Latin Porn Spices

So, I arrived promptly at midnight, and
guess who had beaten me there: two of my four goonish brothers.
It took all the convincing I could muster to convince these boys
to refrain from smashing the man to a pulp, but eventually I did.
As they left, I turned to apologize, thinking that the man
wouldn’t have anything to do with me now that my brothers had
threatened his life. I was disappointed because the man was very
attractive. I started to speak, and he reached up and touched my
lips with his fingertips. It was like an electric shock struck my
body, and we suddenly melded into one another’s arms and, from
there, in to my rig.
I don’t know what happened to me, but somehow I couldn’t
resist his advances as he groped my tits, and mauled my pussy
through my jeans. The next thing I knew, my pants were down around
my ankles along with my panties. I felt like a schoolgirl as he
buried his face in my bush, and I was burning all over as he
tounged my clit furiously. I grabbed two handfuls of his hair and
rode his mouth to ecstasy and back.

Archive-name: Working/derik.txt

Archive-author: Derek Blonde

Archive-title: Early One Morning

AUTHOR’S DISCLAIMER:

(Unfortunately, this is NOT what the life of a computer

professional is like, at least in Research Triangle Park.

Anyone who knows of a place where systems consultants can

do this type of thing, please let me know.)

They had been working on the system for twenty-one straight

hours now. It was finally up and running; their client, a

large banking law firm, wanted the in-house system plugged into

a banking information network and a huge legal database. The

conversion had taken over four hundred thousand dollars worth

of hardware and software, in addition to three weeks of work,

and in the end Ryan thought that it would have been simpler

just to order every single piece of shit in the IBM catalog

that would fit inside the cabinet and load it onboard.

And now the computer was getting ready to entangle itself

into an international 24-hour database. The Brain would never

shut off again; now, it was going through a self-test,

getting ready to read market data, scan the newspapers, and

watch the local trouble spots in locations around the

world where the firm had clients. Its huge main monitor

was split into sixteen screens, one screen for each

communication controller operating in the building. Ryan

was trying to give each of them in turn something

approaching his immediate and undivided attention.

He was having trouble concentrating, however. His

software engineer, Kelly, was a sweet young thing just

out of MIT…young, blonde, beautiful, and brilliant.

She showed a decided preference for working in sweats,

and since the machine room was cooled to 68 Fahrenheit,

sweats were comfortable. But while she and Ryan

were hooking up the cabling on a replacement unit, and

now again as they crowded in front of the monitor to

watch The Brain do its sitting-up exercises, they had

been working in close quarters. And Ryan had found himself

meditatively studying the curves of her beautiful, firm

ass underneath her crimson sweatpants. Wondering what it

would be like to nibble on her neck, near her hairline,

with her on all fours…

With an effort, Ryan snapped out of this pleasant fantasy.

The console beeped, signalling the end of the self-test.

“Is it ready to connect now?” asked Kelly.

Oh boy, he thought, is it ever. He was so hard that he

was positively throbbing, and he knew that he would

have to find some kind of relief soon. Just go off in

a corner and jerk off two or three times.

“Well, let’s give it a try,” he said, struggling to control

his voice. He punched the key sequence, and The Brain

started activating its connections. Lights danced on

the modem consoles. Satellite linkups moved into place.

“Jesus, I think it works!” breathed Kelly. “I think it’s

really running!”

“I’ve got my fingers crossed.”

An error code flashed on one of the low screens. “Oh, shit,”

muttered Kelly. “Hand me the green manual, would you?”

Ryan looked around, hoping against hope that he would

see the green-cover book somewhere within his reach. To his

dismay, he found it: it was on a utility shelf about four

feet over.

He stood with as much dignity as he could muster, but

his stiff seven inches were standing at attention inside

his grey flannels. He retrieved the green manual, and walked

gingerly back to Kelly’s desk, willing her not to look up

at him.

To no avail. She looked up at him; her eyes widened, and

she gave a little gasp, as she saw the evidence of Ryan’s

arousal (and the source of his embarassment). Then she

quickly looked around to see if anyone else might have

come into the machine room (they hadn’t), and gripped

Ryan’s cock firmly, through his pants.

“You’ve been watching me tonight,” she said matter-of-

factly.

What could he say? “Yes.”

“And thinking dirty thoughts about me.”

“Yes.”

She smiled, unzipped his fly, and cupped his hot, swollen

balls in her cool hand. “Are you lonely, Ryan?” she asked.

Ryan was now concentrating very hard to keep from spraying

hot come all over her MIT sweatshirt. “Yes,” he half-

exhaled, half-moaned.

She rubbed the tip of his throbbing organ gently over her face,

and suddenly gave a little shudder. “Oh, God,” she said.

“This is for me. My boyfriend’s been away for MONTHS!

I need a man. I need to be fucked. I need you, Ryan. Now.”

She wriggled out of her sweatpants, exposing a gleaming,

moist patch of blond pubic hair; she stood, and kissed Ryan

deeply while fumbling with his belt. Ryan picked her up, and

sat her magnificent ass down on the table next to the system

console. He entered her still standing, and she locked her

long legs behind his back to support him as he thrusted

into her warm and welcoming wetness.

Her cunt was firm and tight and muscular, and her scent was

intoxicating. At the apex of each thrust, Kelly gripped Ryan

with her vaginal muscles and pulled him in tighter with her

legs. “Your cock was made for me, baby. Give it all to me.

Give me everything you got.”

They moved together in the simplest and most primitive rhythms.

His breaths were coming short and sharp now, and he tried

to fuck Kelly as hard as she was thrusting back. She could

feel him swelling even bigger inside of her. “Coming,” he

gasped. “Oh, God, come with me.”

Her eyes became very, very wide as she felt him swelling.

Her lips parted, and she felt like she was drifting weightlessly–

that the only two things in the universe were her tight young

pussy and his engorged cock. And they were moving together

faster and faster, and it was getting bigger, and she knew

that soon the spasm would come.

Ryan exploded inside her, in a hot, blinding

flash, like a supernova. Her muscles jerked rhythmically,

uncontrollably, over and over again as her orgasm washed over

her in blissful waves.

When they had rested a moment, and recovered their wind, they

glanced up at The Brain. Its lights danced merrily; it was

storing up and analyzing all the financial data on Southeast Asia

since the dawn of recorded history, just because it wanted to

and there was nothing else for it to do before the London

stock exchange opened.

“We should test it before we allow it to hook in this morning,”

Ryan said gently.

“The machine,” Kelly replied firmly, “can take care of itself.

You can take care of me.”

He then in turn, gave her his immediate and undivided attention.

End

–

If I live to be a hundred, I will never figure out how strange
life can be. I’m a truck driver which isn’t the most common thing
in the world, but even stranger is the fact that I am quite
attractive. I’m five feet two inches, weigh one-hundred and
fifteen pounds, have blond hair and blue eyes. Every time I meet
a nice man, he asks me the same question men ask hookers. “How did
a nice girl like you get into a dirty business like this?” To top
it all off, I have four huge brothers who are also truck drivers,
and who have taken it upon themselves to protect my virtue at all
cost. So you can see why it might be hard for me to get laid,
especially by a good man.
I remember one man in particular. It is almost comical. He
buzzed me on the C.B. one afternoon while I was on a California
run, saying,” Breaker for the good-lookin’ blond that drives the
silver rig. If you’re within hearing, meet me at midnight at the
Stop and Slop on Exit 89.” His voice sounded nice, and I decided
to meet him. Like I say, it isn’t the easiest thing for me to meet
men in my profession.

I knew I was in for it when I met my wife, Mandy, at the
restaurant yesterday. First of all, she wasn’t late like she
usually is. In fact, she was there ahead of me, and had already
been seated. I liked the booth she’d selected. Mandy always picks
the booth that pleases her. It’s part of the privilege of eating
out, she claims.
At any rate, this booth was at the very back of the
restaurant. Immediately on the booth’s left was a huge window
overlooking a park. The window was at the very edge of our table,
so we had an excellent view of the rose gardens and any joggers who
happened by. (more…)

Captivity, Week 18.

I should probably label this ‘0058, then, shouldn’t I? I bet the
new year’s come and gone without my really noticing; After all, I
haven’t really been watching the news.

Okay, so I haven’t written anything in here in over a month. I was
stuck in bed, what do you want? A daily log of everything I ate, drank,
and read? Forget it!

I’m up and about, and yes, I’m back to working on the Shirow,
although admittedly I’m still getting about on crutches and have a
rib-wrap still on; They aren’t fully healed. I was pleased to know
that the PFusion pack came on line in four weeks, just like clockwork,
and was giving out sufficient power to operate the Shirow at full
capacity. Not that I was going to need full capacity, there was nothing
to shoot at, so I removed most of the hardpoints and the HUD.

Yes, I’m still wearing the .45, although I have yet to fire it. It
was in my clothes when Brieanna let me get up. She never questioned my
posessing it. After all, most people own them, and know how to use
them. It’s part of what makes this world so peaceful. Who’s going to
start a fight when your opponent is equally or better armed?

And if he does, there are enough bystanders who don’t want to
become statistics to take care of the problem.

I’ve disabled the arms and legs until I get into the damned thing.
I think that’s a reasonable attitude to take towards the armor. After
all, it was my stupid program bug that caused the thing to try and kill
me.

As for the kiss, well… We haven’t talked about in the month since
it happened. It’s almost like it never happened. I said almost.
Brie’s attituted towards me has changed, a little. She’s nicer to me, I
think. She’s certainly around more often.

I got my Shakespeare back, too. Managed to find another VHR
somewhere in the house. It’s almost like things I need appear, but
always in an inappropriate form. Like the fusion repair stuff, or the
servos that I ripped out of a maintainence unit to fix the neck of the
armor. In any event, I’m not watching Shakespeare so much, now…I’ve
moved on the greek tragedy. Oh, and I finished all three of Halleck’s
books. Good stuff, especially The Assassin’s Guidebook. Not that I’m
planning on killing anyone, like I said.

And why is everything in the house so… so old? Like, why a
VCDHR? Why not just a bubble card player? Why does everything in the
place use moving parts? Almost like they’re designed to… break down.

That’s it. Oh, shit, why did I never see it before?

That’s what this place is for. That’s why Brieanna is around so
rarely. So that when things break, I’m the only one around to fix them.

It’s to make me feel useful. Therapy. Positive-work therapy.
That’s what this whole place is. Even Brieanna is part of that. And
the .45. Props to make me feel useful. Attempts to get me do things.

So what do I do? Abandon everything, confront Brieanna, take off,
or just go on?

I’ll tell you what I plan on doing. I plan on going on, that’s for
sure. I want to finish this powered armor. I also want to get a little
better at the flute, although the more I play it the more sure I am that
I should go back to keyboards. And, I’m going to confront her.

May as well.

In the Spring.

Archive-name: Bondage/likesit.txt
Archive-author: David C. Daniel
Archive-title: As She Likes It

The following fiction is a collaboration between Myself
and Herself — a rather pushy bottom, “but adorable”, she says.

———————— As She Likes It ———————-
Part One

The gag didn’t hurt, exactly. But it held my face in ways
that were strange to me. Sweat was rolling down my forehead, onto
my breats and beading on my nipples as they were held unnaturally
high in a black satin push-up bra. The bra was already soaked. I
couldn’t recall where the rest of my clothes were. I’d managed to
retain my black silk panties and my too-high heels — I suppose he
liked how I looked in them.
The bathroom was unusually large, even by Manhattan penthouse
standards. It was brilliantly white, and mannish. The only softness
I could sense was in the big white towels. I could only imagine their
softness. I longed to dry the sweat from myself with one but that pleasure
was denied me.
If I stayed up on my toes with my face pressed against the bathroom
door I could almost forget about the heavy leather collar locked around
my neck. The handcuffs were another matter. He had cuffed my hands behind
me, back to back, and I stupidly tried to twist my wrists against the steel.
He had added a strap that ran from the links on the cuffs to the back of
my collar. As long as I held my wrists in the middle of my back I could
spare my self the pressure against my throat.
Looking back on it now I realize that a unusual wave of sexual
excitement passed through me for the first time. It intensified a few
moments later when I managed to turn my head past the chain that ran
from the collar to the heavy silver hook near the top of the door. I
wasn’t ready for what I saw in the mirror.
The red haired woman I saw looked a lot like me, except she
was trussed and humiliated — teetering against a bathroom door in
nothing but her underwear, her buttocks gleaming under the heatlamp.
She was beautiful and sexy and stunned.
My first reaction was terror. But it was diluted by the purely
sexual image reflected in that polished glass. My transformation was at
the hands of a stranger: forceful and insensitive to the fear he
produced in me. It wasn’t the type of behavior I expected of an artist,
even one with the reputation that he had. I could hear the party still
going on downstairs — all of New York’s prettiest people laughing
and eating and drinking away while I pondered my fate. I wondered if
the friend I’d come with would miss me. I didn’t hold much hope for
that. The last time I saw her she was deep in conversation with one
of those dark latin types she had a fetish for. I had tried stamping
on the floor but my position was such that I couldn’t gain much leverage
without straining my neck. Between that and the loud music I gave up
trying to attract anyone’s attention. I can admit now that I was perversly
curious about what was going to happen next. I was attracted to him,
not only by his looks but also by the mystery surrounding his life and
work. His willingness and ability to take control held my thoughts more
inescapably than my bonds.
The gag enraged me. I didn’t know how he had managed to push the large
bulb past my teeth, but it was lodged there firmly, pressing my tongue
to the back of my throat. The wide leather strap covered my lips entirely.
I had tried in vain to dislodge the thing by rubbing the strap against
the door while holding my mouth as wide open as possible. All I got for my
trouble was an aching jaw and hair in my eyes. I was trying to work my
fingers around to get at the clasp that connected the strap to the chain
between the cuffs when I heard footsteps outside the door. I held my breath
hoping another guest had come to use the bathroom. I heard the handle turn
and felt the door press me slowly back toward the wall. I anticipated
rescue, but wasn’t entirely disappointed to see my captor’s dark eyes
staring into mine. He entered and released the door watching as my body
weight caused it to quickly close. He smiled and looked me over.
“You have a nice ass,” he said

*** End Of Part One ***

Part Deux

[In the last installment we found our heroine hanging from a bathroom door,
having been thoroughly trussed and placed there by our so far mysterious
artist. Part deux will reveal how our lovely redhead came to be in such
a predicament…]

“You have nice ass,” he said.
I was surprised to find myself blushing. I turned my face away from him in
shame. I was feeling a little light-headed and more than a little scared.
“I came back to check on you,” he said. “It’s not often that I catch a pretty
thief in my bedroom. I’ve been wondering if I should call the police, or
handle this matter myself — in my own way.”
I turned my head to look at him. I wanted to see if the look in his eyes
matched the steel in his voice. It did. He reached up and unhooked the chain
on my collar from the hook on the door.
“This isn’t a good place to talk.”
I couldn’t believe he was doing this to me — leading me by a damn chain into
his bedroom! I was getting angry now. The sheer arrogance of this man was
too much to comprehend. I was dizzy with anger and fear and curiosity. Was
he going to hurt me? If so, how badly?
I realize now that I had only myself to blame. I knew I shouldn’t have taken
my editor’s suggestion: Do whatever you need to do to get some good material
on Mr. Arlan Jennel — The Reclusive Artist, the most famous of all living
sculptors.
He didn’t give interviews. He never allowed himslef to be photographed. He
never ever authorized so much as a press release about himself or his work.
No one knew where he came from, where he went to school, how much he earned
in a year, not even his age was certain.
I knew I would have to explain what I was doing in his bedroom. He had walked
in on me as I was rifling through his desk like an FBI agent. He came up behind
me, threw me across his huge bed and had me handcuffed before I could say,
“First Amendment”. He found the Minox camera in my purse and took great
pleaseure in pulling out the film. He also enjoyed pulling off my clothes
looking for a “wire”, he said. Now he stood over me as I sat on the edge
of the bed. Without a word he reached roughly behind my neck and undid the
buckle that held that nasty gag in place. The bulb popped out from behind
my teeth with a wet plop. I was futher humiliated as a stream of saliva dripped
onto my right breast. I was sure I was going to die of embarrassment!
“Talk,” was all he said.
I obeyed, telling him why I was there and making sure I apologized at least 12
times. I was hoping that contrition on my part would soften his mood. I did
the old, “let me go now and I won’t tell anyone” routine. He smiled a wicked
smile. I smiled a pleading smile. I stopped smiling when he explained to me
that he had decided to punish me himself instead of burdening the judicial
system.
I knew what he had in mind and begged him to be gentle with me. I told him
that I’d had only two relationships in my whole life and to please get it
over with quickly.
He laughed, I mean he really laughed, his eyes got teary he laughed so hard.
He said something that I didn’t understand then, but have since come to
understand all too well.
He said, “If I decide to fuck you it won’t be before you’re begging for it.”
I was shocked at the way he used the word “fuck”. No one had ever uttered
that word to me that way before. Nice girls don’t “fuck”, they “make love”.
I blushed again. He smiled again. I was ashamed, but there was something
else making my cheeks red. I didn’t know then what it was. But I was going
to find out soon enough.
He was standing in front of me, maybe two feet away. I was staring at the
floor.
He said, “Get on your knees.”
I looked up at him, not moving. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and forced
me to kneel before him. I was staring at his belt buckle. He jerked my head
back and said, “I don’t want to have to repeat myself. You can make things
very hard on yourself. It’s up to you.”
“Please.” I said.
“Unbuckle my pants,” he said.
I stared again at his belt buckle. It was a large silver affair. I looked
up at him unsure how to proceed. I couldn’t help but notice the added bulk
pressing against his fly.
“I can’t,” I said, “my hands.”
“Use your fucking teeth, Miss MacNamara.”
I was shocked to hear him use my name. He must have seen it when he went
through my purse.
I decided not to make him repeat himself, besides, I had a strange urge to
do exactly what he told me. I grabbed the strap between my teeth and
pulled out from the first loop. Then I bit firmly onto the end of it
and pulled until the buckle loosened. I felt like an animal, kneeling
and using my teeth to do something I’d normally use my hands for.
His erection grew even larger while I was lossening his belt. He leaned
toward me, pressing his bulge against my face. I could feel heat coming
from it. He smelled as wonderful as he looked. My mouth actually watered!
I looked up at him. He must have seen something in my eyes. He grinned
and said, “Don’t stop now.”
I eagerly used my teeth to yank open the clasp of his pants and pulled until
the fly parted. His erection strained against his silk boxer shorts. His
scent filled my nostrils. It was like a drug. I had never truly enjoyed
giving a man oral sex before. Now that’s all I wanted to do. My mouth
ached to suck on his cock!
I leaned against him, pressing my lips to his pulsing cock. I was afraid
to use my teeth to pull down his shorts for fear I’d hurt him. I used my
tongue instead, searching for his flesh through the small opening.
I expected him to help me with this part, but he grabbed my collar and
pulled me away from him. He had shocked me yet again. Now what?
He looked down at me, not grinning now.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
I had to catch my breath. I was confused. Did he actually want me to say
what I was feeling? I tried to speak but couldn’t.
“Do you want to suck me?”
I managed a nod.
“Say it, Miss Wordsmith. Articulate for me your present desires, in 25
words or less.”
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t do what he demanded. I couldn’t say those
things to a complete stranger.
He pushed me away from him and pulled up his zipper.
“When you tell me what you want, you might get it. Silence will get you
nothing.”
He lifted me from my knees and dropped me face down on the bed. I could
feel him unbuckling the strap that held my cuffed wrists high against my
back. I was grateful to him for removing it. I felt a little let down. Like
I had failed to please him so thoroughly that he was simply going to send
me on my way.
“I have to get back to the party. I’ll leave you to think things over.”
He walked to his dresser and returned with something I couldn’t see. He
sat next to me on the bed and gently lifted my hair up from my neck. The
thing in his hand was a hairbrush. He was brushing my hair! Within moments
he had my waist-length locks brushed straight up from my scalp. He deftly
twirled my hair into one thick strand. I could feel him tying something
around my hair, then looping the strand over and tying something again.
He rose and said, “Get up.”
I did, and he led me to a far corner of the large room. My hair felt funny
pulled up to the top of my head. Whatever he’d tied into it felt heavy.
He glanced up, and tossed the other end of what I realized was a black
nylon strap over a large hook in the ceiling. He quickly pulled out the
the slack, forcing me on tip-toe. I couldn’t even look at him now. I
squeezed my eyes shut while he forced the strap between my teeth, wrapping
it around several times and knotting it at the back of my neck.
“Ciao, Miss Wordsmith. Feel free to hang around as long as you like.”
I silently cursed my editor and myself.

–

Archive-name: Fantasy/karene2.txt
Archive-author: Jim and Meg Norris
Archive-title: Karen Eliot’s Excellent Adventures # 2

Karen sat at her bar in the small pool of light cast by a desk
lamp. She keyed the remote and was immediately jolted by the
intense volume in her headphones. She quickly adjusted to the
digital rock’n'roll. She extracted one of the two sugar cubes from
the small ziploc and dropped it into the clear water which about
half filled the blue crystal glass. Karen watched the thin tendrils
and bubbles climbing upward from the dissolving cube. When only a
vestige of the cube remained, Karen stirred the water. The painted
Emperor penguin atop the glass stir stick turned and spun. Clasped
lightly in Karen’s regal fingers, it completed the ceremonial
preparation. Karen raised the glass and drank the water in several
unhurried swallows. With a phrase, she invoked her hypnotically-
installed interface metaphor and prepared to enter the always open
playground of her mind.
Karen closed her eyes. As always, the first effect to hit was
the intense joy. Beyond euphoria, she was lit by the electric
pleasure of cognition. The acceleration of her awareness took
Karen’s breath away. She was filled with a sense of vibrant energy;
restless, resisting confinement, awaiting purpose. Karen waited,
still and receptive, enjoying her most powerful and balanced hit of
L+ yet. Her face was transformed by a wide grin. Everything that
she experienced seemed hilarious. The boundless soul laughed at
every aspect of its voluntary earthly confinement. The joyous
feelings mellowed and Karen could feel the visual effect hitting.
She opened her eyes. Her will twisted the perspective of her
view. With slight effort, she could see the framework of points
underlying her previous perspective. Karen loved to come to the
grid of brilliant spectral colors pulsing on a background of the
deepest black. She shifted her perspective further into the grid.
The perception of her immediate surroundings become masked by the
perspective switching. With the underlying grid mostly in violet
with some green, she could see her world alongside. With the grid
shifted to yellow and blue, her world became a fading afterimage.
The final displacement was to orange and red grid lines. The
delicate flows between the white node points connected by the grid
lines were clearly discernable. Karen relaxed, her mind still.
When she felt totally cleansed, Karen twisted her perspective back
to her physical circumstances.
The point framework faded, but the clear joy remained. Karen
tamped the last of her Mendocino purple kush into the bong bowl.
She smoked several hits of the famous one-hit shit.

Karen piloted her 16-valve yupster through the thickening early
morning traffic. She drove to her favorite regional park,
occasionally playing with the shapes of the fluffy clouds to the
sounds of blasting rock’n'roll. The promising gusts of wind earlier
had picked up to a steady breeze.
She was easily able to fit into the street side parking space
left by a suit driving a boat that didn’t quite look like his
father’s Oldsmobile.
Karen removed the two bags with her gear from the car and set
off on foot. Her favorite visual hallucination was immediately
operational; the clouds were false colored. The resolution improved
as she watched. Horizontal and vertical movement was highlighted to
the degree of magnitude. Movement tails were plotted against the
latlong grid on the sky that suddenly appeared. Her left eye
displayed additive color mixture and her right showed subtractive
mixture. She blinked rapidly several times before establishing gray
scale; positive on left, negative on right. With several more
blinks she tested the binocular gray of her shaded object view mode.
She switched the tactical overlay on and enjoyed the instant
replacement. Dense monochrome axial and edge lines defined the
plotted objects in her wireframe view mode. She blinked rapidly and
switched the representation color; red, orange, yellow, green, blue,
violet. Trees moving in the breeze appeared as fractal fluff. She
toyed briefly with switching visibility of the hidden lines before
halting on the small hilltop that she’d walked to. The position was
ideal for kite flying; an unobstructed hilltop with a comfortably
calm lee side. Karen willed the visual hallucination suite off.
Once Karen had unpacked everything that she needed, the special
components of her custom kite were arrayed about her in small
unitary bags. Moving lithely, she fitted the machined alloy tubes
through the fabric. With some flexing of the frame tubes, the
assembly locked into position. The dihedral looked perfect to her
practiced eye. She quickly attached her toys to the kite. This was
to be the final test of the digital camera. The stoner-friendly (more…)

Hey everyone, here is a joke I d like to share
—
A good fuck costs nothing, but gives much. It reaches those who
receive without making poorer those who give. It takes but a
moment, but the memory sometimes lasts a lifetime. None is so
rich or mighty that he can get along without it, and none is so
poor but that he can be made richer by it. A good fuck creates
happiness in the home, fosters goodwill in business, and is the
countersign of friendship. It brings rest to the weary, cheer
to the discouraged. A good fuck is sunshine to the sad, and is
nature’s best antidote for trouble.

Yet, it cannot be bought, begged, borrowed, or stolen, for it is
of no value to anyone until it is given away. Some people are
too tired to give you a good fuck. Give them one of yours, as none
needs a good fuck so such as he who has no more to give.

:)

Archive-name: Solo/sohorny.txt
Archive-author: Nancy
Archive-title: I’m So Horney

from Intimate Acts

I’m writing this letter for a very important reason. I’m horny mexican slut. Horny
enough to know I’d like to get laid or at least fool around, but not
horny enough to take off my panties and play with my cunt. I know that
if I write to you and tell you how horny I am, I’ll get hot enough to
pet my latina pussy ’til I come.
Heres what I’m doing right now. I’ve got my pen in my right hand and
my left leg is up on the couch. I’m sitting at a folding table. I’ve
just now taken off my panties. I haven’t touched my cunt yet, but I can
veel cool air circulating around it, and it seems my clit is already
kind of hard. I think my cunt’s a little wet, too. I just ran my
middle finger up and down my slit, real gentle, not even opening up my
cunt lips. Mmmmm, I did it again, only this time I stuck my finger into
my slit. I’ts kind of moist, and when I sniff my finger I get the most
delicious sexual armoa.
Right now I’m holding my pussy lips open with my index and third
fingers, and I’m using my middle finger to rub my clitoris. Ooooh, It
feels so good!
My cunt’s pretty wet now, and I’m getting really excited. I’ve got my
make-up mirror nearby, and now I’m looking at my cunt, and It’s very
pink and shiny, and I’m going to sign off now so I can watch myself
masturbate . . .

Br, horny mamasita