Another one for deleting
i****t produces disgust and moral revulsion when abusive and/or reproductive, but there seems to be a special kind of disgust reserved for consensual i****t, an i****t marked not by trauma but by love and sentimentalism.
My father met another woman and fell in love with her and her daughter. They eventually married and soon their relationship descended into something that people find titillating and sexually appealing, his daughter-in-law, became his lover also and soon all three shared the sexual marital bed with the daughter becoming pregnant.
Now this is shocking, but where does it break any law? In truth, it does non of the sort, there are no genetic ties, but the wording of father and daughter engaging in sex and reproducing has the same but safe and therefore can be freely expressed as a kinky and delicious brand of sex that lurks in the minds of those seeking the ultimate thrill one feels when reading about men who lock their biological daughters in basements for sexual pleasures.
Here lies the true meaning of what sex is really about, two persons coming together in a moment of madness and experiencing the most wonderful feeling the human body gives for free, an orgasm, and the wilder the feeling being played out during the act, the wilder the reward when released. After that, the shame and revulsion, but later, as with alcohol and d**gs, you come back for more until you see nothing wrong with having such pleasure.
It was only at the turn of the last centaury that laws were made forbidding i****t, due to genetic deformities inherited by a limited gene pool, that was the scientific input, the rest was just Christian moralising by a church known more for Paedophilia and abuse, than i****t.
Poor populations cramped in single rooms slept on top of each other at night where body heat was essential and mothers encouraged developing daughters to share their fathers needs, turning a blind eye to immoral penetrations, usually up their arses to prevent pregnancies, back then being buggered was widely accepted, because the daughter could feel the sex without opening her eyes and seeing her daddy's expression as he filled her with his seed.
So what about today, now we know pregnancies can be avoided with the pill and contraceptives, and daughters better educated and liberal?
We, including I, and my sister in law, share a man, one by law and the other genetically, whom we call our father, a man who freely fucks one and treads on glass with the other.
I lie in my bed listening to his other daughter having all the fun and if I am honest, I am jealous, because my body screams for the same attention, just five minutes between my open thighs will give him an even better orgasm, not to mention my own, now feverously dependant upon the frequency setting of my vibrator and the thoughts flashing through my head, trying to pretend the man I first fell in love with as a girl, was inside me showing me the love that created me.
My sexual pleasuring knows no bounds, I am a willing girl who loves being on the wild side, sitting opposite older men at work whom I know fantasize about me riding them, sitting without panties and wearing lingerie that puts me well into the Harlot range, I wont to fuck, and I have let my hair down, but only after the rewards were known, a trip to Switzerland and a shared hotel, with a cash bonus paid under the table, for indulging in the unthinkable, including an offer of £50,000 to have his baby, but for now, anal and spanking and deep throating with slight BDSM, can give me a tenth of that amount for a weekend, without having to stretch my pussy to give birth, to his sprog.
Impulsive sex is the best once you learn to get rid of all those moralistic rules you are taught about being a good Catholic girl, going into the confessional box and telling stories about masturbating to dirty thought of the priest, you're talking too, and peeking through the dark mesh grill to see if he is wanking himself to the filth pouring from your mouth, as your own fingers are doing the dirty, right there in the house of God.
Sitting opposite the choir with your legs apart and showing the boys your wet slit, while all around you was angelic and peaceful, you were making arrangements for a quickie behind a gravestone with your eyes with a boy wanting his first go. One gravestone which lies flat on the ground has seen more of my bare arse than sunlight, the green algae more of a production from my vaginal lubrication and the virginal semen from wide-eyed boys, than rain and sunlight combined.
My mother was on the market for a new vibrator, which was fortuitous, as I was too so when she received a brochure from the new sex shop in the city, I saw the one I craved, but unfortunately, it was one of the new Swedish models that cost and arm and leg, which was a lot more than my fingers were worth.
Instead, as I knew who the manager of the new store I decided to make him an offer, in exchange for my body or a deed that might please him.
I took a nude selfie of my breasts and buttocks, and attached them to a newly made up email, outlining that we knew each other and that I knew he liked me and girls like me, and in exchange for the new vibrator, I was willing to be his sex object, providing he kept me supplied with cash and toys.
It took a week before he finally responded, he must have been mulling over the offer I knew he was too weak to pass up on. He wanted to know who I was, but I told him all would be revealed when I turned up at the shop to collect my toy and give him access to my body.
He agreed and I went up on the pretext of staying over with my uncle in the city on the Friday night and made my way down to where the shop was, knocked on the door and was let in.
He stood there shaking in his boot as I lifted my shirt to expose my breasts to him, and slide my skinny denims down to my ankles and let him fuck me over his desk.
After we finished I got the guided tour of the shop and pick my vibrator, some lingerie and a few other delights, like watching the video of live sex in the booths in the cellar, which are recorded and stored along with all the personal information of women who buy sex toys, and come to pick them up, a nice ledger of lesbians and prostitutes, walking around and buying, a gold mine for men wanting women for sex and knowing what they bought, with email addresses to write too letting them know he knows their dirty little secrets and is willing to keep mum if they meet him for sex.
To be honest, my poor uncle did not have a clue I was his girl, but having said that, I often wondered why he sent my mother a copy of his brochure, he must have known I would read it and want to indulge.
My father met another woman and fell in love with her and her daughter. They eventually married and soon their relationship descended into something that people find titillating and sexually appealing, his daughter-in-law, became his lover also and soon all three shared the sexual marital bed with the daughter becoming pregnant.
Now this is shocking, but where does it break any law? In truth, it does non of the sort, there are no genetic ties, but the wording of father and daughter engaging in sex and reproducing has the same but safe and therefore can be freely expressed as a kinky and delicious brand of sex that lurks in the minds of those seeking the ultimate thrill one feels when reading about men who lock their biological daughters in basements for sexual pleasures.
Here lies the true meaning of what sex is really about, two persons coming together in a moment of madness and experiencing the most wonderful feeling the human body gives for free, an orgasm, and the wilder the feeling being played out during the act, the wilder the reward when released. After that, the shame and revulsion, but later, as with alcohol and d**gs, you come back for more until you see nothing wrong with having such pleasure.
It was only at the turn of the last centaury that laws were made forbidding i****t, due to genetic deformities inherited by a limited gene pool, that was the scientific input, the rest was just Christian moralising by a church known more for Paedophilia and abuse, than i****t.
Poor populations cramped in single rooms slept on top of each other at night where body heat was essential and mothers encouraged developing daughters to share their fathers needs, turning a blind eye to immoral penetrations, usually up their arses to prevent pregnancies, back then being buggered was widely accepted, because the daughter could feel the sex without opening her eyes and seeing her daddy's expression as he filled her with his seed.
So what about today, now we know pregnancies can be avoided with the pill and contraceptives, and daughters better educated and liberal?
We, including I, and my sister in law, share a man, one by law and the other genetically, whom we call our father, a man who freely fucks one and treads on glass with the other.
I lie in my bed listening to his other daughter having all the fun and if I am honest, I am jealous, because my body screams for the same attention, just five minutes between my open thighs will give him an even better orgasm, not to mention my own, now feverously dependant upon the frequency setting of my vibrator and the thoughts flashing through my head, trying to pretend the man I first fell in love with as a girl, was inside me showing me the love that created me.
My sexual pleasuring knows no bounds, I am a willing girl who loves being on the wild side, sitting opposite older men at work whom I know fantasize about me riding them, sitting without panties and wearing lingerie that puts me well into the Harlot range, I wont to fuck, and I have let my hair down, but only after the rewards were known, a trip to Switzerland and a shared hotel, with a cash bonus paid under the table, for indulging in the unthinkable, including an offer of £50,000 to have his baby, but for now, anal and spanking and deep throating with slight BDSM, can give me a tenth of that amount for a weekend, without having to stretch my pussy to give birth, to his sprog.
Impulsive sex is the best once you learn to get rid of all those moralistic rules you are taught about being a good Catholic girl, going into the confessional box and telling stories about masturbating to dirty thought of the priest, you're talking too, and peeking through the dark mesh grill to see if he is wanking himself to the filth pouring from your mouth, as your own fingers are doing the dirty, right there in the house of God.
Sitting opposite the choir with your legs apart and showing the boys your wet slit, while all around you was angelic and peaceful, you were making arrangements for a quickie behind a gravestone with your eyes with a boy wanting his first go. One gravestone which lies flat on the ground has seen more of my bare arse than sunlight, the green algae more of a production from my vaginal lubrication and the virginal semen from wide-eyed boys, than rain and sunlight combined.
My mother was on the market for a new vibrator, which was fortuitous, as I was too so when she received a brochure from the new sex shop in the city, I saw the one I craved, but unfortunately, it was one of the new Swedish models that cost and arm and leg, which was a lot more than my fingers were worth.
Instead, as I knew who the manager of the new store I decided to make him an offer, in exchange for my body or a deed that might please him.
I took a nude selfie of my breasts and buttocks, and attached them to a newly made up email, outlining that we knew each other and that I knew he liked me and girls like me, and in exchange for the new vibrator, I was willing to be his sex object, providing he kept me supplied with cash and toys.
It took a week before he finally responded, he must have been mulling over the offer I knew he was too weak to pass up on. He wanted to know who I was, but I told him all would be revealed when I turned up at the shop to collect my toy and give him access to my body.
He agreed and I went up on the pretext of staying over with my uncle in the city on the Friday night and made my way down to where the shop was, knocked on the door and was let in.
He stood there shaking in his boot as I lifted my shirt to expose my breasts to him, and slide my skinny denims down to my ankles and let him fuck me over his desk.
After we finished I got the guided tour of the shop and pick my vibrator, some lingerie and a few other delights, like watching the video of live sex in the booths in the cellar, which are recorded and stored along with all the personal information of women who buy sex toys, and come to pick them up, a nice ledger of lesbians and prostitutes, walking around and buying, a gold mine for men wanting women for sex and knowing what they bought, with email addresses to write too letting them know he knows their dirty little secrets and is willing to keep mum if they meet him for sex.
To be honest, my poor uncle did not have a clue I was his girl, but having said that, I often wondered why he sent my mother a copy of his brochure, he must have known I would read it and want to indulge.
2 年 前
And yes, it's frustrating to hear the man (or woman) you lust for fuck someone else in the room next door.
"One gravestone which lies flat on the ground has seen more of my bare arse than sunlight, the green algae more of a production from my vaginal lubrication and the virginal semen from wide-eyed boys, than rain and sunlight combined."