss is also your best friend. Zero explanations needed and no dreary eyed, awkward 3am goodbyes. You crash, he sleeps it off in his stupendous super king size, and in the morning you steal an americano from his so called "it's just a conversation piece" designer Miele coffee machine. It's practically routine now.

At least, it usually is.

You push yourself upright. Your head isn’t spinning like it normally would, and you give yourself a quiet mental pat on the back for not taking it too far. Reaching for your phone, you pat the cushion beside you, then the floor beneath the sofa. You start to panic sligthly, it had been a hectic evening, could someone have picked it up by mistake?

Nothing.

“Looking for this?”

A soft voice comes from the doorway and your stomach does a flip.

She’s standing there as if she’s been there a while, watching you, leaning lightly against the frame, one shoulder bare where the strap of a pale pink nightdress has slid loose. Her long, black hair is down, straight, delicate whisps flowing just below her breasts.

She’s holding your phone between two fingers, but makes no move to cross the room or give it to you. There is absolutely no mistaking who the girl is, it’s your bosses daughter, home for the holidays from university and looking hotter than he remembered.

“I wondered how long it would take you to wake up and figure it was gone,” she says, glancing at the screen before lifting her eyes back to you. Calm and unbothered. “You always wake up looking for something.”

Your jaw tightens. “You should give me that.”

She doesn’t. Instead, she shifts her legs a little, the silk of her nightdress catching the light and you can see almost everything beneath it.

“You know,” she says lightly, “most men try harder not to stare.”

You exhale through your nose. “This isn’t appropriate Sophie. Give me the phone and put some clothes on before your dad, my boss wakes up.”

Her mouth curves into a slow, sly smile.

“Neither is sleeping on your boss’s sofa,” she says, eyes flicking pointedly downward, “without your trousers on.”
There’s a brief, mortifying pause while your brain catches up with the sensation of cold air on your legs. You glance down. Then back up. Then down again, like it might have corrected itself in the meantime.

It hasn’t.

You look to your feet to find them, suddenly accutely aware of your shirt riding a little too high over your stomach and the undeniable fact that your trousers are nowhere in sight.

“How unfortunate.” Sophie says.

You drag a hand over your face. “Jesus Christ.”

She hums, quietly, clearly entertained, and finally lifts your phone a little higher, turning and twiddling it in her fingers.

“Relax,” she says. “I’m not judging.”

Her eyes flick down again. Linger. Then return to your face. And you do your best to adjust the rising, hot feeling between your legs.

“I just thought it was funny,” she adds, “that you were so busy telling me what’s appropriate… while sitting there like that.”

You straighten instinctively, as much as you can manage. “Give me the phone, Sophie.”

“Stand up,” she says simply. “And close your eyes.”

You hesitate. As much as you want your phone, you know you’re in dangerous territory.

“You’re very good at giving instructions,” she says calmly. “Less good at following them.”

You swallow. “This is ridiculous.”

“Mmm,” she replies, and you swear it almost sounds like a small moan, “So is pretending you’re not curious to see what happens next.”

Silence fills the air for only a moment more until you decide to bite the fucking bullet, and stand up, closing your eyes tight.

You hear a slight rustle, fabric sliding, skin against skin, and then a sudden flash of red light blooms behind your eyelids. Once. Twice. The unmistakable sound of a camera shutter follows closely, and your pulse spikes once again. The urge to open your eyes, and to break whatever hold she has over the moment, almost takes over, but you don’t. You stay exactly where you are, eyes shut, hands loose at your sides, obeying without having consciously decided to. The not knowing is making you harder but you ignore that and focus on the sound of light footsteps nearing closer and closer.

You feel her in front of you, hear her breath, feel the warmth of her body. You notice a smell, perhaps strawberries, a hint of cream, and maybe even vanilla? You almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Of all things. Sweet and innocent. Completely at odds with what she was doing to you. You feel her leaning in, her hair brushing against your cheek as she whispers in your ear:

“I think we both know what happens next.”
Click to expand...
Always enjoy the way you write, the build and the slow tease, full of tension and anticipation. So much fun...!
 
SpicyBean99 said:
A random question of sorts.

Anyone here European and also celebrating Christmas on Christmas Eve? 🌲
Click to expand...
This reminds me of about 8 years ago when I dropped off a gift to a polish friend on Christmas Eve, without telling him I was coming, and was greeted to something along the lines of "motherfucker, now I have to feed you, come in" the man wouldn't let me leave, and I learned you swallow bread if you get a fish bone stuck that night.
 
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