Sometimes, I notice that my mouth is missing your thumb.
In the day, when I am typing things with my computer, in my office.
My colleagues are around me.
The memory of my mouth elicits the feeling of whole.
My hands stop working. No one has noticed it.
I open my mouth little, hesitantly, as if it receives your finger.
My pussy gets tighten instantly.
As my body remembers the feeling of you fucking me from the behind and letting my mouth suck your finger simultaneously.
…+…+…
(Source: fuckyeahfingersinmouths, via delectatiomorosa)
11:50 pm • 16 February 2012 • 1,508 notes
When it’s so good, I want to sink into the bed.
(Source: hotchicksnodicks)
9:49 pm • 15 February 2012 • 1,079 notes
erospainter:
The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.
~ Elizabeth Kubler-Ross
bornbythesea:
Via Kisses Are Better
(Source: alinatsvor)
9:33 pm • 15 February 2012 • 1,417 notes
Whenever you fuck me, I feel like I’m cornered,
even when we are actually on a bed.
You hold down my body.
My wrists are tied with your hand over my head.
I still writhe to free myself from your body,
but the head of your cock already starts entering me.
Slowly, you penetrate me with your cock
and you seem to be enjoying the contraction of my pussy.
I hold my breath.
To feel every inch of you, coming into me.
…+…+…
(Source: lovefuckprosper)
8:19 pm • 15 February 2012 • 2,628 notes
…While he thrust me from the behind,
his hand reaches around my throat.
His hand holds my throat gently but tight.
This, makes me feel so much.
This, reminds me so hard that i am owned by him.
…+…+…
This text made me start Tumblr.
Thank you. I like your blog Mr Rolledtrousers.
…+…+…
rolledtrousers:
He’d hold her like this, after everything was done. One hand at her throat, the other thrown casually across her chest. Casually, but not limply. Not with weakness. It wouldn’t move, not even if she had wanted to.
He held her because she couldn’t hold herself. Because her body was shuddering, still, trembling with the same weakness that flooded the body of a newborn lamb. All shakes and stumbles, had he let her go free. And so he held her, to make sure she didn’t fall. She couldn’t hold herself.
He’d talk, too, while he held her. The same word, murmured over and over in her ear, accompanying every exhalation. It was a mantra, of sorts, or at least it had become one, over time. She heard it even when he didn’t say it. It was at the point where he didn’t have to, she’d mouth the word anyway, and hear it in her head.
“Mine.”
(Source: alternatesides)
7:43 pm • 15 February 2012 • 469 notes
