1. If you consider a woman less pure after you’ve touched her, maybe you should take a look at your hands.

    — (via p-rotest)

    (Source: anachronica)

  2. (Source: mrharristweed)

  3. I woke up this morning and decided FUCK THIS SHIT



    DICK ‘n JANE is going on indefinite hiatus

  4. thedirtyromantic:

Unseen
She watches me, as I watch her.
We both know, though neither will mention it, that out of sight her cunt is exposed.
We both know the folds are wet, heavy, ripe.
And yet we wait and watch.
She won’t move until I tell her she can. She will hold the pose perfectly because I have asked her to.
So we sit here, with just my hand slowly perambulating over silky skin, rolling up and down.
And I simply tempt her with the sight. My growing need, straining against my solid grip.
And she retaliates by simply being still, poised sphinx like in her calm.
But I can see in her eyes she is anything but calm. I can tell as my fingers roll up and over my glistening head again, that she is churning inside.
So I wait and stroke. Delighting in the turmoil I am creating.
And instead I wonder at how delicious she must look from the view I chose to deny myself.
The Dirty Romantichttp://youmakemeneedyou.tumblr.com
Model - Mosh

    thedirtyromantic:

    Unseen

    She watches me, as I watch her.

    We both know, though neither will mention it, that out of sight her cunt is exposed.

    We both know the folds are wet, heavy, ripe.

    And yet we wait and watch.

    She won’t move until I tell her she can. She will hold the pose perfectly because I have asked her to.

    So we sit here, with just my hand slowly perambulating over silky skin, rolling up and down.

    And I simply tempt her with the sight. My growing need, straining against my solid grip.

    And she retaliates by simply being still, poised sphinx like in her calm.

    But I can see in her eyes she is anything but calm. I can tell as my fingers roll up and over my glistening head again, that she is churning inside.

    So I wait and stroke. Delighting in the turmoil I am creating.

    And instead I wonder at how delicious she must look from the view I chose to deny myself.

    The Dirty Romantic
    http://youmakemeneedyou.tumblr.com

    Model - Mosh

  5. mybaudelaire:

(via Vintage Cuties)

    mybaudelaire:

    (via Vintage Cuties)

  6. shecravesthelust:

- Avlis

    shecravesthelust:

    - Avlis

    (Source: ftloas)

  7. whores-being-sluts:

    whores-being-sluts:

  8. tanyadakin:

the good girl - http://scottworldwide.tumblr.com/

    tanyadakin:

    the good girl - http://scottworldwide.tumblr.com/

  9. clavata:

I love this, seriously. Guys are surprised to find that women have fine hairs on their breasts. Apparently our entire body minus our eyebrows and the hair on our heads is supposed to be smooth as silk

    clavata:

    I love this, seriously. Guys are surprised to find that women have fine hairs on their breasts. Apparently our entire body minus our eyebrows and the hair on our heads is supposed to be smooth as silk

    (Source: queen-cumslut)

  10. nlikes:

Photo http://bit.ly/MDpPBE

    nlikes:

    Photo http://bit.ly/MDpPBE

  11. rolledtrousers:

Without that ball, you’re perpetually on the verge of asking a question. Mouth agape, letting it fill your mouth like phlegm, only you wouldn’t spit it out with disgust. You’d carefully lay it on my lap, something like reverence welling up in your eyes.
It’d probably just be that one word, a solitary ‘Please?’ made all the smaller by the colossal silence that yawns on either side of it. But I don’t want to hear something so pitiful, when I already know that you want to ask it. It’s not just written all over your face, it’s blasted out of your body as if it was an amplifier, running on a wattage of pure pleasure and squirming like it’s electrified. It’s deafening, that question. It’s repeated over and over until it’s just white noise drowning my ear drums.
The last thing I want to do is hear it spoken, have to give it an answer, whether it’s just more silence, or actual words. That’s why you’re biting down on that ball, tasting the rubber, running your tongue over it like it’s an ache.
Because I’m not ready to hear that question, and you’re sure as fuck not ready to ask it. You want to, but until that want melts down into pure unashamed need, I’m not going to give you an answer. I’m not even going to give you a voice to ask the question.

    rolledtrousers:

    Without that ball, you’re perpetually on the verge of asking a question. Mouth agape, letting it fill your mouth like phlegm, only you wouldn’t spit it out with disgust. You’d carefully lay it on my lap, something like reverence welling up in your eyes.

    It’d probably just be that one word, a solitary ‘Please?’ made all the smaller by the colossal silence that yawns on either side of it. But I don’t want to hear something so pitiful, when I already know that you want to ask it. It’s not just written all over your face, it’s blasted out of your body as if it was an amplifier, running on a wattage of pure pleasure and squirming like it’s electrified. It’s deafening, that question. It’s repeated over and over until it’s just white noise drowning my ear drums.

    The last thing I want to do is hear it spoken, have to give it an answer, whether it’s just more silence, or actual words. That’s why you’re biting down on that ball, tasting the rubber, running your tongue over it like it’s an ache.

    Because I’m not ready to hear that question, and you’re sure as fuck not ready to ask it. You want to, but until that want melts down into pure unashamed need, I’m not going to give you an answer. I’m not even going to give you a voice to ask the question.

    (Source: casuallibertine)

  12. rolledtrousers:

What do you think?
I’ve occasionally wondered what it might feel like to be properly under my attention. Before all the sex, and the kink, the scenes and the debauchery. Just the first flickerings of a flirtation, the initial teasings of interest. What that feels like, from the other side. 
Is it a tentative probing, a single finger lightly prodding at the outskirts of your personality, as if testing for weakness? I can’t imagine that would be particularly pleasant, the sort of odd sensation that would put you on edge. No, I’d hope it would be more committed than that.
Is it rather something altogether more predatory? A hook dangling in the water, waiting for you to take that single bite, the one moment when I know you share my interest, that this shit is mutual, and I can start reeling you in. A constant, powerful tug, an inexorable pull that draws you towards me, winding and winding as you flutter down the tumbling gyre. 
I’d imagine the truth is somewhere in between, a mixture of prodding and pulling, poking and teasing. I’d imagine you feel confused and allured all at the same time, that this makes just as much sense to you as it does for me. To be quite frank, I enjoy that. Discovery is the essence of romance, after all, and the longer I don’t know everything, the more entertained I’ll be. 
But I’m always going to try and slip behind your eyes, now and then. Get inside your head, set up camp, make myself comfortable on the sofa. Because it’s somewhere new, and I’ve forever had a dangerously ravenous curiosity. And people are always the most surprising puzzle boxes. 

    rolledtrousers:

    What do you think?

    I’ve occasionally wondered what it might feel like to be properly under my attention. Before all the sex, and the kink, the scenes and the debauchery. Just the first flickerings of a flirtation, the initial teasings of interest. What that feels like, from the other side. 

    Is it a tentative probing, a single finger lightly prodding at the outskirts of your personality, as if testing for weakness? I can’t imagine that would be particularly pleasant, the sort of odd sensation that would put you on edge. No, I’d hope it would be more committed than that.

    Is it rather something altogether more predatory? A hook dangling in the water, waiting for you to take that single bite, the one moment when I know you share my interest, that this shit is mutual, and I can start reeling you in. A constant, powerful tug, an inexorable pull that draws you towards me, winding and winding as you flutter down the tumbling gyre. 

    I’d imagine the truth is somewhere in between, a mixture of prodding and pulling, poking and teasing. I’d imagine you feel confused and allured all at the same time, that this makes just as much sense to you as it does for me. To be quite frank, I enjoy that. Discovery is the essence of romance, after all, and the longer I don’t know everything, the more entertained I’ll be. 

    But I’m always going to try and slip behind your eyes, now and then. Get inside your head, set up camp, make myself comfortable on the sofa. Because it’s somewhere new, and I’ve forever had a dangerously ravenous curiosity. And people are always the most surprising puzzle boxes. 

    (Source: Flickr / puzzlemanleung)

  13. joshuamccaghren:

Ayden by Joshua McCaghren

    joshuamccaghren:

    Ayden by Joshua McCaghren

  14. mountain-view-dom:

When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said,  I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,  HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME  Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.  He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you  To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.  You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,  He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.  And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,  He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,  And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.  Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said.  Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.  HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME  If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said,  Others can pick and choose if you can’t.  But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.  You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.  (And her only thirty-one.)  I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,  It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.  (She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)  The chemist said it would be alright, but I’ve never been the same.  You are a proper fool, I said.  Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,  What you get married for if you don’t want children?  HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME  Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,  And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—  HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME  HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME  Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.  Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.  Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.
— from t.s. eliot’s, The Wasteland Part 2 A Game of Chess.

    mountain-view-dom:

    When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said,
    I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,
    HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
    Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
    He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
    To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
    You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
    He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
    And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
    He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
    And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.
    Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said.
    Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
    HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
    If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said,
    Others can pick and choose if you can’t.
    But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.
    You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
    (And her only thirty-one.)
    I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,
    It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
    (She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
    The chemist said it would be alright, but I’ve never been the same.
    You are a proper fool, I said.
    Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,
    What you get married for if you don’t want children?
    HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
    Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
    And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
    HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
    HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
    Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
    Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
    Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

    — from t.s. eliot’s, The Wasteland Part 2 A Game of Chess.